Hayley Campbell settled onto the bench at her usual picnic table and unpacked her lunch. The small park, nestled between the public library and social-services department, was her private oasis from 11:00 a.m. to noon, every Monday through Friday. The cooler of sandwiches and drinks at her side was a personal offering to anyone in need.
For Hayley, becoming a social worker had felt more like a calling than a choice, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Though at twenty-four, she still looked more like the average high schooler than a legitimate representative of the county. Occasionally, judges, lawyers and local law-enforcement officials tried to overlook her or not take her opinions as seriously as those of her older coworkers. It was an inclination she understood, but never indulged. She did her best to be a voice for the youth of Marshal’s Bluff, North Carolina, and anyone else who needed to be heard.
Within a few minutes, a number of familiar faces began to arrive. She opened the large cooler at her side and continued her meal. Folks young and old made their way to her table, selected a drink and sandwich, then waved their goodbyes. She ate and read and watched closely for the one face she always hoped to see. Then, finally, he appeared.
“Hey, you,” she said, brightening. She closed her book and set it aside as fourteen-year-old Gage Myers approached.
Composed of gangly limbs and one big heart, he took the seat across from her with a small grin. “Hey.”
Gage had lost both his parents in a car accident the year before, and Hayley was assigned his case. Her heart had split wide open for him when she placed him into foster care. His parents had both been only children, and their parents were already deceased. Gage was one of many cases she’d never forget—she was sure of it. But he was something more too.
His olive skin was unusually ruddy as he watched her. His wide brown eyes, heavy-lidded. He looked as if he hadn’t slept, but also as if he wanted to run.
Hayley shifted, suddenly nervous and hoping not to seem that way. A gust of wind tossed strands of stick-straight blond hair into her eyes. She tucked the locks behind her ear with care, using the small distraction to further evaluate her friend.
Gage’s fingers and T-shirt were spattered with spray paint, a sign something had been on his mind. He used street art to work through the emotions too big to process with words. He’d been in trouble for defacing property more than once, but she’d never found it in her to be angry. His paintings were powerful, and it was a necessary outlet for the teen.
“You okay?” she asked finally, reaching to press the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you getting sick?”
He rolled those big appreciative eyes up at her, the way he always did when she offered him comfort. “I think I saw something I shouldn’t have,” he said. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” She handed him a sandwich, a napkin and a drink. “You want to talk about something else?”
He shrugged and ate quickly, as if he hadn’t in a while.
A growth spurt? She wondered. Or hadn’t he eaten breakfast? And if not, why?
“How’re the Michaelsons?” she asked, feigning casual as she fished for information. Gage’s foster parents had never struck her as a good fit for the system. But they’d been housing children in need for more than a decade, caring for dozens of youths in that time, and they were one of the rare couples willing to host teenagers. Still, something always felt off when Hayley visited. Maybe Gage had witnessed something questionable there.
He shook his head, as if reading her mind. “It’s not them this time.” He sighed and glanced away.
She hated his clarification of “this time,” but held her tongue, sensing there was more he wanted to say. But she intended to circle back. If there had been other times the Michaelsons were a problem, she needed to know.
Gage’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Something was stopping him.
“You know you can trust me, right?” she asked. “I will always have your best interests at heart, and I’d never take any action without keeping you in the loop. I’m here to be your advocate. Whatever you need.”
She wished for the dozenth time that she could foster him, instead of the Michaelsons. Instead of anyone else. She’d try to adopt him if she thought the courts would consider it, but the system liked to see kids placed with couples, preferably married and stable ones. Ones who’d been out of college and in the workforce more than eighteen months, unlike Hayley.
His gaze lifted to something over her shoulder, and his expression changed. He gathered the empty sandwich baggie and napkin from his vanquished lunch and stood. “I’d better go. Thank you for this.” He wiggled the trash in his hands. “I needed it, and it was great.”
“Wait.” Hayley rose and removed another sandwich from the cooler. “Take this. And come back at five when I get off work,” she said. “We can talk. If something’s wrong at your foster home, you can stay with me while we straighten it out. Let me help you.”
He nodded, eyes flicking to the distance again. “Yeah, all right.”
She retook her seat. “All right,” she echoed, swallowing the lump in her throat. She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction Gage had looked, but saw nothing of interest, then turned back to watch him go. Every fiber in her body urged her to chase after him, but she had no grounds to make him stay. “See you at five,” she called, needing the confirmation.
He waved and nodded, then picked up the pace as he strode away.
THE AFTERNOON DRAGGED for Hayley as she attended a court hearing and made several home visits, checking on the other children in her caseload. At the office, she rushed through the paperwork, one eye on the clock and eager to take Gage somewhere safe so they could talk.
She was out the door at five-o’clock sharp, blinking against the bright southern summer sun. The air was thick and balmy, eighty-nine degrees with extreme humidity. The soft scents of sunblock and charcoal grills drifted by. Life in coastal North Carolina was beautiful at any time, but August was Hayley’s favorite. She loved the extreme heat and the way everything was in bloom, lush and alive. Laughter carried on the wind, from parks and beaches, ice-cream parlors and outdoor cafés. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, but she’d be a lot happier in the moment, once she knew Gage was okay.
At five thirty, she gave up the wait and began a slow walk to her car.
The social-services staff parked their cars in a series of spaces along the perimeter of a nearby church’s lot. It was a protective measure against potentially unhappy clients, or family members of clients, who lashed out when court appointments didn’t go the way they’d wanted. And it was an added level of privacy for workers.
In Hayley’s experience, the people willing to destroy private property over a particular outcome probably weren’t the ones who should have children in their care. But she also knew the system sometimes failed, and anyone could reach a breaking point when someone they loved was taken from them. She hoped to become part of the solution and a support for those in times of trouble.
She waited outside her car until six, then she called Mrs. Michaelson.
Gage’s foster mom claimed she hadn’t seen him since the night before, and she accused him of being on drugs before Hayley could get any useful information.
She rubbed her forehead as they disconnected. Gage was not on drugs. His eyes had been clear, if worry-filled, this morning. He’d been alert and on edge, not hung over.
Something else was wrong.
She climbed into her car and started the engine. She had a few ideas of where Gage could be. She’d had to search for him before, in the early days following his parents’ deaths, when grief and despair had made him reckless and hostile. She hated to think of him feeling those ways again. Hated to think of him upset and alone.
The drive from Social Services, on the periphery of downtown Marshal’s Bluff, to the fringe areas along the warehouse and shipping district was shockingly quick. The landscape changed in a matter of blocks, trading community parks and tree-lined streets for abandoned housing and condemned buildings.
To Gage’s eyes, a neighborhood full of blank canvases for his art.
She slowed as small groups of people came into view, scanning each of their faces for Gage. Hayley noticed evidence of his artwork here and there, all older pieces she’d seen last fall.
After a trip around the block, she decided to go on foot, talk to folks, ask for help. She parked her sedan at the curb and climbed out, hyperaware that her pencil skirt and blouse stood out in ways that were unlikely to help her blend. She could thank her appearance in court for that. Typically, she wore jeans and a nice top. Outfits that made her more approachable to the people she helped. Less authoritarian.
Old Downtown was filled with buildings that blocked the bay views. Most were crumbling from age and in need of repair. Windows and doors were barred and boarded. No Trespassing signs were posted everywhere, so property owners wouldn’t be sued if someone became injured while inside.
Hayley approached a group of young men on the stoop attached to a former barbershop and offered a small, hip-high wave. “I’m looking for a friend named Gage,” she said. “Do you know him?”
The nearest kid, wearing baggy jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt, despite the heat, shot her a disbelieving look. “Who are you? His mom?”
Hayley shook her head, saddened by the thought. She’d give just about anything to bring Gage’s mom back to him, or to have the honor of caring for him herself, but those things weren’t options right now. And all that mattered was finding him and bringing him home safely. “I’m just a friend,” she said. “He’s about your age. He’s an artist. He painted these.” She lifted a finger to indicate a small black silhouette on one of the boarded windows.
Gage regularly used the image to depict children like himself, the ones he felt went unseen. Untethered numbers in case files. Kids nobody really knew.
“You know him?” the boy asked.
She bit her tongue against the obvious response. She’d made that clear, hadn’t she? “Have you seen him?”
“Nah.”
“Thanks.” Hayley sighed and moved along.
“Hey,” one of the other kids called to her, making her turn around. “Lady, I ain’t trying to get in your business, but you shouldn’t be down here. Nothing good is gonna find someone like you on this street.”
“Noted,” she said. “But I’m worried about my friend, and I need to know he’s okay. If you see him, I hope you’ll tell him I was here.”
Dusk was settling, but she walked the neighborhood for nearly an hour as the sun lowered in the sky, eventually blunted by the buildings. She talked to knots and clusters of people along the way. Most were less friendly than the first group she’d encountered. Eventually, she was forced to call it a night, so she started back to her car.
The street was quieter on her return trip—the people she’d spoken to earlier were already gone. Her nerves coiled tightly at the realization she was alone. Wind off the water stirred loose sheets of newspaper and scooted empty plastic bags over broken asphalt, causing her to start and jump. Each sound and movement increased her already hurried pace.
When the breeze settled and silence returned, the echoing clicks of her high heels were offset by a softer, more distant sound of footfalls.
She beeped the locks open on her sedan and wrenched the door wide, tossing her purse onto the passenger seat. She slid behind the wheel with a sigh of relief.
In her rearview mirror, a shadow grew from the space between two buildings, stretching and morphing into the silhouette of a man. He moved pointedly across the street in her direction, barely ten yards away.
She waited, wondering if someone she’d spoken to earlier had something they wanted to tell her now.
Then he raised a gun.
Hayley started the car’s engine and jerked the shifter into Drive as the first bullet ripped through the evening air, eliciting a scream from her core.
She peeled away as the second and third shots exploded behind her.
Copyright © 2024 by Julie Anne Lindsey