Page 9 of When We Are Falling

I was twelve when my moms adopted me, but David wasn’t as lucky. He stayed with Sylvia until he aged out of foster care, enduring her harshness for far longer than any child should.

Over the years, David and I stayed in touch sporadically. There were times when he disappeared, falling into the dark abyss of addiction and homelessness. Each time he resurfaced, he seemed a little more haggard, a little more tormented.

But now, sitting across from me, there are still glimpses of the boy he once was behind those pale, faded blue eyes—the boy who would whisper jokes to make me laugh, who promised he’d look out for me no matter what.

David finally looks up, catching my gaze. He must see something in my expression because he gives me what could only be described as a bitter smile. “Remembering it all, huh?”

I reach out and place my hand on his. There’s a slight tremor, betraying his nerves, and his face is shadowed, making him look even more exhausted. And it’s not just tiredness. He’s soul-weary.

“You’re probably wondering why I turned up after so long.”

He looks away into the distance, pulling his hand back to rest on the table in front of him. “I’ve been getting really bad flashbacks about the things Sylvia did to me,” he says quietly. “It’s been haunting me. And I’ve finally decided to do something about it.”

“You mean all the punishments? The way she’d hold back food?”

He looks me dead in the eye, and the raw pain and desperation there is clear. “Not that. The other stuff. I want to go after Sylvia. I want her to pay for what she did. And I need you to give evidence about how you suffered, what she did to us, how she hurt us.”

A cold chill runs through me, my thoughts racing as I put two and two together. Sylvia was awful, but I have no specific memories of things she could be charged with. But David’s saying she… I shake my head, feeling sick and not wanting to picture his younger self at the mercy of that woman.

“David, I— oh, man. I’m so sorry. Shit. I had no idea.”

“So you’ll help me? I guess we need to find a lawyer first or go to the cops. I don’t know. I was hoping you could help me figure it out.”

Reaching across the table, taking his hand in mine. “I’m sorry. But I don’t know anything that could be used as evidence. She was strict and manipulative, but—”

“You must be blocking it out,” David interrupts, his voice rising. “There’s no way you came out of that house unscathed. Come on Blake, you know what I’m talking about. That room on the top floor of the house. The one that was always locked. You know what happened there.”

“David, I’m sorry. Sylvia was an awful woman, but I didn’t— she never took me in there. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can provide as evidence. But I’m here for you.”

He folds his arms over his chest and looks away, staring at the table. “I thought... I thought you’d understand. That you’d remember. Fuck! Come on, Blake. Youhaveto remember.”

I reach out, wishing I could offer him more, but he leans away from me, my hand hanging uselessly in the space between us. “I wish I could help you. I really do. But I can’t testify to something that didn’t happen to me. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen to you.”

“No. I need you. I need someone else, otherwise it’s my word against hers and I can’t do that. I can’t go face to face with her. Who’s going to believe someone likeme?”

“We’ll find a way. There has to be something we can do. Have you spoken to any of the others?”

David looks right at me, the pain in his expression lancing through my chest. “I haven’t been able to track them down.”

“We’re in this together.” My voice is firm. “We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I have to go.”

He won’t look at me, and he walks away without looking back, the door closing with a dull thud.

I sit there a moment longer, reeling at his brokenness, anger bubbling inside at whatever Sylvia did to him. I believe David, without a doubt. The pain in his eyes was too real, too raw to be anything but the truth.

And I remember that door. It stood like an unyielding sentinel, always locked, casting an ominous presence over the entire house.

My phone buzzes on the table. It’s Mom.

“Hey.”

“Blake, are you okay? I thought you’d be home by now.” Her voice is tinged with worry.

“I’m fine. Just finishing up here. I’ll be home soon.” Glancing around the empty bar: the quiet feels oppressive now.

“I can hear the tension in your voice. Is everything alright at the Tavern? Are you okay?”