Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.
KJB, Luke 18:16
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Dr. Brennan stared after him for several minutes and then, with a sigh, sat down heavily on the sofa. She clutched a pillow to her chest; a curious little smile crossed her face before she raised it to her nose and breathed deeply. She was still smiling when she looked over at the empty doorway.
I envied her the sweetness of that moment, breathing in his scent from the pillow he'd slept on.
When she stretched out, I left her drifting into sleep and wandered along the hallway without conscious direction. On my hill I had sat for years without moving, with nothing to do but watch the shadows of the trees move with the sun and the moon. Here, after just a few days, I was restless and looking for something to occupy the endless hours of the day.
I saw Booth coming out of Angela's office. She was at his heels.
" . . . a couple of hours, at least," he was saying. He spoke over his shoulder as he tripped quickly down the stairs. "No calls and don't let anyone go in there. Put a sign on the door or something."
"Got it." Angela hurried to keep up with him.
"And turn her computer off. She gets too much email and I don't want any noises waking her up."
"Okay."
"And . . ."
"Booth." Angela stopped him when they reached the bottom of the stairs. She spread her right hand over her heart and smiled at him. "I promise you that I will wrap her in a cocoon of silence. No one will disturb her."
He made a face, his expression a little abashed. When he looked in the direction of Dr. Brennan's office, sparkling threads of light pulled away from his wide shoulders and drifted off to find her.
His eyes cut back to Angela. "Take care of her."
He walked away and it was then that I realized I could go with him. They were connected, these two people. Him to her. Her to him. The guide had warned me about the risk of becoming lost if I went too far from my bones but I couldn't be lost if I stayed with Booth, could I? Dr. Brennan held my bones but she held him, too. If I were with him, I'd be safe. I was certain of that because I was certain that he would always come back to her.
It was enough.
I followed him.
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I'd been there before, to the ugly square building filled with offices where the fates of children like me were decided. I'd never liked it. The lights were too bright and no one really smiled. The pictures of happy children and laughing families and the posters that encouraged everyone to keep trying, to climb the mountain or soar with the eagles were out of place in waiting rooms that were usually filled with crying babies and sullen teenagers and complaining adults.
Lucky for me, I had only been forced to go there a few times. After I went to live with Miss Justine, Mr. Gonzalez came to her house. He got double-duty out of those visits. He was able to see me, and the boys after they came to live with us, and at the same time he could cross off a home visit until it was time for the next one.
When I counted back, I realized it had been almost five years since I'd been there but when I followed Booth into Mr. Gonzalez' cramped little office, I couldn't tell that anything had changed. Mr. Gonzalez certainly hadn't. He was still short and round. He still had the same pointed mustache. He still wore his hair parted straight down the middle and he still liked to wear ties with short-sleeved shirts.
As he shook hands with Booth and waved him to a chair in front of the desk, I told myself I was being too harsh. Mr. Gonzalez had always been nice to me. I should remember that, too.
"I appreciate the time," Booth said as he sat down.
"Not at all," Mr. Gonzalez answered. I realized he looked sad. "Whatever I can do. Speaking of that . . ." He laid a thick brown folder on top of a stack of forms. "Here's Annie's file. I copied everything I had. I'm not sure there's anything useful there but I thought you might want it, just in case."
"Thank you." Booth left it lying on the desk and settled back in the uncomfortable chair. He leveled a close look at my caseworker. "According to my records, Anne Duncan was placed with Justine Stanford at the age of seven?"
Mr. Gonzalez took a deep breath.
"Yes. Her history is all there." He nodded at my file. "Annie's mother died of cancer when she was five. Her father was killed in a car accident eight months later. There was a grandparent, a grandfather, I think, in a nursing home. Alzheimer's. So she came to us." He shook his head and stared down at his desk. "We tried permanent placement at first, with an eye to adoption. A blonde-haired young white girl, it should have been a piece of cake. But it never worked. She'd scream all night long or become almost catatonic. Sometimes she'd refuse to speak or eat at all. The families always brought her back."
Memories crowded into my head.
Smiles that were too wide, that showed too many teeth.
Rooms that were too pink or too purple.
"We're going to be your new mommy and daddy. Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't you like to have a new mommy and daddy?"
I didn't want a new mommy and daddy. I wanted mine . . . and they were gone.
And then there was one night when I'd woken up to find the man who called himself my new daddy sitting on the side of my bed with his hand on my knee. That's when I screamed, and once I started it felt so good that I just kept on screaming.
"We did that four, maybe five times and then we put her with Justine Stanford as a temporary measure." Mr. Gonzalez was still talking. "When it worked, we thought maybe we should just let her stay."
I remembered when that happened, too. Sitting in a spotlessly clean living room with my small suitcase at my feet. Crocheted doilies on the arms of the chairs and the sofa and the tables. A black and white cat sleeping under a window. And Miss Justine, tall and thin, with a halo of short, grey curls, looking down her nose as she put a plate in front of me.
"Some people get dealt some bad cards, that's a fact, and it looks like you're one of 'em. I ain't your mama, girl, and there ain't no daddy here, neither. But you can stay as long as you want to, unless you start that screamin' they told me about. You do that and they'll put you in a hospital and trust me, this is a better place. Now drink that milk while it's cold."
Miss Justine and I, we understood each other. She didn't pretend to love me and I didn't pretend it mattered.
"You ever see anything unusual there, any hint of something wrong?" Booth had taken out his notebook and was writing as he spoke.
"No. Mrs. Stanford got her check every month and she was happy. She always wanted more money, she was always applying for any extra assistance offers that came up, but they all do that. I considered it a successful placement." Mr. Gonzalez shrugged before his shoulders slumped. "Annie was well fed. Her clothes were appropriate for the season and the weather. She went to school regularly." He looked at Booth. "That's a lot better than some foster kids."
"And the two boys? They were placed in the home later?"
"Yes, about five years later. There were other kids there, too, on a short-term basis, but TJ and Abe were the only long-term placements since Annie. They're brothers and since there was an extra financial incentive to keep them together, Mrs. Stanford was happy to take both of them."
"How old were they at the time?"
"Abe was 11, I believe. TJ was six. Agent Booth, I do have to be careful here. Without a warrant . . ."
"I understand." Booth kept talking and writing. "Were there any issues in the home after the boys were placed?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Any legal troubles, anything involving the police?"
"Agent Booth . . ."
"Right." Booth closed his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. "In your opinion, Mr. Gonzalez, could one or both of the boys have had anything to do with Anne Duncan's disappearance?"
Mr. Gonzalez looked sad again. For me or for the boys? Or for all of us? I couldn't tell.
"My gut says no, Agent Booth, but I would never have believed Mrs. Stanford would lie about Annie's disappearance, either. I was shocked that she'd hide the fact that Annie was gone." His head shook back and forth. "Maybe I'm not the best person to ask."
Booth stood up and held out his hand.
"Thanks for your time." He offered a business card and picked up the file. "If you think of anything else, please call me."
"I will." Mr. Gonzalez stared at the card. "If there's anything else you need, if there's anything I can do to help Annie . . . She was a sweet girl. Life broke hard for her."
I could tell Booth was angry. His voice was sharp and curt.
"This wasn't bad luck. Anne Duncan was murdered."
He jerked the door open and left without saying goodbye. He walked quickly when he was angry and since he was taller and his legs were longer, I had to move fast to keep up.
When Booth got to his car, he opened the file Mr. Gonzalez had given him. He stopped when he found copies of my old school photos, from second grade to the last one taken a few weeks before I died. After looking at them for a few minutes, he closed the folder and tossed it on the empty passenger seat.
His hand slammed down hard on the steering wheel.
"Dammit."
When he put the car in gear, I knew where we were going.
It was time to see TJ and Abe.
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Thanks for reading!
