From: The Fate of the Fallen by AE Winstead
THREE
Franklin, Kentucky
Present Day
Thursday night faded into Friday morning in a blur of flying fists and flashing lights. Ethan rarely got so angry that he blacked out, but a significant amount of time was missing from his memory of the previous night.
He remembered talking to Gary. He remembered entering the bedroom and seeing his mom splayed out, unconscious on the dirty mattress beside a sleeping Jeffrey.
The next thing he remembered, he was at the police station staring down at his bloody hands cuffed in his lap. He did a quick body check: flexed his fingers, moved his head from side to side. He wasn’t hurt. So, whose blood was crusted on his hands? Jeffrey’s? His mother’s? Ethan jumped up.
“Hey!” He could see several officers standing at a desk down the short hallway. None of them moved. “Hey, assholes! Where’s my mother? Elizabeth Reyes. Is she okay?”
One of them turned, a woman whose uniform appeared to be about two sizes too small for her round body. She gave him an I-know-you’re-not-talking-to-me-like-that look but answered anyway.
“She’s in lock-up. Little wisp of a thing jumped right on the officer’s back who went in after you. Other than being strung out, she’s fine. You just better be glad those officers were watching the place.” The police woman jutted out her chin. “ Just sit tight,” she added, turning back to her conversation, “Your representative is on her way.”
Representative? Ethan didn’t like the sound of that. “Representative” was just a fancy word for social worker—a stuffy old lady who’d want to ask him questions and make sure he was okay. Ethan slammed his hands into the bars. “I’m almost eighteen, damn it! I don’t need a babysitter!”
The state didn’t see it that way, though, and a few hours later, Ethan found himself staring through rivulets of rain running down the back window of an aging blue Honda, vigorously chewing his thumbnail and trying to control his rage. The day was still young, but the sky took on the dull grayness of dusk. Ethan thought it fitting considering the circumstances.
The woman in the front seat had said her name was Carla. No last name. Just Carla. She was younger than Ethan would have expected: late twenties, early thirties, maybe. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands in a way that told Ethan she was either nervous or not a very good driver. Her short hair poked out from her head in random places and her suit was wrinkled. She wore no makeup but seemed like the kind of woman who usually did. It’s almost like she was woken up in the middle of the night, Ethan thought with a smirk.
They’d been driving for a while, and Ethan wondered how much longer he’d be stuck in the car with this lady, but there was no way in hell he’d open his mouth to ask.
Instead, he focused on the things he did know. One, his mother was a liar. Two, the cops were idiots. Three, this social worker was a tool, and four, he’d be in jail right now if it weren't for the simple matter of his age. Since he was still technically a minor, and his “victim,” Jeffrey, had been in no position to press charges, he’d been released to the custody of the state. No one had said the word, but Ethan knew what that meant.
Foster care.
What a joke. He’d been taking care of himself since he was nine.
As she drove, Carla kept glancing back at Ethan in the rearview mirror. He had no idea what the lady must think of him, with his shaggy hair and baggy clothes, but he hoped she would break from social worker tradition and not try to make friends with him. He didn’t think he could take another adult making fake promises just then.
He rolled his eyes when only a few moments later, she cleared her throat to speak. So much for peaceful silence.
“I hope they treated you okay back there,” she said. “They should have called me much sooner than they did.”
Ethan felt her eyes on him through the mirror again. “They told me what happened, but that’s no reason…” Her voice trailed off before starting up again. “I know you don’t believe me, but I do care about what happens to you. I had to bend over backward and call in every favor I had coming to me to keep you out of a juvenile detention facility.”
Another glance.
“I read your file, and I know you’re not a bad kid.”
Ethan flung his hair out of his eyes and pressed his lips together, forcing the words he wanted to say back down his throat.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” she continued, undeterred by his silence, “but your mother is in a lot of trouble, and her court dates will likely drag out for several months. This was as close as I could get you to her under the circumstances.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and finally spoke. “I don’t care how close I am to her. I hope I never see her again.”
“Your mother made a mistake, Ethan.” Carla’s voice was even, but her eyes were wide. “I spoke to her before I came to your cell, and she feels terrible about what happened.”
“I bet.”
“She told me she wants to get better for you.” Carla glanced back at him again and rubbed her hand over her unruly hair. “You’re her only son, Ethan, and she’s your only mother. I know it’s not your responsibility, but knowing that you’re there for her will help her to do that.”
Ethan’s face twisted in a humorless smile. “Good try, lady, but she’s been like this my whole life. She’s never going to change.”
Carla pulled her lips into a thin line. With any luck, she was now satisfied with her attempt to get through to him.
Another ten minutes passed before Carla spoke again. “I think you’ll like the Morgans,” she said. “They’re pretty laid back. They didn’t bat an eye when I told them about your…incident.”
Ethan shot daggers at her with his eyes. If looks could talk, his would be saying, “Stop talking to me, lady. You don’t know anything about my life.”
As the view out his window morphed from city streets and office buildings into rolling hills and cornfields, Ethan’s heart began to beat faster. Carla told him about the lame-ass town where he’d be staying, but Ethan didn’t care. His fingers began to tingle and the car began to shrink, closing in all around him. Ethan focused on his hands in his lap and willed his pulse to slow. He knew what would happen if he didn’t calm down.
Carla had taken him by his house to gather his things, but he’d put zero thought into what he’d thrown into his bag—except for his meds, of course. He didn’t go anywhere without those. But in his anger and frustration, he’d stuffed his meds in his backpack then thrown his backpack in the trunk…and there was no way in hell he would ask this lady to pull over so he could get them. I’m okay. I can do this. He traced the outline of the small object in his pocket, more out of habit than anything else. Not because he thought it could help him.
Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead, and he wiped his hands down his baggy camo shorts. Ethan rolled down the window and leaned into the wind but his lungs refused to expand. Oh God, please not here, he silently prayed. And somehow, thankfully, he managed to force his racing heart to slow.
“Okay, well,” Carla said a few moments later, seeming not to have noticed his near-breakdown, “you’ll be eighteen in a few months, and free to do as you please, but until then, please take it easy on me, okay?” She pulled into the driveway of a white two-story farmhouse that Ethan thought looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting his grandmother used to have. “I’m responsible for you until then. Well the state is, actually, but I—" Ethan opened the door and slammed it on her words.
A middle-aged couple met Ethan and Carla on the porch. The woman wore a light pink dress that came down to her knees. Her hair was cut into a short bob, while the man was dressed in jeans and a white shirt.
At least he’s not wearing overall’s Ethan thought as he stood stone-faced with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts.
Carla greeted the couple with a smile. “Mr. And Mrs. Morgan, this is Ethan. He’s gonna be a ton of fun for ya. I tell ya, he’s just a little chatterbox. Could not get him to shut up on the drive over.”
Ethan glared at her while the Morgans let out an easy laugh.
The couple took in his shaggy hair, lip ring and ‘Skate or Die’ t-shirt and still managed to keep the smiles plastered on their faces. Ethan had to give them credit, he knew what they were thinking. Adults were always so manipulative, wanting you to think they loved you while betraying you behind your back. Ethan slung his bag over his shoulder and went through the front door without a word.
“This is Dale and Grace, by the way,” Carla called after him, “in case you wanted to know.”
“I'm sure he just needs a little time to adjust,” Ethan heard the woman say as he wandered into the unfamiliar house. Footsteps came rushing behind him as the woman—was her name Grace—followed him down the hall.
“Here you are, Ethan, your room will be this way.” Grace pointed down the hall to a doorway on the left. Ethan entered the room and dropped his backpack on the bed. The space was small and generic, containing only one twin bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. One small window looked out to the backyard and the trees beyond.
“The bathroom’s across the hall if you need it.” She wiped her hands on the front of her dress, looking like she wanted to say something more. Ethan hoped she wouldn’t. “I’m sure this is difficult for you,” Mrs. Morgan said, her voice low. “I’ll just give you some privacy.”
Thank God. Ethan could feel the pressure building again, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop it this time. He turned away from the door and clamped his eyes shut. No way was he staying here. He didn’t need a social worker. He didn’t need foster parents. He didn’t need anyone.
He was already planning his escape, and once he’d gone, he knew no one would waste their time looking for him. He walked over to the window and surveyed the distance to the ground. Maybe a ten-foot drop. He could make that easily.
“It’s longer down than it looks,” a voice said from the hall. Ethan turned to see Mr. Morgan standing in the doorway. Again, Ethan said nothing, just stared at the man as he walked back over to the bed. “Kid broke his ankle jumping out that window once. It was a shame, too. He coulda just used the front door.”
Ethan lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
“We hope you don’t leave, but if you do, just know the door’s always open if you want to come back.”
Ethan raised his head and looked at the man. “Thanks,” he said in a sarcastic tone and lowered his head back down onto the pillow.
“Dinner’s at six. Grace’s making some kind of casserole. And grilled cheese…just in case you don’t like casserole.” After another silent moment, the man’s footsteps faded down the hallway.
Finally.
Ethan didn’t want anything from these people. Not food, not this bedroom. Nothing. He only wanted to turn the clock back twenty-four hours and do this day over again. He would never have left his mother alone. If only he would have been there when Gary had called, none of this would’ve happened. This time he’d have made her understand. God! Why did he still let this bother him so much? He pushed his fists into his eyes to stop the tears from coming. He would not cry for her. Not anymore.
As he lay on the unfamiliar bed, thinking about all the other kids who must’ve slept there, his skin began to itch. He sat up and rubbed his hands down his legs as the room began closing in on him again. He poked his head out the bedroom door and looked down the hall. Voices drifted down from the foyer where they’d entered. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a plastic baggie of pills, found the one he needed, and popped it in his mouth. He shouldered his backpack and sneaked down the hall in the opposite direction. He had to get out of there.
After a moment, he found a door in what he guessed to be the laundry room and bolted out in a flash. Once outside, he took off at a trot through the drizzling rain across the soggy back yard.
Carla had talked a little about the town on the drive over, hadn’t she? Ethan had tried his best to ignore her, but he was pretty sure she’d said the river encompassed this death trap of a town and there was only one road in or out. He’d surely be spotted if he just took off down the road, though.
He knew the town wasn’t big, so no matter which way he went, Ethan was sure, as long as he stayed hidden in the forest, he’d eventually find the river. He could follow it, and once he made it to the city limits, he’d be home free. With no other thought in his head and the prospect of freedom calling to him, he disappeared through the trees and kept running.