18
austin
The second thethree of us are out of that house, I pull out my phone and call Mary. I tell her an abridged version of what Ewan Cline did to Kenzi and explain that there’s currently a very scared-looking teenager living in the house.
“I’ll call Child Protective Services and try to get in touch with Iris’ case worker,” Mary says. “In the meantime, CPS will send the local police. Can you fill them in on the details until her case worker arrives?”
“Sure thing,” I say, then hang up.
Kenzie sits on the curb with Iris while we wait for the cops to show. I stand a few paces away on the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the house in case one or both of the Clines decides to try and make a run for it. The amount of restraint it took to listen to Kenzie’s accounting of the abuse she experienced, without completely losing my shit, was tantamount to the effort it would take to saw off my own arm. If I hadn’t promised Kenzie that I wouldn’t hurt anyone, I’d have beat her foster dad within an inch of his life and then buried him, and his enabling bitch wife, alive in the same shallow grave in the backyard.
I watch Kenzie speaking quietly to the younger girl, and I can’t help but be in awe of how well she’s still holding it together. Then again, I always knew she was a fighter. And make no mistake, she was fighting for her life back there, in the Clines’ dining room, the same way she fought and scraped against Hoyt Renier.
When the police arrive, I make sure I’m the first point of contact. They take mine and Kenzie’s statements first, giving Iris’ case worker a bit more time to show. Soon enough, a harried-looking woman pulls up in a silver sedan, and Iris officially confirms that Ewan Cline has been abusing her.
Watching the police handcuff the Clines and escort them down the driveway to two waiting squad cars is a bittersweet victory. Janet glowers as an officer pushes her head down so she doesn’t hit it on the car. What Janet Cline doesn’t realize is that she and her husband are very lucky. If the police hadn’t arrested them, I’d have come back tonight with a pair of pliers, some jumper cables, and my good shovel.
Kenzie’s voice wavers as she says, “I wish Hollywood were here to see this.”
“You can tell her all about it tomorrow.”
She nods. I squeeze and rub her upper arms. After a valiant show of courage, her resolve finally appears to be fraying. She’s like a boxer; while she's in the ring, she's focused, measured, able to compartmentalize her pain. Now that the match is over, all those hits she took in stride are battering her all at once.
The dam bursts, sending a river of tears down her cheeks. She turns in my arms, pressing her face to my chest.
“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay, baby. It’s over now. I’m so proud of you.”
Kenzie shudders with the force of her sobs. I rub circles over her back, wishing I could bear her pain for her. But I know better than most, that’s not how this process works. I can dry her tears, fluff her pillow, rub balm into her wounds, but she's the only one who can do the hard part.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she cries.
I cradle the back of her head. “No, baby girl. You have nothing to feel sorry about. God, you were amazing in there. I’m so fucking proud of you. Holly’s gonna be so proud of you, too.”
Her hands close around the fabric of my shirt. An officer approaches to let us know we’re okay to leave, but Kenzie doesn’t seem to hear the words. That’s fine by me. Now that the Clines are on their way to the station, I see no reason to rush her. She can cry on the sidewalk in front of her old foster home for as long as she needs to.
“I didn’t mean what I said before,” she croaks. “I don’t want to break up. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, baby. You’re my sweet girl, and you’re stuck with me.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m never letting you go.”
Her body relaxes somewhat. My pocket vibrates a moment later. I pull out my phone and check the caller ID.
“It’s Mike,” I tell her, and accept the call. “Yeah?”
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Newport.”
“The fuck’re you doing in Newport?”
“Dealing with shit. What is it?”
“I figured out where the Davises got those photos of Holly and Kenzie for last night’s broadcast.”
I tighten my hold on Kenzie’s waist.
“Where’d they get them?”
Mike sighs. “How soon can you get back?”