to the guest that asked for separators between shifts in 'scenes', I've added some dotted lines. Hope this helps
I also hope to redeem myself with this chapter as interest seems to be waning, but that is to be expected for everything comes to an end. I've got some loose ends to tie up here before I can reslove the story, but thanks for reading this far.
All Roads Lead to the Wrong Place
The problem with running away is that once you do it…there you are. Fitz found that out rather quickly. He'd done a lot of planning in the time he decided what he needed to do and when he did it. He was proud of the way his plan came together. 'Flawless' he told himself. Every step he'd planned worked perfectly…his getaway was clean. What he didn't do was plan for after he actually did the running.
Giving Brennan all of his money was a major mistake, not that he couldn't recoup some of it. After all, Grant had told him he was the best pickpocket he'd ever met. Phil would be quite angry to know he'd reverted to his old ways, but what the hell, he'd never see him again anyway. Fitz quickly wiped his eyes and walked faster. He'd gone back to the gymnasium after all the buses had left for the day and retrieved the sneakers he used for Phys Ed. It was a risk he had to take because his toes were aching from Brennan's too small shoes. It was easy then to walk to the next cross street and catch the metro into the city.
The city…Fitz hadn't spent a lot of time in this city and it was a lot bigger and busier than the sections of London he'd haunted with his maw and Grant. He'd never been this far into the city on his own. The crowds of people…tourists, he imagined…were never ending. It was getting darker. He stood at the base of the Washington Monument and looked across the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial. The setting sun had turned the sky a shade of orangy pink that gave the water a rusty glow. An older woman smiled at him as she raised her camera to take a picture of the colorful memory.
"Have you lost your mum?" She inquired in a familiar accent. Fitz shook his head and walked away, not really sure where he was going or what he'd do when he got there. A security guard stood at the end of the long walkway. The boy pulled the baseball cap he'd 'borrow' from Brennan, down closer to his eyebrows and walked slowly past the man. He glanced at his watch and tried to ignore the rumble in his stomach.
'Almost seven…well past supper,' he thought to himself. 'I wonder what they had. Mom said it was a surprise.' Mom, just the thought of Melinda caused an ache he didn't really understand. It wasn't the same as the deep wound that his maw's memory gave him. It was different, kinda different. It was like missing something that was never supposed to be yours but you really wanted it to be. He sucked in a deep breath as he stood at the corner waiting to cross with the large crowd of people that surrounded him.
Without thinking, he bumped into a large man then politely apologized. The big guy smiled down at him and assured him it was nothing before turning back to the conversation he had been having with the woman who was probably his wife. The light turned and everyone moved across the street. Fitz watched as the man stretched his arm around his wife and laughed a very happy laugh. As they walked away disappearing into the crowd, Fitz looked at the wallet he held in his hand. He swallowed hard and thought about how the man would feel when he noticed it was gone. He thought about how he probably wouldn't be able to pay for his meals or his hotel or whatever his wife needed. He thought about Phil looking so disappointed. He stared at the wallet as the people passing bumped and pushed around him.
The boy shook his head and sprinted after the middle-aged couple, weaving in and out of the crowd looking for the lady's crazy yellow hat. "Hey…hey, mister!" He called as he ran. "Hey, wait!" By the time he caught up to the pair, he was mostly out of breath. "WAIT!" He managed to blurt out before they stepped off the curb at the next corner. He took a deep breath and ran the last few feet, stopping in front of the large man.
"You…dropped…this…" he held out the wallet to the man who quickly patted his back pocket and looked at the boy in surprise. Fitz stood breathing heavily with his arm extended to the man.
The guy took the item from the boy, immediately opening it and sliding his finger over the cash inside. He flipped out his license and credit cards as well before his wife slapped his arm.
"Leonard, the boy ran all this way to give it back, do you think he'd do that if he took something!" She slapped him again and smiled down at Fitz. "Thank you, so much, honey. You are a very nice little boy."
Fitz looked down at his feet, his face flushing more with guilt and shame than embarrassment. "You're welcome," he mumbled as he turned and began to walk away. A large hand on his shoulder stopped him and he grit his teeth fearing what would come.
"Hold on there, sonny," the man didn't sound angry. "Coulda been a real nightmare if I lost this, vacation would be over." Fitz turned slowly to face the man who still held the wallet in his hand. He pulled a bill from it and slapped it into the boy's hand. "You're folks did ya proud, son. Where's your dad? I'd like to shake his hand."
Fitz looked at the ten-dollar bill in his hand and shook his head. He struggled to mask his Scottish accent and sound as American as he could. "No, no sir. I can't take this." He pushed the money back toward the man.
"Nonsense," the wife smiled. "You did a wonderful thing and you should be rewarded. Here ya go, sweetie. You buy yourself something nice, you deserve it." She pushed the money back into his hand, adding another ten, from her own purse. "Now, you just point out your mommy and daddy so we can thank them properly."
Fitz looked again at the money in his hand and swallowed his panic. He shook his head again. "My ma..mom wouldn't want me to take this." His voice was just above a whisper. "She…she…ah…she took my…my little sister to the bathroom. I have to meet her by the…the end of the pool by the stairs…" He lied, pointing toward the Lincoln Memorial. "I need to hurry, before it gets too dark."
"All the way back there, huh?" The big man wrinkled his brow and turned toward his wife. He looked at his watch. "We gotta get to the tour bus in about ten minutes." The woman shook her head. The man slapped Fitz on the shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. "I guess you'll just have to thank them for us, won't ya?" He smiled and took the boy's small hand in his large one, shaking it so enthusiastically that Fitz's whole body vibrated. "You run along, bud, get back to your folks before it gets dark and thanks again." The big man smiled broadly, as he slapped the wallet that now set in his back pocket. The woman waved a wiggly finger wave as she took her husband's arm and they walked off into the crowd.
Fitz looked at the money, holding one ten in each hand. He smiled slowly at his dumb luck and knew exactly what to do…exactly where to go. He knew exactly the place he could find something to eat…some place warm…safe…somewhere no one would think to look for him.
Hunter planned to get Munk a hot meal and a whole lot of coffee, but was certain they would not be welcome in even the greasiest spoon in town. He knew he didn't smell very good but compared to Munk he could package his odor as manly cologne. Hunter had been in some bad places and he had been witness to some wicked carnage. His nose had experienced a lot of abusive scents in his travels but the smell that emanated from this guy was enough to knock a maggot off a gut wagon. Nope, he would not even attempt to put any diner through that torture. With that in mind, he made his way toward the soup kitchen three blocks down, urging Munk in the same direction.
Munk alternated between mumbling under his breath, shouting out loud at no one in particular and looking over his shoulder at Hunter. In one turn he'd thank Lance for his kindness and on the next round accuse him of stalking him. For a moment, Hunter regretted not throwing the guy in his car and driving the distance, but in doing so he'd probably have to burn the vehicle as the scent would never be eradicated.
Once inside the small cafeteria, Hunter was surprised at the number of people who greeted Munk grasping his hand or slapping his back. Apparently, the man frequented the place quite often. Hunter helped the man sit at one of the smaller tables, closest to the wall and farthest from the door, then hurried to the counter to grab two cups of coffee. He brought them to the table and positioned himself to prevent Munk from wandering off.
"Here ya go, mate," he spoke quietly to the man. "Try this."
Munk picked up the cup and stared into it for moment before putting it down so hard that it splashed over his hand. He did not react, although Hunter knew it had to have burned the man. "Not this…not this…nope, nope, nope…don't need it…don't want it." Munk chanted. "Don't like it…don't want it…don't drink it…need a drink…need a real drink…" He rambled on getting louder, almost frantic.
"It's okay, mate," Hunter assured him, moving the cup away. "Maybe tea, instead?"
"No, no, no…don't want it…don't need it…don't want it…need a drink…a drink…a drink," Munk fretted, rocked back and forth on the metal folding chair.
"Okay…okay…relax there Munk, you don't have to drink it..." Hunter took both cups from the table, turned and pushed them across the table behind him. "See…gone…" He held up both hands like he would for a small child. "All gone."
Munk shook his head, still not having made eye contact with Hunter. "Good…gone…all gone…don't want it…don't need it…don't want it." He sounded calmer, quieter. Hunter waited while the rocking stopped and the man feel into silence.
"How about a bit to eat, then? Are you hungry, Munk?" Hunter asked quietly.
"Corn Pops…Pops…Pops…need it…want it…Corn Pops…." Munk repeated with the same emotion he had refused the coffee.
Hunter rolled his eyes. "Of course you do, mate." He grumbled under his breath. "You wait right here, Munk and I'll see what I can do. It's a bit past breakfast you know." Hunter rose and made his way back to the serving counter.
A young man with his hair pulled back into a ponytail smiled and held up a box of the sweet cereal before Hunter had the chance to ask. "We keep it just in case he shows up," the kid explained. "It's all the guy eats. Weird, huh?" He passed the box across the counter to Hunter. "You won't need anything else. He just eat 'em out of the box." The boy shrugged his shoulders as Hunter grimaced and shook his head. He turned to see Munk making his way across the hall toward the door.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Munk." Hunter rushed toward him, grabbing his arm and halting his progress. "Look what I've got," he shook the box of cereal. "Corn Pops…don't you need it?"
Munk froze, listening to the rattle of the cereal inside the box. He nodded slowly, turned and shuffled back toward the table. Once there he sat back on the same chair and stared straight ahead, bouncing his feet to an unheard tune. Hunter held out the box that the man snatched from his hand, tore off the top flap and pulled out the waxy bag inside. He struggled with opening it, pulling at it and attempting to rip open the top.
"You need some help there, mate?" Hunter raised one brow as he reached to offer assistance.
"Mine!" Munk shrieked, clutching the bag to his chest and turning sideways. He blew air through his cheeks causing his hollow face to puff up like a chipmunk. His droopy eyes grew wide and if he had enough teeth worth doing so, he probably would have snarled.
Hunter raised both hands and shook his head. "Hey, just trying to help…just trying to help." He lowered his arms and almost laughed at the man's attempt to rip open the bag with his teeth.
Finally setting the bag on the table, Munk plowed his fist into it. The air in the bag released in a loud pop sending golden chunks of sticky cereal across the table, to the floor and bouncing in all directions. The few people that sat at tables in different parts of the large room stopped and looked in their direction. Hunter tried to reach over and push the contents back toward their owner but Munk had already shoved his hand into the bag and was stuffing a handful of kernels into his mouth. Most of the cereal missed and stuck to his dirty beard or landed on his grimy coat, he proceeded to pick them off with his blackened fingers and pop them into his mouth.
Hunter grimaced and thanked fate that he not yet eaten today because if so, he'd be dashing for the nearest waste receptacle. "Good, huh?" He half-smiled at the man, who once again hugged the bag and turned away. "Oh, absolutely, mate, absolutely," Hunter agreed. "The whole bloody bag is yours to keep." He thought for a moment, glancing around the room and drumming his fingers on the tabletop while Munk continued stuffing his mouth to the point he was unable to chew. "You know, mate, if you play your cards just right, I might just be able to score another box for you." He leaned across the table, keeping his hands under his chest and whispered, "Maybe the family size, hmmm."
Munk stopped and narrowed his eyes for a moment, then continued chewing. It took less than five minutes for the bag to be emptied. The man smoothed it out on the table and folded it neatly into the size of a teabag then jammed it into his pocket. "Good socks when it gets cold," he explained patting his side.
"Huh, right…" Hunter gave a pitiful smile. "So, Munk, you think you could tell me more about the big black car?"
"Guy, gimme 10 dollars to keep the garbage away," the man repeated what he had said in the bar. "Didn't throw me out then did he?" He shook his head, causing his shoulder length hair to swing from side to side. Hunter noticed the bits of cereal stuck there and hoped Munk was saving them for later. He wasn't sure he could bare another picking session.
"Yeah, and you did a grand job of it, too" Hunter nodded as he drew the photo from his pocket, hoping against hope that the guy would at least look at it. "Is this one of the gents that got in the car, Munk?" He held it out so the man could see it.
Munk rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times before opening then wide and studying the picture. "That one give me nuttin, just gimme a look like he tinks he's better'n me. I know his kind…I know it…don't need it…don't need none of it." He shook his head and closed his eyes, a signal Hunter took to put away the photo.
"Do you remember when you saw this guy?" Hunter was taking a chance, he was pretty sure Munk couldn't remember how they had gotten to the shelter let alone something that happened days or weeks ago.
"A course I remember," Munk slapped his hands down on the table causing Hunter to jump. "I ain't simple minded."
"Of course, you're not, mate…" Hunter placated the man.
"It was the day the guy gimme ten dollars…" Munk began.
Hunter nodded his head and blew out a breath, "to keep the garbage away," he finished for the man. This was getting nowhere. He dropped his head in frustration.
"Right!" Munk snapped, causing Hunter to look up quickly. "The night wees had meatloaf…hate it…don't eat it…don't like it…don't want it…." Munk shook his head and a Corn Pop plopped onto the table. He stared at it for a moment, clearly wondering where it had come from, then picked it up. Hunter closed his eyes before he would have to watch Munk devour it.
"Meat loaf…mashed potatoes…green beans n'jello…that's what wees had that night…that's what they gived us. Gave mine to Ruby, I did…don't eat it…don't like it…don't want it." Hunter continued to describe the meal.
"That's great, Munk, great. Now, can you tell me about the other guy, Munk, the one with the money?"
"He gimme me ten dollars…" Munk chanted
"Yeah, yeah…garbage and all…do you remember anything else about the bloke, Munk, about the car?"
"Big…black." Munk spread his arms wide. "Shiny…dark windows…"
It was too much to hope that Munk could remember the make or model of the vehicle. "Was there a name on the car anywhere, Munk? Did you notice a name?"
"Lincoln Town Car Executive, 1997 model, right out of the show room, leather steering wheel, cruise control, keyless entry, four speed, automatic power control, power brakes and steering, fifteen miles per gallon city, twenty-thee highway." Munk rattled off the specs of the car in a completely different voice. Hunter's mouth dropped open in disbelief, but as the man continued, he was almost tempted to leap across the table and hug him. "Virginia Plates SAK-7669"
Hunter sat in shock staring at the man who second's ago spoke like a professional automobile executive and now worked at yanking a pea sized piece of cereal from the bottom of his chest length beard. He barely made eye contact, barely spoke understandable English…if you could even call it English. So utterly amazed was Hunter that he failed to realize they had been joined by a rather manly looking woman with orange ragged cut hair that stuck out in varying lengths.
"Used to work as some kinda big wig up on the Hill, lots of lobbyist from the auto industry." The woman's gruff voice brought Hunter to his senses. He turned slowly to meet the woman's gaze. She had buggy black eyes and clothing that said she might have worked at a filling station, but she was clean, right down to her well-manicured fingernails. "Anything you want to know about cars, hell any vehicle, Munk's your man." She nodded toward him and flashed a large toothy smile. If she were a street person, she was the tidiest one Hunter had yet to meet.
"Uh-huh," was the only reply Lance had as he turned back, staring at Munk.
"You new in town?" The woman inquired with a hint of apprehension. "Ain't seen you around before. Friend of Munk's are ya?"
Hunter looked toward the woman whose voice reminded him of his first drill sergeant at the academy. He shook his head in answer still gazing at the man across the table from him.
"Ya gotta name?" The woman demanded as her voice got more serious.
"Hunter," he replied, sticking his hand out to the side but not meeting her gaze.
She took it and squeezed hard, immediately getting his attention. "Ruby Manion," she barked her name and gave a rough shake as Hunter finally turned to meet her. His mouth formed an 'O' as he grimaced in pain. She released his hand. He shook the pain out of it and swallowed hard. "Munk's not usually around this time a'day. There a problem?"
Hunter massaged his hand and shook his head. "No…no problem…Munk, here was helping me out with a little problem."
"Munk?" The woman snorted, "Now, that's different."
"Are you the Ruby, Munk here shared his meatloaf with?" Hunter asked.
"Meat loaf…mashed potatoes…green beans n'jello…that's what wees had that night…that's what they gived us. Gave mine to Ruby, I did…don't eat it…don't like it…don't want it." Meatloaf…" The guy was a like a recording that played with a verbal cue.
Hunter patted his hand. He immediately pulled it away, hiding both under the table. "Right, mate. You mentioned that."
Ruby dropped her head and laughed silently. "He's a real paradox, our Munk. No idea, how he got this way"
"M…" Hunter looked at the man staring across the auditorium and switched direction. "Do you remember the night he shared his me…meal with you?"
Ruby looked at him for a moment the nodded. "Woulda been last Wednesday, always have it on the third Wednesday of the month…every month, same old thing. He really hates it. Lucky for who ever sits at his table. They get double." She laughed again. Munk continued to stare, oblivious to anything and everything around him. "Don't think you'll get any more from him. Looks like he's done for the day."
"Not a problem," Hunter smiled. "Old Munk here's given me more than I need." He smiled, stood and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. Dropping it on the table, he nodded toward the pair. "Thank you, Munk…Ruby, thanks for your help. Use that to get him all the Corn Pops he wants."
Ruby picked up the money, narrowing her glare as she examined it then looked to the swinging doors where Hunter had disappeared.
Melinda stood staring at the woman, mentally running through every scheduled assessment, meeting, interview…every date that related to the kids. She never forgot an appointment but today was…well, today was just another episode in an unending stream of chaos. She forced a smile.
"Hello, Mrs. Holt…I'm sorry, we weren't expecting you…"
The woman stepped in without an invitation. "We like to pull surprise assessments." She looked around the large foyer. "It gives us a much better picture of what we need to evaluate." The woman turned back to Melinda who still stood holding the door. She smiled and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
Melinda slowly closed the door. "Welcome to our home. Won't you come in." She tried hard to conceal her sarcasm.
The woman turned back toward Melinda, sliding her large satchel from her shoulder and holding it in front of her with both hands. "Perhaps we can start with a tour of the children's bedrooms." She sneered. "And, of course, I'd like time with each of them…separately."
Melinda glared at the woman and spoke through her teeth, still managing to sound cordial. "Let me get my husband. He is just in the kitchen."
"No problem, dear. I'll accompany you." She extended her arm allowing Melinda to lead the way.
They stepped into the kitchen to find Phil seated at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Gone were his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up giving him a relaxed look. Gone also were their four colleagues. Melinda glanced around the room quickly before addressing her husband.
"Phil, this is Abigail Holt from DCS." Melinda narrowed her eyes as she looked into his.
Phil stood and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you. Welcome to our home." He glanced quickly at Melinda silently telling her that everything was under control. "We weren't expecting you." He gave her hand a limp shake then turned to the percolator on the kitchen counter. "Would you care for some coffee? It's fresh."
The small woman sneered and looked from one person to the other before continuing. She lifted her large bag to the table and snapped it open, revealing a stack of manila folders. "That would be against protocol, Mr. Coulson. As a representative of DCS, I'm afraid it could be misconstrued as taking undue compensation. Someone, at some point, could see it as you trying to influence my decision."
Phil shrugged his shoulders. "Wouldn't want that would we?" He smiled as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.
The woman pulled files from the briefcase and placed them on the table. "Tour first," she commanded. "Then I'll speak to the children."
Phil and Melinda shared a quick glance before he stepped closer to his wife and took her arm. "Well, this is the kitchen," he began. "We spend a lot of time here, meals and all…homework, snacks…family stuff." Melinda gently nudged him with her elbow. Phil could be as sarcastic as the next, but he did it with such subtleness he usually got away with it.
Holt held her clipboard checking items off as they moved from room to room. She hmmmed and hawed at the Coulson's descriptions of their children's rooms, interests and activities. She seemed most interested in the boys' room.
"They share this room?" She asked for the third time as she ran a finger across the surface of Trip's desk, then rubbed it against her thumb. She moved to the bunk bed and pulled the quilt and sheet away from Fitz's mattress, then ran her hand along it. "You are aware that regulation states each child must have their own private room." She stated without looking at them, but making another check on her form.
"We are," Phil replied, "but, Fitz is not really ready for that. He does a lot better sharing with Trip. Gets a lot of support from his big brother."
"Hmmm," the woman looked at him over her glasses, "brother." She scribbled a note, viciously dotting her 'i's'. "Have you notified his social worker that he has such difficulty? Is he seeing a therapist regarding his insecurities?"
"He's nine-years-old," Melinda deadpanned. "He's afraid of the dark and has nightmares. He's been through hell and lost his mother. Sleeping in the same room as his older brother is not cause to have him psycho-analyzed."
"That remains to be seen. I'll talk to the boy first and make that determination myself. We're done here." She knocked her pen against the clipboard, clicking the point closed. "Where are the children?"
Phil looked at Melinda letting her know he had an answer. She nodded. "Most of them are downstairs but I'm afraid we can't let you speak with Fitz today."
Before he could continue, she turned on him, almost angry. "And why would that be?" She demanded.
"He's at a sleepover at a friend's house, been looking forward to it for weeks. You wouldn't want to disappoint him. Would you?" Phil queried, with a hint of regret.
"Life is full of disappointments, isn't it Mr. Coulson?" The stern woman fired back. "Call and have him brought here. I can wait."
Phil took on his 'in charge' persona. "That's not going to happen, Ms. Holt. You've shown up here, unannounced supposedly to see our family going through our day to day, for lack of a better term, familiness. This is what's happening today. Fitz is not here. You want to speak to him, you'll just have to surprise us at another time and take your chances." There it was. Like it or not he wasn't about to budge. There was no way they could produce Fitz, so he hid the lie in a truth and hoped she'd buy it. "You want to speak with the girls; we'll take you to them." He laughed a bit, "but I'm sure you'll need an interpreter to make any sense of what Skye has to say. If she'll talk with you at all."
The woman merely stared at Phil. Apparently, no one dared to take a stand against her and her department. For a moment, she seemed speechless. She took a deep breath and hugged her clipboard to her chest, glaring at the couple. "As you wish, Mr. Coulson, but I will speak to the boy as soon as he returns."
Phil smiled and ushered her through the door and back to the kitchen where she once again picked up her files. "You said the girls were here, is Antoine Triplett also visiting a friend?" She grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
Melinda narrowed her eyes just enough for Phil to understand her concern. What did this woman…this woman from DCS…want to know about Trip? Trip was with them as a favor to his grandmother, a friend. He hadn't been placed in their care by any agency nor was he on any form, interview or assessment for adoption. Trip's grandmother was his legal guardian and as of two days ago was progressing toward release from rehab. The only permission the Coulsons needed for anything regarding Antoine Triplett was the legally certified document Phil kept in his office safe, signed by him and Mrs. Triplett. There was no way a DCS representative would have a file on Trip.
"He's here." Melinda moved closer, standing behind the woman to see what information the file held but other than Trip's name on the tab, she could see nothing. "Is there something you need from him?" Melinda was definitely fishing.
"I need to speak to all of the children, Mrs. Coulson. You do want to finalize all of the adoptions, do you not?" The woman replied.
Again, the Coulsons shared a quick glance of understanding. "Absolutely," Phil remarked.
"But you won't be speaking to any of them alone," Melinda informed the woman who seemed to be growing impatient.
"Our procedure is to speak to each child alone in order to get an unbiased, truthful deposition. Having foster parents hovering about tends to antagonize the children, influences their statements due to fear of repercussions." The woman explained.
Melinda fought to contain her own growing anger. "Our children are not afraid of us and they have no reason to give you anything but the truth." She took a step toward the small woman. Phil moved to take her hand. "And there are never repercussions." Melinda ended with a growl.
Holt smiled for a moment then picked up her clipboard and slammed the pen against it. "I must make a note of your seeming hostility, Mrs. Coulson." She scribbled quickly on the form then banged the pen again. "I wonder if you might direct such against the children. They can be so difficult, can't they?" The woman was definitely baiting her. Melinda managed short deep breaths to control her animosity toward this person. As usual, Phil remained calm.
"After what I've seen here today, I'm afraid I will have to make a few reports to my superiors. Sharing rooms, missing children, refusal to grant interviews, hostile resistance…that's a very lot to bring against you. I'm afraid it does not look good, but the final decision is not mine." She picked up her files and dropped them back into the briefcase then slammed it shut. Hiking the strap onto her shoulder, she turned and marched down the hallway. "I will see myself out." She stopped and turned back. "You will be hearing from me very soon."
Phil and Melinda stood in the kitchen and watched the woman slam the front door.
"Where are they?" Melinda asked still staring at the door.
"Garage apartment," Phil replied staring in the same direction.
"Kids?" Melinda sighed.
"Same," he breathed.
Melinda turned toward her husband. "She had a file on Trip?"
That was it. Abigail Hold should not have had a file on Trip. There was something very wrong with the situation, but it was Friday and it was almost eight-thirty. There was no way to verify anything with the Department of Children's Services until Monday morning.
But, Fitz was missing and the only that mattered was finding him.
Finding directions to the nearest Metro station wasn't as difficult as Fitz had thought, but it was quite a long walk. He'd made three transfers and then had to walk another six blocks to reach his destination. It was well after dark when he climbed the steps and sat down at the top. Getting there was one thing, getting inside would be another. He opened the bag he had carried the last few blocks and pulled out the cheeseburger he'd gotten under the golden arches. It was cold, but he was hungry so the taste didn't matter. He finished then walked down the steps to the trashcan at the curb. Tomorrow was garbage day. He pulled open the can and tossed in the crumpled bag.
Fitz sat on the steps watching the traffic speed by and counted the number of times the light on the corner turned red. A young couple laughed as they paraded up the steps and stopped in front of the small boy. Fitz excused himself and scooted to the side. They didn't even notice as he slid a coin in the doorjamb. He waited until they had disappeared into the building before he pulled open the door and stepped inside. He smiled at his accomplishment. The inside door was not as difficult. The boy pulled a small plastic box from his backpack and opened it. He took out a tiny screwdriver and inserted it into a pin-sized hole in the side of the door announcer. It buzzed once and the door lock released. With another broad smile, he pulled open the second door and headed to the elevator as he jammed the small box back into his pack and retrieved a small keychain.
The elevator door opened on the eighth floor with a soft ping. Fitz stopped before stepping out, looking up and down the hallway then stepping into the familiar atmosphere. He walked to the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door for a moment, smiling at the number then turned and put the key in the lock. He pushed the door open slowly, hesitantly stepped into the darkness and pulled it closed behind him. He stood with his back against the door waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change.
Taking a deep breath, Fitz flicked on the small flashlight that hung from the zipper pull on his backpack and quickly flicked it back off. Somehow, the tiny beam of light stabbing the darkness was a lot scarier than just plain darkness. He eased his way around the room and down the hallway, only bumping into furniture and shelves three times. He rubbed his knee where the corner of a table had dug into it. Finally reaching his destination, he dropped his bag on the floor and dropped onto the bed, sure that Trip would not mind at all if he borrowed his grandmother's apartment for a few days while he figured out his next move.