Cody McFadyen - The Face of Death

Man, those eyes. I gotta get out of here.

"Hold on to that card, okay? And call me if you need to. Anytime."

Sarah nodded. She even managed a smile and now Cathy didn't just want to walk out of the room, she wanted to run, because that smile was heartbreaking.

Gut-wrenching

"Bye, honey," she stammered as she turned and walked away.

"Bye, Cathy," Sarah called after her.

Back in the car, Santos--now shake-less--regarded her.

"That make you feel better?"

"Not really, Ricky."

He regarded her for another moment. He seemed to be mulling something over.

"You're gonna make a good cop, Cathy."

He turned the key in the ignition and put the car in reverse as Cathy stared at him in surprise.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Santos."

He smiled at her as he put the car in drive and headed out of the parking lot.

"Then you need new friends, Jones. But you're welcome anyway."

25

SARAH SAT IN THE CAR AND WATCHED THE LADY CHANGE.Karen Watson had shown up in the hospital room and explained to Sarah that she was there from Social Services, and that she was going to take care of her. Karen had seemed really nice and had smiled a lot. Sarah had felt hopeful.

Once they were out of the hospital, Karen had changed. She'd begun walking faster, yanking Sarah forward.

"Get in, kid," she'd said, when they reached the car. Her voice sounded mean.

Sarah puzzled over the change, trying to make sense of it.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked Karen.

Karen looked at her once before starting up the car. Sarah took in the dull eyes, the carelessly coiffed brown hair, the heavy face. The woman looked tired. Sarah thought she probably always looked tired.

"I don't really care about you one way or the other, princess, if you want to know the truth. My job is to get a roof over your head, not to love you or be your friend or anything like that. Understand?"

"Yes," Sarah replied, her voice small.

They drove off.

The Parkers lived in a worn-out house in Canoga Park, which was located in the San Fernando Valley. It resembled its owners: in need of work that would never be done.

Dennis Parker was a mechanic. His father had been a good man, had loved fixing cars, and had taught Dennis the trade. Dennis hated the work--hated all work, really--and he made sure that everyone knew it.

He was a big man, just over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. He had scraggly dark hair, ever-present stubble, and muddy-colored, mean-looking eyes.

Dennis would tell friends that he liked three things above all others: "Cigarettes, whisky, and pussy."

Rebecca Parker was a stereotypical California blonde with too many sharp edges to be truly attractive. She'd been beautiful for about four years, from sixteen to twenty. She made up for her deteriorating looks in the bedroom--not that it took much skill to please Dennis. He was usually full of booze by the time he was trying to get into her pants. She had a pair of heavy breasts, a waist that had stayed slim, and what Dennis liked to call "a tight little panty-hamster."

(Note from Sarah: This is true. Theresa told me he actually said that once. Charming, yes? Oh, who is Theresa? Read on and find out.) Rebecca's job was simple: managing the care of three foster children, the maximum number they could legally take in. They were paid for each kid, and it was a fair part of their income. Rebecca's duties included feeding the kids, telling them to go to school, and making sure that neither she nor Dennis left any visible marks on the kids when they delivered a beating. The trick was to pay just enough attention to the children to keep Social Services from getting pissed off, but not so much that it ate into her own free time or--

most important--their bottom line.

Karen knocked on the door of the Parkers' house as Sarah stood next to her. She heard footsteps coming, and then the door opened. Rebecca Parker peered through the screen door. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, and had a cigarette in her hand.

"Hey, Karen," she said, opening the screen door. "Come on in." She smiled. "You must be Sarah."

"Hi," Sarah replied.

Sarah thought that the lady looked and sounded nice, but she was beginning to understand that looks could be deceiving. Plus the lady smoked--yuck!

Karen and Sarah walked inside the Parkers' home. It was clean, sort of. It smelled like stale cigarettes.

"Jesse and Theresa are at school?" Karen asked.

"Yep," Rebecca replied. She guided them into the living room, and gestured for them to take a seat on the couch.

"How are they doing?" Karen asked.

Rebecca shrugged. "They're not failing anything. They're eating. Neither of them is doing any drugs."

"Sounds fine, then." Karen indicated Sarah with a nod of her head.

"As I told you over the phone, Sarah is six. I need to place her quickly, and I thought of you and Dennis. I know you are looking for a third."

"Since Angela ran away, yes."

Angela had been a pretty fourteen-year-old girl whose mother had died of a heroin overdose. She was already a hard case and Karen had placed her with the Parkers because she knew they could deal with her. Angela had run away two months ago. Karen figured she was probably heading down the same path as her whore mother.

"It'll be the usual routine. You need to get her in school, make sure her shots are up to date, and so on."

"We know."

Karen nodded in approval. "Then I'm going to leave her with you. I brought her bag, she has plenty of clothes and underwear and shoes, so you won't have to worry about that."

"Sounds good."

Karen stood up, shook Rebecca's hand, and headed toward the front door. Sarah went to follow her.

"You're staying here, kid." She turned to Rebecca. "I'll be in touch."

And then she was gone.

"Let me show you where your room is, honey," Rebecca said. Sarah followed the woman in a daze.

What was happening? Why was she staying here? And where was Doreen? What had they done with her puppyhead?

"Here it is."

Sarah looked through the door into the room. It was small, about ten feet by ten feet. There was a single dresser and two small beds. The walls were bare.

"Why are there two beds?" she asked.

"You're sharing the room with Theresa." Rebecca pointed toward the dresser. "You can put your clothes in the bottom drawer. Why don't you go ahead and unpack your stuff, and then come meet me in the kitchen?"

Sarah had managed to cram all of her clothes into the bottom drawer of the small dresser. She'd arranged her shoes under her bed. As she'd unpacked, she'd caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the smell of the fabric softener her mother used. It had caught her by surprise, a punch in the stomach. She'd had to bury her face in a shirt to cover up her crying.

Her tears had subsided by the time she'd finished emptying out the small bag Karen had left. She sat down on the edge of her bed, filled with bewilderment and a dull ache.

Why am I here? Why can't I sleep in my own room?

She didn't understand any of this.

Maybe the Rebecca lady knew.

"There you are," Rebecca said as Sarah showed up in the kitchen. "Did you get all your stuff packed away?"

"Yes."

"Come have a seat at the table. I made you a bologna sandwich, and I got you some milk--you do like milk, right? You're not lactose intolerant or anything?"

"I like milk." Sarah sat down in the chair and picked up the sandwich. She was hungry. "Thank you," she said to Rebecca.

"No problem, sweetie."

Rebecca sat down at the other end of the table and lit up a cigarette. She smoked and watched Sarah as the little girl ate. Sad and pale and small. That's too bad. But everybody learns the same thing sooner or later: It's a tough old world.