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After some more time passed, he continued speaking, his words growing more eloquent as he went on. “I grew up in LA. I didn’t know my father and my mother wasn’t really around much. Drugs were more important to her than a kid I guess. We moved around a lot and I didn’t have a lot of friends. When I was fourteen, I met this man who sort of took me in. Paulie Sciarrino. He became like a father to me,” a dark laugh barked from his chest, “as if I even knew what the f**k a father was supposed to be like. But he gave me delivery jobs and paid me more money than I’d ever seen in my life. It took awhile for me to realize that I was running drugs, but at that point I was taking care of myself and I wasn’t hungry or cold or getting my clothes at some second hand store.”
The bitterness in his voice made me hold him tighter. I knew what it was like to basically raise yourself, but at least I had someone in my life to care. My Gran was everything to me when my parents didn’t want to be.
“When I turned eighteen I decided that I wanted a different life,” Madden said. “I had this grand idea that I wanted to go to college except I never even graduated from high school. Paulie said he’d help me, that he’d make it happen. I just had to do one last favor for him.”
Madden’s body went tense and I could hear his heart thundering in his chest now. I leaned up and brushed my fingers over his rigid face. His eyes were closed but the hard lines of his face betrayed his state.
“You don’t have to go on,” I whispered.
His eyelids flickered open and in his eyes I saw so much agony that it took my breath away. He glanced at me. “There was this rival mob guy, a really sick bastard, that Paulie wanted me to take out. That’s all I had to do to earn a new life. Easy right? I’d seen a lot of death but it was never by my hand.” Madden inhaled raggedly. “I sat on it for a few days and talked about it with a few of the boys. In the end, I just decided I couldn’t kill a man who’d done me no wrong. So I called it off, told Paulie I couldn’t do the job.”
I watched him struggling to tell his story and my stomach churned for him. I wanted to stop him because it was horrible to hear about what he’d gone through. But I knew he needed to continue to tell the truth.
Madden opened his eyes and looked at me, smiling grimly. “I guess some of my so-called friends were not as good at keeping secrets as I’d given them credit for, because about a week later, that same man tried to kill me when I was on my way home one night.”
“The man you were supposed to murder?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.
Madden nodded weakly. “I still can’t believe he tried to do it himself. He must have loved the bloodshed, because he did it alone, at night, and he still almost killed me. It was going to be him or me that night and I wanted to f**king live. He got close enough to fire off a shot at close range, but by some stroke of luck, I moved just in time. Pulled my own gun and fired. I didn’t even know where I hit him, if I’d hit him, until he fell to the ground. I heard voices shouting so I ran. Later that night, Paulie came to tell me that I was a free man. He gave me a new identity and paid my way through UCLA and even grad school. I’m where I am today because of him, because of what I did. My success has this f**king black cloud hanging over it. If anyone knew what I did, I‘d end up with nothing. That’s why the plagiarism charge was such a big deal. If anyone looked too hard, they might find out I wasn’t who I said I was.”
I lay still for several moments, trying to take everything in. I was angry at his parents who didn’t care, sad for the boy who had to take care of himself, and heart-broken that in the end he’d had to use violence to have a chance at a real life.
Madden seemed to be able to read the emotions on my face. “See,” he said, “I told you I was no good for you. Being around me isn’t good for anyone. You should go before you get hurt.”
He started to pull away but I half crawled onto him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re not a bad person, Madden Cross. You’re brave and strong and instead of accepting your life, you got out.”
“I got out, but at what cost?” he said. “I can’t forgive myself for the things I did.”
“You don’t need forgiveness,” I said, instinctively. “You just need to do better. And you have done better. That’s all any of us can do.”
His gaze met mine. The meds were doing their job and his eyes were heavy lidded but somewhere in them, I saw relief. I’d been able to give him that at least. And the fact that he trusted me with his secret changed everything.
