CHAPTER 2
UP FOR ADOPTION
AUTHOR – PLZ KIDNAP FRANK
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Frank glared at the man who was escorting him and his brother to the social worker building. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew it wasn't going to be good. His uncle had repeatedly told Frank and Joe that should they choose to breathe a word to anyone, they'd most likely be split into two different foster homes, because nobody would want to take them together. He hadn't added "like the two worthless brats you are," but both Frank and Joe knew it.
There was one other thing their uncle had repeatedly drilled into their heads: should they choose to tell on him, he'd know which one told and then he'd kidnap the other one and torture them before grabbing the other one. Since Frank knew he was fully capable of it, he never breathed a word about it to anyone, especially to his parents. He didn't want Joe to get hurt anymore then he already had. It was his fault this whole thing had happened.
It all started the first Sunday morning his uncle had come to baby-sit them. Frank was 6; Joe was 5. Frank was drinking orange juice when the cup slipped, fell down, and hit the floor. The glass broke. Before Frank realized what happened, his uncle had him down on the ground and was slamming his face against the ground, shouting about how much of a mess-up he was.
"What's happening?" Joe dared to ask. When they'd been taken from the house, Frank had already been fully dressed and was wearing his shoes, but Joe hadn't had time to get any on. He was wearing blue jeans, and Red Sox T-shirt, but no shoes.
"You guys are being yanked from the custody of Fenton and Laura Hardy. We got an anonymous tip that someone was abusing the two of you. We went to check it out, and when your uncle assaulted Frank in front of the officers, they put him under arrest. We'll need your full cooperation with this investigation."
"Why did you yank us out of the home?" Joe demanded. Frank shot his brother a look that said cool it.
"Your uncle abused your brother in front of the police officer. There's no telling what's been going on behind closed doors." He escorted them to a room and left the brothers alone to talk it over.
"Nice going, Frank," Joe muttered. "Did you call the cops?"
"No! I ain't got a death wish either," Frank whispered, glancing nervously out the door. "Hey, foster care's probably gonna be a lot worse then being smacked a few times every Sunday, ya'know?"
"Do you think they'll put us in foster care?" Joe whispered.
"I don't know. They seem so sure Jesse's doing it. But we can't confirm it, so they just might put us there, especially if Dad does something stupid, like blow up at the cops," Frank whispered back. "Look, Joe, if they put you somewhere and somebody starts askin', ya'know, nosing around, tell them it was Jesse who abused us."
"But he'll kidnap you!" Joe whispered, glaring at the officers who were watching them form the door. "He said he'd kidnap whoever didn't tell so we knew darn well to keep our mouth shut!"
"This is all my fault," Frank whispered, "for the abuse, so it doesn't really matter… So just tell whoever it is, if you think you can trust them."
The door swung open and a social worker entered the room. Both Frank and Joe glanced at each other, wondering what was going to happen next.
"We know Jesse was abusing you," the social worker said. "He's under arrest for child abuse right now, based on what the officer seen."
Frank swallowed. "It wasn't his fault, s-sir. I'm the one who got in his way."
The social worker stared at Frank in disbelief. "It doesn't matter if you got in his way, Frank. He had no right to hit you, to slam you to the ground. That was abuse, no matter what caused it. What happened to your arm, Frank?" he asked.
Frank glanced at it and shrugged. Although he knew full well what happened, he wasn't about to tell. That was last Sunday's scar. His uncle had been angry because the dishes weren't all in the dishwasher when he checked, and he threw one on the floor, breaking it to pieces. He had then picked up a jagged piece and cut Frank's arm. "Who made the claim of child abuse?" Frank demanded.
"It was an anonymous tip," the officer said with a shrug. "Either way, until you guys tell us who was abusing you, we're going to have to put you in foster care. Was Jesse abusing you?"
"N-no," Frank lied, stuttering. He hadn't been prepared for that question to come up. "H-he n-n-ever hit me." At least not for something I didn't deserve, Frank added silently in his head.
"He never hit you?" the social worker demanded. He stood up in the chair. He was 6'2, a full five inches taller then Frank. "What about the incident in front of the police? What do you call that?"
"I deserved that, I told you!" Frank said. He swung open the door and slammed it shut, leaving the social worker staring at him in bewilderment.
"He hit Frank more," Joe said, glancing at Frank, who was outside, taking advantage of the punching bag they had next to the door.
"Who hit him more?" the social worker asked. "Look, Joe, may I call you Joe, your father, Fenton, is the prime suspect for abuse as of right now. Until we can confirm our suspicions, Jesse's under arrest."
"You can't do that," Joe protested. "My mom and dad will be really tweaked, man!"
"Joe, there's nothing else we can do. The environment you are in is unstable. Jesse being in charge of you and Frank is not good. He assaulted Frank in front of a police officer. I think Frank's lying by saying he's never been abused – and especially just from what you told me."
"Frank gets hit all the time," Joe said. "He says it's Frank's fault, so what Frank means is, if he gets hit, he deserves it."
The social worker sighed and placed his hands on his head. "Joe, we're going to have to place you two into foster care."
"You can't do that," Joe protested. "We like where we're living."
The social worker left the room and Frank came back in. "He's gonna put us in foster care, isn't he?" Frank demanded.
"Yeah," Joe said.
Frank pounded his fist on the desk. "How did anyone find out?" he whispered. "We were so freaking careful!"
"I don't know."
The social worker came back. "You're lucky, there are two homes that always accept teen boys…"
"Two homes?" Frank demanded.
"No way," Joe shouted. "We're not being separated."
"We generally do have to separate people. I'm sorry, but there aren't very many homes willing to foster two boys at once on such short notice," the social worker said.
Frank glared at him. "Then just put us back home with our parents," he snapped as the worker walked out of the room.
"They'll be here to pick you up within the hour," he replied. "Enjoy."
"Shoot," Joe said. "Shoot, shoot, shoot. This is crap."