The Devil Child

Chapter Eleven

 Polly's uncle sat at the kitchen table with a notebook. Polly watched as he scribbled something down in the book, then as he pulled out files from a manilla envelope.

Polly was intrigued.

"Are you just going to watch?" her uncle asked without turning around. She felt embarrassed that he knew she'd been there, but she figured she'd sit with him for a while. Living with her aunt and uncle made it impossible not to know about what her uncle did - he was a police officer. More like a detective, though.

"What are you working on? Can you disclose that?"

Polly's uncle looked over at her and smiled, but it was mischievous. "I'm not supposed to talk to non-employees about this business."

"But...?" Polly continued his sentence for him.

"But, I have a proposition. There is an opening at the station for an assistant. I didn't know if you'd want the job. You'd be working mostly with me, but I figured it would give you some freedom outside of this house. Plus, extra cash never hurt anyone."

Polly mulled it over. She'd never had a job before - she'd been taken by Doctor Higgins before she even was old enough to have a license to get her to a job. Not that a license was needed, but it was sure helpful.

Polly could also use the distraction.

"Okay, sure."

Her uncle smiled at her, and placed a hand on her head. "Okay, then. I'll get you set up as my assistant. I'll have to make a few phone calls."

She leaned forward. "Does this mean I can find out what you're working on?"

Her uncle let out a laugh, looking over at her fondly. "Yes, I suppose it does. I'm working on a case about these three boys who entered the foster care system not that long ago. But, there's something weird about their background, and I have a suspicion that they've run away from somewhere."

Polly nodded her head, thinking about her own story. About how she was running away from someone, into the arms of her aunt and uncle.

"The weird part is that there is no way to track anything. Their names come up on a birth certificate, but it's a dead end after that. Their mother is impossible to find, and they have different fathers that are also dead ends. They're not in the database."

Polly sat back. "What do you mean dead ends and not in the database?"

"I mean," her uncle said, flipping through some documents. "that their names and signatures are on the birth certificates, but there is no documentation that goes with the names. No birth certificates for the mother. No license, no nothing. Makes me think these are fake, but if so, then why?"

Polly shrugged. "I don't know. You're the detective."

"It's just been dead end after dead end. These kids have been with the same foster mother for a while now, but I still feel like there is something wrong. Something we're missing. Kids don't just show up into the foster system like this. Especially not three brothers with signs of abuse."

Abuse was a word Polly knew well. It caused her to shudder in memory, and she hated that the simple word could make her remember Doctor Higgins and what he had done to her. How he had damaged her.

It drove her mad.

She hated having to look over her shoulder all the time. She hated that she felt like he was everywhere, all of the time, waiting for her.

She wondered if these boys felt the same way about the person they were running from.

"So, imagine that they are running from someone. Isn't it a good thing that they're safe?"

Her uncle shook his head sadly. "No, not really. Being in a foster home means that you're there until someone can care for you again. Usually that someone is a parent, but the fact that the parents in this situation are not valid, then they technically shouldn't live in the system. And if they are running, whoever they're running from can still get them."

Polly closed her eyes, imagining three boys running from home. Running from the abuse and the mess their lives were. She could imagine all too well.

"So what's the next step?"

"We try and find the mother."

Polly felt chills run up her spine, for really no reason. She didn't know the mother, or have a reason to suspect those boys were running from their mother, but the feeling in her gut told her that the mother wasn't in the picture for a reason.

That the parents didn't want to be in the database.

"What's her name?" Polly peered over her uncle's shoulder at the paperwork. The grew still at the pictures of all three boys. The youngest looked unharmed, with a wide smile and hope in his eyes. But the older two weren't anything like the younger brother. Both wore serious expressions, ones that told terrifying stories.

Elliott Cole. She ran a finger over his glossy picture. There was something about him that told Polly something was wrong with him. The way he stood, or maybe the way he looked on edge. Something about the boy made Polly squirm.

And the other. Adrian Cole. He looked more relieved, more able to breathe.

The three together looked like siblings, but Elliott, the oldest, didn't look like he was the oldest brother. He had a definite baby face, and there was something about him that looked more like a pubescent boy. And Polly could have believed he was in middle school, if it wasn't for the age under his face.

For a moment, she imagined that the names were mixed up. That Elliott was actually the one who looked older, and Adrian was the one with the baby face. But even then, she knew it not to be true. There was something about Elliott that screamed in charge.

"Her name is Mary. But even that might not be true. I need to run some tests, figure out who these boys actually are. If their last names are even Cole."

Polly leaned back on her heels, away from the paperwork. She felt a certain chill run over her skin as she pictured the three boys running away from someone, and it hit too close to home. Made her feel sick to her stomach.

The look in their eyes was all too close to the expression she'd seen in her own mirror, and that bothered her the most. That there were other people like her, suffering. She wondered about the youngest, though. About why he looked so much happier than the other two. About why he seemed to stand out.

"Do you get to visit these boys?"

"Probably not. I could go in and ask questions, but I have a feeling these boys don't want to talk to me. I'll see what I can get, and then talking to them will be a last resort. Also, I don't want to freak them out over nothing. If I come visiting, they'll assume something is wrong, you know?"

Polly knew, but she wanted to meet them. She wanted to meet Elliott, and she didn't even really know why, other than the fact that maybe he could relate to her. Maybe he could help her.

"Shame. These boys look like they could use some help."

Her uncle grunted in response as he wrote something down on his notepad. He opened his mouth to say more, but Jenny skidded into the room just before he could. She jumped into the arms of her father, peering down at Polly.

"What are you two doing?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Polly's uncle said, tickling his daughter. Just like that, the mood lifted, and Polly felt a sense of belonging. Because she wasn't at home, but this was better. These people were more of a family to her than her own parents had ever been. And she'd gladly call this place home, even if Jenny was spreading rumors and her classmates didn't take notice of her.

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