1.02 – Their Fates

Leo giggled as he zipped around the living room, arms stretched wide like plane wings. In his imagination, they weren’t just plain wings—they were majestic, feathery, and powerful. In each hand, he clutched an action figure as if they were the greatest treasures in the world. And maybe they were.

“Whoooosh! I’ll get you… you dirty Black Angel!” he whooped, slamming the two figures together with dramatic flair. “Hahaha! Take my blizzard attack! Hiyaaaaaa!”

“Auuugh! It’s so cold! My feathers are frozen!” Leo voiced for the dark angel figure, flinching it backward. Then, with an imperious tone, the villain declared, “If you want a piece of me, take a huge cloud of darkness in—your——face!!! Raaaaaawrrrr!” The ebony-plumed Black Angel crashed into her opponent, a platinum-blonde superheroine wearing a white leotard accented with sky-blue along the sides, shoulders, and neck.

“Your darkness attack won’t work on me! If you want to blind me, Black Angel, I’ll send a flurry to blind you right back and freeze your butt! Ehehehehe!” Leo giggled, imitating his favorite hero with a high-pitched, triumphant voice.

“Nooooo! Not that, Mistral!” Black Angel whined bitterly. “I hate that attack! TAKE MY EVIL BLAST!!!”

“Auuughhhh!” Leo cried dramatically as Mistral crumpled to the floor in defeat. He stared at her for a long moment, his brows furrowed. Black Angel’s attack had been stronger than even he expected.

Across the room, Albert reclined in his chair, a beer in hand, casually watching his son’s antics. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Daddy…” Leo piped up, his tone laced with mischief. His gaze darted to his father, and an idea sparked. If only he could get Daddy to join in, this battle could become the most epic one yet! Bounding over, he clasped his father’s hand, looking up with imploring, sparkling eyes. At five years old, Leo was a whirlwind of energy and charm.

“Um…” He hesitated, fidgeting for a moment.

“Well?” Albert chuckled, taking a swig from his bottle.

“Um… well…” Leo blushed, his excitement bubbling over. “I promise it won’t take too long, Daddy! Pretty please play Mistral for me!” Spinning on his heel, he raced back to his fallen hero, scooped her up, and held her out triumphantly. “Black Angel’s attack was really strong, but Mistral is super tough! She’s already okay!”

“Huh?” Albert frowned slightly but shook his head with a bemused smile.

“Pretty please!” Leo beamed, bouncing on his toes. “I think I’ve got Black Angel’s moves perfect now, Daddy! You’d make the best Mistral!”

Albert laughed, scratching his head as he considered it. “Heh… those dolls of yours, huh?” He glanced at the action figures in Leo’s hands, still hesitating. “Don’t you have a guy part for me to play?”

“Awww... but these two are girls, daddy! And they’re REALLY strong, y’know!” Leo bounced on his toes, his eyes wide with excitement. “When I grow up, I wanna be just like them—strong and super cool!” He hopped up and down, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You remember when Mistral froze her butt last time, right? You watched the news with me, didn’t you? She—Black Angel—like, captured a whole city! It was Monteel or something! Hehehe—reeeeally cold because it’s so far up north like that! …And Mistral’s so strong that Black Angel can’t win, no matter what she tries!” Leo’s voice rang with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm.

“Uh huh—” Albert shrugged indifferently. “We got you a strong-looking guy figure, though, right? That Vanguard is a proper hero! Leo. He’s who you should want to be like—”

“But Daddy!” Leo burst out, his voice pitching higher with excitement. “He never fought Black Angel… at least, I don’t think so—” He tilted his head, his lips pursing in a thoughtful pout. “Anyway, Mistral is wayyyyy cooler! I just love her! Sure, Vanguard’s strong and all, but Mistral is, like… so much better! She’s amazing!”

Leo spun on his toes, dancing with glee. “I wanna control the weather like her—call lightning and make it go KABOOM! And then everyone would be like, ‘Whoooooa!’” He grinned wide, his eyes sparkling with pure admiration.

“Hahaha—” Albert chuckled, rubbing his face in exasperation. “You’ve told me all about it, Leo. Sure, making storms is cool, but you know—she’s a girl. They’re the weaker sex.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Now, go grab that figure I bought you.” His gaze narrowed on his son.

Leo pouted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But she—um—” He hesitated, his voice faltering under the withering look his father shot him. “Okay… we can pretend they fought! You can be the big, strong superhero! And I’ll be Mistral! We can fight Black Angel together! I bet my acting will—”

Suddenly, Leo’s ears rang, as he was struck firmly across his face and the world tilted as he crumpled to the floor. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to clear his vision, his small body tense with confusion and fear.

“Oh, God—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—” Albert knelt quickly, his hands trembling as he tried to help his son up. “I just—I don’t know how to handle kids sometimes! Does it hurt? I didn’t—”

“O—owwwwwww!” Leo cried, tears spilling down his cheeks as realization hit: his father had struck him. “I don’t—ahhhhhh!” His sobs grew louder, filling the room.

Albert’s face twisted with panic, his eyes darting around the room for something—anything—that might fix this. “Oh, jeez—I didn’t mean anything by it,” he mumbled, his voice wavering. Then, an idea struck. “Hey, we’ve got some ice cream. Let’s go have some, okay? That’ll make it better—”

Goonie kept vigil over Leo as he tossed and turned in his hospital bed. The poor boy’s sleep was restless, his small body writhing as if caught in a bad dream. She longed to hold him, to soothe him, but feared waking him before he’d fully recuperated would do more harm than good.

After their desperate rescue of Leo, she and Quinn had rushed him to the nearest hospital instead of the meal she’d promised. The doctors had decided to keep him overnight for observation, which at least gave them time to coordinate with the social worker. Goonie had vowed not to let her nephew out of her sight, but now the toll of today’s events was catching up to her.

Physically, her bones ached, making her feel older than she was, not to mention how messed up her shoulder was. She’s accepted some mild pain killers from a nurse. But it was her spirit that felt most drained now. She was tired in a way that no amount of rest could fix—a deep, soul-weary exhaustion.

Just as Leo’s breathing began to settle, the door creaked open, and a young doctor stepped in, his clipboard tucked neatly under one arm. His white coat was slightly rumpled, his eyes kind but carrying the practiced detachment of someone used to hard conversations.

“Ms. Ramses?” he asked gently, drawing her attention.

“Yes?” Laguna replied, standing stiffly as if bracing herself for the worst like a tree before a category 5 hurricane.

“I wanted to give you an update on Leo.” He glanced at the sleeping boy, his features softening. “He’s stable, and physically, he’ll be fine. His body’s been under a lot of stress—he’s malnourished, as you probably guessed, but we’ve started him on fluids and a nutrient regimen. With proper care, he’ll bounce back.”

Goonie let out a long breath, relief washing over her like a tide. But she saw the hesitation in the doctor’s face, a shadow lingering in his eyes. “But?” she prompted, her voice tight.

“But…” The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He’s clearly been through a lot. The signs of emotional trauma are there. He’s withdrawn, defensive. He may not trust easily, even with you and your family. That’s all up to him and you.” He paused, scanning her face. “It’s going to take time and patience for him to feel safe again anyway. Therapy will help. He’s a resilient kid, I think, but he’s going to need a strong support system to heal.”

Goonie nodded, her throat tightening. “He’s been through hell,” she murmured, more to herself than to the doctor.

The man nodded. “He has. But kids like Leo—they can surprise you with their strength. If anyone can help him through this, it’s someone who loves him. Someone who won’t give up on him.”

Goonie’s lips trembled as she glanced back at Leo’s small, fragile form. “Thank you, doctor,” she said softly.

He smiled faintly and excused himself, leaving Goonie alone with her thoughts.

Later on, quietly slipping out of the room, Goonie found Quinn exactly where she’d expected: seated on the floor, leaning against the wall just outside. The little girl had been humming softly to herself, but the loud click of the door latch startled her.

“Oh, thank God. Thank God,” Goonie whispered as her emotional floodgates finally broke. Tears streamed down her face as she saw her daughter’s worried expression. She closed the door behind her, her composure unraveling.

Quinn scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide. She’d stayed in the room for as long as she could, but the sight of Leo hooked up to all those machines—gadgets and gizmos blinking and beeping—had been too much for her to bear. Unable to face it, she’d fled just outside, crying. Now, she waited, chewing her lip and trying to push the worst thoughts from her mind.

Quinn’s cutoff shorts and sneakers were still stained from earlier—goodness knew with what—and faint odors clung to her clothes, a testament to their harrowing day. Goonie’s own dress bore similar battle scars, though neither cared about appearances or how they smelled at the moment.

“I’m sorry you had to wait, Quinn.” Goonie shook her head, letting out a small, relieved sigh.

“Good news—then?” Quinn asked hopefully, her voice trembling. Her green eyes, brimming with worry, looked up at her mother as if doubting the answer before it came. “Is he really gonna be okay?” A soft sob escaped her as Goonie reached out to pull her into a hug.

Goonie’s own green eyes shimmered with memories as she stroked her daughter’s blonde hair, her fingers gentle but trembling. Blood truly was thicker than water. In moments like this, Quinn reminded her so much of her younger sister, Yvette, and their mother before her. It was uncanny how time folded, how family ties echoed through generations.

And now, as she held her little girl, she clung to that bond, drawing strength from it for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Laguna Ramses was the elder of two daughters. While both sisters inherited traits from their parents, Goonie (as Laguna was affectionately known) took more after their father, while Yvette resembled their mother in both spirit and temperament.

Their mom had been a diligent nurse, a woman who drilled her personal motto into her children’s heads nearly every day: “Do no harm and always be of service.” Those words were likely what inspired Yvette to pursue a career in medicine. Goonie, however, had different ideas of how to put her mother’s motto to good use.

She also wanted to contribute to the world around her, but Goonie knew from the start that college just wasn’t for her. Nor could she ever imagine herself clocking in for a regular nine-to-five job—not quite.

Their dad was an entrepreneur—a natural talker with a genuine passion for food, which he channeled into running his own food truck. But food service wasn’t always lucrative, so Papa Ramses frequently picked up odd jobs to make ends meet.

His big break came when he and a group of friends scraped together enough funds to form a fleet of six trucks under the name “Papa Ramses & Co.” While it wasn’t an overnight success, the business brought more stability to the household. Watching her father’s hustle planted the entrepreneurial seed in Goonie as well, alongside her own growing love of cooking.

At eighteen, Goonie started her career working in one of her dad’s trucks, gradually convincing him to teach her everything: how to order supplies, keep the books, and manage day-to-day operations. Over the years, she absorbed all she could, laying the groundwork for her own ambitions.

Goonie’s daughter, Quinn, came into her life after a fling with a charming hippie. The relationship, while brief, had been enjoyable, but Quinn’s father wasn’t the settling-down type. To his credit, he tried earnestly to send child support, though his payments were intermittent—likely due to his inability to part ways with his wandering lifestyle. Their only consistent contact was an annual Christmas card.

Looking back, Goonie often wondered what her younger self had seen in that long-haired drifter. Perhaps it was their shared vegetarianism, generally a dealbreaker for Goonie in her dating life. Though she’d dated many people, meat-eating was a line she wouldn’t cross.

Ironically, despite Goonie’s best efforts to steer Quinn toward vegetarianism for the sake of her health, the battle had been mostly uphill from birth. Quinn craved meat, her willpower often no match for the lure of fast food. She would wheedle with puppy-dog eyes whenever they ate out, and, once in a while, those adorable, impish expressions wore down her mother’s resistance.

At home, Goonie packed carefully planned meals rich in alternative protein sources, believing her efforts were building up a strong, energetic child. And Quinn was indeed energetic and well-built for her age—or so it seemed. In reality, her clever daughter had been swapping her lunches with classmates curious to try Goonie’s “weird but tasty” creations. With her allowance saved up, Quinn also indulged her secret habit of buying or bumming burgers and chicken nuggets, satisfying her cravings on the sly.

Tragically, Quinn never really got to know her grandparents. Both had passed away in the same year, when she was far too young to retain many memories of them.

Mama Ramses, ever the selfless workaholic, had pushed herself too hard for too long, ignoring troubling signs of illness. By the time she was diagnosed with cancer, it was far too late, and she passed away within six months. Papa Ramses followed her just a few months later, felled by a sudden stroke.

In the wake of their loss, Goonie and Yvette had very amicably divided the modest family estate. Goonie specifically asked to take over the “Papa Ramses & Co.” business. Eventually, she sold her stake in the food truck fleet, saving the proceeds as seed money for a new venture she was planning, her very own café.

“Mom, why didn’t a superhero come and save him from that awful trunk Uncle Albert kept him in? Couldn’t they hear him crying?” Quinn’s sudden question yanked Goonie out of her trip down memory lane. 

The young girl’s tone was imbued with such hurt and anger that Goonie’s heart almost broke all over again.

“Oh, honey, heroes can’t be everywhere like that. They can’t stop every bad thing from happening,” Goonie said gently, her voice softening. Although she wasn’t the biggest fan of the world’s superheroes, their work saved countless lives. She felt the need to defend them, if only a little.

Changing the subject, she continued, “As for your Uncle Albert… he’d been spiraling out of control for a while. The only thing I, or anyone else, could really do was keep a close eye on him and constantly check on Leo. I knew something was wrong when he stopped answering my calls and waited a bit too long to act.”

Taking a deep breath, Goonie inhaled and exhaled slowly through her nose. “Your Aunt Yvette always saw and brought out the best in people. Albert was no exception. But with Yvette gone… I guess the worst in him was unrestrainable under all that stress and grief—”

She trailed off, lost in thought for a moment.

After a pause, Quinn asked a question, putting on a tentative smile. It was one Goonie had no idea how to answer.

“Don’t blame yourself, Mom. You were always thinking about him.”

Laguna nodded soberly, still blaming herself for some of what happened to him. If she’d been stricter, he wouldn’t have ended up in such dire straits.

“Mom… is he… is Leo going to be my brother now?” Quinn’s face lit up with a spark of eagerness as she added, “I always wanted one.”

Quinn had a knack for shifting the mood, her timing impeccable as ever. Sometimes, her ability to distract others from their worries bordered on genius. Laguna’s heart softened, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Reaching out, she gently patted her daughter’s head. Her spunky daughter was simply irrepressible.

“Well, I hope so… but we’ve got a lot of legal stuff to sort through first,” Goonie admitted.

“Is it really all that complicated?” Quinn leaned closer, puzzling over her mother’s words. “Why can’t we just take him home?”

“We can, since we’re family, but Leo needs to be nursed back to health first and the hospital has to release him. In the meantime, I’ll talk to my lawyer and see if we can get a court date soon. I honestly don’t think that no-good father of his will come back… but you never know. We need to settle this while he’s still out of the picture. If he ever proves himself to be a decent human being, we can talk about it then. But for now, he doesn’t deserve the chance to defend his actions—or to be anywhere near Leo.”

“Where’d Uncle go?” Quinn asked, her tone aghast. “Uncle ran away?”

Goonie nodded and sighed deeply. “Your Aunt Yvette’s death broke him in more ways than I imagined. He was always drunk when I called to check up on them most recently. His excuses turned into anger—irrational anger—and I started worrying about what he might do to Leo. Albert was falling apart.

“What happened to Yvette hurt me too, but that’s no excuse to harm your own child, Albert! Leo may not even smile anymore!”

“Why not?” Quinn asked innocently. “All you have to do is think about cheerful things, and the smile comes naturally, right?”

“It’s not that simple,” Goonie explained. “You can fake a smile, sure, but inside, you’re still hurting. Your heart feels like it’s caving in. It’s not so easy to put on a real, genuine smile. That’s what I mean.”

She gently patted the bright sandy-blonde hair atop her daughter’s head.

Albert eventually surfaced in a flophouse near a seedy bar where he often tried to sleep. Most nights, he’d attempt to curl up on one of the bar’s pool tables until the manager inevitably threw him out. For a time, the manager tolerated him out of pity, seeing the broken man Albert had become, but everyone’s patience has its limits. Finally, the manager called the police, who escorted Albert out and brought him to the drunk tank.

It was there, in a haze of stale liquor and regret, that Albert was served a summons to appear in court. He didn’t bother hiring an attorney, showing up disheveled and alone, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot, and his unshaven face a map of poor decisions.

The courtroom was austere, its silence oppressive, broken only by the methodical cadence of the prosecutor’s voice. Albert sat at the defendant’s table, his gaze fixed on the intricate grain of the wooden surface before him, as if it held the answers to questions he couldn’t bear to ask. The charges echoed through the room: Child abandonment. Neglect. Attempted second-degree murder. Each word landed with a weight that seemed to compress the air around him.

The jury had been out for less than an hour before they returned, their decision written plainly on their solemn faces. Albert didn’t look at them. He didn’t need to.

He toyed briefly with the idea of pleading insanity. Surely, anyone would think him mad if they knew what he’d done—when he’d done it. But was he insane? Albert wasn’t sure. His actions didn’t feel detached from reason, just tangled in a logic he could no longer justify. Although insanity might have been an easy out, he chose not to take it. He had some pride left in him.

No defense came to mind that could explain why he had placed Leo in that chest, not even offering his reasoning. No argument could absolve the suffocating guilt that filled the silence left by the prosecutor’s words. He made no move to speak, his decision a quiet surrender.

The foreperson rose and read the verdict with steady finality: “We, the jury, in the case of the State of California versus Albert William Walker, find the defendant guilty of abandonment and neglect of children, and attempted second-degree murder.”

The judge, a stern but measured figure, cleared his throat. “Thank you, members of the jury, for your service. Court is adjourned.”

Albert showed no reaction as the gavel came down, filling the air with a silence shattering bang. No protest. No defense. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his actions and the judgment rendered against him.

Days later, Albert was summoned back for sentencing. This time, the courtroom was packed with quiet onlookers. Among them sat Goonie and Quinn, the latter glaring daggers at her uncle while Goonie kept composed but wore a cold expression.

Judge Wallace adjusted his glasses and addressed the court, “Mr. Walker, your actions were not only neglectful but deeply harmful, and they have caused irreparable damage to your son. Given the severity of these charges and your failure to demonstrate remorse or responsibility, I hereby sentence you to fourteen years in prison and impose a fine of six thousand dollars.”

Albert nodded faintly, still silent.

The judge continued, “Furthermore, as you have proven unfit to fulfill your parental duties, Leo Walker will be placed under the custody of his aunt, Laguna Ramses, who has stepped forward as his guardian. Mr. Walker, this court is also issuing a restraining order against you. You are not to come within one hundred yards of your son, nor contact him in any form.”

The gavel struck, sharp and unyielding, marking the end.

That was when Albert erupted.

He stood, his chair screeching against the floor, and began to laugh—a loud, jagged sound that filled the room. “Do you think I care about that twink brat?!” he spat, his voice laced with venom. He jabbed a trembling finger at Goonie, his face twisted in a sneer. “And you’re giving him to her? That hippie bitch? Really? She couldn’t raise a weed, let alone a kid!”

Gasps rippled through the courtroom as Albert’s tirade descended into something feral. Quinn, seated beside her mother, clenched her fists and leaned forward as though ready to spring at him, but Goonie placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

Judge Wallace’s gavel thundered again, this time with a hard edge. “Order! Mr. Walker, you will sit down and be silent, or I will hold you in contempt.”

Albert only doubled down, his voice growing more erratic as he mocked Goonie, her parenting, and even Quinn, who glared daggers. Finally, the bailiffs moved in, restraining him as his insults devolved into incoherent snarls.

The judge exhaled sharply, his expression grim. “Mr. Walker, I was prepared to consider leniency based on the circumstances of your grief, but your behavior has demonstrated otherwise. I am adding an additional year to your sentence for contempt of court.”

Albert’s laughter choked off as the bailiffs hauled him out of the courtroom, his words echoing faintly down the hall.

Goonie sat quietly through it all, her face unreadable, but Quinn tugged on her sleeve. “Mom,” she whispered fiercely, her green eyes blazing, “Uncle Albert’s an absolute asshole.”

Goonie didn’t reply immediately, her gaze fixed on the empty defendant’s chair. While she wanted to chastise her daughter for using a curse word, she couldn’t disagree. Finally, she said softly, “Anyway, he’s lost, Quinn. But he’s out of Leo’s life now—and that’s what matters.”

Quinn’s lip curled. “Good. Leo doesn’t need him. He has us.”

Goonie turned to her daughter, her expression softening, and gave her a small smile. “That’s right. He has us.”

After Leo’s treatment was finished at the hospital and he was released, he moved into Laguna and Quinn’s home—a place he’d visited a few times before with his mother. Those visits were hazy memories, but the house itself carried a faint warmth that he recognized. It wasn’t just a house; it was a haven, a world apart from the cold and dark spaces he’d endured.

When they crossed the threshold, Quinn spun around with a broad grin. “So I guess you’re staying with us for good now!” she declared with her usual exuberance.

Leo nodded numbly, his small shoulders drawn up and tight. His lips twitched in an almost-smile, but his anxiety lingered, tugging at his thoughts like a thread threatening to unravel him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but the house already felt different. Warmer. Safer.

“Aww, c’mere, you!” Quinn exclaimed, darting toward him like a whirlwind. She scooped him up in her arms and hugged him tightly, resting her chin on his head. “We’re cousins and all, sure, but I always wanted a little brother! And now, here you are!”

Leo let out a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle, as Quinn gently rocked him.

Still holding him, Quinn added in a softer voice, “It’s okay to be nervous. But we’re family, and you’re home now.”

After a moment, she set him back on the floor. Leo wandered a few steps away and looked around the living room. The townhouse was modest but cozy, its lived-in charm immediately apparent. Framed pictures of Goonie, Quinn, and a few family snapshots dotted the walls. The furniture was a patchwork of mismatched but comfortable pieces, the kind that beckoned you to sit and stay awhile.

As he took it all in, a familiar smell began to waft through the air, curling around him like a warm embrace. It was unmistakable—Goonie was cooking. The savory aroma brought back flashes of memory: visiting this house with his mom, Goonie bustling in the kitchen, and that first bite of her cooking that always made him feel like the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.

His stomach growled audibly, breaking the quiet, and Quinn giggled. “Guess Auntie Goonie’s still the best cook in the world, huh?”

Leo nodded again, this time a little more brightly. He took another deep breath, letting the comforting smell settle inside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt hungry—and safe.

But then, like a storm cloud rolling over a sunny sky, his thoughts turned. His mother’s face filled his mind: her kind eyes, her soft smile, the way she used to pull him into her arms for no reason at all. He’d always squirmed, protesting her affection with half-hearted grumbles, but now he would have given anything to feel her hug him again.

Tears welled up in his eyes, then spilled over, streaking silently down his cheeks.

Goonie entered the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Dinner’s gonna be ready in about—” She stopped mid-sentence when she saw Leo standing there, his face crumpled with grief. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and knelt in front of him, wrapping him in her arms.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, pulling him close. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

Leo struggled at first, his small hands pushing weakly against her, but Goonie held firm. She rubbed his back, whispered soothing words, and even nuzzled his tear-streaked cheeks with her own.

“I miss her,” Leo choked out, his voice cracking.

“I know you do,” Goonie whispered back. “And it’s okay to miss her. But you’re not alone, Leo. You’ve got me. You’ve got Quinn. We’re your family, and we’re going to get through this together.”

Quinn knelt beside them, wrapping her arms around both of them in a group hug. “Yeah, Leo,” she said, her voice bright but steady. “We’re here for you. Always.”

Leo’s cries eventually softened into little hiccups, and a small laugh bubbled up as Goonie tickled his sides lightly. “There’s my little guy,” she teased gently, brushing his damp hair back from his face.

The road ahead was daunting, but in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family, Leo felt something shift. The house wasn’t just a place anymore; it was home.

Time passed, and though Leo never forgot his mother, the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble. It was slow, painstaking work—brick by brick, moment by moment—but Goonie and Quinn were patient. They filled the house with laughter, love, and the kind of care that heals even the deepest wounds.

Nothing worth doing ever came easy, but for Leo, it was worth every single step.