At the far end of the building, punching in the security code for the kitchen doors, I let myself in. The lights are all off. I locate the different colored sacks at the rear, next to the double doors that lead to the alleyway at the side of the nursing home. Punching in a second security code, I move all the bags outside, before transferring them to the area where three large dumpsters are lined up in a row.
It’s only when I’m hoisting the last of the bags into the dumpster for recycling that I see the edge of a shoe, just touching the light, poking out from one side of the dumpster.
I look down and freeze. The helicopter overhead has moved on, but I can still hear it whirring in the distance. Further away, police officers are still searching the front yard.
I close the lid and take a tentative step back. I lean my head to one side, and that’s when I see him.
He’s sitting crouched down, his back against the wall between two dumpsters, his face partially covered by shadow, hugging his bent knees. There’s a nasty cut above his left eye that’s still leaking blood, as well as one on his swollen upper lip. His cheeks are smeared with dirt and tiny cuts, like he ran through a bush just to get here. His T-shirt has frayed edges, and there’s a hole at the knee of his already ripped jeans. He’s trembling.
He’s the boy from the photograph the police showed me. And he’s here. Out with the garbage.
‘Are you Noah?’ I whisper.
Tears leak down his face. He gives me a single nod.
My chest rises and falls. He’s young. Frightened. ‘They’re looking for you.’
He nods for a second time. ‘Please,’ he says, his voice strained, and my heart goes out to him. ‘Please, ma’am, don’t turn me in.’
‘You need to go.’
‘Go where?’ he pleads. ‘Right now, they’re crawling everywhere.’
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been a rulebreaker. If anything, I’m the ultimate good girl. I panic and look left to right. ‘Look, I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, all right? But you need to go. You can’t stay here.’
He nods his head again frantically. ‘You got any food?’ he asks. ‘I’m starved.’
His words make my chest ache. I know that, behind me in the kitchen, is a well-stocked fruit bowl and boxes of breakfast cereals in the cupboards. Yet I can’t bring myself to steal from the nursing home that’s allowed me to volunteer for the last year. That wouldn’t be right.
I stand there, panicking inwardly, my body tense. I don’t know what possesses me. Why I think I can help him. Maybe it’s because his name is Noah, and that name means something to me. Maybe it’s because volunteering here inherently makes me want to help people. He doesn’t look like a bad person. He’s just a kid.
I lower my chin. ‘Stay here, all right,’ I whisper, my heart making a decision that my head hasn’t yet caught up with. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Will you bring me something?’ his strained whisper emerges from the darkness and I turn. ‘Something to eat?’
I shush him. At the front of the nursing home, I can hear a male voice crackling over the police radio. ‘We got nothing,’ it says. ‘Suspect still at large.’
‘Crap,’ I mutter, my brain catching up. ‘I’ll be back,’ I whisper again and make my way back into the kitchen. I close the doors behind me and head back around to the break room, not before taking an apple from the fruit bowl.
I take the key from my pocket and open my locker, removing my bag and the clothes I arrived in. I get changed out of my pink candy striper uniform and, once I’m back in my own clothes, place it all in the laundry basket. Then I leave the key in the locker for the next person to use.
‘Bins are all out,’ I say to Tawny, back in reception. I realize what I’ve said, then turn on my heel and wince. ‘Sorry, I meant trash.’
‘Thanks, honey,’ she says. ‘I like the way you say it.’ She winks at me, then puts on her best British accent. ‘Thebins,’ she says with a little shake of her head, then descends into giggles. ‘Thanks for your help today, Hollie. As always.’
I give her a big grin, yet my stomach is in knots. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Goodnight.’
In the parking lot, I check no one is around, then follow the outside wall, finding myself back at the dumpsters. Noah is where I left him. He jumps when he sees me, as though he’s expecting to be handcuffed.
‘It’s all right,’ I whisper, then hold out the apple.
He snatches it from me like a feral animal, sinking his teeth into the fruit, devouring it in voracious bites. Blood still trickles down the side of his face.
‘I think the police have moved on,’ I whisper. ‘You can probably go now.’
‘You got any more food?’ Noah asks me with his mouth full, the juice from the apple dripping down his chin.
