Night Light by Terri Blackstock

pointing. “It must be that one right there.”
    All eyes were on them as they got out of the car. Scarbrough locked the van that had the words “Sheriff’s Department” painted on the side. The sign and the uniform produced an instant aura of suspicion among the residents. Some stepped back into their open apartments. Clusters of people spoke in low voices, staying out of his way.
    But he headed toward one of those clusters. Doug and Kay followed him at a distance. He asked about the children in 4B. “We’ve heard rumors they live up there alone. Any truth to that?”
    “They have a mama,” a man said. “But I ain’t seen her in a while.”
    A skinny woman with a bandana on her head spoke up. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
    “She’s probably laid up somewhere with a needle in her arm,” the man said.
    Kay met Doug’s eyes. So the mom was a drug addict. That explained a lot.
    The sheriff questioned a few other neighbors as they made their way to 4B. All confirmed that the mother hadn’t been seen in weeks.
    “Not sounding good,” Scarbrough said as they reached their door.
    “No, it sounds like Jeff got it right.” Kay glanced at her husband. His frown lines cut more deeply into his brow as they moved closer to the door.
    Scarbrough was getting angry. “I ought to arrest the whole bunch of them for letting this go on. Four children, all alone. And when I find that sorry excuse for a mother …”
    He banged on the door.
    The curtain was snatched back from the window and a little girl looked out, apparently the three-year-old Jeff had described. Her face was dirty and her mop of curls was tangled and unbrushed.
    No one answered the door, but the sheriff had seen the little girl peering out too. He banged harder. “Sheriff’s department, open up!”
    The door cracked open then, and a small boy peered out.
    He didn’t look much older than the girl, and his face was just as dirty. “We didn’t do nothing,” he said, looking fearfully up at the sheriff.
    Behind him, a voice yelled, “Luke, I told you not to open it!”
    Luke looked back. “But it’s the sheriff!”
    Kay peered into the dark apartment and saw two older boys — perhaps the ones who’d broken in.
    The oldest one came to the door. “Our mom’s not home,” he said. “She’s at work. But we didn’t do anything wrong.”
    Scarbrough pushed the door open so they could look into the apartment. Kay took it all in. The place looked like the back room at a Goodwill shop, where people dumped their discards before they were sorted. The floor was covered with clothes and items of all sorts, and on the table she saw the bag of apples the boys had stolen from her house earlier that day.
    A sewage smell wafted out of the apartment, making her want to cover her nose. She shot Doug a distraught look. This time, he returned it.
    The sheriff led them inside, and the picture grew more grim — as did the smell. How could anyone live in conditions like this — much less children?
    “Where’s your mama?” the sheriff asked.
    “She’s at work,” the second oldest said. “She’ll be home late tonight.”
    “Where does she work?”
    “At Western Sizzlin’.”
    Kay and Doug looked at each other. The Western Sizzlin’ hadn’t been open since the day the Pulses began.
    Aaron saw the exchange and quickly corrected his brother. “No, that’s where she used to work. Now she works for that family in Birmingham. Cleaning houses. I can’t remember their names.”
    That didn’t even make sense. Hardly anyone had cash for the bare necessities. Even the richest person in town was probably cash poor by now and wouldn’t spend what they had on domestic services.
    “So why did the neighbors tell me they haven’t seen your mama in weeks?”
    Aaron just stared at them. “They lie, some of them. They don’t know anything.”
    Doug moved a box off a chair and sat down, putting his face on an eye level with the boys. “Look,