Slaves to the Spirits

Chapter Four

Ms. Porter wore her hair close to her scalp, pulled back from her face and twisted into a bun so that her features appeared sharper, harsher, and her cold eyes more distant. She wore navy suit pants and a matching blazer over her crisp white blouse, doused herself in the scent of musk. Elisabeth screwed up her nose. Alex hid behind Elisabeth during her visit, peering over at her every few seconds as if he expected her to disappear if he didn't watch her closely enough. Elisabeth mourned that, the reality that he was so used to people vanishing before him.

"Hello Elisabeth, Alex," she greeted, red painted lips curling up into a smile she probably thought was polite. "I trust you are well."

Elisabeth shifted her weight and folded her arms over her chest. "Why are you here?"

"Such dreadful manners," Ms. Porter tutted. "How do you expect little Alex to learn to say please and thank you when you can't even be pleasant to your caseworker?"

"Seeing you isn't a good thing."

Ms. Porter ignored her, bending at the waist to peer at her brother's face. Her voice rose an octave as she spoke sweetly, falsely. "Are those your blocks over there, Alex?"

He nodded shyly, clutching at the fabric of Elisabeth's shirt with uncertainty. He forgot faces so easily.

"Will you build me a big tower?" she asked. "I want to see, won't you show me?"

Alex glanced up at his sister, hesitating, and it wasn't until Elisabeth nodded that he stumbled over to the pile of plastic cubes and began to stack clumsily.

"He seems to be improving," Ms. Porter noted quietly. "He understood me easily enough."

"He understands plenty."

"Of course all children develop at different rates. There is no reason to be concerned. He could turn out to be a perfectly normal child yet."

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. "You didn't come all the way here just to tell me that."

"You're right." Her brown eyes swung from the child sitting on the floor to the face of his older sister, which she studied for a short few seconds before smiling. "I came to tell you to pack your things."

"Why would I do that?"

"You and your brother have been given an opportunity by the coast. A nice couple with a beautiful home. I'm sure Alexander would like the beach very much."

"It doesn't work like that," Elisabeth insisted. "They're supposed to come here for interviews, and you know the last one didn't go well. Mr. Carter nearly-"

"No interviews." Ms. Porter smiled. "They've already decided on you two. The documents came in almost a week ago confirming it all."

"And nobody told me?"

"Well," Ms. Porter said slowly, "we doubted you would take it well. We thought it would be best to tell you when it became necessary."

"What do you mean, wouldn't take it well?" Elisabeth hissed. "I'm taking this so well. Wonderfully, really."

Ms. Porter smirked and looked at Elisabeth from the corner of her eye. "Of course, dear," she agreed, "you're taking this wonderfully well."

Her eyes danced with disbelief as she looked back at Elisabeth's brother, black patent leather heels clicking against the floorboards as she moved towards him, crouching down to look into his eyes kindly and pet his hair, praising him for the 'magnificent stacking skills he had exhibited'. The tower toppled down only seconds after the words left her mouth.

Alexander burst into tears.

It was merely a matter of short hours before the three were stood out the front of the dilapidated building, Elisabeth once more studying the brickwork of the front side of the building as Alexander happily waved goodbye to the other young children he supposed were his friends. He didn't know it - he never seemed to know it - but he wasn't leaving for a day trip. He was saying goodbye to his friends again, no doubt only to return in a few months, no longer remembering their names or faces or the past weeks of joy he had spent with them. There was something tragic about all of it that forced Elisabeth's eyes away, up and up and up along the front face of the building, studying the climbing ivy and the faded red brick and the dirty windows of the top floor, where she could see the silhouettes of people rushing past every few moments and hear the tail ends of conversations floating down on the cool winter air.

"I didn't steal your stupid shoes, Tim! They're ugly and-"

"Mrs. Kinston, I must ask you to offer your expertise with one of the children. You see-"

"Have you seen his papers? He's meant to be leaving next week and I-"

"When's Daddy coming back? He said he was coming back. I want to see my-"

She heard the sliding of glass, the dull thump of the window closing, and then nothing. Closed out from the world she had grown so accustomed to, full of order and stability and a coldness that was so horribly blatant to her. She wondered if Alex felt it, when he stepped inside after a day out, when he looked for attention and was not awarded it, when he sat at the big dining table and was treated just like all the others, rarely called by his name. She hoped he didn't. She hoped he felt as little as he spoke.

She had a sinking feeling that perhaps it wasn't a realistic desire.

"I know the brickwork is truly fascinating," Ms. Porter began quietly, standing just to her left, "but I'm afraid that the luggage won't move itself."

Elisabeth turned her head to look over at her, noting the blandness to her face, the tired expression masked beneath bright red lipstick and carefully applied concealer and an expression meant to mimic indifference in regards to her future. She jerked her head to the right, over to where the silver sedan was parked on the side of the street. Sighing, Elisabeth walked over to the cluster of bags, picking up one of the tattered duffel bags and moving towards the back of the car, rolling her eyes as she discovered it was still locked.

"Did I forget to unlock the back?" Ms. Porter called, frowning as she approached the car, but it was clear from her tone that she hadn't really. Elisabeth knew she was being punished, forced to stand in the cold for a few extra seconds. Ms. Porter must have thought she cared, but the discomfort of being cold was nothing new to Elisabeth and she waited patiently as her caseworker's slender body rushed towards her. She stood idly, gnawing the pink flesh of her lower lip, trying her best not to roll her eyes at the sound of Ms. Porter's shiny heels clacking on the pavement or the jangling of her keys from the finger she had looped through the keyring.

"Listen," Elisabeth said quietly as Ms. Porter shoved the key into the lock, eyes flickering back towards St. Emiliano's where her brother was standing, currently peering up at a bird's nest curiously. "Ms. Porter." She looked back into her narrowed brown eyes, gulped.

"God, spit it out, would you? What's the matter now?"

"I really can't do this."

Ms. Porter snorted as she tipped back her head, glancing away momentarily. "Is that all? I've told you before and I will say it until I'm blue in the face. We don't make mistakes."

"Then what about all the other times? All the other families and homes that didn't work out?"

Opening the back of the car, Ms. Porter huffed, grabbing the bag from the teenager's firm grasp and throwing it into the car without any degree of care. "There are always some… calibration errors, Elisabeth. We do not live in a perfect world, and you cannot expect perfect things from it."

She shook her head. "You're not listening to me. I really can't do it again. I can't do this to him again, and I don't want to do this anymore. I won't-"

"Elisabeth, everything will be alright," she interrupted, her harsh tone a contradiction to the soft hand resting on her shoulder, the small smile painting her face and the slight melting of her cold gaze. "The first few families usually aren't a perfect match."

Elisabeth had stopped believing in that first sentence a long time ago. "That's what you said last time."

She removed her hand from her shoulder, tipping back her head to let out a little laugh. "Did I? Well it doesn't matter. Now, would you stop with your childishness and go and fetch the rest of the bags? We're losing daylight, dear." She made a shooing motion, clearly expecting that to be the end of the conversation, turning away from the youth and back towards the boot of the car, leaning in and trying to appear busy in the hopes that she wouldn't bother her anymore.

"No," Elisabeth insisted, fingers seizing the older woman's bony wrist. "I'm being serious. I won't put him through that again. You wonder why he's so slow - can't you see it's affecting him?"

Ms. Porter turned back to look at the girl, spine straight as a pin as she looked down at her, tilting her head. "Don't you want a family for him, and for you?" she asked slowly, frowning when she realigned her head. "Don't you think it would help him? Or would you rather he grew up not knowing love, family, and what it means to belong somewhere?"

Elisabeth took a deep breath, her gaze flashing past Ms. Porter as she focused on the young boy. He stood out in his red little jacket, the fabric too thin for the weather but it was all he had. He smiled brightly, unbothered, and ran around playing a game that only existed for him. "He does need a family," she said slowly. She looked back at her caseworker, eyes hard. "But if that means he moves into a new home every two months and calls a hundred different men his father, then maybe it would be better if he just didn't have one."

Ms. Porter tapped the back of Elisabeth's hand sympathetically, though her tone was ice cold and her eyes stoney. "Then perhaps your mother shouldn't have been trying so hard to get that raise, hmm?"

Elisabeth clenched her jaw, stepped closer to the woman. "Don't-"

But she was already taking up her hand in her own weathered palms, frowning down at the peeling skin around her nails. "God, Elisabeth, what did I tell you about chewing your fingers?" she chided, gasping in horror at the state of her digits. "It's a disgusting habit, really! Dr. Jones can say all he likes about anxiety, but we both know it's a load of nonsense," she tutted. "You could stop if you really wanted to."

Elisabeth's hand twitched in her grasp, before she snatched it away from the taller woman, repressing the urge to do something stupid. "Don't you think it's something for Dr. Jones and I to talk about? He's the one with the license."

Ms. Porter sneered. "Of course, dear," she said, her voice drowned in a fake sweetness, the muscle above her left eyebrow twitching. "Now, why don't we finish loading the car and then we can get going? Your brother seems very excited about seeing the ocean for the first time. It wouldn't do to make him wait, now would it?"