until the physical pain numbs the emotional.
Gina pushes past Chief Burns, kneeling in front of the young woman as she pulls her into an embrace, shielding her from the gathering crowd. The young woman sobs uncontrollably as Gina rocks her in her arms.
“Get these people out of here,” Chief Burns orders to the officers witnessing the scene.
The officers turn toward the onlookers, their arms outstretched, backing them up away from the caution tape. “Nothing to see here. Back up people.”
“Get your hands off her,” the father orders, approaching Gina.
Tony gulps before grabbing the large man by his arm. “She’s only trying to help.”
The man jerks his arm away from Tony. “I didn’t see any of you trying to help three years ago.” He throws his arms out to his sides, a large reach. “You’re a joke. The whole system’s a joke!” He chuckles mirthlessly, quenching the urge to cry. “He raped my baby. My baby!” He pounds his chest with his fist. “I’m supposed to protect her.” He regroups, shaking off the emotion. “Lord knows the system won’t. Three years in jail with early probation on account of good behavior.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “We don’t want your kind of help.”
“You tell ’em!” a lady shouts from the crowd. “I’m sick and tired of all these scumbags roaming our neighborhood. I don’t even dare to let my children out of the house to play.”
“Our kids don’t stand a chance, between the drug dealers and the pedophiles. I looked online. Do you know we have more sex offenders per capita than any other neighborhood in the city,” a man joins the lady in her protest.
“‘Stick ’em over there on the Eastside,’” the lady continues mockingly. “You don’t want them in your communities. Well, we don’t want ’em, either!”
The crowd begins applauding the protestors. Random outbursts are interjected as the scene plays out. ‘Cops suck.’ ‘The whole damn system’s broke.’ ‘We’re not gonna take it anymore!’ ‘If you don’t stop it, we will.’
“Take it up with the city folks,” an officer persuades, as he attempts to quiet the crowd.
“Yep. Get a permit, then you can protest all day long,” Officer Marks chimes, herding people away.
The young woman’s father gently pulls her from Gina’s embrace, up off the ground. “It’s all over now, honey,” he coaxes. Eyeing Gina directly with disdain, he continues, “Justice has been done.”
Gina remains kneeling on the concrete in the alleyway beside the corpse of the rapist, her thoughts scattered. Tony walks to her extending his hand. “He’s right. You know he is,” she says, shame flooding her expression.
His hand outstretched, he nods at her, prompting her to pull it together. She shakes her head, taking his hand. He pulls her into standing position. “I know,” he admits, an afterthought, falling into cadence behind her. She has recovered. In full detective mode now, she heads in the direction of the man and his daughter, knowing she must insist they cooperate for questioning.
THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Patricia Ryan is in session with Randall Barnes, a registered sex offender with a persuasion toward young boys...and girls. Any minor, really. He has served two prison sentences, one for a year, and three years for the second count. Currently on his tenth month of a four-year probation, mandatory psychological counseling is added to his curriculum. The bill for such services, another strain on the local taxpayer, in addition to the thirty thousand dollars for every year he spent incarcerated. What’s another hundred dollars an hour for his psychological well-being?
Dr. Ryan’s room is dim, the shades pulled, an attempt to make her clients feel at ease. Light seems to cause them great discomfort. Dr. Ryan sits in her chair. Randall Barnes across from her, lying casually on the leather sofa, one leg kicked off onto the floor, his arms relaxed above his head.
“How
Gina pushes past Chief Burns, kneeling in front of the young woman as she pulls her into an embrace, shielding her from the gathering crowd. The young woman sobs uncontrollably as Gina rocks her in her arms.
“Get these people out of here,” Chief Burns orders to the officers witnessing the scene.
The officers turn toward the onlookers, their arms outstretched, backing them up away from the caution tape. “Nothing to see here. Back up people.”
“Get your hands off her,” the father orders, approaching Gina.
Tony gulps before grabbing the large man by his arm. “She’s only trying to help.”
The man jerks his arm away from Tony. “I didn’t see any of you trying to help three years ago.” He throws his arms out to his sides, a large reach. “You’re a joke. The whole system’s a joke!” He chuckles mirthlessly, quenching the urge to cry. “He raped my baby. My baby!” He pounds his chest with his fist. “I’m supposed to protect her.” He regroups, shaking off the emotion. “Lord knows the system won’t. Three years in jail with early probation on account of good behavior.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “We don’t want your kind of help.”
“You tell ’em!” a lady shouts from the crowd. “I’m sick and tired of all these scumbags roaming our neighborhood. I don’t even dare to let my children out of the house to play.”
“Our kids don’t stand a chance, between the drug dealers and the pedophiles. I looked online. Do you know we have more sex offenders per capita than any other neighborhood in the city,” a man joins the lady in her protest.
“‘Stick ’em over there on the Eastside,’” the lady continues mockingly. “You don’t want them in your communities. Well, we don’t want ’em, either!”
The crowd begins applauding the protestors. Random outbursts are interjected as the scene plays out. ‘Cops suck.’ ‘The whole damn system’s broke.’ ‘We’re not gonna take it anymore!’ ‘If you don’t stop it, we will.’
“Take it up with the city folks,” an officer persuades, as he attempts to quiet the crowd.
“Yep. Get a permit, then you can protest all day long,” Officer Marks chimes, herding people away.
The young woman’s father gently pulls her from Gina’s embrace, up off the ground. “It’s all over now, honey,” he coaxes. Eyeing Gina directly with disdain, he continues, “Justice has been done.”
Gina remains kneeling on the concrete in the alleyway beside the corpse of the rapist, her thoughts scattered. Tony walks to her extending his hand. “He’s right. You know he is,” she says, shame flooding her expression.
His hand outstretched, he nods at her, prompting her to pull it together. She shakes her head, taking his hand. He pulls her into standing position. “I know,” he admits, an afterthought, falling into cadence behind her. She has recovered. In full detective mode now, she heads in the direction of the man and his daughter, knowing she must insist they cooperate for questioning.
THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Patricia Ryan is in session with Randall Barnes, a registered sex offender with a persuasion toward young boys...and girls. Any minor, really. He has served two prison sentences, one for a year, and three years for the second count. Currently on his tenth month of a four-year probation, mandatory psychological counseling is added to his curriculum. The bill for such services, another strain on the local taxpayer, in addition to the thirty thousand dollars for every year he spent incarcerated. What’s another hundred dollars an hour for his psychological well-being?
Dr. Ryan’s room is dim, the shades pulled, an attempt to make her clients feel at ease. Light seems to cause them great discomfort. Dr. Ryan sits in her chair. Randall Barnes across from her, lying casually on the leather sofa, one leg kicked off onto the floor, his arms relaxed above his head.
“How
Similar Books
