Filed to story: Return of the Reaper Story
With the matron and advocate seated on either side of her, Laura spoke to the three children individually. The boy was severely withdrawn and was only interested in whether or not he could watch the TV in the shared community area or go outside where he could hear other boys playing b-ball. Upon learning he could not do either, he lost interest in cooperating. The smallest of the three, determined to be an underdeveloped eight years old, most probably due to malnutrition, was either traumatized or developmentally challenged. She would not look Laura in the eye.
The oldest by two months over the boy was the light-skinned black girl. Her name was Nadine Halleck. She was the most talkative of the three, especially after being offered a bowl of ice cream from the center’s kitchen.
Nadine had cleaned up, the bruises on her arms and legs covered by a simple cotton shirt and drawstring pants provided by the county. Her hair was shorter since they’d had to cut the mats out of it at the hospital where she’d been examined. The room smelled like the lice medication they’d washed her head with when she was admitted to the center.
“I was his favorite,” she said between spoonfuls of ice cream. “Until that little blonde bitch come along.”
“What made you his favorite?” Laura asked.
“He picked me most often to be with, and he hardly hit me no more.”
“Did he bring other men to the trailer?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you know their names?”
“One’s called Richie. I think he’s Uncle Oscar’s cousin. They kinda look alike. And another guy named Angel. He’s Richie’s friend.”
“And they would be with you, too?”
“Sometimes. You got strawberry?” Nadine tilted the empty bowl at Laura.
“If you answer all my questions, all right?” Laura forced a smile. These questions and the answers were turning her stomach into a clenched fist.
“Okay.”
“I don’t have them now, but if I get pictures of this cousin, could you identify him?”
“Like on the TV? Oh, sure. He easy to pick out. Got a tattoo right here.” She pointed to her cheek just below the corner of her eye.
“Is it a black teardrop?” A common prison tat.
“How you know that?”
“Wild guess.”
“He look kinda like that Mexican guy plays Ant-Man’s friend. In the movies.”
“Okay. We’ll have pictures for you later. You can show us.”
“And ice cream?”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“Strawberry next time?”
“As long as you answer just a few more questions.”
Nadine sat ready, hands folded before her in a caricature of an eager student. Her face was creased in a broad, tight-lipped smile, her eyes bright. The image made the fist in Nadine’s stomach tighten.
“You were allowed outside. You could go to the park and down to the store.”
“We done that sometimes.”
“And you were allowed to do that? Anytime you liked?”
“Long as we were there when Uncle Oscar needed us to be. Long as we were back home before dark.”
Home. The fist turned in her gut.
“Then why didn’t you run away? Why didn’t you leave and tell someone what Uncle Oscar was doing to you?”
Nadine blinked, perplexed.
“Run away where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere safe.”
Nadine scoffed, chin up and eyes closed.
“Ain’t nowhere’s safe. Ain’t no one to tell gives a shit.”
“Why not? You could have called the police or spoken to a neighbor. There are people to look out for you like Miss Summers and Miss Ritter. Don’t you have family?”
“Never had no family.”
“Where were you before Uncle Oscar?”
“I was with a foster family over at Hazel Green. I was in one at Brownsboro before that, and in one off Bob Wallace before that.”
“And Uncle Oscar took you from there?”
“Naw. Shit.” Nadine shook her head. “You don’t know shit, do you?”
“I won’t know anything unless you tell me, Nadine.”
“They sold me to Uncle Oscar. For money.”