Redemption

By Christopher Suarez

Thirteen-year-old Mara Jones stood by and did nothing as her father beat her nine-year-old sister Luanne to death. Now overwhelmed with guilt and living in a foster home, she encounters Pearl, a neighborhood child who shows many signs of being abused. Mara tries to get the adults in her life to intervene, but none of them help her. Can she save Pearl before she suffers the same fate as Luanne?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Suarez
• Release date: Aug 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005181871

Book preview

Redemption

By Christopher Suarez

Copyright 2020 Christopher Suarez

Smashwords Edition

CHAPTER ONE

So you never looked back, huh?

Can’t say I blame you. Why the hell should you care what happened to us after the way we treated you? Still, if you’re willing to listen I’d like to tell you. You’ll never believe how I ended up here – wherever here is.

You don’t mind?

Great. Well, for starters, the first thing I did when I realized you weren’t breathing anymore was to run to tell Mom and Dad. Dad was sitting on the living room couch drinking a can of beer. I told him first.

Dad, I think there’s something wrong with Luanne, I said.

There’s something wrong with her all right, he responded, smiling like he thought it was all a big joke.

No, I mean really wrong. I don’t think she’s breathing.

He didn’t make any more clever remarks after that, but he didn’t seem all that concerned either. Slowly rising to his feet, he put his beer down on the coffee table and casually headed for the basement. I followed him.

What were you doing down there? he asked as we went down the stairs. I told you to stay away from her.

I just wanted to check on her, I answered weakly.

Dad squatted next to you, watched your chest to see if it rose and fell, held a hand in front of your mouth to see if any breath came out, and finally checked one of your wrists for a pulse. Now he looked concerned.

Go get your mother, he ordered. Tell her to come down here. Then you and your brothers stay in your rooms until I say you can come out. Got it?

Yeah, I answered.

Go.

I ran upstairs to Mom’s art room and knocked on the door.

Mom?

I’m painting! Mom barked.

I know, but Luanne’s really hurt. Dad said to get you. He’s in the basement with her.

What do you mean she’s really hurt?

I think she’s stopped breathing.

What?

I opened the door and stepped inside. Mom was seated at her easel working on her latest watercolor painting, this one a painting of a crocus. I said I think she’s stopped breathing.

Mom put down her paintbrush and stood up. What happened? she asked.

I just stared at her. I couldn’t believe she asked me that.

Well?

You know what happened, I said.

Oh come on, she replied, sounding exasperated. He didn’t hit her that hard.

Yes he did.

Shaking her head, Mom headed downstairs. I followed her out into the hallway and saw Justin and Rory standing in the doorway to their room.

What’s going on? Justin asked.

That question seemed just as senseless to me as Mom’s.

Well?

I went down to the basement to check on Luanne, I told him. She looked really bad. I think she might be dead.

Justin, like Mom, found it hard to believe that Dad finally hit you too hard. She’s not dead.

Her chest isn’t moving, I said. She’s not breathing.

Maybe she’s taking very small breaths, Rory suggested.

Even small breaths make a person’s chest move.

She’s just sleeping, Justin said.

I thought of what you said to me right before you lost consciousness. She thought I was Mom, I muttered, more to myself than to the boys.

What? Justin asked.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. Instead I retreated to my room and sat on my bed brooding. The more I brooded, the more certain I was that you were dead. And the more certain I was that you were dead, the more scared I felt. Do you know what I did? I prayed for you. Can you believe it? For the first time in my life I prayed that you would be okay, that you would survive the way you did all the other times.

Not long after I finished praying, maybe ten minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and Mom telling Justin and Rory to go back inside their room. The footsteps grew closer, and a moment later Dad carried you into our room and put you on your bed. Mom entered right behind him. You looked even greyer and deader than you did in the basement.

Go stay in your brothers’ room, Mom ordered me, and close the door.

I obeyed instantly. The door to Justin and Rory’s room was open. They were standing just inside the threshold, trying to hear what was going on.

Mom told me to stay with you, I said. And she said to close the door.

No, leave it open, Rory said.

Mom said to close it. I squeezed past them, closing the door behind me.

Shit Mara, Justin said. I think you might be right about Luanne.

Oh man, this is bad, Rory whispered. Really bad.

We didn’t talk much after that. We were afraid we might miss something if we did. But we still couldn’t hear anything. Mom and Dad must have been whispering.

I wonder what they’re going to do, I finally said.

Neither Justin nor Rory offered any theories. Looking at them sitting on the edge of their beds, I was once again amazed at how strongly they resembled each other. Except for identical twins, all brothers have some facial differences. But Rory was like an eleven-year-old clone of his fifteen-year-old brother – a Justin Mini Me. The two of them had the exact same heart-shaped faces, narrow delicate noses, and coarse black hair – all inherited from Dad. And the same full lips and almond eyes – inherited from Mom. And I wasn’t all that different from them lookswise. I just had Dad’s ordinary, thinner lips and Mom’s fine hair.

But you --- with your round face and close set eyes and big nose. You were like a sibling from another planet. Was that the problem? Is that why Mom and Dad had it in for you? But why would that matter so much to them? You were definitely their kid. I remember Mom talking about how difficult your birth was. And Dad would never let you call him Daddy if you weren’t his.

There was a loud thumping sound from our room, like someone kicking a door or pounding a dresser with his fist. The silence again.

We shouldn’t have lied, I said.

We’re going to be poor now, was Justin’s response.

What?

I mean, if she’s dead and the doctors say it’s because Dad beat her, Dad’ll get arrested. Maybe Mom too. And they’ll have to spend all their money on lawyers.

Shit. We might have to go into foster care, Rory whined.

Going into foster care was an understandable thing to worry about, even at a time like that. But the family finances? I was just about to ask Justin what the hell was wrong with him when I suddenly realized that I had absolutely no right to judge him. Where was my sense of decency all the times Dad beat on you? That’s when I should have had some humanity, not when you were dead or dying.

I heard more footsteps out in the hallway – hurried footsteps. And then the doorbell rang. We all moved as close to the door as we could to listen.

The footsteps faded down the stairs. There was a brief silence, and then multiple heavy footsteps, definitely belonging to more than one person, came back up. There was a loud burst of static, obviously from a cop’s or paramedic’s radio.

Shit, Justin whispered. The cops.

Or maybe the paramedics, I said.

The footsteps passed the boys’ room and kept going, heading for our room. The boys and I tried again to eavesdrop, but we still couldn’t make out anything that was said. There was definitely a lot of talking going on though.

Damn, I wish I could hear them, Justin hissed. Then the doorbell rang again. There was more up and down traffic, and another burst of radio static, followed by some definite police dispatcher jargon: Six-three Adam, respond to a ten-thirty with a gun, Bergen Street and Avenue N.

Now it’s the cops, I said.

Rory looked on the verge of tears. They’re gonna get busted! We’re screwed!

That’s when I first got it into my head that being placed in foster care would be a suitable punishment for all of us – especially me. And I told them so.

It would serve us right if we got put in foster care, I said.

Shut up! Justin snapped.

There were more footsteps out in the hallway. A lot of footsteps.

What hospital are you taking her to? I finally heard Mom ask.

Booth Community, a male paramedic answered. You were still alive! I couldn’t believe it, considering how bad you looked. The paramedics must have revived you.

The footsteps faded down the stairs again.

She’s not dead! I cried. Thank God!

The door opened suddenly. Mom stood there in the doorway. Your father’s gone to the hospital with your sister, she said calmly. I called your Aunt Carol. She’ll be here in a little while. As soon as she gets here I’m going to the hospital too. You kids behave yourselves until I get back. Just stay up here in your rooms."

Is Luanne going to be okay? I asked.

Never mind about your sister. Just behave yourself until I get back. And if your Aunt Carol asks you what happened, tell her I told you not to say anything, that I’ll tell her the whole story when I get back.

Mom went downstairs. I did as I was told and went back to our room. The first thing I checked out was your bed. It didn’t look disheveled at all, just slept on. I remembered reading somewhere that you can’t do CPR on a person who’s on a bed. The springs in the mattress make it impossible to compress a person’s chest enough. The paramedics must have put you on the floor. I scanned the space in the middle of the room, the only place where they could have put you. There was no sign that any medical heroics had taken place. It looked the same as always.

The doorbell rang a third time. I went right to the top of the stairs. Justin and Rory were already there.

Thanks for coming, Mom said.

What happened? Aunt Carol asked.

I’ll tell you everything when I get back. The kids are upstairs in their rooms. I told them to stay up there. Just leave them be.

Okay, Aunt Carol sighed.

Mom left. Justin and Rory slipped back into their room. I crept back to ours and closed the door. The house suddenly seemed unbearably quiet. I turned on the radio just to kill the silence. It was still tuned to the oldies station, the one we were listening to that afternoon before we went downstairs to see what the boys were doing. A World Without Love, by Peter and Gordon, was playing. It was right at the end, the final lyrics. I don’t care what they say / I won’t stay in a world without love, Peter and Gordon sang three times.

All of a sudden I felt queasy.

Aunt Carol knocked on the door. Mara?

I hadn’t even heard her approach. I shut off the radio. Yeah?

Aunt Carol opened the door. Your mom wants you to stay in your room until she gets back.

I know.

I have no idea when that’ll be, but don’t stay up too late.

I won’t.

I hoped that