The Loctorian Chronicles- Awakening

by Andi J Feron

  My tenth birthday came and went without notice. Allie and I formed a routine. I would get up early to do my paper route to keep food on the table. I rushed home to get Allie up and dressed every morning for school. I would make sure she ate breakfast and got on the bus. At first, my friends would ask me to do things after school, but I couldn’t leave Allie alone. My dad would drink, and I knew Allie being only six could get into a lot of trouble on her own.

  My grandparents often called to check on us, and I would lie by telling them things were fine. As difficult as it was keeping up our routine, I didn’t want to leave my home either. I could manage with Allie fine. When I was twelve, I talked the grocery store manager into letting me help people get their groceries to their cars. On the weekends I would dig up earthworms and sell them to a bait shop in town.

  I opened my dad’s bills since he never touched them anymore. Our house was somehow paid for automatically. Between all my jobs, I was able to keep the lights on and put food on the table. Dad went to the bar for hours at a time. I would always make sure to leave dinner for him in the fridge.

  The few hours I was at work, Allie would stay with the Trammels. I was happy she could be part of a normal family. One night I arrived home to find Allie had been dropped off early. I did not have a cell phone, so there was no way for me to be reached. I walked in to find the living room covered in a blanket fort. At eight-years-old, Allie still found this activity appealing. I glanced at the clock and saw my dad would be home soon. I figured if Dad couldn’t get to his chair, he would be mad.

  I started pulling blankets down. “Allie! We have to clean this up before Dad comes home.”

  She tried to yank the blankets from my hand. “I worked all afternoon on this!”

  “You’ve been home all afternoon?”

  “Yes, the Trammels had to leave town. John’s Grandpa died.”

  “You know we have to keep the living room clear so Dad can have his chair.”

  “Why? Can’t he play fort with me for one night?”

  She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that our dad was a living ghost who still chose to haunt us with his presence. Mid-argument I heard the back door slam. Dad peered in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. He was drunk, and I saw his face fume. He stumbled, throwing blankets about, causing a vase to shatter.

  “What are you doing?!” he bellowed while fighting to reach his chair.

  I grabbed Allie and pulled her out of the room as he ravaged the living room.

  Allie was crying. “He tore up my fort Talon.”

  “You shouldn’t have built it there.”

  “But it’s where I remember Malcom.”

  I suddenly realized I had not known she remembered Malcom that clearly or missed him so greatly. I placed my headphones over her ears and played Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”. I hoped she would not hear our father finally releasing his rage. I loved eighties music, as it reminded me of my mother. She would play it on our stereo in the living room, and we would have family dance parties.

  We would let loose, not worrying about anything else but moving to the rhythm in whatever manner we desired. I often listened to it when I missed my mom, and I was hoping in this moment it would bring Allie the same comfort.

  When Allie went to sleep, I tiptoed to the living room to assess the damage. My dad was passed out on the couch. I would have to wait until tomorrow to clean up. I wanted to be sure the glass was picked up, so Allie didn’t step on any.

  I picked up a Saturday shift and saved some extra money. I knew we had some building materials and tools in our shed. I went to the library to grab a couple “how-to” books and finished at the hardware store.

  I spent several weekends building Allie a treehouse in our big oak out back. I asked Mr. Trammel to make sure it was safe. He helped me reinforce the structure and said it passed his inspection. I gave Allie a permanent fort to make new memories. John would come over, and they would have adventures inside the walls of the treehouse.

  Chapter Two

  Seraphine - September 23, 2002

  Three weeks after my twelfth birthday, my social worker brought me to a blue cheery house. The man with the stuck smile greeted us. My new foster dad looked at me as if he was being given a treat to devour how he pleased. The man led me to the room he said was mine, but he lied because he controlled what happened there. I escaped into my head when he appeared. I pretended I was with my mother, planting our pink daisies.

  Two weeks of feeling helpless made me angry enough to view the knife sitting on the kitchen counter as an escape. When the man left to grab his paper, I tucked the blade into my pocket and concealed the handle with my shirt. Tonight I would find my freedom.

  When bedtime arrived I climbed into bed terrified. I laid on my side, holding the knife against my hip. My hand trembled as I tightened my fingers around the bottom of the knife. The door creaked and I knew he was in the doorway, ready for our nightly routine. He wouldn’t touch me tonight. I was no longer his to do with as he pleased.

  I tried to slow my breathing as I turned to face him. He stood at the side of my bed and hesitated when he saw me looking him in the eye. When he lifted my blanket to climb in, I raised the knife. I embedded the blade deep into his thigh. He screeched a ravenous cry as though his voice might consume me. I rolled and in one swift movement, hit the floor.

  I needed to reach the door before he recovered, or else my freedom would be gained through death. He launched after me, and I slipped through as he slammed the door shut. I felt the door pinch at my back, but I kept fleeing through the house, praying I could undo all the latches to the outside. My shaking hands weren’t aiding my endeavor as I fumbled past the final lock.

  Pebbles pierced my feet as I ran over the gravel driveway. I plowed into the neighbor as she took her golden retriever for a walk. She sent me a glare, but I took no time to offer excuses. I held silent gratitude, for her presence stopped my pursuer from dragging me to my demise.

  There was no real plan besides incapacitating the predator and running. I hadn’t thought through the dipping temperatures or my lack of provisions. I spent three days sifting through dumpsters in the hopes to find sustenance and warmth. I was scraping by with enough to survive, but this kind of life wouldn’t hold for long.

  “You know the Ladardo dumpster always holds cleaner food. I could take you there if you like,” a frail, elderly woman said as she pushed her shopping cart toward the dumpster I was attempting to climb.

  “I would appreciate that.” I walked after her, and she tossed me a pair of socks to put on my exposed feet.

  After finding some boxed up meals, she told me her name was Elmira. With the promise of safety, she led me to a tent city where the homeless had forged a community. The fire embers provided me with warmth as I sat on a log. I listened to a man with a scruffy beard play his fiddle. The music ignited dancing throughout the camp

  “Where are you planning on sleeping tonight?” a voice called behind me. I jumped and turned to see a boy with nearly white-blond hair and blue eyes. I guessed that he was around my age. He placed a soft blanket over my shoulders.

  “I’m sleeping by the fire. I don’t have anywhere else,” I said.

  “You want to stay in my tent? I have a lot more blankets in there, and it’ll keep this cold wind off of you.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to crowd you out.”

  “If anything you’d be helping me keep warm. I’m Lucius by the way.”

  “Seraphine.”

  I accepted his offer and soon found myself curled up next to Lucius under several blankets. He cuddled with me every night, and his comforts got me through the coldest of the winter. He was skilled at stealing food, and I never went hungry after he found me.

  One night, Lucius was yelling incoherently in his sleep, and I shook him awake. He sat up startled.

  “Someone hurt you bad, didn’t they?” I asked.

  “Yeah, my par
ents didn’t like me very much. They wished I was never born, but since I was, they thought I deserved to be punished for it.”

  “I don’t care what they said, the day you were born was a good day.”

  He smiled at me. “I love you Seraphine.”

  I snuggled up to him. “I love you Lucius.”

  The camp we were in had around fifty tents, and we made friends with almost everyone there.

  Elmira brought her shopping cart over to where Lucius and I were sharing a blanket. “I found some shoes today. I saw they were a size five. You told me that’s what you wear Seraphine. You want them?”

  “That would be great.” I removed my torn-up shoes and replaced them with the new shoes she had found for me.

  Everyone in the homeless community looked out for each other. The inhabitants of our camp had very little, but they were the most generous people I had ever met. At night we would listen to Harry tell old war stories. James would get out his fiddle, and Lucius and I would dance together. I was the happiest I had been since being placed in foster care.

  “I’m going to go get some more food. We’re running low,” Lucius told me one morning.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, it’s raining. You stay here where it’s warm.”

  “Can’t you wait until it stops?”

  Lucius shook his head. “No, Bob has that weather radio, and it’s supposed to last all week. We’ll be out of food before then.”

  “Alright. Be careful. Don’t get caught.”

  He smiled. “Never.”

  I laid back on a pillow and listened to droplets patter on the sides of our tent. The smell of fresh rain brought drowsy comfort and I dozed off. I was startled awake by the sounds of sirens and yelling. Police were in our camp, and everyone was trying to quickly gather their things and flee before all they owned was confiscated.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I pulled the blanket over my head, hoping if I stayed quiet enough they wouldn’t check my tent. I heard the zipper moving, notifying me that someone was now peering inside. I held my breath.

  A man called, “This one is empty!”

  “Pack it up then,” another man said.

  My blankets moved away from me, and I scrunched in the corner as though I was trying to dissolve into it.

  The police officer stared at me. “What’s your name?” He spoke gently as if trying to calm me.

  “Seraphine.”

  “Seraphine, how old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “No one is going to hurt you. Everything is okay. Are your mom and dad close?”

  “No, please don’t send me back,” I begged.

  “Do your parents hurt you?”

  “No, the man the social worker put me with does.”

  “Why don’t you come out and we’ll figure out how to get you somewhere safe and warm.”

  I couldn’t move, and he left for a minute. He brought back a female officer who persuaded me to move out of the tent. She put a blanket around me and gave me a thermos of hot cocoa.

  “Let her go!” Lucius yelled.

  He ran toward me, and I gave him the thermos to share the cocoa with him. We were driven to the police station. To my dismay, a social worker came to transport us to a group home.

  The facility was overcrowded, and at night, Lucius and I were separated. He would sneak out and find my room. In the mornings, the people in charge would find us curled up in bed together. After a week of this, they told him if he was found in my room again, he would be taken to a different home.

  One day they called us all into the main room of the home, and a man named Mr. Fausto said he had an opportunity for a few of us, if we qualified. Both Lucius and I made it to the next round. We eagerly joined what they were calling, “The Program.” Lucius told them we would do whatever they wanted as long as they kept us together.

  I didn’t know what part of my soul I bartered away when I signed on the line. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be taken to another cheery house full of secrets I couldn’t endure. Giving my soul to the cause they told us about, seemed much better than losing it to the shadows one night at a time.

  Chapter Three

  Talon - September 6, 2004

  By the time I was fourteen, I was struggling to keep up with everything. I did my best to handle school, but I was tired every day. By the third time I was sent to the office for falling asleep in class, the principal said he would have to contact my parents.

  My dad was continually drunk or sleeping. If the school found out how bad things were, they might contact social services. No way would I let them take my sister. I promised the principal my in-class snoozing would cease. He agreed to give me another chance, but a couple of days later, I broke my promise.

  Mr. Bryant, the school guidance counselor, called me into his office, “I’m concerned, Talon. Principal Fischer contacted me because he wasn’t able to reach your parents. You staying up too late playing video games? A lot of boys do. They wait for their parents to go to bed and then on the machine goes.”

  I would have to have a parent who cared first. Not video games, but multiple jobs and collecting cans were what did it.

  I stared at the floor, “Yeah, I really like racing and battlefield games.”

  “I see. I think we should discuss with your parents limiting your access to your game machines.”

  I looked up at Mr. Bryant, “I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll go to bed by nine every night.”

  “How would you like to be involved in a new program Locto Corp is setting up in a town a little ways from here? A mentor program of sorts. It would be after school. Maybe steer you away from the video games, and then I’d feel you were putting in genuine effort.”

  “I can’t. I work at the grocery store after school.”

  “I see, you need money for your video games.”

  “No, college.”

  “What if I told you the program eventually pays for college. It’s an ROTC program of sorts. Not only does it pay for college if you successfully complete the program, but there are paid intern programs that will pay a lot more than any after-school job.”

  “How do you get an internship?”

  Mr. Bryant typed into his phone, “Why don’t I set you up an interview?”

  “Okay.”

  At my agreement, he allowed me to return to class, but my mind wouldn’t focus on anything my teachers said. Nothing in my closet was decent enough for an interview. I wasn’t sure the thrift store where I shopped for our clothes would have anything. It was imperative I make this work; Allie needed new shoes and a coat, and I was worried about how I was going to pay for either.

  Before I left school that day, Mr. Bryant stopped me, “Got you an interview for tomorrow at four. Here’s the address.” He handed me a piece of paper and a round trip bus ticket.

  I realized I would have to take the bus twenty minutes to the next town. I biked to the thrift store and found a shirt and tie that added up to four dollars and sixty-five cents. With only five dollars in my pocket, I would have to see if I could find a few cans to recycle to buy dinner tonight.

  My quest for cans failed, which resulted in me asking Mrs. Trammel if Allie could eat dinner there for the night. I lied about having to work on a school project at a friend’s house. Mrs. Trammel said it wouldn’t be an issue and Allie could even stay the night. I was hungry, but at least I would get breakfast at school in the morning. I was happy our school had a free meal policy for everyone who attended.

  The next day I put on the yellow dress shirt and red tie I bought. I wasn’t sure about the color scheme, but I read an article once that claimed a red tie would display confidence in an interview. I arrived fifteen minutes early and was directed by the dark-haired secretary at the front desk to wait in the lobby. The building was massive with glass walls. I watched the large fountain in the middle of the entryway spray random water patterns.

  Five minutes after four, a man in a bla
ck suit and blue tie greeted me. His brown hair was cut neatly against his head and matched his eyes. His beard was also trimmed, and there was a familiarity about him I couldn’t place.

  He shook my hand, “Talon, I presume?” I nodded. He introduced himself—“Ryan Fausto.”

  He led me down a sleek hallway. The floors maintained a smooth finish throughout, and the walls were covered in abstract artwork. All the offices contained tinted glass walls with retractable blinds to help with privacy. We made it to his office.

  He motioned me to sit. “I see you want a paid internship position. Your guidance counselor has sent over a nice letter of recommendation.”

  “He did? I mean yes, he did.”

  “To receive the internship, you’ll need to participate in our mentorship program.”

  “I came because I need a job that pays better money than the one I have now. I was told I could interview and possibly get the internship right away. How long does the mentorship take?”

  “It’s about a six-month time span, and if you are chosen from the pool, you get the internship.”

  I got up to leave, “I can’t commit to six months without pay. I apologize for wasting your time.”

  “Would you like to know what the internship pays first?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t see the point.”

  “It’s a thousand.”

  I sat back down and narrowed my eyes. “A thousand a month is difficult to walk away from, but I don’t know what I would do for six months.”

  “That’s per week,” Fausto grinned.

  What was wrong with these people giving a fourteen-year-old kid the chance to make that kind of money on a part-time gig? None of this made sense. Maybe Mr. Bryant fudged my resume? I was tall for my age, and I knew I could pass for older. I couldn’t survive for six months with no income. I needed to pay the utilities and keep food on the table. Allie could eat at school on weekdays, but I wouldn’t let her go hungry on the weekends.