Page 3 of Fall
“But you don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know enough.”
"There's a couple of problems with what you're asking me for. First off, I'm leaving here to gocollect my kid brothers, and we're skipping town. But I only have enough cash for three bus tickets."
“I got cash for my own ticket,” he says, making his case.
“The second problem is, well, four underage kids taking a bus out of state will stick out more than three. I gotta think about my brothers, you know? The third thing is, what’d you do if we manage to make it all the way thereand they can’t let you stay? And another problem is, I might not make it far enough to be worth it for you.” I nodded at the old guy on the floor, his body eerily still. “Especially not after that.”
“Is he… do you think he’s dead?”
“I’m not sure I want to find out,” I admitted.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Well, I told you I saw everything. Wanna know what I saw?”
“What?”
“Well, first he tried to hit you. That’s why you were running away. He tried to shoot you but missed… then he tripped and fell and hit his head over there.”
“You realize you’re missing a few details?”
He shook his head but his gaze held mine. “Nope. If anyone asks me, that’s exactly how it happened.”
At the sound of movement in the house, I was tense and on edge again.There was no point sticking around. The kids inside probably didn't see what really happened, but it wouldn't help the situation if they saw this other kid and me out here, bent over the old man's body but making no effort to help him come to. The cops would eventually come to the house. Not anytime soon, as the house was in a remote area, and neighbors were used to hearing weapons go off wheneverthis foster fucker did his target practice out back.
“Fine.” Lifting my backpack over my shoulder, I straightened up to full height. “What’s your name again?”
“Vincent Costangelo. Vinny for short.”
“Let’s make a deal, Vinny,” I offered. “You go to the middle school at the edge of town, right?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because… listen, do me a favor and stay here a littlewhile longer. When the cops come around to find out what happened, tell them what you just told me. I’ll figure something out and come back for you. I promise.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure thing,” I told him. “Deal?”
"All right," he agreed, with some hesitation.
“You should put your suitcase back inside. And don’t touch the body. See you around, Vinny.”
Jumping thesteps of the porch, I got the hell out of there and refused to look back.
With that hellhole behind me, all I can think about is making sure Joshua and Joseph are fine. Josh and Joey. It fucking sucks because not only did we not end up in the same foster home together, we're not in the same school district, and according to the state, I'm a terrible influence and am more at risk of leadingthem astray if I spend too much time with them. I don't disagree that I've done some bad things. Nothing I did before measured up to what just happened to the old man, but every wrong move I ever made was to survive and keep my brothers safe. No system in the world can keep me away from Josh and Joey. It's my job to protect them.
As I head toward their foster home in one of the posher suburbs,I hope they're no worse off than today at lunch when I stopped by their elementary school playground to see them. Physically, they were fine. But from the fearful looks in their eyes, from the way their little, gloved hands reached for mine and grasped through the chain link fence between us, I knew they weren't happy. More than that. They were afraid of something.
When I was that age,I didn’t know what fear was. I never knew my dad, but Mom was still around. She gave me fourteen and a half years with a damn happy childhood, and the twins had her for six perfect years. That’s why I know that six-year-olds aren’t supposed to be scared, or thinking about survival. They should be running around without a care in the world, getting knee deep in lakes and ponds in the summer, and playingsports or hanging out in their rooms in the winter. The only thing they should have to whine about is bedtimes and putting away their toys. What was so wrong about me wanting that for my little brothers too?
Josh and Joey have been with the same foster parents for a few months. On the surface that might sound like a win, but to me, it meant nothing. Sure, no one hurt them physically, butI just don’t like the way they’ve been cringing whenever an adult raises their voice a little.
I’m not about to wait for anyone in that big, pretty house they live in to do more than shout at them.
That’s why I’m running.
It’s not to escape an obviously shitty house.
