“There are lots of kids in the system who do just fine,” Lissa said. “Sally’s tough. She may be fine.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not.” He tried to step past her, but she moved to block him.
“You wanna tell me what this is really about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
He put his head down and took a deep breath. “There are moments in life you’d like to have back. Times you wish you could go back and change the things you did-change the things you didn’t do.” He looked up. “The system’s overwhelmed. It’ll put kids anyplace they’re out of the way. The last foster home I was in, I was fifteen. No one in their right mind takes in a fifteen-year-old. But this family ran sort of a group home. They got fifty bucks a week from the state for each kid they took in, so they’d take in anybody. They had about eleven of us when I was there. They had a bunkhouse out in the back where we all slept; one side for the boys and one side for the girls.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“Not the word I would have chosen. There wasn’t a lot of love in the place. And the kids…well, let’s just say the kids had their issues. Three of the older boys, in particular. They were into drugs. Into the gang scene.”
“So were you, right?”
“Fair enough,” Finn said. “But these three were different. Vicious. There was this one little girl, probably around thirteen, who was like a lost soul. See, most of us had been in the system our whole lives. We were used to it. We knew what to expect. But this one girl had grown up with a family. I’m not sure what happened to them; the girl didn’t talk about it. Something bad enough for her to end up in this god-awful place.
“Anyway, she kept to herself mostly. She had a diary and she spent a lot of time writing in that. Like her own form of therapy. One day one of the three boys stole it. He brought it into the boys’ bunkroom and started reading from it. It was sad and pathetic and everyone started laughing. Then this girl walked in and realized what was happening. She went berserk. She attacked the kid who had the book, kicking and screaming at him. He and the two others got a hold of her and just started whaling on her. Beat the hell out of her. She kept fighting, though, as long as she could. Finally, when the fight was gone from her, the three of them picked her up and carried her into the girls’ bunkroom. They kicked everyone out; threatened to kill anyone who ran to the main house-not that I think anyone there would have cared. They locked the door. I can still hear the girl crying.”
Lissa pursed her lips. “That’s not your fault,” she said. “You were a kid, and there were three of them. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Maybe not. But I didn’t even bother trying. You know what I did? I pulled out a bag and threw my shit in it and left. Never went back. Figured I was better off on the street. Still, I like to think that if I had it to do over, I’d do it differently.”
“And this is your chance to prove that?”
Finn shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Lissa shook her head. “It won’t change what happened. It won’t do anything for that little girl in the bunkhouse, and I’m guessing in the end it won’t do anything for your conscience either.”
“Probably not,” Finn admitted. “Worth a shot, though.”
“If you say so.” Lissa walked over to her desk and picked up her keys. “I’m going to pick Sally up.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sally was waiting outside the school. It was nearing two o’clock and the place was deserted. It wasn’t the sort of place where students hung around after the bell sounded. She wondered whether anyone was actually coming to pick her up. They’d probably forgotten. Who could blame them? She wasn’t their kid.
She moved around to the side of the building, to the alley by the church, and pulled out a cigarette. She could see the street from where she was if someone pulled up. Lighting the cigarette, she let her bag hang to the ground. If no one came within a few minutes, she’d start walking. Charlestown wasn’t close, but she wouldn’t have any problem covering the distance in an hour or so. If that was what it took, it was fine. She could take care of herself.
She was taking her third drag when she heard them. They were coming from behind the school, walking up the same route they’d followed the day before. All she heard was the laughing, but she knew instantly it was them. That was just the way her life went.
They saw her as soon as she turned. The older boy’s eyes narrowed, like those of a hunter picking up the quarry. They stopped for just a moment. He raised his bandaged hand and pointed to her. “It’s that bitch!” he yelled. Then they were running toward her.
She was on the move even before he yelled. Her adrenaline was pumping as she took off toward Dorchester Avenue, footsteps behind her pounding in her ears. She had a head start of twenty-five yards or so, and she was fast, but she knew they would catch up to her eventually. Her mind worked methodically. She first thought of heading back into the school, but the doors were locked and bolted after classes ended. The church was just to her right, but there was no guarantee that there would be anyone inside, and her encounter with the priest the other day had been less than cordial. Served her right, in some ways, she thought. She should learn to control her mouth better.
She hit Dorchester Avenue in full stride and headed back toward the city. There was a gas station and convenience store a couple of blocks up, and with luck she could make it to that area before she was caught. It wouldn’t guarantee her safety-this was the sort of neighborhood where people minded their own business, and there was every possibility that people would merely watch as she was dragged away, but getting to a well-populated area was her best chance. She might take a beating, but being out in the open in front of people would possibly limit its duration.
She was halfway there when the van pulled in front of her.
It was a nondescript delivery van, and it screeched to a stop, its front wheels hopping the low curb, cutting off her path. At first she was relieved. She hoped it might be a cop, or maybe some Good Samaritan witnessing her plight and coming to assist her. The man who got out of the driver’s side wasn’t wearing a uniform, though, and he didn’t move like a cop. Cops moved slowly, with a confidence born from the knowledge that, in most situations, no one was willing to question their authority. The man from the van moved with confidence as well, but it was a different brand of confidence. It was the confidence of someone who lived on the other side of the law. Someone accustomed to danger; accustomed to moving quickly and deliberately; accustomed to dealing with problems with split-second decisiveness. He was of average height and build, but he was wiry. He had jet-black hair and dark eyes that were focused on her.
He came around the front of the van and stepped in front of Sally as she tried to squeeze past the hood. She tried to duck him, but he was too fast, and he swung his arm out and grabbed her around the neck. She struggled, but he tightened the muscles in his arm, closing her neck in the crook of his elbow, cutting off her air.
She tried to scream, but nothing came out, and she started to panic, thrashing her body from side to side.
“Stop,” he said simply.
She craned her head around to look at him. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Just then she heard the pounding of the boys’ footsteps slowing down behind her. “Fuck you doin’!” the boy with the bandage yelled.
“Back away,” the man said. She could hear the Irish in his voice. He still had her tucked off balance, but he was holding her with only one hand. She wondered whether she might be able to break free with one strong twist. His hold on her seemed like an iron vise.
“Fuck you!” the boy shot back. His voice sounded angry but indecisive. “She fucked with me, now I’m gonna fuck with her!” He and his posse weren’t moving forward, but they weren’t retreating, either; they were milling around within a few yards of them, their feet shuffling back and forth on the pavement.