“Shh!” Maggie hissed, throwing her hand over Skye’s mouth.
        “Sorry,” she breathed when Maggie finally let up.
        “S’okay.”
Maggie straightened, slipped around the corner, and beckoned for Skye to follow.         Silently, they crept out the door into the oncoming darkness. Skye had been back at the agency for over a month now. Each day she resolved anew to escape, to run away--but she could never get up enough nerve. Until Maggie showed up, a stubborn teenager with a plan.
         Skye pressed closer to her.
        “A-are you sure about this?” she asked, eyes wide.
Maggie looked down at the small frame beside her.
        “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be stuck here forever. You can back out, but I don’t have time to deal with doubts so you gotta decide now if you want to stay.”
If I might remind you, you previously decided to “make your move”. You are currently achieving that goal. Giving up already?
        “No,” Skye said in a small voice.
        “But if we’re not careful, the police will catch us. And you know what happens then?”
        “They take away all your stuff and throw you in jail, and make you eat awful food and sometimes they beat you with their stick.” Skye shivered.
        “That’s right. I saw it happen with my very own eyes,” Maggie agreed. “The coast is clear--let’s go!”
        Dark clouds covered the moon, casting little light on the neatly trimmed lawn. Flowers bordered the walkway, but Skye didn’t have time to appreciate their blooming fragrance. She took a deep breath as they approached the main gate. Maggie slid two metal tools out of her pocket.
        “I’m going to use these to open the gate,” she explained, sliding them into the padlock.
         She jiggled them around, trying to catch the tumblers.
         “What about the other alarm?” Skye asked, her gaze darting nervously around the dark yard.
Maggie stopped and looked at Skye. “What other alarm?”
         “Um, there is one, isn’t there?” Skye paused, trying to collect her thoughts. “It just kind of seemed like there would be one.”
The precise reason you believe there is another alarm, is because two months, six days, 29 minutes, and 33 seconds ago you caught a glimpse of red and blue wires leading away from the gate. Red and blue indicates an alarm. You should be concerned.
         “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Maggie scoffed. “Stick with me, kid, and we’ll get out of here just fine. There!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, “Got it. Come on!”
Skye’s stomach churned with excitement--freedom! They took three steps before a familiar voice stopped them cold.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Dread settled over both of them as they spun around, Skye instinctively backing toward the shadows. The Head stood there, arms crossed, barely visible behind the bright beam of a flashlight. Skye’s stomach stopped flipping and settled into a cold knot when she saw who was holding the light. A policeman.
         “I was going for a walk,” Maggie said boldly.
Skye couldn’t believe how confident she sounded. Her own hands were shaking.
         “After curfew?” the Head asked.         
“And with these?” the policeman snatched the lock picking tools. “I think you’d better come with me.”
         “No!” Skye burst out, unable to keep quiet.
By that one word, you have given yourself up. The wisest course of action to choose would have been to stay completely silent. You would have been able to get back inside the building without alerting the attention of the law enforcers or the Head. 
         Skye bit her lip and tried to shut her brain up.
         “What’s this?” The policeman pulled her forward. Skye flinched as his touch. She hadn’t been this close to a policeman in years. She glanced from his belt filled with terrifying objects to his face, cold and suspicious. She looked away quickly. Now her legs were trembling too.
         “Leave her.” Maggie said brusquely. “She was just watching.”
         “No, I--” Skye began. She wasn’t going to let Maggie take all the blame.
Denying it does not help your cause. Listen to me.
         Maggie nudged her sharply.
         “We’ll take care of her, don’t worry about it,” the Head cut in. “This one, on the other hand,” the Head gestured toward Maggie, her eyes sharp like the blades on the paper shredder—ready to slice anyone who objected to pieces. “I’m sure she was the one who broke into the safe. Now she’s trying to escape with the money.”
That’s how she got the police to come. Stealing. Of course they will believe the Head. She is, after all, in a position of extreme authority. They’d come at her call much quicker than yours. And they’ll listen to her over you.
         “We’ll take her back to the station and get it figured out.” The policeman sighed and pushed Maggie forward, through the gate she had just tried to open like he’d been arresting kids all night and was sick of it.
Be glad they’re leaving you.
Skye whimpered softly, then clamped her lips together to avoid any further noises.
         “It’s okay,” Maggie called back over her shoulder.  “I’ll manage. I always do. But be careful, Skye.”
She struggled against the policeman as he hauled her away.
“You’re life is going to get hard. Don’t listen to anyone but yourself, you hear me? You’ve got good instincts. Follow them. You’ll need them to survive!”
Maggie give one last hard jerk against the policeman’s strong grip before she was shoved into the waiting police car. Skye watched, teary eyed, as Maggie was dragged away from her life for the last time.
I don’t think you’ll be seeing her again.
         “How-how did you find out?” Skye asked tentatively, working very hard to keep the tears from spilling over. She usually prided herself on not crying.
         “Hah,” the Head snorted. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? An alarm, stupid.”
         She reached down and gripped Skye’s arm, nails digging into her skin as she yanked her along the beautiful path.
“You have good instincts. Follow them.”
         Maggie’s words echoed in her head as she stumbled up the walk.
“You’ll need them to survive.”

The world spun in circles. Skye tried to escape the strong arms that held her down, but Alex just brushed her struggling aside like it was merely an annoyance. Skye closed her eyes to try to avoid as much dizziness as possible--she could already feel the bruises forming where he clenched her skin. Compared to the other bullies Skye had dealt with over the years, he wasn’t incredibly tall, or fat, or stupid--he just had wiry strength and a grim determination to make Skye the most miserable girl in history. Usually she managed to avoid him, like the time he had set a trap for her after school, but her mind had unconsciously analyzed the dirt markings and warned her to leave school the back way. Or the time when he spray-painted the school and tried to blame it on Skye--she managed to see the paint flecks on his collar in time. This time though, strength had won the battle. Against her will her eyes flickered open, trees blurring around her. She caught a glimpse of the book that she’d been reading when he had shown up by the patch of trees. Skye had been standing, waltzing slowly to herself, trying to mimic the steps she was reading about in her book on the cultures of dancing.
         It wasn’t her first choice--she had run out of anything else to read.
         Alex had seen her and decided she needed a partner. Skye felt the urge to throw up.
“Stop-it,” she gasped.
         To her complete and utter surprise, he did. Skye fell on her hands and knees, willing herself not to be sick.
The indubitable shadow of Eleanor Lopasal would be a reasonable cause for Alex’s hasty exit.
         Skye began to pick herself up, brushing brown hair out of her eyes.
         If she had to choose between Alex or Eleanor--Mrs. Eleanor--she would pick Alex every time.
         “What are you doing?” Mrs. Lopasal asked in a deadly calm voice, yanking Skye up by her arm. Then she caught a glimpse of a book lying on the ground.
“You’re laying out here, reading?”
         Skye didn’t answer, lowering her eyes.
         “I don’t even know why I agreed to house such a lazy, spoiled child.” Mrs. Lopasal continued, her voice rising with each word. “Instead of lollygagging about, wasting time, you should be inside, helping Mr. Lopasal and I. If you want to stay here, stop stealing Mr. Lopasal’s books and ruining them--and your clothes.”
She took a deep breath.
         “Worthless,” she muttered. Then she sighed.  “What’s your excuse this time?”
To be specific, you came out here to soak in the knowledge of others by reading, therefore shirking work according to Mrs. Lopasal. However, the mere act of forcing oneself to read a cultural dance book in the particular style of the author, and in old English nonetheless, exerts your brain in ways that require much effort, and by doing so willingly, annihilates her argument.
        “Um,” Skye stammered, staring down at her bare feet.
        “Um,” Mrs. Lopasal mocked. “I know your reason. To get out of work! Not only are you lazy, you're a liar! A lying thieving orphan who deserves to be thrown out in the streets!”
         Skye didn’t say anything. She just kept staring at the ground. Maybe Mrs. Lopasal was right. Maybe she did deserve to be sent back.
You do have a habit of “shirking” the work here.
Mrs. Lopasal shook Skye before shoving her towards the house.
         “Go to your room. I can’t deal with this right now.”
         Skye stumbled, regained her balance, and made a beeline for her room--an oversized closet, actually. It had room for a bed, dresser, and small desk, that was all. There, she threw herself on the lumpy mattress and worked hard to keep the tears back.
Crying is weakness. You have no room for weakness here.
It had been two years since the house with Naomi and the beat up laptop, which, naturally, she wasn’t able to keep. Two years of more heartache and misery. Two years of collecting scars.
Do not forget the Wellingtons.
They were nice. They took her to the park, tried to help her with homework--
As if you need help. Hah.
But then they moved two months later.
There were also the Kingstons.
They had two kids, and their house was a constant mess, but Skye grew to love it there with the constant smell of brownies, the laughter and teasing. They accepted her, loved her, and tried to do their best to make her feel at home. But then the mom got pregnant, and they didn’t have time, space, or money for her anymore. The Lopasals were her sixth foster home, not counting the half-way houses. All the kids at the agency called them that because they were just temporary places to stay when either the agency didn’t want them or somebody needed babysitting, cleaning, or general service from 48 hours to a week or two.  Just until the kid could find a more permanent home.
Emergency Foster Homes is how the state refers to them.
The agency claimed they didn’t have room in their building to house them all, but everyone knew it was really because they didn’t want to deal with more kids. The rooms that sat empty and dusty for years in the place attested to that.
You should be grateful the agency used to be an orphanage--typically they do not have rooms for the children to sleep in.  Then you would be stuck in ‘Emergency Foster Homes’ constantly.
Skye didn’t think she could even be truly ‘grateful’ to that place. She rolled over, the danger of crying past, thinking about the foster agency.
Clearly illegitimate.
That she had figured out right away. Her first foster parents came when she was six, a few months after she arrived at the orphanage, and although she was young, she realized that there were no background checks, no questions. You just pop in, ask for a child, sign a paper, and voilà. You’ve got a kid.
As I said, illegitimate.
Thinking about it filled Skye with an emptiness that she grown accustomed to over the years.  An ache that even her mind couldn’t reason out of.  She was so sick of that place. Sick of every family being abusive.
The power of gossip--word has gotten around that this “agency” is the place to obtain free labor, free punching bags, and free monetary gain. Also known as children.
So practically everyone ended up in--
Unhealthy environments.
She snorted. That was a kind way of putting it. She hated feeling used, but she didn’t dare run away again.
Not when you have so much homework to complete, that is for certain.
That earned another snort. She sat up, her gaze falling on her school books that were lying untouched by the door.
         She did get to go to school here. She figured even though the Lopasals chose her, they didn’t want to be responsible for her every minute of every day.
You speak as though school is a privilege. In reality you are forced to sit patiently, quietly, and focused listening to adults drone about subjects you have known since the beginning of your short, insignificant life.  Your time would be much better spent sleeping, cleaning, or learning how to care for yourself.  School is not exactly the Oxford-English definition of “privilege.” And, might I add, you have to deal with the afore-mentioned homework.
She slid out of bed and grabbed her math, wincing as the heavy book tugged at sore muscles. She let it drop on the bed, pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes, and opened it up to page 322.
3-5 -8=?
Skye didn’t even think about it.
-10
And that was the hardest of the problems.
Bo-oring
Skye stuck her lower lip out and crossed her arms. She refused to do something so simple. She opened the door and glanced out. Mrs. Lopasal was on the phone in the kitchen, her back turned towards Skye. With careful glances in every direction, Skye crept down the hallway and slipped into a room several doors down. A smile crossed her face, and for a moment the pang of loneliness faded. Books surrounded a few chairs and a desk covered with papers. Mr. Lopasal’s office. Skye dragged a heavy step stool over to the far corner. Even on the highest rung, she had to stretch to grab one of the thick brown books on the top shelf. After a few moments of teetering precariously, she had it safe in her arms. Leaping down, she curled up on the floor and turned to page 213.
         She scanned it.
         Easy.
         At least it wasn’t quite as boring. The logic puzzles he had were definitely better though, but before she could look for one, the door flung open. Mrs. Lopasal stood there with an angry--
Not angry. Cruel.
-- glint in her eyes.
        “I thought I told you not to read those books,” she said, her voice the temperature of frost.
        Skye whimpered and pressed herself against the wall.
Mrs. Lopasal strode forward.
        “I’m telling my husband. He’ll deal with you the right way,” she snarled, slapping Skye across the face.
The phone rang, interrupting her, and Mrs. Lopasal stood glaring at Skye a moment longer before she spun around, jamming her heel into Skye’s leg as she left to answer it.
         Skye let her head drop into her arms. The emptiness came rushing back.  


        “That’s the fifth home that has turned you back. Fifth!” Mandy raged.
In actuality, it’s the sixth.
        “Sixth,” Skye mumbled, not daring to meet her caseworker’s blazing eyes.
Just because I told you that doesn't mean you should tell her.  Honestly.  Get a grip.
        “Even worse!” Mandy yelled. “I expect better of you, 204, much better. If you can’t get yourself together, we’re going to be stuck with you forever. Forever! So next time, don’t mess it up! You’ll be lucky if someone takes you in again. Look at me when I am speaking to you!”
        Skye, though, wasn’t paying much attention.
She doesn’t change her speech by any large degree. But forever was a nice touch. Last time it was a bungling idiot. Forever puts a nice spin on it, don’t you think?
         Skye bit her lip, head lowered. Even though she had been yelled at more times from Mandy than all of her foster families put together, she still found that it stung inside. Like a piece of her tore away with every harsh word.
         And she was afraid that someday, there wouldn’t be anything left.
         “I’m warning you, 204. If this happens again you will be kicked out--for good! Now get back to your room!”
         Skye nodded and walked through the door held open by Mandy’s constantly lime green nails.
With everything else always changing in your life, at least you can rely on her choice of nail color to be ever blinding.
Some comfort.  Ignoring the other kids in the halls, she reached her room and curled up on the still un-made bed, head in arms.
        “I won’t cry. I will not cry,” she repeated, sniffing up her tears.
       It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

Skye sat bolt upright, sweating. Outside was gray and her clock read 5:59. Still another half-hour until wake-up call, but she was wide awake.
That would be due to dreams. Specifically dreams of your past life--namely bullies and beatings. Note the alliteration.
Skye didn’t care about grammar right now. She stumbled out of bed, out of her room, and down the hall, groping in the pitch black. She had to get out of here. The walls felt like they were closing in, squeezing her lungs. She licked dry, cracked lips.


Then it happened.
Sometimes, on really emotional nights, or, more often, times when she was too tired to fight it, her brain switched on. She didn’t intentionally do it--it seemed to have a control switch of its own. Sometimes it felt like it tried to overwhelm any feeling by just spouting information. And that’s what it did.


Spout mounds and mounds of information.
Abraham Lincoln is regarded as one of America's greatest heroes due to both his incredible impact on the nation and his unique appeal. His is a remarkable story of the rise from humble beginnings to achieve the highest office in the land; two times the quantity five and six multiplied by pi over x brings out results synonymous to--
Numbers started flashing through her mind. She saw equations and proofs, names and details of every president, vice-president, and man who ran for president. She saw entire biographies of every famous person in history, as well as the periodic table of elements.
They attacked her senses, taking over her focus, until she was stumbling blindly. She found herself outside, then somehow her fingers were punching in the alarm code that somehow she now knew would turn it off--
Automatic reset code for this model.
--then she was outside the gate, swerving over the sidewalk. She wanted to escape, but her mind wouldn’t let her. It latched on tight and controlled every move.


Until she slammed into something--or someone--and her brain suddenly went as dark as her vision.


She tumbled to the ground, dazed.


“Hey, are you okay? I didn’t see you coming.”


It was a woman, reaching out a hand in concern.


Skye managed to sit up. “Yeah, I’m-I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, that’s all.” She rose to her feet, still shaky.


Her mind rebooted enough to warn her.
This woman is a complete stranger. Get away from her as soon as possible, and do not trust her. You are not okay, but do not let her know that. You must not reveal anything.
The woman grabbed a hold of Skye’s arm to steady her.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look too good.”
She peered intently at Skye, who blinked and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she insisted, right before blacking out.



Skye woke up, the woman’s face looming over her.
“Hey, can you hear me?” she asked softly.
Skye blinked, trying to clear away the fuzziness. She worked her mouth open.
“Yeah,” she mumbled.
The woman, probably in her late twenties, looked like a model to Skye, with her layered black hair and perfectly toned body.
Skye struggled to sit up.
“Where am I?” she said groggily.
On a couch, in a living room. Hers. Get out, now.
The woman smiled. “At my house. I forgot my cell phone so I carried you back here. It was just down the street. My name’s Allie. I was just about to call 911 when you woke up. Where are your parents?”
Entering into dangerous territory. Tell them they’re off at a retreat, and you're staying with friends. You wanted to take a walk around the new neighborhood. Better yet, avoid the question entirely.

“I live just down the street. Sorry to bother you, miss. I’ll be going now.” Skye stood up quickly, ignoring the bout of dizziness that overtook her.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You did just...faint after all.”
Skye’s stomach gave a low rumble. She realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before.
The body can sustain for up to three weeks with no food. After a day, however, especially if the body is not accustomed to going for long periods of no nourishment, you will feel faint, shaky, and exhausted. Blurry vision and headaches are also side effects.
“It-it’s just hunger,” she decided. “I-I haven’t eaten in awhile.”
“How long ago is a while?” asked Allie, raising one eyebrow
“A while. Thank you anyway, miss.”


She forced her legs to move steadily toward the door. The smell of coffee and burnt toast taunted her.
“At least tell me your name, in case something happens to you again.”


Skye reached the door in silence.
“Well... I’ll walk you back.” Allie said firmly.
“No, I’ll be fine. Like I said, it’s just down the street. Besides, you’re late getting to work.”
Her work is precisely why you should be miles away by now.


Allie looked surprised. “How do you know about my work?”


Skye’s gaze drifted to the running shoes tossed by the front door.
Allie runs every morning, from 6:00 to 6:30. Today she overslept due to a faulty alarm and the fact that she stayed up to early hours of the morning, researching on her laptop, setting herself fifteen minutes behind schedule. She was excited to run however, due to new footwear.


“Lucky guess. Goodbye.”


Allie caught the door before it closed and followed Skye out into the dim morning.


“I try not to let little girls walk home by themselves after just fainting.”


Skye ignored Allie, quickening her pace until Allie grabbed Skye’s arm. She flinched. But it wasn’t the grip she was used to. This one was soft; almost…she had to search for the right word.
Loving.


When Allie held her it wasn’t because she did something wrong; it was out of concern. She wasn’t glaring; she looked hopeful. Sympathetic maybe, and even...caring.


For once, Skye didn’t know what to think. How to process this. So she retreated, back into her shell where nobody could use or hurt her.
There is no point in caring for or about people. They simply desire to use you.


She shook Allie’s hand off and kept walking. A truck roared past, and someone opened their door, letting a dog out. She could still hear the footsteps following her.
Retreating may be the best course of action; however Allie is going to see where you live, which will lead to many more questions. Lose her.


So Skye bit her lip, stopped and turned around to face her. She let her mind guide her on what to say.


“Thank you for your consideration, but I would feel really bad about making you later to work than necessary. Even if you say I’m not, I know I am, so I would feel really, really bad. Please, I’m fine. Besides, I’m sure they need you more than I do.”


Allie hesitated. “Still...”


Skye didn’t give her a chance to refuse. She started walking again, but this time, something else made her pause.
I believe the word would be emotion. Not my area of expertise, but still, something you have.
Skye looked over her shoulder to see Allie standing there, staring at her. She glanced at her arm where she could still feel the warmth from where Allie had touched her.
She felt her mouth open, heard the word that came out, but it still shocked her when she finally registered what she had just said.


“Skye,” she murmured, just loud enough for Allie to hear.
She turned back and kept walking. This time, nobody followed. The flicker of emotion faded abruptly.
Alone. As you should be.

Skye snuck into the agency through the back door, hoping no one would have noticed she was gone. The hallway was empty--for now.
Considering the odds based on the percentage of humans versus open space, the probability of not being noticed skulking around is 0.32%
“204!”
To borrow the colloquialism, “I told you so.”


Skye mentally made a face and turned around to see Mandy clomping out of the kitchen. One perfectly manicured fingernail stabbed the air as she spoke.
“Where were you?” her caseworker snapped.


Skye lowered her eyes, somewhere registering that her heart beat was speeding up slightly.
“I couldn’t sleep, ma’am, so I walked around the property—I didn’t want to wake anyone up by walking inside the building."


Skye was long past obeying the moral rules such as “Don’t Lie.” If she told the truth about everything, well, she didn’t think her thin frame would survive that many beatings.
Mandy narrowed her eyes.
“You know the rules. Stay in your room unless told otherwise by staff.”


Skye said nothing.


Mandy sighed. “No breakfast. And you’ve just lost all outdoor privileges for the next two weeks. Maybe that will help pound the rules into your thick, stupid skull.”
You will feel the consequences of no breakfast quite strongly very soon. You did faint from hunger after all.


Skye scuffed her shoe on the floor. The carpet here was worn and stained.
“Well? Don’t just stand there. Go to your room and stay there until the assignments are finalized.” Mandy prodded Skye forward. With her fingernails. The long, sharp, manicured ones.
Skye nodded and walked the short distance to her room, trying not to show any sign of emotion. She doubted Mandy would have even thought about the fact that Skye hadn’t eaten for over a day.


Rachel might have something stored away. She was the cook’s favorite, and she could usually manage to secure a leftover piece of pizza from a staff meeting, or the giant bag of bread ends that they didn’t serve.


Skye had covered for her last week when she misfiled the papers—Rachel would probably share some of her stash with her for that.
Food is consuming your thoughts.


How was that even relevant, Skye wondered.
It was a brilliant pun.


She blinked. Her mind got weird when she was hungry.


As she entered her room, she found another girl emptying her duffel bag into a second dresser. Each room was set up to accommodate at least two, and Skye figured it was just a matter of time before hers was shared. She had been hoping for someone she knew, maybe Lily or Sara. But of course, it was a stranger.


You couldn’t just nod to a stranger.


Strangers meant conversation.


Conversation meant talking.


And Skye just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. Or eat. Her stomach growled in agreement.
Best to get it over with.
She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Hi.”
The girl jumped and banged her knee on the dresser drawer.
“Oh, hi! you must be...Sunny?” the girl said, cleary flustered.
Skye winced. “Skye,” she corrected.
“Oh-oh sorry! I’m-I guess I’m just a little, nervous.” She gave a little high pitched giggle.


Skye’s face fell in disappointment. She bit her lip and groaned inwardly.
You were too when you first came.
Still, she didn’t feel like sharing a room with someone like Julia today.
“I don’t see anything to be nervous about,” she shrugged. She sat down cross legged on her bed and watched as the girl finished unpacking. She had a lot of clothes. Skye’s eyes drifted to the few shirts hanging in her closet. That would change.
The girl smoothed down the dress she was wearing. “You don’t?”
“Well,” Skye turned her attention back to Julia. “other than worrying over what home you’ll be put in, the thousands of rules, whether or not you’ll get assigned a caseworker who cares nothing for you, if the meals will give you food poisoning, and so on, there’s absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”
With those words, Skye fell onto her bed and closed her eyes, curling up into a ball. After a second, she opened them a crack and looked at the girl’s face. It had confusion written all over it.
Stick together. You small children are all you have.
Skye sighed and sat up.
“I’m just joking. Well mostly. Seriously, though, there’s not that much to worry about. Relax!”


The girl closed the dresser drawer, shoved her suitcase under the bed, and then hoisted herself up onto up onto the bed, facing Skye.
“I suppose. So were you expecting me?”
“No. They don’t really tell you these sorts of things.”
The probability of them forgetting about her--3%. The probability of them forgetting to tell you --27%. The probability of them remembering but not caring to tell you--70%
The girl looked aghast. “Then you don’t even know my name?”
“It’s Julia Calver.”
“Oh, so they did tell you.”
Skye made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper and considered just throwing the covers over her head and ignoring Julia.
We have to work together.


She sighed for the third time.
“No, they didn’t.”
“Then how did you know what it was?”


Skye flopped back down, hugging her pillow. “You have it written on a card hanging off your suitcase.”


Julia actually reached under her bed, pulled out her duffle bag, and looked. Skye rolled her eyes.
“I guess I do!” Julia exclaimed in wonder, quickly sliding the bag back under the bed.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” Skye asked. Please say no, please say no. Then you can leave and go eat…


But Julia nodded. Skye closed her eyes, her mind drifting back to that morning.
“Que vais-je faire? O que é que eu vou fazer? Ne yapayım?”
“Sorry, what?” Julia squinted.

Skye realized she had been reciting the sentence, ‘what should I do?’ in French, Portuguese, and Turkish. She didn’t even know she could speak those languages. They just sort of came out. Julia was still staring.
“Just talking to myself.” Skye told her quickly.
Julia nodded slowly.
“How long have you been playing softball?” Skye asked, hoping to distract her. Get all the formalities out of the way so they could return to peace. Julia stared at her, amazed.
“How did you know I play?”
Your arms are incredibly tan but your legs aren’t. Softball and horse riding are really the only sports you could be in. You have no signs for horses, but you do have the logo of a softball team on your I.D. card.
“Lucky guess,” Skye said.


It always annoyed her when she had to elaborate. It took so much longer than it did to think it, and it was so obvious she never got why other people didn’t see it.
The reason that other persons fail to see what you consider obvious is that they do not have the mental capacity you possess.


Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Sarcasm will achieve nothing.


Whatever.


Skye focused on Julia again.
“Well, I’ve been playing since I was six. My mother--” Julia’s voice broke. “I don’t play anymore,” she finished.


There was an awkward silence.
“Do you play?” Julia finally broke the quiet.


“No, I’m not really a sports person,” Skye answered, eyeing a line of scars that trailed down her arm.
In actuality, the numerous times you perform gymnastic-like feats in order to escape the cruelty of your superiors means that you have been raised a “sports person.” If you want to be exact, that is.


I don’t.
Too bad.
“What....do you do then?” Julia looked like she couldn’t imagine a life with no sports.
“I think.” Skye mumbled.
Sometimes not enough.


Shut up.
“Think?” Julia said incredulously. “Why would you want to think?”
“Some people like to,” Skye responded tiredly. Julia was pushing it.
“I mean, what would you want to think about? It just sounds boring.”
Skye sighed and rolled over, giving up every hope of some peace and quiet. “It’s a...hobby of mine.”
Julia wrinkled her nose. “But seriously, what do you do all day? Other than think,” she added hurriedly, noticing the look on Skye’s face.
“Well, I’m not normally here for that long, but I mostly clean. A lot. We all do. If I’m lucky I traipse to the library to read.”
“Traipse?” Nine year old Julia didn’t have as extensive a vocabulary as her genius roommate.
Scanning for Oxford definition...
“Basically it means to walk or move slowly or reluctantly,” Skye elaborated.
“Okaaay.” Julia frowned.
The door opened and in marched Mandy, frizzy hair and all.
“204, come with me!”
Skye groaned softly and slid off of her bed.
“What now?” she complained. But not too whiny. That wasn’t allowed either. But the sight of Mandy right now was too much. Way too much. She wanted find a quiet corner, remember the feeling she had when Allie touched her...remember the feeling of being wanted. Even if Allie was a stranger, not to be trusted.
“There are some people here to see you.” Mandy said, sweeping importantly down the hall.
Skye blinked. A few years ago, she would have been excited at those words. Now, they just meant another move, another guardian who, hope as she might, would probably force her to work as a kind of payment for living with them, or, in the better cases, ignore her, keeping all the state money for alcohol or partying. Nothing much to get excited about.
There is always a chance, no matter how slim it might be, that this family will be kind. This family could treat you as one of them.
The move may open up new avenues to express yourself without a painful consequence, but do not count on something as fragile as blind hope. Statistics show--


Stop it! Skye felt like screaming at her brain. Instead, she turned to her caseworker.
“Miss Mandy?” Skye asked tentatively.
“What?” Mandy answered grumpily, yanking on Skye to get her to move faster. She had to trot to keep up as it was.
“Who-who is it?”


Mandy didn’t answer. Skye didn’t ask again. As they finally entered through the foggy glass door, she saw what she assumed to be her new “parents” sitting silently by the desk. She frowned as she studied them. Both were heavier, in their late forties--
47 and 50, to be precise. Oh don’t give me that look. You see their application letter on the table. Unnecessary in this place, but there.
--with permanent scowls fixed on their course features. But if Mandy noticed Skye’s change in attitude, she ignored it and pushed her forward with forced cheerfulness.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kolia, I’d like you to meet Skye. Skye, this is Carl and Fran Kolia. They’re interested in adopting you.
“For a trial period, first,” the man said, each word thick and solid.
Mandy smiled a little too brightly. “Of course. Now, Skye, what do you say?”
Skye bit her lip. “Well--” she began.
“Wonderful.” Mandy interrupted. “Now, if you all would sign these forms, we can get Skye’s things and send her off!”
Skye sighed. Typical procedure.

Skye groaned as she lugged her duffel bag and backpack up the steep driveway. Sharp rocks jutted out at just the right angles to catch at her worn shoes and throw her off balance. She glanced up at the Kolias, their faces hard and impassive, and the feeling of being small and insecure returned.
In actuality, you are small and insecure.


Skye blinked back some moisture in her eye—
Not a tear I hope. Crying is weakness, and you have no room in your life for weakness.
--and sighed softly, blowing her wispy brown hair out from around her face. By now she figured out what the Kolias had a fair guess of why the Kolias had wanted someone. Work. The entire driveway was surrounded in overgrown shrubs and, as they finally reached the house, she could tell it was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. She took a moment, gazing at the massive building.
This particular building has a long and complicated history, marked by the varying ages of wood, stone, and brick. The towers indicate importance and the incongruences in the house show that there are several underground passageways, as well as ones hidden within the building itself.


For a brief moment, a smile flickered in her sad eyes. She loved the thought of secret passageways.
“Hey! Get in here!”


The smile died abruptly as Skye jumped back to the present, back to where Mr. Kolia was scowling at the front door.


“Y-y-yes sir,” she stammered, stumbling as she ran into the house.
As long as you do what you are supposed to, he will completely ignore you. However if you fail to accomplish his desires, he will bestow upon you undesired attention.


Skye swallowed and entered the house, avoiding Mr. Kolia’s angry gaze. Something was hitting her leg, and when she looked down, she realized her hand was trembling so strongly it was causing the duffel bag to bump against her. She gripped the table in the hall, willing herself to stay strong.


“Now,” Mrs. Kolia said, with a quick glance at Mr. Kolia. “Follow me and I will show you to your room.”


She swept passed and dutifully Skye followed.
You have to keep moving.


Right. If only it wasn’t so-so
Exhausting?


Yeah. Exhausting.


Mrs. Kolia stopped in front of a large oak door, and as she pushed it open, Skye gasped.


It was beautiful.


Beautiful and dirty, she amended quickly. The ceiling soared high above, a skylight letting the bright morning sun shine through. A large bed was shoved unceremoniously in a corner, and dull green curtains surrounded a window seat, matching the ones on the second window. But what caught Skye’s attention were the bookshelves, almost floor to ceiling, completely empty. She wondered if they once held rows and rows of exciting novels, dusty history books, and thick encyclopedias. She brought herself back to reality and realized the floor was stone.


That’s weird, she thought.
Stone floor, a very unique way of designing a room. Common in the late 1700s, however, which is the approximate time this specific room in this enormous establishment was constructed.


Everything reminded her of a castle room that she saw in a fairy tale book when she was three. As she gaped at the view--and dust--Mrs. Kolia gave her instructions in heavily accented English.


“I will give you until lunchtime to get settled in. This room is yours, but it must be cleaned by then, or Mr. Kolia will not let you sleep here. He likes things to be clean. Very clean.”
Skye pressed her lips together and nodded solemnly. She was used to working with those kinds of people.


“After that, you will go to Mr. Kolia. He has things for you to do. There is a lot of work, and you cannot be idle.”
Skye nodded again. She was used to those kinds of people too. Right now though, all she wanted was sleep.
You feel drained because you have no energy. But the lack of this is not because of exhaustion, as you believe, rather, it is the result of over a day without eating and drinking.


It must have shown on her face, because Mrs. Kolia’s expression softened.


“He is not so bad. I try to help you, but whatever you do, do not disobey him.”


Skye didn’t respond.
Cleaning for temperamental foster parents who don’t tolerate disobedience. At least it’s nothing you haven’t faced before.


Skye was too tired—sorry, “energy-less”--to realize that was the only optimistic side her brain could see. There was a moment of silence. Mrs. Kolia reached out her hand and Skye flinched. But Mrs. Kolia paused and let it drop back down to her side. Without a word, she turned and left, slamming the door behind her. A cloud of dust swirled around Skye’s legs and she coughed. The sound echoed in the large, empty room bringing back the small, lonely feeling.
Enhancing it. It’s impossible to bring back something that has never left.


She walked slowly around the room, taking in the layers of dirt, bugs, and dust coating everything. She craned her neck and observed the cracks in the ceiling. She let her gaze drift back down to the walls again.
There’s a secret passageway.


For just a second, joy filled her heart. Skye smiled broadly and hugged herself in excitement. She loved the thought of secret passageways and tunnels, waiting for centuries to be discovered.
If you push the--


“No,” Skye said sharply, frowning again. “Stop it. I want to find it myself.”


It wasn’t the first time she had talked out loud to her mind. Foster parents would constantly hear Skye jabbering to herself, but they just rolled their eyes and decided Skye had mental problems. They weren’t aware that it was the only way Skye could actually shut her brain up.


It obeyed, and she wandered over to the bed, fingering the musty blanket strewn across.


Orange. Skye crinkled her nose in distaste--she hated orange. Blue, on the other hand, was beautiful. Especially when it was mixed with grey or silver.
The colors of the sky.


She bit her bottom lip, smiling a little. Puns.
Puns are a sign of hidden intelligence.


Thank you.
You’re welcome.


Skye opened a door on a wall. The smell of mold and mildew drifted out. Bathroom. Her jaw fell open. She got her own bathroom! The rust covered sink looked beautiful to her, and she didn’t even notice the water dripping from a leak in the stained ceiling. The whole blessed thing was hers, and that’s all that mattered. Almost in a daze, she yanked another smaller door open inside her bathroom. This one was a closet, filled with shelves of cleaning supplies. This must be what she was supposed to clean with. A wave of dizziness suddenly replaced the excitement, and she clutched at the door handle. Her small body was protesting again, but Skye had learned a long time ago to ignore it and keep moving. Always moving. She blinked rapidly and her vision cleared.
The smell of chemicals is also affecting you.


Skye considered this and realized that there was a distinct odor coming from the numerous cleaning chemicals that had been locked up for who knew how long. She held her breath and grabbed rags, a broom, and several spray bottles before making her way back to the stone bedroom. The battered clock hanging crooked on the wall read 11:00. That left her only an hour to clean the room. But where to begin?
Applying logic, it would seem that dust is the best place to start.


She dampened one of the rags with water and began to wipe down the meager furnishings. After the bottom shelves of the bookcases were done, she stood for a moment, trying to figure out how to reach the top shelves. The only furniture in the room was a bed, the bookcases, and a clock. There was a rather large closet with broken shelves, but no chairs. Skye shook a bookshelf, testing its strength. Shoving the rag in her pocket, she climbed the first few shelves like a ladder, concentration adding more creases to her already lined face. As she balanced precariously on the middle shelf, she had a flashback to a few months ago when she had to climb a broken ladder to reach the air vents in one of her foster parents’ home. That venture hadn’t ended so well. Skye flexed her wrist, thinking about it. Her foster parents had told her to suck it up and get back to work. Skye wondered if Mr. Kolia would do the same. She had a feeling he would.
The clock is still ticking.


Skye forced herself back to the present, quickly wiping the dirt and bugs off and jumping down, only to repeat the process with the rest. Cautiously. But despite her best efforts, she slipped climbing down on the last one and tumbled to the hard stone floor with a thud.


“Why?” she moaned.


Sharp pain shot up her back and through her head like she had slid down a razor blade. After a moment of agony, she sat up slowly, swallowing back the waves of pain as she forced herself to get up and keep moving. Always moving. She took two steps and fell onto the bed, dizziness overcoming her willpower. She lay there for a few minutes, waiting for black spots to go away, taking deep breaths to regulate her throbbing heartbeat.
The clock is still ticking.
Skye pushed herself off the bed and picked up the cloth once more, gritting her teeth to the pain, determined to keep going. She had to.

Skye collapsed on the bed, aching. The clock was just turning 12, and she had barely finished the room and a hurried scrubbing of the bathroom. She moaned and rolled over, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep--or eat. But now she was almost sure she was going to have to clean. More. The door opened and Skye jerked around in surprise at Mrs. Kolia.


“All right, come with me,” she said.


Skye half fell out of the bed, trying to calm her pounding heart. She picked herself up slowly. Mrs. Kolia had scared her.


“Hurry up, please. You do not want to keep Mr. Kolia waiting. There is a sandwich for you in the kitchen.”
Food!


Eagerly, Skye trailed after Mrs. Kolia through long, dark hallways, emerging at last in a kitchen that seemed as out of place as a priceless painting in the middle of a junkyard. It was bright and sunny, with cheery yellow walls and light wood floors. Skye blinked in the sudden light that came pouring in through a large picture window. A smile lit up Mrs. Kolia’s face for the first time since Skye had met her as she bustled around the large spacious counters, opening up drawers and cupboards. Skye stood a little in awe at the change.


“Sit,” Mrs. Kolia told her, and Skye did so on one of the mismatched chairs around the heavy wooden table. Mrs. Kolia placed a plate full of food and a glass full to the brim with milk in front of Skye’s very large eyes.


“For-for me?” she managed to whisper.
Mrs. Kolia smiled again. “Of course. Cooking is what I do.”


“Wow,” Skye breathed, hardly daring to hope she would be able to eat like this all the time. Sure, it was only a sandwich, but it was between two thick slices of what looked like homemade rye bread, stuffed with ham and turkey and cheese and tomatoes and sauces and lettuce, and delicious things that Skye didn’t even bother to identify. Mrs. Kolia kept working behind the counters, but all Skye paid attention to was the heavenly piece of art she was eating.


The aching in her stomach and head and the ringing in her ears seemed to disappear with every bite she took. It had been months since she had eaten that well. She never wanted the meal to end.


“Finish eating and come with me,” a thickly accented voice boomed.


Skye twisted in her chair to see Mr. Kolia thump in, his dark eyes glaring at Skye. She gulped down her last bite, drained the rest of the milk, and jumped to her feet, chancing a glance at Mrs. Kolia. She was clearly avoiding eye contact, ignoring the two of them.
She possesses much fear of her husband.


The thought flashed in her brain as Mr. Kolia led the way through the hallway and out the front door.


“There.”


Skye squinted, trying to make out what he was pointing to. It looked like a bunch of weeds.
Clearly a garden of sorts. The real question is what kind of garden—vegetable, flower, even fruit trees. The distance is too great to discern.


“You will clean that out. Tools are in the garage, he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.


“What is it supposed to be?” Skye ventured.
The man scowled. “What does it look like?”


“A-a bunch of weeds?”
I don’t think he meant literally.
Mr. Kolia slapped the back of his hand against her face, his sharp ring cutting into her skin.


“It is my garden, stupid.”


He growled and stomped off back inside the house.
You don’t say.


Skye wiped away the trickle of blood on her cheek with a sigh.


Gardening.


She walked over to the garage, which was open, and found shelves filled with gardening tools, rows of them hanging on nails along the walls as well. Skye carefully lifted one off and examined it.
Dutch Hoe:
Also called a "push" hoe, this long handled tool has a flat blade and is used with a to and fro action for pulling weeds and/or slicing them off at ground level. In order to work efficiently, it needs to be kept sharp.


She put it back and looked at the rest. After her brain finished analyzing them, she selected a few of the most useful tools like a shovel and garden fork, and headed to the plot of weeds. She identified each weed—
Beware of that poisonous one


--and noticed that there were only seven actual plants growing among them.


“Stupid” still ran through her mind.
It’s not something you haven’t heard before. Get on with it and start digging. Accepting it, even believing it, she knelt down and began to dig.



The sun was setting, casting its glorious golden rays across the sky, treating it like a pallet, mixing purple and red and creating a beautiful splash of color. Skye gazed at it in awe. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, she could see the colors for miles. Just looking at something so big, so beautiful, made all of her problems feel small and unimportant.


Skye felt a tough hand dig into her shoulder and spin her around, forcing her to look up into Mr. Kolia’s perpetual scowl. The moment of bliss shattered.


“What are you doing?” he demanded, his vice-like grip causing Skye’s knees to buckle.


“Just-just looking at the sky. Sir,” she added.


His eyes narrowed. “Don’t waste your time. Come inside. It is time to eat. Then you will stay in your room until tomorrow. There is still much to do.”


Skye nodded numbly, wishing he would take his hand off her shoulder. As soon as he let go, she touched it gently to see what damage he had caused. She had to bite her lip to stay silent through the sudden race of fire down her arm and back.
Nothing seriously damaged. Just a small cut from his fingernails and a bruise that is most likely turning a lovely shade of purple. You’ll live. Get a move on.


Mr. Kolia was already halfway to the house and Skye ran to catch up. She barely managed to avoid having the heavy wooden door slam into her face, ducking inside just in time. As she slipped off her dirt encrusted shoes, a delicious smell caught her attention. Her stomach growled loudly.
You have spent the last six and a half hours working without a break.


Skye took a deep breath through her nose, savoring the smell as she followed Mr. Kolia into the kitchen. Pots and pans full of bubbling substances were sitting on the stove, and Mrs. Kolia’s face was bright red. Part of the glow, Skye decided, came from happiness.


“Sit,” Mrs. Kolia commanded, and both Skye and Mr. Kolia did so.


She then proceeded to place all manner of dishes on the table, from steaming vegetables to bubbling meats. With each new dish Skye’s eyes grew wider and wider. After what seemed like hours, Mrs. Kolia sat down, finally finished.


“Thank you,” Mr. Kolia said abruptly, spooning some kind of beef onto his plate.
That was the nicest thing Skye had heard him say. And it didn’t look like he enjoyed it. But Mrs. Kolia just smiled and began passing platters. The table was silent for a while, everybody absorbed with the food. At least, Skye was. Mr. Kolia looked like he was being forced to eat sawdust--very good sawdust--and Mrs. Kolia was too busy critiquing her work to really enjoy it. Skye, however, was sure she had never tasted anything so delicious as the savory beef sauce with all manner of spices and the baked potatoes with their tough leather jackets that opened up to reveal soft white insides, dripping with butter. There were several kinds of bread, some studded with nuts and fruits that Skye used to mop up her plate. She gazed admiringly at Mrs. Kolia, and that was before she brought out the pies. Two, with golden crusts criss-crossing the peaches drowned in syrup. Skye was sure they didn’t eat better in heaven. It felt like heaven to her. Her starving body cherished the hearty meal; she gobbled every morsel, afraid to hope it could be like this tomorrow.


For years she had been generally underfed, especially in the last few months. As her brain had told her, many of her aches and pains, her lack of energy, and her unfocused mind came from malnutrition. To her, lunch and now this, were a miracle.


“This is really, really, really, delicious,” she mumbled through a mouthful, then gulped and glanced around nervously, hoping speaking wasn’t banned. Especially speaking with her mouth full. Maybe elbows weren’t allowed either. She quickly pulled hers off the table. But Mr. Kolia just grunted, and Mrs. Kolia beamed at the compliment.


“Thank you.”


“You will clean up.” Mr. Kolia commanded, looking at Skye.


She nodded, and stood up, her plate finally empty.
Estimating the number of pots and pans needed for a meal of this magnitude, added to the difficulty of said pots and pans, in addition to the small tasks such as wiping down this table and sweeping the floor the time necessary to clean this kitchen is 57 minutes, when you account for the physical shape you are in.


Skye shrugged. She had faced worse.


“After that, you will go to your room,” he finished.


He stood up and muttered, “Fran, I’m going out. Don’t wait up like last time.”


Mrs. Kolia glanced at Skye, something flashing over her face for just an instant before the usual impassiveness set back in. It wasn’t until after they left that Skye realized he had spoken in German. She plunged her hands into the soapy water and started scrubbing. The thought that she had no reason whatsoever to understand any German never crossed her mind.

“Wake up!”


Skye jerked awake so violently she fell off the bed. Mr. Kolia was banging on her door, yelling at her to get a move on.
Lovely alarm clock. Of course, the probability that you would wake up to an alarm in the sound state of sleep you were in is twenty two to one. Therefore, his bellowing is a more efficient and sure way of forcing you to wake up.


She gingerly picked herself up, blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes. The sun was, well, not there. A light drizzle pinged against her window instead. Skye tugged on her pair of jeans and t-shirt she had carelessly thrown across the room the night before, gathered up her hair and stuck it in a quick ponytail. She had gotten pretty good at speedy dressings--most of the homes she stayed in required it. And she was determined not to get off to a bad start with Mr. Kolia.
Technically, you already have.


Yesterday’s garden episode replayed itself in her mind—in high definition no less. Biting her lip nervously, she pulled on the door knob. Nothing happened. It took her two more tries before she managed to open it a crack, having to use two hands to budge the solid oak. Thin arms trembling, she finally dragged it out enough for her to slip through.

Maybe when I get older and taller, I can open it easier.
If you stay here that long, which is highly unlikely.


There was a first time for everything, though, and Skye hoped deep inside of her that this family would be different from all the others. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could be wanted. Then, as she tried to close her door and her shoulder throbbed from when Mr. Kolia had latched onto it yesterday, she banished that thought away. She didn’t have room in her life for sentiment. Only cold, hard reasoning.
Listening, finally? Now, if you would like to find your way around this house, all you need to do, taking into account the architecture from the late 1700’s and the more modern layout, is....
Skye let it drone on, losing herself in her brain again. She followed its instructions and ended up in the kitchen, which is where she assumed she was supposed to go--unless the Kolias didn’t let her eat breakfast. As she entered the room, her nose was hit by a smell so delicious Skye thought she might faint. Even her brain seemed at a momentary loss for statistics. The sizzling noise of sausages frying was music to her ears, and she stood in the doorway for a moment, soaking it in.


“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Kolia asked, each word falling like a block, solid and immovable.


“No, no!” Skye answered quickly, “It just smells so good!”


“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Kolia beckoned to a chair. “It will be ready in--” She paused and flipped something in a pan--“only a few minutes.”


Skye pulled out a chair and perched. She had lost the ability to plop, snuggle, or curl up in a chair. It was never good to get too comfortable. Nowadays she only perched.


Fourteen seconds later, Mr. Kolia stormed in, bringing a sense of darkness into the bright kitchen. Skye automatically pressed herself against the back of the chair, hunching her shoulders to make herself as small as possible.


“When is it ready?” he yelled at Mrs. Kolia who cringed, and scurried to another pan, flipping something else.


“Few-few minutes,” she stammered.


“Fine.” He collapsed into a chair and scowled at Skye.


“After we eat, you will finish garden. It’s not done,” he reminded her accusingly.


“R-right,” Skye agreed hurriedly. “Um,” she hesitated, then immediately regretted speaking out of turn.


“What?” Mr. Kolia snapped.


Skye flinched.
May as well say it.


“Where’s the other garden you were working in?”
Mr. Kolia stared at her suspiciously. “How do you know about other garden?”


“You have fresh dirt under your nails,” Skye explained. “But it’s different from the dirt I was working with yesterday.”

Before Mr. Kolia had time to answer, Mrs. Kolia began to bring over platters of food--some that Skye had never seen before--and all conversation ceased.

Over the next few weeks, Skye began to fall into the rhythm of her new life. Each morning she would jerk awake to incessant banging on her door--compliments of Mr. Kolia--and race to get ready and eat breakfast under his always-watching eyes. For the first few days she gardened until dusk, only stopping for a lunch break at 12:30. Every night during that week Skye would crawl into bed, back aching and muscles trembling, only having to get up seven hours later and repeat the back-breaking process all over again. If Mr. Kolia noticed the circles under her eyes, or the slight drag in her step, he didn’t say anything. Mrs. Kolia hardly spoke at all. Skye was already used to keeping quiet, and it wasn’t rare for her to go days without speaking. In the mornings, when she felt as though she had no strength left even to fall out of bed, she would lay there for exactly 42 seconds, letting her brain talk to her, letting herself mentally prepare for the next seventeen hours. Skye had never been a part of a club, or a pact, or even a circle of close friends, so she didn’t know much about handshakes, mottos, and the like. But there was one saying she would repeat over and over to herself on the days when she felt it took too much work to breathe. Like this morning.


Skye lay in bed, on her 23rd second, her brain counting down in the background. She murmured the words over and over again, letting them roll off her tongue and into the still air around her.


Never give up.


Never give in.


Never give up, never give in.


She had seen what hope had done to kids. And she had seen what happened when they lost that hope. Her brain took that as an invitation and flashed a video.


It was right after school. Skye had fallen asleep in her math class and had been sent to the principal’s office, which meant that she not only had a horrible day in general, but she also she had the prospect of no dinner to look forward to, punishment for misbehaving at school. It was her turn to vacuum that afternoon, and she was slowly pushing the machine back and forth when the front door slammed and angry voices drifted down towards her.


“Take her back. She’s worthless!”


“Of course. Whatever you want,” the headmistress’s soothing voice cut in.
“What I want is to leave--without her! Keep your ** children!”


Skye didn’t even blink at the word. She might be only eight, but she had heard much worse. The voices grew louder as the headmistress walked down the hallway, and Skye slipped inside a room, not anxious to run into her in such a mood. A few seconds later the headmistress walked past, dragging another girl roughly by the arm. Her name was Jenny, Skye remembered.


“You see where disobeying leads? You see what happens when you act like a little brat?” The headmistress’s voice was sharp.


“You will pay the consequences for your behavior.”


“I don’t care.”
Skye stiffened, leaning out to see better. Jenny was letting herself be dragged, not even trying to keep up. Her face was worn, but it was her eyes the caught Skye’s attention. They were empty. She remembered just a few weeks ago, playing outside with Jenny, except that Jenny was laughing then, her eyes sparking contagious energy. Now they were lifeless.


“Well maybe that’s your problem!” The headmistress rambled on.
Jenny suddenly stopped. Skye had to crane her neck to see as Jenny looked at the headmistress.


“I don’t though. You can lock me in my room for weeks without food. You can send me to a different state. You can do whatever you’d like to me, because it doesn’t matter. Life isn’t worth the struggle to survive. Don’t tell me to care when there’s nothing left to care about.”

Your 42 seconds have ceased.


Skye swung her legs over the side of the bed. Jenny’s words echoed in her mind as she got ready for another day. Jenny was wrong. As hard as life got sometimes--and it did get pretty hard, Skye reflected, glancing at the blood stain on her jeans from forgetting to dust one of the back rooms--there were still things left to care about. Giving up meant you ceased to care. Skye thought about her parents, who left her so many years ago. She hated to even think it, but her mind reminded her that they gave up. They stopped caring. Skye looked at the blood stain again. Bad things happened when people gave up. Skye slowly slipped her shirt over her aching arms. As much as she hated her foster agency, at least it was there. Somebody cared enough to start it. It was when somebody stopped caring that it got bad. When someone gave up on the good things in life and decided to stop trying.
Your time is running short.


Skye laced her sneakers and blew out a big breath. Today she felt like crawling back into bed and sleeping for another eight hours. Today, all she wanted was a warm hug and a soft voice telling her that somebody loved her. Today, she was going to wash windows and paint a side of the house. Today, as much as she felt like it, she wasn’t going to give in to the aching of her muscles and the weariness of her mind. Skye tugged at the door. It felt heavier than usual, but Skye wasn’t going to give up. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, but not today. Today was another day she was going to care.

“They’re streaked.”


The disapproving tone broke into Skye’s thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Kolia staring critically at her paint job. He snatched the brush from her tired hand and jabbed experimentally at the side of the house.


“Redo.” He said and stormed off.


Skye sighed and dipped the brush in the grey paint once more. She stretched on the tall stepladder, barely able to reach the higher paneling. But she was going to. Because she had no choice.


Later that afternoon, Skye entered the kitchen and dropped straight into one of the mismatched chairs. She didn’t think it was possible to feel any more tired.
Physically, your body can handle fourteen more minutes of that type of exertion. Emotionally, you have, to borrow the colloquialism, reached rock bottom.


She groaned and let her head fall to the dark wood table like a sack of Mrs. Kolia’s delicious potatoes.


“I thought I said redo them.”


Skye jerked upright. Mr. Kolia was there again, looking, if it were possible, even angrier than before.


“I-I did,” she mumbled, flushed. Her stomach twisted at Mr. Kolia’s eyes.
They were small black slits in his large, menacing face.


“It is a horrible job. I told you to redo better and you disobeyed.”
Skye scooted back in her chair until she was pressed flat against the uncomfortable wooden back. She didn’t dare say anything. Even her brain seemed to freeze as she caught a glimpse of a belt wrapped tightly around one clenched fist.


“You have gone against my wishes too many times. I will teach you the consequences!”


His face was pressing up against hers now, and Skye’s brain unfroze enough to analyze the stale breath that filled her nostrils.
This male consumed sausage--
Don’t tell me what he had for lunch! part of Skye screamed. The rest of her was stone still, frozen in time as Mr. Kolia grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of her chair. A whimper escaped between her quivering lips as she realized with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach what was about to happen.



She didn’t care where she was going. Stumbling, staggering, she made it down the long walk, just trying to get away. Away from the house, away from him, away from pain...Blood mixed with tears dripped a trail behind her as she let instinct lead her to the only safe place her mind knew.



Skye woke up confused, with one thought burning in her mind.


Pain.


As she sat up slowly, pure agony raced through her back and shoulders. It all came rushing back then, and Skye glanced around her. It was hard to see in the darkness, but by squinting, she made out steps and a door. She was on a front porch.
The home of Allie, to be precise.


Allie’s house. Skye stood up ignoring the wave of nausea that rolled over her. After a moment the pain was too great and she sagged against one of the supportive posts. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and suddenly the air seemed cold and damp. Skye reached out a bloody hand and touched the screen door. She was about to open it, then stopped. Inside, a conflict raged so great it almost blocked out the pain. She hurt. She wanted soft hands, calm voices, and the thought of comfort and protection. Her grip tightened on the handle. Then reason overcame emotion.
You will be giving yourself up. To the police. Are you actually going to be dumb enough to trust a stranger? Dumb enough to go to the police? Remember...remember...


The words echoed in her skull adding to the migraine she already had. Skye let go of the handle and wrapped her arm around the post for support. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to think.
Warmth. Relief.
Danger. Police.


Emotion wasn’t willing to give up that easily.
Love.


Skye felt like bolting inside. But her brain wasn’t done either.
Court.


Once again, cold, hard, logic, combined with memories of the consequences of the times she had given in to emotion, won her over. Skye took a shuddering breath and stumbled back down the porch, out into the night.



The house was dark when Skye entered. She didn’t dare make any noise, heading straight for her room. The thought of sleep danced in her mind but instead of going to bed, she paused before her door and turned right. Deep into the house she crept, careful not to make any noise. Past doors and paintings, until she ended up in a wing she had never been in before. Trying a few knobs, she found one unlocked and went in. It was a bare, empty room, with a rough table and a few chairs. Her own room was too close to the Kolia’s bedroom, but this one had what Skye needed. Solitude. She curled up in a corner and buried her head in her knees, her hair falling around her like a curtain. There, in the silence of the night, she sat, sobbing.

The next day went on as if nothing had happened. Skye found herself on the ladder, paint-brush in hand right after a silent breakfast. She dipped the bristles in the grey paint and swiped the side carefully. Her back and shoulders ached horribly and her head throbbed in the heat of the sun. Every move she made felt like a bad acupuncturist on steroids was working on her muscles, but she just moved a little slower. Pain was one feeling she knew. Every hour or so, Mr. Kolia would come over and stand there, watching with his arms folded across his bulky chest. Neither would acknowledge the other, except for a grunt or slap from Mr. Kolia, depending on the quality of her work. It was after one of his grunting visits that Skye let her mind wander a bit. She thought about Allie, and how she had gone there instinctively to find comfort. Then she thought about policemen and stabbed the brush into the paint angrily. Nothing would get her to turn to the police for help. Skye kept painting, but her mind replayed the court scene. Over and over again, she remembered the judge’s words biting through the hope that Skye had held onto. She heard the gavel come down as if it were banging right next to her. She could see the looks of their faces, every pixel in high-definition. Despite the hot sun beating down, a cold shiver ran through her body.


No, she would never, ever trust the police again.
Your instincts are wrong. Allie is not where you will find comfort.
Although, it did seem like--


No.


Her brain firmly refused any more thought on the subject. She sighed and shut away any thought of Allie, hoping to never have to open it again.


Instead, she began to run through every color that existed as she went through each repetition of dipping the brush, wiping the bush, swiping the brush. It kept her occupied for quite a while. Mr. Kolia approached and stared at her work for a while. Skye tried her best to ignore him but something inside of her still clenched uncomfortably when he stood near to her. This side of the house was almost done. The sun hadn’t gotten any cooler or her arms any less tired, but a kind of numbness crept over her until she felt like the automated doll one of her foster sisters had gotten for Christmas. Mr. Kolia stood by watching as she climbed down off the ladder and folded it up to move it to the next side. She stumbled carrying the cumbersome object but Mr. Kolia just watched with arms folded as she set it down and came back for the paint can and brush.


“Quicker.” He ordered, and then walked off.


Skye bit her lip and watched him leave, the knot inside of her slowly loosening as he faded from sight. Never once would she think of disobeying him, so, close to tears, she lifted up the paint can and painfully began her repetitions once more.


It was well past lunchtime when she finished the last stroke to Mr. Kolia’s approval. To her surprise, after seeing her almost fall over trying to carry the ladder, he lifted it out of her hands, hoisted it up with one arm, and walked off with it.


Skye, shocked as she was, had other matters to attend to and didn’t want to spend time trying to figure out her foster parent.


But first, she had to clean the brush and wipe off the can. While she searched for the proper cleaner in the garage, she found something much more intriguing.
A little knob next to the tool bench looked suspiciously out of place. With a quick glance around, childish curiosity somehow fought its way up through her frozen emotions and led her to place a blistered hand on it and try to pull it. A small square swung open so easily she almost lost her balance.
If you had been paying attention, you would have remembered that this is not a tunnel, but merely a hiding space .91 meters high, .86 meters deep, and .33 meters wide. Easily concealed by the tool bench or that hook lying on the ground roughly 2 meters from where you are standing. This is the only hiding spot in the garage, although there is a hidden tunnel entrance underneath the spare car parts.


Skye studied the small area for a few seconds. She filed it away in her brain with a feeling that could only be described as intuition that she may have use of it later.



Allie found herself rushing to get out the door the next morning. It was one of those days when her alarm didn’t go off, only to find out it was because she had forgotten to plug in her phone and it had died. This was a problem when she needed to use it at work, and 10 minutes of charging wasn’t going to cut it. She barely had time to grab a granola bar before shoving her shoes on and racing out to the car. She would grab coffee on the way. But of course, there wasn’t enough gas to get her to the office and she realized she had never filled it up the night before. Fortunately, she kept a can in the garage, but then her garage code wasn’t working. So she found herself fumbling for keys on the front porch to get herself back inside.


That was when she saw the blood stains.


Spattered around the support post, on the ground, around the handle--faint, but still visible. She squatted down to investigate it further. Two sets of blood drops led from the street to the porch. One coming and one going, she guessed. She weighed her options. She could call the lab and have them try to get a swab for DNA; call the rest of the crew for fingerprinting and pictures and open up a new case to find this mysterious injured person; or follow the trail of blood to see where it would lead, like Hansel and Gretel’s trail of crumbs.


But she had a nagging feeling about this. Something inside of her told her this wasn’t just random chance. She didn’t really believe in woman’s intuition, but she knew that she knew the answer. Sometime it would come to her, but for the moment, some instinct told her to keep it to herself. Later, when she got off work, she could follow it up. For the moment though, she had to get to work. She went all the way back to the car, started it, and then remembered why she went up there in the first place.


“And you call yourself a detective,” she scolded herself with a sigh as she scrambled out once more.



It was surprising how early she got home. Work had been slow that day--thank goodness--and so Allie found herself driving down her street with plenty of time before dark. She was almost to her house when she remembered the blood stains and paused.
Not the best idea in the middle of a street.


A car honked behind her and shouted rude things out the window. Allie waved an apology and made a U-turn, catching a glimpse of an angry college student as she sped past. In her mind Allie was watching the girl that had fainted walk away.
She drove around for a few blocks until she saw it. A large building with a small sign in the clipped front yard.
Harding Foster Agency and Orphanage.
This had to be her place. Allie remembered the look of loneliness and desperation in Skye’s eyes. A look that would come from living without a family. She was positive this was Skye’s home. It made sense too, why Skye wouldn’t want her to see it. Allie surveyed the grounds.


Honestly, it looked like a normal house. An iron fence surrounded the small grassy property which sat on a normal looking street. Even despite this, there was a distinctly desolate feeling to the place that Allie felt keenly. Three stories tall, anyone would describe it as “big,” yet it didn’t seem imposing like some of the agencies Allie had seen before. Maybe it was the fact that, nice as it looked, it felt shabby and small for its size.
Oh yes. She was making loads of sense.
Allie shook her head, annoyed with her unprofessional description and drove up to the gate.
An intercom buzzed.


“State your name and business.”
Allie stuck her head out of her open window and pressed the button. “Allie Creel, police.”


There was a pause. She was beginning to wonder if they would let her in when the gate suddenly began to swing open. She parked in the driveway and walked up the front, not missing a thing. She noted two alarms.


Weird.


The door opened before she had even lifted her hand.


“Hello, please come in.”
Allie had always wondered how people could tell if a smile “reached someone’s eyes.”
Now she knew.


The woman who held the door open smiled as big and wide as a model with perfect teeth but her eyes pierced through Allie’s skull. She had the uncomfortable sensation this woman was reading her mind.


‘Icy’ was how she would describe those eyes. Cold, hard, and glittering like diamonds. If any pair of eyes lacked a smile, these did. Dressed in no-nonsense black slacks and jacket and her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, Allie had the feeling that this woman was all business and no fun.


“You are Mz. Creel?”
Allie broke her examination and pulled out her badge.


“I need to speak to the head of this place,” she said firmly.


Sometimes her family and friends had a hard time believing she worked for the police, let alone was a lead detective. They saw Allie Creel as fun, lovable, and sometimes--if they were frank--a little bit dense. Happy-go-lucky, almost. Allie just laughed and said she didn’t know how she got so far either.


The truth was, nobody would doubt her abilities for a second if they could see her now. As she walked through the lobby, it was as if her entire face rearranged itself to settle into an impenetrable mask. The eyes hardened and began jumping around to miss nothing. Even her voice seemed to deepen.


“I am in charge here. My name is Niarra Randil. Please, come with me to my office.” The woman took off, her high heels clicking down the wooden floor.


Allie heard laughter as she walked through. That was a good sign. It raised her opinion of the place considerably. The receptionist at the desk smiled sunnily. There was a fireplace against one wall, and comfortable looking chairs surrounded a coffee table that was littered with magazines. The woman led her down a hallway with doors lined on either side, turned right, and finally stopped in front of a fogged glass door that said simply,
Office.


She opened it and gestured for Allie to enter. It was small. White walls, a desk in the middle, one comfortable desk chair behind it, two hard-backed chairs in front.
A few scenic pictures decorated the walls, but mostly bookcases and file cabinets took up the space. A small bench was shoved against one wall. A computer took up one corner of the desk and papers another. Allie sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs while Niarra sat behind the desk.


“So Officer Creel, what can I do for you?” Niarra folded her hands on her desk and looked expectantly at Allie.

“Actually, it’s Detective Creel. I’m here merely to inquire after one of your charges. A Skye, I believe her name is?”

“My apologies, Detective Creel. We have three Skye’s here. Is there a problem?”

“Not that I have seen so far. I ran into this Skye a few days ago and would just like to see her.”
Niarra’s smile tightened. “As I said, we have more than one Skye here.”

Allie smiled back. “Small, around 9 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, quiet. I am sure I could identify her. Can you give me her where-abouts?”
Niarra dropped the smile now. “I think I know who you want, but I am sure that you are aware that kind of information is confidential to the safety of both the child and the adopters.”


“So she was adopted then?” Allie jumped on that word.


“Merely a term we use for those interested,” Niarra said. She shuffled some papers around. “So I’m afraid this visit was a bit of a waste.


“On the contrary, any current officer who has concerns about the well-being of a child, especially one in the system, has legal right to the whereabouts of legal guardians.”


“I was under the impression that that kind of information required a warrant.”
Pleasantries were gone now. The exchange was stripped down to what it really was. A battle. And Allie was sure she could win.


“What kind would you like me to get? A search warrant for the information? That would give me right to look over all of the documents in your possession. Bit of a hassle.
With my credentials I can legally see the records without one, anyways. I am aware now that Skye is with foster parents. Please show me the name, phone number, and address.”


There was a pause.


What if she refuses?


Allie hadn’t really thought through this in her mind. Even though she was confident, really, she was just improvising. This whole idea was so far-fetched it almost didn’t seem right to plan.


Finally Niarra stood up and walked over to a small cabinet. It clicked as she pulled open a drawer, rifled through papers, then pulled out one that she handed to Allie. Across the top were the words
Information: #204


“Number 204?” Allie wondered out loud.


“Yes, well, since most of the children don’t have last names, it’s easier to keep track by number,” Niarra said coldly. “Now, if that’s all...”


Allie nodded and stood up. “Yes. Thank you. And I can find my way out,” she added as Niarra opened the door.


“I’m sure you can. Goodbye,” said Niarra.


Allie clicked loudly down the hall then suddenly stopped and turned silently down a dark hallway. She didn’t go far before hearing faint whispers that gradually grew louder until Allie could make out a girl pacing up and down the hall, muttering to herself. When she caught sight of Allie, she jumped.


“I-I’m sorry, I was just stepping out for a moment--I’ll head right back now, I promise!” she stammered.


Allie stepped into a patch of light.


“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I’m a visitor.”
The girl stared at her, frightened. “I--I don’t think you should be here. The Head’s office is down the hall and to the right.”


“I’ve just come from there,” Allie smiled. “Can I ask you a question?”


“I-I’d, you’d better, better not.” The girl stumbled over her words in a hurry to leave.


“Hey, it’s okay. Can you keep a secret? It’s not just you who thinks that Niarra wouldn’t be happy to see me.”


The girl’s eyes darted nervously from Allie to a door, but she stayed where she was.


“What do you want?” she whispered.


“I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about this place, you know, from your perspective.”


“I don’t think--” The girl stopped when Allie pulled out her badge and quietly showed it to her.


Even in the dim lighting Allie could see the blood drain from her face.


“You’re--you’re a-- please, please, just go,” the girl moaned, consternation written all over her face. “Please, leave us alone--just--just--go...leave.”


She backed up, turned around and ran.

Allie didn’t miss the tear that had slipped out and fallen to the ground. She tucked her badge back and frowned. Something was wrong. Something was very, very, wrong.

Skye was vacuuming. Pulling the machine back and forth and thinking over the correct stroke to maximize the carpet fiber area while minimizing the actual physical effort she had to put into it.
By pushing it farther, you technically gain more ground, but it takes more effort to pull the machine back because the friction of the carpet fibers is doubled when pushed down to where the acceleration due to gravity increases ever so slightly with the well known equation by Newton which states that the---


The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. It startled her almost into turning the vacuum off, but then she thought better of it.
However, Mr. Kolia left for the hardware store to pick up proper shutter paint. Mrs. Kolia left for the grocery store. Although this violates foster child rules, the main point is that you are alone in the house and therefore are the only one who can open the door.


It rang again and this time Skye did shut the vacuum down. She walked through a few rooms until she reached the front room. As she passed the window, she saw a familiar dark blue car.
Allie.


Skye stopped.


She couldn't answer the door. Not now. Not here. She turned around to leave but something stopped her. The hand.
The warm feeling flashed over her for just a moment, the one when Allie had touched her, and without realizing it her hand crept up to hold that spot, as if to try and hold in the memory before it left her.
She opened the door.


“Skye!” Allie burst out.


“Miss Allie,” Skye murmured. She stood there in the doorway, one hand on the knob. “How did you--”


“I went to the agency.”
She didn’t. This could have dire consequences. Get away, now.


“What do you want?” she asked.


“I just wanted to check up on you. See how you are, you know, make sure you’re okay.”


“I’m fine.”
Was that a car? No. Her imagination was getting the better of her.


“Can I come in?” Allie peered over Skye’s shoulder.


“Look, Miss, I don’t know why exactly you’re here, but I’m fine. You should probably go.”


She started to close the door but Allie stuck her foot between it and the frame.


“Skye, I know something is wrong.”
Skye said nothing but her hand tightened ever so slightly on the handle.


“Nothing is wrong. I--I just need to go now. Goodbye.”
You are talking to a stranger. A police stranger. You are alone, but at any moment one or both of the Kolias could return, which would not be mutually beneficial. In addition, the fact that she contacted the agency and asked about you means that trouble will be following in her wake. Hide your emotions and stay away!


Despite Allie’s foot, Skye managed to shove the door closed. Allie stayed out there a few moments longer, clearly not satisfied with Skye’s answer. Skye listened by the door until she heard the car drive away, she turned and leaned against the door letting out a deep breath.


That was way too close. No more answering doorbells.


Still, there was a part of her that seemed to ache in a strange way she hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the part of her that knew she was pushing away the only help she might ever get.


She closed her eyes and heard the gavel come crashing down.