Chapter 9
I testified in a preliminary hearing when I was eleven.
My birthday happened between Christmas and court.
Aunt Rachel made a dinosaur cake even though I said I was too old.
I ate the head.
Dad gave me a bike.
Not a fancy one.
A safe one.
Blue.
With a helmet that fit.
Brenda never let me ride far because she said accidents were expensive.
Dad took me to a park and let me pedal until my legs hurt.
For a few hours, I felt eleven instead of evidence.
Then the hearing came.
The courthouse smelled like floor cleaner and old paper.
Grace met us outside.
She wore a dark suit and carried a folder full of truth.
That was how I thought of it.
Truth in a folder.
Officer Martinez was there too.
So was Mrs. Bailey.
I didn’t expect that.
“You came?” I asked.
She smiled gently.
“Of course.”
“Don’t you have school?”
“I have a substitute. Fractions are suffering without me.”
I smiled.
Aunt Rachel stood behind me like a wall.
Dad knelt before we entered the courtroom.
“Liam, whatever happens in there, you are coming home with me.”
I nodded.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Brenda was in the courtroom.
When I saw her, my whole body froze.
She wore a gray sweater and no handcuffs because her attorney said restraints would prejudice the court.
But I could still see her hands.
Her nails.
The fingers that grabbed my wrist.
She looked at me and smiled softly.
Not mean.
Soft.
That scared me more.
The prosecutor asked me questions first.
She had kind eyes.
“Liam, do you know why you’re here?”
“To tell what happened.”
“And do you promise to tell the truth?”
“Yes.”
I told them about the bruises.
The pantry.
The belt.
The fake smiles.
The police car.
Brenda grabbing me.
My sneaker hitting her hand.
The keys falling.
The trunk.
The passport.
When I got to the passport, my voice shook.
“What did you think when you saw your photo?” the prosecutor asked.
“I thought she was going to make me disappear.”
The courtroom went silent.
I didn’t look at Dad because if I did, I might cry.
Then Brenda’s attorney stood.
He had a soft voice.
Like Brenda when adults watched.
“Liam, you were angry at Brenda, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t like her rules.”
“No.”
“You kicked her.”
“Yes.”
“Hard enough to hurt her hand.”
“She was pulling me out of the police car.”
“But you kicked her.”
“Yes.”
He smiled a little.
“Did anyone tell you to say she was hurting you?”
“No.”
“Did your Aunt Rachel dislike Brenda?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father and Brenda fight?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is it possible you exaggerated because you wanted Brenda gone?”
My heart pounded.
Brenda’s eyes locked on mine.
For a second, I was back in the pantry.
Then I touched the bracelet under my sleeve.
Problem.
Solution.
No shame.
“No,” I said.
The attorney tilted his head.
“No?”
“I wanted Brenda gone because she hurt me. I didn’t say she hurt me because I wanted her gone.”
The judge looked up.
The attorney blinked.
Dad made a sound behind me.
Maybe a sob.
The attorney moved on quickly.
But something had shifted.
I had told the truth in a room where Brenda could hear it.
And the ceiling did not fall.
The hearing ended with the judge allowing the case to proceed.
Brenda stayed in custody because of the flight risk.
Flight risk.
That phrase sounded strange.
It meant they believed she might run.
With me, maybe.
Or from what she did.
After court, Mrs. Bailey hugged me.
Then asked first halfway through and made everyone laugh when I said she could continue.
Officer Martinez gave me a fist bump.
Aunt Rachel cried in the parking lot and threatened to adopt every child in Texas.
Dad walked me to the truck.
He looked proud and devastated.
“You did so well.”
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I almost cried.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I didn’t want Brenda to see.”
He nodded.
“That makes sense.”
On the drive home, I asked, “Did Mom know Brenda?”
Dad flinched.
“No. Brenda came after.”
“Would Mom hate her?”
Dad’s mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
“Would she hate you?”
He was quiet.
Then said, “She would be furious with me.”
I looked out the window.
“But not forever?”
“I hope not forever.”
I thought about that.
“I’m furious with you.”
“I know.”
“Not forever, I think.”
His hands tightened on the wheel.
“Thank you for telling me.”
When we got home, there was a package on the porch.
No return address.
Dad stopped me before I touched it.
Police came.
Inside was the blue suitcase Brenda had packed.
It had been taken from evidence storage by mistake, or so we thought for five minutes.
Then Officer Martinez found the note tucked inside.
You forgot his favorite shirt.
Under the shirt was a burner phone.
Still on.
A message flashed on the screen.
Unknown: Ready when you are. The boy crosses easier from Florida.
Officer Martinez’s face went cold.
May you like
Brenda had not been planning alone.
And Victor was not the only helper.
