Luca was abruptly jerked from his sleep by the alarming, clattering sound of something falling in the hallway outside his door, and lifted his head from the pillow to listen intently. His door was cracked open only slightly, and he could see shadows of people walking past. His room was dusky with early morning twilight visible through the window near the foot of his bed. It was almost dawn.
From the nurse�s station, he heard laughter and an amused, �Ooops.� He had no idea what had fallen over, but obviously it wasn�t anything serious, so he laid his head back down and closed his eyes again, hoping for just a bit more slumber before he was roused for breakfast by the staff. Outside the door, he heard someone stacking the items that had been dropped, and a moment later they were carried away.
Then he remembered: he was allowed to have a shower this morning! His eyes popped open again, this time with eagerness. Suddenly, all thoughts of sleep were driven from his mind at the wonderful notion of being able to clean himself properly under torrents of warm water. The folded pajamas and robe that Mama and Isabella had brought last night were folded on one of the visitor�s chairs, waiting for his use. He had been tempted to put them on the night before, but had decided to wait until after his shower.
Tossing back the sheets, he carefully pulled himself upright and paused there for a moment. Getting up was getting easier, and after determining that the movement was not causing any discomfort, he stood up, pleased that the pulling sensation was growing less and less noticeable. Holding the back of the gown together with one hand, he went to the chair and gathered up the pajamas with the other, then made his way into the small corner bathroom. It was tiny and cramped, with barely enough space to turn around. The small tiled shower stood in the corner, more inviting than he had ever thought possible. A white towel and washcloth were draped over the rod. The red call button was positioned beside the shower within easy access, but he knew it would not be needed.
He pushed the door closed and turned on the shower, allowing a few moments for the water temperature to heat up. While he waited, he hung the pajamas up on a hook on the wall, then untied the neck of the detested hospital gown and allowed it to drop to the floor and pushed it against the wall with his foot, glad to be rid of it.
Pausing, he carefully observed the wound in his abdomen, noting the black stitches that bristled from it. The body hair that had been shaved off for the surgery was growing back, stiff and bristly, but he knew it would not be enough to completely hide the scar that would be visible there. With luck, it should fade over time, as Doctor Windom had said, but it was overly optimistic to think that it would disappear completely. Curiously, he probed it with his forefinger, feeling the stiff thread and the thin line where Doctor Windom had skillfully repaired the damaged skin. It was tender to the touch, but no longer ached continuously.
Turning to face the mirror, he observed his reflection for the first time in five days, and was startled by his appearance. An orderly had shaved him two days ago, but had not done so yesterday, and dark stubble covered his chin and cheeks. He was paler than he had been prior to the injury, and the skin around his eyes seemed darker, as if he had missed a few nights� sleep. He could not say that he looked exactly gaunt, but his countenance bore the general appearance of someone who has been in ill health. Once he got home, Mama�s good cooking and some fresh air should take care of that. He smiled when he thought of Mama�s cooking. He knew without a doubt that she would be bringing his meals to him until she was assured that he was completely well again.
Turning his attention to his hair, he could not suppress his sigh as he reached up to finger the wild mess that it had become over the past few days. He had forgotten to ask Mama to bring a hair drier, so with nothing to tame his unruly locks after his shower, it would become a disorderly mixture of curls and waves, but at least it would be clean.
His eyes dropped to the narrow shelf beneath the mirror and saw a small bar of soap still in its wrapper and a small bottle of complimentary shampoo. Beside them was the razor the orderly had used and a diminutive sized can of shaving cream. Deciding that he would shave himself after his shower, he picked up the soap and unwrapped it, dropping the paper wrapping in the waste basket beside the door.
Moving closer to the shower, he leaned his hand under the spray, checking the temperature of the water. Finding it satisfactory, he stepped inside. The spray pounded the center of his chest and streamed down over the wound, soothing it with its warmth. Closing his eyes, he reached out to adjust the spray higher and turned his face to the warm jets of water, enjoying the feel of it on his bare skin and relishing in the soothing spray of water as it drenched his skin and hair. Dipping his head slightly, he allowed the spray to soak his hair, then stepped back to lather it with the shampoo. After rinsing his hair, he lathered the washcloth and scrubbed himself clean. Soap suds and shampoo cascaded off his body where it was swallowed up by the drain.
Finally, feeling totally refreshed for the first time in nearly a week, he turned off the shower and grabbed the towel from the rod. Vigorously, he toweled off his wet body, taking care around the incision, then toweled the excess water from his hair. The towel was then wrapped around his middle as he turned his attention to lathering his face and shaving off the dark stubble. After rinsing his face in the sink, he dried it with a smaller hand towel and decided that he looked much more presentable. Except for the hair. He did not have a brush handy, so there was nothing he could do except finger comb it and hope for the best.
He tossed the towel aside and put on the pajamas, then opened the bathroom door and stepped outside into the room again, marveling at how invigorating a shower could make a person feel.
The wall on the clock showed 6:45; it would be awhile before breakfast arrived, so he picked up the robe and put it on and stepped into the slippers, then walked to the door and opened it. Stopping there to get his directions, he looked first to his right, where the corridor continued onward until it terminated at a tall window. On the left, he could see the nurse�s station several doors down, and just beyond that was another corridor leading to points unknown. Taking note of his room number, he turned to the right and wandered down to the window.
In the light from the rising sun, he could see the city stretched out for miles. Already, cars were on the roads, hurrying to early morning jobs or out for a bite to eat before heading for the workplace. Street lamps were beginning to go out. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the cool pane and gazed longingly out across the orderly neighborhoods, and the barren California landscape in the distance, beyond the city limits.
After several minutes, he turned and wandered back up the corridor, continuing past his room until he reached the nurse�s station, where he paused to look at the men and women who were gathered there. There had been a shift change, and he did not recognize any of the nurses, orderlies, and aides who were going over the daily roster.
After a moment, several of them noticed him and looked up. �Can I get you anything, sir?� asked a young woman.
�No, I�m just going to take a little walk down the hallway.�
�All right.�
Bowing her head, she returned to the duty roster, while one of her coworkers rushed to pick up the ringing telephone. A haggard looking young intern dropped a chart on the countertop and rubbed his eyes. �Mrs. Collins needs an i.v. change.�
A nurse picked up the chart and hurried off to perform the requested task.
It appeared that no one had realized who he was. The attention and curiosity he had received initially upon arriving on the floor had apparently faded, and he was now just another patient. This suited Luca just fine, for there were other patients with greater need, now that he was recovering, and he never considered himself a celebrity. He was just another police officer doing his job. However, as he started to turn away, he thought he saw several of the nurses looking at him out of the corner of their eyes.
Turning his back to the scene, Luca turned the corner beside the nurse�s station and started down the long corridor. Hand rails were positioned along both sides of the hallway, obviously placed there to assist patients who, like him, were up for a bit of exercise, and he slid his hand along the nearest one as he walked. He really did not think he needed its assistance, but only yesterday he was struggling to stand upright, so it seemed prudent to use them.
He passed no other patients, and most of the doors along the corridor were closed or slightly ajar, but as he walked past a door that was slightly ajar, he heard the sound of someone whimpering inside, someone who was apparently in a great deal of discomfort. Looking urgently up and down the hallway, he saw no staff member in sight, only the empty stretch of corridor with a few linen carts standing idle. All the staff, he knew, was still at the nurse�s station, and that was a long walk back for someone moving as slowly as he was.
Another whimper and a muffled sob roused his attention again, and after a hesitation, knowing he was about to enter the room of a perfect stranger, he placed his hand on the door and pushed it open. At the very least, he could use the call button to summon a nurse to help whoever was in such pain, since it appeared that person was unable to do so.
As the door swung open, his eyes fell upon a girl lying on the bed in a fetal position, her arms wrapped around her abdomen, and tears streaming down her face. The hair that framed her thin face was matted and listless, clearly having seen neither a brush nor shampoo in quite some time.
Concerned, he approached the bed. �Are you all right?�
�Do I look all right?� she spat back.
The unexpectedly hostile retort rippled through him like a heat wave, but he shrugged off the offended sensation it had caused. Her harsh response had surely been brought about because of her discomfort. �Okay. That was a stupid question, I know. Can I call someone for you? A nurse, perhaps?�
�They won�t help me,� she told him, bitterly.
�I�m sure they will,� he insisted.
�They won�t give me what I really need! I need a fix!� In response to his startled expression, she added in a voice filled with anger and self-loathing, �I�m a junkie, can�t you tell?�
He moved closer, where he could better see her face in the rather dusky room, and recognized the emaciated look of a person who had not seen a balanced meal in a long time. Her eyes were unnaturally dark in her pale face, as if both had been bruised, and he could see the needle marks up her white arms. Her thin, wasted face was contorted with pain that he had witnessed many times on the faces of others experiencing the symptoms of drug withdrawal. �Yes, I see,� he said, softly.
�Revolting, isn�t it?� she demanded, trying to read his expression through the haze of pain. �Maybe you think I deserve it,� she added in a challenging tone.
He shook his head, slowly. �No, I don�t think you deserve it. No one deserves to be in that kind of pain, but I�m afraid it�s going to get worse before it gets better.�
�Oh, now that makes me feel better!� she moaned. �You�re a real bundle of good cheer, you know that?�
�Sorry.� He moved closer until he was standing beside the bed. With sympathetic eyes, he noticed the restraint halter that was wrapped around her chest and tied beneath the edge out of her reach to prevent her from getting out of bed. �Look, I know it won�t be easy to do, but you�re doing the right thing getting off that stuff. It only leads to an early grave. Trust me, I know.�
She cocked her head slightly, and he saw curiosity flicker beyond the haze of pain. �Who are you?�
�My name is Dom Luca.� He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. �I�m just down the hall and around the corner.�
�Are you a junkie too?�
�No, but I�ve known a lot of people who were.�
�Then you don�t know anything!�
�Not on a personal level, but I do know a few things about it.�
�I don�t want to be here!� she raised her voice in frustration, struggling against the restraints. Her struggles became more intense, almost violent, as she jerked her body back and forth in an effort to break the restraints.
He watched her struggle until she tired, and her body relaxed again. She fell back, gasping for breath. �I take it you�re not here voluntarily, then,� he said quietly.
�What do you think?� she snapped.
He observed the dry, tangled hair and her emaciated features. It was obvious that she had been living on her own for some time. �I think you were probably picked up on the street and brought here because they didn�t know what else to do with you.�
�Oh, you�re a real genius,� she said, sarcastically. �Some do-good cop caught me going through a trash bin and brought me here.�
�That do-good cop, as you put it, probably saved your life. So you were going through the trash looking for other people�s scraps? Are you a runaway?�
�Did they send you in here to talk to me?� she asked, ignoring the question. �Are you some kind of drug counselor or something?�
�Or something,� he said with a slight smile, reluctant to reveal that he was a police officer. In spite of her sarcasm, he sensed that he was making a connection with her, however precarious, and feared that she would clam up upon learning his occupation. �And no one sent me in. I was passing your door, and knew that you were hurting. What�s your name?�
�None of your business.�
So much for connecting. �Hey, I told you mine.� He glanced at the foot of her bed and saw the chart with the name printed across the top. �Jane Doe. So you are a runaway.�
She rolled her eyes, resentfully. �So now you know.�
�Obviously you family doesn�t know you�re here. Don�t you think they would want to be here with you? Don�t you think they�d want to help you?�
�They don�t care about me, and I don�t want them here. They�ll just tell me how stupid I�ve been and how I need to conform to their idea of what a family is.�
�And what is their idea of a family?�
�Oh, you know. White picket fence, school all day, church on Sunday, two point five kids; the usual fairy-tale life where everyone knows their place and does what they�re told.�
�You don�t want that?�
�Why do you think it�s any of your business? Why all the questions?�
�I�m just trying to understand why someone would prefer living on the street and digging in garbage, rather than living in a warm home with three square meals and a nice bed. So tell me, what is it you want?�
This question seemed to catch her off guard, and she considered her answer for several moments before shrugging. �I don�t know. I guess I just want to make my own decisions. To be left alone.�
He observed her quietly, detecting the way she looked away when she answered, and the way her voice dropped, both good indications that she was lying. �I don�t think you want to be alone. No one wants to be alone.�
When she looked back, he noticed that her eyes had filled with tears, and he knew he�d struck a nerve. She wasn�t quite as tough as she was pretending to be. With effort, she forced the harshness into her voice again as she replied, �They just want to tell me what to do. They�re always telling me what to do!�
�That�s what parents do. No one is immune to that. I had plenty of that when I was growing up, believe me!�
�Not as much as me, I bet.�
�Hey, my mother is Italian!� he told her, as if that explained it all. �Italian mothers expect to be in charge. Even Pop didn�t dare go against her. She was like a miniature drill sergeant. She�s a very small woman, but I tell you, we didn�t dare stick a toe out of line for fear of getting it chopped off!�
�So how did you handle it?�
�Not by running away, that�s for sure.� He grinned his most charming grin. �Well, I ran away once when I was eight, but I wasn�t even gone three hours when my oldest sister found me and dragged me home by my ear.�
�You�re making fun of me,� she accused.
�No, I�m not! I swear, she did!� She looked at him in silence for a few moments, and he sensed that she liked what she was seeing. He knew he was considered attractive, and also knew that he could use it to his advantage with women, but with this lost teenager, he could use his charm to help get her back on the right path. �Look, I don�t think there is anyone who hasn�t thought of running away at one time or another. But it really doesn�t solve anything, does it?�
He paused to give her a chance to respond, but she clearly did not want to admit that she might share any part of the blame for the problems she was having with her parents. She looked sullenly toward the wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.
He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged at her attempts to remain indifferent, even though it was obvious that he was giving her food for thought. �Look at you,� he continued. �You obviously haven�t had a decent meal in weeks. You�re living on scraps out of the dumpster.�
Again, he waited for a response that did not come.
�My point is that even though they sometimes get on our nerves and make us do things we don�t want to do, our family is one of the most precious gifts we have. When you�re young and trying to find your own independence, it sometimes seems like they�re interfering when all they really want to do is keep you safe.�
She remained quiet, her expression bland.
�You know, they�re probably very worried about you.�
�I�m not telling you who I am or who they are, so just drop it. Did you come in here just to torment me?�
�No. I came in to see if there was anything I could do to help.�
�What could you possibly do to help?�
�Well, maybe just keep you company for a while. Maybe we could talk, or something. If you want to talk, I�m a good listener.�
�I don�t want to talk! Besides, you�re doing enough talking for the both of us.� With a low moan, she doubled her body tighter. �I need a fix! My stomach hurts!�
�I know,� he said, soothingly. �That�s one of the withdrawal symptoms.� A dull ache was beginning to settle into his middle as well, telling him he�d been on his feet too long. �Do you mind if I sit down?�
�What does it matter?� she retorted. �You�re going to do whatever you want, whether I mind or not.�
He pulled a chair closer to the bed, and sat down. �Well, I�m not sitting because you don�t want me to, but because I�m starting to feel a little weak. I was just taking a stroll down the hall and heard you crying.�
�I was not crying!� she declared.
�Okay.�
She observed him for a few moments again, and changed the subject. �So what are you in here for?�
�I got shot.� He placed his hand over the wound. �Right here.�
Interest flickered in those pain-glazed eyes. �Shot? How?�
�With a gun.�
�Jerk.�
He chuckled, softly. �I�ve been called that, among other things. Seriously, though, I was shot by a gang member who was strung out on drugs. You know, drugs make people do things they wouldn�t ordinarily do.�
She rolled her eyes again. �Great. Here comes the lecture.�
�No lecture. You just asked a question, and I answered it.� He fell silent here, waiting for her to make the next move.
For a long time, she was quiet, staring at him, until her curiosity got the better of her. �Was it bad?�
�Very bad. I nearly died.�
�I guess your family was pretty upset; a lousy junkie shooting you like that.�
�They were upset, yes. But they�ve been praying for the junkie, that he�ll seek the help he needs. There are better alternatives to the life he�s leading.� He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the arms of the chair. �Look, I don�t want to come down on you, okay? I know you�re not feeling too good right now and you think everyone here is against you, but I would like you to understand that you�re on a fast highway to nowhere. You�re obviously very young; what, about fourteen?�
�Fifteen!� she shot back immediately, as if offended, then decided she�d been tricked. �You knew if you said something younger, that I�d correct you, didn�t you? Well, you�re not going to trick me into saying anything else.�
�It wasn�t a trick, not really,� he said. �It�s almost impossible to tell how old a junkie is. In fact, you look older than that. You�re prematurely aging yourself.�
�You�re a jerk, telling a girl something like that.�
�Maybe you think so, but it�s the truth. I�ve seen twenty year old women who looked twice that age. And I�ve seen sixteen year olds dead in the morgue.�
She grimaced, not from his words, but from the pain.
�Are they giving you anything for the pain?� he asked.
�They said they can�t give me anything without parental permission, and since I won�t tell them who I am, all they can do is strap me down and let me suffer.�
�You�re suffering needlessly, you know. There are several things they can do to help you through this, but you�ll need to cooperate. You need your mother and father. You need a solid foundation to hold on to. You know they�re not going to turn you loose again, don�t you? You�ll go into a juvenile facility.�
He saw surprise and possibly fear flicker across her face, indicating that she had not considered the fact that they would not turn her loose again. �Juvie-hall, you mean?�
�Probably. They won�t turn you back out on the streets because they know you�ll go right back to using.�
�I�ll just run away from there, too. No one will care anyway.�
�I care,� he answered truthfully. �I care very much.�
�Why? You don�t even know me!�
�Do you have to know someone personally to care about them? Why did you run away? The real reason,� he added. �Not this nonsense about wanting to be left alone.�
She sighed heavily, resenting the questions, but to his surprise, she answered. �They don�t like anything I do. They don�t like the way I dress. They don�t like the music I listen to. They don�t like my friends. And they don�t like my boyfriend.�
A knowing expression crossed his face. �Ah, that�s the main reason, isn�t it? You ran away from home to be with him, right?�
�They forbid me to see him anymore, as if anyone could do that,� she added, rolling her eyes with sarcasm again. �Nothing can keep us apart.�
�He obviously hasn�t been taking very good care of you. Is he the one who introduced you to the drugs?�
�So what if he is? What business is it of yours?�
He did not reveal that his profession made it his business, but instead gave a slight shake of his head that she interpreted as patronizing. �Well, don�t you think that gives a little insight about why they think he�s the wrong person for you?�
�You�re just like them,� she accused. �So high and mighty, thinking you know everything.�
�I don�t pretend to know everything, but I do know that perhaps if your boyfriend would admit that he has a problem and would be willing to seek treatment, then maybe your parents would think more kindly about him. Maybe you could convince him to come here and get help for his addiction. You could go through the rehab together.�
She laughed, bitterly. �Nobody tells him what to do! He�s never going to give it up. �
�Until it kills him, you mean.�
His words were spoken calmly, but with enough conviction that it gave her pause. For the first time, a worried frown passed across her forehead. �No, that won�t happen to him. He�s too smart to let that happen.�
�Smart? He�s a junkie! Do you call that smart?�
�Don�t talk about him that way! You don�t know him!�
�No, but I know a lot of people like him. They think they�re invincible, until they wind up dead in a back alley somewhere.�
�That won�t happen to him!� she protested. �He�s � he�s ��
�Too smart?� he prompted. �We�ve already been there. He�s a junkie, and there is nothing smart about being a junkie. Why do you think they call it �dope�? They keep doing more and more, increasing the dose as the effects start to diminish, until one day they take too much. That�s his future; an early grave. Is that what you want? To watch him die?�
�No! I don�t want him to die!� Frustrated, she covered her face with her hands and he heard her choking back sobs. �I don�t want to talk about this any more! Just leave me alone!�
Rising from the chair, he placed his hand on her forehead, smoothing back the dull, dry hair that, at her age, should have been lustrous with good health. �I can�t do that. Let me help you.�
She withdrew her hands and looked at him through bloodshot eyes. �Why are you doing this to me? Why do you care what happens to me?�
He shrugged. �I guess I�m just a caring person.�
�Maybe I like doing drugs. Maybe I don�t want your help�
�I don�t think you like doing drugs,� he said, softly. �I think drugs aren�t giving you what you need. I think your boyfriend isn�t giving you what you need, either. He obviously isn�t taking very good care of you. Look at you! You haven�t seen a decent meal in ages.�
�He does the best he can.�
�I�ll wager almost all the money he gets goes to buy more drugs, doesn�t it? Why are you living like this? Is he worth it?�
�I love him!�
�Does he love you? Does he care more about you than his drugs?�
Something flickered in her eyes, something that resembled a cloud of doubt, but he knew she did not want to face it.
�He�s never told you that he loves you, has he?�
�He doesn�t have to,� she said, defiantly defending him. �I know he loves me.�
�And is he giving you the kind of life you really want?�
She shrugged. �We�re just having some rough times right now. Things will look up.�
�I don�t think this is what you want,� Luca told her, softly. �You want something more. You want that stable life your parents have, complete with the picket fence and school every day, the life you say you�re running away from.�
She did not answer, and he knew he had hit the truth.
�Listen to me,� he told her. When she turned her face away again, he cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to face him. �Listen to me! You�re a beautiful girl with a long life ahead of you, a life that doesn�t deserve to be cut short because of some bad decisions. You can beat this habit. You can stop the drugs from taking over your life. You can get your life back.�
She brushed her wrist across her eyes, wiping away the tears. The veil of toughness she had been wearing seemed to fall away. �I don�t think I�m strong enough.�
�I think you are. I�m not going to tell you that it�ll be easy, because it won�t. But things that are worthwhile are rarely easy.�
�I wouldn�t even know where to start.�
�Why don�t you start by telling me your name?�
�So you can call my parents?�
�Don�t you think they�d want to be here with you? Whatever they did to make you run away, I�m sure it was out of love.�
�I love them too, but . . . � She choked back a sob.
�But what?� he prompted.
�I don�t know! I never wanted to become a junkie. It was just supposed to be one time. My boyfriend was doing it, and he said I�d like it. I told him I didn�t want it, but he kept calling me names, saying I was chicken and that I didn�t know how to have a good time. So I let him shoot me up, and then I couldn�t quit! Then Mom and Dad started ragging on me about him, telling me how he was no good, how he was changing my personality, and I just ran away to get away from it.�
He watched her quietly for a moment, allowing her time to cry. As her tears began to subside, he pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to her as he continued. �I hate to say this, but if he really cared about you, do you think he would call you names and pressure you into doing things he knew you didn�t want to do, things he knew could hurt you?�
She shrugged. �He didn�t mean to hurt me. He�d never do that! He just . . . he just wanted me to share something that gave him pleasure.�
�Did it give you pleasure?�
She looked away again, as if reluctant to face the truth of his words. �I don�t want to talk about this any more.�
�You�re having doubts about him, aren�t you?�
�You�re imagining things.�
�No I�m not. I can see it in your face. Your common sense is telling you things, and you should listen to it.� He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and to his surprise she reached up and placed her hand on his wrist, as if savoring the kindness of his touch. �You don�t deserve to live like this. You know there are better things in life than artificial highs and digging in the garbage for other people�s cast-outs. You don�t have to go through this alone. You need your family.�
�They�ll be so ashamed of me! They�ll hate me!�
�No, they won�t,� he assured her, his voice gentle. �No one could hate you.�
�What if they don�t want me back? What if they tell me to get lost?�
�It may not be easy, but I think they�ll forgive you. Think about it from their point of view. Don�t you think they�re probably beside themselves with worry and fear, wondering what happened to you? Give them a chance; I�m sure they�ll want to help you.�
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. After a long hesitation, where she seemed to be struggling with some inner torment, she nodded. �All right.�
�All right?�
She sighed heavily in defeat. �You�re not going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you? My name�s Cassie Edwards. My dad�s name is James.�
He smiled gently and took her hand. �Pleased to meet you, Cassie. Now, why don�t you tell me your boyfriend�s name? Maybe we can help him too, before it�s too late.�
Here, she balked. Shaking her head, she said, �He�d be furious at me if I turned him in.�
�For a while, he probably will. But in the long run, maybe he�ll realize that you only wanted to help.�
�I don�t know where he is, anyway. I haven�t seen him in almost a week. Michael said he knew of a way to get a lot of money, and then he was going to meet me, but he never showed up.�
�Michael?� A strange sensation of d�j� vu crept into Luca�s stomach, and he gripped the bedrail tightly to fight off the sudden dizziness.
�Are you all right?� she asked, suddenly alarmed.
He did not acknowledge her question, and did not even seem to have heard. �This Michael of yours wouldn�t happen to be a member of the Stingrays, would he?�
�Stingrays? I don�t know what you�re talking about.� She paused, briefly, thinking. �He has a jacket with a picture of a stingray on the back. Is that what you�re talking about?�
�You mean you don�t know?� he asked, incredulously. �Cassie, your boyfriend and his buddies belong to one of the meanest gangs in the area.�
Cassie looked horrified. �No, he can�t be a member of a gang! I�d have known! He would have told me!� She fell silent again, thinking frantically, desperately trying to deny the truth, but he could see that deep down she had known he was keeping secrets.
�No wonder your parents didn�t like him! This gang is heavily into drugs and crime, committing most of the robberies of convenience stores and gas stations in this area to support their addiction. You�re telling me that you knew nothing about this?�
�No! He has his friends, but they aren�t gang members. They can�t be.�
�I know you don�t want to believe it, Cassie, but it�s true. Five days ago, they went into a local high school and took hostages. They demanded the release of their friends from jail, plus a ransom in exchange for the hostages.�
�How � how do you know this?�
�Because they�re the ones who shot me, that�s how!� he told her with more harshness in his voice than he intended.
Cassie drew her breath in sharply. �No! He wouldn�t! He couldn�t!�
�Listen to me, Cassie. Michael nearly executed one of those hostages. He was perfectly willing to commit murder to get what he wanted!�
�You�re lying!�
�I was there! I saw the whole thing!� He sighed, and his voice became gentle again. �Cassie, I hate to be the one to tell you all this, but you have to know that Michael and his friends were arrested. That�s why he didn�t meet up with you afterward. He�s in jail, and he�s going to be in jail for a long time.�
Her eyes welled with tears again. �Please tell me you�re lying,� she begged.
�I�m not lying,� Luca continued. �He has a long list of crimes against him, including attempted murder, armed robbery, various drug crimes, kidnapping, and assault. He�s going to be charged as an adult for those crimes. He probably won�t get out for years.�
She wiped fresh tears from her eyes. �Being in jail is going to kill him.�
�Maybe not. If he comes clean, shows remorse, and get�s his act together, then it might even be a positive thing for him. He can get some help with his addiction, maybe even learn a trade. Then, when he gets out, he�ll be able to live a normal life.�
�He�s never had a normal life.�
Luca sighed, sadly. That was the case with many drug addicts. They had no home life, no structure and balance, and no parents fit to guide them or be a roll model. Others, like Cassie, came from good families and were led into it, either willingly or through peer pressure. �Well, at the very least, maybe he�ll learn that society has boundaries, and he can come out of it a better person than he was when he went in.� Even as he said the words, he wasn�t sure he believed it himself. Going in at such a young age, Michael was likely to come out even more hardened than when he went in.
Cassie was quiet again for a long time, thinking about everything he had told her, but when she spoke again, there was resignation in her voice. �I�m never going to see him again, am I?�
�I don�t know, but I do know that it�s out of our hands. He made some bad choices, and now he has to pay for them. But it doesn�t have to be like that for you. You have a second chance. You can turn your life around.�
�My parents are really going to nail me down, now. They�ll give me the �I told you so� lecture, and I�ll probably be grounded until I�m thirty.�
�Well, I think that�s a possibility,� he said with a smile, and in spite of herself, a hint of a smile flickered across her lips. �Seriously, though, you can expect them to tighten the reins on you quite a bit. It�s going to be up to you to prove to them that you can be trusted again. You�re fifteen, Cassie. You�re not a little girl any more, so you need to be mature and accept whatever punishment they give. Take it like a man � I mean, like a woman.�
He saw her eyes brighten a bit, and had she not still been in pain, he thought she might have smiled at that.
�When I came in here, I had no idea this whole thing was going to come full circle like this.� His eyes rested on her for a long time as she struggled to gain control over her emotions. �Maybe I was supposed to be here,� he mused. �Maybe I was supposed to be the one to help you.�
She sniffled and wiped her nose again. �You believe in fate?�
�I don�t know. But you have to admit, it�s pretty far-fetched that I would come into your room like this, and have your boyfriend turn out to be a member of the gang that put me here.�
�Yeah, I guess.� She paused for a long moment, then said, �Would you have them call my mom and dad now?� Her face contorted with pent-up emotion again, and it was obvious that without Michael to take care of her, she was frightened and alone. �I think I need to see them.�
�I�d be happy to,� he replied, softly. Slipping a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up. �You�re going to be okay, Cassie. You have the strength to do this.�
�Thank you,� she whispered.
�You�re welcome.� Turning, Luca shuffled slowly toward the door, his shoulders sagging. The emotional conversation had left him feeling both physically and emotionally drained.
�Mister?�
He turned back to face her.
�I�m sorry for what Michael and his friends did.�
�It wasn�t your fault, Cassie. Don�t think for a minute that any of this was your fault.� He gave a backward wave of his hand. �Take care.�
Leaving Cassie alone again, he stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door mostly closed. With a deep exhale, he started down the long corridor toward the nurse�s station. This time, he stopped at the counter and without waiting to be noticed, he said, �You know that Jane Doe down the hall?�
This got their attention as nothing else could have, except maybe a coronary.
�Her name is Cassie Edwards,� he continued. �Her father�s name is James.�
Astonished looks swept across the faces of the staff, and all of them spoke at once, their voices jumbling together so that he could not understand any of the words, but he understood the meaning.
�I heard her crying and looked in on her. We talked a little bit, and she opened up to me.�
�You must have used some incredible persuasion!� said one of the nurses. �No one else has been able to get anything out of her.�
He gave a shrug. �Well, she�s a bit mixed up. I think she needed to bend someone�s ear, and it happened to be mine. I think she needs her mom and dad pretty bad.�
One of the nurses jotted the name down on a piece of paper. �I�ll see if I can locate them.�
With their attention directed elsewhere again, he made his way back toward his room. Behind him, he heard them chattering among themselves about how he�d been able to do what no one else had, but he didn�t care about staying to listen.. All he wanted at the moment was to lie down and rest for a spell.
Go to Chapter Sixteen