Page 11 of Mending Fate

I stood at the door for a couple minutes to get my bearings, then headed out. I went the opposite way as the train station, wishing I’d gone home long enough to drop off my bag. It hadn’t seemed that heavy when I’d left the school, but now, it was getting annoying. By the end of the night, my shoulder would be aching.

Still, I had no plans to give up. I had places to check.

A late-night deli. A mini-mart. Two liquor stores.

I saw a few places where groups of teens and young adults were gathered, talking, and smoking. I got some funny looks when I came up to them and asked about Soleil, but they didn’t seem evasive when they said they hadn’t seen her.

I’d intended to go back to the places I’d checked last night, but by the time I walked up one side, then back down to where the train station was, I knew I had to go home. If I ran myself down too much, I wouldn’t be any good to anyone.

I called Brie on the way back home and told her that I hadn’t found anything. She wasn’t surprised, and if I was being totally honest, I wasn’t either. The longer Soleil was gone, the more I believed that her reason for leaving was somehow connected to the strange phone call she’d made to me on the day of the shooting.

I was still puzzling over it when I arrived home. Mai had texted me a couple hours ago to say she wouldn’t be home until around two or three, so I planned to shower and crawl straight into bed.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, however, everything changed.

There, huddled on the floor next to my door, was a battered and bloody body, barely conscious, but awake enough to croak my name.

Soleil.

Seven

Lumen

I neededto get a fucking car!

“For the third time, I don’t know what happened!” I practically shouted at the phone. I’d set it on the floor after dialing 911, and now it was on speaker, so I didn’t really need to yell, but the operator was pissing me off.

Fortunately, she was good enough at her job that she wasn’t taking offense. She was clearly used to desperate, terrified people.

“Is she still conscious?”

“Soleil? Soleil, it’s Lumen.” I wanted to shake her or touch her face or do something that would give me a better idea of how aware she was, but she looked so horrible that I didn’t think it was a good idea to do any of that. What if she had internal bleeding, and I made it worse? “I think her eyes are open, but she’s not responding to anything I say. Her face is so swollen, I can’t tell for sure.”

“Okay. Keep talking to her. Give her something to focus on.”

The sound of sirens sent a rush of relief through me. “The ambulance is here.”

“All right. I’m going to let you go, okay?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” I ended the call and shoved my phone back in my purse. “It’s going to be okay, Soleil. Paramedics are coming. We’ll get you to the hospital, and you’ll be okay. We’ll find out who did this to you.”

Through the puffy flesh surrounding her eyes, I caught a sliver of color, as if she was trying to focus on my face. Her hand reached for me, lips moving without any sound.

“I’m right here,” I reassured her. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, but I didn’t look away. Knowing I had to be strong for her kept me from breaking down…or doing something stupid. At the moment, concern was strongest, but grief and anger simmered below the surface, and I knew that as soon as I let them loose, I would need an outlet, even if that outlet was screaming and crying in my shower.

I couldn’t do that here. Soleil needed me to be strong and calm. Besides, if I was freaking out, someone would have to take their attention from the girl to work on me. Those thoughts kept my emotions boxed up tight and allowed me to have enough common sense to move out of the way when the paramedics arrived. I didn’t go far, though.

“Her name’s Soleil Artz,” I said before either man could ask. “She’s a foster kid and has been missing for the last two days. I was out looking for her, and when I got home about ten minutes ago, I found her like this. She said my name, but that’s it.”

“She’s your foster kid?” the older of the two men asked as he examined her.

“No, more like a little sister. Sort of.” I shook my head. “She’s in the same foster home where I grew up, and I volunteer there. I’ve been trying to help her.”

“How old is she?” the other paramedic asked as he pulled out a clipboard.

“Fourteen.”