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She hardly flinches, not even when I squeeze. “I know you’re scared. I know how sick he is. I know what he’s done to you because his son did the same to my friend and your uncle covered it up.”
“Then, get her to testify.”
“She can’t. She’s dead.”
“Lucky her,” I mutter and squeeze harder, feeling her pulse flutter under my palm. “Stay away from me, stay away from my family.”
I let her go and retrieve my bike.
“I made her a promise before she died that I’d bring him down before he can hurt anyone else.”
I kick my leg over the seat.
“Did you know he runs a child trafficking ring? He controls an entire network of really bad people. Imagine how much power he will have if he becomes president, which could happen. He’s a popular choice, not just with the people but his party too.”
I blink at her. “Then, why the fuck would you get involved? He’ll have you killed before you can out him. Aren’t you scared?”
“No, because I’m not so narcissistic that I think my life is more valuable than those kids locked in cages getting raped by men three times their size every morning, noon, and fucking night.” She comes around the front of my bike and grabs the handlebars. “If we can bring him down, we can start on the rest.”
“What is this we? There is no we.” I try to shake her free but she holds on tighter.
“Think of that little girl you saved from the fire. Ask yourself would you do that again. That’s all you’re doing, Mallory. You’re just running into another fire, to save another kid just like her.”
“Yeah, except I’d be bringing that little girl in there with me. When I saved her, it was just my body to think about. If I fuck with my uncle, it’ll be everyone I care about who suffer. That’s how he works.”
She finally releases me and steps to the side, but not before dropping a business card in my basket. “Call me, let’s make waves together, Mallory.”
“That’s not my fucking name.”
“He raped your mom too,” she shouts so loudly, she’s lucky the school is empty.
I skid to a halt and look at her over my shoulder as she starts to approach again.
“She begged your dad to take you because she wasn’t fit to look after you, she knew your uncle would get you.”
“My dad?”
“Yes, your dad, Stanley.”
I frown, confused. “Stanley’s not my dad. He’s my foster block.”
Her lips part and a flash of guilt flickers in her eyes. “Right, my mistake.”
“Wait.” I grab her wrist and my breathing quickens as my mind puts the pieces together. “Is Stanley my dad?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“Oh my God.” I dismount my bike because I can’t stand up straight. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe I’m wrong. But… it wasn’t hard to put together. Stanley won the international Dance Xtra competition back in nineteen ninety-seven. He was meant to be this amazing dancer. Just like you. You have the same natural hair color though he shaves his so you can’t tell. You look alike. I’m surprised you haven’t put it together already.” As I stand, gaping, hurt, angry… she continues, “I spoke to your mom about your uncle, she told me everything. He was awful to her. He’s the reason she’s addicted to drugs. He used to force them into her body because she tried to talk. Nobody would believe a junkie that her hard-working, loving brother was raping her.”
I try to find sympathy for her but I can’t. “So why did she leave me on his doorstep?”
She places her hand on my wrist. “She didn’t. She left you on your father’s.”
I inhale slowly and painfully as I try to recall the memory. I remember her begging somebody to take me, I remember sobbing that I didn’t want her to leave. I remember him saying no. I remember being left on a doorstep somewhere but then… my next memory is of my cousin and that day and night. The first time he raped me.
“Why’d you have to tell me that?” I breathe, clutching my chest. I can’t breathe. “WHY’D YOU HAVE TO TELL ME THAT?”
“Scan?” Presley yells from the school entrance. He’s standing in the sunlight; it bounces off his skin making him look ethereal.
I race towards him, leaving my bike, but I pass him and pull on the bar that cuts across the main door to the building. I head inside, feet pounding on the floor until I stop at the trophy I need to see.
“Stanley Oaks.” It’s there engraved on metal for eternity, his name, the year, the competition, the ridiculously sized trophy.
I hit the glass with the side of my fist. “YOU LIAR!”
Presley approaches and grips my bicep. “Hey, come here.”
I shove him away from me hard and he goes back two steps. “No. You don’t just get to decide when to be there for me. NOBODY gets to just decide when to be there for me.”
