Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1) (26 page)

“Can I help you?” I heard Carolyn ask, and I looked up at the door. I had a perfect view of it from my makeshift living room-bedroom. The man was tall and lanky with lifeless, dingy brown hair. Over Carolyn’s shoulder, his gaze shifted around the room through thick, round glasses that magnified his huge eyes. From a distance, I couldn’t tell if they were brown or gray, but they were narrowed and shrewd. He could have been in his early thirties, but with the rounded, childish, almost petulant face, he appeared younger.

“My name is Jeremiah Hascomb. I’m from Alabama State Child and Welfare, and I need to come in and speak with you and with Brian McAllister,” he said in a low, brusque voice made a little less official by the heavy twang. My insides went stone cold. They couldn’t possibly blame the Schreibers for what had happened to me, because that little nightmare was all Brad Mosely. Then a truly disturbing thought occurred to me: what if the Schreibers had called them, sick of having to deal with me? They seemed okay about me being gay, but so much had happened….

“Brian is sleeping right now, and my husband will be home after four. Would you mind coming back then?” Carolyn asked pleasantly, but having lived with her for so long, I could hear the nervous strain in her voice. It was obvious that Richard and Carolyn hadn’t called, that Carolyn had no idea why the man was at our home. An ice-cold sliver of real fear stabbed at my stomach.

“No, Mrs. Schreiber, I’m afraid I can’t. A serious allegation has been made concerning the boy, and I really must investigate it now. His safety is my only concern here.” His words made it sound like he was concerned, but the tone of his voice was almost bullying. It pissed me off, him talking to Carolyn like that. For all intents and purposes, she was my mother. She deserved better than to be bullied by this toad of a man.

“What kind of allegation?” Carolyn asked in a whisper, breathless and shocked.

“I’m afraid I cannot discuss that with you until I’ve spoken to the child.” The child? I was going to be eighteen in less than a year, for God’s sake; just leave me the hell alone. It was a safe bet he was there because I was gay, immoral, and wrong. Such a big deal had been made about my attack in the news; maybe there was some kind of pressure on them about my placement.

“We usually deal with Mrs. Dillon regarding our foster children. Is she not available?” Carolyn asked as she stepped aside to let Mr. Hascomb in. Her posture indicated to me that she was reluctant to do so, but she really had no other option. He had been edging around her and was determined to get into our home.

“I have spoken to Mrs. Dillon, and she speaks highly of you, but sometimes with their case loads, they don’t always know the whole story,” he replied harshly, his eyes still scanning the room, finally coming to rest on me. I knew what I must look like to him: an abused child. However, unless he’d been living under a rock for the previous few weeks, he would have to know that Richard and Carolyn hadn’t been the ones who had hurt me.

“Hello, you must be Brian. My name is Jeremiah. How are you doing?” he asked, and his voice was falsely bright and with a tone that you would use with a very small child. He was also frowning as he looked me over, taking note of all my injuries. Then he took a notebook out of his bag and began to jot down notes.

I’m doing okay.

I wrote on the board, wishing for the millionth time I could speak, because I was desperate for him to understand that Richard and Carolyn were taking good care of me. I had no idea what was going on, but the fear had solidified into a rock-hard ball in my stomach, a fear that lately seemed to be a constant in my life.

“I was wondering if we could talk for a few minutes.” His inflections made his words come out as a statement rather than a question, meaning that I really had no choice in the matter. With anyone else I might have made a joke about not being able to talk, but he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, so instead I just nodded. It would be best to put on a friendly face, even though I had no option but to talk to him. I knew that while I lived with the Schreibers and they took care of me, they didn’t have custody of me—the state of Alabama did.

“Mrs. Schreiber, I’d like to talk to Brian alone,” Mr. Hascomb told Carolyn brusquely, turning to give her a pointed look. She went a little pale, which did nothing to help the panic that was building in my chest. The few times I’d ever seen any kind of “investigator,” I’d been taken away. Judging by Carolyn’s reaction, it wasn’t something that had ever happened to her and Richard.

“I’ll go and call Richard,” she said, wringing her hands, not making any moves toward the kitchen where the phone was. When Mr. Hascomb cleared his throat after a minute, Carolyn realized she hadn’t moved and walked slowly out of the room. It felt almost like it was against every one of her instincts to leave me alone with him, but she had no choice.

Her helplessness, her fear, made a hot wave of rage course through me.

After he’d finished jotting yet another note into his notebook, Mr. Hascomb turned to me with a forced smile.

“I’m here to help you, Brian, but in order to do that I need for you to tell me the truth. Do you understand?”

No, I don’t. I have no idea why you’re here.

I wrote patiently on the whiteboard and then showed it to him.

“How do you get along with your foster father?” the social worker asked.

I get along with him fine. He’s a good father. Why?

I replied, not wanting to elaborate since I didn’t know what any of this was about. He didn’t elaborate either.

“What kinds of things do you do together?”

We talk.

“That’s it?”

We play freaking chess. What is it that you want to know?

“Has he ever touched you or held you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable?”

And there it was. They thought Richard was molesting me. They thought he’d made me gay. Oh my God, it was all my fault. They were going to take me away, and I’d be at the mercy of any teenager or adult in the system all because I’d been happy with Jamie, been myself with him for one goddamn summer.

“No!” I cried through my wired jaw. “No!” I said again for emphasis to make sure that he had heard me.

Carolyn came into the room then, the phone still in her hand.

“Brian, are you okay?” she asked, and I could feel the fear in her voice, which did nothing to help my overwhelming panic.

They want to take me away! They think Richard is molesting me!

I wrote frantically on the board. Carolyn came over and sat on my bed next to me. She put her hands on my face, trying to calm me down.

“Brian, you need to calm down. Darlin’, your jaw is still wired; you don’t want to hurt yourself. Please… sweetheart….” She stroked my face until my breathing was under control, and then she sat holding my hand. When she turned back to Mr. Hascomb, her eyes were pure fire.

“Who made this outrageous accusation against my husband?” she demanded, her face set and her brows contracted. Her rigid posture and the faint trembling in her hands made it plain as day to me, if not to him, that she was furious.

“I cannot give you that information,” he said, trying to remain outwardly cool and calm even though the sheen of sweat on his forehead gave away his nerves.

“You walk into my house, accuse my husband of molesting our son, and threaten to—”

He stood, cutting her off with a hand held up in her face. “He’s not your
son
; he’s your foster placement. You never made any moves to adopt him. Brian, I need to take you to the local hospital for an examination.”

I can’t walk.

He wasn’t going to take me without a fight. For all I knew, an examination was just an excuse to get me out of the house, and I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. With the hip cast, transporting me anywhere would not be easy. Richard had only taken me into the hospital when he absolutely needed to; otherwise all my care was done at home.

Mr. Hascomb pulled a cell phone from his suit pants pocket and dialed.

“Hi, Daisy, this is Jeremiah Hascomb. We spoke earlier?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk. “Yes, I’m going to need that ambulance and Detective Miller. Yes, that’s the address. Thank you.”

As he put his phone back in his pocket with a slight smile, I realized I was starting to hate the stupid little toad of a man even more than Mosely. He was enjoying this. Terrorizing the teenage fag must have given him quite a charge. I wanted to knock that smile right off his face, but of course, that would just make things ten times worse.

“You need to pack him clothes for a few days,” Hascomb said, looking at Carolyn. “I am effecting an emergency removal of the minor child. He will be examined by a physician and kept in the state facility until we can determine the best place for him, whether that is here, in a state facility, or with another family.” Carolyn squeezed my hand and looked down at me.

“It’s going to be okay, Brian,” she said softly, her voice trembling and unconvincing.

Do I have to go with him?
I asked, imploring, suddenly terrified, feeling every bit the child I still was. My heavy gasps forced harshly through my bound teeth, the air whistling as the panic consumed me. I could almost hear my heart pounding in my healing ribcage. The frantic thoughts raced one another around my head. They were taking me away. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t fight them, I couldn’t even talk, much less defend myself. Once they got me out, what reason would they have to bring me back and let me stay with Richard and Carolyn? I loved them, and they were the only ones on Earth, besides Jamie, who loved me back.

A shocked, agonized whimper forced itself from me, a piteous sound like a wounded, cornered animal would make.

A muffled sniffle, almost a sob, came from Carolyn as she went up the stairs to pack for me. That was when I really got scared. Carolyn did everything for me, right down to helping me in the shower. State homes were notoriously understaffed with harsh, underpaid workers who weren’t interested in caring for an invalid kid. Those kids got sent to special homes, where I had heard the going was even rougher.

Carolyn came down just a few minutes later. She seemed to understand that I didn’t want to be left alone with the horrible man. When I saw that she carried the small rolling suitcase Richard usually took to conferences he was required to attend, I couldn’t hold back the choked sob. I had no idea if she knew it was going to be a comfort to me or if it was just functional, but if she was sending something Richard needed, she expected it to come back, and with any luck at all, I’d come back with it. After she set the suitcase next to my bed, she grabbed the novel I’d been reading and put it in the front zipper.

“What about his school?” Carolyn asked sharply.

“What do you mean?” the man asked, shrinking back just a bit in the face of her unadulterated rage. One thing I had learned about Carolyn was that when she was scared, she got completely and utterly furious.

“One of the teachers from the local high school comes by every other day to help him stay current with the rest of his class. Is he still going to be able to work with him? If not, you and this nonsense will put him behind, and he won’t be able to graduate. If that happens, I will personally call every newspaper in the state of Alabama, the ACLU, and anyone else that will make your life a living hell.” The sharpness in her tone made me grateful for her all over again. She was fighting for me, to give me some sense of routine, of continuity, of hope.

“I think we can work something out. Do you have the teacher’s information?” The weasel almost shrunk in on himself at her threat, and Carolyn wrote down Kyle’s name and number in his little notebook. I wanted so badly to take that notebook and beat him to death with it.

The knock on the door pushed the panic in my chest to the point where I actually tried to scramble back on the bed, my broken leg screaming in protest. I cried out, and Carolyn put her arms around me, making no move to open the door. Mr. Hascomb opened the front door to admit a police officer and an EMT, and I realized I had run out of options. No matter how angry my muffled yells were, they paid no heed and took me on the stretcher to the ambulance for transport to the hospital.

The officer had my suitcase, and he rode with me, because even being unable to talk, I made it clear I wanted them to keep Hascomb away from me. He was taking away the only place that I had ever felt safe, and I hated him for it.

“Brian, my name is Detective Miller, and I need to talk to you for a little while to help child services determine what to do about your situation,” the officer said. I didn’t remember if he was one of the officers who had helped me after Mosely’s attack, but then I didn’t really remember a whole lot from the drugged-up statements I’d given the police. He must have been, however, because the Crayford police department only consisted of about half a dozen people.

I looked around for a minute and didn’t see my board. Goddamn it, I wouldn’t be able to tell him what he needed to know—that Richard didn’t do anything to me. Finally, I sighed and looked up at the officer and mimed writing. It would go a lot easier if he had a little cop notebook and pen. I mean, I could talk, slowly and painfully, but Richard said it was best that I didn’t. It seemed more important than ever to listen to Richard then, because I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. The officer pulled a small pad from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. I noticed there was a pen in the attached loop.

I want to go home. Richard and Carolyn are my family, they would never hurt me.

“I know you want to go home, son, but we have to make sure it’s safe for you to be there,” he said, and I saw a deep compassion in his brown eyes. Instinctively, I knew that he was my only shot at getting back home. His brown suit was almost the same color as his eyes, complete with white shirt, brown tie, and nondescript brown shoes; he looked like a typical cop you might see on television.

It’s the ONLY place I’m safe.