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Shoupe wasn’t from the Outer Banks. He’d vacationed there once, when he was just a kid, and he remembered it as a nice place with pretty beaches and lots of seafood.
Really, he hadn’t thought about it again.
Not until he graduated from the middle of his class at the police academy and got turned down from a string of jobs in Atlanta as a 29-year-old law enforcement rookie. When the weeks went by without landing something, he expanded his search. Within two months, he’d applied to every open position throughout the South.
He wanted something – anything, really. He was turning 30, after all, and he had just quit his job working for his father. He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of being his old man’s lackey in his 30s, but the idea of being unemployed was equally distressing. He’d stuck his neck out for this. He had to make it pay off.
Except his grades were mediocre. And his sharp shooting was subpar. His teachers like him, but he knew he was forgettable, and already over the hill for a rookie.
He got a few call backs, but never interviews. Not until Sheriff Sue Peterkin called him.
She was a brand-new sheriff in Kildare.
“Where?” he asked.
“North Carolina,” she said. “The Outer Banks.”
-o-
He got the interview, and he was pretty sure he bombed it. He was awkward as hell, and every time he answered, Sue Peterkin looked at him like he might have lost his mind.
Which, was very possible. Shoupe was 30 and recently graduated and a complete idiot. He had no real world experience. Would he trust himself with a gun?
Probably not.
He was ready to pack his pathetic bags and slink back home, giving up the dream entirely and becoming a real estate agent like his old man when Sue called him. He thought it was nice, at least getting a personalized rejection instead of a standard form letter or ongoing radio silence, but to his surprise, she offered him the job.
“You serious?” he asked.
“As a damn heart attack,” was her reply. “Can you start Monday?”
Seeing as Shoupe had no other prospects and no desire to go home and face his dad, yes.
Yes, he could.
-o-
The first thing he realized about the Outer Banks was that their sheriff’s department was small.
Like, real small.
So small that there weren’t any designated training officers. Sue Peterkin was going to be taking him around herself.
That seemed like overkill, considering she was the sheriff, but Shoupe was desperate for this job. He wasn’t about to disagree.
Still, there was some obvious trepidation. Training on the job was always a bit much, and doing it with your boss? When they could see exactly how much you didn’t know?
Well, it wasn’t what Shoupe would call ideal, especially for a deputy who looked like he was more experienced than he was.
Plus, Peterkin was hard to read. She lacked a certain emotion, which was probably an asset in her position, but it made it difficult to know how he was faring. So far, Shoupe couldn’t tell if she was pleased or annoyed. If anything, she just seems ready to be done.
Which wasn’t great.
As it was still the first hour of his first day. At lunch, she ordered them some drive through and they sat in the cruiser to eat when Sue gave him a once over. “So?” she said. “How do you think it’s going?”
Shoupe stopped mid-bite, not sure what to say. He forced himself to finish chewing and swallowed with some effort. “Well,” he said. “It’s only been half a day.”
Half a day and they’d been on two calls. One had been a bust – like, literally. Someone had butt dialed them and spent more time apologizing than anything. The second was a homeless man, drunk and passed out in one of the local parks, and Shoupe had just narrowly avoided being vomited on.
There wasn’t much to go on, to say the least.
“I know,” she said. She shrugged. “I just don’t have much appetite for this, it seems. So if you know a few things, we can skip the details.”
If he knew a few things, he wouldn’t be scrounging around for a job on the Outer Banks. Saying this seemed unwise, however, so he shrugged. “Well. I mean. You saw my resume.”
This was clearly not the answer she wanted. Her look wasn’t quite scathing, but the deeply rooted skepticism was plain enough. As if she’d been hoping for more.
Her and everyone else in Shoupe’s life. Shit.
“So, that’s really all there is?” she asked. “You didn’t just leave off a few things?”
He wasn’t sure what he was actually supposed to say to that. He already had the job, but it wouldn’t take much to fire him. But he couldn’t bullshit his way through this. “If I had more skills, don’t you think I would have put them on there?”
“Hell if I know,” she said with a little snort. She shook her head as she gave him a critical once over. “You don’t look ready to be a deputy, if I’m being honest.”
He could wilt, right there and there. Part of him just wants to hand in his resignation and be done with it. But he had a sense of Sue Peterkin. At least, he thought he did. She had hired him; she was training him.
And maybe there was something to that.
“With respect, ma’am,” he said flatly. “You don’t look old enough to be a sheriff.”
At that, she grinned. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all week, Shoupe.”
“You can call me Vic,” he said.
“I’ll call you Shoupe,” she said. “And never call me ma’am again.”
That worked, too.
-o-
Shoupe finished the two weeks of training with some trepidation. It wasn’t that Sue was a bad teacher. It was just you needed more than two weeks to learn how to be a cop.
When she sat him down for his evaluation, he wasn’t feeling overly optimistic. Her lack of enthusiasm in it all made him think that maybe she was having second thoughts. In his mind he was already making backup plans, wondering if he could face running back to his daddy with his tail between his legs and beg for his real estate job back.
To his surprise, however, Sue didn’t even open his file. She gave him a perfunctory nod and said, “Well, I’m happy if you’re happy.”
He stared at her blankly, not sure what she meant. It felt like he should know, but he was genuinely at a loss. “What?” he asked.
“Your training is done,” Sue told him flatly. She drummed her fingers on the desk and shrugged. “If you’re good to go, I’ll have you flying solo on the rotation next week.”
He goggled at her a bit, eyebrows going up. “Next week? Flying solo?”’
Sue’s look back at him was baleful. “You’re not good to go?”
He opened his mouth and closed it. The desire to protest was beat out by his desire to have a job. “I mean. I am,” he said. “I just thought maybe there was more than two weeks to learn it all.”
She shrugged dismissively, as if she’d considered this and already decided against it. “No matter how long you do this job, you’ll never learn it all,” she said tiredly. She nodded at him. “But you know it, at least. Which is why I trust you more than half the deputies I got out there who think they have this job and island figured out.”
“But procedure–” he started.
She made a dismissive noise, a little exasperated now. “The last thing I need is another deputy who follows procedure,” she said.
He frowned, not sure what to say to that. “I just thought – you know. With the paperwork and legalities–”
She sat forward, shifting in her chair as she fixed him with a hard stare. “Look, do you know why I hired you?
“Um,” he started, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish. Honestly, he wasn’t sure the answer was one that was going to make him feel better. “Because you’re short staffed?”
“A little,” she said. “But the truth is, this is a small island. Most of the people on my team are born and raised here, so they know this place like the backside of their hands.”
Given that Shoupe knew nothing, he was hard pressed to see her point. “That sounds like it could be an asset.”
“Sometimes, maybe,” she said, as if this was some kind of concession she was making. “But it makes them blind to the things they need to see. It makes justice prejudiced.”
That was a grave assessment, really. A little sobering, and blunt enough that Shoupe had no idea what to say.
Sue shrugged, as if there was nothing to be done about it, and she accepted it a long time ago. “So, I need some fresh eyes on my team,” she told him. She tipped her head to the side, as if in concession. “And if I have to settle for yours, so be it.”
Somehow, that was both the most damning and reassuring thing Shoupe had ever heard.
-o-
With that not so ringing endorsement, Shoupe’s training was officially over. Sue signed his paperwork hastily, and pinned his badge on with a grimace. “You’ll do great,” she said. “I have every confidence in you.”
Somehow, this did not seem reassuring. He arched his brows and looked at her. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure I’m still three deputies down, and I can’t spend another week on training runs,” she said with a shrug. “If you’d like to train with Bart–”
“The old guy? Is he still allowed to drive?” Shoupe asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Now you’re catching my drift,” Sue said. She forced her hand at him, waiting until he shook it. “Welcome to the Kildare Sheriff’s Department.”
It lacked a little pomp and circumstance, but he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t feel a little proud.
Until she huffed, shaking her head. “Just don’t shoot anyone your first week in,” she muttered. “And if you could avoid getting shot, that would also be great.”
His eyes widened in alarm. “But I thought incidents of gun violence were low here.”
She shrugged. “You’d think, right?”
-o-
Being short staffed like they were, Shoupe was given his own car. Which, might be nice, if it didn’t mean he was already assigned on solo patrols. Shoupe didn’t mind the privacy – so far he hadn’t really enjoyed any of his coworkers all that much – but some local knowledge would have been nice. He was still struggling with the island’s road systems, and sometimes he got lost and ended up patrolling in circles for hours.
Since he didn’t have a partner, there was no one to report him, and there was some comfort in knowing at least those areas were very safe during his time.
He settled several small incidents. One was a domestic call, with a wife throwing her husband’s clothes in the yard. It had ended abruptly when he started throwing them back inside, and she had a sudden change of heart. While they started making out on the front porch, Shoupe excused himself politely and got the hell out of there.
There was a shoplifting call in the town, which had resulted in a prolonged argument while a local kid emptied his cargo jeans of everything he had. After nearly 30 minutes of emptying his pockets, they concluded he had not in fact stolen anything, and he might have gotten away with it, too, had the contraband not fallen out of his underwear on the way out.
All in all, Sue reviewed his work with a nod of approval.
“I did good?” he asked, desperate for affirmation.
“Did you kill anyone?”
“No,” he said.
“Did anyone kill you?”
Shoupe gave her an incredulous look. “No.”
She smiled at him banally. “Then you did great.”
-o-
The second was, he decided, better than the first. This was a matter of minimal distinction, but the art of aiming low was more valuable than most people thought. Especially his old man. That old bastard liked his impossible standards.
That was why he was a rich real estate man.
It was also why Shoupe was on Kildare, making just over minimum wage.
No matter. Shoupe had his pride, or enough of it to count, and things were on the upswing if only because they weren’t getting demonstrably worse.
After all, he knew the names of his coworkers now, and most of them knew his name. He only got lost a few times on patrol, and his piss poor sense of direction only made him late to one or two calls.
The calls, he decided, were definitely his forte. His coworkers still treated him like a dumbass, but the locals seemed to be comfortable with him. Some of them see his uniform and treat him like every other cop on the island, which he got a kick out of. The others, the ones paying attention, have taken to calling him “the new deputy” with varying degrees of respect and derision.
As if his name wasn’t on his damn name tag.
They all knew him, at least.
Because he sure as hell didn’t know them.
Still, when it was an official call, he could focus on taking direct action. There was less posturing. More action. He could do that.
So when the call came over the phone, he was all too eager to respond. The fact that he was the only car within the vicinity made it even easier.
All he had to do was pick up some local asshole wanted for assault and possession. The address on the warrant was two blocks away. He could get the guy in cuffs before backup arrived. Simple. No fuss.
His favorite kind of police work.
“Be advised,” dispatch said as he pulled into the drive. “Suspect is considered a flight risk. He wasn’t armed but he is considered dangerous.”
He parked and looked at the yellow ramshackle house with just a twinge of trepidation. “What happened again?”
Assault and possession, after all, covered a wide range of things. He liked easy arrests, and he was still young enough for a runner, but he had no interest in pulling his gun.
“Suspect is accused of robbing a pharmacy two days,” the radio crackled back at him. “He gave the pharmacist a concussion to get what he wanted. Grabbed as many pills as he could before he ran.”
“Two days?” he clarified. “Why haven’t we gotten him yet?”
“Just confirmed the ID from the surveillance footage,” the dispatcher said. “He’s a local regular. Dangerous but not usually deadly.”
“Great,” he muttered. “And backup is—?”
“Five minutes behind you,” was the answer. “Do you want to wait?”
Yes, actually.
But as the new guy, he had to still prove his worth. This arrest mattered.
For his longevity on this shitty island, it mattered.
“No,” he said, finding what resolve he needed for this. “I got it.”
He put the radio down before he lost his nerve. Climbing out of the car, he tried to keep his heart from pounding.
He was fine.
He could do this.
He was a professional.
However, the second he closed the door to his cruiser, there was movement from the porch. The door clattered open, and a figure stumbled down the steps with a curse.
Shoupe startled, putting it together. The figure was moving. Tripping over his feet as he made a move to the road.
White male. 20s. Cut off gray shirt with stains. Bandaged hand, soaked with blood.
He was a perfect match to the suspect. This was Luke Maybank, wanted for breaking into a pharmacy and assaulting a pharmacist. He was wanted on felony charges of assault, robbery, and possession.
And he was running.
It took him a moment, it did. To process what was happening and to think it through. The suspect was running, and the only cop in the vicinity was Shoupe. If he didn’t act, this asshole could get away, and he was clearly a risk for additional violent crime.
There was a clear and present danger to the community.
Shoupe was qualified and able.
Backup was coming.
“Shit,” he muttered. Resolve wasn’t the question. It was all fight or flight now. His suspect was running. Did he let him go?
Or did he do his damn job?
He’d made it this far.
So hell.
Shit.
He gave chase.
“Stop! Police!”
As if that would work. Maybank cut hard, skidding hard he tried to turn and make a break to the road.
Now, Shoupe wasn’t a prime example of a specimen by any stretch of the imagination. But he was in decent shape, and mostly, he was sober.
Unlike Luke Maybank. Who, by all obvious accounts, was either high or drunk or both. His attempted escape was laughably bad, and even with his obvious headstart, he was no match for Shoupe. He caught up to him before he managed to cross the front yard, and he hissed rabidly as he tried to pull away, but Shoupe wrestled him on the ground, getting him on his stomach long enough to slap on the cuffs and be done with it.
It was only then that Shoupe realized just how hard his heart was pounding. He had broken out in a sweat, pitting out his uniform instantly. He dragged Luke up, forcibly manhandling him over to the cruise while the man cursed and moaned. He stumbled a few times, forcing Shoupe to catch him and all but carry him, and by the time they got back to the cruiser, Shoupe was muttering curses, too.
“Just – easy,” Shoupe said sharply, turning him around and putting him none-too-gently against the vehicle. He slipped out his keys, undoing one of the cuffs while the man squirmed. “Just stop already!”
Luke made some incoherent feral sound, twisting hard. Shoupe kept his grip tight, shifting the cuffs to get him locked to the handle of the cruiser. Then, he spared the time to frisk the man, removing a pocketknife, wallet, and several empty pill bottles from his pockets.
“For goodness sakes,” he muttered, pocketing the items and wishing he’d thought to use gloves just in case it was evidentiary. He turned the man around, looking in the face.
Luke Maybank wasn’t an old man, but the years had not been kind to him. He had a grisled appearance, the kind you got from living hard. His clothing was ripped and smelly, and his knuckles were bruised and bloody. His eyes were half-vacant from whatever shit he was on.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Shoupe asked, more to himself than the man in front of him. “Because I don’t need you dying on me.”
Luke’s only answer was to yank against the cuffs, rattling the door. Shoupe winced and stepped back. “Just calm down, you here?” he said. “We’re taking you in one way or another.”
It wasn’t clear Luke understood him as he wailed, slumped to the ground on his ass. Shoupe was momentarily alarmed, but Luke’s head rolled back as he looked at Shoupe with hooded lids. “I didn’t do nothing.”
The claim was outrageous, and Shoupe laughed. Not only was this guy clearly strung out, the pill bottles were in someone else’s name. Plus, the blood on his hands and the fact that he’d run weren’t particularly supporting the idea of his innocence.
All in all, this looked like a good move for Shoupe. He’d caught the guy single-handedly, and he clearly had already collected significant evidence to support the case. This was just the kind of boon he needed to prove himself to his coworkers and justify Sue’s faith in him.
It would also go a long way to making himself feel better. Like he may be able to do this stupid job after all.
The confidence was short-lived, however. Because nothing was ever easy or simple for Shoupe. He couldn’t just arrest the criminal and break the case.
Because then he heard a sound from the house.
A cry.
A distressed cry.
He turned, hackles starting to rise.
Suddenly, his easy-peasy, open-shut case seemed uncertain. He waited and listened –
And there it was again.
More distinctive this time.
A cry; a human cry.
He glanced at Luke Maybank, seething and high. He muttered a string of curses, then said, “Got to get the kid dinner.”
Now maybe Luke Maybank was having a bad high.
Maybe Luke Maybank was delirious.
But shit. This time the cry was loud, keening, and, “Daddy!”
And Shoupe had a choice, right? Do the bare minimum, keep the basic instructions, and wait for backup. He’d arrested the suspect. Luke Maybank was secure and in custody, and he could write up his report with success.
Or he could do his job. Serve and protect and shit.
“Daddy!”
Shoupe cursed, grabbing his gun, and headed up to the house just to be sure.
-o-
There were procedures for this shit. Shoupe knew them – he knew he knew them, but what the hell. Reading it in a textbook and running through mock demonstrations with your fellow cadets didn’t prepare you for the real thing.
When you pulled a gun, you had to be ready to use it, was the thing.
And he was going into an unknown situation with unknown variables and the only thing he did know? Was that he had a gun at the ready.
He couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse.
Either way, he was sweating through his uniform by the time he made it up the steps. He muttered a curse at the creaky sound beneath his feet, and his breathing caught hard as he heard something scuffle on the porch.
“Put your hands up!” he orders through the darkened screen. “This is the Kildare Sheriff’s Department. Come out with your hands up.”
The eee was no answer. Things went painfully, unnaturally still. The only sound was his own heart pounding in his ears.
He stepped forward.
And again.
His gun wavered as he reached out with his other hand to open the door. His mind reeled, all through the protocols and procedures and, oh God, he didn’t want to get shot.
He slammed the door, pushing his way in. He led with his gun, pressing himself into a defensive stance and sweeping his eyes over the space to clear it.
Then he saw it.
A flash of movement.
“Freeze!” he yelled, voice cracking as his finger twitched. He could shoot. If he was going to get shot, he needed to shoot. He had identified himself. He has given warnings. If his life was in danger—
Then, his eyes focused. He saw the figure, smaller than he expected. Human.
Shit. It was a kid. A little kid.
He was skinny as shit with a mess of blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes. He looked tiny – like he was no more than four. Maybe five. It was hard to tell for sure, with the way he was sitting, curled up with his back pressed against the corner, tears streaked on his smudged, dirty face.
And what was he supposed to do now? Training didn’t cover sobbing kids. Hysterical people were hard enough, but when they were tiny? When they were too young to do anything?
“Just — easy,” Shoupe said, and he stepped forward. “Easy.”
The kid flinched, hiccuping loudly as he screamed again. “Daddy!”
Shit. He was still holding the gun. He was pointing a gun at a five year old. Face flushed, he hastily put it away, fingers shaking as he snapped his holster shut and stepped forward again.
“Are you okay?” he asked, heart pounding. He looked around, hoping to hell the rest of the house was clear. No one had told him about a kid on the call. No one had told him anything. He looked around, noting the vantage point. You could see the whole damn yard from here.
He glanced back at the kid.
Well, that was bad. The little guy probably saw the whole damn arrest.
And worse, there was no way this wasn’t Luke Maybank’s kid.
He swallowed, reminding himself this wasn’t his fault. He’d done this by the book. He wasn’t wrong.
That hardly made him feel right, though, as the kid sniffled and curled back on himself, clearly terrified and probably traumatized.
“Look, you’re okay,” Shoupe said, keeping his hands where the boy could see him. “I’m here to help. Are you okay?”
The little thing stared at him with bright blue eyes that seemed as deep as the ocean. He went tense, curled in on himself and fingers clutching tighter at his knees as he watched Shoupe approach.
“My name is Deputy Shoupe,” he said, and immediately felt like an idiot. The kid was already terrified. The use of deputy only seemed to make things worse. “I’m going to help you, okay?”
He was within a few feet now, and he saw the boy tense. His breathing caught and he could see the boy thrumming, like he was pulsed by a live wire.
“Is this your house?” he asked, nodding around the front porch. It was covered with trash. Empty beer cans and spare parts. Power tools still plugged in and a pile of kid’s blocks knocked over behind the door. “Is that your dad outside?”
He nodded back to the yard. He could see Luke, half passed out and slumped against the back of his cruiser with his hand cuffed to the handle. The kid could see him too.
That probably wasn’t helping.
Not that anything was going to help him now.
The kid didn’t answer.
He was old enough to talk, probably. Shoupe wasn’t great with kids. They made him uncomfortable, being so little and unpredictable and shit.
“Look,” he said, trying to sound diplomatic. He wasn’t sure what a traumatized five year old would want to hear, but he gave it his best to smile. “Why don’t we go outside—“
He was close enough now to reach for him.
The plan was, as best he could figure, to secure the kid and make sure he was safe. He could get him in the front of the cruiser, wait for backup, and let DCS short shit out. The boy would be safe. The asshole outside would get arrested. And Shoupe could go home in time for prime time TV.
That was the plan, anyway.
Shoupe’s plans, however, rarely worked out.
That was how he’d ended up in Kildare to start with.
As soon as he got close enough to grab at the boy, the little thing came to life just that fast. From the spot he was crouching and pulled in defensively, he went batshit crazy. He screamed like he was feral, flailing his arms hard enough to throw Shoupe off balance. He stumbled, tripping over some of the trash on the floor and catching himself on the house, as the boy ran at him, a fury of limbs and unintelligible yelling.
Shoupe hissed a curse despite himself, trying to cover his vulnerable areas. With a single blow, he could take the kid out – but that was the problem. He wasn’t about to take the kid out. He was tiny, and Shoupe wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t slam a boy to the ground just because he was terrified out of his mind.
“Just – stop,” he says, struggling to find some kind of purchase. He caught one of the boy’s bony wrists as it slammed into his chest. “Stop!”
The boy twisted, yanking himself back as hard as he could without abandon. His full weight pulled to the ground, and Shoupe had to get his footing to keep the boy from landing head first on the wood.
He cursed again as he caught the boy, and his efforts were rewarded with an ungodly howl. The boy wriggled hard, straining Shoupe’s grip, and he just managed to wrap his arms around the boy’s chest when the little thing bucked hard. He had to squeeze tighter, locking the boy’s arms to his body, and just when he thought he had it under control, the kid turned his head, bent down–
And bit Shoupe on the forearm.
He was small, but the bite was strong. He felt it break the skin and he yelled in pain, dropping the boy as he pulled the damaged limb into himself.
The boy hit the ground hard, but he was barely phased. This time, as he scrambled to his feet, he set his sights on running.
For such a little thing, he’s fast and wily, and he darts past Shoupe even as he’s still holding his newly injured limb. It’s bloody; it throbs. He has sudden worries of the bacteria from bite wounds, but he can’t think about that now.
Not when the little guy is already to the front door, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Daddy!”
And shit.
This was going from bad to worse, and Shoupe’s easy arrest was quickly turning into a sideshow. The kid wasn’t a suspect or anything, and there was no reason to take him into custody, but this wasn’t a secured scene, and a hysterical kid in a crime scene wasn’t good.
What was proper procedure? How could he deescalate this situation?
None of it mattered until he caught the kid.
Which was, he quickly deduced, easier said than done.
By the time he thought to give chase, the kid had already made it to the yard. Shoupe had longer legs, sure, but the boy was fast, and he had to scramble to catch up with him. It was an awkward, graceless thing as he raced down the stairs, and he nearly fell over with the force of his own momentum on the incline of the unkept yard out front.
“Stop!” he yelled, useless as it was. “Kid — just—“
He heaved himself forward, crossing the last of the distance to gain on the kid. He grabbed him with more force than he intended, yanking the child clean off his feet. The little body flailed, and he let out a half strangled cry as Shoupe drew him close. The boy wriggled and bucked violently, until Shoupe had to wrap his arms around him tight, holding him close as the child screamed and thrashed.
It was a hell of a fight, but the kid was tiny. He was worn out within minutes, and Shoupe felt it as his body sagged in defeat, going damn near limp in his arms. It was easy then to hoist him up, and the kid slumped against his shoulder, and it was only then that he realized the kid was crying.
A small soft keening, and hot, wet tears on his shirt. The fight had left the small body, but he was shaking, and Shoupe was at a loss.
“Hey,” he said, dropping his voice and rubbing an awkward hand over the kid’s back. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
The comfort did little for the boy, and Shoupe looked around. Back at the asshole handcuffed to his car, too stoned out of his mind to notice them. Back to the house, too messy and rundown to be any place for a kid.
This wasn’t what okay looked like at all.
But the kid had spent himself, and even the tears were easing now. He was going quiet and still, and Shoupe could feel his heart pounding against the thinness of his rib cage. Shoupe’s own heart was racing, too, and the chase had him sweaty and hot. He stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, unsure what to do.
Did he put the kid down?
Should he put the kid in the back of the car?
Was he supposed to reunite the kid with his parents?
Did the kid have parents? Someone besides the asshole under arrest?
“Okay,” he said, more to himself than to the kid. He didn’t want to take the kid back to the house, not when it was a crime scene. Letting him loose in the open seemed like a bad idea, given that the boy was clearly a runner under duress. Which meant custody was really his only option. “Okay.”
He moved now, back to his squad car. He made a wide berth, as far from Luke Maybank as possible. When he got to the far side, he hesitated. He hated the idea of putting the kid down. He wasn’t sure he’d catch him again.
And was he really going to put a kid in a cop car? Was he here to arrest preschoolers in the end?
That was why Shoupe was still standing there, holding a worn-out five-year-old slumped in his arms, when Sue finally pulled up to the scene.
In some ways, he was relieved it was her. He didn’t know what he’d say to one of his coworkers.
That being said, he wasn’t sure what to say to his boss – or what to make of the look she gave him as she parked the car and climbed out to greet him. She had a way about her – always did – somehow managing to be professional, engaged, and utterly done with it all. She raised her eyebrows as she approached. “Looks like you made a friend.”
It was easy enough, and Sue wasn’t yelling or being threatening. But the kid seemed surprised by the addition of someone new to the scene, and it galvanized him. He struggled with fresh vigor, letting out a wail as he threw himself back so hard that Shoupe nearly dropped it. It was a struggle to catch him, and he was sweating again by the time he had the wriggling little body back under control.
By the time the kid gave up, Shoupe felt spent too. For her part, Sue watched with detached bemusement. She looked at the kid and then the Shoupe.
“Things under control?” she asked dryly. “Or do we need more backup?”
He was not amused. “It’s fine,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on the boy as he slumped again with a puff of air.
“You got Luke?” she asked, peering at the back of his car where Luke had all but passed out, still cuffed to the handle.
“Yeah, that part was easy,” he said, holding tight while the boy threw himself back with a violent cry. “Found the kid, though. On the porch.”
Peterkin’s expression was stoic. “This is JJ,” she said, and she leaned down a little to look at the kid. “Luke’s boy.”
Shoupe had figured as much, but it seemed like Peterkin had expected this complication. It might have been nice if someone had warned him.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a candy bar. “Remember me, JJ?”
JJ said nothing, glaring at her as he breathed heavily in Shoupe’s arms.
She held out the chocolate. “I know you do,” she said, waiting a second.
The boy was clearly distrustful.
He was also clearly starving.
He snatched the candy, small fingers struggling to tear it open. When he got it, he took a bite and sighed a little, dropping his head against Shoupe’s shoulder in some kind of hopeless surrender.
Peterkin straightened again with a sigh of her own. She watched JJ eat for a moment before looking at Shoupe again. “How much did he see?”
“I didn’t even know he was there,” Shoupe admitted, adjusting his grip on the kid. He was a tiny little thing, but he was still heavier than Shoupe expected. The fight was petering out of him, but it was petering out of Shoupe too. He looked guiltily at the kid, who had smashed half the bar into his mouth already. His blue eyes were starting to look dull, like he had worn himself out. “I think he saw everything.”
She took a long, slow breath that sounded impossibly tired. “Well, I hate to say he’s probably seen worse, given what Luke is into these days,” she said, and she gave the boy a half smile. “Been kind of a rough go at the Maybank house.”
There was a lot Sue wasn’t saying there, and Shoupe hated to speculate. This kid was too damn small for that, too damn young.
The chocolate was gone now, and JJ made a little noise, burying his face into Shoupe’s shoulder. To sleep, maybe. Mostly, Shoupe figured, in surrender. He gave the boy a worried frown, not sure if he was supposed to comfort him or not.
He glanced anxiously back at Sue. “He hasn’t said much.”
“Best I can tell that’s normal,” she drawled with a sigh. She leaned back, pursing her lips. “I’m not sure he gets much interaction.”
That made sense given the boy’s disposition. But it also seemed wrong, given that he was a five year old kid. Little guy like that should have been out playing, having fun.
Not this.
“But he’s—“ he started, but wasn’t sure how to finish. He lowered his voice. “—okay?”
He wasn’t entirely sure he knew exactly what he was asking, but Sue seemed to get it. “DCS has followed up multiple times,” she said, as if reciting it from a report. “They say he’s healthy.”
That was a telling answer. Diplomatic on its face. Damning in its meaning.
Especially since anyone who has stepped foot on this property could reasonably suspect otherwise. “And safe?”
Sue Peterkin was made of tough shit, though. She shrugged. “That’s not my call. DCS does that work.”
That kind of acceptance was a hell of a thing. They were cops – they were part of this system – and Shoupe had never had to doubt it.
Until now.
Until he was holding a scrawny little kid, wondering what kind of life he had. Tiny and half-feral, the boy didn’t have a mother and his old man was a frequent flier with law enforcement. And if he was safe?
Wasn’t their call.
The boy was blinking sleepily now, eyes staring out at the space between Shoupe and Peterkin. He sighed a little, reaching up with one hand to tug his ear. He could feel the little body shudder and go still, the hammering of his heart still pronounced against the outside of Shoupe’s uniform.
Sue sighed a bit. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get him settled.”
He glanced back at her. “Settled?”
“We can lay him down in the back of my cruiser,” she said. She nodded behind her. “I’m parked far enough back, he won’t see – you know.”
She motioned with her head to the scene where Luke was still handcuffed.
“DCS is already on their way,” she explained.
Shoupe glanced back at the little boy, who was looking about with wary blue eyes.
“I told you,” Peterkin said. “What happens with the kid is their call.”
“I know,” Shoupe said, adjusting his grip a little. The boy didn’t protest, his body warm and sticky against Shoupe. “I just – he’s a little thing.”
“He’s also not why we’re here,” Peterkin reminded him. “We have a case to investigate. So we have to actually investigate if we want to book our suspect.”
She was right, of course. Shoupe had been the one to respond to the call; he knew why he was here. Arresting Luke Maybank had been the point. They needed any evidence they could find to solidify charges, and the warrant covered the house and the whole of the property. They needed any circumstantial evidence they could find connecting him to the robbery and any other related crimes.
“Here,” Sue said, holding out her hands. “I’ll take him and you get started.”
He had no reason to hesitate, did he? He had a job to do, and it wasn’t babysitting this kid.
But this kid was scared. This kid was terrified and his dad was going to prison and it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair.
What was the point of serving and protecting? When this shit was real?
But Peterkin was waiting, and Shoupe was still the new guy and okay.
He handed JJ over, pulling him off him with some effort. The little boy stiffened, grip tightening as Shoupe tried to disentangle him, and he heard a small whimper before he finally got the kid off him and into Sue’s waiting arms.
He didn’t want it, that much was clear.
But something in the kid knew he had no choice. Kid that age, and he had already accepted his own powerlessness.
It felt like shit, was what it felt like. It made his chest tight while Sue carried him to her cruiser and opened the back door with one hand while easing him down. He caught a glimpse of the boy, wide blue eyes on him and terrified.
He felt so guilty he turned back toward the house, desperate to get away. He looked at his arm – the bite had just broken the skin, but it wasn’t deep. The little teeth marks wept a small amount of blood and he grimaced as he wiped it up, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. He wrapped it, putting pressure for a moment, before gritting his teeth and moving forward. He had to do his job.
That was all.
He had to do his job.
Blinking hard, he stared at the ground as he climbed the steps and he didn’t look back. He didn’t even breathe until he got inside, door shut behind him and shit.
He stopped and closed his eyes.
Shit.
He had to focus. The kid wasn’t his fault, and he wasn’t his responsibility. He wasn’t.
He had to search the house and gather evidence to bolster the arrest. If Luke Maybank was guilty, he had a duty to prove it. That was all. That was why he was here. Sue was right. DCS could take care of the kid.
Eyes open, he settled himself and got his wits about him for the job at hand. He needed to search the house.
The house, though, was a shithole.
It took him all of two seconds to come to that conclusion, and it wasn’t an idle thought. Shoupe didn’t think that lightly. Even in his scant time as a cop, he’d seen some pretty messed up stuff. Most calls were for the seediest places; it happened. Drug dens, whore houses, condemned properties with pee on the walls and shit on the carpet. There was bad stuff out there.
Now, this wasn’t that bad, sure.
But this was also a little boy’s home.
And that just made everything worse.
Because this?
Was no place for a kid.
There was trash everywhere, and it looked like no one had done the dishes in months. The bathroom was covered in grime with all the fixtures rusted out. There were tools laying around with sharp edges exposed, and the fridge was stocked, all right. Plenty of beer, not a lick of milk. He couldn’t find fruits or vegetables, but coke and pills were on the coffee table, right next to a stuffed animal and a kid’s puzzle missing half its pieces.
Any frustration he had with the kid for running and fighting was gone just that fast. This hellhole was no place at all for a kid. No clean laundry, no safe play spaces. No running water or reliable food. Even the kid’s bedroom was a mess, soiled underwear in a pile and crayon scribbles on the back of the door. Shit, the door was even equipped with a lock from the outside, like someone locked the boy in when he got too inconvenient.
Now he didn’t blame the kid. He had every right to kick and scream and cry. Hell, that was what Shoupe wanted to do, and he’d only been inside for five minutes.
When Peterkin came in, she made herself known. She grunted as she stepped over the filth, her face twisted with tired disdain. “Did you find anything?”
Shoupe nodded. “Drugs, and lots of them,” he said. “We’ll need to bring in a team to process.”
She nodded, eyes skimming the scene again. “Well, I’ll send in the team. Get crime scene in here.”
“I can do it,” Shoupe said, a little taken aback by the shifting of responsibility.
“Well, you can, I’m sure,” Sue said. “But I need your help with something else.”
That one made him pause, and his mind cycled through the options as he came up blank. “With what?”
“DCS is delayed,” she said, and there was something to her voice, something he couldn’t place. Her expression, though, was steady as ever. “I could use a hand with JJ.”
“Delayed?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened ever so slightly, but that was the only sign of discontent she offered. “It’s possible they saw the address and the last name and didn’t see this as a top priority.”
She said it like it was obvious, which only made it harder for Shoupe to grasp. He nodded around. “But this place is a shithole,” he said, feeling suddenly indignant. “This kid is clearly in an unsafe home environment.”
She bobbed her head in placid agreement. “I know.”
Shoupe scoffed. “So why the hell are they not here already?”
He was riled, but she wasn’t. “I told you. Too many people hear the name Maybank and make up their minds on the good it will do.”
Sue Peterkin either had the patience of a saint or she’d seen it all. Maybe both. She said it with a straight face, no emotion at all.
Shoupe, though? Could barely contain the emotion, the anger brewing in his gut. He was angry at Luke Maybank for raising his little boy like this. He was angry at his coworkers, sworn to protect the innocent, and not one of them looking twice to make sure this kid was okay. And he was pissed at the whole damn system, every last person in it, for acting like it was inevitable.
Like this was inevitable.
A little boy in a shithole, with a father strung out and wanted for assault.
Empty cupboards and broken toys. Scrubby hair and spent joints.
Was that all this kid got? From his father? From them? From this whole damn island?
“You coming?” Peterkin asked, and Shoupe realized he was standing there, hands clasped into fists at his side. He was steaming.
She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Yeah,” he said finally, teasing out the word with as much self control as he could muster. “I’m coming.”
He breathed heavily, steeling himself against it. On his way out, though, he hesitated. Amid all the garbage, the dirty clothes, and the who-knew-what-else, was a toy. The stuffed animal – a puppy – looked worn.
It looked loved.
He snagged it off the ground, holding it for a second.
In all the bullshit, there was this.
In all the loss, there could be hope.
In all the pain, there could still be comfort.
He hoped, anyway.
Following Peterkin, the front lawn was abuzz with activity now. Multiple units had arrived, and he took a second to get his bearings. Before he saw JJ.
He was still in the back of Peterkin’s cruiser.
The deputy tasked with watching him stood, prim and proper.
He wasn’t looking at the kid.
And worse, he’d closed the damn door.
The kid looked small and forgotten. He couldn’t escape now if he wanted, locked in the back like a damn criminal.
“Shit,” he said, making his way over. He glared at the deputy standing there. “Did you have to lock him in?”
The man looked blank. “I was told to secure him–”
“Keep him secure, not secure him,” Shoupe snapped, pushing past him. “He’s not under arrest.”
“I cracked the window—“ he continued, gesturing to the front.
“And he’s not a dog!” he hissed, temper flaring. “For the love of—“
If there was a response, Shoupe didn’t care. There wasn’t a response worth hearing anyway. To treat a kid like that – like this–
He opened the door.
JJ didn’t flinch. He was curled on his side slightly, legs drawn up to his chest. He was tugging his ear, eyes turned out vacantly.
“Hey,” he said gently.
The boy didn’t respond.
He reached out, touching him softly. This time, the kid didn’t even flinch. He didn’t seem to know Shoupe was there at all.
But Shoupe could see JJ. He could see everything. The way he’d given up the fight, the way he’d just accepted it. All the bad things, all the unfair things. Like he knew, at the age of five, he didn’t have a say in the outcome anyway.
Beneath his touch, JJ’s body was still tense. He could feel it, then. The way the boy was still shaking. Minute and small, and he hid it well.
But the kid was terrified.
Overspent and exhausted and terrified.
He drew a breath, settling himself on the seat next to him, legs still out on the grass. “You doing okay in here, kiddo?”
JJ blinked a few times, eyes focusing on him for a second.
Then, before he could offer any more comfort, there was a renewed ruckus from the yard. He flinched, bending over JJ protectively, as Luke Maybank seethed, throwing himself violently against the two cops dragging him to another waiting cruiser.
“No!” Luke screamed, littering it with expletives. “You can’t take me! You sons of bitches, you can’t take me!”
He fought like a wild man, arms wrenched behind his back now with a pair of handcuffs. His legs fumbled from his anger, and the officers caught him, and Shoupe realized only belatedly that if he could see it–
He looked back at JJ, eyes wide. “JJ?” he said.
But before he could move to block the view, JJ’s eyes had already gone wide.
“JJ, buddy–”
JJ’s breathing caught as his little eyes focused, big and blue. The trembling in his little body increased, becoming painfully visible.
“JJ, it’s okay–” he started to say.
But it wasn’t. Nothing about this was okay.
Not as Luke Maybank spit expletives and the cops pressed him down.
Not as the little boy sat and watched his father be dragged off against his will, out of his damn mind.
To serve and protect–
It was bullshit.
All of this was bullshit.
Hastily, Shoupe scooped the kid up. He pressed the boy’s head to his chest with one hand and clutched the stuffed animal in the other as he walked them across the lawn, away from where Luke was thrashing. Two more deputies were brought in to try to restrain him, and Shoupe’s heart was pounding as he got to the porch, walking up the stairs as quickly as he dared with his cargo. He slammed the door open as Luke cursed virulently, and there was the muffled sound of flesh on flesh.
“You going to hit me?” Luke seethed. “I’ll sue every last one of you, I’ll–”
There was another muted blow, and Shoupe put the kid down, sitting him on the rickety porch swing. He sat next to him, positioning himself between JJ and the scene outside.
“It’s okay,” Shoupe said, swallowing as best he could. “It’s okay, JJ.”
JJ strained to look around him, as if to catch some glance of his father.
One of the deputies yelled, “Son of a bitch!”
“Do we need more backup?”
“Someone put this bastard down!”
It was only then that Shoupe realized he was trembling, too. He felt as shaky as JJ as he moved from his spot next to JJ, shifting himself so he was on his knees in front of him. His knees protested, but he didn’t give a shit, not as he looked up at the boy with a need so desperate he couldn’t quite explain it.
He offered the stuffed animal up, because it was all he had. Small and bedraggled, he realized belatedly it was a puppy.
It had to be JJ’s.
“Is this yours?” he asked.
JJ didn’t answer. Whether he couldn't or didn’t want to – he didn’t know. It didn’t matter.
“JJ, is this your puppy?” he asked as Luke yelled again. Incoherent and angry, wild and thoughtless. Not like a man, not like a father.
Slowly, JJ nodded, like he wasn’t sure the answer. Or he wasn’t sure the question.
He just wasn’t sure.
Shoupe gave the toy to him, almost putting in his little hands and wrapping his tiny fingers around it. Until he was holding it, clutched in both hands.
“You know, I had a stuffed puppy when I was a kid,” he said, because he needed the sound of his voice to carry over the ruckus outside. “It was a black and white thing. Looked like Snoopy. Do you know who Snoopy is?”
JJ blinked down at him from his spot on the swing with wide, wet eyes. Outside, there was another yell, and his little chest trembled as he seemed to vibrate again.
Shoupe put his hands on the boy’s arms, keeping them firm without gripping. He wanted the boy to know he didn’t have to run this time. That he was okay. That, despite it all, he was safe.
Even if the kid didn’t know what that meant.
“Probably not,” he continued, willing the boy’s eyes to stay on him. “But his name was Ruff. I know it was a dumb name, but I couldn’t think of anything else. He was a good puppy, my Ruff. Is your puppy good, JJ?”
The door slammed on the cruiser with a fresh flurry of curses. JJ’s breathing hitched, his expression just barely composed as his eyes watered perilously, and Shoupe forced himself to keep talking.
“JJ, is your puppy good? Tell me,” he said, loud and insistent. “Is your puppy good, JJ?”
For a second, he looked terrified. Like he might cry right then and there. Shoupe was ready to hug him, but the next breath seemed to force the boy together. It was a horrible thing to watch. A five year old who had trained himself not to cry.
Maybe because he was a cop. Maybe because he was a stranger.
Maybe because most of the time there was no one there to comfort him.
It just about shattered Shoupe’s heart, and he felt his throat constrict. He let go of JJ’s arms, his breath escaping him as the boy went horribly, painfully, placidly still.
“JJ,” he said, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “Is your puppy good?”
JJ nodded finally, his hands squeezing the toy and drawing it close to his chest. He held it there for a long second before nodding again.
Outside, the sirens were turned on and Shoupe flinched.
JJ just closed his eyes and seemed to curl into himself. His little body folded in around the puppy, and without thinking, Shoupe got up, sitting on the swing next to him. Then, he reached out and drew him close. JJ didn’t fight, curled himself up in Shoupe’s lap, still shaking as the cruiser crunched on the gravel.
Shoupe ran a hand through the boy’s hair as the sound diminished.
“He’s a good puppy, JJ,” he said absently as the boy began to still. “He’s just a good puppy.”
Whether the boy believed him or not, he didn’t know. He thought the kid probably didn’t.
But JJ gave up anyway. He gave in.
Because what the hell was he going to do?
Kid like this. In this place.
What choice did he have? He was a tiny little thing, underfed and scrawny. His clothes were oversized, dirty, and torn, and he was barefoot. The grime on him made it look like he hadn’t been bathed for weeks.
This wasn’t about trust as much as it was surrender. Like JJ knew what it was like to have no other options and accept what was in front of you.
Life had already broken this kid.
And all Shoupe could do was hold him, press his head against his chest, and hope to spare him from one more thing.
As if that could possibly be enough.
-o-
Shoupe lost track of himself, honestly. He lost track of the time; he lost track of what he was doing. CSI was starting to process the scene, and Luke was long gone. He was still sitting there, though, JJ tucked in his arms, when Peterkin strolled up to him, coming through the porch door and stopping short. For a moment, she stood there, just taking it in.
When Shoupe finally let himself make eye contact, she tilted her head curiously. “How’s he doing?”
Shoupe glanced back down. The little blonde head was slumped against him now, as if the tension had drained out of his body. His eyes were open, but the look in them was distant. Like JJ was there but not really.
“He’s tired,” he said simply. “That was a little more than he needed.”
It was an understatement. Sue pursed her lips, regretful and resigned all the same. “We didn’t have much say in that.”
He knew it. Obviously, Luke Maybank was to blame. But no one had thought. No one had even given the kid a second look. “Still,” he said, putting his hand protectively over the boy’s mop of hair. “He didn’t need to see that.”
Sue came closer with a nod – and a sigh. “No,” she agreed. “I had hoped for DCS—“
“Where are they?” he asked, looking up again.
She shrugged.
He could argue – but for what? What was he going to get? What would it get this kid?
He looked down, where JJ was lightly stroking his puppy, one hand going back up to pull his ear as the adrenaline faded.
His chest felt tight. “How old is he anyway?”
Sue took the question for what it was. “Five,” she said. “Pretty sure he’s almost six.”
It seemed unbelievable. The kid was too thin, too small. Too slight, almost nonverbal. Some of that was the shock, sure.
Some of that was – this.
This house, this father. The lack of food and the drugs.
He pressed the urge to curse back down, all things considered. “Shouldn’t he be in school?” he asked, because it was 1 PM. On a Tuesday in March.
The thought had clearly already occurred to Peterkin. “I’m going to look into it.”
The little boy shifted, burrowing a little deeper. His face pressed against Shoupe’s shoulder, his body hot and limp. Shoupe reached up protectively, stroking the dirty blonde hair as he lowered his voice. “And his mom? Can we reach her?”
To that, Peterkin sighed, long and hard. “She left last year,” she said simply. “It seemed to be the start of his – downward spiral.”
That was one way of putting it, he supposed. What led a father to leave his son in squalor. What led to the kind of neglect that left a boy looking like this.
No one started off that way, he supposed. No parent ever took their baby home from the hospital thinking they would do it wrong. But life happened.
And sometimes, life happened hard.
Shoupe didn’t know if that was a reason for pity.
Or all the more reason to condemn.
It didn’t matter.
For this kid, none of it mattered.
“And if he’s in prison–” he started and he shook his head. “DCS? Where the hell are they anyway?”
Peterkin nodded – again like she’d already thought this through. “Last I heard, they’re meeting us down at the station,” she said. “Now that we’ve got the arrest taken care of, we should get him down to the station.”
He considered this, watching as the boy breathed against him. “The scene?”
“Crime scene is here, and I’ve got a unit to canvas,” she said. “I thought you could help with JJ—“
She inclined her head, as if it were self evident.
It was.
Like Shoupe was putting him down now.
He shifted, holding the boy as he inched his way to the edge of the seat.
She stepped forward again, nodding at JJ. “Or I can take him, if you want,” she offered. Her face softened sympathetically. For him. For JJ. For all of it. “Even the small ones feel heavy.”
Heavy wasn’t the word for it.
Or maybe it was.
The boy’s weight was slight, but the reality of it was pressing in, harder with each minute. Shoupe had come to make an easy arrest.
And in administering justice, he’d thrown this little kid’s life up in the air.
Was that for the better? Well, maybe.
Would the kid understand that? Probably not.
He was already scared. He was already desperate.
And Shoupe was here, taking away the last vestiges of normal that child had.
As if he needed to feel worse.
“No,” he said softly, getting to his feet and cradling JJ close. “I got him.”
Because Shoupe had answered that call. Because Shoupe had made that arrest.
Because Shoupe was here, really.
Because someone had to be, in the end.
-o-
Someone the scene rustled up a booster seat, which wasn’t as good as a five-point harness, but they were the cops. So it wasn’t like they were going to get arrested.
JJ tensed as Shoupe strapped him in, and for a second, that wide-eyed terror was back. He could see it, that fight or flight response, before Shoupe shut the door and the kid’s expression nearly shattered. Eyes full and body shaking, he was on the verge of tears. Shoupe hastily got in the front, turning back around with a grin. He reached over to the seat, picking up the puppy.
“Puppy’s right here,” he said with forced levity. “And so am I, okay? We’re just going to go for a little ride.”
JJ looked at him, the anger having long since given way to terror now. His breathing was short and fast as he looked back out at his house.
Shoupe winced, even as he tried to keep smiling. “It’s not far,” he said. “And I’ll be there, okay?”
He wasn’t sure why he’d thought that mattered.
He wasn’t sure why it did.
But JJ blinked, wide and slow. He swallowed and then went still, painfully silent until Shoupe had no excuse but to start the car and head to the station.
He drove slow; he drove careful.
He drove with one eye on the rearview mirror, watching as JJ Maybank’s face crumpled as they pulled out of the drive once and for all.
-o-
Back at the station, he carried JJ inside. He tried to put him down, but the kid wouldn’t have it now. He clung like a little monkey, hands so tight that it nearly choked him, fist white knuckled and desperate as he buried his head from the bustle of the station around him.
DCS still wasn’t there yet, despite Sue’s call ahead and all their posturing. When he asked their ETA, no one seemed to know. He nodded at the kid like that was the point, but everyone just shrugged like it didn’t matter.
Like the kid didn’t matter.
He spared a minute to clean up the bite on his arm – usually a generous amount of antiseptic before he wrapped it in gauze – and hurried back to where the kid looked ready to cry or explode. It was clear the kid was rapidly reaching his breaking point, and the wary looks from everyone in the station weren’t helping to calm him down. They all looked at him, sure. Not one of them treated the damn kid like he was human.
Shoupe was more pissed at them than anything else, and he realized JJ wasn’t the only one about to snap. Frustration simmering, he took the kid by the hand, leading him to one of the interview rooms. It wasn’t a friendly venue, but it was safe. There were no prying eyes or whispering voices. And it was quiet.
He sat down with the kid on his lap, holding him while one of the other officers brought some more food and drink. It was only then, when they were alone, that he got JJ to look up. He looked wary, but the food was clearly tempting.
Within five minutes, he had the boy on his own chair, eating the sandwich with large, messy bites, and downing the carton of chocolate milk with vigor.
“It’s been kind of a day, huh?” he said, pushing a bag of Oreos at the boy.
The boy looked at him for a moment but said nothing, taking the bag.
“I know it’s all kind of a lot,” he continued, and the boy opened it, dirty fingers reaching for the first cookie. “With your dad.”
That made the kid stop. He froze for a long, hard second.
Shoupe hesitated, not sure what he should say or do. “Your dad needs help, JJ.”
JJ blinked at him, eye wide and too blue.
“You might say he’s sick,” he ventured.
The boy’s brow wrinkled in obvious confusion.
He shook his head, knowing the kid was too young for that one. “And I think it’ll be weird for a bit,” he said. “Whatever happens. It’ll be weird.”
JJ put the cookie in his mouth, crunching it noisily.
Shoupe sighed. The kid had no idea.
How could he have any idea?
All that kid knew was that shitty little house on that scrubby piece of land. A mother who left and a father who – lost control.
“And it might be scary,” he said. “It might be lonely.”
The boy swallowed. And blinked, eyes not looking away.
The kid didn’t say much, that was true. But he knew what Shoupe was saying.
He suspected JJ knew more than he should. More than any kid his age should.
About father’s who didn’t remember to go to the grocery store. Who got drunk instead of reading him bedtime stories. Who spent their time robbing pharmacies instead of keeping their little ones safe.
Had JJ seen his father take the drugs? Had JJ seen him strung out?
Did he know what the needles were for? Did he know not to take any pills laying around?
Who had been watching JJ while his dad had been out, beating people up?
Shoupe had seen a lot of terrible things, sure. But he was a grown-ass man and he’d chosen this.
JJ was five.
He hadn’t chosen anything.
“I’m going to help as much as I can,” he said, because it was all he had. “I’ll try to make sure you’re safe.”
JJ went still.
Shoupe sighed. “I promise.”
But the kid knew what that meant, too, didn’t he?
That kid had heard promises before.
And he knew – he knew – they didn’t mean shit.
Defeated, Shoupe pushed the bag at JJ. “Do you want more?” he said. “I can get you more.”
At this, JJ’s eyes lit up a little. Enough.
Shoupe smiled, getting to his feet. “Okay,” he said, tousling the kid’s hair. “More it is.”
-o-
With a steady stream of snacks, JJ was easy enough to entertain. Shoupe didn’t talk more about what had happened. He didn’t talk about the kid’s dad or anything else.
Instead, he let the kid play games on his phone, finding himself laughing along with the kid as he tried and failed to defeat zombies with plants.
The boy had finally relaxed, and Shoupe allowed himself to think this was going to be okay.
Until the knock at the door came.
And he recognized one of the DCS liaisons at the door.
“I’m here for JJ Maybank?”
Shoupe got up from his seat, and behind him, the little boy stiffened. He felt it, the way the air seemed to get sucked from the room, as JJ didn’t dare move. “Yeah, this is him,” Shoupe said, walking over and offering his hand. He smiled. “We’ve just been hanging out.”
She took it with a perfunctory little nod. “Sorry we’re late,” she said, pulling her hand back and hastily pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She held up the file in her other hand. “Reviewing the case history took some time.”
Shoupe’s stomach fluttered, feeling funny. The size of the file; the look on her face.
He had good instinct, see.
And he could feel his hackles going up.
“And honestly, we had to play rock paper scissors to see who would get stuck with the kid this time,” she said to him in a low voice. “I always go down with rock, every time.”
It took him a moment, to understand what she was saying.
That they’d try to pass this case off – the whole department. They’d all try to pass this kid off.
“Some of these repeat offenders,” she said with a sigh. “Makes you wonder why we bother, when the cycle just keeps on.”
He drew a breath, not sure what to say. “The cycle?”
She shrugged. “Father to son, family legacy,” she said. “And how long until I’m holding a file of his charges – and not his father’s?”
His face flushed, hot and mad. “He’s five,” he said, teeth gritted and voice low. “So maybe you do your job so none of that happens?”
She wasn’t stupid, even if she looked it. His tone sobered her, if his words didn’t. She wet her lips, adjusting herself primly. “Of course,” she said, and stepped around Shoupe hastily. “JJ, you know the drill, honey. It’s time to go.”
She took another step toward JJ, and maybe if Shoupe hadn’t been so angry at the woman he might have seen it coming. The kid’s response wasn’t unpredictable – he could still feel the boy’s teeth in his skin – but somehow he wasn’t ready for it.
And this woman?
And her long file and her choice of rock?
She certainly wasn’t ready.
JJ bolted, knocking the chair over as he made a run for it. He didn’t try for stealth, but he ran right into her, throwing her off balance as he made his dash for the door. Shoupe caught him, just in time – pulling him back by his arm.
The boy yelled something – nondescript and feral – as Shoupe held onto his wriggling body, trashing so much he half threw himself on the ground. It was all Shoupe could to do to keep the kid from hurting himself.
The woman was recovering now, scowling as she came back around. “JJ, that’s not very nice,” she said, leaning down to help secure JJ. “We’re here to help you.”
Her voice sounded anything but. There was no compassion; there was no gentleness.
Just a woman tired of doing her job, as if this kid was nothing but an inconvenience. Something she didn’t want to bother with.
And here was Shoupe, helping her.
JJ fought with all he had, writhing and flailing. His head banged on the floor once and Shoupe knew he couldn’t let this go on. Chest aching, he bared down, forcing the boy down and pressing him there to stop him from hurting himself. It was awful, watching the boy struggle, blue eyes fill with tears as he looked up at Shoupe one more time.
Betrayal.
Hurt.
Defeat.
Five years old, and the boy knew when he was done. He knew when it was time to stay down. He knew when he’d lost.
Luke Maybank had committed the crime, no doubt.
And his son was the one paying for it, one hundred times over.
“Okay, get him up,” she coached, pulling on JJ’s arm.
Shoupe relented despite himself, helping lift the kid back up. The boy had stopped fighting now, fully compliant as they got him sitting. She got down, taking him by the shoulders. “That’s not very nice, JJ,” she said, as if lecturing him. “Now, come on.”
She picked him up, setting him on his feet, and Shoupe watched as the boy’s eyes went vacant and distant.
“Are you going to behave?” she asked, a little sharply now.
JJ looked at the ground.
She eased back, lips flat as she gave JJ a long, uncertain look. “Okay,” she said, nodding. She looked at Shoupe. “Thanks for your help, Deputy.”
His help?
Shoupe had arrested this kid’s father. He’d just forced him into DCS custody. He’d seen the boy come to life just to shut himself down again.
So much for help.
With that, she took JJ by the shoulder, leading him out of the room. The boy shuffled his feet and he didn’t look back. Shoupe followed, standing in the door as he watched them retreat down the hall and out of sight. He stood there, longer still, until Peterkin found him.
“Was that DCS?” she asked, like she didn’t know.
He nodded vaguely. “What will happen to him?”
She shrugged, making a face. “Family, probably,” she said. “He’s got enough of them on the island.”
That could be worse, he thought.
But he thought about Luke and the size of JJ’s files.
That could be better.
Then, Peterkin added, “We’ll make sure he gets enrolled in school,” she said, like that was a solace. “He’ll be most of the year behind, but it’s better than nothing.”
The kid was five.
And that was where they were at?
Better than nothing?
He swallowed. As hard as he could. Wincing, he looked at Sue. “And his dad?”
Her expression was tired, but not surprised. “He’s going to cop a plea,” she said. She made a face. “He’ll be out in six months, maybe less. That’s my guess.”
Six months. Maybe less.
His breath caught, and his stomach felt sick. “And JJ?” he said. “Where will JJ go?”
She looked at him, plain as day. Like he was the one asking stupid questions. “Where else would he go? That’s his home. That’s his daddy.”
It just – wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
It wasn’t anything.
The sheer injustice of it was overwhelming. That a kid could suffer so much and for what? For the system to send him right back where he started?
He knew the reasons; he knew the goal was to keep families together.
But shit.
He’d seen that boy’s home.
He’d held that boy while he trembled.
Too small, too scared, too desperate.
And the plan was to send him back like nothing had ever happened.
Maybe six months away would do Luke Maybank good. Maybe he’d get clean, sober up. Maybe he’d come back reformed and ready to work.
But Shoupe had worked this job just long enough to know those odds.
To know that chances were Maybank would come back just as messed up as ever. He’d start drinking again within a week. The first paycheck he scrounged up, he’d be back out, buying pills and crack.
How long would JJ have? Until he got hungry again. Until he got forgotten about in a haze of booze and pills. Until something worse
“And that’s it?” he asked, feeling his incredulity, hard like a rock in his chest. “That’s just it?”
She shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
Something. Everything.
Anything.
“That can’t be it,” he said. “We have to–”
“We made the arrest, Vic,” she said simply. “We called DCS. The rest of it? It ain’t up to us. None of it has ever been up to us.”
And there it was.
The horrible irony of power.
The more you had, the more you realized what you didn’t have. To have a little was never enough, and the responsibility left you wanting. Jurisdiction and due process and procedure and shit.
“He’s just a kid,” he said, almost pleading now. “Sue–”
“We did our job,” was all she could say. “So file your paperwork. Clean up your arm for real. And finish the case, Vic.”
He wanted to yell. He wanted to curse her out, right here right now. He wanted to throw something, tear up some reports. Anything.
But he looked at her.
He looked at the station of hardworking deputies around here.
And he remembered why he was here.
Not to preserve justice. Not to protect the innocent.
To keep order; to maintain the balance.
To keep the damn peace.
He seethed as she walked away, red faced and angry as he sat back down again and stared at the report in front of him. He typed it out, hitting the keys harder than he needed to. Then, gritting his teeth, he nearly flinched as he pressed the tab – case closed.
Luke Maybank’s report would be processed.
And JJ Maybank was no longer his concern at all.
-o-
Shoupe finished his shift numb, avoiding any calls and staring blankly at his computer screen under any pretense he could find. He allowed the nurse at the station to check him out, swabbing his wound clean while asking him banal questions about how and why it happened. She bandaged it, nice and tight, and told him it would heal just fine – no scars.
He would walk away from this scot-free.
JJ, on the other hand–
Shopue tried not to think about it, which meant he tried not to think about anything. When he clocked off, he ignored the polite conversation from the others, and got the hell out.
He found himself at the shittiest bar he could find, right down the street. He ordered a beer and started drinking.
Drinking was better than doing police work that didn’t matter. It was better than ripping up families and pulling apart little kids with no promise of recompense. It would be one thing if he’d saved the kid. But no. He’d just traumatized the kid, and in six months, they’d all be right back where they started.
Shit.
The bartender raised her eyebrows when he asked her to keep them coming, still in uniform and all. “You sure, Deputy?”
“Keep them coming,” he said, and he pulled his keys out of his pocket, dumping them on the bar. “And go ahead and keep these.”
She traded the keys for a shot of whisky, giving him a shrug. “Looks like you need it.”
He didn’t disagree.
He downed that shot and one more before switching back to beer, and by the time Peterkin found him, he was well past the point of no return. He grunted as he saw her come. He was too drunk – or too stupid – to even pretend otherwise, and he stared her down as she approached, daring her to come closer.
She didn’t blink. She was made of tough shit, balls of steel. She sat down next to him, notably uninvited. She was his boss, sure. But Shoupe was off duty and on his way to getting shit faced, so yeah.
Yeah.
She sat down uninvited.
“Do you remember when you asked me why I hired you?” she asked.
It was a hell of a thing. To ask him that now.
“I guess,” he said stiffly. He pursed his lips and took a drink. “What about it?”
She inclined her head toward him, simple and slow. “This – right here – is why.”
She said it so plaintively that he couldn’t. Right?
After this whole shitty case. After Luke Maybank and his shithole house. After little JJ and the idea that he’d go right back to his daddy because no one on this island gave a shit.
He couldn’t.
“What?” he asked, voice caustic as he took a long, hard swig. He put the glass back on the bar, wrinkling his nose and breathing hard. “Because I’m getting drunk when I have to work tomorrow?”
He was trying to provoke her. He knew, and she knew it.
She didn’t rise to it, though. The damn woman didn’t even flinch. She was made of something remarkable, Sue Peterkin. He either hated her for it or respected the hell out of her. Right now, alcohol buzzing through his veins, he wasn’t sure.
“Because you care,” she said simply. “You care about the Maybanks.”
He scoffs, louder and harder than he would were he not clearly past his prime. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
His incredulity was mirrored by her complete indifference. She mustered almost no emotion,and it didn’t make any sense at all. Nothing on this damn island made sense. “Because Maybanks are synonymous with trash on this island,” she told him plainly. “Not one single person gives a shit about them.”
He could only gape, the dullness of the alcohol making it impossible to keep it in. “They’re people. We serve and protect all of them, not just the ones we like or the ones from the Figure Eight,” he said. “And JJ? Is five years old.”
She drew herself up, pursing her lips a little. “Do you know we’ve had about a dozen run-ins with Luke over the last six months?”
He’d skimmed the file; he knew what kind of man Luke was.
But it was still a thing to say.
“Yeah, sounds like he’s got it going right now,” he said sullenly.
Sue, though, nodded, like he wasn’t being purposefully like a jackass. “Things haven’t been the same since his wife left. Disappeared without a trace. No one has seen her on the island since.”
He frowned. “A missing person–?”
“He didn’t file nothing,” Sue said. “I asked around. Best I can tell, she left because she loved drugs more than she loved her husband. She loved drugs more than she loved her little boy.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
Sue shrugged. “Before she left, Luke was the stable one,” she said. “But he went off the deep end, and I don’t know if anything will pull him back.”
Well, shit. Shoupe blew out a long, slow breath, wishing he had more alcohol in his cup right then. “So, JJ’s got a deadbeat dad, and his mother abandoned him,” he said. And it felt horrible, mostly because it wasn’t surprising at all. “Shit, if that kid didn’t have bad luck, I’m not sure he’d have any luck at all.”
“It’s true,” Sue agreed. “That boy’s got nothing, and he’s going to have an uphill battle his entire life on this island.”
It just – felt worse.
As if he needed it to feel worse.
“And you know what?” Sue continued. “Not a single deputy on my payroll bothered to care. They haven’t learned his damn name yet, and we’ve had him in our care at least that many times.”
He shook his hand, hands splayed on the counter as he turned on the stool to look at her. “JJ Maybank is just a kid,” he said. Because there was no other way to say. “What the hell has that kid done to deserve any of this? From his parents? From the whole damn island?”
Sue looked at him, long and hard and discerning. And then, she nodded. “That’s why I hired you, Vic. That’s why you belong here.”
That was something, then, wasn’t it. Something he wasn’t expecting. Something that maybe just mattered. Hard as hell, but something good.
She patted the bar with her hand, finished the rest of her beer and laying down cash on the counter. “If you get hammered, call a cab,” she said, patting him on the arm. “I took you off the shift tomorrow.”
He grinned, bitter and hard. “Thanks, Sue.”
She tipped her head at him on the way out.
And Shoupe ordered another round.