Page 10 of Alex
Thesound of the lock being turned as Ian leaves wakes me. Damn. Ten hours ofuninterrupted dreamless sleep. I can’t remember the last time I had that.Visiting time at the prison is at ten, so I have time for a quick shower beforeI go.
Thisis my fifth visit to the Indiana State Prison and the fences and barbed wire nolonger intimidate me. Actually, the dull gray walls and dim corridors make mesmile. It’s a horrible, miserable place and Gene deserves every second he’srotting here.
Likethe past visits, Gene takes a seat on the opposite side of a glass wall,smiling like I came to cheer up his day. Asshole. Leaning his elbows on thecounter, he speaks through the holes drilled in the glass. “Alex, good to seeyou. Still can’t get your brothers to join you, huh? Can’t say I blame them, Iguess. Place sucks a flaccid dick. So, how was your holiday?”
Heknows nothing about me or the fact I lost Cooper. How could he? Each visit, Ionly speak three words. Seemingly unaffected by my silence, he blathers onabout everything and nothing. This is how it always goes, me sitting stonefaced while he acts like we’re hanging out and having a good old father sonchat.
Hisfake happiness is betrayed by his thinning frame and graying hair. Sometimes Ithink that’s why I really visit, to watch him deteriorate, to see the fear ofimpending death eat away at him.
Whenhe finally shuts up, I stand, lean close to the glass and announce, “Four moremonths.”
Hisshoulders slump just a fraction before he forces a smile. “See you next week,son.”
Coolair greets me at the exit, rushing over me, and I breathe deep. It’s refreshingafter the stifling environment of the prison. I never know how I’ll feel when Ileave. Sometimes I’m happy to see he’s suffering, others I feel guilty fortaking joy in someone’s misery, no matter how much he deserves it.
Today,I don’t really feel anything and even that worries me. I felt this way so muchafter Cooper died, disconnected and indifferent. I don’t want to go back tothat.
Myphone rings as I sit in my car, trying to decide whether to go home or maybe tothe gym. Mason makes the decision for me. “Alex? Where are you?” he askswithout so much as a hello.
“Headingto grab some lunch. What’s up?”
“Wehave a situation, a repeat offender, and Roberts says he could use our help. Idon’t have the whole story, but there’s a kid involved. Evie is in New Yorkvisiting Amy, and Parker took Macy out of town. I really don’t want to takeCody to a scene.”
“I’lltake care of it. What’s the address?”
Afterrattling off the location, he adds, “We have a safe house available if you needit. The shelter is at capacity.” He sighs. “We need to get the new buildingfinished.”
“Don’tworry. I can handle it,” I assure him, typing the address in my navigator.“I’ll call you when I know what’s up.”
Thisis my first rescue in months. Mason has delegated to Parker and our hiredsecurity to give me the time I needed, but it’s time to go back to work. A tenminute drive brings me to a tiny house with a sagging porch. Quick strides cutthrough the garbage littered across the yard, and Officer Roberts meets me onthe porch. “Alex, that was quick.”
“Whatdo you have?”
Angerthins his lips and he keeps his voice low. “I’ve been here more times than Ican count. Typical worthless drunk keeps beating his seventeen year old son.The state just keeps giving him back. I know you don’t normally take kidswithout a guardian, but…” He shakes his head. “I’m afraid the bastard will killhim if something isn’t done.”
Shit.“We don’t take kids without a guardian because it’s kidnapping.”
“Irealize that. I also know you have taken underage victims and hidden them withtheir distant relatives. This boy…he has no one.”
Mason’sgoing to tear me a new one for making this decision without consulting him.“Let me talk to the kid.”
“Hisname is Kyle,” he replies, leading me inside. The stench of old food and stalebeer permeates the living room. If you can call it that. A pile of blankets arepiled against one wall and a dilapidated couch rests against another.
Perchedon the edge of the couch, a thin blond boy gnaws on a split lip, his handbrushing absently at the purple bruise under his eye. Defeated eyes meet mine.“You from social services? Do I have to go back? I can stay with a friend.”
“I’mnot a social worker,” I interrupt, ending his nervous babble.
Robertstakes a seat on his other side and asks, “When do you turn eighteen, son?”
“Sixmore months,” he replies instantly as if he’s been counting it down. I sure ashell would be.
“Iwant to talk to you about something, but it needs to stay between the three ofus. I know what you’ve been dealing with and I think my friend Alex here canhelp.”
Kylesnorts. “You going to lock my old man up for good? That’s the only way you canhelp.”
“Wecan take you out of here.”
“Andback into foster care? It never lasts. I’ll be back here before I can see outof my right eye.”
