Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Chloe
“Mei, breakfast is ready! Bring the boy down with you,” I call up the staircase. It had been three days since the boy had magically appeared in the dead of night and freezing cold, and he’d spent most of that time with Mei or I, shying away from the other children and attendants at the orphanage.
It had taken him the entirety of the first two days to get him to tell me something about himself.
He still wouldn’t tell me his name, but he’d finally told me how old he was.
Still in ASL, still refusing to speak beyond those few whispered words.
Jay had fought me tooth and nail about not involving the authorities immediately; so far, I’d won that fight, but not by much.
“I can’t find him again!” Mei yelled with an exasperated huff, appearing at the top of the stairs, arms folded in irritation. “Why does he keep hiding like that?”
With a sigh, I begin to ascend the stairs, patting Mei on the shoulder as I pass her.
“He’s been through things hun; it’s his way of handling the changes all around him right now. I’ll find him; you go eat.” That is all the prompting the girl needs to rush down the staircase and into the kitchen.
It doesn’t take me long to find him. He’s wedged himself into a small hole between a stack of cleaning supplies and the wall in the supply closet at the end of the hallway, knees pulled to his chest, head down.
This is the fourth time in the past three days I’ve discovered him hiding in a small, enclosed space.
Yesterday it was the kitchen pantry. The day before, the downstairs closet.
The first few times he’d been absent, my heart had done painful flips in my chest, his words haunting my thoughts: The monster is coming for me. Each time, fear had crept in until I’d found him. Half relieved at finding him safe, half in anguish at understanding why he felt the need to hide.
I crouch at the doorway, purposefully making myself small and non-threatening. “Hey, sweetie.”
His head lifts at the sound of my voice, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. Some of the tension leaves his small body at the recognition that it’s just me. No monster, not today, I think to myself.
“Breakfast is ready,” I tell him, signing the words as I speak them. We’ve determined he can hear, but the continued usage of sign language seems to soothe and comfort him. “Pancakes. Bacon. And your favorite, chocolate milk.”
I have no idea if it’s actually his favorite, but my goal is to make it sound enticing enough to get him to come out on his own.
After years in the orphanage helping with dozens of children, I know his behavior is a trauma response.
The drive to hide, to find protection in the smallest of places where others can’t reach.
And for perhaps the millionth time, I find myself wondering what sort of trauma this poor boy has endured.
Slowly, he unfolds himself, his movements cautious, eyes darting around, checking for anyone else in the room.
Like he’s testing whether it’s safe for him to come out of his hiding spot or not.
He’s wearing clothes from our donation bin — a little big but clean and warm.
His feet are bare, despite having been given shoes.
I’d realized quickly that he preferred not to wear them, allowing him to pass through the hallways in near silence on the pads of his feet, much like a dancer.
I make a mental note to find him socks. Again. He keeps taking them off, and I have yet to discover where he is stashing them. The lack of shoes I can accept, but with the chill of October seeping through the old building, socks are a necessity.
Reaching out, I offer him my hand as he crawls out of the closet; he stands gingerly, clasping his hand in mine.
His fingers are cold and small, even compared to my own small, feminine hands.
My chest tightens again; I’ve only known this child three days, yet I know I’ve become dangerously attached to him.
My maternal instincts cling to him as if he were my own.
“Come on,” I tell him encouragingly, smiling at him as I close the door to the closet, “before Mei eats them all, and we don’t get any at all.”
The effort gains me a small playful smile from him.
In the kitchen, the twenty-three other children currently in residence are already gathered, eating breakfast in barely controlled chaos.
Even by my standards, the noise level in the room is overwhelming this morning.
Over two dozen individuals talking, laughing, the added clattering of plates and silverware, all of it too much.
His grip on my hand tightens as he pushes in closer to my side.
“How about we eat in the corner?” I offer the small reprieve, pointing to the unoccupied corner table in the pocket room that joins the kitchen and the outer hallway. With so many children in residence, we have become creative in creating space for everyone over the past few years.
As I guide him to the table, Mei dashes over with a plate full of pancakes in hand.
“There you are! I saved you some pancakes.” She places the plate in front of him with a fork, then sits opposite him, signing to him to eat. My heart squeezes at the gesture, such a kindhearted child; I am still hopeful she will find a family to adopt her and give her everything she deserves.
“Thank you, Mei. That was very kind of you,” I tell her as I settle into the chair on his other side. He relaxes enough to pick up the fork and begins to eat as he accepts that I’m not leaving him alone.
He eats slowly, his eyes constantly darting around the room. Watching the doors, the other kids, tracking the movement of everyone who enters or exits. One thing I’ve realized about him is that he is never fully at ease. Even in his sleep.
Sadly, it’s a feeling I know all too well.
Halfway through breakfast, Jay appears in the doorway of the kitchen, casually leaning against the door jam, taking in the chaos. His eyes find mine across the room, and he tilts his head, motioning for me to join him in the hallway. The universal signal for ‘we need to talk’.
My stomach drops slightly. I glance down at the boy and then look at Mei. “I need to go talk to Jay. Will you stay here with Mei?”
His eyes turn to me, a slight sense of panic present in them. Taking a gulp, he looks to Mei, then back to me, before nodding slowly, but his eyes follow me as I stand and move away from the table. The look of fear of abandonment, so painful that I nearly sat back down. But I can’t.
“I’ll be right back,” I stop and sign to him. “I promise.”
Mei stands and moves around the table, taking the seat that I’d previously occupied. Placing her hand over his, distracting him. I slip away before he can protest or give me another look that tears at my heart.
Jay’s office is at the far end of the downstairs hallway, a small, overcrowded room with filing cabinets, a nearly ancient desk, and shelves overflowing with books about childhood development and trauma therapies.
I have read them all, trying to gain a glimmer of insight or understanding into my own broken life as well as those of the children we care for.
I close the door behind me, leaning against the thin wood, watching as Jay flips through a file on his desk. “What’s up? Did you find anything?”
“Nothing,” he says in obvious frustration, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes.
“That’s the problem. Someone should be looking for this kid, but I’ve found nothing.
Not a God damn thing. I’ve checked the missing children reports for multiple counties and contacted social services to see if they have had any runaways reported that match his description.
Nobody’s reported a missing boy that matches. No amber alerts, nothing.”
“But that’s good, right? Doesn’t that mean whoever hurt him isn’t looking for him yet?”
Jay looks at me with that look, the all-knowing one that says his instincts say otherwise.
“Or it means that whoever hurt him doesn’t want to involve the authorities.” He closes the folder and sets it aside. “You know as well as I do that if that’s the case, his presence here could very well put everyone else in grave danger.”
I did, but I had chosen to ignore that fact. Growing up in Delan’s house had taught me that while most monsters don’t fear the police, they aren’t eager to have them in their business either.
“If that’s the case, it’s even more important than ever to hide him.”
“Chloe,” Jay’s voice is chastising, “it’s been three days. You can’t continue to keep him here without filing a report on him. We’re out of time.”
“Jay, you can’t! He’s terrified,” I push off the door and start pacing in the small space.
“If your theory is right and whoever he is so afraid of is someone outside of the confines of the system, then a report will simply tell them exactly where to find him. What if he is like I was? What if whoever is looking for him is as depraved and evil as my father is? You know what would have happened to me if you’d reported it when you found me.
I’d be dead, and I probably wouldn’t be the only one. ”
Jay is quiet for a long moment, considering my words. His expression softens as he resumes speaking. “That was different. You were sixteen, old enough to make a reasonable decision about your situation. He is nine. We can’t just keep him.”
“Yes, we can, Jay. We can keep him safe. He’s nine and traumatized. I’ve barely gotten him to settle in and begin to feel as if he may be safe here. We can’t take that away from him,” I plead with him, desperation seeping into my tone.
“Chloe,” his voice is firmer now, “we cannot keep him indefinitely. If anyone were to find out, we’d be shut down and probably put in jail on kidnapping charges. Then what would happen to our other wards? You have to think about this rationally.”