Believe, Glynis Rankin [classic literature list .txt] 📗

Chapter Twenty

“They don’t believe you.” He replied in a controlled even tone.

  She released a heavy moan, placing her head back down.

  “Yeah,” she retorted, sad. “I got that.”

 “Do you know why?”

 Sara didn’t answer.

 “It doesn’t make sense, what you told them, with what the evidence shows.” Tyrell prompted.

“What doesn’t?”

“None of it, can you tell me what really happen?”

  “No!” She yelled, but it sounded muffled to Tyrell.

  “Why not?”  Tyrell never met anger with anger; it only further upset the distressed child. No matter what she did, he had to remain calm within her storm.

 “You won’t believe me!” She said in a huff.

 “I might.”

Sara raised her head just enough to stare at him. The way she examined the contours of his broad features, it was as if she’d never seen a black man before, Tyrell assumed.

 "You a doctor or something, you don’t sound like a social worker?"

 “After all those years in school, that’s what they told me when they gave me a diploma." He smiled. Tyrell pulled out his wallet to show her his IDs.

 Sara glanced at them and snorted. She stared back at him, but this time with contempt shaking her head. “It figures they would send a shrink this time.”

Tyrell winced. He hated when people called him that, especially children. He watched her gaze travel down his body to where his hands sat on the table, and added sarcastically. “Nice Timex."

He winced again. Tyrell understood the nature of the beast before him. In order to live in the kind of environment Sara had, you survived or you didn’t. The fastest way to do that is to size a person up quickly or find yourself in harm’s way.

 He knew that jab about his watch was twofold; it struck him personal to knock him down a peg, but also to let him know that she still had bite. Tyrell smiled.

He looked down at the moderately priced watch. "Thanks, it was my father's."

Sara played disinterested he noticed, but said. "Yeah, so what, Jay-Z got a five million dollar watch form Beyoncé."

 "Ouch! Well, mine didn’t cost that much,” Tyrell offered with a half-smile. He noticed something creeping at the corners of Sara’s lips, but it quickly faded. Had he made a connection, he wondered if he could find more.

Tyrell dropped his smile too, staring at the old watch. “My Dad… he died when I was ten.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “He left this for me. So I guess you can say it has sentimental value, which means a lot more than money to me.”

Tyrell looked up, he’d felt Sara staring.  Her eyes were glued to his but she held a blank expression. He'd shared something personal and hoped she would as well. 

 “You got anything like that? I mean, from your family that has sentimental value to you?” he asked.

He noticed the worn rope bracelet on her arm with the oversized bronze charm engraved with the word Believe, she had been mindlessly fondling it.

Sara shrugged, turning her eyes downward. She didn’t look up when she said, almost inaudibly. "I don’t have family.”

The girl had shut down; she had lost herself somewhere inside while looking at that bracelet.

 Damn! Tyrell immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. The little progress he’d made slipped out of his hands like sand. He knew he needed to switch gears before he lost Sara for good.

He decided to push her for information about the murders that was her fire.

 "Tell me who murdered your foster parents, Sara?”

When her head snapped up Sara frowned with anger.

  “None of them believed me!” She gestured toward the officer with her head; then looked back at the bracelet with a sad smirk. “None of my foster parents, the army of social workers and government inspectors, Wash. None of them believed what I had to say.” She finally looked up him with hatred laced in her brown eyes. “So why would you, shrink!”

Tyrell knew he couldn’t take anything she said or did personally. He had to reassure the girl that he would trust what she had to say. He looked into her brown gaze unblinking and spoke with candor.

  “Sara my job is to listen to you, to understand your concerns and believe what you tell me. I won’t judge what you say as a lie just because you're a child.”

 Sara sat back against the metal chair. She wiped away the tears that had formed on her cheeks with her small fingers. He could tell by the slight frown across her smooth brow that she's judging whether to trust him or not. He hoped that she would.

  “You’ll think I’m lying if I told you the truth, just like everybody else. People like you always think that I’m lying because they read my file.” She laughed without humor. “You know, Nell always said I was a habitual liar. Didn’t know what that meant until I looked it up.” She chuckled again, this time with a bit of wit. “I told her she was a habitual whore.”

Despite himself Tyrell laughed, so did Officer Wilburn.

 

                                                 ***

 

He recognized why Sara was callous. There was no reason for her to feel otherwise; perhaps she’s built a wall around her heart to keep out fear and pain from years of hurt, anger, and disappointment.  She’s probably been let down so often that she can’t see a reason to believe him.

Tyrell understood the subtlety of this dance. Years spent in the system taught a child one thing, not to trust anyone in authority. It’s often foster parents that communicate this learned behavior. Advocate or not, he had to earn Sara’s trust, or he's wasting everyone’s time.

“I’ll believe you Sara,” Tyrell told her with as much frankness as he could muster. “Whatever you tell me I’ll believe.”

This was only the first hurdle Tyrell would have to cross in his pursuit of the truth. He would have to weave through what Sara thought was true with what the evidence offered. A child's imagination often added to the drama of any event. It was his job to know the facts, while working out the child’s fantasy from the reality and sometimes that didn’t mesh. A child could hold on to the fantasy for years. Sadly, he’s seen some never return to reality.

Sara stared at him with those wide brown eyes that were older than her age. A deeper frown crept into them when she cut her eyes over to the young officer. When her gaze returned, she exhaled loudly.  “Alright, but you won’t believe me either.”

Tyrell smiled. “I just might surprise you Sara.”

Chapter Twenty One

“Really! What happened to, I’ll believe whatever you say?  So that was all bullshit!” Sara shouted with resentment.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t think it was the truth. I said I think you might be confused because of what happened last night.” 

He didn’t have to say anything; she knew Tyrell did not believe her. It was in the way his eyes shifted just a bit to the left while she spoke and in the way he sat like a rod was up his backside.  What else was new, what did she expect? No one ever believes the foster kid.

 “Oh, so that’s why you’re looking at me like I got two heads.”

Sara paced the small room frustrated. She told the truth, the actual version of what occurred. If her, so called, advocate didn’t believe her, who would.  Guess that’s what I get for hoping.

She rolled her eyes at the snickering Wilburn, she didn’t like him anyway.

“Sara, perhaps, if you sit down, we can talk about this.”

  Fuck ‘em, Sara thought.  Fuck ‘em all! She knew what she saw. 

Suddenly, Sara felt the physical chill of fright raced down her spine. She shivered at the sensation and stopped pacing. The strong feeling to flee high- jacked her nerves, putting them on edge. 

 “Sara, are you okay?” Tyrell’s voice faded to the background as her eyes darted around the room or the threat.

She needed to get out of here fast before, before what?  She went to the door, but Wilburn blocked her path.  “Step back kid.”

She frowned at him confused.  “I need to get out of here.”

“No, you have to stay until Wash says you can go.”

After everything that’s happened, seeing their bloody bodies, hiding under the house, getting questioned by Wash and seating around this room, Sara couldn't think straight. She remembered Tyrell told her she had to stay here, but for how long. She’s been here for hours.

“I’m sick of being in here.” She yelled. “I got to go!”

“Why don’t you sit down you look tired.” Tyrell spoke from the backdrop of her confusion.

Sara turned to face him. He held out the chair for her to sit back down, and her eyes suddenly drooped.

 She was wiped, that had to be it. Wash hadn’t let her sleep just kept asking those same old stupid questions. She was hungry too, even after that vending machine sandwich he gave her when they first arrived.

No wonder you’re on edge! Girl, get a grip, there’s no need to be afraid.  She’s in a police station, in a room with an armed officer; nothing's going to happen in here, she reasoned.

Nevertheless the murder of her foster parents had sparked a memory of the Bad Men.  

Chapter Twenty Two

For years, as a child, she had dreams of men coming for her in the night. The doctors told her that it's just her imagination playing tricks on her mind, but Sara knew they weren’t dreams. They were memories.

 She felt Tyrell place a hand on her shoulder as she stood in front of the mirror. “Sara, are you okay?”

 She wasn’t listening to him, she was inside a memory.

Sara remembered he said his name was Clyde Barton. He was the Forest Ranger who found her that night in the forest. “Can you tell me how long you’ve been out here?”

She didn’t know, so she shrugged.

“Where are your parents, sweetie?”

“Are you one of them?” Her tiny voice shook with fear.

“One of whom?”  He was confused.

“The Bad Men,” she replied through tears.

He picked her up and held her in his arms. “What Bad Men, honey?”

  “The one’s up there, they killed my parents. They killed everyone.”

She pointed to the fire and smoke blooming off the mountain.

 When everyone else thought her statement as