"Ah, I see," I said, though anyone with their senses still intact would know I didn't see a damn thing. Used to be that when Donna would get lost down whatever mental hole she was in, you could pull her out, but lately it took a lot more work, andI didn't have the time. It would have been nice to have some information before trying to deal with the call, but I had taken up enough time. "Well, why don't you get somewhere else before there's even more trouble?"
"Poor girl," Donna said with a shake of her head after glancing at the door and beginning to shuffle off. "So sweet. And with a mom like that. Always bringing men in and out. Some of 'em even look at that little girl...like my daddy used to look at me. Poor thing."
"Well...fuck," I muttered. It didn't take a psychic to understand what she was getting at, and I felt my nerves tighten even further. I met Kayden's eyes after he watched to make sure Donna had moved on. Once she was out of sight, we would be able to move, the other residents on the floor would stay out of the way if things got messy, people around here were a little loose and fast with their lives when it came to drugs, drinks, fighting, and fucking, but they were quick to keep their skin intact when someone else's trouble boiled up.
Kayden thought for a moment and then nodded at me. One thing we’d worked out was which of us would be the one to approach a situation. If we needed someone with social graces and a trustworthy face, then it was Kayden who would step up. If we wanted to start on a stronger foot, then it was me who took the lead. I thought it was stupid to assume that Kayden didn't know how to handle himself, and that I wasn't capable of being nice, but first impressions were important for dictating how an interview or interrogation would go.
Clearly, he was ready for us to go in hard and aggressively if he wanted me to take point.
Grunting, I stepped forward and pounded on the door, hearing the banging echo through the apartment and then through the hallway around us. “Cresson Point police!"
I had to repeat it a few times, all while banging my fist, before I heard something shuffling on the other side of the door. Stepping back from the door, I heard the faint groan of the locks, which were always flimsy as hell, before the door cracked open. Only half a face peered out at us, a woman, her long face marked by deep circles under the eyes, lines in her skin that I bet were premature for someone her age, her skin stretched giving her an almost mask-like appearance, and a suspicious expression pulling it all tighter.
"What?" she asked flatly, and I immediately noticed the weariness in her voice that made me think she was either coming down off something or was on something. Anything that made someone that sleepy-sounding meant I'd prefer she was on something, coming off a downer could make someone...erratic.
"We had reports of a child screaming their head off from this apartment," I told her gruffly, not bothering to beat around the bush and pretend any feigned concern for the residents.
Her brow wrinkled. “Who?"
"What?"
"Who called?"
"No idea, and if I knew, I wouldn't be able to tell you," I told her. I still had no idea why people thought we'd tell them who had ratted them out. All that did was result in another call when a pissed off person decided to confront the reporter, and result in people calling us even less. "Do you mind if we come in?"
"You ain't comin' in," she said in a rougher voice, shedding the sleepiness and instead sounding scared. "We're sleeping."
"Ma'am, we need to confirm that the child?—"
"There's no kid here."
I glanced past her, her skinny frame only allowing for so much coverage, and I could see a pair of small, battered shoes sitting on the floor behind her. "Really? Because you must have awfully tiny feet."
She twisted, accidentally pulling the door open more as she looked behind her. I could see straight down the hallway behind her now, into a living room with a ratty, worn loveseat, and a few folding chairs that made up the sitting space around what appeared to be a large spool used by utility workers for wires as a table. The surface was littered with trash, and I thought I could see the plunger end of a needle sticking out of a plastic container amidst the beer cans and fast food bags.
"Musta been from my sister's kid," she grunted, turning back and glaring at me. "Ain't nothing for you in here. Go away, pig."
"Ma'am," I ground out because using any respectful term was becoming increasingly difficult. Sure, it could be a case that someone had heard a kid from the wrong apartment, but it was just as likely, if not more, that the woman was lying to my face. Junkies might have sad stories to tell, but in my experience, they were also some of the worst people in the city, and it didn't matter if kids were involved; all that mattered was the next fix.
My gut told me she was lying, but my gut didn't matter much when you didn't have something definitive to move on. Well, sometimes there was some wiggle room you could get away with, but considering I had pretty much been on probation for months now, playing by the book was a lot more necessary. I knew there was a problem in there that could be really bad if I didn't interfere, but without a reason to step in and take charge of the situation, I was helpless and?—
A crash from inside the apartment made me tense, and the woman jerked, stepping away from the door and yanking it open just in time for me to see someone come stumbling from somewhere deeper in the apartment. It was another woman, I only saw her face bloodied and bruised before she doubled over and gave a heave, her voice choked before expelling the contents of her stomach on the floor, which turned out to be little morethan yellow bile before she lifted her head, eyes rolling to the back of her head and collapsing.
"Shit," I snapped, pushing the door open and glancing back at Kayden, who was already hot on my heels. "Call the EMTs."
His hand went to his radio as he stepped in with me, rattling off the call and keeping his eye on the first woman who was already protesting loud enough to wake the next three buildings over. I ignored her as I rushed to the woman who had collapsed, careful to stay out of the sick. As I knelt beside her, I kept her on her side in case there was more coming and checked her vitals. They weren't great, but I wasn't expecting much more.
"What did she take?" I asked the first woman, who looked to be trying to figure out how to get Kayden back into the hallway since he was closest to the door, but not daring to put her hands on a cop. In many ways, it would have been easier if she had put her hands on him because she would have been taken out of the equation with handcuffs.
"She didn't take nothin'," the woman snapped, glaring at me.
"Sure," I said with a roll of my eyes, looking around. There was a doorway leading to where the woman had come from, and a second doorway leading into another room. It wasn't the trash littering the floor that caught my attention, but the naked lower half of a man sticking out. "Fuck, Kay, there's another one."
"No!" the first woman shrieked as I stood up, but I ignored her. We already had one person down, an overdose, if I was right. The last thing I cared about was her being pissed that I was 'invading' her place when there could be another person down.
Stepping closer, I took in the sight of the man's naked body, alarm bells ringing through my head when I saw the bruising and dried blood on the one hand in sight. There were also a couple streaks of blood on his groin, and while it was pretty obvious he was the reason for the second woman's face, thesecond batch of blood didn't make sense. My hand went to my holster as I heard Kayden trying to subdue the original woman.
As I stepped into the room, the man began to stir, groaning and bringing one bloody hand to his face. He was wearing a stained shirt and nothing else, but his reaction told me he wasn't an immediate concern like the second woman. My eyes swept the room, and my heart dropped to my stomach when I saw another person. She couldn't have been more than twelve, but it was hard to tell from her slight frame, which could have been a product of genetics or a lack of food.
