Angel Book 1 - Guardian Read online

  Ann worked as a nurse at the local hospital in the maternity section. She loved to hold the newborns and help their moms adapt to motherhood. This is where she first met Taylor. He was born to a drug-addicted young woman. Crack is such a devastating drug. Poor Taylor came out screaming, he was hooked on the drugs his mother had taken throughout her entire pregnancy. Ann was torn apart watching this innocent little baby writhe in agony. His mother was more interested in smoking and playing on her phone than dealing with her newborn son. She refused to even try to breastfeed him and told Ann to go and get a bottle. When he cried at night, his mom would put her earphones in and ignore him. Ann would go in and take him back to the nurses’ station, massaging his little body and cuddling him.

  After three days, his mother checked out of the hospital. Her reason…it was too boring. Ann offered to visit her at home, but she was flatly rejected, “Why would I want you coming to my place? Mind your own business.” And with that put-down, Taylor began his life in the big wide world.

  Three years later he was admitted to hospital, black and blue. He was malnourished, bruised all over and two of his tiny ribs were broken. Ann was shocked when she saw him, how could anyone treat a toddler like that. He couldn’t talk, he didn’t respond to his name, he wasn’t toilet trained and had the worst nappy rash the nurses had ever witnessed. The poor child had been abused and ignored for 3 whole years. Ann cried when she came home and told me that he didn’t even know his name.

  His mother never came to visit or collect him. She simply disappeared! The police checked the address she gave when she admitted Taylor and it was false and so was her phone number. Having no other option, the hospital kept Taylor there so he could recover from his injuries and gain some weight. Once again, Ann was his main carer, she spent most of her time at the hospital watching over him. It was then that Ann fell in love with this helpless little boy. She taught him his name and he started to learn how to speak. As the weeks progressed he started to enjoy being cuddled by Ann. To begin with he rejected close contact with most of the nurses, Ann was the only one he felt comfortable with.

  Three months later, on a Monday morning, a group of officials walked through the door of the Children’s Ward. They were there to take Taylor to a foster home. Ann was devastated. Tears streaming from her eyes, she asked if she could foster Taylor instead. “He knows me, he’s had such a hard life so far, let me take him home,” she begged. But bureaucracy was in motion and he was taken away. Ann was reassured that the foster parents would take excellent care of Taylor. And then he was gone. It was like she had lost her own child. Sadness and depression descended upon her like a heavy veil. She lost her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes and in her heart. I bought her a poodle puppy and she loved it, but nothing would ever fill the hole in her heart that Taylor had left behind.

  Taylor’s new foster parents were wonderful people. They gave the little boy the love that every child needs. By the time he turned four, he was thriving and this made Ann feel a little better. But Taylor seemed to be born with bad luck hanging over him.

  After a fun-filled trip to the local playground, Taylor’s foster mom was happily walking him home in a pram. She stopped to help a beautiful butterfly that had flown into a spider’s nest. The spider was almost upon the butterfly and as she reached up to break the web…a car ran up onto the footpath, hitting her from behind. Taylor’s pram was flung meters away. He screamed, “Mommy! Mommy!” but there was no response. She had died right in front of him. He was brought back to the hospital in an ambulance to be checked for injuries. Nothing. He had no injuries whatsoever, but his Mommy was dead.

  Taylor screamed for her for two days and then he stopped screaming. He said nothing, nothing at all. Everything about him became mechanical. He would only eat when fed by hand. He refused to play or even watch little kids’ videos. He was in shock and so was his foster Dad.

  They went home together, silent and in pain. After a week, Taylor was removed from the house and put into another foster family. Once again, Ann tried to convince the authorities that he should come home with her. Again, she failed.

  The second foster family had their own children, a girl aged 8 and a 6 year-old boy. At first the children were thrilled to have a new baby brother to play with. But they soon grew tired of him and saw him as an intrusion. These foster parents weren’t as kind. They had fostered Taylor because they needed extra money and he was simply ignored. In no way did he receive the love and attention that he desperately needed.

  After three months in his new home, Taylor was attacked by the young boy. Taylor had eaten the boys’ Easter eggs while he was at school. It wasn’t hard for the boy to work out how his eggs had disappeared as Taylor had chocolate all over his face and t-shirt. “Why did you eat my Easter eggs!” he yelled at Taylor, kicking and punching him as hard as he could. Despite screaming loudly, nobody came to his rescue. Eventually the foster mom entered the room and pulled her son off Taylor. Taylor was bleeding from his nose and unconscious.

  Wanting to avoid trouble, she kept Taylor at home, locked in his bedroom. The bruising was severe and even after a week he was still mostly green and blue. The potty in his room was full and the room was littered with dirty plates and cups and pieces of left-over food. Flies had laid their eggs in the scraps and maggots crawled over the floor.

  It must have been Ann’s strong connection to this little boy that forced her to visit the family. Knocking on the door, she received no response, so she left and headed down the driveway towards the street. Looking back for a moment, she happened to spot a small face peering out at her through a window. It was Taylor. Ann ran to the window and looked through. What she saw was shocking, almost unbelievable. She called the police and within ten minutes, she was inside the house holding Taylor.

  The police spoke with the family who were huddled together in the kitchen. At first, they refused to cooperate and said that nothing had happened to Taylor. The policeman then took Taylor by the hand, to join the group. “So how do you explain these bruises?” he asked, with an expression of absolute disgust.

  “He fell down the stairs a week ago,” replied the foster mom, her eyes focused intently on the floor.

  Ann took Taylor from the policeman’s arms and walked outside. After yet another trip to the hospital, we were finally allowed to bring Taylor home. And we have been his family for the past 12 years. We fostered him for a few years before Ann tracked down his birth mother. She was a crack addict in the next town. Ann begged her to sign the adoption papers. But the answer was a firm no. Dejected, Ann turned away from her and walked towards her car. As she was about to drive off, someone banged on her window and motioned for her to put the window down.

  “Give me two hundred and he is yours,” she was blackmailing Ann. What a small price to put on her own son’s head! She was nothing better than trash. Ann gave her the cash, she signed the papers and we became Taylor’s permanent parents. He was a very happy nine-year-old, no more rejection, lots of love and all the attention in the world.

  When Taylor was around us he was well-behaved, considerate and helpful. But at school, the teachers found him to be quite difficult. He found it hard to concentrate and fell behind at school. The paediatrician told us that this was typical of children who are born drug-addicted.

  As he grew older, he also began to experience friendship problems. Angry outbursts and schoolyard fighting led to frequent visits to the Principal’s office. Kids would call him a retard because of his learning problems and this would aggravate him terribly.

  As well, he had problems with the kids in the neighborhood. And to be totally honest, I don’t blame them for rejecting Taylor. When he was about ten years old, he started developing some cruel tendencies. He liked to torture and kill small animals. First of all, he began catching flies and pulling their wings off. Of course I told him this was cruel and made him promise never to do it again. He kept his word, he never pulled the wings off another fly, but his cruel
ty didn’t stop. Over the next couple of years we found other signs, like cockroaches with their wings glued together, a mouse with its tail chopped off and a lizard with no legs.

  Ann took Taylor to see a child psychiatrist. He totally manipulated this well-educated man, completely convincing him that he was a sweet young boy who was being misunderstood. “There is nothing wrong with him, Ann, he’s a normal boy.” Ann disagreed, she was worried and so was I.

  When he turned eleven, his obsession with hurting small animals moved onto the neighbor’s pets. First of all he shaved all the hair off their cat. When questioned, he refused to admit his involvement. Even when Ann found the razor that he had used and cat hair on the floor of his bathroom, he continued to lie. “I didn’t do it, you always blame everything on me!” he yelled. “I love that cat, I wouldn’t hurt it!”

  Everyone, including the kids next door, knew that Taylor was the culprit. He was no longer invited to join in games, birthday invitations ceased and he was generally ignored.

  Several months later, a fluffy white dog that belonged to an elderly couple who lived at the end of the street, was painted with black stripes. The poor dog was in great distress and so were the dog’s owners. They came knocking on our door, very angry and convinced that Taylor was responsible. I called out to Taylor and told him to come to the door. When he saw the dog he smiled, “I didn’t know you had a zebra.” Then he started laughing hysterically, he had tears running down his face. Everyone else stood there in shock, staring at his inappropriate response.

  It was then that I noticed black paint on his feet. Pushing Taylor back inside, I quickly apologized and told the owners to send me the vet bill.

  “There’s something wrong with that boy of yours…he’s not normal,” the old man yelled as I closed the door.

  Taylor already had a reputation in the neighborhood, but now he was considered to be evil and possibly insane. Nobody would acknowledge him or us, we were pariahs in our own community. The local kids called him ‘Sicko’. He often came home with bruises and scrapes. When we asked what had happened…he’d tell us he tripped or fell. If we pressed him further he would withdraw to his room and roll up into a ball on the floor.

  Ann and I were under great stress. How could this be happening? We decided to give Taylor a fresh start and moved to the other side of town so he could attend a new school. We talked to him over and over again about how to get along with people and the difference between right and wrong.

  The move was great for all of us. Life returned to normal and Taylor soon made new friends at school. No more tortured cockroaches were found in his bedroom and the neighbor’s pets remained safe. After a year we felt like we could relax again.

  When Taylor entered High School, we were terrified about how he would adapt to the new changes. But he seemed to breeze through his schooling. Gradually the fears we had about his personality faded and we told ourselves there was nothing to worry about, he had grown out of his anti-social tendencies.

  It soon became clear however, that Taylor had a very keen eye for pretty girls. His first girlfriend was Tiffany. Ann took an instant dislike to her. I thought she was okay, maybe a bit vain and self-absorbed, but I thought that was pretty typical of many girls her age.

  After a month or so, she dropped him and Taylor came home in a rage. He walked straight to his room and punched a hole in the wall. Ann ran to him and found him lying on his bed, his hand bleeding and he was crying hysterically.

  She asked him what was wrong. His answer, through a red face with clenched teeth was, “She is a bitch Mom, a bitch!” Ann cradled him and rocked him to sleep, just as she had when he was a baby.

  Then along came Ella. What a beautiful girl…soft, gentle, polite and intelligent. Ann was thrilled and so was I. Taylor adored her, he treated her like a princess. We had never seen him so happy and confident. Life was great! Taylor was blossoming. I drove them to the prom and in all my life, never felt so proud.

  Ann

  Tony doesn’t know this, but Taylor attacked a boy at his prom. The Principal called me at work, “Sorry Ann, I have some disturbing news. Your son has just attacked a fellow student. I apologize, but you’ll have to come and take him home.”

  I left work immediately, driving as quickly as I could. Taylor was waiting with the Principal in the foyer, sitting on a chair, his back slumped and his head in his hands.

  “What happened Taylor?” I asked, concern etched on my face, I prayed that it wasn’t starting all over again.

  He didn’t answer, he just shrugged his shoulders, not looking at me.

  “He aggressively shoved another male student, resulting in the other boy hitting his head on the concrete floor. It seemed to have been unprovoked.”

  Taylor stood and walked towards the Principal, eyeballing him, “He had his hands all over my girlfriend, what did you expect me to do, just take it!”

  The Principal took a step backwards, “Calm down Taylor, you need to go home and think about your actions.”

  A huge sigh escaped from Taylor’s mouth. He started walking towards the door, then stopped and faced the Principal again, “What would you know you stupid old idiot!”

  The Principal’s face turned a bright shade of red, he turned around and walked back into the prom room, slamming the door behind him.

  Not wanting to aggravate the situation further, I simply walked outside, hoping Taylor was following me. We got into the car and he burst into tears. “Mom, it wasn’t my fault. Connor had his hands all over Ella. I was protecting her.” And with those words he broke into huge sobs.

  As we were about to enter our street, he put his hand on my arm, “Mom, please don’t tell Dad, I’m begging you. I feel so embarrassed, I’ve let everyone down, please Mom?”

  Tony and I had never kept secrets from each other. I didn’t know what to do! I was torn, my son was begging me to do something that felt very wrong.

  “Mom, just let me go inside to my room. Tell Dad that I’m tired and have gone to bed with a huge headache, please Mom, you know I love you so much.”

  I looked at my wedding ring. “Okay Taylor, but please never ask me to lie to your Dad again.”

  The next day I quietly phoned Connor’s mother and apologized. Such a good-natured woman, she was very thankful for my phone call, but also expressed concern about Taylor’s behavior. She wasn’t the only one who was worried.

  Ella

  The next morning I checked my phone, there were at least one hundred text messages and several missed calls from Taylor. Panicking that something was wrong, I called him. He sounded groggy, “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know Taylor, that’s why I’m calling, you left so many messages last night,” I explained.

  “Oh, I just wanted to talk to you and say how sorry I was about last night, I feel like such an idiot.” His apology sounded sincere. Then he asked, “Can I make it up to you tonight and take you out for dinner and a movie?”

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him so soon, then I gave in. “Okay Taylor, I’ll see you later,” trying to sound enthusiastic. My mind was in turmoil. Did I really love this guy? Which is the real Taylor? Am I over-reacting? I decided to try to forget about the previous night and just get on with having fun. After all, I’m a teenager and so is he and we all make mistakes, don’t we?

  We ate at a new Mexican restaurant on the other side of town. Both of us were tired so we decided to skip the movies and go for a walk along the beach. Strolling along, holding hands, everything felt right again. We were standing together staring at the moonlight playing on the waves when Taylor grabbed me by the shoulders and stared deep into my eyes. Abruptly, and without warning, he kissed me on the forehead, then lightly on the lips. His hands caressed the sides of my face and then he pulled me close to his body, wrapping his arms around my back, almost crushing me. His lips became hard and he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I wriggled my arms loose and tried to pull slightly away. I was findin
g it difficult to breathe. He lifted me in his arms and lay me gently on the sand. His fingertips traced over my shoulders and continued to my chest. Then I really struggled to breathe. I was scared and excited at the same time. My body was tingling and I wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Taylor…” I breathed…I was unsure if I wanted this to happen.

  “It’s okay Ella, I love you and I know you love me, just relax,” he reassured me.

  A strong feeling of doubt came crashing down. I wanted to get up and go home to my nice warm bed. I wanted to escape. “Taylor, I’m not ready for this, stop, please stop.”

  Time stood still for a few seconds, his dark eyes piercing mine. His facial expression was cold and determined and his teeth were set in a frozen grin. Was he really smiling, I could not tell. Sitting up slightly but still leaning over me, he said in a low measured voice, “Ella, you have been teasing me for weeks. I’ve been patient, but enough is enough and tonight, it’s my turn to have some fun.”

  At first, I felt paralysed with fear. I lay there looking into his eyes, not moving, not even breathing. I stayed stock still as he leant over me and began to lift my top. But, with a burst of courage and determination, I took a deep breath and pushed him away. “That’s my decision, Taylor and I am saying NO!”

  I jumped up and started racing back towards the road; willing my legs to move faster! Running in the sand felt like I was in slow motion. With only meters to go, my legs gave way. Taylor had tackled me to the ground. I struggled with him and he lifted his hand to hit me. I could see the strong fist coming towards my face but abruptly he stopped and fell backwards. Once again I ran. “You bitch!” he screamed after me.

  A family came running towards me. The lady cradled me in her arms and her husband called the police and my parents. Sobbing uncontrollably, I told the officer what had happened. Two officers went down to the beach, found Taylor and took him off in the police car. He sneered at me as he walked past, his arms handcuffed behind his back.

  Mom and Dad arrived soon after and took me home, they were shocked at what had happened. Taylor had always been the “perfect” boyfriend in their eyes. Mom poured me a hot bath, I was covered in sand and feeling quite sore. Dad made me a hot chocolate and told me how much he loved me. He sat in a chair in my room the whole night watching over me. Soothing me when I woke…dreaming about Taylor.