hall. Through the large glass doors, several desks squatted in even rows. At the moment, only two volunteers sat manning the phones. “This is the hotline room,” she told Adrian. “Sooner or later you’ll be asked to take calls. The best thing you can do is listen. Many of these kids just need to talk to someone who doesn’t know them and won’t judge them.”
Adrian stood at the door, staring through the glass, his expression unreadable, his thoughts closed off to her.
“Do you have any questions?” He hadn’t said a word since they’d begun their tour.
“Nope. Just taking it all in.”
Angie drew a deep breath and continued. “I’ll take you to the halfway house later. That’s where we feed and board our charges.”
“Charges?”
Apprehension fisted in her gut. “Exactly how much do you know about Reach?”
“Enough.” His answer was way too vague to be convincing.
“So you’re aware that Reach is part of a special program catering to troubled youth, designed to smooth the transition from juvenile hall to life outside?”
The blank stare Adrian gave her was all the answer she needed. “I’m not talking about kids convicted of violent crimes,” she clarified, “nothing incorrigible like rape or murder. Every candidate is carefully screened before being admitted into the program. Most of the kids you’ll find at the halfway house are guilty of petty theft or fraud.”
“So what exactly happens when a candidate is admitted?”
Finally, a question. Angie was starting to feel this was a one-way conversation. “We house him, feed him, counsel him, and when Lydia feels he’s ready, we either find him a more permanent home or help him find work.”
She shook her head regretfully. “You’d be amazed how many of these kids have nowhere to go after they get out of juvie. The ones we admit into the program often have no families to speak of, and once they reach eighteen, the foster system won’t have them. They’re on their own, with no money, no real skills to speak of and no hope of turning their lives around. Without Reach, they’d be back to stealing cars or picking pockets within weeks of being released from jail.”
“That’s how things usually go. The road to redemption isn’t exactly paved in gold.” The caustic note she caught in his voice perplexed her. Most Reach volunteers possessed an almost utopian sense of optimism.
Adrian didn’t sound like an optimist. He sounded like a cynic. So what was he doing volunteering for an outreach program?
“Can I ask you a question?”
His gaze captured hers, and something hot and frantic fluttered in her chest. “Go ahead.”
She almost forgot what she wanted to ask him. Her thoughts felt scrambled, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle struggling to come together. “Why are you here? Really?”
His stare was so focused, so penetrating, it was as though he could see straight into her soul. His eyes caressed her, traced the curve of her cheek to finally settle on her mouth. Her traitorous lips began to thrum again, and she wet them in automatic response.
Silence stretched between them, so deep Angie didn’t expect him to answer her question. But he did. “Because somebody really special once told me I had the power to change the world.”
His role was only to observe. Angie had made that, if nothing else, clear. More than happy to comply, Adrian sat in a quiet corner of the sun-dappled room, watching Angie moderate a counseling session.
The whole setup reminded him of an AA meeting, not that he’d ever attended one. It was physically impossible for him to become addicted to any of the substances humans were so susceptible to. Adrian had one and only one vice. He craved souls.
He was tempted to stand up and say, “Hi, my name is Adrian and I’m a soul thief,” but he fought the urge. He wasn’t here to have his misplaced conscience soothed. He was here to protect it.
One after another, the attendees confessed
Adrian stood at the door, staring through the glass, his expression unreadable, his thoughts closed off to her.
“Do you have any questions?” He hadn’t said a word since they’d begun their tour.
“Nope. Just taking it all in.”
Angie drew a deep breath and continued. “I’ll take you to the halfway house later. That’s where we feed and board our charges.”
“Charges?”
Apprehension fisted in her gut. “Exactly how much do you know about Reach?”
“Enough.” His answer was way too vague to be convincing.
“So you’re aware that Reach is part of a special program catering to troubled youth, designed to smooth the transition from juvenile hall to life outside?”
The blank stare Adrian gave her was all the answer she needed. “I’m not talking about kids convicted of violent crimes,” she clarified, “nothing incorrigible like rape or murder. Every candidate is carefully screened before being admitted into the program. Most of the kids you’ll find at the halfway house are guilty of petty theft or fraud.”
“So what exactly happens when a candidate is admitted?”
Finally, a question. Angie was starting to feel this was a one-way conversation. “We house him, feed him, counsel him, and when Lydia feels he’s ready, we either find him a more permanent home or help him find work.”
She shook her head regretfully. “You’d be amazed how many of these kids have nowhere to go after they get out of juvie. The ones we admit into the program often have no families to speak of, and once they reach eighteen, the foster system won’t have them. They’re on their own, with no money, no real skills to speak of and no hope of turning their lives around. Without Reach, they’d be back to stealing cars or picking pockets within weeks of being released from jail.”
“That’s how things usually go. The road to redemption isn’t exactly paved in gold.” The caustic note she caught in his voice perplexed her. Most Reach volunteers possessed an almost utopian sense of optimism.
Adrian didn’t sound like an optimist. He sounded like a cynic. So what was he doing volunteering for an outreach program?
“Can I ask you a question?”
His gaze captured hers, and something hot and frantic fluttered in her chest. “Go ahead.”
She almost forgot what she wanted to ask him. Her thoughts felt scrambled, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle struggling to come together. “Why are you here? Really?”
His stare was so focused, so penetrating, it was as though he could see straight into her soul. His eyes caressed her, traced the curve of her cheek to finally settle on her mouth. Her traitorous lips began to thrum again, and she wet them in automatic response.
Silence stretched between them, so deep Angie didn’t expect him to answer her question. But he did. “Because somebody really special once told me I had the power to change the world.”
His role was only to observe. Angie had made that, if nothing else, clear. More than happy to comply, Adrian sat in a quiet corner of the sun-dappled room, watching Angie moderate a counseling session.
The whole setup reminded him of an AA meeting, not that he’d ever attended one. It was physically impossible for him to become addicted to any of the substances humans were so susceptible to. Adrian had one and only one vice. He craved souls.
He was tempted to stand up and say, “Hi, my name is Adrian and I’m a soul thief,” but he fought the urge. He wasn’t here to have his misplaced conscience soothed. He was here to protect it.
One after another, the attendees confessed
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