Reed’s voice turned bitter. “Bullshit. People just turned the other way. Just like I did.” I didn’t like those last few words. He clearly blamed himself for the Palmers' continued depravity.
“Please, carry on. Tell me how you escaped? You must have been terrified,” I stated, willing those tears at the back of my eyes to stay away. I couldn’t break down in front of him; I needed to remain professional. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
“I left through a broken window out back in Bart Simpson fucking PJ bottoms and a sweater I had stolen from one of the older kids, I don’t even remember his name. The sneakers I wore were Nike, and I remembered that was the one time I got something from the Palmers, for my eighth birthday, sneakers without holes that fit. Louise used to panic-buy stuff and hoard it in one of the rooms. New stuff that she never touched. Like she had a condition where she had to collect stuff.”
“Where did you go when you got out? To the police?”
“I just remember heading into the forest, with a carrier bag full of Lay’s chips and water. I spent the night there.”
“You spent the night in the woods on your own at eight?” I was horrified as I moved my chair around the table. Reed now had both feet on the floor, and his hands rested on his knees.
“Pretty much,” he replied with a nod.
“Oh my God, Reed. That’s horrendous.”
He shrugged and cleared his throat as he went on. “I managed to get into a garage of one of the pretty properties, as I used to call them. The owners had left the door slightly open; I can’t remember seeing the name of the street, but I think it was near Ocean Drive.
It had been raining, and it was the closest place that was dry and warm. I remember crawling around the two cars that were parked inside. There were pushbikes mounted on the walls, and that was the first time I’d seen a motorcycle up close. I remember it was a sports bike, in bright green. Strange what you remember.
I entered a laundry room and fell asleep on a pile of fresh clothes. I can recall that smell like it was yesterday, as I hadn’t been able to wash for months. I’d forgotten the scent of clean.
The next morning, I was prodded awake by a girl wearing braces, waving a hockey stick at me. The daughter of the house. She’d scolded me for creasing her new blue top, and I thought I was busted. I remember how she held her finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet as she’d re-covered me with clothes. I’d been terrified when I heard the voices of her parents. Luckily, I remained hidden, safe for another day. She said her name was Clara, and she brought me food, some of her little brothers’ joggers, and a fresh top. I think I was there for around four days until their dog found me and alerted the parents.”
“Then what happened?”
Reed’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “They called the authorities. At first, I was seen as a runaway. A kid who runs away from home during that developmental phase when children test boundaries set by their parents, or some bullshit like that. I read about that years later.
The cops came and took me back to social services. I remember Clara was crying. I didn’t have any ID on me, and I wasn’t identified correctly. I gave them a different name. There was no match on their system. I then made up some tall story that they didn’t believe about being homeless, and eventually, I was logged in the system as Reid Mehari. I used Micah’s surname on purpose.
A few things happened then, none that I can explain, but I wasn’t sent back to the Palmers. There was no record of a Reid Mehari ever having been there, so why would there be any connection? I didn’t say anything about those fuckers or that house. The social worker did tests and asked me questions about why I was so malnourished. I dealt them the homeless card again.
I never said anything about how I’d been treated, as I didn’t think they’d believe me. I remember acting aggressively and yelling, refusing to eat one day, which wasn’t like me, having been starved before. One of the child psychologists said it was common for eight-year-olds to run away from their parents. I remember shouting at them that I had no parents, and of course, I wasn’t lying.”
“How did you find out you were abandoned?”
“Once they’d found out my real record, which came later.”
“Go on.” I felt physically sick.
“Anyways, eventually, I got lucky. They found Micah in the system as Ma was in the process of fostering him. They easily matched the names as Mehari was such a unique surname, and BOOM. Eyebrows were raised when they learned that Micah was black and I was white, but when they accessed his files, my details were there as Reed Prescott. I came clean and said that was me and how we had been housed together since we were five. That’s when one of the social workers there started tobacktrack, learning how they’d made a mistake by separating us in the first place. I had the chance at that point to tell them about the Palmers, and I still didn’t.
That woman saved my life. I remember calling her Julie. She was the one who made sure Micah and I were placed together again, but this time with Ma Sawyer.”
It sounded like a horror movie. “So, there were never any safeguarding concerns raised about the Palmers?”
He shook his head, picking at his fingernails. “No, they did ask about the Palmers when they saw that’s where I had been sent after being split from Micah. I just said I wasn’t happy there, and they admitted that the paperwork had been misfiled. I should never have been separated from Micah when we were ripped from our first, permanent foster. That’s the only reason I wasn’t sent back, the mix-up from their end, not that I was unhappy. They didn’t care about that. Thankfully, they admitted their mistake, and I wasn’t sent back. Otherwise, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
I should have confessed what happened with the Palmers, but I didn’t. When she asked why I left, I explained that I just wanted to get back to Micah. I knew she was suspicious, and she put the paperwork through, but had to contact the Palmers to explain I’d been found, and that alternative living was being organized. For three nights at the center, I was terrified thinking David or Louise would come back for me. I remember trying to run away again. They were then deregistered as my home managers.”
Reed paused to take a breath, his gaze moving past my shoulder, like he was staring into space.
“And then that last day, I had a chaperoned visit with Micah and Ma while Julie filed the new placement plan. I remember us hugging each other so tightly. Something we had never done, being boys. That type of stuff was for sissies. And the rest is history.”
Silence then kicked in, and it was louder than ever.
I leaned forward and placed one hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry you went through that, Reed.”
That drew his gaze down. “That’s not the worst part,” he began, those piercing eyes of his lifting to drill into me. “I’m not torn up by what happened to me; I had put that in the past, or so I thought I had. It’s the fact that I didn’t come forward sooner, and that shit that went on for years afterwards is what’s eating me up inside. I get so fucking angry.”
