Prologue
Six years ago
The wail of a police siren destroyed the silence in what was usually a peaceful neighborhood, causing curtains to flutter as curious neighbors peered outside their windows. Front doors slammed open, one after another, and in minutes the street was filled with on-lookers.
And in the center of it all was Dotty Garfield, a young figure huddled under an emergency blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders by the paramedics, her beautiful face carefully devoid of emotion as she watched her parents, Wayne and Lindy, being hurriedly taken away on stretchers.
Behind Dotty, her family’s home looked like it had been ransacked – and it had been. Broken windows, gunshot holes on the walls and door, and overturned potted plants on the front yard. The entire scene didn’t paint the whole story, of course, but she knew that those who really knew her parents would be able to piece everything together soon enough.
She could feel people’s eyes on her, and this caused Dotty to raise her chin and stand proud even if all she wanted to do was just sink into the ground and cry. She wished she were a year younger. If she was seventeen, that meant she was still a child and had the right to cry. To bawl like a kid and wait for someone to comfort her and take care of everything.
But she was eighteen now, and the legality of her age weighed down on her like a brick around her neck, drowning her in responsibilities that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
“Miss?” It was one of the paramedics, a middle-aged woman with sympathy in her gaze.
Dotty dug her nails into her palms, the look on the woman’s face making her want to cry. But that wasn’t going to happen. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not now, not ever.
“Would you come with us to the ambulance? We need to go now.”
She nodded, allowing the woman to assist her inside the ambulance and seat her next to her mother’s unconscious form. Dotty forced herself to look at Lindy even though she knew it was just going to make her want to cry more.
Why, Mom? Why?
But she didn’t bother asking it out loud. What was the point? She had learned early on that some people were innately good…but weak. And their weakness made them bad. Wayne and Lindy were like that. They had been loving parents to Dotty, but in the end it was obvious that they loved the green goddess more.
Lindy’s breathing was shallow.
Dotty forced herself to ask, “Will she be okay?”
“We’ll do our best, hon.”
Which meant they weren’t sure. Again, the urge to cry hit her, but she mentally pushed it away. Weak is a dick, weak is a dick, weak is a dick. It really didn’t mean anything, but she had once read a book that encouraged people to use affirmations – preferably those that rhymed – to keep one positive and strong. Since Dotty was no word master, it was either that…or “Cursed are the weak, for they shall inherit pee on their meat.”
The ride to the hospital was quick, and when they got there she saw her father already being wheeled inside. She was taken to admissions first and made to sign papers – lots and lots of papers.
Behind Dotty, she heard one of the paramedics say that the man they had just wheeled in was “critical”.
This caused Dotty’s fingers to shake, and the pen wriggled out of control, leaving a crooked line on the sheet.
She tightened her hold on the pen. Weak is a dick, weak is a dick, weak is a dick.
When she was done signing, Dotty asked if she could see her parents. The nurse looked over Dotty’s shoulder, and when she turned around, a policewoman was behind her. “Ms. Garfield? Would it be all right if I speak with you privately? Your parents are being operated on at the moment, and we thought we could ask you a few questions for now. I know it’s been tough, but your answers can help ensure we catch your parents’ attackers.”
Dotty wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It’s been tough? She had been seven when she had figured out her parents were junkies and that when they wanted to be left alone, it wasn’t to make another baby. She had been ten when she had learned that the scary-looking men who knocked on their doors late at night were never there to deliver pizza but were instead asking for payment for weed. And now, on her 18th birthday, which was supposed to be a milestone, she had just survived a shootout between her parents and their pissed-off suppliers when the latter found out that instead of selling the product, Wayne and Lindy had been idiotic and addicted enough to consume it. Consume – not like a taste test but a freaking buffet, leaving not a single gram for sale.
It’s been tough?
Under-freaking-statement of the year.
And so she had to mentally chant ‘weak is a dick’ several times before she could make herself look at the policewoman and say, “Yes.” In minutes, they were ensconced inside a private office. Dotty answered the questions honestly, leaving nothing out. When it was over, she made a move to stand up, but the policewoman told her to stay because someone else wanted to talk to her.
A woman in a lab coat came inside the room right after the policewoman. Shrink, Dotty thought. Maybe they thought she was about to have a nervous breakdown?
“Hello, Dotty. I’m Dr. Nelson,” the woman said with a smile that was just the right mix of friendly and impersonal. She claimed the seat the policewoman had just vacated, which placed her directly across Dotty.
“Are you talking to me because you guys think I need therapy?”
“I volunteered to talk to you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why would you do that?”
“Because,” Dr. Nelson said gently, “I was once in your position, too. My parents were like yours, and when I found out about what happened, I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
How…nice. It was really nice of the doctor, and since that kind of niceness hadn’t been much in evidence in the past few weeks, it had Dotty’s hands curling into fists on her lap. Weak is a dick, weak is a dick, WEAK IS A DICK.
Elizabeth sensed the young girl’s struggle to maintain control, and her respect for Dotty Garfield grew. She was an exceptionally beautiful girl, but unlike most pretty girls the doctor had come across, her looks didn’t appear to have any effect on Dotty’s ego.
Instead, she looked to Elizabeth as someone well-rounded, sensible, and composed. Too composed for a girl her age, Elizabeth thought with a pang, and because she, too, had once been like that, she knew it wasn’t a good thing at all.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because what happened will cause changes in your life, and I do not want you to feel alone when those changes occur.” At the young girl’s nod, Elizabeth continued softly, “Your parents need to go to rehab. I want to be frank with you about this. If you don’t get them to go, I don’t think they’ll last the year.”