Awkward Silence . . .

So, just in case you missed out on yesterday's fiasco, I had two clients run away, then get caught after four hours. They never really went very far at all, so I'm wondering, "What happened during those four hours?" We do know through admittance that they failed an attempt to sexually assault a woman walking her dog. Thankfully her dog attacks on command! We also know they spent some time in a nearby trailer park and interacted with some small children. Which worries me. A LOT. So I took one of my runaways and his counselor, grabbed a radio and an extra staff for security, and directed the runaway to take us step by step through their run route. I pushed. And Pushed. Every where we turned I'd ask, "What happened here?" "Is this where he asked you to touch him?" "Who else did you see here? How many times/how did you touch them?" It wasn't fun. But interesting. And affective. We crossed rivers, climbed fences, treaded through mud, climbed over logs. Tracing each step of a possible crime. And I pushed. I felt like someone from a TV show for a few minutes. It wasn't as cool as I thought it would be. We ended up in the trailer court eventually. A flock of children immediately began following us as we weaved in and out of trailers, reliving our runners experience. One girl seemed to stand out of the crowd and I knew they had at least talked to her the day before while running. I KNEW. My runaway admitted she did look familiar and he stated he asked her for a basketball while on the run . . . while she was riding a bike in her bathing suit. And she was 6 to 8 years old. Doesn't really sound like someone who'd have a basketball right off hand, huh!?!? But, as Dr. K says, and oddly enough, lately, -V-; I digress . . . So I pushed him more. Asked if there was anything else. He said no, so I decided to talk to the little girl myself. Which made my runaway flip out!!! I asked her if she recognized anyone in our group. She pointed at my runaway and said he was here yesterday with a friend, describing the other runaway. She said that she doesn't remember why they talked to her, but does remember them being very nice. I asked if they gave her any high-fives or maybe a handshake, touched her in any kind of way, and she said no. I turned away, choked up. I looked at the runaway's counselor and we held an awkward silence. Not the kind where you don't know what to say. But the kind where you know you're both thinking the same thing, but don't want to say it. We were both thinking . . . "This beautiful little girl. So carefree. So unaware how endangered she was just one day ago." So reality set in. This is dangerous. Really dangerous. Our clients hurt people. Beautiful little girls. I don't have any conclusion to end with. Just another awkward silence.