The Face of Death

They had parked at a Jack in the Box next to the hospital. Cathy exited the patrol car and walked across the street. She entered through the front doors and wound her way down the hallways to Sarah's room.

Sarah was sitting up, looking out the window. The view was of the hospital parking lot.

How depressing. Way to promote healing, guys.

'Hey,' Cathy said.

Sarah turned toward her and smiled. Cathy was struck again by the beauty of the little girl.

She walked over to Sarah's bed.

'I wanted to give you this.'

Cathy held a business card between her fingers.

'That's got my name and number on it. My e-mail address too. If you ever need help with anything, you can get in touch with me.'

Sarah took the card and examined it before looking back up at Cathy.

'Cathy?'

'Yeah, honey?'

'What's going to happen to me?'

The pain that Cathy had been keeping at arm's length tried to crawl right up her throat. She fought it back down with a swallow. What's going to happen to you, kid?

Cathy knew that Sarah had no living relatives. Unusual, but it happened. It meant she was going to become a ward of the state.

'Someone's going to come take care of you, Sarah.'

Sarah mulled this over.

'Will I like them?'

Cathy grimaced inside.

Maybe not.

'Sure you will. I don't want you to worry, Sarah.'

Man, those eyes. I gotta get out of here.

'Hold on to that card, okay? And call me if you need to. Anytime.'

Sarah nodded. She even managed a smile and now Cathy didn't just want to walk out of the room, she wanted to run, because that smile was heartbreaking.

Gut-wrenching

'Bye, honey,' she stammered as she turned and walked away.

'Bye, Cathy,' Sarah called after her.

Back in the car, Santos--now shake-less--regarded her.

'That make you feel better?'

'Not really, Ricky.'

He regarded her for another moment. He seemed to be mulling something over.

'You're gonna make a good cop, Cathy.'

He turned the key in the ignition and put the car in reverse as Cathy stared at him in surprise.

'That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, Santos.'

He smiled at her as he put the car in drive and headed out of the parking lot.

'Then you need new friends, Jones. But you're welcome anyway.'

25

SARAH SAT IN THE CAR AND WATCHED THE LADY CHANGE. Karen Watson had shown up in the hospital room and explained to Sarah that she was there from Social Services, and that she was going to take care of her. Karen had seemed really nice and had smiled a lot. Sarah had felt hopeful.

Once they were out of the hospital, Karen had changed. She'd begun walking faster, yanking Sarah forward.

'Get in, kid,' she'd said, when they reached the car. Her voice sounded mean.

Sarah puzzled over the change, trying to make sense of it.

'Are you mad at me?' she asked Karen.

Karen looked at her once before starting up the car. Sarah took in the dull eyes, the carelessly coiffed brown hair, the heavy face. The woman looked tired. Sarah thought she probably always looked tired.

'I don't really care about you one way or the other, princess, if you want to know the truth. My job is to get a roof over your head, not to love you or be your friend or anything like that. Understand?'

'Yes,' Sarah replied, her voice small.

They drove off.

The Parkers lived in a worn-out house in Canoga Park, which was located in the San Fernando Valley. It resembled its owners: in need of work that would never be done.

Dennis Parker was a mechanic. His father had been a good man, had loved fixing cars, and had taught Dennis the trade. Dennis hated the work--hated all work, really--and he made sure that everyone knew it.

He was a big man, just over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. He had scraggly dark hair, ever-present stubble, and muddy-colored, mean-looking eyes.

Dennis would tell friends that he liked three things above all others: 'Cigarettes, whisky, and pussy.'

Rebecca Parker was a stereotypical California blonde with too many sharp edges to be truly attractive. She'd been beautiful for about four years, from sixteen to twenty. She made up for her deteriorating looks in the bedroom--not that it took much skill to please Dennis. He was usually full of booze by the time he was trying to get into her pants. She had a pair of heavy breasts, a waist that had stayed slim, and what Dennis liked to call 'a tight little panty-hamster.'

(Note from Sarah: This is true. Theresa told me he actually said that once. Charming, yes? Oh, who is Theresa? Read on and find out.) Rebecca's job was simple: managing the care of three foster children, the maximum number they could legally take in. They were paid for each kid, and it was a fair part of their income. Rebecca's duties included feeding the kids, telling them to go to school, and making sure that neither she nor Dennis left any visible marks on the kids when they delivered a beating. The trick was to pay just enough attention to the children to keep Social Services from getting pissed off, but not so much that it ate into her own free time or--

most important--their bottom line.

Karen knocked on the door of the Parkers' house as Sarah stood next to her. She heard footsteps coming, and then the door opened. Rebecca Parker peered through the screen door. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, and had a cigarette in her hand.

'Hey, Karen,' she said, opening the screen door. 'Come on in.' She smiled. 'You must be Sarah.'

'Hi,' Sarah replied.

Sarah thought that the lady looked and sounded nice, but she was beginning to understand that looks could be deceiving. Plus the lady smoked--yuck!

Karen and Sarah walked inside the Parkers' home. It was clean, sort of. It smelled like stale cigarettes.

'Jesse and Theresa are at school?' Karen asked.

'Yep,' Rebecca replied. She guided them into the living room, and gestured for them to take a seat on the couch.

'How are they doing?' Karen asked.

Rebecca shrugged. 'They're not failing anything. They're eating. Neither of them is doing any drugs.'

'Sounds fine, then.' Karen indicated Sarah with a nod of her head.

'As I told you over the phone, Sarah is six. I need to place her quickly, and I thought of you and Dennis. I know you are looking for a third.'

'Since Angela ran away, yes.'

Angela had been a pretty fourteen-year-old girl whose mother had died of a heroin overdose. She was already a hard case and Karen had placed her with the Parkers because she knew they could deal with her. Angela had run