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    June, Into the Light
    June, Into the Light
    June, Into the Light
    Ebook650 pages5 hours

    June, Into the Light

    By P.D. Workman

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    About this ebook

    Incarcerated after a failed attempt at armed robbery, June Simpson is forced to detox and to face the reality of the misery and abuse she has perpetrated on those closest to her, especially her children. Getting clean is just the first of her challenges, and as difficult as it is, may be the easiest part.

    Her path ahead is filled with obstacles, and facing Michelle and Kenny and convincing them that she has really changed and is capable of carrying on a relationship with them seems like an insurmountable task.

    The Between the Cracks series has won multiple literary awards from the In the Margins Committee of Library Services for Youth in Custody.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherP.D. Workman
    Release dateJan 18, 2020
    ISBN9781989415085
    June, Into the Light
    Author

    P.D. Workman

    P.D. Workman is a USA Today Bestselling author, winner of several awards from Library Services for Youth in Custody and the InD’tale Magazine’s Crowned Heart award. With over 100 published books, Workman is one of Canada’s most prolific authors. Her mystery/suspense/thriller and young adult books, include stand alones and these series: Auntie Clem's Bakery cozy mysteries, Reg Rawlins Psychic Investigator paranormal mysteries, Zachary Goldman Mysteries (PI), Kenzie Kirsch Medical Thrillers, Parks Pat Mysteries (police procedural), and YA series: Medical Kidnap Files, Tamara's Teardrops, Between the Cracks, and Breaking the Pattern.Workman has been praised for her realistic details, deep characterization, and sensitive handling of the serious social issues that appear in all of her stories, from light cozy mysteries through to darker, grittier young adult and mystery/suspense books.

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      Book preview

      June, Into the Light - P.D. Workman

      CHAPTER

      ONE

      June focused on trying to keep her gun hand from shaking, supporting it with her other hand. She stared at the clerk of the convenience store, doing her best to exude confidence and danger, to show him that he needed to do what she said if he didn’t want to get shot. Gone were the days when she could lift cash or keys from right under the owner’s nose. The man looked frightened. He was there by himself; he was always by himself that time of day, she had been in the neighborhood long enough to know that.

      Just do what I tell you to! June ordered. Her mouth was dry. She should have had something to drink before she started. She should have had more to drink. If she’d had more, maybe then she wouldn’t have been so wound up. Put everything in the till into the bag.

      He was moving too slowly. She didn’t like it. He hadn’t argued with her and hadn’t tried to talk her out of the hold-up, but he was moving way too slowly. She wanted to reach across the counter and start grabbing hands full of cash herself, but she had seen enough blooper videos on TV to know how that would go. She wouldn’t be able to keep control of the gun and grab the money, her arm stretched out over the counter. The cashier would be able to catch her gun arm and maybe get her under his control.

      Hurry up! she screamed, tearing her throat raw. Why wouldn’t he hurry up? Was he moving that slowly, or was it just her perception because she was so hyped up?

      He didn’t say a word to her. That wasn’t right. He should have been answering her. Either arguing or trying to assure her that he was going to do everything she said to. But he wasn’t. Pale as a ghost, he just kept pinching bills between his fingers and putting them into the gym bag, his own hands shaking so that he kept fumbling with them, dropping them, not scooping the money efficiently like she would if she were in his position. How hard was it to grab the stack of cash from each slot?

      It was taking too long. There had to be a few hundred in the bag, and that was all she needed. She could get some more cash from another store, maybe one farther away from her home, once she was feeling better.

      She reached across the counter and grabbed the bag. The cashier held on to it for a moment, startled, but then he let go and put his hands up, letting her know he wasn’t going to fight her for it. June waved the gun at him one more time and hurried out of the store. All she had to do was get her hands on the drugs she needed, and then she’d be fine. Then she could stop and think over her next step.

      June hadn’t been able to find Jason, so she had ended up having to pay top dollar to a dealer that she didn’t usually buy from. Her money had disappeared into his pockets, and the heroin he had provided had been cut. It was barely enough to calm her shakes and, within a few hours, they were back again, worse than ever.

      Jason would have the good stuff. She couldn’t trust anyone else. She needed to find him and get some good product. Enough for a few days. It had been a while since she had seen Michelle. The girl was bound to come home soon, and she would have money for June to get groceries and to pay Jason what she owed. She just needed to convince him to extend her a little more credit. Only June wasn’t sure how she was going to do that.

      The gun was heavy, weighing on her like a sack of rocks instead of the sleek little handgun it was. She took it out of her hoodie pocket and again checked to make sure it was fully loaded.

      The volume of a child’s voice in the hallway made her turn her head and realize that she had left the apartment door open. She was going to walk over and close it, but then realized she still had the gun in her hand and someone could see it and report her. Or worse yet, feel threatened and blow her away.

      She turned her back to the door to shield the gun from view and checked it one more time.

      She wondered what would happen if she held Jason up for his product. How much did he carry on him? How long would it last? If she did something like that, he would never sell to her again, and he’d see to it she was blacklisted by all of the local dealers.

      Not a good idea.

      June let out her breath. She would talk to Jason. She would explain to him that she was going to be getting money soon. He would give her enough to tide her over until she could get her hands on some more cash. Everything would be fine.

      Freeze, police!

      June startled and whirled around, the gun finding its place in her hand and her finger sliding onto the trigger by the time she faced the door, drawing a bead on the cops before the words even registered.

      Her heart pounded so hard she thought it was going to explode. She pointed the gun at one black-uniformed cop and then the other, trying to figure out an escape route. She had faced danger before. She had faced arrest before. But it had been a long time since she had been in a gang and trouble like that had been expected.

      Why were they there? Because someone had seen her gun? Because they knew about the robbery? Had the dealer she’d bought from been a narc?

      If she went down for armed robbery, it was bad, but if she shot up the cops, it would be much worse. She would never get out. That was if she even made it to jail. If she shot one of them, or if they thought she was going to shoot one of them, they were going to open fire. It was two against one, and even if she managed to kill one of them, and maybe wing the other one, she wasn’t going to get out of there. If she managed to get both of them—and her skills with a firearm were not that great—she wouldn’t get far. The whole police force would be out looking for her in seconds, and she had nowhere to run. People in the neighborhood knew her. If the cashier had been able to describe her to a sketch artist, people would recognize her and know where she lived. That was why they always said never to pull a job in your own back yard. Don’t piss in your own drinking water.

      Drop the weapon and put up your hands! one of the cops shouted.

      June tried to decide. Her body had seized up, and the shaking was worse than ever. She could drop the gun, or she could end everything there. If she fired, even if she intentionally missed, they would take her out. They would put an end to her miserable existence there and then.

      But was that really what she wanted? She had lost everything but her children, Michelle and Kenny. Did she want to lose them too? They didn’t have a good relationship, but at least Michelle still came by to check on June now and then. If June committed suicide by cop, what would that do to them?

      She remembered a blaze of gunfire. She was thrown way back into the past—eight years old, sitting in her father’s lap when Justin filled him full of bullet holes—the end of life as they had known it. The smell of gun smoke and blood. The thunder of the gunshots filling her ears, along with her mother’s screams. Justin’s face, calm, pale, and pinched, as he lowered the gun, put it down, and calmly took the phone from their mother to dial in the three digits she couldn’t seem to manage with her shaking fingers.

      June couldn’t shoot anyone. She remembered later when they were part of the Fourteenth Street Gang, and Justin had acquired his own gun for the first time, how devastating it had been for him. A tough hood, and he couldn’t look at or touch a gun without remembering how he had fired those shots way back when they were both eight, changing the courses of their lives forever. What kind of a hood was traumatized by holding a gun? She had assured him that it was okay; she didn’t care whether he could carry and fire a gun. Neither of them had to carry just because they were with the gang. They could use other things. They could use knives, fists, feet.

      The shots echoed in her ears, so sharp and distinct that she looked from one cop to the other, sure that one of them had shot at her. Her body was clenched, waiting for the pain. But it didn’t come. The only pain she felt was the withdrawals that had been racking her body all day. The craving of her body that couldn’t be satisfied with anything else.

      Please help me! she begged.

      The cops looked surprised, exchanging looks with each other. Help you? How can we help you, ma’am?

      When had she gone from being a kid to being ma’am? She had three children, but she didn’t feel any older than she had when she was fourteen. She was still waiting for that strong, confident, grown-up feeling that all adults had. She kept bluffing her way through it, pretending that she could be a good mother. Pretending that she could take care of herself and knew what she was doing, all the while so lost and alone, the same eight-year-old girl she had been when they put her in an ambulance and took her away from her family, from her brother, from everything she knew. She had thought that she would never see Justin again. She had cried and screamed when they were separated, sure that he was going to prison and that she would never be able to see him again. Maybe it would have been better for him if that had happened.

      Just tell us what we can do to help, one of the cops said. Why don’t you put the gun down, and we’ll see what we can do?

      I gotta have a fix, June said, admitting the ugly truth. As much as she wanted Justy back, as much as she wanted her children to live with her and love her again, as much as she wanted everything to be idyllic, her immediate need was for nothing more than the drugs her body craved.

      We can help you to detox, the darker of the two cops said. If you just surrender, we’ll take you into custody, and we’ll help you out.

      I don’t want to detox. She hated the way that it felt when they cleaned her up. She hated the empty feeling, the anxiety, the feeling of being lost in the universe. That wasn’t the feeling that she wanted. She wanted the drugs to numb the pain. To quiet the anxieties and help her to forget how miserable her life had become. She didn’t want to be clean. She just wanted the chemicals flowing through her veins, helping her to forget, for just a few minutes.

      Of course not. But you can’t keep going on like this. Can you lower the gun? You’re looking pretty shaky there, and no one wants to be shot by accident.

      June saw her father, the blood that had spattered over everything, the holes in his chest and blankness in his eyes. He’d looked so startled, so surprised at being dead. She allowed the weight of the gun to pull her arm down slowly so that it went from the cop’s center mass down to his legs, and finally down at the floor. She knew her finger was still through the trigger guard, and that they now had the drop on her. It would take little effort if she really wanted to die.

      But the gun had become so heavy in her hand that she was no longer sure she would be able to raise it again. The aching in her chest grew. Maybe she’d have a heart attack right there, and they wouldn’t have to kill her. She would die right there, her heart unable to take the pressure anymore. She knew that some of the prescriptions she had taken over the years had side effects that could damage the heart. So could the street drugs. Maybe they had, and these were her last few seconds of life. Alone, no family, just the cops.

      That’s right, the cop said reassuringly. You’re making the right choice. We want to keep everyone safe here, don’t we? You don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re just jonesing. But everything is going to be alright.

      She couldn’t see how. She couldn’t see any possible positive outcome. They were going to put her away. Not just detox this time, not just the hospital, but in prison for armed robbery. She had blown it. She had been given one more chance to be a mother to her children, to get them back and show everyone that she could do it, and she had blown that all to hell. No matter what, she would never be getting her children back again. Not only that, but she had lost them long ago.

      They hadn’t wanted to come back to her after being in foster care. Neither one of them had wanted anything to do with her. Instead of showing them she could be a good mom, she had just reinforced how inept at the role she was. How was she supposed to be a good mother when all she’d ever known was abuse and temporary foster care? How had that trained her to be the kind of parent that she’d always wished she had?

      It’s not going to be alright, she objected.

      I know that’s how you feel, he agreed. I know you can’t see your way through to things being better now, but they can be. This is the best thing that could happen to you.

      What? June was baffled. How could he think that anything good could happen to her? She was going to prison. She was never going to see her children again. She was never going to see Justin again. Her whole life, all the things she had ever valued, were gone forever.

      It is, the cop told her earnestly. This is your opportunity to get cleaned up, to get your life turned around. You can get clear of the drugs, finish your education, maybe even learn a trade. You can get all of that crap straightened out and live the kind of life that you want to live.

      He was crazy. He had no idea what he was talking about. There was no way that her life was ever going to get any better. She had been spiraling down into the blackness for so long that she no longer remembered what it was like to walk in the light. There was no way out of the hole she had dug herself into.

      I’ve seen people a lot worse off than you turn their lives around.

      No, you haven’t, June challenged. Her whole body was shaking with fatigue, with her need for more drugs, with the loss of the adrenaline that had sustained her through the hold-up. You don’t know what it’s like.

      I’ve seen convicted murderers turn their lives around and become contributing members of society. People with purpose. Giving back to their communities. Helping other people who are in the same position to get a step up and avoid having to go through the same thing. I’ve seen complete turnarounds.

      June had a brief glimpse of what that would be like. How it would feel to be clear of drugs and addictions and be contributing something to society. To be able to help others who were on the street and in trouble. She could help the kids who were lost like she had been before they went so far that they thought they could never return.

      Really?

      Really. Trust me. Now I want you to listen to me, and I’ll tell you what to do. We can get you out of here without anybody getting hurt, and we can help you out. We can put you onto that path.

      June swallowed hard. Her mouth was still as dry as cotton. She wished for a bottle. She didn’t care what kind of nasty rotgut it was; she just wanted to numb herself. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

      Good, the cop approved. They were still holding their guns on her. She knew that outside, they were marshaling their forces, bringing in more and more cops, surrounding the building, bringing in a helicopter and a special response unit and starting to work through their strategies of how they would capture her—an armed gunman.

      They didn’t know how harmless she was. That she was no longer the hardened street kid, but just a mom who had never figured out how to make it work, soft and beaten-down.

      I want you to put down the gun. Just let it go.

      She worked at loosening her grip and pulling her finger back out of the trigger guard. She opened her hand and let gravity pull the gun out. It finally hit the floor with a clatter. Both cops visibly relaxed. She waited for them to rush in and jump on her, throw her to the floor, and crank her arms back behind her back to cuff them. That was the way she had seen it done.

      Okay, hands on top of your head. Interlace your fingers.

      June wasn’t sure she could raise her arms again. They hung so heavy at her side. But she focused all of her flagging energy on them, and managed to bring them up over her head, and then to settle on the crown of her head, over the mouse-brown hair, settling there. She was so tired. She just wanted to drop.

      Good. Kick the gun toward me.

      It took a couple of tries, but she managed to send it skidding across the dirty tiles in his direction.

      Good. You’re doing fine. You’re doing the right thing. Turn around so that your back is to me.

      That was easier, in spite of her exhaustion. She didn’t have to look at him. She didn’t have to see their guns and face the reality of what was happening to her.

      I want you to kneel down, and then lay flat on your face. Can you do that for me?

      June obeyed numbly.

      When she was lying down, she could hear their heavy shoes on the floor approaching her cautiously. But what was she going to do, unarmed, lying flat on the floor, her hands laced behind her head?

      She remembered how they had tackled Justin that one day on the playground, beating him down and kneeling on his back, when he was still not fully recovered from his car accident, breaking bones kneeling on him. She could still hear her own yells and remember how she had tackled the cops, furious that they would hurt her twin, her other half.

      But these cops didn’t do that to her. Their approach was slow, and though they went through the same motions of patting her down and cuffing her hands behind her back, they didn’t hurt her.

      When she was back on her feet, the cop who had talked to her went methodically through her pockets. There was nothing to find. She didn’t have any drugs on her. Nothing that she could take to calm the demons. No more weapons. Not even a penny to her name. She was destitute, wrung out, and empty. She knew that her life was over.

      CHAPTER

      TWO

      The cop murmured soothing words to her as he walked her down the stairs toward the street. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the building on her. All of them judging her and seeing how low she had fallen. Whispering to each other that they had always known she was no good and would end up like this. She didn’t care. The pain was worse than ever.

      It’s going to be okay. You did the right thing, the arresting officer told her.

      How had she done the right thing? When she decided to rob the store to get the money she needed to buy more drugs? Had that been the right thing? When she had hidden from her social worker that she was drinking and doping? When she had failed to tell Marsden that she had lost her job. The job that had only lasted a few days? Had she done the right thing when she had been so hard on her children? Her flesh and blood? Hers and Justin’s?

      She’d never had the patience that she should have as a mom. She’d always been the first to break, to get frustrated with their demands and to snap, whether it was just a sharp word or whether it was a slap, or whether, in the later years after Marcie was born, it had been much worse than a slap. She was eaten up with guilt. When was the last time she had done the right thing? When had she ever made the right choice, given the opportunity?

      Out on the street, there was another police car and another car she recognized. Marsden’s. She immediately tensed, looking for some escape. The cop tightened his grip and kept pushing her toward the car they had parked askew on the street, lights flashing, when they had entered the building to find June.

      Take it easy, he warned.

      I don’t want to talk to her.

      He looked at Marsden, not understanding. He wouldn’t let June pull away, but looked at the professional in her skirt-suit, waiting for her to introduce herself.

      Roberta Marsden, she introduced herself, reaching her hand out to shake automatically, but then realizing that the cop had his hands full already. I’m the caseworker for June and her children.

      The cop nodded. What can we do for you?

      What is June under arrest for? What’s going on?

      Armed robbery, he advised in a dry, clinical voice.

      Marsden’s mouth dropped open. Armed robbery? What’s going on, June? What happened?

      June looked down, not wanting to talk to her. I needed the money, she said lamely.

      Needed the money? For what? You have a job; what do you need to be committing armed robbery for?

      June wished that the cop would take her away and put her in the car. But he didn’t. They stood there, waiting for her answer.

      I don’t have a job, Michelle muttered.

      Since when? You have a job.

      June shook her head. Haven’t for a long time.

      Why didn’t you tell me? You’re supposed to be keeping me informed on these things. You said that everything was going fine. That’s not fine.

      If I told you, you would have taken the kids away.

      I would not necessarily have taken the kids. I could have helped you to find another job.

      They were always calling me names and feeling me up. I’m not going to work somewhere like that.

      I wouldn’t expect you to stay somewhere you were being harassed. But there are other jobs. I could have helped you find something else. That’s why I’m here, June.

      June shook her head, staring down at the pavement. She made a movement with her hips like she was going to walk over to the car. The cop didn’t take the hint. Marsden squared off in front of her to make sure she couldn’t get by.

      Where are Michelle and Kenny? Marsden asked, looking at her watch. Do they have after-school clubs?

      Clubs? The idea was laughable. Kenny would never be smart enough to be in any clubs, and Michelle was so mouthy and so averse to going to school that there was no way she would last in any of them. If school was out, then who knew where Michelle and Kenny were? They could be anywhere.

      They’re not at school.

      Where are they, then? Library? Friend’s house?

      June shook her head. I haven’t seen them for a few days. I don’t know where they would be.

      Marsden’s face was as pale as wax. She looked like a statue. What do you mean you haven’t seen them for a few days?

      They don’t come back here. I don’t know where they are. Michelle comes by sometimes, but she doesn’t stay.

      Marsden stared at her. Where are they sleeping, if they’re not coming back here? Where are they eating? Who is supervising them?

      June gave a hopeless shrug. Her insides were quaking, and she wished she could melt into the sidewalk. Where did Marsden think the kids were? They were on their own. They took care of themselves. Just like June and Justin had taken care of themselves when they were that age.

      You told me everything was fine, Marsden said, her voice rising. You told me that everything was okay, that you were all getting along, that school and work were going fine…

      June didn’t feel it was necessary to confirm the obvious. Those had all been lies. She had been lying to Marsden the entire time. Nothing had ever been fine. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

      We need to take her in for processing, the cop told Marsden. We’ll do our best to find out what’s going on here and give you any leads we can on the kids.

      Marsden handed him one of her cards so he would know how to reach her. She looked at June, shaking her head in disbelief.

      The cop finally walked June over to the car and helped her into it, making sure she didn’t bang her head. He got into the passenger seat, and the other one got into the driver’s. They pulled out, leaving June’s old life behind.

      CHAPTER

      THREE

      "W e’ll have you to booking in a few minutes," the friendly cop advised her, his voice warm and soothing. He glanced back at her.

      I need a fix, June told him, shifting her body again, so squirmy and uncomfortable that she couldn’t be still even for a second. You gotta get me something. Anything. I need something to calm my nerves before we go in.

      They could get her something. A drink. A smoke. A pill. She didn’t care what it was, as long as she could get something to help to steady her nerves and take away the awful pain and the shaking.

      We’ll get you where someone can take care of you. It will be okay.

      I need it now!

      He looked down at her, his dark brown eyes compassionate. I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do about that. We’ll get you taken care of as soon as we can.

      June slammed her forehead into the barrier grille between the front and the back seats. Physical pain was better than what she was already feeling. They would have to take her to the hospital. They would have to give her something for the pain. The car screeched to a stop and the cop moved fast, jumping out and wrenching the back door open to push June back before she could even get a second head slam in. June saw stars from the impact. She could feel a warm trickle of blood start down her face.

      Ma’am, you do that again, and we’re going to have to hogtie you. You think you’re going to like that?

      She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her go. Finally, June stopped fighting and slumped back. He released his hold on her and watched to see what she was going to do next. June didn’t hit her head again. The cop nodded.

      The driver was looking back through the grille. If she tries to hurt herself again, you need to get her in shackles. She’ll beat herself to a bloody pulp if you let her. She’ll do anything to get shot up with drugs tonight.

      The dark one gave a little frown to show that he understood. He fixed his eyes on June, waiting for her to make her next move. June didn’t stir.

      Are you going to do that again?

      No.

      You’d better not.

      Once at the police station, June knew she was under close surveillance to make sure that she did not self-injure. She didn’t want to end up in shackles in some cool-down room until she was through withdrawals, but didn’t expect that she had any choice in the matter.

      It had taken numerous attempts to get a good mugshot because she was jittering so badly she couldn’t stand still for a picture. June was placed in an interrogation room where she tried her best to sit still in the chair, but without much luck. The police officer who came in to interview her was not the same one who had talked her down at the apartment. June had been hoping that it would be the same one, since he seemed to have some compassion for addicts, but she hadn’t expected to see him again. Probably he was a beat cop from the area. They would put him back on patrol and have someone more senior take care of June.

      June Simpson?

      June nodded. She looked up at the new cop. Older, probably near retirement. Not much hair left, just a fringe around the top. Craggy face, long hooked nose. Not a beauty by any means, but he didn’t enter the room blustering and yelling at her, so she was happy to take what she could get.

      Just what the hell were you doing robbing a convenience store?

      It struck June as funny for some reason. She shook her head, trying to find the words.

      I was… I needed a fix. I’ve got nothing. No more money. No one to help me out. I just wanted… I just wanted something to get me through the day.

      He sat down across from her, placing a notepad in front of him, neatly squared to the edge of the table.

      And when that’s gone, you’re going to need something to get you through the next day. And the next.

      She shrugged, agreeing with him. Of course she would. For as long as she was still alive, she would need something else to get her through.

      Why aren’t you in a program?

      I… I don’t know. I can’t get into one.

      Have you tried?

      She stared at him, trying to analyze the questions and where he was going. Well… I don’t know…

      "You don’t know if you’ve tried to get into an addiction recovery program."

      I… I guess not. Not like that.

      Not like what?

      I just… I’ve tried on my own. That’s all.

      You have children who are supposed to be in your care?

      She swallowed. Yes.

      And where are they?

      I don’t know.

      You don’t know. How exactly are you taking care of them?

      I’m… They’re not home very often. When they come by, I feed them… they have a place to sleep. I’d do more if they’d let me. But they don’t want to be around me.

      When is the last time they slept under your roof?

      I don’t know.

      How old are they?

      Umm… June tried to remember for sure. Twelve and fourteen…?

      Are you asking me?

      I… no. They’re twelve and fourteen.

      And you have no idea where they are or where they’ve been spending their nights.

      June stared down at the table, nodding.

      How could your social worker not know you were taking drugs? He looked at her and shook his head, disgusted. It’s pretty obvious.

      Right now… yeah. Because I haven’t had anything. But if I had something… I wouldn’t look so bad. She jiggled in her chair.

      Aren’t they doing drug testing?

      No. She didn’t know.

      She didn’t even know you’re an addict?

      June shook her head.

      He stared at her. How did you manage to keep that a secret?

      June shrugged. She picked at her skin. I was doing better before I got the kids back. It’s just lately… Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to suppress them, not wanting the cop to think she was playing for sympathy. Since I got them back… and they didn’t want to stay with me… She yearned for the time when they were babies and would cuddle with her, so warm and sweet in her arms. How had things gotten to the point where they would rather live on the streets than come home to her?

      "Since you got them back, the cop repeated. Why did you lose them before?"

      June’s stomach squeezed into a tight knot. A tide of guilt rose up and washed over her. Because of abuse.

      He leaned back in his chair, watching her. Physical abuse?

      Yes.

      Not because of drugs.

      No.

      Your social worker didn’t know that you’re an intravenous drug user?

      No. I didn’t use very often before.

      Just since you got them back. His tone clearly imparted that he couldn’t understand why she would start using when she got her kids back.

      It was stressful, June insisted. You think it’s easy to raise two teenagers after you’ve been separated for two years?

      I don’t imagine it’s easier on drugs.

      My meds weren’t working. I needed something else… you don’t know what it’s like.

      He wrote something down in the notepad on the table in front of him. Where are your kids now?

      June breathed for a moment, trying to keep her voice steady. I don’t know.

      You must have some idea.

      She let the impressions roll over her and gel into a picture of what she knew. I think they’re probably with a gang.

      The cop’s brows drew down. You think they’re with a gang? Which one?

      I don’t know. I haven’t seen them with anyone, and they don’t wear any insignia… they don’t wear colors like when I was in a gang… but I just think… I think that’s what they’re doing. That’s how they’re surviving on their own.

      Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe you should tell someone about that? Maybe you should tell your social worker, for instance? Or talk to the resource officer at the school? If they’re in a gang, there are things that we could be doing to try to get them out.

      June looked at him, trying to read his face. She shook her head. The gang is taking care of them. I know what it’s like when you try to leave a gang… It’s better if they just stay with them.

      The cop snorted. They should stay in the gang. What kind of mother wants her kids to be in a gang?

      You don’t know what it’s like living on the street, June said. She picked at a scratch in the table, trying to calm her itching fingers. I’ve been on the street. It’s a lot harder if you don’t have someone to take care of you. I’d rather they were being taken care of. I don’t want them trying to survive on their own.

      They wouldn’t have to. If you’re not able to take care of them, they should be in foster care, or a group home, or some other situation. They shouldn’t have to be on the street. They shouldn’t have to be in a gang. That’s what we want to prevent. And that’s why you should have talked to your social worker about what was going on a long time ago. As soon as you suspected that they might be into something like that.

      I didn’t want to go to jail. I didn’t want them to be taken away from me.

      We wouldn’t exactly be taking them away from you, though, would we? Because you don’t have them right now. You might legally have custody of them, but you don’t have physical custody. They’re not staying with you. You’re not looking after them. We wouldn’t be taking them away from you; we would be taking them off the street.

      June shook her head. He couldn’t understand what it had been like for her. He couldn’t understand how hard she had tried to be a good mom. But she didn’t have the resources. She needed Justin there helping her. She needed people who could help her instead of criticizing her and taking the children away.

      It was because they had taken Michelle and Kenny away in the first place that they had become estranged. If they hadn’t been put into foster care to start with, things would have been different. They wouldn’t have left her then. They would still be with her like they should be.

      If they’re not with me, it’s better if someone is looking after them, she repeated.

      The policeman rolled his eyes and breathed out in a sigh of exasperation. We obviously are not going to see eye-to-eye on this matter. You don’t know which gang they might be with? You haven’t seen them hanging out in a particular area, seen them with some of the other kids in the gang, or seen or heard anything that might indicate what gang they are with?

      June shook her head. They don’t talk to me. They don’t hang out with me. I haven’t seen them anywhere, just when Michelle comes by now and then to see me.

      You haven’t seen Kenny at all?

      No. He won’t come. I’ve asked Michelle to bring him… because he’s kind of slow, you know. He’d come if she made him. But she won’t. She says he doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to.

      The boy is handicapped?

      No… not handicapped. He still goes to school. He’s just a little slow. He never got good grades, and they kept him back a year, so him and Michelle were both in the same grade. He can still read and write.

      June had experienced her own challenges with school. She had never been able to make anything of herself in school, had never been able to keep up. The reading and writing were so arduous that they seemed to squeeze everything else out. Justin had said she should just go for the socialization and enjoy the easy subjects, but she had never been able to get past the difficulties she had with reading and writing, and that colored everything else. Michelle, on the other hand, she was really smart. Like June’s sister Ruby’s little girl, smart way beyond her years. She was the opposite of Kenny, too smart for her own good. And never willing to obey and do what she was told. She always had to argue and find a way not to do what she was told.

      Shouldn’t they be two grades apart? the officer suggested. If they’re twelve and fourteen? Was he kept back twice?

      Don’t you think I’d know that? June snapped back. But she was covering the fact that she was worried she might have missed it. Maybe he had been kept back when he was in the foster home. They aren’t two years apart. They’re like… eighteen months apart or something like that. So they were only one grade apart. Until Kenny was kept back.

      He nodded as if that made sense. June had never been able to wrap her mind around the grade cut-offs fully, but she didn’t need to. They just told her which grade he was supposed to be in, and that’s what she registered him for.

      CHAPTER

      FOUR

      The door opened, and another policeman stuck his head in. Looks like they’re ready for her, he advised.

      June looked at the old cop with his wrinkled, craggy face. Who was ready for her? She thought that she was going to talk to him, and then he would put her in a jail cell, and then after they had heard her case, they’d transfer her to the prison. That was the way it was supposed to work.

      Come on, then, the older cop advised June. We’re obviously not going to get very far with you no matter how long we take. You’re about jumping out of your skin.

      I’m jonesing. I need a fix. I’d be fine once I got something. It would settle me down.

      I know. He nodded. We’ve got a detox program to put you into. It’s just a pilot program right now; they’re taking a few people on to see how it works.

      June swallowed. She tried to steady her hands and quell the shuddering of her stomach, but she wasn’t succeeding. It was going to get a lot worse if they were putting her into detox. She had hoped that when they got her to the jail cell, she would find a source. Even if it was just a little bit. They smuggled drugs in everywhere. Someone would surely have something. She tried not to dwell on what she would have to do to get it. She didn’t have money and she didn’t have anything to trade. She wouldn’t have any reputation in jail, because what was she? No one cared that she was an ex-gang chick. They would just see her as a junkie mom, the lowest person on the totem pole. Who wanted to give any of their precious stash to a no-account junkie mom? They would just laugh at her.

      But detox was even worse. There was no chance, however slim, that she might be able to get her hands on something. She was going to have to go through withdrawals. The full-blown thing. No chance of weaning herself off of drugs slowly as she’d done before.

      Detox? she protested, tears starting in her eyes again, I can’t do detox. It’ll kill me. I’ll have to go to the hospital or something. I can’t do that.

      He motioned for her to stand, and put a hand on her arm to escort her out of the room. It’s a methadone program.

      June’s spirits lifted. If it was a methadone program, then she could avoid withdrawals. Methadone wouldn’t give her the high that heroin would, but it would keep her from being so sick. It would smooth out the withdrawals so that she could manage.

      Really? I didn’t think they did methadone in jail.

      Not a lot of places do, though I’m not sure why. It makes a lot more sense to get your addicts off slowly than to have them screaming and causing a ruckus in the cell block. Even if you put them in solitary… well, you’re not supposed to put them in solitary in case they choke to death or something. Someone has to be checking in on them regularly. Believe me; there’s nothing worse than trying to guard a cell block with two or three people going through withdrawal. He swore. You think you’ve gone to hell.

      And that was what he felt like as an observer. Imagine how the addicts themselves felt.

      So when do I get a dose? she demanded. Do I get it tonight? Right away? Because I need it right now.

      They’ll explain everything to you. But I think that you can assume for now that they will give you what you need today. They’re not going to need to wait to see if you really are an addict or not.

      June breathed out, trying to relax her muscles. Yeah. Yeah, they wouldn’t do that, she said with a weak laugh.

      She needed to get her fix, and she didn’t care if it was methadone. Just as long as her body got what it needed.

      June was taken out to a van. It wasn’t marked as a police van, just a plain black wrapper. June saw the woman standing there waiting for her, standing toward the entrance of the vehicle bay smoking a cigarette. Of course, there were signs all over the place about not smoking in the vehicle bay, and that was why she was ostensibly trying to appear as if she was smoking outside, but she was still inside the bay, just as far away from the signs as she could be. She turned around and looked as June was escorted over to the van, to see if June was the person that she was waiting for. Then she stubbed out her cigarette, put it into her pocket, and returned to the van.

      This is my newbie?

      This is her, the cop agreed. He handed over a clipboard with all of June’s pertinent information on it. June Simpson. Twenty-seven. Armed robbery.

      Armed robbery? the woman questioned. She’s violent?

      He gave a shrug. Just doing whatever she could to get her fix. Her record is pretty clean. Not much on there since she was a juvenile.

      So what happened? the woman asked June. If you were clean, then why start up again?

      June just looked at her, trying to think of an appropriate answer. Did she think that June had made a logical, reasoned decision? That wasn’t how it had been at all.

      It had crept up on her. At first, a boost here and there when she couldn’t handle things. Then a little more often. Then she didn’t need any particular stress to make her take something; it was just part of everyday life. And then she had been paying far more than she could afford, and the walls started to close in. Things kept getting worse until she didn’t know whether she was coming or going.

      She had OD’d only once. Not that she would brag about it. Michelle and Kenny had found her. Passed out and barely breathing. They were the ones who had called an ambulance and gotten her treatment, all the time protecting the secret that they didn’t have anyone else to look after them. Word hadn’t gotten back to Marsden. None of them wanted that. They all covered it up the best they could. It had scared June, but it hadn’t scared her into stopping. She was too addicted to just stop because it seemed like a good idea. She survived from one fix to the next, that was all. She begged and stole. She took money from her underaged daughter to pay her dealer. What kind of mother was she, that her twelve-year-old kid had to bail her out of trouble like that?

      She was disgusted with herself. The cop was right. She didn’t deserve to be a parent. They should have taken Michelle and Kenny away from her and kept them. That was the only way the kids had any chance of living a normal life. The kind of life that the cop kept talking about, without a gang or a junkie mom. In foster care or another situation where they would be safe and not be out on the street, hanging with gangs and doing whatever it was they had to do to get money to pay for her drugs.

      I just… things were bad, she tried to explain to the woman. Things just got really bad.

      The woman looked down at her. She was tall, and June felt like a ten-year-old next to her. The question is, are you ready to change?

      Yes.

      Are you motivated to change, or are you just saying that to get a dose of methadone, and then you’re going to run the moment you get a chance?

      I want to get clean, June said. I never had methadone before. But if I can get into a program… I want to stop. I don’t want to keep doing this.

      The woman nodded. Hop in.

      The woman introduced herself as Mary Bennet, and she was a director or one of the directors of the detox program that June was being admitted to.

      This is a secure program, Mary told her firmly. That means you are not allowed to come and go as you please. It is a locked-down facility. If you want to get out, you’re going to have to apply to the court for bail or other release terms. This is your jail, and you’re expected to treat it that way. It’s not voluntary detox, and it’s not somewhere you can walk away from. If you manage to get out, it will be treated just like any other jailbreak. You will have warrants put out on you and people hunting you down. Do you understand?

      June swallowed and nodded. She jiggled her knees, trying to get comfortable. She wanted to look calm and reasonable and like she wouldn’t have any trouble with the terms. And she wouldn’t. She needed to be locked up, and she needed to get clean. Not having to go through full withdrawals was the benefit of the methadone program, and she wasn’t going to get that kind of opportunity anywhere else. She knew that there

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