Cody McFadyen - The Face of Death

Sarah watched as the older girl limped off. Once she was gone, Sarah sat down on her bunk and put her head in her hands. Her adrenaline rush was over. She felt shaky and a little sick to her stomach.

She lay back and looked up at the bottom of the bed above her. Maybe things are going to get better now.

It had been two years. Two years since her parents died and Theresa killed Dennis and she came here to this violent, friendless place. The Stranger still visited her dreams sometimes, but less and less.

She was only eight, but she wasn't an innocent anymore. She knew about death and blood and violence. She understood that the strong survived better than the weak. She knew what sex was, in all its guises, though she had (thankfully) not yet experienced it firsthand. She'd also learned to hide her emotions, or evidence of them. She had three objects, three talismans, whose meanings she kept hidden from the other girls. There was Mr. Huggles. There was a family picture of her, Mommy, Daddy, Buster, and Doreen. And there was the photo of Theresa's mother.

She'd grabbed it from its hiding place underneath Theresa's mattress. She intended to return it to Theresa someday. She thought about her sister a lot, sometimes. She knew she'd always consider Theresa a sister, that she'd always remember that one safe night of Go Fish and laughter. She knew she'd never forget why Theresa had done what she did. Sarah understood all of that, now. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the picture of the beautiful young mother. Sarah ran her fingers over it, smiling at the laughing eyes and chestnut hair.

She knew that Theresa was in juvenile detention until she was eighteen. Cathy Jones had told her.

Three more years, and she'll be free.

She put the photo back, and laced her fingers behind her head. She'd tried writing Theresa once. Just a short, silly little letter. Sarah had gotten a two-sentence response back:

Don't write me while I'm in here. I love you. Sarah understood. She fantasized sometimes about Theresa turning eighteen and coming to adopt her. Silly dreams, she knew. She couldn't help it.

Cathy Jones came to see her every three or four months. Sarah welcomed her visits, though she was curious about the woman's reasons. Cathy was very hard to read. Whatever. Just don't lose her card.

Sarah had begun to think like a survivor. To classify things as assets or liabilities. Assets were important. Cathy was an asset. Cathy could find out about important things, like Theresa, or the fact that Doreen had been adopted by John and Jamie Overman. Things like that. Other than Cathy, Karen Watson had been her only contact with the outside world. Sarah grimaced. She understood what Theresa had meant by "pure evil" now. Karen Watson wasn't just uncaring--she despised the children she was responsible for. She was one of the few people Sarah really hated.

A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. She sat up. Janet poked her head into the room.

"Sarah? Karen's here to see you."

"Okay, Janet."

The skinny woman smiled and left. Sarah frowned.

What could that witch want?

Karen was seated at a table in the common area. Sarah walked over and sat down facing her. Karen studied the young girl.

"How are you doing, princess?"

"Fine."

What Sarah really wanted to say was "What do you care?" but she knew better. The strong did better than the weak, and in this relationship, Karen was the strong one.

"Do you think you've learned your lesson now? About getting along in a foster environment?"

The first time Karen had asked Sarah this question was a year ago. Sarah had just had a birthday without a cake, and was feeling sad and angry. She'd screamed at Karen, and then had run off. She'd had a year to think about it, and this time, she was ready.

"I think so, Ms. Watson. I really do."

Sarah wanted out of this place. Karen Watson was the key. Assets and liabilities.

Karen smiled at this capitulation. "Well, good. I'm glad to hear that, Sarah, because I have a family I can place you with. Not a rich couple by any means, but you'd be the only one there."

Sarah bowed her head, demure. "I'd like that, Ms. Watson."

Karen gave her an approving nod. "Yes. I think you've learned your lesson." She stood up. "Pack your things tonight. I'll take you there tomorrow."

Sarah watched her go. She smiled to herself.

Fuck you, you old bitch.

Sarah was back in her room, staring up at the mattress above her again, when Kirsten returned. Both of the bigger girl's eyes were blackened. Her nose had been splinted, and her lips had been stitched. She limped. She winced when she breathed. She went over to her own bunk, which was out of Sarah's line of sight. Sarah heard the bunk creaking as Kirsten climbed into it, and then there was silence. They were alone.

"Cracked some of my ribs when you kicked them, Langstrom."

She didn't sound angry.

"Sorry," Sarah ventured, though she knew she didn't really sound that sorry.

"You did what you had to."

Another long silence ensued.

"Why'd you pack your bag?"

"I'm going to a foster home tomorrow."

Another silence.

"Well . . . good luck, Langstrom. No hard feelings."

"Thanks."

Sarah was shocked when a few tears spilled from her eyes. This offering from her enemy had affected her in a way she couldn't understand. But she knew who to be grateful to.

"Thanks, Mommy," she whispered to herself.

She wiped away the tears.

Assets and liabilities. Tears were a liability.

36

"HI, MS. WATSON; WELCOME, SARAH. COME IN, PLEASE."

The woman's name was Desiree Smith, and Sarah wanted to like her on sight. Desiree was in her early thirties and she had the look of a friendly soul--happy eyes, smiling lips, an open book. She was short and dirty-blonde. Her frame was thick without being heavy, and she was pretty without being beautiful. Desiree had an uncomplicated worldview, a genuine and simple warmth.

Sarah examined her surroundings once they were inside the house. It was clean and unostentatious, filled with a happy clutter but not messy.

Desiree brought them into the living room.

"Please sit down," she said, indicating the couch. "Can I get you anything, Ms. Watson? Sarah? Water? Coffee?"

"No thank you, Desiree," Ms. Watson said.

Sarah shook her head. She knew better than to ask for something if Witch Watson hadn't.

"I got everything done based on the legal requirements you went over with me, Ms. Watson. Sarah has her own room, with a brand-new bed. I stocked the fridge with some basics. I have the emergency numbers listed next to the phone--oh--and I got the paperwork needed to enroll her in school."

Ms. Watson smiled and nodded in approval.

Go on, pretend to care, Sarah thought. So long as you leave when you're done.

"Good, Desiree, that's very good." Ms. Watson reached into her battered leather carryall and pulled out a folder, handing it over to Desiree. "Her immunization records are there, as well as her school records. You'll need to get her enrolled immediately."

"I will. First thing Monday."

"Excellent. Where's Ned, by the way?"

Desiree looked worried. Sarah noticed that the woman had started to wring her hands, but had forced herself to stop.

"He got called last minute to do a long-haul. It was a lot of money--we couldn't turn it down. He really wanted to be here. That's not a problem, is it?"

Ms. Watson shook her head, waved her hand. "No, no. I've met him before, and you've both passed your background checks."

Desiree's relief was obvious. "That's good." She looked at Sarah.

"Ned's my husband, honey. He's a truck driver. He really wanted to be here to meet you, but he'll be back next Wednesday."