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M onday, Janesville, Wisconsin

The sun had barely broken over the tree line when Helen loaded the forest green Subaru 4 x 4 hatchback and eased from the gravel driveway. She’d never driven long distances alone before, but she wasn’t afraid. In fact, she felt almost free. Sunday morning, a cryptic text arrived on the Technician phone given to her, changing the meeting location from Brown Deer, Wisconsin to Janesville, Wisconsin. Initially, her fear of being set up for a takedown would have overtaken all of her thought processes, but the text was followed up from a brief call from Azrael, her handler.

Brief wasn’t quite the correct term to use. The woman growled in the phone that her training had been moved to Janesville, then she hung up. Louisville, Kentucky to Brown Deer Wisconsin would be a nearly seven-hour drive. As she checked the GPS system, Janesville wasn’t much different. Helen put on her favorite CD of Mary J. Blige, getting it crunk in the dancery and she was off to begin her new life as a Technician.

With one stop to fuel up and recharge the snack supply, at fifteen minutes after one in the afternoon, she arrived at the address on the GPS. She crept slowly up the driveway, thinking, praying, and hoping that the address was incorrect. The lopsided mailbox displayed the number of the home, which matched the numbers on the two-story farmhouse.

“This can’t be right,” she said, slowly rolling up the drive path.

The two-car garage in the rear of the home was missing an entire door, which rested against the building. A barn, if one could call it such, sat in the rear of the property with no front to it whatsoever. Half of the roof for the barn was missing, while the other half was falling in. She could almost say the same for the house. Just as she began to believe she had arrived at the wrong address, on the back porch, if one could call where Bad Apple was standing to be a porch, was the man himself.

Honestly, he was scary, a tall black man, solid in form and coated in a soft umber skin tone. His hair, cut low, showed signs of receding on both sides of the widow’s peak, and his beard was scruffy with a neatly trimmed mustache. He pointed to where his pick-up truck was parked, indicating she should park next to the vehicle. Sighing deeply, she mentally checked her arsenal, not that she had much of one. In her purse was a .360, and she had a 9mm in her overnight bag and three knives in her skirt pocket.

“Relax. You’re here to learn,” she said, cutting the engine.

Helen exited the vehicle, bringing her purse along with her. She didn’t offer the man a smile since she didn’t want him to get any ideas on how friendly this training session would be. “Bad Apple,” Helen said.

“Apple is fine Cranberry,” he said to her, using the Technician handle she’d chosen.

“Good enough,” she said, walking up the small stairs to the home. “What do we have here?”

“It’s an investment project,” he told her. “The foundation is solid overall, and the project has good bones, but it will need a heckaton of nurturing and care to make it shine and be a worthwhile asset.”

The metaphor wasn’t wasted on Helen’s sharp mind. She wouldn’t insult the man by asking if the reference made was about her or the home, so she didn’t. The yard, from where she stood, needed a great deal of work as well. A lone apple tree leaned in the distance, the branches cracked and weighed from years of no one pruning or picking the fruit which had become dead weight.

“Shall we take a look inside?” Helen asked, waiting for him to lead the way. Apple’s response was simply to arch an eyebrow. He pushed away from the railing to enter the home.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d mentally envisioned. The kitchen was dated with honey oak cabinetry covered in years of fried dinner grease. A lone gas stove rested against the wall with no cover, simply showing off the iron exposed burners. She was grateful no fridge existed in the home, imagining the dead bugs who would have called it home. Beige tile with grungy grout left little to the imagination to envision on the yuck which more than likely existed under the cracked tiles.

“Bathrooms?” she asked.

“Only one,” he said.

“You adding another?”

“Yes,” Apple said.

“Bedrooms?”

“Five total,” he said as the sound of vehicles arriving drew his eye away. Helen walked to the window to see what new hells-cape would arrive to make the three months of training either miserable or downright unbearable.

In the drive, a heavy-duty pickup arrived, towing a 38-foot Silverlake camper. Behind the wheel was a white male with an affixed scowl on his face. Helen balled up her fist, trying to tamp down the anxiety.

Apple noticed, offering gently, “My contractor, Ricky Collins. He stays in the camper and works on the house. Good guy, former Army Ranger, Special Forces, knows your cousin. He can’t cook worth a shit and usually burns everything he tries to grill, but he can sand down these cabinets in a day and add new fixtures by dinnertime.”

“How good is he at plumbing? We will need at least a water closet,” she said.

“Ahead of you. I have some blueprints in my truck, but what this place is, or what it will become, should remain simple,” Apple said.

“My training, will it remain simple as well?” she asked, looking him directly in the eye. Helen held his gaze, waiting for him to flinch or adjust, and he didn’t.

“Nothing in life is ever simple, Cranberry. We like to believe it is, but it’s not,” Apple told her. “At the end of the day, you end up with either the person you want to become or a sad representation of an outdated model, refitted for purpose to serve the greater good.”

“And which are you?”

“I am the proverbial Bad Apple,” he said, watching Ricky Collins climb from the truck.

Before she could say any more, another vehicle arrived, a white passenger van driven by the stereotype of a social worker. A frown covered her face before she even stepped out of the van to approach the house. Her eyes squinted as she looked at Ricky, then squinted as she looked at the house. Helen stared quietly as the car doors opened and out poured three boys—the youngest of the three she recognized.

Apple spoke, “Yeah, he was sent to me. Having you here will help him get settled in.”

“Settled into what? What is this, a group home for boys?” Helen asked.

“It will be,” Apple said .“Come outside and meet the family.”

Helen followed behind him observing the two older boys. One was Asian and effeminate. The other, she put him at about 16 or 17, who seemed pissed off with the world. She knew the third one since she’d rescued him from a closet, chained up by The Collector. He spotted Helen and a smile came to his small face. A small hand waved at her, and she waved back.

“His name is Oscar; he’s 12, tiny for his age, and in need of more than I can start to say,” Apple said as they reached the small group. “Stephen is 16, and Jeffrey is 17. Guys, this will be it. Today, we will all do a walkthrough together and have you pick out your rooms. I will order pizza, and we will make a plan, start cleaning, and around six, our beds will arrive. The rest of the furniture, we have to buy or build.”

Stephen, the Asian boy, twirled in the dirt, “Mr. Milton, who is she?”

“This is Helen,” Apple said. “She is your den mother for the next three months. Her job is to get you settled; Ms. Helen will add in that support element you need as you start your new school. Helen will also be responsible for keeping us all sane as we turn this place into a home.”

He looked at Helen, who was staring at him with a no the fuck I’m not look, which nearly made Apple burst into laughter. She found nothing funny about it at all. Neither did the social worker, who began unloading raggedy suitcases onto the dirt drive. A nod from her head and in a flash, the woman was gone.

“What is happening here?” Helen asked Apple.

He turned, pointing to the house for the boys, who each picked up their suitcases as if this were a thing which happened every week of their lives. They marched silently with Oscar struggling to carry his case. A silent Ricky materialized next to the kid, holding up the back end of the case as they filed inside of the home.

“They were on the streets of Milwaukee, doing whatever it took to survive,” Apple said. “No one wants them in Foster Care and they will age out soon, anyway. I am given three of four teens per year to get through school and teach a trade and how to be men to make their way in this world. From here, they can go to trade school or the military, but my job is to give them a new option and perspective on life.”

“And what is my role in this happy household where I am supposed to be training as an operative?” Helen asked.

“You look like a suburban housewife,” Apple said. “Taking a life is easy. Living life is a real as the world can get. For three months, you’re going to live the life. People underestimate stay-at-home parents and the skills they possess. Quite honestly, no one knows first aid better than a mom.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like a man with a sense of humor?”

Ricky, who’d been silent until now, spoke with a voice so deep, she thought Barry White had snuck into the house to add his two cents. “He has no sense of humor at all. I once saw him smile in 2003 when he ate the last donut in the box, but that was it.”

Oscar, who’d said nothing until now, asked “We have donuts?”

Stephen with his hand on his hip added, “That man looks like he wouldn’t even put sugar in the Kool-Aid. He is not going to let us have sugar in the house. What is this house and how soon will I be able to run away from it?”

“Young man, here you will be safe and learn how to live and make your way in the world by using your brain. Out there, nothing waits for you but death at the hands of a trick who sees no reason for you to remain on this Earth or by disease, given to you by a reckless adult on their way out of this life, but wanting to take one more with him,” Apple said. “Your choice. Stay, be safe, and learn. Leave and take your chances. I’m not forcing you either way, but this is the mark. Stay. Learn. Blaze your own trail or head back to the life you know that offered you little.”

Helen knew he was also talking to her. This is not what she had signed up for, but honestly, she didn’t know what the fuck she had signed up for. Oscar had moved closer to her, nearly leaning against her. Instinct made her raise her arm to place it around the child’s shoulder. He wanted reassurance, and this was all she had to give.

Apple spoke, “We need to pick bedrooms. Windows will need to be washed and floors mopped tonight, and tomorrow, hopefully Ms. Helen can head into town for some curtains, rugs, and dishes.”

As they walked the space, Helen realized the home was actually two separate living quarters, and the property had been used for a rental income. She also discovered the second bathroom which could easily be made into an en suite. This room she wanted for herself, but a new idea formed.

“Mr. Milton,” she said, using the name the boys had used for Apple. “How would you feel about making this space a common room? The boys could watch movies, do homework, play video games, and hang out here. The bedrooms can be a safe space for them to get away from the noise of the household.”

“I like that idea,” Apple replied.

“The living room isn’t too large,” Helen said, “and the dining room, if... I’m sorry, was it Mr. Collins? Ricky? Sounds solid, but could you possibly make a project board so the young men can chart their progress on the board for assignments around the home.”

“Good, keep going,” Apple said.

“I can take time over breakfast to sit with each young man, figure out what how they want their rooms to look, and possibly, take each one shopping individually to pick out curtains and bedding for their rooms,” Helen said.

She saw Oscar’s face light up. Jeffrey even engaged when she said it, and her eyes went to Apple. “Mr. Milton, you will be last on the list to shop with me to get the items for your room. I hope you don’t mind being last,” she said.

If Bad Apple could look amused, his expression didn’t show it. He looked more or less as if he had a ball of gas built up under this left lung. When he exhaled, his lip twisted, but he gave her a head nod. “I’ll go get pizza. In the meantime, guys come unload my truck. Get the cleaning supplies and start going over the rooms. Mop, sweep, dust, and wash down those dirty windowpanes. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Ricky walked outside with the kids, helping them to unload. Helen remained in the kitchen looking about the nasty space, wondering what in the world she was going to do here for three months with this ragtag crew of people. Suddenly, a charge filled her core. Oscar ran into the house, holding a broom with a wide smile on his face.

“Ms. Helen! Ms. Helen, I’m going to sweep my room. Let me show you which one I picked,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her along.

His room was directly across the hall from the room she had. The joy on his face touched her as he walked about the space. Suddenly, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

“I was so scared,” Oscar said. “I was so scared of that man...I fought him, Ms. Helen, but he wouldn’t let me eat. If I wanted to eat, I had to do things. You’re here. They won’t hurt me or make me do things for food, will they?”

Helen rushed to the child’s side. “No one is going to hurt you, Oscar. You will have food and a safe place to sleep and go to school and learn.”

“Good, I like school,” he said. “Ms. Helen, this will be my very own room? I don’t have to share it?”

“As far as I know, this is your room and you don’t have to share it,” she replied.

“Do you think I can be happy here and grow up to be a good man who will have his own family one day, with a good job and a pickup truck?”

“Oscar, I pray all good things for you and your life,” she told him, suddenly feeling protective of the boy.

“Awesome,” he said. “Okay, I have to get to work. I have the broom first, then I get the mop. After that, I have to clean my windows. Not a lot of time. Not a lot of time. Get it done, Oscar. Get it done.”

She stood in the doorway as Jeffrey walked by. He side-eyed her as if he were assessing her fit to grace the same hallway as him. She looked at his hair, which was a mess, and he smelled like a bit of an angry teen stuck in an unwashed body. Stephen, on the other hand, pranced his way down the hall, holding the mop bucket and a dry dust mop.

“Ms. Lady, I want my room in chartreuse,” he announced, “with hot pink accents. And hats. A bitch loves himself some hats.”

Helen wanted to correct him on the self-denigration, but that’s not why she was here. An acknowledgement of his words was all she did. Helen went to her own car to remove a few items, and one was a small, brimmed chapeau she liked to wear when she was feeling like a bad ass. This item she brought into the house and gave to Stephen.

You would have thought she’d given the child a crisp hundred the way he reacted. She pulled out a large bottle of lotion and passed it to Jeffrey, whom she noticed had really dry skin around his elbows and forearms. And last but not least, a small stuffed pony given to her by her niece Naomi, she passed to Oscar.

“I’m going to work on the kitchen and bathroom, so it will be ready for us to at least use the basics,” she told them, walking away.

It was a start. Bad Apple had made his point. He had made her care. She cared about the boys and didn’t want anyone to ever hurt Oscar again. Stephen and Jeffrey’s stories she didn’t know, and truthfully, had only entered the last chapter of Oscar’s, therefore she didn’t know his either. Helen surmised a history between Ricky and the Bad Apple, but it wasn’t her story to write, and she sure as hens pecking in the dirt wasn’t going to ask those men questions about their relationship.

“Chickens,” she said. “If he had some chickens, there would be fresh eggs every day. Oooh, a garden,” she said, looking out the window for the perfect spot for fresh tomatoes. It was the one thing Slow didn’t have at his place that could prove useful.

In the meantime, she would follow the advice given to her by The Mustang, who she sent a quick text to let him know she’d arrived safely. She did the same for her cousin Cherry. A day at a time was what she planned to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.