Page 1 of Mason

I BOUNCED ON THE BALLS of my feet due to my excitement. It was the day before my birthday, and Mum, Dad, and Grandma were coming to pick me up from school early so we wouldn’t miss our flight to Cairns, Queensland. For my thirteenth, we were going to see the Great Barrier Reef. I loved the ocean and all its wildlife. I’d been begging my parents to take me for as long as I could remember.

They were late. I’d been pacing the office waiting area for the last hour and was starting to worry that we would miss our flight. Any time the office door opened, I’d turn with a beaming smile ready on my face for my family, but they hadn’t come. The office ladies left me be, happy with the note and the phone call they said they received from my mother that morning.

I wished I had a mobile to play with or call them and check while I waited, but my parents were strict and wouldn’t let me have one until I’d finished high school. They thought they were a distraction. My best friends Emma and Lisa let me use theirs, but they were in class.

The longer I waited, the heavier my stomach got, and my body started to shake. My mind conjured so many reasons why they were late; they’d changed their mind about going, they went without me. I knew I was overreacting and they’d probably gotten caught up with something with my grandma or were in traffic or something like that.

When the bell rang for the end of school and my parents were still a no-show, I hesitantly approached the office desk. My whole body shook as I mumbled out through sobs, “Um, my parents haven’t come and I don’t have a mobile, could I please phone them?”

Ethel, an office lady in her late fifties smiled at me. “Sure, honey. Here.” She pushed the phone to me. “Press one to get a line out.”

I nodded and reached for the phone, pressing the one before putting in my mother’s mobile number. It rang until I was sure it would go to voicemail, but then a voice I hadn’t heard before answered.

“Hello.”

“Um, hello. I’m sorry, but I was sure I called my mum’s phone. Irene Jennings.”

“This is her phone. I’m detective Ryder Silverman. May I ask your name and where I can send officers to pick you up, please?”

I dropped the phone and backed away, unwilling to listen anymore. I knew. I could feel it from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head. I heard what sounded like a dying animal as I sank down onto the ground and wished a hole would open and swallow me up, and bury me in its depths. The screaming didn’t stop and it wasn’t until officers in their blue uniforms showed up that the noise stopped and I realized the deafening noises were me.

Hours later I sat stoic in the hospital waiting room with my best friend Emma Littman’s arms wrapped around me. Her mother and father sat with us, listening to the detective I’d spoken to and the doctors that told them that my whole family had been murdered in a robbery gone wrong. They droned on, but I zoned out when I learned I had no one. I was broken and my world would never be the same.

My thirteenth birthday was forgotten as funerals were arranged. I was allowed to stay with the Littman’s until the funeral was over, but after that I was put into foster care. That was where my world, if possible, seemed to get worse. I tried. I promise I did. The family I was placed with was great until their twenty-three-year-old son dropped out of university overseas and came back to live with them, plunging me into a nightmare. I learned that little blondes with bright green eyes were very desired. I ran away three times, but was found and brought back. The third time they placed me with a new family, but when the mother started to beat me because I didn’t clean something the right way, I ran.

Fourth times the charm.

safe

/saf/

adjective

free from harm or risk

secure from threat of danger, risk, difficulty

I PEEKED AROUND THE CORNER and watched Stacy as she fought the two rough looking guys grabbing her and then shoving her into the van. Stacy wasn’t a friend of mine. She’d taken a blanket and even food from me before, but what I was seeing wasn’t what she deserved. I spotted others in the van and I knew something wasn’t right. I studied the men. I was sure I’d seen one of them before, and I definitely remembered the vest they wore with the bike and huge crown over it. I squinted in the evening light and was sure it reads ‘The Devil’s Queens.’

Oh shit! I needed to get the hell out of there.

I backed up against the wall, and as I turned, I accidently knocked a stupid coke can. Argh! I hate people who littered! I hope they don’t hear me!

“What the hell? Did you hear that? Go check it out.”

I ran.

“You go,” a deep voice yelled back.

“Fine. Deal with this?”

I didn’t hear anything else because I was running for my life. I ran, and I didn’t look back. Why did I need to be such a sticky beak? Why couldn’t I have just stayed hidden instead of trying to see what was going on?

When I saw the main road ahead I thought I’d gotten away, but I was grabbed from behind by large beefy arms that squeezed so tight I was sure I heard something crack. I fought. I clawed. I scratched and kicked and screamed at the top of my lungs. I felt his grip slip and the rip of my clothes before I bolted and hid. I was a good hider.

When it was quiet I got out of my hiding spot and ran, and this time I knew the best place to hide. I found my hidden sack and made my way to my spot, the place that always made me feel safe.

I gripped my clothes together, I didn’t have time to change because I needed to get to my safe place. Once there I could change and take a look at the damage to my body. I was so focused on getting to where I needed to go, I missed them coming out of the shadows ahead of me. They weren’t in uniform, but I knew they were cops; I’d seen them before.

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