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“Twenty.” He winces. “I think. Look, when I was found and taken into foster care as a kid, my age was estimated, but I don’t know—”
“All I’m saying is, you came in to report this kind of late, young man.” She gives him a long, earnest look. “If the man you say hit you—”
“I didn’t say that. That asshole fucking—”
“Zane.” Dakota tugs on his arm, her big eyes pleading with the woman. “Can’t we do this somewhere more private?”
Zane is panting, red splotches of color on his pale cheeks. He looks disoriented. He glances down at Dakota’s hand on his arm as if he doesn’t know what it is.
Fuck, this doesn’t look good. “Please, ma’am,” I say. “It’s a difficult topic to discuss here.”
A topic. As if we’re talking about routine business, not Zane having to rip his heart out and offer it on a platter in order to make this report.
The officer glances uneasily from him to me and back. “Yes, of course. Come with me.”
She leads us into a small office, and I shoot Megan a text telling her where we are. I want her to hurry and find us before we start, but the door closes and the officer motions us to sit in various plastic chairs.
“Shall we begin?” She shoots Zane a quick smile that I’m sure it’s meant to be reassuring, and opens a file on the small laptop she has perched on the table. “What crime do you want to report?”
Zane rubs the shaved sides of his head and then leans forward, letting his hands dangle between his legs. “I want to report Kenneth Shaw. He burned my back with cigarettes and… and raped me.”
The officer tries to stifle a gasp but fails, her eyes darting up from the laptop to him. Her fingers are frozen, poised on top of the keyboard.
I admit I’m kinda shocked, too, which makes no sense. I know exactly what Zane’s nightmares are about. I’ve suspected something for a long while, and he spelled it out for us recently, but hearing the word spoken out, loud and clear, in this tiny office… It shakes me badly.
Like I wanna go out and put my fist through a wall.
Instead I force myself to stay seated and draw a calming breath.
“All right,” the officer says, quickly typing something, “now I want you to—”
There’s a knock on the door, and before anyone can speak, the door opens to reveal Megan. The sight of her warm chocolate eyes settles something in my chest.
“This is Megan, my girlfriend. She wants to be present for this.”
The officer frowns. “Not sure this is proper procedure. Do you want her to be here?” she asks Zane.
“Yeah.” No hesitation.
The officer nods. “Fine. Please take a seat, Megan.”
“Thank you.” She drags a chair between me and Zane and smooths her skirt over her thighs. “Hi, Zane. Dakota.”
“Let’s proceed.” The officer types something more and cocks her head to the side. “Your name and surname, please.”
“Zane. Zane Madden.”
“May I see an ID?”
He produces it, and she takes down the rest of the information.
“You said the incident took place twelve years ago. So you were roughly…eight?”
“That’s right.”
Megan slips her hand into mine, and I give it a squeeze.
“Normally after waiting this long to report a crime, you shouldn’t be able to file a report.”
