Home Sweet Home

Charlotte watched the lush green trees flash by as she gazed out of the window of the sedan. It had been a while since they'd passed any sort of civilization, she noted.

The winding roads just seemed to be taking them up and up; deeper and further into the mountains and forest.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I think you'll be very happy with your new home." The caseworker stated cheerfully. Glancing back through the mirror, he saw the girl sitting in the backseat, pressed up against the window—as far away from him as she could manage.

He was trying to make her feel better about the move, but his overly jovial tone came off a little forced.

"Mhmm" Charlotte murmured in agreement, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the man.

She wasn't in the mood for small talk. Understandably so—having one's whole life uprooted wasn't exactly a joyous occasion. Although she'd be reluctant to admit it, she craved stability and the evanescence of it in her life was distressing.

Fortunately, the man appeared to take the hint and they fell into an awkward silence which she much preferred to the mindless chatter.

The girl turned her head once more to the window. Her fingers resumed fiddling with the string on the trash bag which contained her belongings; a meager collection of clothes and the scarce other possessions she owned. She hadn't had much time to pack.

Her last foster mom died of a heart attack on Christmas day of all days.

Perhaps it was the glazed ham that finally sent her over the edge. To say the woman had been robust would be an understatement.

Still, Charlotte found the whole ordeal rather sad; her foster mom was only 58—not young, but surely not yet old enough to die. What's more, she was one of the few foster parents who displayed true care and kindness. Unlike most of her previous foster parents, Charlotte would miss her very much.

It didn't seem fair that the woman's life had ended so soon and on a day that should have been filled with laughter and cheerfulness.

It was a cruel twist of fate. An unfortunate outcome for all involved—as if they hadn't been through enough.

Charlotte's eyes began to get misty as she recalled not being able to give her younger foster siblings a proper goodbye.

Despite the holiday, social workers had shown up in force as soon as they learned of the death. They descended like vultures to usher the children away; cold and uncaring, the metal cogs of a broken system.

Charlotte had 14 years of experience with the U.S. foster system, so she was used to being uprooted abruptly. The little ones weren't, at least not yet. Being disbanded was hardest on them. They didn't understand what was happening or why. All they knew was that they were being plucked from the only home they'd felt safe in. And for some, the only home they could remember.

Thinking of their teary little faces looking back at her as they were dragged into different cars made her stomach churn. The social workers hadn't given her much time with them. She would have liked to hold them, comfort them, try to explain—anything to ease their pain.

Charlotte brushed back a tear. She could only hope they were settling into their new homes and that their new families were treating them kindly. Worrying would do no good.

"Here we are!" The caseworker announced as they turned down an unpaved driveway.

Charlotte hadn't even noticed the driveway until they were starting down it. The tree cover hid the entrance almost completely from the main road.

The girl looked up at the caseworker, catching his reflection in the rear-view mirror. For the first time, she thought to study him. Blinking back the haze that had been fogging her eyes, she took in his appearance.

The man was wearing a heavy grey suit. The suit looked warm enough, but the frayed material on the cuffs and the loose threads at the seams told her it was of cheap quality.

His hair was short, brown, and had a slight texture to it. Had it been better conditioned or slicked back, he'd have looked like an old-school salesman.

Yes, there was something about his clean-cut look and eager demeanor that definitely gave salesman vibes, Charlotte decided. She recalled the toothy smile he gave her when they met for the first time earlier that day outside of the girl's home.

She could easily picture him using that megawatt smile to sell a Hoover.

What was his name again? Paul? Peter? He had introduced himself, but truthfully, she hadn't been listening.

It didn't matter she supposed, a new caseworker was assigned to her every year or so. As one might expect—the turnover was extremely high.

"Ready to see your new home?" The man asked, twisting the key toward himself to shut off the engine. He was looking at her now too, their eyes met through the rearview mirror. Like her, he seemed a tad nervous.

She nodded.

Absent much haste, Charlotte stepped out of the car, cautiously evaluating her new foster home.

The house itself was small and worn-looking. Its siding was weathered to such an extent that you could hardly see what color it had started out as. Only the remains of chipped white paint and bits of blue trim gave it away. The porch was equally as rough. However, the mismatched color of wood on the steps leading up to the door indicated a recent repair. Evidently, the owners cared little for cosmetics but were willing to care for necessary things.

All in all, it wasn't bad. Charlotte had seen worse.

At least it wasn't a crack house.

"Oh, you must be our new foster!" A tall thin lady squawked. She'd heard them coming up the drive and was waiting outside of the house. She immediately ran over to Charlotte and hugged her.

Charlotte flinched, not expecting the thin spindly woman to touch her in such a cavalier way.

"Such a sweet face! What is her name?" The woman asked, pinching her cheek roughly. She looked over the teen's head at the caseworker as if Charlotte couldn't answer for herself.

"Erm, it is Charlotte LightningStorm I believe." The caseworker answered awkwardly, as he stroked his bare chin.

He was fairly certain that was the full name written on her folder, which of course, he had foolishly left on the passenger seat of the car.

Paul found it rather embarrassing when he couldn't remember the names of those assigned to him. It was difficult because truth be told, there were far too many. Which is why he relied so much on his cheat sheets.

"My what a strange name!" The woman commented.

Charlotte rolled her eyes discreetly. This lady lived in a town named North-North Rochester and she thought her name was strange?

"Mr. Raybush, she's a little older than we expected. Didn't I tell you we wanted a younger child? I thought we said so in our file." The woman stated bluntly. Her claw-like hands stroked Charlotte's brunette hair, making her feel uneasy.

"It's Rayburn. And yes, you did and it does. But as I told you on the phone, the state prefers not to send younger children to areas so far from their original city. It's important for youngsters to stay close to any family they may have, so we don't typically move them out of the city or suburbs." The caseworker explained.

The woman frowned, making the fine lines around her mouth appear more prominently.

Some families needed a little more convincing than others. Paul took a deep breath before starting his pitch.

"Charlotte is 17, she will be 18 in a few months, so this is a short-term placement. Think of it as an opportunity—a good way to start out. You'll get a hang of fostering and it's possible your next placement will be a younger child. Sometimes the State does move kids further away from family, for instance, if a judge believes there's a kidnapping risk they might order it. It's rare but it does happen," Paul offered. He fought back a groan when the woman's frown deepened even more.

Ok—maybe this guy was not a good salesman after all, Charlotte thought.

"I promise I won't be any trouble ma'am," The teen added quietly. She knew there was no way the caseworker was going to take her back. There were far too many kids in the system and not enough foster families. He would force them to try to make it work regardless.

"OK," the woman sighed. "We'll see how it goes. As long as the girl is on her best behavior, we shouldn't have any problems, but if not, we may have to return her," she warned. From her tone, she may as well have been talking about a puppy.

The social worker gave the woman a pained smile, clearly realizing she wasn't getting it.

Foster children weren't shoes you could just return to the store for a new size or style. Even if the woman believed they were, she could at least refrain from saying it.

"Well dear, I am Elaine, and this is my husband, Walter. He will show you to your new room." The woman said tersely, finally turning to address Charlotte for the first time.

"Walter can help you with your... things." She added, hardly concealing her judgment.

Charlotte shifted her amber gaze to the hulking man standing near the bottom of the porch steps. She'd noticed him earlier when he'd come outside, he wasn't exactly inconspicuous, but she'd been too distracted by the conversation to give him much thought.

Without meeting her eyes, Walter made a noise that sounded distinctly unhappy before lumbering over to snatch the trash bag from her. He threw the plastic sack over his broad shoulder, then turned back toward the house.

"Well, I'll let you get settled in your new home, Charlotte. I'll be back in a few days to make sure everything is going ok." The caseworker said over his shoulder, hurriedly climbing into his car before the couple could change their minds.

Whimp, Charlotte thought.

Taking a deep breath she tried to steady herself as she followed her new foster parents into the house.

Walter led the way to her room, stomping through the house until he reached a door just past the kitchen.

If Charlotte had been hoping for a grand tour of her new home, she was certainly out of luck— not that there was much to look at inside the small house anyway. From what she had managed to see, the interior appeared to be as equally worn as the exterior, and if the 60's ever called—it would undoubtedly be to ask for their decor back.

As they neared the door, Charlotte noted the five locks that studded the outside. Three were old and broken. Two looked new.

Surely this wasn't where they expected her to stay while she was there? She thought, chewing her lip nervously. It looked like a door that would lead to the basement.

Charlotte glanced up at the ogre of a man, questions about the locks resting on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated.

Walter was difficult to read and she wasn't sure how he would react if she challenged him. That alone made her apprehensive.

Elaine had disappeared as soon as they walked into the house and Walter hadn't said a word to her yet. In fact, she was pretty sure the man hadn't spoken at all since she had arrived—unless you counted a handful of grunts as speaking.

Any opportunity she may have had was lost when Walter jerked the door open, and before her brain had time to catch up with his movements, the man proceeded to carelessly toss her bag into the darkness. Her bag containing all of her worldly possessions.... the only things she owned... just carelessly tossed down the stairs.

Charlotte's jaw dropped; her body frozen in shock as she stared blankly after her bag.

The glass ballerina shattered as it landed on the concrete floor making her wince.

"Listen here you little brat" Walter grumbled, turning her attention back to him.

"You're going to stay down there. I don't want to see or hear you any more than necessary. You are to remain in your room unless we say otherwise. Got it?"

Charlotte gulped, nodding, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

Sure, she'd been through some rough foster homes before, but she was still a little taken aback. It didn't help that the man was built like a linebacker. The last thing she wanted to do was to piss him off. He could easily pummel her into the ground.

Apparently, Walter was expecting more than mere agreement, because a moment later he grabbed her thin shoulder roughly and gave her a shove toward the door.

That seemed to jolt Charlotte's body awake and her feet quickly started down the steps if only to escape the brute behind her.

It was dark in the basement and the further she went the darker it became. She tried to feel her way down using both the wall and handrail as a guide. It became even harder to see when Walter unceremoniously slammed the door shut behind her. Thankfully, she didn't hear any locks click.

The only light she had then was what trickled through the small basement windows. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness as she made her way to the bottom.

Her plastic bag lay at the foot of the stairs. She quickly scooped it up, holding it securely to her chest as if that may undo the rough treatment.

Much like the rest of the house, the basement was small. Metal shelves full of boxes and old junk took up most of the space. A bulkhead entrance sat against the outside wall with a 4 x 4 nailed across it, apparently to keep it shut.

The basement smelled as most basements do—wet and musky. A small mattress was laid out in the middle of the floor. There was no bed or frame, but the mattress was covered in sheets, pillows, and a thin quilt.

Were they clean? She wondered.

Charlotte picked up the quilt, giving it a tentative sniff. She was pleasantly surprised to discover it smelled fresh—not like the cheap detergents with their harsh chemicals and heavy perfumes that she'd become used to. No, it smelled fresh and clean like the mountain air.

A single light bulb hung from the ceiling above her.

Slipping out of her shoes, Charlotte stood on the mattress, trying to reach the string in order to turn it on. Her first attempt to reach the light failed. Cursing her 5'3 stature, she stretched upward. Her legs shook as she attempted to balance on her tiptoes.

With some effort, she was able to reach it and the bulb came on, flickering to life.

Settling down on the mattress, she began pulling her clothes out of the bag under the glow of the yellow light. She didn't have much; a couple of jeans and a few shirts.

At the bottom of the bag, she found a picture of her parents and her tiny glass ballerina. The ballerina's legs were broken and one of its arms had been shattered in the fall.

Charlotte frowned, the ballerina had been something her mother had given her. She couldn't remember why exactly. Dancing had never been her thing. Perhaps it had been something her mother had hoped she would get involved in? Regardless she had a sentimental attachment to it.

It hurt to see it broken.

Fortunately, she knew how to fix broken things.

Charlotte carefully picked up all of the ballerina's broken pieces, holding them in her hands. Closing her eyes, she let her magic flow through her body, focusing it into her hands. Her skin started to tingle. The glass began to heat up in her palms. She scrunched her brow, concentrating on the image she formed in her mind of the ballerina whole. When she opened her eyes, the broken pieces of the figurine had fused together, leaving no mark or indication that it had ever been broken.

Smiling, Charlotte gently placed the glass ballerina on a nearby shelf, brushing some old newspapers out of the way.

Next, she pulled out a picture of her parents. Charlotte was so young when they died that she hardly remembered them. Sometimes she brought the picture out to study their faces, trying to invoke some sort of feeling toward them. The image captured her father smiling broadly as he stared jokingly at the camera. He held her pregnant mother gently in his arms, her mother was laughing and leaning into him, her head tilted into his chest. They seemed like kind people. Were they?

Charlotte had a few lingering memories of her mother, but memories of her father were more fuzzy. She hardly remembered him at all.

Sometimes she found herself longing for the relationship she could have had with them. However, it had been so long since her parents had passed, that most of the time she didn't feel much of anything.

At times she felt the picture might as well have been a stock photo.

Still, this was all she had.

Charlotte wasn't sure how long she lay in bed looking at the picture but some time later, her private reverie was interrupted by the basement door suddenly swinging open, crashing into the wall behind it with a loud crack.

Jumping to her feet in surprise, her heart thumped as she hurriedly shoved the picture under her pillow.

"Get up girl, time for dinner," Walter growled from the top of the stairs, his hulking silhouette shadowed the frame briefly before he disappeared, not waiting for her response.

Charlotte fluffed her pillow up like it was before, then she quickly scurried up the steps after him.

Elaine was standing over a pot on the stove in the kitchen and Walter was seated at the table when Charlotte made it up the stairs.

To her surprise, there was also a teenage boy sitting next to him.

Charlotte's gaze flicked over the newcomer quickly.

The teen looked to be about her age. He was wearing a letterman jacket so she guessed he was a junior or senior in high school which meant he was either in her grade or a year under.

The boy glared as she moved toward the table.

Charlotte purposely kept her head down while she took her seat.

"This is the orphan girl? She's hideous." The boy sneered.

What a jerk.

"Well, F you too." She snapped back, dryly.

The teen gaped at her in surprise, but his surprise quickly melted into anger. Charlotte gulped, under the heat of his glare.

The boy opened his mouth to respond when suddenly, Walter slammed his fist down on the table, causing the flatware to jump and clatter. The man didn't say anything, yet his message was loud and clear.

Charlotte dropped her head mumbling an apology while taking an abrupt interest in the contours of her empty plate. She knew she shouldn't have challenged the boy—even if he deserved it, which he definitely did.

Mentally she scolded herself. It was almost always better not to fight back. Especially in a new home, it was a bad idea to get into a fight at the outset.

At the very least you needed to get a feel for the place—see what kind of punishments were doled out.

"Just ignore her Danny. She will be out of our hair soon enough." Elaine chided as she dropped a pile of cooked beans and rice on Charlotte's plate, splattering some of the juices on the girl's t-shirt.

Charlotte winced, she wasn't about to complain though. At least she was being given a meal.

"I'm going to stay over at Jordan's tonight. He wants to throw the ball around a little. William and Alex will be there too," Danny told them calmly, having abandoned his previous anger.

"On a Friday night?" Elaine questioned as if there weren't worse things a teenage boy could be up to on a Friday night.

"Yeah mom, just for a while. We'll play video games or something after." The boy stated as he shoveled food into his mouth.

"Let him go, no harm in it" Walter grunted.

"Alright then," Elaine mumbled.

The boy was their biological son it seemed.

Charlotte was a little surprised. Elaine and Walter looked weathered and rough, but she had to admit... their son was nice-looking. He had even features, dark chestnut hair, and light blue eyes.

If it wasn't for his bad attitude, she might have even found him attractive.

Suddenly, the boy looked back at her as if he had felt her silent evaluation. Charlotte groaned internally, he had definitely caught her staring.

She met his gaze in what she hoped to be a blank stare of indifference.

A loud knock was heard at the front door.

The family looked at each other in surprise. It seemed no one was expecting anyone.

"Wonder who that could be? We weren't expecting any visitors." Elaine mumbled, frowning.

Walter grunted in response. His chair groaned as he shoved himself away from the table to answer the door.

"I've got to get going anyway. I'll see ya later Ma." Danny said, standing up also. He went over and tossed his empty plate into the sink. It seemed he had somehow managed to devour everything on his plate in a short bit of time.

As Danny was walking out she heard him speaking to someone in the living room.

"Oh, hey Jacob, Greg," He greeted casually. There was a muffled reply... "No, I'm just headed out." Danny continued.

Walter suddenly reentered the kitchen. His face looked grey and serious.

"Elaine, send the girl to her room." He said.

Charlotte was surprised to hear concern coloring his voice. It was odd to see the big man acting perturbed. He and Elaine appeared to be having a silent conversation. She too seemed nervous.

What could they be so unsettled by? Charlotte wondered.

Elaine's long boney hands quickly wrapped around Charlotte's arm, as she jerked her out of the chair, dragging her back to the basement.

Charlotte protested weakly as she was rudely shoved through the threshold and onto the basement steps.

"Stay down there, girl." The woman ordered harshly. "And keep quiet!"

The door slammed behind her, and this time Charlotte could hear one of the deadlocks slide into place.

***GIO***

The sun felt good on his black fur as he ran through the woods. His massive paws dug into soft pillows of snow, leaving icy imprints.

He howled into the sky as his long legs carried him over the land effortlessly.

Several calls answered his. Not as many as there used to be.