A Call for Help

Chapter Eleven: Foster "Care"

   She remembered all too well her time in foster care far too well. This time wouldn't be much different. Nobody knew her there. Just like last time.
   She thought about Johnathan a lot on the first day. How could she not? He was the only person who really seemed to care about her. Well, besides her mother, but she was gone.
   Samantha never denied when somebody was gone. It was easier that way. She didn't believe in any form of afterlife. When you're gone, you're gone. That's it.
   But she still held a small hope she'd see Johnathan again. Samantha didn't understand why. She let her mother go. She let her father go. She let Andrew go. Not Johnathan.
   Maybe it's because she never felt so connected to someone. Never felt so cared for since the beginning of her depression. It all started again.
   She remembered how nervous he was. He wasn't like those jerks that would throw you away when they found someone that looked better.
She had to stop thinking about him. It just made her more and more depressed, knowing the small chance of them meeting again. And the last thing he said to her.
   No. She couldn't think about that now. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the memory away as best she could. It didn't work. She heard his voice in her mind.
   "I love you Samantha."
   She took a shaky breath as she heard his voice again. And what had happened just before he said it. She tried once again to push the memory away.
   "Hey. You alright?" It was one of the 'mothers'. They worked there, taking care of the kids and such. Samantha only nodded and tried to not cry. Her heart hurt. Her eyes burned from the crying she'd already done. All too familiar feelings.
   She found something in her bag, something she thought she'd never use again. They hadn't found it because it fell behind the toilet. Her pocket knife.
   She considered it again. She didn't want to, but did all at the same time. It was like a drug, exhilarating yet bad for you. She had to stay strong, but how? She couldn't wear long sleeve all the time, summer was coming.
   Where was her father? What was he doing? Did he know what she'd done? How was he? She wished she knew.

*          *         *

   He turned on the news. His old body complained as he sat in his recliner. He didn't really pay much attention to the news, he just wanted some noise.
James was forty eight and getting older. His beard was turning grey and his body weak. His brown eyes were beginning to grow colorless and blind. He was getting chubby to. Too much beer maybe.
   What had happened to his daughter, Samantha? He hadn't seen her in, what, eight, nine years? Too long. Her mother had never called him. He'd tried to call her though, many times. Then there, on the news, he saw her, or, what remained.
   She was thinner, paler, and she wasn't smiling. Where was she? He look at the foreground. A foster care, in the city. That's not possible. Where's her mother? Why is she so sad? He felt it was his fault. He quickly packed some things, and headed out to his old, beat up car.
   "I'm coming Sam," he said to himself.