Overcomer - The Journey, Judy Colella [book reader for pc txt] 📗

the family put me in the basement without tying me up as usual. Instead, after telling me I’d never get out again, they locked the door and left. I was too afraid to try and escape at first, and after a few more days, too weak. Four days later, some people from the DFC found me. Apparently, my former foster mother had grown tired of me, figuring out that if no one had checked up on me in all that time, they weren’t going to, and decided to leave me there to starve to death.

“She’s currently in jail, as is her son. Retta, I was told, is in some kind of mental institution. The social workers helped me to realize that I wasn’t ugly or stupid, and I went through several months of physical and mental therapy until they concluded that I was as close to whole as I would ever be. I was staying at a place called the Marcus Institute, where they also helped me catch up on all the schoolwork I’d missed, or as much of it as possible. I was finally transferred to the group foster home here in Connecticut about a week after the trial – I had to testify, but because of the nature of my history with that family, the Judge told me to look only at him while I talked.

“When it was over, I was told that a place had opened up in a foster home up north and I was scheduled to move there soon after. I never found out why or how, but I suspected the Croghan had something to do with that. I was enrolled in school and got a job, the whole time wondering what I was doing here and if I’d ever be able to complete the quest I’d set off on all those years ago, despite not being sure what that quest was. I no longer had a sword with which to practice, since the wooden one I’d carved from a baseball bat was left in the basement in Georgia, but I continued the movements so I wouldn’t forget. I was given my own room in the foster home, and was getting used to being there, even though I no longer seemed to have a purpose.

“Then, on my first night working at the mall, I saw Celeste and Katie, and within twenty-four hours, everything changed.”

TWENTY-THREE

 

Georgia – One Year Earlier

 

“You must never again allow yourself to say or think that you’re ugly, Cian. We’ve been telling you this for a good three months now, and you’ve got to let that go. Your foster mother lied to you for six years. So did her children.”

“B-but why? Y-you nev-never really s-s-said.”

Dr. Janet Murphy, the psychologist assigned to his case, leaned back, her tone patient. “No, because you had enough to think about, what with adjusting to your new life here. But I think it’s time we discussed it. The reason they lied and hurt you was because they were jealous. I saw pictures of Buddy and Retta, and they are two of the least attractive youngsters I’ve seen in a long time. So their mother instantly hated you for – in her opinion – making her dear kids look like toads.”

“How did I d-do that?”

“Well, you didn’t. It was all in her mind.”

Puzzled, Cian tried to understand how his foster mother could have twisted reality so badly. The violent way he’d been convinced otherwise, the span of time over which everything, had cemented doubt into his thinking.

“Let’s try this,” Dr. Murphy said. “Have you ever had a pet?”

“A what?”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve never... have you ever owned an animal that you cared about a lot?”

We had sheep, but the last time I mentioned that, everyone decided I was crazy. “I, uh, no, n-not really.”

She tapped her notebook with the end of her pencil, chewing on her bottom lip. “How about a favorite toy – a stuffed animal, or maybe... maybe a doll of some kind?”

“A doll?” he asked, horrified.

“Okay, scratch that. Did you have any brothers or sisters? The report on you wasn’t clear about that, I’m afraid.”

His eyes clouded as something stirred, but then it was gone. He blinked. “I – I can’t… I d-don’t re-re-remem-member.” His stutter was improving, but was far from gone.

“Well, don’t worry about it.” She frowned. “Do you remember your parents at all?”

He shook his head. “Only… a f-few words. Thing-things they s-s-said.”

“All right, let’s say someone else’s parents had more money than yours. Every time they saw you, they would compare their parents with yours, making you feel as though your mom and dad weren’t as good as theirs. How would you react?”

What? “I wou-would never feel li-like that.”

“Maybe not, but pretend it hurt you to think someone else’s parents were better than yours.”

“B-but I ne-never said I wa-was better th-than Retta and B-Buddy.”

“Doesn’t matter. The woman’s mind is obviously not working right, and to her, your presence alone made her feel that not only were her children inadequate, but that because she gave birth to them, she was somehow inadequate, too.”

“So... you’re saying... forget it. I’m c-confused.”

“All right, let’s move on. I have another idea. Cian, I want you to make yourself comfortable, child. I’m going to tell you things you may not want to hear, but I think it’s high time you found out exactly what went on around you since that day you went home with Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, your first foster parents. Think you can handle that?”

Since coming to the Institute, he’d been dealing with people who were patient, somewhat unemotional, but always willing to help. He could take his time answering. Dr. Murphy was a kind woman, who he hoped would be capable of getting him past whatever this mental wall was that he’d run into with such force.

Among fragmented thoughts and dreams he’d had while living with the Pettijohns, the Boltons had been absent, blocked out with involuntary force. But when, a little over two years earlier, he’d reached a new understanding that his dreams had been reality trying to get back in, he had also remembered what happened to those wonderful people who’d taught him so much and eased loss of his parents.

Many other memories continued as fragments only, but Cian knew they’d all come back when he was ready. Dr. Libman’s report had only revealed details of the Boltons’ murder, and that Letitia was responsible. He had yet to learn why or how he’d gotten from there to the house in the middle of nowhere. Could he handle the answers? Maybe not, but ignorance would be worse. “O-okay. Go ahead.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Well, here we go. Seems the Boltons knew you were coming, and had already arranged to take care of you. The Pettijohns, meanwhile, had applied for foster children a few months before that. Bobby Lee Pettijohn worked in Atlanta at the time, and when he put in the application, he failed to mention that he and his wife, Letitia, had two natural children. Now, there are a lot of requirements for anyone wishing to foster a child in the State of Georgia – they have to be interviewed, take special classes, their financial situation is checked and confirmed, things like that. Both of them came to the interview, then two of our agents met them in what they claimed was their home in Albany. Turns out it wasn’t. As to why they were looking to take in a child, Mrs. Pettijohn said in her statement – ”

“W-what statement?”

“The one she gave in prison a few months ago. She admitted they only did it for the money had never intended to use any of it for whatever child they got. Because their real home was in an unincorporated rural area outside Shady Dale, they figured no one would ever find out what they were up to. And, if it looked like they could pull it off, they’d add a few more kids, take the money from them as well, and let all of them get by on little or nothing.

“They looked like decent people, at least according to the case worker, a woman who I’m afraid was a whole lot more optimistic about the human race than she should’ve been.”

“W-was? Wait - I think I remem-member her. She brought m-me there the day after the B-Boltons d-d-died.”

“That’s right. Biggest mistake the Department ever made, letting her convince them that the best way to help you over the trauma was to get you into another foster family as soon as possible. She died in a freak accident after dropping you off.”

“Oh, no...”

“Afraid so. The branch of a large tree broke right as she was driving under it and went through the roof of her car – she had a convertible – and killed her instantly. And I’m sorry, but that’s one of those things I knew you might not want to hear, so if you need to grieve, do it later. Right now, you have to listen.”

Her tone had been gentle but firm. Cian closed his eyes for a moment. The woman with the kind eyes had made a horrible mistake, and paid for it with her life... I’m not in the mood to continue with this any more, but Dr. Murphy is right. I have to face these things. He nodded. Opened his eyes. “Go on.”

“All right. Well, Miss Hunter – that was her name – had recommended the Pettijohns as foster parents before you and the Boltons came into the picture, and were eventually approved. The home in Albany was beautiful, neat, clean as a whistle from what I understand – and as I said, belonged to somebody else. Friends of Bobby Lee’s, I think, though no one knew this at the time. The police are investigating, but I heard the couple left the State a long time ago.

“Seems he and Letitia started getting impatient, and unknown to the proper authorities, only Bobby Lee went to the parenting classes – I’ve no idea where she was, only that she never showed up. By then, however, the wheels were in motion and no one ever followed up on that. About a month after their approval, you came along. At first, we were going to send you to them right away, but were told that the Bolton’s would be given custody. Mrs. Bolton worked at the Georgia Center for Resources and Support – it’s basically a library and resource center for the foster care system – and as I said before, she and her husband had already been approved as your foster parents. I had to piece a lot of information together, and what I’m telling you now is the sum and substance of all that.

“Getting back to what happened, we explained all this to Mr. Pettijohn, who was disappointed, but didn’t act crazy or angry about it. He said he’d tell his wife and they’d wait for another child to come along. Well, according to Mrs. P, she wasn’t having any of it, and told her husband to find out who these people were and where they lived. It took nearly three months to find the Boltons. After watching the house and figuring