Даниэла Стил - Neighbors

A police car pulled them over after their fifth stop, and asked what they were doing. Charles showed the officer his credentials, including his OES identification, and his Pentagon pass with his security clearance on it. The policeman handed it all back to him respectfully. “What brings you down here?”

He explained the situation, and made it sound more like a misguided adventure or a misunderstanding, and Meredith showed him Will’s picture.

“We call CPS as soon as we see kids that age,” the policeman reassured them. “They don’t do well down here. Most of these guys in this area are all long-term homeless. They’re all pros, a lot of them are high, and they don’t want kids around either. Sometimes they tell us when they see a fresh runaway or a kid that doesn’t belong. This is the jungle. The boy will go running home if he winds up down here,” he said with a smile, handing Meredith back Will’s picture. “I have a boy that age myself. I’ve given him a little tour, so he realizes that things aren’t as bad at home as he thinks. You just want to be sure he doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, sex trade, or drugs, or whatever.” The idea of Will being drugged and kidnapped into the sex trade gave Meredith shivers. Charles handed the officer his card with his cellphone number on it, and asked him to call if any leads turned up. He promised to do so.

Two blocks later, he was checking a drunk for a pulse, lying facedown on the sidewalk when a young guy on a battered bicycle stopped to talk to him. On a hunch, he asked the boy on the bicycle if he’d seen any kids that age. The cyclist and the patrolman knew each other by sight, but had never talked before.

“There’s a kid in a doorway on Mission somewhere, someone said he looks fresh out of Pac Heights. They were going to call CPS before he gets hurt, but they don’t want the cops on their necks either. They’ve settled down for the night.” They huddled in front of shops and banks and office buildings, and left in the morning before they opened for business.

“Thanks. I’ll check it out.” The young man on the bicycle sped away, while the patrolman waited for a van to pick up the unconscious drunk. He was still breathing. They came for him a few minutes later, and the officer got in his squad car and headed toward Mission Street, which was at least brightly lit and slightly less dangerous than the side streets, or the broad streets farther south, which were rougher. He was planning to cruise both sides of the street, and walk it if necessary. There were groups of homeless under blankets and in sleeping bags in every doorway. He called Charles on the off chance that he wanted to have a look too. They used to patrol the area in pairs, but with cutbacks, most of the squad cars went out now with only one man, which was more dangerous for them. If they needed backup, they had to call for it, and hope another car showed up in time.

“What was that?” Meredith looked at Charles after the call from the officer.

“The officer we just talked to. He got a tip that there’s a boy on Mission Street in a doorway, and he doesn’t fit. They don’t want the police bothering them or chasing them off, because there’s a boy who doesn’t belong there. He’s on his way to take a look. I’ll head over there too.” Charles drove toward the most populated part of Mission, and cruised slowly while Meredith strained her eyes to check every doorway, and suddenly called out to Charles and raised a hand.

“Wait! Stop! There’s someone small in that group of people, it could be a child.” She opened the door to get out and look, and Charles stopped her until he put his flashers on and could get out with her. They walked toward the doorway together, in front of a shop that sold tourist memorabilia, souvenirs, and cheap electronic gimmicks. There were five people crowded together in sleeping bags, four men and a woman, which was the standard ratio on the streets, and huddled next to the woman was a boy in a knit cap. His face was dirty, and he looked cold. He had no sleeping bag, and they had folded a cardboard box around him to keep him warm, and as he looked up at them, Meredith’s eyes filled with tears. It was Will. He looked frightened when he saw them, and one of the men who wasn’t sleeping turned to him. He had a bottle of cheap wine in his hand, but he didn’t look menacing, and he sounded kind when he spoke to Will.

“Are they your mom and dad?” Will shook his head. He was still wearing his school uniform inside the broken cardboard box. “Do you know them?” He nodded, and the older wino smiled a toothless grin at Meredith and Charles. “He’s a good boy. Don’t be too tough on him. Go on home, son,” he said to Will. “And don’t come back here. You do what they tell you. You don’t want to end up like me.” He raised the bottle in salute to Charles and Meredith, and Will stood up and thanked him in a whisper so he didn’t wake the others, and thanked the woman too. He left the box, and handed her the knitted cap, and when she smiled, she had no teeth either. It was impossible to tell their ages, they could have been anywhere from thirty-five to seventy. Will walked over to Charles, and he put his arm around Will’s shoulders, thanked the people he’d been camping with, and walked him to the car, with Meredith following, overcome with gratitude that they had found him. The squad car with the patrolman they’d talked to slowed just as they were getting into their car, and Charles waved and mouthed “thank you” to him too. The policeman gave him a thumbs-up and a broad grin.

“I’ll call it in,” he shouted out the window, and Charles nodded. It was ten-thirty, and Will’s photograph hadn’t been broadcast on the news yet. He’d be registered as a runaway with CPS now, and Charles knew they’d be out to speak to all of them tomorrow, and to question Will about why he had run away in case he was being mistreated and needed to be removed from his home. They were going to be checking on the family regularly anyway, because of the nature of Andrew’s violent arrest and attempt to murder Tyla. If they thought it necessary, they would remove Will and Daphne to foster care, but Charles considered it unlikely. Will would have some explaining to do to the social worker who would come to see him. It was for his own protection. Will looked at both of them as he got into the backseat. He was meek and shivering in the cold in his white shirt and thin uniform blazer. His shirt was dirty, and Meredith thought there was blood on his jacket and then realized it was ketchup.

“Is my mom okay?” were his first words.

“She’s fine, but very worried about you. We all were,” Charles said. He was enormously relieved, but didn’t want to let him off the hook too quickly. Will had terrified them all, and Charles didn’t want him making a habit of running away. Some kids did. And after the first time, it became easier each time they did. Meredith was already on the phone to Tyla, to tell her, and she said she’d call the police and tell them he’d been found. Charles knew the officer would report it too.

“I thought my dad would kill her, and I didn’t know what to do,” he said, looking deflated, as though the wind had gone out of him. He had seen a world that night that he didn’t know existed and hoped never to see again.

“Running away is never a solution. But it was good that you called me before you did,” Charles said seriously. “Your dad was at the house with her. You were right about that. But he didn’t hurt her. He didn’t have time. I called the police after you called me. They came within minutes. So you saved her this time.” Will’s eyes opened wide when Charles said it.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” he said to both of them, and they could see he meant it. Then he turned to Meredith. “Were you there too?” She nodded, she didn’t want to tell him more than his mother wanted him to know, that his father was in jail again, and facing additional charges. “They gave me dinner. They get it out of the garbage cans at McDonald’s. I had a Big Mac,” he said, and Charles tried not to smile. It explained the ketchup on his jacket. And the thought of him eating out of a garbage can on Market Street was profoundly depressing.