"Mary." Mr. Ziglback took a sip of his coffee. "After speaking with the principal and Mrs. Busybody, it has been decided that due to your radical behavior, you are to receive therapy for anger management."

He paused.

"Elsewhere."

"No." I sunk into my seat in horror. "No..."

Three strikes, or three outbursts, and you're out.

I was out.

"I'm sorry, Mary, I know you don't want this. But there's nothing we can do about it. You are a troubled mind that needs proper counseling that I alone cannot provide—"

"No! No, no help! No help, please!"

"Relax, Mary. It's all in your brain. Trust me, you'll be glad you got this."

I wanted to scream.

But I did not cry.

I would not cry.

"Mary, I know it's hard. I know this is hard for you. I know you don't want to leave the relinquere home. You've been there since what, you were two? And Mrs. Busybody told me herself that you are the oldest kid to have ever stayed so long before needing to leave for therapy. But you need help."

I said nothing.

"It's a brand new facility, Mary! Think about it! There will be so many more people your age there, and it's only forty-five minutes away! You can still go to college here in town, and—"

I crossed my arms, expanding my chest. "I'm not leaving."

Mr. Ziglback ran his fingers through his hair. "You just threw a stool out a window!"

I smirked to myself. If only that stool had been Josh—

"Speaking of help, Mary, I checked with your doctor. You are in need of a pneumonia shot."

"Ug."

"You're already a month overdue. Your health is at serious risk waiting so long for it. You've been scheduled to get your shot on the first, right after you're moved out." Mr. Ziglback held up three fingers. "That's three days, Mary. Three days."

* * *

Halloween.

Tomorrow I leave.

I will never see Jackson, or any of the other children, ever again.

I know it sounds dramatic, but that's my reality.

I lied on the floor beside Jackson's closet. I was curled into a ball, wrapping around the baseball bat that I had held every night before. I was dressed in my favorite pajamas, a pink kitty onesie I had received on my birthday the previous year. It was especially warm sense the fleece tended to excessively bag in places, as I was as thin and as straight as a pencil.

I listened to the pitter patter of rain.

I twisted my wire pearl ring around my finger.

I never took it off. Ever. Even when I slept. I was terrified of losing it.

"Now Mary, you've gotta be careful. Don't drop your mandrel— And you dropped it."

I climbed off my seat and slipped under the table, the pliers and wire caught in my dress and coming down with me. I chased the cursed rolling tube of metal on my hands and knees though the classroom. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hilley."

"You'll be fine, darling. I know you can do it. Don't give up. Now, where did the bead roll off to?"

I had never planned on taking an art class. I had only signed up for Mrs. Hilley as a means of getting myself free jewelry. Stain glass necklaces, loomed beaded bracelets, scarves, the list went on. But out of all our projects, never had one been filled with such purpose to me as crafting this ring. Normally, people's parents just buy the rings custom for their high schoolers, or the teenagers themselves just pay for it out of their own pocket. But...

Instead of having the year engraved on the side of the gold or silver band with a single or sometimes many precious stones displayed atop as the centerpiece, mine was made of wire from a cardboard spool and a plastic bead from a packet of 100 or more identical ones, so inexpensive some in the bag were deformed and mushed, but included anyway as filler.

I wasn't complaining, though.

I loved it.

I was so proud of it.

My class ring.

A ring of growth, maturity, and my impending adulthood, signifying the year I graduate high school and take off flying into my life.

My face tightened and twisted, gripped with pain. Fear dropped to the pit of my gut like a boulder.

Two years early--

I cracked my forearms apart, and peeked out, spying up at Jackson's window.

I uncurled and rose, leaving the baseball bat on the ground. I lumbered to the window, drawing back the translucent curtains.

Clouds covered the sky like a dark blanket. Not a star could be seen. Only a hint of pink illuminated for a light source.

I put my hand on the glass, searching the sky for any flicker of light.

Of life.

I thought of the evening I had just experienced, a chaperone over the children as they ran ramped through the street, high on sugar. Watching Jackson, Alex, Little Hugh, and Eleanor trick or treat, filled with joy, with their only goal to fill their sacks with as much candy as they could carry. Despite my stress to keep up and not lose any of them, it made me swell with lightheartedness.

How... carefree, the children were. They were so...

So happy.

And as I stood there as a babysitter, all of my problems and anxiety disappeared for one second, one measly moment in time...

I fell back into reality.

And I was that way? Once? I was happy? I had no fears? No worries of tomorrow?

I looked at Jackson, only feet from me in his bed, surrounded by his favorite toys. Even sound asleep, a warming smile creased across his face.

Out of all of the children, I had always, always felt the most connection to him.

It made sense.

House fires are more common than you think.

The medical examiner had said he had severe burns on the palms of his hands from trying to open the door to his parents' room to warn them of the fire. The doorknob was already iron hot from the flames.

He was one and a half years old.

And yet, despite such a horrific, horrific start to life as his...

He was sanguine.

All the little lights that were in the home bewildered me.

The children, every single one of them, have gone through hardships that are beyond any reasonable measure. Yet somehow, all still had such joy in their hearts.

Such light in their eyes.

My heart overflowed with envy of the children as I watched Jackson sleep.

But why not me?

Why don't I have eyes like that?

Why must I be different from them?

What is it that they have that I don't?

I turned my head back, then rotated the rest of my body to match it. I stood, staring at the door to Jackson's room, leading to the hallway.

My reality really began to hit me.

The next day, Mrs. BusyBody would swing the cursed door open, already frustrated that she had to look for me outside of my room. She would yell at me that it was time to go, and I would walk out the door, and leave the relinquere home forever, despite how much I did not want to go. They might end up dragging me out of the place for all I cared.

I turned my stare to Jackson's closet door. The door I had slept by night after night, waiting in insanity for it to open.

Waiting.

I looked up at the ceiling, searching the dust filled air.

What is it that I want?

I reached over and picked up one of his stuffed animals on his bed, a pink teddy bear that smelled of strawberries. I wrapped my arms around it, feeling all the stress in my aching bones melted away, as I poured my strength into hugging the plush bear.

Hugging.

I thought back to the blue and purple monster in the drawings Detective Chapman had given me.

I reached up and stroked the cat ears sewn onto the hoody of my onesie pajamas.

Kitty?

I silently laughed, baffled.

Is that what I really called him?

I imagined what it would be like. To be loved, and cared for. To not be afraid. To not be alone. To not fear for tomorrow. To be held. To be hugged.

What is it?

What is it that I want?

I turned back to the window, resting my hand back on the cool glass. I searched the sky for any glimmer of hope.

I thought of running.

I thought of running out of the home. I thought of sprinting all the way down the street, past the parking lots and the buildings, past the rundown playground overrun with weeds, all the while my bare feet smacking against the rocky concrete. I thought of running off the road and into the woods, ducking past the branches and climbing up the hill side. I thought of looking up towards the sky through the skeleton-like branches, seeing the white rays of light stretching through the clouds, intensifying as I grew closer and closer. With it, my urge to find the light source intensified as well, until I was so desperate to find it I would die without. I would follow the pale rays up the hill, aching for the light to reveal itself, covered by the clouds, or the peak, or both.

I thought of running faster and faster, hungrier and hungrier, my arms extended to the sky like the branches of the trees, grasping, gasping the sapphire air.

If I could just find that light...

As I neared the top, I grew insane with excitement.

Just over the hill.

Just over the hill.

Where is the moon?

I reach the peak, and--

I jolted out of the day dream.

I remained posed at the window, breathing heavily on the cool glass.

What is it that I want?

I pressed my nose to the window, smearing away a little of the fog from my breath.

I prayed for the clouds to break, to pry open, to reveal the light I was looking for.

I held my breath in anticipation.

The clouds had no change in color, or thickness.

Aren't you out there?

My attitude suddenly shifted.

Are you out there?

But as the sparkless night remained dead and grey, the warmth, the hope in my heart, disappeared.

Can you hear me?

My fist curled close, my heart twisting.

This is reality.

Nothing magical happens in reality.

I sighed, and tossed the bear back onto the bed.

I gave up.

There is no world beyond the closet door.

There are no monsters.

There is no Kitty.

I sniffed, hurting all over, as I surrendered all hope of ever being happy.

There is no love.

I turned, and lumbered to the other side of the room to the closet door. I leaned against it with my palms.

Please, please! Just come! Come! Take me away... My forehead kissed the aging wood.

"Just take me away." I begged.

But nobody came.

After an eternity of waiting, I slide to the floor in defeat.

There are no such things as monsters.

I hugged myself, shivering in the cold.

They'll never come for me. There is no escape.

There is no escape from this world.

I lay down, not even bothering to hold the bat anymore.

There are no such things as monsters.

There is no Kitty.

I closed my eyes, drifting off.

Am I a stupid girl for even dreaming?

I did not cry, though.

I will not cry.