Forged by Fire (7 page)

Angel wept silently while he explored her body for chicken pox spots. He took his time. He found them all.

Finally he spoke. “I've missed you, girl. I forgot what a special little Angel you really are.” He headed out of the room.

“Oh, by the way, if you're lookin' for that stinkin' cat, it's in the oven. Don't worry, I didn't turn it on. But if you say one word to anybody—I swear I'll kill that cat and cook it!” With that, he slammed the door of the apartment and left.

Angel was alone. Still shaking and sobbing, she ran to the kitchen and slowly opened the oven door. Tiger jumped into her arms. They stood there for a minute, clinging to each other in fear of the darkness they had seen. Angel, too terrified to tell and too frightened not to, clung to her cat and wept.

W
HEN
G
ERALD GOT
home, Angel was pale and feverish. Jordan had not come back all day. Gerald fixed Angel a scrambled egg and gave her some juice. She would not talk to him. He remembered when he got chicken pox how Aunt Queen had made a warm poultice out of something she found in the garden, and the itch had disappeared. What was bothering Angel seemed to be more than a rash. Gerald carried the worry deep and heavy in his gut.

“Monique,” he called to her as soon as she walked in. “I think Angel's getting worse. Come look.”

Monique sighed, glanced at Angel, and replied, “These things take time, Gerald. If she ain't better by tomorrow, I'll take her to the clinic. Right now I'm going to give her something for her fever and a little of my good chicken soup. Let's see if that helps, okay?”

“Why did you leave her here by herself?” Gerald asked. “I coulda stayed home from school.”

“There was no need for you to stay home. Jordan stayed with her today.”

At the sound of Jordan's name, Angel's eyes got wide, but she said nothing. She moaned softly, then was silent again. Gerald frowned.

“Well, he wasn't here when I got home from school,” Gerald replied. “She's too little to be here all by herself.”

“Maybe he went to get some french fries for Tiger. You know he likes that cat,” suggested Monique as she checked her hair in the mirror.

Tiger was curled into a tight ball, very close to Angel. “Let's let 'em sleep, Gerald,” said Monique. “I bet they'll both feel better in the morning.”

Gerald didn't sleep well. He watched Angel toss and turn and moan. He was worried.

Finally, just before dawn, he gently shook her arm.

“Angel!” he said quietly. “Angel!”

She woke suddenly, eyes fearful and staring. Instinctively she grabbed the covers and pulled them tightly around her.

“It's me, Gerald. How do you feel?”

Angel relaxed a bit and turned away from him.

“I'm okay, Gerald. It's just chicken pox. Let me get some sleep.”

“What about Jordan?”

“He ain't got chicken pox.”

“I gotta know, Angel. You gotta tell me. Did he bother you yesterday? Did he hurt you?”

“I'm cold, Gerald.”

He pulled an extra blanket out of the closet and tucked it around her.

“I'm always cold, Gerald, and scared. Jordan makes me feel like I'm cold and dead inside. He ... he said he would kill Tiger. He said he would kill Mama. Make him go away, Gerald. Make him go away.”

“Did he touch you, Angel?” Gerald asked. He felt the anger rise like vomit in his throat.

“I'm so cold.” Angel refused to look at Gerald. She stared into the darkness, shivering with her fear.

“Go back to sleep, Angel,” Gerald said, trying to soothe her. “I'm gonna make things better. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered softly.

“I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don't leave me here with Jordan!” Angel whispered frantically. “Where's my cat?”

“Tiger's right here at the foot of your bed, and Monique doesn't have to go to work until later. You'll be fine until I get back. Go back to sleep and relax. I'm gonna take care of you, okay?”

“Okay, Gerald,” she replied with sleepy trust. She sighed and drifted back to sleep.

Gerald dressed quickly, took his book bag, and left the apartment. It was 6
A.M.

Monique got up about seven and decided to go to work early to put in some overtime. She noticed that Gerald was already gone. She shrugged, assumed he had gone to school early, and finished polishing her nails. She glanced at Angel, who was still asleep, but she didn't wake her; nor did she touch her to see if the child was feverish. She
decided to change her shoes because they didn't match her dress, and left to catch her bus.

Gerald felt sick. He knew he had to get help in a hurry, but he didn't know where to go, who to talk to, or what he should do first. The bus dropped him off in front of Hazelwood Middle School, where he was in sixth grade. It stood empty and silent this early in the morning. The dark upstairs windows looked like huge, accusing eyes, staring at him. The front door hadn't even been unlocked yet. Gerald sighed and sat on the curb, hoping that a teacher or counselor he knew and could trust would decide to come to work early today.

He was hesitant to go to the police.

What if they don't believe me?
he asked himself.
Will they believe a kid? I don't really have any proof. On TV, cops need hard evidence or the bad guy gets away. What if I accuse Jordan of abuse or something and they can't prove it? He'll be angry and get even more violent and maybe hurt Angel and . . .

Gerald bowed his head and sighed in misery. He barely noticed the silver Buick that stopped in front of him.

“What's up, man? You look so down that curb looks like up.” It was Robbie, the best basketball player at Hazelwood Middle School. Gerald liked Rob, who was always cracking jokes and acting silly.

“What you doin' here so early?” Gerald asked.

“My dad drops me off every morning before he goes to work. It's a little early, but I finish up my homework or
go sleep in the locker room. That door is always open early. Want a doughnut?”

“Naw, man. I got a lot on my mind today.”

Rob's dad, who was standing at the back of the car getting Robbie's bag and lunch out of the trunk, glanced at Gerald with concern.

Gerald didn't know Rob's dad very well, but he probably knew him better than any father of his friends. Mr. Washington was active on the school parent council and came to all of the basketball games, track meets, and school plays. He and his wife often had Rob's friends to their home on weekends. They had a finished rec room, a huge backyard, and a refrigerator that always seemed to be well-stocked with essentials like pizza and ice cream and soda pop. Gerald wasn't sure if they were wealthy or not, but they sure had lots of things that he and Monique and Angel couldn't afford. Gerald had only been there once, and although he'd felt uncomfortable at first, Rob's family had made him feel at home.

Mr. Washington touched Gerald on the shoulder. “You all right, son?” he asked with genuine concern.

Gerald had planned to shrug, laugh, and head to the gym with Rob. But the touch of Rob's father's hand on his shoulder seemed to let everything come loose. He tried to hold them back, but tears of fear and worry began to escape from his tightly clenched eyes.

Embarrassed, he sniffed and lowered his head. Rob's father motioned for his son to go on into the building and squatted on the curb next to Gerald.

“Let's go get something to eat, Gerald,” he said quietly. He offered his hand. Gerald sighed, wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve, took the offered hand, and got in the car.

Mr. Washington asked no questions at first. At McDonald's he ordered a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate, got extra cream and sugar for both, and steered Gerald to a booth near the back. Gerald sipped the cocoa gratefully, the warmth of it relaxing him. He thought of Aunt Queen, who loved her black coffee every morning. He knew that Queen would have liked Rob's dad. She approved of black men in blue suits who had jobs in offices downtown. Mr. Washington had called his office from a pay phone, so he casually read the morning paper while Gerald sat silently, trying to figure out where to start.

“It's my sister,” he said finally.

“How old is she?”

“Almost seven. Her name is Angel.”

“Is she sick?”

“No, she, uh, well, she's got, uh, chicken pox.”

“I thought you said she wasn't sick.”

“Well, the chicken pox is not the problem. See, she can't go to school, so Jordan stays with her and he, and he ...”

“Who's Jordan?”

“My stepfather. He drinks, and he's mean, and he smacks me around, but that's not the problem—I can handle it. I think he's . . . doing stuff to Angel that he shouldn't. And I don't know what to do! I can't go to the cops—they might not believe me. She's so scared of
him she won't even admit it to me, but I know he's hurting her and I don't know what to do or who to tell or . . .”

He stopped, in tears again, but this time, he wasn't ashamed. He felt cleaner now that he had finally told someone. Someone who he knew could help.

“You were right to tell me, Gerald,” Mr. Washington assured him with a sigh. “I'm glad you trusted me. Let's go get this stopped right now. Where is this Jordan?”

“At home. With Angel.”

“Let's hurry. We're going to the police.”

J
ORDAN TOOK OUT
a cigarette, put his feet up on the coffee table, and smiled, looking forward to another day with his little Angel.

When Angel woke up, the cat was missing again, and she could hear Jordan's boots as he walked around the apartment. He was whistling.

She looked at the window. It was narrow and had been painted shut years ago. Even if she hid under the bed, there was no escape. She felt like she was going to throw up. Jordan's footsteps approached. He opened the door. He was smiling.

“I brought breakfast in bed for my little girl,” he said cheerfully. “Come and eat. You look a little pale.”

Angel darted past him out of the bedroom door and mumbled, “I have to go to the bathroom.” She stayed in the bathroom as long as she could, but the door had no lock, and she watched as he turned the knob from the outside.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” Jordan declared. “Don't you appreciate what I've done for you?”

“Thank you, Jordan, for the breakfast, but I'm not very hungry. Where's my cat?”

Jordan's loud laughter startled her. “Ha! You think I killed that stupid cat? Not yet. Maybe I won't have to. Come here!”

Angel's feet would not walk toward Jordan. His boots clumped on the bare wood floor as he walked over to her. He picked her up, then kicked open the bedroom door. He placed her gently on the bed. “Today,” he said softly, “we got the whole day to spend together. Ain't that grand?”

Angel trembled with disgust and fear. Jordan turned the radio up loud and closed her door.

Jordan didn't hear the apartment door open. He didn't notice that Gerald had quietly opened Angel's door or that two uniformed police officers were standing there until just before they grabbed him and handcuffed him. He roared in anger and tried to get away, but it was too late.

“Jordan Sparks—you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used in a court of law. You have the right to . . .” They dragged him, screaming and cursing, from the house. Gerald watched with a grim smile.

“What happened, Gerald? How did you know? He said he'd kill Tiger! I'm sorry, Gerald! It's all my fault!” Angel was almost hysterical. Relieved at escaping what she feared and dared not imagine, she did not know how to react.

Gerald tried to calm her down. “Sh-sh-sh,” he whispered. “I found someone that we could trust. I told him everything. He called the police and helped me to convince them to come here right away. I was afraid I would be too late.”

“Oh, Gerald, was I bad? Is Jordan going to get in trouble because of me? It's all my fault!”

“No, Angel,” soothed Gerald. “It's not your fault. Not even a little bit. Jordan was a very bad man. He was doing bad things. You did the right thing. I'm going to be here for you and everything is going to be better—I promise.”

Angel cried then, not for Jordan, but for herself and for lost dreams and for secrets in the night. Finally she stopped sobbing and looked up at Gerald, who had wrapped his arms protectively around her. “Where's my cat?” she asked.

Gerald laughed and let Tiger out of Monique and Jordan's bedroom. Angel squeezed the cat so hard that she burped! Gerald and Angel began to laugh uncontrollably. Gerald almost wet his pants and Angel fell on the floor, rolling in laughter. That's how Monique found them when she marched through the door, angry and upset.

“What's so funny?” she screamed. “You think it's funny to send a man to jail for something he ain't done? You lowlife children! I ought to kill both of you! How dare you lie on a good man like Jordan?”

Instantly serious, Angel and Gerald looked at Monique in amazement. “Mama, it's true. I didn't make it up.
Jordan's been . . . uh . . . been bothering me for a long time. He comes in my room at night and he—”

“You lie!” roared Monique. “You filthy liar!”

Gerald spoke up. “I saw him do it, Monique. She ain't lying. He told her he would kill her cat if she told. I was the one that told. I've seen him coming out of her room at night. I'm sorry, Monique, but it's true.”

Monique threw her purse at him and burst into tears. She ran into her bedroom screaming and sobbing. Gerald and Angel exchanged glances. “Looks like it's me and you, kid,” Gerald said quietly. “Just me and you.”