Miller nodded. “What’s your name, boy?”
The boy glared at Miller with all the heat and venom a fifteen year old could muster.
I could’ve told him that he was wasting his time, but teenagers didn’t seem to have that comprehension when they were mad.
When the boy refused, I shrugged and told him to stand.
He didn’t.
“You know, this can go one of two ways. One,” I said holding up a finger. “You can just cooperate. Stand up, tell us your name, let us check you, and we’ll get you booked downtown. Or two, you can refuse to do all of those things, we can force you to do them, and you still go down town.”
The boy glared at me, and then moved his gaze to a car at the far corner of the parking lot.
Following his gaze, I narrowed my eyes when I saw what he was looking at.
“Who’s in that car?” I asked, glancing back at the boy.
He closed his lips tightly, then looked down at his feet.
A shared glance with Miller had me walking over the pile of candy bars and milk to the car that was parked underneath the 7-11 sign.
The closer I got, the more worried I became.
Because I could see a car seat in the car.
Two car seats.
Holy shit.
I opened the door with suddenly shaking hands, scared to death at what I’d find.
I’d seen some bad shit in my time, but the moment I opened that door, I knew nothing could be worse.
Two starving children looked up at me from hollowed eyes.
Neither was crying, and neither looked particularly scared of me.
Interested. Hopeful, maybe. Scared? No.
“Miller,” I called loudly. “Put him in your car and get over here.”
Miller tossed a look over his shoulder at me. I stepped back to allow him to see the closest car seat, and his eyes widened.
His mouth dropped open and he turned back to the kid that looked defeated.
Now I understood why he’d stolen the candy bars.
And the milk.
I had no doubt in my mind now as to the character of the kid.
Desperation makes a man do funny things.
I picked up the smaller baby first.
She felt extremely tiny in my hands.
So tiny I couldn’t even gauge how old she was.
Miller joined me as soon as I fit the baby into the crook of my arm, sidling up to my side.
“What the fuck?” He asked in denial at what he was seeing.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
It was more than obvious that the children hadn’t been well cared for.
Their clothes were dirty.
The car itself smelled horrid.
The little boy in the car seat looked at the two of us with a smile, but that smile didn’t meet his eyes.
The deep circles under his eyes, as well as the hollowness to them, showed that he was anything but healthy.
“Get the other one,” I ordered.
Miller circled around the car and picked up the boy from his car seat.
The boy wrapped his skinny fingers around Miller’s mic cord, and smiled so brightly that it hurt my heart.
The little girl in my arms cooed and I looked down in awe.
As a police officer, there are times that you’re not going to experience nice things.
Although this wasn’t the ideal situation, they were both alive, and had a fighting chance that they didn’t have before.
Something I counted as a check in my win column.
I felt like I was carrying air as I walked back to the police cruiser.
Miller didn’t look like he was carrying much more as he got on the mic.
“I’ll need a bus here. Got two babies in need of some medical attention,” he said quietly, smiling down at the little boy who made a grab for his mic.
The boy looked scared shitless the closer we got to Miller’s cruiser, and by the time I opened the door to the cruiser he looked like he was about ready to bail out. Straight through the glass window.
“Alright son,” I said, dropping down to my knees beside him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He looked sort of green, but it was then that I noticed that his heart was in his eyes as he looked at the children.
“They’re mine,” he croaked.
I blinked. “They’re yours?”
He nodded.
“Yeah,” he rasped.
“How old are you?” I asked.
He swallowed. “Fourteen. Fifteen in two months.”
My heart started to race.
“They’re yours,” I stated for clarification.
He nodded again.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
I looked up at Miller, then back at the boy.
“What’s your name?” I asked softly.
He looked down at his hands.
“Madden,” he said quietly.
“Madden, you’re not even old enough to be on your own yet. How do you have two kids? And why are you on your own? Where’s the baby’s mother?” I continued.
He bit his lip, and looked up at me with eyes that were shining with tears.
“I stole them from her. She wasn’t taking care of them,” he cried. “Not like they needed to be taken care of.”
I refrained from saying that he wasn’t doing too good of a job either, and nodded my head. “Who’s the mother?”
“She’s…she’s my stepmother. And I stole them away from her while her and my father were high. They were…doing stuff that I didn’t like. And she was smoking around the baby. I didn’t like that. I had to get them out. I had to. They would’ve died. She would’ve killed them,” he insisted pleadingly. “She already smoke and drank throughout her pregnancies. She didn’t even go to the hospital to have them!”
I looked down at the baby in my arms, saw the frailness to her, and started to get mad.
Not at him, no.
But at the situation.
“When did you take them?” I asked softly.
He bit his lip. “Last night.”
Jesus, so this was how they were from her, not him.
“Alright, Madden. How about you come take a ride on the medic with your kids. From there we’ll figure this out, okay?”
He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.
“Thank you,” he croaked, voice cracking like all adolescent boys do at that age.
Jesus, this was one sick, fucked up situation.
Fucked Up. With a capital F and U.Chapter 10