Trapped In The Rabbit Hole

Chapter 10: Unexpected Clients

While surveying the credit card statements twice, I decided to track down Mr. Ivan's address and ask him questions regarding to Miles.

But unfortunately, a ring of my cellphone stopped me from doing so.

Nevertheless, I picked it up again and hit Answer.

"Hello, Luke." said a cheery voice.

The voice belonged to my obnoxious therapist, Mr. Walters.

Thanks to the complaints of my former foster parents, Ms. Caroline thought it would be great for me to befriend a thirty year old, who  probably lives in his mother's basement.

"Mr. Walters," I sigh in response.

"It's been five weeks since our appointment," he said.

"I called your social worker four times, but she wouldn't respond-"

"That's because she's fired, genius." I wanted to say, but if I even think about dropping the truth bomb, the state will choose another terrible babysitter.

"I have alot of plans, Mr. Walters." I explain. "I don't have time to pick an-"

"It's been five weeks, Luke." he reminded. "Are you okay? How's school? I heard that you have a girlfriend-"

"Associate," I corrected.

Are therapists always this nosy?

"Any friends?" he ask.

"Yeah," I answer sarcastically. "I have TONS of friends."

Just then, a silence came throughout the speakers.

"You don't have any friends, do you?" Mr. Walters ask.

"What do you think?" I snort.

"Cooperation is ALWAYS the key, Lucas." he advised.

"Let's pick up our conversation, tomorrow. Okay?"

I said yes then hang up the phone.

After the annoying conversation, Seth gave me a raised eyebrow.

"You do have a girlfriend," he reminded. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, but I don't want to brag in front of that weirdo." I insist.

"And besides, we have work to do."

As Seth announced that he'll survey Mr. Ivan, I reach for my knapsack, which was under my desk, and said that I'll go to Social Services.

Not only was I desperate to find Miles' killer, but also because I wanted to justice.

For foster kids suffering in Hell, and for the so-called "parents" who think it's okay to ditch your responsibility.

"Be careful, dude." Seth advised, resting his bottom on my bed.

His eyes are glued to the screen as red hair hang in front of his eyes.

"You too," I said, before heading to the door.

As I came downstairs, my foster parents rested peacefully on the rotten brown colored couches. Empty beer bottles rolled across the floor, as news reporters debate on television.

"As I was saying," the reporter began, presumably for the umpteenth time.

His brown hair synced with his red face, whereas his black suit...let's just say it clashed with a tiny dab of mustard.

Not wanting to pay the cable bill again, I yanked the remote, which was sitting on Jill's lap, and turned it off.

All of a sudden, Jill wakes up from her nap and stares at me groggily.

"Why the hell would you turn it off?" she ask. "I was watching that, for pete's sake."

Her words are slurry, almost like a smoothie stirring in a blender.

"You're drunk," I moaned. "Get your butt out of the couch, grab your husband, and go sleep it off."

Jill scrunched her nose for a second then peers down her dirty pink bathrobe.

Sensing her thoughts, I ask when was the last time she did her laundry.

"Last week," she grumbled.

"Yeah," I snapped. "More like two weeks ago."

"Don't judge me! I had a stressful day at work!"

I rolled my eyes at this: Jill worked as an Dunkin Doughnuts employee for five minutes, until she got fired for mistreating customers.

"You always have stressful days at work!" I argued.

"Now, cut the crap, and sleep off the alcohol!"

My alcoholic foster mother gave me a look before jumping out of the couch, and drag her feet upstairs.

Welcome to my life, I thought sarcastically.

With Bill snoring like a convict, I manage to slip out of the house without a sound.

But just as my feet came in contact with the scratched Welcome mat, the Mortons stood before me.

They both had dark hair, different jogging wear, and sweat pouring down their faces.

As the husband had on a gray sweatshirt, long, black gym shorts, and white tennis sneakers, the wife is dressed in a neon pink tank top, tight black pants, and neon yellow high tops.

She looks like an 80s training montage video, but I guess she didn't have the time to put her hair in a ponytail.

The couple gave me a repressed stare, almost as if they are afraid of me or something.

But that when the wife spoke:

"You must be the kid detective, right?" she ask.

"Luke Hamilton?"

I nodded very sternly.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Joseph questioned.

I jerked my thumb at the house next to me.

"She's having a forced slumber party." I reply.

"Anyway, how do you know where I live? Who gave you two my address?"

But when the lovers trade each other a look, I let out a sigh.

"A cop told you, right?" I snort. "5'8? Blue eyes? Blond? Looks like A-Rod?"

Joseph raise his eyebrow and ask what I meant.

"You think you are good Samaritans," I snapped.

"Letting neighbors watch him, when you should be doing your jobs."

Sheila sighs mournfully.

"We know we have done bad things-"

"Really?" I smirked. "Coming from the mouth of a hypocrite?"

Sheila looks up from the mat to snap at me, but the words didn't came out; she knows I am right.

"Unless you want charity, can you tell me why you're standing in front of me?"

The adults reluctantly cleared their throats, and began to speak.

"The police keeps their progression from us," Joseph began.

"They wouldn't tell us about the suspects, or anything like that-"

"Of course, they won't." a blunt voice said.

I turn to see Seth, standing next to me.

His emotions remained neutral, like mine. His scarlet hair is slicked carefully without any grease.

Alarmed by my brother's appearance, Joseph ask what he meant by that.

"For all we know," Seth sighs.

"You have been keeping tons of evidences from us. But apparently, I have proof."