Dried blood paints the side of his face black and red. In his arms, he holds a little girl’s broken, bloody doll. He looks in my direction but does ...ot see me. He breathes but is not alive. His eyes are dead. It is not a doll the boy holds in his arms.Logan snapped out of the memory and rose from hiding, driven by a need to do something for the poor bastard. He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you.”The man’s eyes bugged out with terror. He fell hard, then. ‘The teachers have a lot of students to worry about, Raymond. Here, it’s one-on-one,’ James explained. ‘Yes, sir,’ Raymond mumbled, sounding unconvinced. ‘Why do you think so?’ James queried. ‘My mother says it’s because I’m half-Indian. She says that they don’t want me showing up the white kids,’ Raymond poured out the truth. At least it was his truth. James made no judgment. ‘I don’t know about that, Raymond. Here, at least, we’ll go as fast as you can handle it.’ James looked Raymond in. More

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