Chapter 2: A Series of Flashbacks,
A five-year-old boy sat on the floor of his apartment, playing with sticks. He heard the doorknob turn and suddenly. "Daddy!" he shouted, jumping up from his spot, "Where were you? Mrs. Neblin had to leave an hour ago because Mikey got sick, but you said that you would be home a long, long, time ago!"
The man walked to the crib in the corner and stared down at the crying bundle. "What's the matter with him?"
The boy frowned at his daddy, who smelled like something he'd never smelled before. "I think Micah needs to be changed, but I don't know how, and he's hungry. When's mommy coming home?"
The man stiffened, "She isn't coming home."
"I know not yet," the boy chirped, "Mrs. Neblin said that having a baby is hard and mommy's tired, but when will she come home? Tomorrow?"
"Your mother isn't ever coming home!" The man snapped.
"Yes, she is! She has to!" the boy insisted, starting to panic, "Kira Berkley's mom said that she didn't want to come home ever and she did, after a while. Mommy will come home!"
The man turned to the boy, his eyes were red and hard and there was something odd about his voice, "It's not that she doesn't want to. It's that she can't!
"What! Why!" Tears started welling in the boy's eyes.
The man took a step forward and yelled, "Your mommy died and she can't come back ever!"
"No," the boy cried, "That's not true! She'll come back when she gets better!"
"She isn't going to get better!" the man yelled. Then he froze, seeing the tears on his son's face. He turned back to the cradle. "Go get the diapers; I'll show you how to change Micah."
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A boy sat in an armchair across from a smiling young woman and a stiff, awkward-looking, man. They kept telling him to trust them, that they wanted what was best for him. He wasn't so naive though. He was thirteen, just old enough to work, and in three years he would be an adult – less if they had their way.
"So," the man spoke up, "Tell us exactly what happened."
"I've already told this story a hundred times!" the boy moaned, "Why do you want me to tell it again?"
"Well," the women coaxed, "Sometimes people leave details out when they tell stories, and sometimes it helps to talk about things."
The boy rolled his eyes, "Fine. My dad went out on Sunday night – he does that sometimes - it was no big deal except that my brother Micah got sick that night. I wasn't worried at first but the next morning he wasn't any better. I knew I should have gone to school, but I decided to stay home and make sure he was okay. By that afternoon Micah was a lot worse and my dad still hadn't returned, so I went to ask my neighbor help. He suggested taking Micah to the hospital. When we got there—"
"And how did you get to the hospital, since your brother was so sick?" The man asked.
The boy sighed. "Mr. Callahan took us in his carriage."
"Alright, proceed."
When we got there one of the nurses asked where my dad was, and I told him I wasn't sure. I guess he called the police to find my dad. They did find him at an inn downtown. When he got to the hospital, they wouldn't let him in to see Micah because he'd been drinking thick potions. Dad got mad and the police took him to the station even though he didn't do anything! Then the police sent me to stay with the Jeffersons while Micah was in the hospital. They're nice people but really, really, boring."
Finally, the boy looked straight at the stiff man, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're trying to trick me into saying that my dad is mean or something so you can take us away from him, but you can't do that because he isn't. He never hurt me or Micah and just because has some problems, that doesn't make him a bad person."
"Of course not," the man closed his notebook, "That's enough, you can go home now; Mr. Jefferson is waiting just outside."
"It's not home."
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A fourteen-year-old boy stood in front of a desk, staring down at the paper in front of him. As he signed his name to the bottom, he felt a feeling he couldn't describe, it wasn't freedom, or apprehension, or loss, maybe something in between. As the notary made a note and left the room, the boy glanced up at the man across from him. The man stood to shake his hand.
"Congratulations kid, I guess I can't call you kid anymore, huh." The man rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Anyway, you are now officially an independent. We'll miss you."
"For what it's worth, Mr. Harding," the boy responded, "For what it's worth, I appreciate everything you did for me over the last year."
"Of course," the man smiled, "If I might give you one last piece of advice?"
"What is it?"
"Many kids drop out of school when they become independents; they think they have to focus completely on work, but you're smart – really smart. You only have two more years of Secondary School and then I'm certain that, if you kept your grades anywhere near where they are now, you could get into college. There are plenty of jobs that will let you work part time for reasonable pay, so… I guess what I'm saying is 'stay in school kid.'" He laughed awkwardly and rubbed his head, "Sounds kinda weak when I put it like that but—"
"I get it, and I promise to try my best, Mr. Harding."
"I guess that's the most anyone can ask for."
"Can I still see Micah?" the boy wondered.
"Of course! You can visit the orphanage anytime, just like anyone else. I mean, you'll need an appointment, obviously, but… you know what I mean."
"Can I go say goodbye, right now?"
"Sure."
The boy walked down the hall to the room he had shared with his brother and two other boys. Micah was alone. "Hey kid, I came to say goodbye."
"Can I come with you?" the nine-year-old asked.
"What!" the boy laughed, "No, sorry, you have to stay here."
"But Kenny's sister, took him to live with her just last week and they didn't mind."
"That's because Maya sort of adopted Kenny. Maya is an adult."
"But you just became an adult!" the kid shouted, incredulous.
"I became an independent. That means I can live by myself and stuff, but I still can't do some of the things adults can do, like adopting you, until I'm sixteen, like everyone else."
"oh." The kid frowned, then brightened, "Will you adopt me when you're sixteen and take me to live with you?"
"Of course kiddo," the boy said, ruffling his brother's hair, "Of course I will."
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A young man sat on a couch talking to his kid brother.
"You know, you're sixteen now."
"I know," he laughed.
"So… when do I get to leave and go live with you?"
He stiffened, "What's wrong with this place?"
"All the other kids are either mean or ignore me, I hate the school, and all the adults think that daddy was a bad dad."
"Micah…"
"No! Daddy was an amazing dad, they're all wrong and liars!"
"Okay."
A pause. "So… when are you going to adopt me?"
"Micah, I just got into college – I'll be started in a few days - and I'll be really busy all the time."
"I won't take up much time. I can clean and stuff."
"It's really far away – not even in the Fareast!"
"I don't care! I heard it's exciting there anyways."
"Exciting where?"
"Everywhere except here!"
"You know you can make your own adventures anywhere, right?"
"Yeah… but can't I make my own adventures there?"
"Yes but… you are going to be put in foster care soon. You'll get a real family with real parents who can give you the things you need."
"But I don't want to! I don't like that family! I want to live with you!"
"Micah I—"
"You promised!"
"I know I did but—"
"You don't care about me. You just care about yourself and your dumb college. You want to get rid of me! I hate you!"
"Micah!"
"You think that dad was a bad dad too, don't you?"
"Micah, I think that dad was—"
"No! I don't believe them, but you do! You're betraying dad!"
"Micah!"
"I don't want to live with you anymore – you only care about yourself, you—"
"Alright, that's enough of that," a tall man who had been standing near the door suddenly entered the room. "I think it's time for you to go," he said pointedly to the young man, leading him out of the room.
As he left, he turned back to his brother. "Goodbye ki—"
"I hate you."
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A young man walked down a hall and stopped in front of a door labeled "security." Less than two weeks at college and he had already been called into "the office," for what reason, he had no idea. He pushed the door open and walked inside, "hello?"
"Mr. Halvorson?" a stern looking women asked.
"Yes?"
"I was asked to inform you that we have just received a message from the Police Department of Cambridge in the Fareast."
"umm… okay?" The young man was suddenly very nervous.
"A young boy by the name of…" she glanced down at a paper on her desk, "Micah Halvorson has recently run away from his foster family, the police suspect he might come here." She looked up at the young man, "Be on the lookout. You are required, by law, to report it if he contacts you in any way."
"Alright." That was all he could say. He knew Micah wouldn't come there – not after their argument. He stopped in the hallway outside the security office and slumped against the wall. He slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands. This was his fault. He had broken his promise, hadn't he? He should have been a better brother, a better friend. He had thought that he was doing what was best for Micah but… What he really was being selfish – choosing his education over his family? What if something happened to Micah? What if… he couldn't even bring himself to think it. This was his fault.
