"Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Bedlam Boyz" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

“Who are you?”
The girl's voice was surprisingly soft, Elizabet thought. “I'm a psych therapist working with
the police department,” she said. “Usually I help the relatives of victims of crime, or work with
people who have been through a traumatic experience. Like what you went through tonight. Do
you want to talk about that?”

Yes, I'd like to talk about it, but I also don't want to spend the rest of my life in a padded
room, Kayla thought, looking at the woman across from her. Elizabet Winters was a beautiful
black woman in her fifties, black and silver hair coiled up in a braid. She sat silently, apparently
waiting for Kayla to say something.
What am I supposed to say? That some guy killed two people in front of me and shot my best
friend, and I created this weird light show to get rid of the bullet holes? No way.
“I've—I've had a bad night,” she said at last, choosing her words carefully. “I'm okay, but I'd
like to go home.”
The older woman nodded. “That's a problem, unfortunately. Detective Cable wanted me to
lock you up here for the night and maybe send you to Juvenile Hall in the morning, since it's a
little impractical to take you back to the foster home in Orange County in the middle of the
night.”
“What?” Kayla sat upright in shock.
“I think I have another alternative,” Elizabet continued, “since neither a midnight trip to -
Orange County or a night at Juvenile Hall seems to be the appropriate answer.”
“Terrific,” Kayla said, and slumped back down in her chair. “So are you going to send me
back to Mr. and Mrs. Davis? I know it doesn't matter what I think, but I don't want to go.”
“Obviously, or you wouldn't have run away from them.” The black woman smiled. “Kayla, if
you could do anything, what would you do?”
“I—I don't understand,” she answered uncertainly.
“I'll rephrase this. Pretend for a minute that you don't have to go back to that foster home, or
Juvie, or anything like that. If you could choose where you wanted to live, what you wanted to
do, what would you choose?”
Who is this lady? Kayla wondered. She isn't like any cop or social worker I've ever met
before. “I don't know. I guess . . . if I could have anything, I'd want to live with my parents again.
But that won't ever happen, I know that.” At Elizabet's questioning look, she added, “They
disappeared when I was twelve years old. I was at school, Mom never showed up to take me
home.” The memory of that afternoon was still burned into her mind: how she'd waited and
waited at the school, then walked home, to find the police at her house. “Nobody knew how to
find any of my relatives, so I ended up in a foster home.” She thought about it for a few moments
longer. “If I could do anything, I'd want to live with people that understood me. Good people,
not like Mr. Davis. People who like to talk about real things, and treat people right, and . . . and
read books. People who do more than sit around drinking beer and watching TV.”
“You like to read?”
In spite of herself, Kayla blushed. “I love reading,” she said, looking down at her sneakers.
“Sometimes it's the only way to escape, get away from everything.”
“Have you thought of going to college?” Elizabet asked.
“Yeah, sure, but there's a snowball's chance of that, you know? You have to graduate high
school before they'll let you go to college.”
“Maybe I can help you with that.” The woman stood up, pulling on her blue jacket and
picking up her briefcase. “Time to go, child.”
“To Juvie?” Kayla's voice quavered, and she hated it for that. She clenched her fists, trying to
keep her voice steady. “Is that where you're taking me?”
Elizabet Winters smiled. “No, I have another idea. I'll need to find Lieutenant Simmons first,