I was already of the shadows, Destiny. You pulled me into the light.
His voice. His beautiful voice could take her into dreamland. Could weave fairy tales and bring hope.
Could absolve her of all guilt. Her lashes drifted down as she paused beside the rotting back stairs. There was always so much guilt. Would it never go away and leave her in peace?
The sound of the hopeless weeping dragged her out of her own despair. A child should never experience such heartbreaking emotion. Destiny could feel the vibrations of violence, the aftermath that lingered in the air. And she smelled blood. She hunkered down to peer beneath the wobbly stairs. The boy couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old. He was so thin, his clothes were far too wide, although his bony wrists and ankles were showing. He wore no socks and had holes in his shoes. Tears made muddy tracks in the dirt on his face. He rubbed his face continually with his knuckles, but he couldn’t stop the sobs that shook his young body. There were smears of fresh blood on his clothing, but she could see no open wounds.
“Hi there,” she said, using her gentlest voice, afraid of startling him. She had learned those soft, silvery tones from Nicolae. It always came back to Nicolae. “Is there room under there for me?” There was compulsion in her voice, a small “push” to make it easier for the boy to accept her presence.
He looked frightened, his eyes widening with shock, but he obligingly moved over to allow her enough space to squeeze beneath the stairs. Destiny sat tailor fashion, her body heat helping to warm the child.
“Bad night?”
The boy nodded mutely. Destiny could see the scars on the backs of his hands and arms. Defensive scars. She recognized them for what they were. “My name is Destiny. What’s yours?” She held out her arms, palms down so that he could see the slash marks on her arms. The same defensive wounds. “We match.”
He bent close in the darkness to examine her scars. “You have more.”
“But they’ve faded,” she pointed out judiciously. “And they don’t hurt anymore. At least not on the outside. What about yours?”
“Mine don’t hurt either.” His gaze locked with hers. “Well, maybe a little on the outside. I’m Sam.”
“A lot on the inside, right, Sam?” She brushed the pad of her thumb over the worst of the scars, leaving behind a soothing balm. “Tell me. This didn’t happen tonight. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He shook his head, the code of the streets keeping him silent for a moment, but it was impossible to resist the lure of her voice. His lower lip trembled, but he squared his thin shoulders. “I didn’t wash the dishes. I knew he’d be mad at her if I didn’t wash the dishes, but Tommy wanted me to play basketball. All the kids were playing, and I thought I’d only play for a couple of minutes.” His lashes were wet and spiky from his tears, and the weight in his chest was like a stone in hers.
Destiny already knew. The horror was seeping through the rickety floorboards and pervading the air beneath the stairs. Nicolae. She reached out to him as she always did. As she had done for years. And he was there. In her mind. As he had always been. Surrounding her with warmth. Giving her courage. Holding her in strong arms and giving her a refuge, a shelter when the pain of the world was too much to bear alone.
I’ll bring him to Father Mulligan, but the police will have to be brought to this place of death. She knew Nicolae would hear the sorrow in her voice. He would feel it in her heart. And he would share it with her and shoulder part of her burden.
“It was my fault.” The thin shoulders shook, and the boy covered his face with his hands. “She came home from work and she was tired. I heard her call to me to hurry, and I ran, but I was down the block and it was too late. I saw him go in. I knew what he was going to do to her. He was always so angry. He wanted money for his drugs and he took it out of her purse. She was crying because we needed it for food. That’s when he saw the dishes.”