Free Presumption of Guilt by Terri Blackstock

“If you’d like to change, you could probably wear a pair of my shorts.
    They’d be baggy, but—”
    â€œThat’s okay,” he said, embarrassed. “I don’t need ’em.” She led him downstairs and showed him the bathroom. He went in quickly and tried to bolt the door behind him.
    â€œThe lock’s broken,” she said through the door. “Tell me your number, and I’ll call your mother.”
    There was no answer. In a moment, she heard a scraping sound, and realized he was raising the window—probably the same one he’d come through last night.
    She burst through the door and caught him halfway out.
    And suddenly it dawned on her. Black jeans. Black shirt. Black backpack. This child had been put here deliberately, planted in her house to rob her or spy on her or maybe even hurt her—She grabbed him and wrestled him back in, her face reddening with escalating anger. “You lied to me,” she said through her teeth. “You’re not some lost kid. You’re from SCCH. You’re one of Bill Brandon’s kids, aren’t you?”
    The kid looked stunned, and she knew instantly that she was right.
    â€œAnswer me,” she demanded. “Did he make you break in here? What was he looking for? Papers? Tapes?”
    He lowered his worried eyes to the floor, and she turned him around and yanked off his backpack.
    â€œAnswer me!” she bit out as she unzipped it and examined the contents.
    â€œI didn’t get anything!” he said. “You came home—”
    â€œWhat would you have gotten?” she asked, jerking up his chin. “What did he tell you to get?”
    The fear in his eyes was real. Instantly, she let him go, but she didn’t break that lock she had on his eyes.
    â€œHe’s gonna kill me,” the boy whispered.
    Her anger crashed. She knew that fear, understood that certainty. “What’s your name?”
    â€œJimmy,” he muttered.
    â€œHow long have you been there, Jimmy? At the home?”
    â€œThree years,” he said. “Me and my sister. Lady, if you report me, they’re gonna put me in the juvenile center, and there won’t be anybody left to take care of my sister. She’s only seven.”
    But the words weren’t penetrating. She was too caught up in the realization that if this kid had gotten into her house, it was because Bill Brandon knew where she lived and how to get in. The fact that she wasn’t already dead was a miracle.
    â€œHow did he know where I live?”
    Jimmy shrugged. “How does he know where anybody lives? I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me stuff like that.”
    â€œSo what did he tell you?”
    He looked miserable as he struggled with the truth, and she knew that he wondered if any of his mission was salvageable now.
    He was probably hoping to get out, go back to the home, and act as though he’d never been caught.
    â€œCome on, Jimmy. I’m not going to let that man hurt you.”
    â€œYou can’t stop him.”
    â€œI sure can. And he knows it. That’s why he made you come here. He wants to stop me from telling what I know.”
    His eyes were raging as tears filled them. “He will stop you.
    He’s mean, and he doesn’t give up. He woulda stopped you last night if you hadn’t lost him.”
    She caught her breath. “How do you know that?” Then her face changed as she remembered the phone call, the boy’s voice . . .
    â€œThat was you on the phone, wasn’t it?”
    He swiped at the tears spilling down his face. “He told me he’d call to warn me you were coming home. I thought it was him.
    It was stupid. I shouldn’t have answered. Man, he’s gonna kill me.”
    â€œNo, he’s not. Because you’re not going back there.”
    His face began to redden now, and he looked up at her with pleading eyes. “I gotta go back. You