Giving up, Letting go...
From the moment Isobel stepped off the bus with an air of affected confidence she started to survey the quiet street. Twin rows of attatched Victorian houses lined up on either side of the road, watched by cobbles that peeked through the worn tarmac.
Her intense gaze settled on an old, black convertible parked on the curb opposite. It was too old to have an alarm she supposed, but even still she had prepared for that eventuality. Her grey-blue eyes narrowed as she felt the cold steel implement press against her arm under the sleeve of her scuffed leather jacket, reassuring despite the stinging sharpness of it's edge as it was pushed against her delicate skin.
Next she checked the street for police officers. When she saw none she checked for any donut shops. After all, you could never be too careful.
Isobel walked slowly up to the car, cautiously looking over each shoulder. She stopped next to the driver's door, standing close so no-one could see what she was doing. Certainly she removed the thin ruler-like object from within her sleeve and with unshaking hands pressed it against the window. It slipped between the glass and plastic guard with suprising ease and with a quick manouver she hooked it under the locking mechanism and pulled it open with a dull clunk. Her breath steamed against the window as the lock button popped up on the inside of the car door.
Casually she slipped the implement back into her sleeve, a small hand closing around the cool door handle opening the door and throwing the larger of the two backpacks she carried past the driver's seat into the back of the car.
Slamming the door shut, Isobel turned purposfully to face the opposite side of the street and rested against the car for a moment, blowing a puff of air through chapped lips. Unruly strands of hair that escaped her clumsy braid fell around her face as she studied the address hastily scribbled on the palm of her hand.
"St Peter's Street," she muttered to the rust-encrusted street sign. "This must be the place."
Isobel started an easy jog across the road and up onto the pavement, hitching the small rucksack up on her shoulder. She slowed when she reached the end the row of houses and reached the worn stone steps leading up to the front doors of the last two which had been turned into a child care home.
It hardly looked like the stereotypical orphanage, with torn curtains, stern carers and small, soulfully eyed children staring from the windows. Even the rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds and the clourfully designed nameplate on the door betrayed the image of sadness and hardship that should have clung to the building, permeating the air around it.
Slightly unsettled by the unexpected appearance of the home, she stumbled away from the front of the house before someone saw her and recognised her face. Isobel rounded the corner of the building and almost walked into the plastic coated metal lattice of the fence separating the orphanage's garden from the street to keep the children safe. She crouched on her knees in the mud at the base of the fence, ignoring the wetness that seeped through her jeans. Working quickly she secured slim, well-worn fingers around the iron peg fixing the lattice into the ground. Bracing her feet against the soft earth she prepared to put all her strength into removing the peg from the earth. With only a little effort it slid out of the soil with a sickening pop and in doind so, slipped out of her mud-slicked fingers and flew into the air, almost knocking Isobel unconcious.
She hardly heard it hit the ground as she stared in awe at the unfamiliar strength in her hand, watching the tendons strain across her knuckles as she flexed her fingers. Isobel was suddenly snapped out of her reverie by a passing car, and quickly moved her foot to give the impression she'd stopped to tie her shoelace. When the car has dissapeared she easily rolled up the wire of the fence just enough to slip her slight frame underneath. She hissed through bared teeth as strands of firey hair caught in the wire lattice, and as her jacket hitched up the sharp metal wires of the fence bit into her bare back.
Next her jeans became caught in the fence and almost slipped over her angular hips. The strain of her everyday life had begun to show on her figure a long time ago. She hadn't eaten a decent meal or had an uninterrupted nights sleep in almost 3 years. Interrupted by frequent nightmares. A broken body at the foot of the stair, a crying baby, a sadistic glint in His eye, the glint of a knife. Interrupted by a needy child, her younger sister Susie. Their mother had died when Susie was barely a month old, and despite living with their grandmother, Isobel was the only real mother Susie had ever known. And Susie was the reason Isobel got up every day and played the lousy hand life had dealt her.
That was why she was on her belly, slicked in mud, bleeding and bruised, trying to piece together the remains of her shattered family. She was going to get her sister and go as far away as possible, where the God-damned social services would never bother them again.
She untangled herself from the fence, wasting no time in dashing over to the house's wall and hidding in the shadow of the three story building. Back pressed against the bricks, she edged closer to the sound of lively games and childish laughter. Peering cautiously from her hidding place, Isobel broke into a smile as she spotted the familiar fire-engine red of Susie's hair amongst a gaggle of raucious youngsters. It had been tied back carefully into twin scalp plaits on either side of her head. She smile faded as she remembered her sister's regular whining that Isobel couldn't style her hair poperly. It appeared that these people could look after her sibling better than she did. Susie looked more happy and carefree than she had ever seen her, as if the memory of her troubled life had fallen away. Isobel often felt guilty for the childhood she could never give her sister, every second actually. But her respite was that children should be with their families, almost anything was better than being put nto foster care with a family who had no idea who they were or how they needed to be looked after.
Isobel clenched her jaw so tightly she felt as if the muscle was going to snap, while the scene played in front of her. She couldn't watch anymore, and as Susie planted a kiss on the cheek of one of the carers she turned away...
***
Louise Cowan laughed heartily as the newest girl to be brought to the temporary child care centre where she worked trapped her in the biggest bear hug her small arms could manage. It was fortunate that she was fitting in so well, she had heard the kid had, had a rough life.
Louise's dark eyes quickly shot towards the secluded area in the shadow of the large house as she spotted a movement in the corner of her vision. Smiling reassuringly at the young children she rose to her feet and paced cautiously towards the direction of the movement. Adjusting to the darkness of this area of the garden she spotted at small, frayed, brightly-coloured backpack leaning against the wall. Her intrest pipqued Louise leaned closer to investigate the contents of the bag, unfastening the cheap plastic buckles. Small, well-worn t-shirts, trousers and a pair of trainers, presumably belonging to a very young girl were packed haphazardly inside.
Intriqued, the young child carer surveyed the area for the owner of the bag, and in doing so noticed the fence at the edge of the lawn, damaged at the bottom. She knew no child could have accomplished that. Walking over to the fence she curled her fingers around the cool wire as she stared out onto the street.
The slight figure of a young woman, silloutted against the light noon sun strode down the middle of the road. Her titian hair blew defiantly in the breeze, contrasting with the broken slope of her footsteps.
Suddenly Louise's head snapped upwards as a freak bolt of lightening streaked accross the summer sky. And as Isobel drove away from the last of her family for the final time the heavens wept...