Page 10 of Hell's Claim

Callie – 2000

“That child is freaky, she’s too quiet,” Mrs Lumnek muttered to her husband.

I hid a sigh. What was I meant to do? I didn’t understand the rules. A lot of my foster parents told me to shush and be a good girl. Now, this lady was complaining I was quiet. I was confused.

“Callie is probably feeling shy,” Mrs Jefferson said with a half grin. I didn’t like her smile. It looked like a crocodile. And I’d been informed that crocodiles eat little girls.

“Does she do anything but sit there?” Mr Lumnek asked.

“Of course! Callie loves drawing and playing games, she likes to read too,” Mrs Jefferson spoke quickly.

I frowned. Actually, I didn’t like either of them. Games where were people were cruel and made fun of you. Games were not nice. Reading was fun, not games.

“Honestly, I don’t think we’d be a good match. Mrs Jefferson, we want a child with some spark of life, not a wooden doll,” Mrs Lumnek stated.

I lost interest. I hadn’t liked them either. They smelled funny and hugged too much. Hugs were bad, and I hated them. But they weren’t as awful as slaps. Those hurt. Cuddles didn’t feel nice, but at least they didn’t cause any pain.

“Don’t forget, Callie has been in care since she was a baby. Naturally, she’s trying to be quiet to prove she won’t be a bother,” Mrs Jefferson explained.

“Yeah, not our cup of tea. There was another child we wanted to view,” Mrs Lumnek replied.

Mrs Jefferson’s veins in her neck bulged. “View? These aren’t puppies, Mrs Lumnek! They are children with thoughts and feelings. Callie just fully understood everything you said!”

Mrs Lumnek glanced at me, and I held her gaze. I wasn’t frightened of her.

She looked away with red in her cheeks. Mrs Lumnek didn’t like Mrs Jefferson telling her off, and for that moment, I liked Mrs Jefferson. I don’t know why she wouldn’t leave me where I was. Why did I need a home?

Callie 2005

Mr Timmons howled as he clutched his hand to his chest while his other cupped his man parts.

I scowled fiercely as he rolled on the floor.

Mrs Timmons came in and shrieked at me.

“I won’t let him touch me! It’s wrong!” angrily, I screamed in return.

I knew what Mr Timmons wanted, and it had a name. Child molestation. Holding my ripped clothes together, I proceeded to lecture them as sirens wailed. The police rushed in, and the Timmons looked terrified. So they should. I’d already called them and explained what was going on. Mr Timmons had cried in the background as I made the call.

An officer grabbed me and wrapped me in a huge coat.

In temper, I pulled away. I didn’t want a man touching me. I’d been touched enough. Six months in this house was plenty. The policeman was speaking, but I wasn’t paying attention. Instead, I watched as Mr Timmons was hauled off and Mrs Timmons made all sorts of wild accusations.

“You better check Sadie, he raped her,” I said dully. The man looked horrified and called to a colleague. The other officer rushed upstairs, and Sadie screamed.

Yeah, somehow, I couldn’t blame her.

2007

“Callie, I don’t understand it. You’re a beautiful, educated, polite girl. Yet nobody wants to adopt you or foster you. It doesn’t make sense,” Mrs Jefferson said, nibbling her bottom lip. Mrs Jefferson sat at my hospital bed as I winced in pain.

“That bitch was beating me, I wasn’t going to let her continue,” I whispered. I was laid on my side because my back was so badly hurt.

“Of course not!” Mrs Jefferson exclaimed.

My latest foster mother had issues, and they included beating her foster kids with a metal chain. I had attacked her in returnand gained the upper hand. But she’d torn my back open. I’d had stitches and was being pumped full of drugs. But I still felt that chain lashing into my fragile skin.

“You’re not at fault, Callie,” Mrs Jefferson said.

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