A muscle ticked at his jaw. “Is that what you think?”
“Of course it’s what I think!” She blew a wisp of hair from her cheek. “Why else would you be writing a book about such a morbid, painful lifestyle?”
He studied her for a long moment, the bright luxurious hair she’d worn down on this rare day, the simple shirt and jeans, the rigid stance as she crossed her arms over her ribs. How he could love someone who fought so hard to push him away, he didn’t know.
“Obviously, Tania,” he nearly snarled, throwing over his shoulder as he stepped from the room. “You don’t know me very well.”
***
They left the Durango at the commuter lot and hailed a cab. Tania peered out the window as the suburbs slowly faded into slums. Like dimming a light with painful deliberateness, her nightmare was returning with the darkness. A man in torn, dirty clothing lay sprawled on a street bench, wallowing in drunken oblivion, an empty paper-bag-wrapped bottle dangling from his brown hand. There was an elderly woman—or was it a man?—pushing a battered shopping cart loaded with junk. Randomly, toes could be seen peeping through what was left of her shoes, and smudges of grime painted her face like a mercenary. Dilapidated buildings gave way to junk yards and back street drug dealing turf, where yards away, unattended tiny tots barely old enough to walk, frolicked in the filthy street.
It was all too familiar, and Tania felt sharp pains of memory pierce her brain. Exiting the cab, she mumbled, “Let’s get out of here. You’ll find lots more to write about further on down the street.”
Sam obeyed, though he was extremely close to scrapping this project. Tania’s accusations of the prior day had made him realize that this was the last thing their relationship needed—and that there was likely nothing that could save it.
For hours, they followed the streets, meandering through her past. Then she led him down a dead-end alley. Sam had engaged his recorder and was describing his surroundings in vivid detail. He had produced a small camera and had taken several shots of the homeless and their living conditions. One boy, approximately fifteen, emerged from a cardboard box, his torn T-shirt and shorts hanging from his frail body like worn rags.
“Spare a buck?” he asked, as the stench of body odor and rotting flesh assailed them.
Sam dug into his pocket and slipped a rolled bill into the boy’s palm.
The large brown eyes grew round in his sallow face. “A twenty?” he asked, disbelieving. “For me?”
Tania watched with amazement as Sam handed him another bill, larger yet. “Will that do?” he asked the child, seeing the hope alight in his eyes, eyes that mirrored a pitiful hope that Sam recognized all too well.
The lad gripped the wad of money, smiled radiantly and sped up the alley.
“You don’t have to do that for my benefit,” Tania said softly.
Sam turned to see the pale shock and embarrassment in her lovely features. “It wasn’t for your benefit. It was for his.”
She lowered her eyes, instantly aware that her statement had been laced with arrogance. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She then led him to a familiar door barely hanging by its hinges. Knocking, she gasped when the door creaked and crashed into a puddle at the threshold. Stepping over the rotten boards, she waved a hand to him. “Follow me. This will really get you.”
The unmistakable odd smells of illegal smoke assaulted them. The warehouse was cool and damp inside, despite the warmth of the late spring morning outdoors. Several windows, high above a chipping brick wall, were cracked and caked with a black soot. Rats scurried about, chasing away the mice and roaches, intent on triumphing as king of the slums. In the dimness of the room, several faint beams of light sliced through the patchy ceiling, illuminating the building in a dull smoky haze of gray. As they approached the opposite side of the warehouse, Tania saw the familiar paraphernalia and the bodies of people overdosed, smelled the rank odor of excretion, could even taste the bitter bile that rose in the air.
Silence pounded in her ears. It was the all-too-familiar, painful, utter stillness of adults who were absorbed in their own slovenly, selfish addictions.
It was her worst nightmare coming back to haunt her, and she felt the dizziness wash over her. “Sam,” she reached for him, grappling in the smoke. “Sam!” she screeched when he didn’t respond.
“I’m here.” He folded her in his arms. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.”
“Please don’t make me do this anymore. Please.”
Guilt beset him. Stroking her soft hair, he held her tight, then reached for her hand and led her toward the door. “Come on, babe,” he said gently. “Let’s go home.”
Relief washed over her like a wave of heat on a blustery night.
“Mommy?” came a tiny voice from the darkness beyond the orgy of bodies.
Tania halted her steps, yanking on Sam’s hand. “Did you hear that?”
Sam cocked his head. “Hear what?”
Eyes darting through the smoke and dust, Tania remained statuesque-still.
“Mommy? Is that you?” the voice said again, though with more urgency.
Sam’s head swiveled to the right. “I heard it. It was a child.”
“Who’s there?” Tania asked, disengaging her hand from Sam’s and stepping over the sprawled bodies.
“Tania,” Sam whispered, attempting to take the lead. “Be careful.”
Disregarding him, Tania listened intently as she made her way deeper into the bowels of the filth of the warehouse. “Where are you?” she called out, her voice echoing against the brick walls.
“Here,” the voice was softer now, weak with the familiar sounds of famine and sickness.
“Here, where?” Frantically attempting to pinpoint the child’s location, she spun in circles seeking any hopeful sign.
“You’re not my mommy,” the child accused feebly as Tania nearly tripped over the tot, then kneeled at his side where he laid curled in a ball against a far wall.
“What’s your name, honey?” Tania gathered the tiny boy to her, recalling how it felt to be in his shoes. Memories flooded her mind of finally experiencing the warm comfort of a loving shoulder beneath your cheek, a clean, gentle adult suddenly rescuing you. She thought of Clay, and she silently prayed that she could bring as much comfort to this child as her father had brought to her.
“Cody Ellis,” he whispered, coughing. “I want my mommy.”
Pressing a hand to the boy’s forehead, Tania squinted through the haze into Sam’s shocked eyes. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor. He’s on fire.”
Nodding, Sam led her through the perilous warehouse toward the broken door and out into the steamy spring air. “Let me take him,” he insisted as they trudged down the alley.
Tania closed her eyes and clutched the boy to her breast. No more than three or four, he was an adorable, filthy mess. “No, I want to…I need to hold him.”
Suddenly, Sam got an image of his ex-wife, Elise, refusing to touch the boy, shoving the odorous youngster into his arms, demanding to return to the other side of the tracks. Tania pressed a kiss to Cody’s warm, soiled brow, and Sam felt his heart skip a beat, then swell with love for this woman who refused to receive that same depth of love from him.
But like her instant love for the child in her arms, his was unconditional love, even when it was unrequited.
***
“He’s dehydrated, full of worms, and he has a severe case of pneumonia,” the emergency room physician, Dr. Hinkle, informed them where they stood rigidly in the waiting room. “We’re going to admit him to the pediatric ICU.”
Tania’s hand came up to clutch her gaping mouth. Unshed tears filled her eyes. “His parents should be put behind bars!” she hissed.
The aging doctor, having worked in Dallas General ER for thirty-seven years, nodded his assent. This was a recurring scenario, common in his line of work. “I’ve put in for a Social Services consult. After his discharge, he will most likely be placed in their hands and put i
n foster care.”
Sam shuffled his feet. “May I speak with the social worker?”
Dr. Hinkle removed his glasses and slid them into the pocket of his white lab jacket. Flipping his stethoscope around his neck, he replied, “I have no objections to that. But as strangers to the boy, you will only be asked to provide them with information related to his surroundings and conditions he was found in. You won’t have a say-so in his care.”
Feeling the hopelessness clutch at her throat, Tania lowered herself into a seat below the droning television hanging near the ceiling on a console shelf.
Sam raked a hand through his hair leaving it ruffled. “We’ll see about that. But for now, I demand to speak to the social worker. Will you pass that on, let them know we’re waiting?”
The doctor nodded. It was yet another case of a stranger getting too involved, only to be either shot down by Social Services, or to see that they’d gotten themselves in too deep, then end up abandoning the child’s agenda.
“I’ll do that,” he agreed, tossing over his shoulder as he exited the waiting room, “but don’t count on any miracles.”
***
It was a miracle that the boy had survived. Tania stood at his bedside holding his hand, now cool after several intravenous doses of antibiotics. She studied his pale face, her gaze drifting over the now-clean golden blonde hair in need of a trim, the dark lashes fanned over bony cheeks, and the little pink mouth pursed in sleep, as if he were dreaming of kissing his mommy’s cheek.
She bent over the rail and lifted his hand to her own cheek, inhaling the baby-powder clean scent of him, relishing the softness of the thin skin over tiny bones. He was so small in the hospital bed, dwarfed by IV lines and EKG monitors. She longed to hold him to her, to assure him that he would never again experience the exact hell that she had as a child, to convince him that the social workers would find him a good home.
But she couldn’t. To tell him that his life from this day forward would be better, would be an outright lie. There were no guarantees. Despite his tender age, he’d already lived a horridly long life, and the scars would run deep and long. And in spite of the obvious neglect she’d given him, he would still long for his mommy. Tania knew the feeling, recalled with vivid clarity the false hope and the unanswered prayers when her mother would abandon her on the streets for days on end.
Pressing the limp hand to her lips, she watched as the little lashes fluttered. “Cody?” she whispered, running her fingers through his baby-fine hair.
“Mommy?” he croaked, turning toward her, revealing brilliant, golden brown eyes.
Oh, how she wished she were his mommy. “No, honey,” she smiled weakly. “My name is Tania. I’m the person who found you.”
His lip jutted out and began to quiver. “Where’s my mommy?”
Helplessly, Tania stammered, “Sweetie, I—I—I don’t know. But you’re safe now. You’re in the hospital.”
Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “I don’t want the hospital,” he wailed. He glanced frantically at the machines and tubing surrounding him, and lifted his arm to find it wrapped with gauze and supported by an IV armboard. “I want my mommy.”
“Oh, honey…” Tania’s eyes glistened with pain.
Cody studied her with incredulity. No one had ever cried for him before. “Don’t bawl, lady,” he said hoarsely.
Tania held onto the bed rail and rested her forehead on her hands, trying desperately to hide her tears and suppress them. When she felt the little hand tangle into her hair and pat her head, a dull ache erupted in her chest.
“I can hug you,” the tot suggested, almost happily.
Her eyes rose to meet the hopeful amber ones. “Hug me?”
He lifted his arms, IV tubing and all, and offered her comfort. In that moment, Tania fell hopelessly in love. Unconditionally, the child had presented her with pure and gentle love for another, when it was most what he himself needed. Quickly pressing the button and lowering the side rail, she fell over the boy and nearly lost her breath as he wrapped his arms about her neck and clung to her. It was a profound moment of common souls reaching out, seeking, finding, melding together for eternity.
“My arm is getting heavy,” he whispered in her ear.
Chuckling, Tania lifted her head so that her face was a breath’s space from his. “Thank you, Cody.” She looked deep into his eyes, then kissed his tiny nose. “I needed that.”
He grinned sheepishly, proud that he’d been responsible for pleasing her. “Why am I in the hospital?”
“You were very, very sick. We found you inside the warehouse and brought you here,” she explained, holding his face in her hands, etching every little feature into her mind.
“That’s not a warehousy!” he exclaimed. “That’s my house.”
Yes, but of course it was, Tania thought sourly, her heart constricting. It was a leaky roof over your weary little head and it was where your mommy lived while she did her drugs and tripped out, leaving you hungry and alone.
It was then that the tall redhead strode in, carrying a clipboard and clicking her high heels on the tiled floor. Sam followed close behind. “Hello, Cody.” She approached the opposite side of the bed, smiling down at the suddenly wary boy. “I see you’re awake.”
“Hi, Patty,” Cody said forlornly as he wiggled closer to Tania.
“You know her?” Tania asked, glancing from Cody to Sam and back to the woman.
“Yes,” the woman said, reaching across the bed and shaking Tania’s hand. “I’m Patty Nielson, a social worker who’s encountered Cody many times. And you must be—” she lowered her eyes and glanced at her clipboard “—Tatiana Petrov, the woman who found Cody?”
Tania quickly shook and released the cool hand. As a child, her mother had been adept at evading Social Services, so her experience with them was nil. “You know him?” she repeated her line of questioning. “Yet you allowed him back on the streets?”
Patty Nielson was fairly green, having graduated only two years prior with her degree in social work. Cody had been her first case, and though she’d followed all the proper channels, he’d still managed to slip through her hands. No one was more critical of her failures than she herself was.
Patting Cody on the leg, she assured him, “I’ll be right back, Cody.”
Cody merely shrugged and studied his hand, where gobs of white tape encircled it, winding up his wrist. Taking a wary glance at an entering nurse who began adjusting monitors, he eyed her considerably until he was assured she had no needles or gross medicine in her hands. Cozy and rested for the first time in weeks, he sighed and soon abandoned that task in favor of playing with the buttons on the bed rail, his bed soon resembling a W.
“Ms. Petrov,” Patty began, rounding the bed and taking Tania’s arm. “Cody’s case is a very complicated one,” she explained, retreating from the room and guiding Tania into the central area where the nurse’s station was bustling with doctors and other staff. “His mother is a master at dodging the system. He’s not homeless as you may think, though the home he does live in is very small and in a dangerous neighborhood. He spends much of his time with his mother in various places, such as the warehouse where you found him, and believes them to be his home.”
“He’s obviously malnourished,” Tania protested, oblivious to Sam’s approach. “Isn’t that enough to go over the mother’s head and place him in a proper home?”
“I last saw Cody five months ago.” Patty led Tania to a conference room, Sam following quietly behind. Closing the door and taking a seat at a round table near the window, Patty went on to explain, “He wasn’t exhibiting signs of insufficient nutrition at that time. In any case, due to client confidentiality, that is the extent of what I’m able to discuss with you—if I haven’t already overstepped my bounds. Nonetheless, we are grateful for your role in rescuing him from a harmful situation.”
“Grateful?” Tania, still standing, whacked her fist on the tabletop. “The child could be dead!
And where were you?”
Patty cleared the nervous wad from her throat. From the beginning, she’d caught on that a social worker quite resembled a sounding wall, set firmly in society’s heart in order to absorb its friction. Today was no exception.
“Ms. Petrov,” Patty shuffled her papers. “The system is overtaxed with cases like Cody’s—some far worse. We want nothing more than to eliminate every situation, but there are laws and channels that must be followed before—”
“Screw your laws!” Tania screeched, slapping her palms on the table in order to lean across and spear the woman with an icicle stare.
“Tania,” Sam reached for her arm.
Throwing it aside, she warned in a low voice, “Take your hands off me.”
“Tania, she’s only doing her job the best she can.”
Whirling until her eyes met his, now brimming with hot tears, she said softly through gritted teeth, “And those children are trying to survive the best they can. If their own damn parents aren’t going to care for them properly, someone has to!”
Sam saw the raw flame in her eyes, but the element was somehow different. It was now a torch for another. No longer did she feel her own pain. His arms went around her and she wailed with the gesture, planting her face into his shirt and gripping it with utter frustration.
“I’m going to take her home,” Sam said over her head. “Can I have your card, call you later?”
Patty nodded, reaching into her briefcase for a business card. Relief flooded her. “Certainly. Anytime.”
Tucking the card into his rear pants pocket, Sam guided Tania from the room and out of the hospital. He didn’t stop to study the surrounding conditions of the city, didn’t reach for his recorder when he slipped behind the wheel.
Carnal Games Page 14
