Page 25 of Chalk Outline

I run down a few more streets, passing Victorian houses with wrap-around porches and manicured lawns that scream money.

That is merely a dream for someone like me.

As the sirens fade into the distance, I pause beside a mansion with a sprawling yard, positioned slightly away from the other houses. There’s no gate or fence. The streetlamp is the solesource of light. Silence presses in from all directions, and I dare to step closer and onto the porch.

No movement or sound comes from inside as I press my ear to the front door.

Maybe they are on vacation?

I hope so because it seems like a nice place to crash.

A comfy swing hangs in the corner, and my muscles scream in protest, urging me to lie down and get a few hours of sleep before the first rays of light come out.

I lower myself, propping the rustling bag of food at my side. My lids shut as I rest my head on the fluffy cushion and clutch the knife in my pocket.

This is so comfortable.

It’s small for my size, but I would give anything to have that someday.

A few more thoughts run through my mind before everything fades.

“Kid, what are you doing on my porch?” A woman’s resonant voice startles me awake.

I crack my eyes open and am blinded by the harsh morning light.

I swear I just closed my eyes.

“I’m leaving.” I quickly grab the plastic bag from the swing. That was probably the best sleep I’ve had in forever. I turn to leave, and the woman’s voice trails behind me as I step down the stairs.

“Hold on.”

I spin to face her and immediately freeze when our eyes lock. That murderous look in her eyes. That calmness. That half-fake smile that can lure people in. She is danger wrapped in an elegant suit.

“What is your business here?” she questions, fixing me with a threatening look as she ties her long, red-copper hair.

What am I supposed to do now?

“N-nothing. I just slept here, and now I’m leaving.” I don’t need another grown-up to cage me like I was caged at the circus. I would have done it years ago if I had known I could survive the streets. It’s not ideal, but I could have saved money and gotten Mom out.

“Who do you work for?”

I furrow my brows. “No one...” I hesitate to answer because I have no idea where she’s going with this.

Her eyes sweep down the length of my body, studying the jacket I took from someone’s yard that hangs wide open. Their jeans are a little tight, but convenience is a privilege right now. On the other hand, their kicks are great.

“You do now.”

“What?” I stare in confusion.

“Did you run away from home?” She’s interrogating me. Maybe she’s a cop. In that case, I’m screwed. If I run, it’ll make me look guiltier.

“Something like that.” My voice comes out rough and steady this time. I am not going to juvie, or wherever kids like me go.

“I’ll give you clothes and food and train you so no one can hurt you.” She nudges her chin out and wiggles her brows once at the burn on my bare chest.

Instinctively, I reach to fasten the jacket around me, staring at the dirt under my fingernails and the dark layer covering my skin.

I was planning to use someone’s hose and get a shower before I left.