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“Twelve, I think. Maybe still eleven,” a choked female voice responds.
I know that one. Louise. Our foster mom.
What’s left of my smile flattens completely as I think, I’m twelve now, you stupid bitch.
My eyes burn.
“Something’s never been right with that boy. I mean, look at him!” Her voice breaks on a sob. “Look what he did to my Rick!”
“Rick was bad,” I hear myself whisper, still not taking my blurry gaze off Vale’s blank face. “Very, very bad.”
A stillness sort of blankets the room at my softly spoken words.
Vale whimpers, but otherwise remains frozen.
I sense a body squatting down next to me, big and looming, not unlike the one under me.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Aston,” I say absently, frowning. I sniff. “Like the car.”
He’s bleeding, a voice whispers in my head as I drop my gaze to Vale’s lap. His hands are bright red, like he’s been finger-painting, but he’s too old for that now. He’s eleven, almost twelve, like me, but you wouldn’t know that just by looking at him.
“Are you hurt?” I hear myself ask, voice cracking in a way I’ve never heard it.
Nothing.
“He’s bleeding,” I croak, finally turning to the man crouched next to me. A metal plate over his chest reads Ferris, J. My gaze drops to where his hand rests on his belt, just next to a gun and a baton. “My little brother’s hurt. Can you help him?”
I lift my gaze to meet the pinched gaze of the officer. Thick, unruly brows dip low over his eyes. He has a pudgy nose and too-thin lips peeking out under his mustache.
“Yes, we can help him,” he says slowly, carefully. His gaze flits between mine. “But you have to be a good boy and come with us, okay?”
I nod. “Sure.” Whatever gets them to help Vale.
Ignoring the cop’s outstretched hand, I drop my hands to Rick’s motionless chest and use it for leverage as I stand, grimacing when I almost slip on his slick skin. His big gut is all ripped open, spilling blood all over the place.
Realizing I’m still naked from the waist down, I quickly reach down and pull up my underwear and pajama pants, cheeks heating when it occurs to me that everyone just saw my penis.
I loved these pajamas, I think sadly as I scrub my hands on the already stained fabric. They have little spaceships on them. I’ve had them since I started living here when I was six. They don’t really fit me anymore, but they’re mine, all mine. Plus, they’re the only pajamas I have.
“Can I get new pajamas?” I say, wrinkling my nose when I realize my hands are still stained red. It’s getting all crusty around my nails. It’s sticky too. I hate being sticky. “Can I shower too? It’s all sticky.”
A beat passes before Officer Ferris says, “Yes. You can have all of that as long as you cooperate.”
Frowning, I glance up at him. Why wouldn’t I? I wonder silently. I’m always a good boy. It was Rick who was bad.
Officer Ferris is staring at me, no, into me, like he’s trying to figure something out. I stare back until my eyes start to cross, not sure what else to do. People are always staring at me, and it’s not nice.
His throat bobs and he nods, like he’s found whatever it was he was looking for. But he doesn’t seem too happy about it as he turns his head, dipping his chin to talk into his walkie-talkie.
Vale and I had walkie-talkies once. I stole money from Louise a couple years ago, not long after Vale moved in. She was passed out in her recliner, and never seemed to notice that the twenty-dollar bill from her wallet was missing. Probably thought she spent it on more of that powder stuff she was always melting on a spoon.
It was the first time I got Vale to smile. He doesn’t smile often. He did even less so back then. But he lit up like a Christmas tree when I showed him what I bought for us.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Louise rushes out, her nasally voice cracking.
I glance over to find two officers pulling her arms behind her. I hear the snick of metal—handcuffs. Her red-rimmed eyes are wide as they dart around. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t—”
