by S. R. Grey
Flynn does take care of Cody. He treats him like he really is his little brother.
“These kids should be outside, playing,” Mandy hisses as she smacks a bouncing bead down on the floor. “They shouldn’t be stuck in this barn for hours and hours. They need a goddamn break once in a while. It’s not normal, keeping little kids cooped up all day, working, working, always fucking working.”
She wipes away a tear.
Mandy is usually so calm and collected. I’m surprised by her reaction, but understand it completely. I feel the same way. Every part of this set-up feels so very, very wrong. Mandy and Flynn essentially run the home-schooling, supervise the craft projects, and are in charge of making sure we’re locked in our respective bedrooms every night. Yet we have no privileges or rights. Instead, we contend with things like portioned-out food, loads of work assignments, cameras in the upstairs hallway, high gates at the entrance, and wire fencing.
“This place is sort of like a prison,” I murmur.
Mandy looks over at me and shakes her head. Her eyes are watery, filled with more tears. “You’re just figuring that out?”
“No, but I guess it’s finally really settling in.”
“Just make sure you don’t get settled in,” she says. There’s a note of warning in her tone. “Don’t ever get too comfortable here, Jaynie. Make sure you always have an out.”
I can’t help but wonder what she means.
But I’m not entirely sure I want to find out.
Flynn
I don’t sleep well, haven’t since I was twelve years old. I toss and turn most nights, and when I do drift off, my rest is fitful. Old wounds, on my psyche and in my soul, haunt me when it’s dark.
So this night, same as most, sleep is elusive.
I stare up at the slanted ceiling of the third floor bedroom I share with a kid who reminds me of the brother I lost. A heavy rain is pouring down outside, pelting the window, washing away another fucked-up day, courtesy of Allison Lowry.
Pulling me from a day of work in the craft barn was Allison’s not-so-veiled attempt to have me around while her mother went into town this afternoon. The cleaning projects she had me wasting my time on were ridiculous. Dusting the living room, mopping the kitchen floor, all things already completed on chore day. At the end of the day, Allison had me helping her load the washer and dryer, and then we smoked a cigarette in the back of the house.
Shit, she sure was pissed when she offered me the rest of the pack and I declined. Truth is I’ve been meaning to quit smoking anyway. Plus, Jaynie’s words have been ringing in my head since the day I met her. I don’t care much about the smoking-will-kill-you part—we all have to die from something, right?—but I can’t deny it is a pretty gross habit.
So, I’m in the process of quitting, really quitting. It isn’t easy, though. Like, I sure could use a smoke right about now. If I’d accepted that pack from Allison, I’d be pushing open the window by my bed, hopping up on the window sill, and kicking back while I exhaled plumes of white out into the rainy night. If Cody were awake, he’d be bugging me to make smoke rings for him. He likes shit like that.
Turning to my side, away from the window, I punch the pillow. “Fuck.”
I did the right thing, I know I did. I don’t like living a life beholden to Allison Lowry, and she was my cigarette lifeline. One less connection to her is a good thing, especially since her advances have become more insistent. This afternoon when she called me up to the second-floor bathroom, where she was taking an all-too-convenient middle-of-the-day shower, she pushed back the curtain all the way and asked me to hand her a bath towel.
Yeah, I saw everything. But then I walked away. Good body or not, I have no interest in that conniving bitch.
Thunder rumbles in the background, like a warning. I have a bad feeling this thing with Allison won’t end well. I used to find her harmless, just another girl who liked the way I look. Hey, I don’t see it, but I seem to get hit on everywhere I live. Not that I haven’t indulged—some hot chicks have offered to do some very hot things, and I am a guy—but I’m kind of past that stage in my life.
Another aversion I have to Mrs. Lowry’s daughter is that my past hook-ups have always been with girls my age, and usually girls in the system. I’ve never screwed around with any actual family members of my foster families, especially not one four years older.
A second low growl of thunder shakes the house, and then a bright flash of lightning crackles and illuminates the room. Cody stirs in the bed across from mine.
When he starts to whimper, I say in a low, soothing voice, “Everything’s okay, little man. It’s just a storm brewing.”
He’s not awake, but sometimes if I whisper soothing words to calm him, he stays asleep. Keeping his terrible nightmares at bay is my mission, especially with the new girl in the house. The last thing any of us needs is for Cody to have one of his night terror episodes.
When the nightmares come, and surely they will again, there’s only one thing that calms Cody—falling back to sleep next to his twin. Problem is Callie sleeps in the girls’ bedroom down the hall. It doesn’t sound like a problem till you factor in we’re not allowed to wander the halls at night. Cameras make sure the only place we dare venture is to the bathroom located between the two rooms.
Cody mumbles something incoherent and kicks his blankets to the foot of the bed. “Shit,” I mutter.
It’s going to happen, I know it is. A whole week and a couple of days without a nightmare is a record. The Good Dreams gods were blessing us, but our luck is about to run out. I sense it in the storm-electrified air.
Luckily, Mandy and I devised a system not long after I arrived. Mandy was already here, taking care of the twins. I replaced a kid who wanted nothing more than to get out. He used to let Cody scream and scream throughout his bad nights.
What happened to the guy I replaced, who knows? And who cares? He never reported the poor conditions here. Or maybe he did, and Mrs. Lowry paid off any interested parties.
Mrs. Lowry works the system best as she can. She takes advantage of underpaid social workers to make sure they leave her alone. She likes to foster four kids at any one time to make sure quotas are met. Jaynie has been brought in to replace Mandy for when she turns eighteen in July and leaves.
I like Jaynie, but she’ll have to be made aware of this Cody situation soon enough. Maybe Mandy has already filled her in on the fact that when Cody has a nightmare he and I go to their room to stay the night. I don’t know how Jaynie is going to react to me sleeping in there with her, but the system is the system. I sleep on the floor till the cameras are shut off at dawn, then I slip back to our room with Cody in tow. In case Mrs. Lowry does an early morning walk-through. Unlikely, but why take a chance?
Damn. Jaynie sure has a lot to learn while she’s here. She seems so quiet and unsure, another girl broken by the system. I’m happy Mandy has helped ease her in. I’d like to help, too. There’s something about Jaynie that appeals to my protective nature. Not to mention, I find her attractive, despite her love of multi-layered clothing. Too bad for me she clearly has an issue with guys.
That’s another reason I worry she’ll freak when Cody and I show up in their bedroom. Probably tonight by the way Cody is thrashing.
Just then, a thunderbolt of lightning flashes across the sky, followed by an ear-piercing crack.
And that’s when Cody begins screaming.
Jaynie
“So, you’re telling me we’re never allowed off the property by ourselves?” I am positively incredulous.
“No, never,” Mandy confirms.
“What if we want to take a walk down the mountain, maybe head into town for an hour or two?”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Mandy snorts. “It’s never going to happen.”
Callie is sleeping in the bed next to Mandy’s and she stirs at the sound of our conversation. We’re all up in our bedroom. Mandy and I are discussing life at the house. Tired as I am from
the long work day, my hunger for information is keeping me alert. I want more than the bull I was handed when I first arrived.
Callie makes another noise, and Mandy and I peer over at her at the same time. “She’s still sleeping,” I whisper. “We didn’t wake her.”
“Still,” Mandy says in a hushed tone. “I should come over to your bed if we’re going to talk more.”
“Sure.” I scoot over and adjust the bulky sweatshirt I’m wearing over my flannel pajama top.
Mandy tiptoes over to my bed and sits down carefully on the edge. “Is this okay?” she asks.
“Yes.” I wave my hand. “You’re fine.”
Like I mentioned to Callie at lunchtime, I should be fine with Mandy. At least, I hope I am. As if she knows what I’m thinking, she gives me an encouraging smile. And then we continue our discussion.
“Anyway,” Mandy says, “we’re only allowed in town if Mrs. Lowry or Allison accompanies us. And that rarely, if ever, happens.”
I pick at a tear in the arm of my sweatshirt. “Yeah, but how can they really stop us?”
Mandy laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “Go ahead and hike around the property, Jaynie. Walking around up here, at least, is permitted. Go as far as you can, in all directions. Check out the property lines. You’ll have no trouble finding them. There’s high fencing around the entire perimeter, with barbed wire on top.”
“Barbed wire?”
“Yep.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I reply dismally.
Mandy continues, “The only open area is way up in the deep part of the woods, north of the house. But even that area ends at the edge of a cliff overlooking a river. It’d be a damn steep drop to the water.” Her eyes meet mine. “It’s doable...but dangerous.”
Not sure I heard her correctly, I say, “What? Jumping off the cliff? That seems a bit extreme, Mandy.”
She shrugs and stares down at the covers. “Just remember, it’s an out.”
God, she’s serious. Could things ever really get that bad?
“Listen, Jaynie,” Mandy says. “It’s like what we talked about earlier in the craft barn. The bottom line is we’re all trapped up here.”
I nod slowly as I envision the fortress-like gates at the entrance to the property and the wire fence in the front. Guess it extends everywhere. God, I really am a prisoner in this place, more so than I thought. We all are.
“Mrs. Lowry tells us all these measures are to keep us safe from possible intruders.” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Don’t believe her crap. Every inch of fencing and every locked gate are nothing but devices to keep us from running away.”
“Don’t the townspeople question what’s going on up here?” I’m still trying to come to grips with how trapped I really am. “They must find it odd to never see any of us around town.”
Mandy laughs. “Don’t be naïve. Those people have their own problems down there. You drove through the town on the way here, right?” I nod. “Then I’m sure it was clear most of those people have no jobs and no money. They’re as desperate as we are.”
I think of the boarded-up buildings, the cars on blocks in the yards, and the young girl crying in the middle of a muddy mess. I sigh. “I see what you’re saying.”
“There’s more, too, Jaynie.”
“I think I’m afraid to hear anything else,” I mutter.
But Mandy goes on. “Mrs. Lowry gives the small handful of influential people in Forsaken a lot of money to leave her alone. End result, no one cares what goes on here. It works out well for all those involved. We kids stay out of sight, and the people in town pretend we don’t exist. Bu the way, don’t think that doesn’t include our social workers. You’ll see.”
I’m quick to retort, “Saundra said she’d stop in and check on me from time to time.”
“Did she check on you at your last home?”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “No.”
“Then don’t count on things being any different now that you’re here, especially with Crafty Lo calling the shots.”
I know she’s right, and it makes me ill.
“So, what are we supposed to do?” I ask. “Just count the days till we turn eighteen?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
I glance over at Callie, resting peacefully. She’s as much of a prisoner as we are. And she’s only eight.
“What about the twins?” I ask. “After we’re gone are Callie and Cody going to end up being stuck here for ten more years?” I shudder. “What kind of life would that be for them? Working all the time, never being allowed to play?”
“It’s already like that,” Mandy reminds me. “And it is a terrible life for them.” Her voice cracks and she looks away, swiping at her eyes discreetly. She loves those kids, no doubt about it.
“We should do something once we’re out,” I whisper.
“What would we do, Jaynie? Report the fabulous Crafty Lo? No one will ever believe us. Everyone around here loves that lady. There were kids here before us, you know. They turned eighteen, left, and never looked back. Sometimes it’s easier just to not make waves.”
It sounds harsh, but I have to ask, “Is that what you plan to do? Leave at the end of July and never look back?”
“No fucking way.” She shakes her head. “I have a place to go, and I’m going to work my ass off to change the things I can.”
She doesn’t appear to be joking, but I have to ask, “How can you change anything? You just said it was impossible.”
Mandy bites her bottom lip and stares over at the sole window in the room. It’s raining like crazy and sheets of water are beating against the glass.
I’m waiting to hear Mandy’s grand plan, but she doesn’t say a thing.
“What?” I say, puffing up the pillows behind me to sit up straighter. “Are you afraid I’ll blab your plan to someone? I’d never say a word to anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Mandy sighs, her eyes remaining on the window as a flash of lightning brightens the room to a silvery-blue. “Yeah, I guess not,” she says, at last.
She’s still quiet, so I try to prod her along. “So, where are you planning to go when you leave?”
“As soon as I get out of here, I’m heading straight to Morgantown.”
“Why Morgantown?”
“Before I was sent here, that’s where I was living.”
“That’s in a different county, though.”
“Yeah,” Mandy replies as her gaze finally returns to me. “I wasn’t in foster care at the time. I had run away from the home I’d been placed in. It sucked, and I wanted out. I’d always heard you could make money in Morgantown, enough to get by on your own.”
“You got a job in Morgantown?” I ask.
Mandy laughs. “No, Jaynie, not money from a real job. I’m talking about panhandling for cash. I was too young to work, and I was a runaway from the system. Begging for money was my only real option.”
I nod knowingly. It’s never come to that for me, but it could.
“Anyway,” Mandy says, “the students up there were surprisingly generous. It seemed the ones I ran into had a lot of empathy for my situation.” She shrugs. “Or I don’t know, maybe they were just glad they weren’t in my shoes.”
“How old were you at the time?” I ask softly.
“Fifteen,” she says.
“Oh, wow. I can’t even imagine.”
“It wasn’t that bad, not really. I wasn’t above begging. And panhandling was definitely better than the alternative.”
“What was the alternative?” I ask, even though I suspect I already know the answer.
“Prostitution,” Mandy says, confirming my suspicion.
“Damn, Mandy.”
She pauses for a beat, looks away. In a soft voice she tells me, “I have to be honest, Jaynie. I thought about it more than once.”
“Hooking?”
She nods. “Yeah. There were times when I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep. Those nights, h
ooking didn’t sound so bad.” She takes a breath, while I hold mine, imagining a fifteen-year-old Mandy contemplating selling her body.
“I always came to my senses, though,” Mandy says. “I’d remind myself how there’s always a pimp who shows up and takes a cut of the money you earn lying on your back. Then, if you refuse to work for him,”—she makes a fist and punches the air—“you get your ass handed to you. Hell, even if you do agree to work for the dickhead, he still lays you out from time to time. So, yeah, hooking was out.”
“That’s crazy,” is all I can think to say.
Mandy has clearly lived much more than me. Sure, horrific things have happened in my life, but there are far worse things that could still occur. I sure as hell don’t want to end up selling my body to untold numbers of men. One man taking what he wanted damaged me enough. But the worst could still lie ahead. Living in the world of the unwanted is like living on thin ice. It could crack open at any time, and God help you if you fall in.
I feel the blood draining from my face, and Mandy asks, “Jesus, are you okay?”
Shakily, I reply, “Yeah, I’m good.”
Clearly, I am not, and Mandy stares at me like she’d like to ask more. I know she’s curious to hear my full story, but I’m not ready to get into what I went through. Still, my reticence to speak about myself doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how Mandy ended up where she is. Like, how’d she land in foster care in the first place?
I don’t have the courage to ask, not now, so I focus on the story at hand.
“So,” I begin, “what great thing happened in Morgantown that has you so set on returning when you get out of here?”
Mandy lights up, and not from the fresh flash of lightning illuminating the room. “I met this guy when I was there,” she says softly.
“Ahh, it’s always a guy.”
She smiles. “Seems that way, huh?”
I can’t believe it, but the unflappable Mandy is flustered. “Are you blushing?” I ask.