Zoey watched with tired disinterest as her alarm's digital numbers switched from 1:33 to 1:34. For hours now she had laid there, on that straight narrow bed with one of those mattresses that felt like it had lumps through the whole thing, watching that clock, watching the hours pass.
Groaning, she shifted uncomfortably, her insomnia was becoming worse, it now took at least several long hours before she could get any sleep, if even that did it. Night time was a bad time for resting, at least that had always been Zoey's opinion. She was quite sure that humans were meant to live during the night and sleep during the day, an idea she'd thoroughly tried to implement most of her life. Now however, time wasn't her own. Growling and muttering under breath Zoey recalled the events that led up to her current situation.
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Sirens wailed unceasingly, their long moan becoming a monotonous filler in the background. The flashing lights over the dirt covered snow lit the building and yard in a weird halo of sound and brightness.
Zoey had run at a full sprint the whole half mile to the apartment. By the time she got there, several body-bags on stretchers were being hauled into coroner vans, ready to be taken to the morgue. Zoey barely spared a glance that way and instead pushed aside the yellow tape marking the area as a crime scene. As a burly officer tried pushing her back she ducked under his arm, and ran around him, dodging through the press of policeman and investigators. Bursting in through the well-known door, it's red paint peeling off of the frame, Zoey took the rickety stairs two at a time, her short legs pounding down the narrow hall before coming to a dead stop in front of the an open doorway leading into apartment A-8. It only took the pursuing officers a second to catch up with her, and by that time they found the small form of Zoey, leaning over the stiffening corpse of a woman, a face made so unrecognizable by the shotgun shells that were pumped into it, that even the officers were turning away.
There was no screaming or crying or any emotional behavior at all, just a cold shocked silence as Zoey rode in the back of a cop car, her steel eyes sightlessly staring out the window, not registering the images they saw there, instead of the snow covered landscape she saw a mass of flesh, so brutalized that it was nothing but bloody pulp. Flesh that had once been a loved face, so familiar, so right. That was gone, along with everything she'd known for sixteen years. Thoughts came in random congealed bursts, incoherently expressing themselves but blocked by an ice barrier that was erected automatically against all the hurt, all that pushed on her world.
The next two weeks were hell, hell on earth. Handed like baggage from one person to another, social workers, lawyers, attorneys trying to work out her mother's pitiful will. The first time the world around her became a place of sound, noise, and smell once more was when the social worker assigned to her, sat her down, gravely looking over various papers and importantly shuffling them.
"Zoey." No response. "Zoey... Zoey! Pay attention please, I know you've been through alot but this is very important. You need to listen to me." Listlessly, Zoey's steel gray eyes turned on him, unnerving in their relentless look. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the worker cleared his throat importantly. "We've gone through all your mother's papers, her will, deeds, and other documents. We found your birth certificate. And it turns out you have family."
At that last word 'family' Zoey's senses zoomed forward. Face tightening, suddenly alert and questioning in a way that made the worker even more nervous than before. "Family?" She said quietly, the first thing she'd said in days. Her voice was careful, light and very, very, tense. The worker glanced to his papers, again clearing his throat. "Ah yes, that's right. Family. Your Father, do you know anything about him?" Zoey shook her head slowly, "It was a one time thing, I never knew him." There was a small silence before she demanded, "Why?"
"Well, we've been trying to locate him and it turns out he was killed, almost ten years ago." Zoey hugged her loose sweatshirt around her tighter, her body relaxing slowly. Watching her the man continued, "But we did find his next of kin." Stiffening once more Zoey stared unblinkingly at the worker. Wanting to get this little conversation over as soon as possible the man rushed on through. "His mother," Glancing down at his papers, "Evelyn Mercer."
It was just a name yet Zoey knew she'd remember it till her last breathe, that name would mean everything to her. It was all she had. Wanting some sort of response the stressed social worker prattled on, his eyes skimming now and again back to his documents. "She lives in Detroit, an elderly woman, she has four adopted sons. It turns out her biological one, your Father, she never knew. He lived with his Father when they separated early on in the marriage. The Mercers are --- ..."
Statistics, information, Zoey didn't want any of it. She wanted to see that woman, to know her, she wanted to see who she was inside, not what she did or what had happened to her. Her wandering thoughts were momentarily distracted by a final statement made in a different tone than the rest of the man's jumbled words. "She's agreed to take you."
Zoey absently glanced over her fingers, carefully examining calluses, and lines, how they connected and where. The social worker shuffled his papers. "That's it then." she finally said, her husky voice unreadable. "I go to live with her, as her granddaughter." Her voice wasn't questioning but the worker took the opportunity to assert his superior knowledge. "More as a daughter, there are papers to be filled out, that sort of things takes awhile. We should be ready to leave tomorrow morning, early." Zoey nodded, making no comment. Things were happening that she couldn't control, ever since that day two weeks ago everything had turned into a wild vortex that swept her into it, taking her wherever it would.
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And there she was, laying one of those indistinguishable beds that made themselves unique in being so uncomfortable. 1:49. Rolling over onto her stomach, stuffing her face into the pillow Zoey tried to clear her head and sleep. It didn't seem possible, to much was floating through her mind. She'd never get to sleep. She started upright, the first orange glow of morning streaming in through her eastern window. 5:58. It was time to be going.
Two hours later Zoey was riding through the residential area of Detroit, crowded streets and houses with children running and playing, it wasn't a bad picture but Zoey wasn't looking for a good one. She didn't give much for the looks of her new home, it wasn't that that worried her. Despite everything, even her usual calm Zoey was nervous and was trying hard not to show it. Her social worker, after making several weak attempts of conversation the first half hour of their drive had given up and they'd driven in silence. It wasn't a long ride, but it left too much time open for thinking and Zoey had taken to counting the passing vehicles, getting her mind off where she was going... and why.
As they pulled into a narrow drive in front of a nondescript house, snow crunching under the tires of the car, Zoey felt her stomach clench involuntarily. "Zoey, are you ready?" With a brief nod the girl grabbed up her bag containing clothes and other personal items and opened the door, stepping out into the crisp air. She stared at the house slowly and then walking quickly she stepped up to the front door, the social worker trotting to keep up with her. The door opened as if the owner had been waiting for them. Zoey gazed upwards. A kindly white haired woman stood there, her lined face wreathed in a genuine smile. Zoey was taken aback, she wasn't sure what she'd expected but this picture wasn't quite it. Still smiling the woman nodded warmly at her, "You must be Zoey."