Resurrection

CHAPTER ONE
The End of the Line

When the state worker leads him through to her uninspiring room, it suddenly makes sense. The woman's face is permanently sour because she spends a majority of her hours cooped up in a dingy old office. "Take a seat, Mr. Long," Sourface says, gesturing towards one of the two worn-looking chairs.

Ash's feet scuff on the floor as he walks over and plops himself down, doing his best to appear as uncaring as possible without making the woman cranky. He figures there's a chance she could stuff him around if he gets on her nerves, and that's not exactly a nice idea. "Thanks," he mutters. He wiggles in the seat, adjusting awkward teenage limbs so he's somewhat comfortable. He wants to be out of the room and away from this woman already.

"I'm going to get straight to the point. Due to good behavior and relative compliance over the course of your incarceration, you have been released on parole. That means you will be seeing me once a month throughout your probation period. During this period you will not engage in any illegal activities, do you understand?" Sourface's speech is fast and devoid of emotion (Ash gets the feeling she's delivered it so many times that it's just become a script).

Suddenly, he realises she's waiting for a confirmation. "Yes," he responds.

She nods in return and continues, "as a condition of your release, you must also engage in community service hours; those details will be sent through to you as they become available. In regards to our meetings and my requirements of you, I will not accept tardiness, dishonesty, or interruptions from your cell phone."

"I don't have one," Ash tells her, although what he really wants to do is ask what tardiness means.

The woman stares at him, trying to make out whether he's challenging her. After a long pause, she pushes a pad of paper and pen towards him. "Good," she says, "now, those are my expectations. I want you to write down yours."

He reaches over and tentatively grabs the pen. "Expectations?" he asks.

"What kind of things can I do to help you? What do you want to gain from these meetings? Are there particular services you would like me to obtain for you?" She raises an eyebrow at him and purses her lips, "these meetings aren't just a roll-call, Mr. Long, they are to prevent you from breaking the law in the future. Therefore, I need to know what goals you have for yourself, and how I can assist you. Otherwise it would be a sore waste of both of our time."

Whatever Ash had thought would happen here, it wasn't that. He'd asked around at the detention centre about parole meetings, and a lot of the guys had just said it was a monthly urine test and scolding. No one had ever mentioned 'help' or 'goals'. Ash looks intently at the pen in his hand and slowly moves it across the page to write clumsy letters. "I'm not good at writing," he mumbles softly.

"Would you like me to write for you?" Sourface asks, only she's smiling now and Ash doesn't think she's as much of a cow as she was before.

"Yeah," he says, putting the pen down in defeat, "that'd be good."

. . . .

"Campbell, I'm so sorry," Nick says, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She angrily shrugs it off and strides past him with her bags, heading towards the car. The man is left in the doorway with Cam's foster parents, ex-foster parents, and he's fighting hard not to say anything. As Cam's case worker he is supposed to be her advocate, and this feels like he's failed her again.

The Russells are standing close together; they're a nice couple, which is exactly why Cam was placed with them in the first place. "It wasn't an easy choice," Mrs. Russell says, blinking away tears, "but we just can't handle her anymore. It's been months and she hasn't settled in at all, we tried everything."

Nick nods, though it's only to show he heard the woman. He'd met with them before the placement, made sure they were fully informed about Campbell's behavior issues and the reasons behind them. He can hardly forgive the Russells for turning her out when they had been completely informed, and he's not able to comfort them when he feels so betrayed. "I hope you have more luck with your next placement," he replies, "if you need to contact her I think it's best for you to do it through me." Nick makes sure they still have his card before he turns back towards the car.

Cam is leaning against the Toyota, with earphones in and her jaw clenched tight. She's the very picture of teenage angst- a short waif of a girl with pale skin and an oversized black hoodie. Nick clicks the button that opens the boot and silently sidles up next to the Cam, helping to stow her bags. "iPod off when you get in the car," he tells her, "you know the rules."

They have a great many rules between them, developed over seven years. She has her earphones out while they're alone, he can talk (but she doesn't have to answer), she can swear as much as she likes without reprimand, and he must always be honest. Sometimes the rules work and sometimes they don't, but they open an important line of communication. Cam stuffs the device into her pocket and looks pointedly at the door.

"You don't want to sit in the front?" Nick asks, although it's unlikely the girl will answer when she's in a mood like this. She resolutely shakes her head and reaches for the door handle that leads to the back seat. Nick sighs and presses the key, making the lights flash and locks pop up. "Give me strength," he groans once Campbell is buckled in, and he opens the driver door.

Nick gives Cam the few minutes of silence he knows she wants before he starts to chat. He talks about what he's been up to, how his remodeling is going, and a good book he finished two days ago. Every so often he glances in the rear-view mirror but Cam doesn't respond, she's huddled up close to the door and doesn't even look up. "I'm hungry, are you hungry? Let's stop off and get something to eat," he says, flicking on the indicator.

He can't take her anywhere until she talks, so he has to wait for her to be ready.

. . . .

Kione senses this is not a conversation for her when Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. The woman only ever does that when she's stressed, which thankfully isn't often, but Kione can feel a disagreement coming on between her foster parents.

Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. "What do you mean, you've accepted a boy?" she asks her husband. She's just arrived home for lunch and barely had time to put her keys down before being confronted with the information.

"We all decided last week about getting another kid and I got the call today. I tried to ring you but you weren't answering, so I went ahead and said we'd take him," Henry explains. He sets a sandwich down in front of Kione then steps around the bench. "Why, was I wrong?"

"No, just-" she runs a hand through her hair "-it's just that I got a call before I left the office. It was a request for an emergency placement and I said we'd look at the girl's file. The case worker said he'd be here in a half hour."

With those words, Kione's head snaps up. All three of them had discussed having a new foster child join the household, as a group of siblings had moved out in July. They had spoken about getting another sibling group, or a boy, or a girl, but not two others who were completely unknown. It would mean a big adjustment for everyone- perhaps too big of an adjustment.

"I can't believe it," Henry stated, shaking his head. "The chances of this happening… The agency emailed us some details about the boy, I've printed them out," he waved at a folded piece of paper on the bench. "I suppose we just review them both and see which is best suited, who needs us more."

It's against policy for Henry and Sarah to share the details of a child's file with anyone. Being foster parents sometimes means keeping a great deal of secrets in the name of privacy and confidentiality. What that means is it's against the rules for Kione to sit down with them and review the boy's file with them, but they invite her anyway. The tall, dark-skinned girl isn't a talker, she's very reverent, and as someone who is very much part of the family she deserves to give an opinion. (Such small things make Kione glad this is her home.)

None of them enjoy reading about Asher Long's history, but those things are never written for fun. They're also rarely written with transparency in mind, so you have to sometimes stare at words for a long time to get the right information from them. Asher is currently sixteen and was once raised by his migrant mother. Asher's mother died when he was eight, and after a few months in foster care he ran away. He was arrested at the age of fourteen for breaking and entering, and then sentenced to at least eighteen months in detention.

This is the point at which normal (sane) foster parents would stop and send back a 'no thank you', but Sarah and Henry are better than that. They continue on, delving into the remaining sections that aren't simply stamped 'UNKNOWN'. Asher gets along well with others his age and is recommended for placement in a home with other teenagers (because he did well in detention, perhaps). Although sometimes resentful of authority figures, he is generally well behaved (oppositional defiant disorder, Sarah wonders). Asher is considered to be an intelligent young man, however he has some severe academic weaknesses in regards to literacy and would benefit from a structured household (just how bad is severe, anyway).

"Well, that was rather unhelpful," Sarah comments with a sigh.

Henry frowns, "he was in detention for his minimum term. That has to account for something."

"Yeah, the centre was getting full," his wife retorts with a small grin. "There was no mention of addiction or aggression, but perhaps we should call the agency and ask?" She shakes her head in answer to her own silly question, knowing from experience that the agency never gives out such information. You have to wait until you meet the child yourself, and spend time uncovering secrets and behaviour. In part it's about respecting privacy, but Sarah believes a lot of the reasoning goes something like 'if the home isn't fully informed, they'll say yes to the placement. That means the kid'll be out of our hands for a few months'.

"What do you think, Kee?" Henry asks gently.

She gives a shrug and points to the picture of Asher that sits at the top, right hand side of the page. The boy's face is settled into an unfriendly glower, one that quite clearly says I don't need you, I don't need anyone. "Maybe if he lived here with you he wouldn't look like that anymore," Kione suggests.

Back when she was thirteen, Kione had one of those agency photos taken. Hers said something like please, please, please. Nowadays she can't imagine what her life would be like without her particular foster parents. This home is perfect, with generous Sarah and understanding Henry. When she takes the time to stop and think about her placement, Kione can't be anything but grateful.

Author's Note: Is it good? Bad? Will you stick around for more? Let me know.

I'm sorry if it's a little confusing to begin with, but hopefully it's the good suspenseful type and not the what-the-hell-is-going-on type.