It was all so long ago, and yet...not so long ago.
Everything changed the day I took a train from Boston all the way to New York City when I was just nine years old. I kept my hands in the pockets of my worn out sweatshirt, each wrapped around one of two crucial papers which would help to decide the outcome of this important journey. Little did I know just how important it was at the time; had I not forced myself onto that train, on that very day, the fate of the entire universe may have never been rested upon my little shoulders.
I'd gotten off the train in Midtown and once out of the station stood back on the street to look up at my destination. A tall tower with the name STARK lit up on the side stood higher than the rest surrounding it. I take a moment to look at my destination just over the heads of Hercules, Minerva and Mercury above the Grand Central clock. People move past me at a rapid pace-even shove me in order to get to their desired location quicker and I decide I must get to mine if I want to make my appointment, so rush off down the busy sidewalks of New York City. Nervously, I enter through the dauntingly tall glass doors at the base of the building, looking around the busy lobby anxiously as I walk to the front desk. My chin barely reaches over it, causing the security guard on his computer to not notice me right away. When He does he says monotonously "Beat it kid, Iron Man's not in."
Clutching the paper in my right hand I look at the man
"I have an appointment" I tell him quietly, placing the folded paper on the desk. I'd printed it out at the public library when I'd called their office from a payphone three months ago. I hadn't let it out of my sight since, for it contained the signature of Tony Stark-the only proof I had to get me into his office and speak with him. Now I watch as the front deskman opens the folded piece of paper, reads it and looks up at me suspiciously.
He crumples the paper and shakes his head "Nice try kid."
"Mr. Stark isn't going to be very happy if I miss my appointment with him because you made a hasty decision" I tell the man quickly "And when I do get a hold of him, which I will, I'd hate to have to give him your name when he asks why I had so much trouble Mr..." I check his name badge "Douglass"
The man's eyebrows raise and he decides to look into the computer for my confirmation. Un-crumpling the paper, he references it to the records in the computer and with reluctance, gives me a security pass. He tells me what floor and which room before I take the confirmation paper and thank him with a boastful grin. I notice men in suits staring at me in my torn up jeans and worn out sneakers, as the elevator raises in awkward silence. I keep my eyes focused on the numbers and get off at floor 44, relieved when there are only a few busy passersby on this floor. I take a moment to look over the edge of the platform, where the many floors of Stark Tower below can be seen layered upon one another, all the way down to the very lobby I was just standing in below. Focusing back on the task before me, I follow a stone path lined with glass panels for safety all the way to the room number the front deskman had given me. Without knocking, I enter to find a very large room, equally lavish to match the rest of the building in every way. There are 3 leather sofas surrounding a television larger than a small car on the wall and a large glass coffee table in the center of the seating; I can tell this is where meetings are held in luxurious comfort. Along the far wall is a bar and to the right of it, another door coated in frosted glass, like the one I'd just come in through. On the left, the wall is paneled glass windows, showing the New York skyline at its brightest in the morning sunlight.
"Mr. Stark with be with you shortly" An Englishman's voice rings out and I jump looking for the man who'd said it, but there isn't anyone else in the room besides myself. The Englishman continues "Please make yourself comfortable while you wait Miss."
Not sure if I should say anything, I walk further into the room without a response, stopping at the floor-to-ceiling windows and looking out over the city everyone knew, but I'd never actually seen. After a few minutes, two people walk through the second door talking to one another.
One is a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair and perfectly pale skin. She's dressed fashionably, yet professionally in a long pencil skirt and a collared shirt. The fitted jacket she wears buttoned up makes her look important and her hair is so precisely secured and smoothed it makes her look a bit intimidating, despite her beauty.
The other person is a man, whose face I know well. I've seen him on TV-in the news and in all my research...Tony Stark.
The pair immediately stop talking when they see me, I expect they're staring in the disbelief that a child would have made a business appointment with one of the busiest, most hard to reach men in the world. Obviously annoyed, Mr. Stark looks at the woman "Is this a joke?"
The woman shrugs without a clue and turns to me "Are you..." She looks at her papers "Caroline Locke?"
I nod, staring at Mr. Stark, then add "Well...sort of"
"What do you mean...sort of?" Mr. Stark asks irritably and I pull out the paper from my left pocket, unfolding it with shaky hands "Locke isn't my real last name...I thought...if you saw the last name you might...not see me" I stutter apprehensively, staying rooted to my spot near the window.
"Well then, I understand you have some important business with me...whoever you are" He says as he crosses the room to the bar and takes out two glasses "Can I offer you a drink? Scotch? Whiskey?" He says sarcastically as he pours some amber liquid into one "...warm milk perhaps?"
I shake my head, still staring. He looks at me curiously and walks over to where I'm standing stuck to the floor, drink in hand "Alright then. You gonna just stand there, or you got something for me? Maybe some girl scout cookies?"
Trying to keep my hand from shaking, I hold out the paper I'm holding. He looks at it but doesn't take it "What is it?"
The woman then walks over "I'll take it" She says kindly and reluctantly I hand it to her. She unfolds the paper and her eyes search it as her face slowly falls into a look of dismay.
"What? What is it?" Mr. Stark asks, looking over her shoulder at the paper.
"It's a birth certificate" She says, visibly upset "For a Caroline Stark."
She looks at me, pointing to the paper "This is you-isn't it?"
"This doesn't prove anything" Mr. Stark argues, as she shoves the paper at his chest angrily. She hurriedly exits through the door they came in, leaving the two of us alone. He then he looks at me "This doesn't prove anything." He repeats.
He leaves through the door after her and I wonder if maybe I should leave. I felt as though I'd done something wrong; I was scared. I turn to leave, but Mr. Stark returns with something in his hand before I can take one step.
"Give me your hand" He demands, but I'm frozen in my spot with fear. Impatiently, he takes me by the wrist and presses the object to my fingertip. I feel a sharp pain in my finger and try to pull away in shock, but Mr. Stark presses something to the blood on my finger, hand gripping my wrist tightly. Once he's got his blood he lets go roughly and points at me "Don't move" he orders before leaving through the door with a loud slam.
I try not to look as upset as I feel, before bolting out the door I entered through and running to the elevator. I press the button frantically until the doors finally open and I enter the empty elevator. The doors close and I try to catch my breath and hold back the tears, scolding myself for thinking this might go so smoothly. Of course he'd deny it! Of course he wouldn't want a child! My mother had warned me...she'd warned me about my father...but I hadn't listened. I had needed to try- I needed to know the truth so badly that I had taken a train five hours from Boston in the darkest hours of the morning to find it. Yet, here I was, running away from the answer I had sought for so long.
I throw the security pass on the front desk as I bolt from the building at top speed, despite the yells from security guards demanding that I stop. I run straight to the train station and get on the next train to Boston, unsure of why I'd run exactly. I guess having a stranger prick your finger and tell you not to move was a little odd...especially after you'd caused a problem with his girlfriend...or secretary. I felt so guilty, as though I'd done something wrong, despite not being able to place exactly what it was.
I relay the events in Stark Tower over and over in my mind on the trip back but as Boston nears, another daunting feeling rushes over me. The fear of what awaits when my disappearance has been noticed by the man and woman who's care I'd recently been placed in. Though they weren't the first foster family I'd been placed with and they certainly weren't the worst...they were not the most reasonable either. It's well past dark as I get off the train and take the bus into Dorchester. It's well into the night when I finally walk along the streets to the house I was staying in. Upon my entry, I am seized by the angry, robust woman and she slaps me across the face-yelling at me for skipping school; for leaving the house in the middle of the night. She orders me to lean over the ottoman in the living room with my jeans down until the man of the house gets home. The other kids staying there have all been through this punishment too and know to say nothing to me or they'll be forced at my side for reprimanding as well. Once my back has aching from being bent over for an hour, the man returns home from the bar and whips me on the back of my legs with his belt until I can no longer feel the sting. The beatings always fill me with shame and anger, but I don't cry out or beg him to stop; to preserve whatever sense of dignity I still have left in me. I grit my teeth and silently take the beating until he decides that I have learned my lesson. He stops whipping me and orders me to pull my pants up.
"We can't have any trouble from you, you understand?" The man slurs with his hand on my neck, trying to sound concerned for me, but I know it's a farce. I know he doesn't care about me; they never do. I am nothing more than a paycheck; my presence pays their rent. He ruffles my hair and sends me to bed, to the room I share with six other girls of varying ages. I crawl into the bed of the piss-stained sheets and torn blankets, laying on my stomach, for the feeling is beginning to return to my legs. I lay awake thinking of the long day...and how just this morning I stood in a building owned by a billionaire, and now I lay in the slums of Boston listening to gunshots and the drunken Irish couple yelling downstairs. I close my eyes and try not to think about it-try not to wonder how I'd gotten here. I stop beating myself up for running today, tell myself that there's no possible way that the DNA could ever match.
I just wasn't that lucky.