Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
He kept moving along the cracked sidewalks, passing a rundown recreation center that the city had been swearing it was going to remodel, and a shopping center that had more closed and boarded-up shops than it had operable. It didn’t matter, because the two shops that were open for business had banned Kell years ago. To them he was a trouble maker, a hoodlum. He dressed in black, wore a black hood and black scarf—void of all gang colors and markings—they still didn’t trust him. In this neighborhood his white skin meant nothing, just like the blacks didn’t. They were all the same, and there for one reason. They had nowhere else to go. Grover Park was a desolate, crime-ridden area of northwest Atlanta, but it was home. Kell’s apartment complex was luxuries away from the mansion he’d grown up in in Lenox Park. Leaving perfectly paved streets to these. To a concrete jungle, where Kell was an apex predator.
He walked with purpose, alert, a persistent tingling in the pit of his stomach when he moved alone. It wasn’t like the worried sensation of butterflies he’d had when he was a kid, but the feeling of his unchecked power. Years of over-sensitizing his senses, constantly aware of potential threats, Kell pulled his scarf up right under his eyes, squinting and seeing hundreds of feet ahead. He cut through the trailer court to save time, instead of taking the longer route down the old railroad tracks. As he came around the back of a single-wide trailer that looked like even it’d seen better parks he heard a man yelling obscenities. His voice was slurred as it filtered through the broken window. Kell stepped around shattered glass and a broken-down old Plymouth sitting on cinderblocks.
What man would be intoxicated at this hour? Kell leaped over the small chain-link fence with ease, coming around to the front yard. A lesser man, that’s who. He tried not to stop, especially after he heard a woman’s shrill cry and doors slamming.
He took a deep breath and said a small prayer. “Lord watch over her and ease her fears,” he whispered, keeping his eyes trained on his path.
“’Mornin,” A small voice called out to him. He almost didn’t hear her.
He turned quickly, peeping up at the dirty window she sat under, before he slowly approached her. She looked to be about six or seven, with long, deep brown curls tangled and matted on her small head. Kell frowned, wondering why she was sitting on the ground outside in the cold alone, but as more arguing filtered out to them, he understood exactly why. Kell closed his eyes and counted backward from five, fighting the urge to burst through that raggedy screen and knock that man back into a deep sleep. Then made sure he woke up with a better way of thinking and a new level of gratitude for his family.
Kell lowered his scarf and knelt in front her. She scrunched her legs up tighter toward her frail body then glanced up at the window above her, as if she was afraid her hiding spot was being compromised. Kell ducked lower and inched in beside her. He noticed she had tear track marks down her red cheeks and her little hands were clamped over her left knee.
“Good morning.” He pointed at her leg and whispered, “are you okay?”
She shook her head slowly before carefully unveiling a bright red abrasion on her kneecap. Kell winced at the angry scratches. This poor girl should’ve been picked up and carried inside by her father’s strong arms and her injury properly cared for, with love. She should’ve been the center of his heart and soul… his child. Why was she out in the cold and hurt? Kell trembled, releasing a slight hiss of anger, causing the girl to stiffen in alarm.
“You like lollipops?” Kell smiled while pulling a small Ziploc bag out of the front pocket of his tote. He opened the bag and showed her the vast selection of suckers he kept for his students. He let her reach inside and choose whichever she wanted. She didn’t waste time opening it and shoving it into her mouth as if she’d been craving a good sugar high for weeks.
More arguing, more glass breaking. The woman was still putting up a good fight, saying exactly how she felt about her no-good husband losing his ninth job. They weren’t beating each other, it sounded more as if they were taking it out on the poor trailer. The little girl ducked when a loud thud hit the wall right above their heads, but Kell didn’t flinch. Instead, he concentrated on dousing some bottled water onto his spare bandana before cleaning her wound very gently while she concentrated on how many licks it took to get to the center of her Tootsie pop. By the time she was crunching into it, Kell was taping a Neosporin-infused bandage over the scratch. He kept a basic first aid kit, since he was so used to injuries.