Prologue
Claree
If I can just make it to my backpack, I can get my phone and call for help. Whimpers escape as I try to drag myself across the living room floor. The pain is so intense that I want to throw up. Glancing to my left, I can see my little sister, Shelby, still crumpled against the wall where he threw her. I can feel the sweat pouring down my face and stop to swipe at it with my left hand because my right isn’t working well. Seeing the blood out of my half-open left eye has me biting back a scream. I mustn’t scare Shelby. Then again, if she was awake, she’d probably be freaked out seeing me. I know I look awful. He had made sure of it.
As I continue toward my backpack, occasionally stopping to keep from puking, I think about what happened when I got home from school today…
I had been humming when I walked up to the door, happy because I had gotten a one hundred on my spelling test. Hopefully, I could find some noodles or something so I could feed Shelby. At least I got to eat breakfast and lunch for free at school, but unless Shelby went to daycare, she was stuck with whatever was left. Since she had been sick that morning and he had stayed home with her, I knew she would be hungry. Unlocking the door, I didn’t immediately catch on that something was wrong until I heard Shelby cry out and then he said, “Shut up, you stupid fucking brat! You’re the reason I’m not at work today.” Seeing him standing there holding my little sister as he shook her like a rag doll, all I could think of was to stop him.
I yelled out, “Stop!” and ran toward him, swinging my backpack. The sound of it hitting him in the back stunned us both. I knew I was in more trouble than normal when he tossed Shelby to the side like she was a dirty towel and came toward me, his fists clenching. The first punch hurt, but no more or less than the others I had endured since Mom had died. After that, the blows came faster and faster, and once I fell to the floor, he added in kicks to anywhere he could reach. I heard something snap and knew he had probably broken my arm, but with the darkness closing around me, I couldn’t make myself care.
“Got it,” I say out loud, more to hear myself than anything. I pull the small phone from the side pocket and slip it in my pocket. I have to see if Shelby is okay. Crawling as best as I can, I finally get to her after many stops and starts. “Shelby?” I whisper. Nothing. I can see she’s breathing but know she’s hurt pretty bad. “I’m getting us help, Shell-bell,” I tell her, grabbing the phone out of my pocket.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice asks me.
“I... he...we’re hurt,” I stammer out. “Help us, please.”
“Okay, sweetie, take a deep breath. What’s your name?”
“Claree...Claree Cunningham. He hurt me and my sister, please, can you help?”
“Who did, Claree?”
“My mom’s husband.” No way will I call him my stepfather. He is an evil man.
“Sweetie, is he still there?”
“N-no... he left. Shelby won’t wake up.”
“Is Shelby your sister, Claree?”
“Y-yes...please hurry, I want to throw up.”
“Stay on the line with me, okay, sweetie? I’ve got help coming to you now.”
I listen to her talk to me, answering questions as I hold Shelby’s little hand. “I’m...I’m getting tired,” I say.
“They’ll be there any minute, sweetie.”
Chief
“Chief.”
“Sir, ah, you may want to come down to this scene. Jesus...fuck...I don’t...we’re not sure how to proceed.”
As I stand and grab my keys, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“Me and Morales caught a 911 call that a kid made. And, fucking hell, Chief, it’s a hot fucking mess. I think we need child protective services called in on this one.”
My focus is on what he’s telling me as I quicken my pace to my squad car and head out to the address he gives me. The fact that they’re both so rattled has my adrenaline ramping up. “Call them in,” I say, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Trinity
I was unwinding after a long-ass day of no-shows at court and botched paperwork when my phone rang. Sighing, I put down my e-reader. I’m the case worker on call this week so any after-hours cases needing CPS are routed to me. “Hello, this is Trinity Adams, can I help you?” I listen to the message service tell me about an abuse case and state, “I’ll be there shortly. Who am I meeting?”
Shit, it must be bad if I’m meeting Captain Dennison at the emergency room. I know there are two children, sisters, whose stepfather brutally beat them. Other than that, I’m going in blind and I say a silent prayer that I get the information needed to help these two little ones.