The Children's Home

Chapter 1: A Case of Mistaken Identity

TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONE

CWs: MENTION OF DEATH (MURDER).

AN: I hope you've enjoyed the prologue! For those who opted not to read it, an eight-year-old Arwen runs away from her abusive foster mother, Alvah Drake. Anyway, here's the first chapter. Please let me know what you think of Arwen so far. Is she a relatable protagonist? Also, what are your thoughts so far? 

Six years later...

A faint light glimmered through the rain. I darted across the street, and my heart pounded. I could probably hear it from a mile away. I knew I was in danger, but I kept on running.

"Excellent," I breathed as I noticed a dark corner. "They won't notice me here."

I was on the run. Again. Much of my fourteen years of life had been spent escaping from foster homes. And the people who'd murdered my parents in a so-called car accident.

I'd barely turned four when it happened. Mom and Dad had left me in the care of my Aunt Susanna because they were required to attend a formal dinner. Aunt Susie, as I called her, was just tucking me into bed when the phone rang. She went out of the room to answer it. The next thing I remember, she announced in between choked-up sobs that both of my parents were dead.

"It was a terrible accident," she told me.

Of course, I got put in foster care. I escaped at eight from the home of Alvah Drake. She was the most horrid foster mother I could ever have had.

I've been on the run ever since.

Little did I know, as I sat in my corner, that my biggest adventure hadn't even started yet. I missed home. I missed my friends (although I didn't have very many), my family, and even some of my foster siblings, especially a girl named Teegan Bartholomews. But that life was gone. Forever. I sighed, curling up into a ball to keep myself warm from the cold morning air.

Suddenly, a wailing siren blared.

"Time to get goin'," I muttered.

I'd been found by Them. The people who'd made my life miserable.The people who sent me to live with that awful woman. I picked myself up and fled into the night.

It was a false alarm. I was safe—for the moment. I pulled my long hair into a ponytail.

"I, Arwen, will not surrender," I whispered to myself.

All of a sudden, I heard footsteps. My first instinct was to run, but somehow, I didn't. I stood paralyzed with fear. That was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.

~~~

"At last!" a male voice announced sometime later. "Miss Blair, you have given us quite a lively chase. Really now, you must cooperate."

I found myself in an abandoned parking lot lit by flickering street lights. I couldn't recognize any familiar landmarks, however.

Miss Blair?

Now, I couldn't exactly remember my last name, but "Arwen Blair" didn't sound right.

The voice continued. "We've followed you all over Britain and America. If you allow us to escort you back to where you belong—London—and let us take you to Lady Folman's manor, all will go well with you, Nadia. Will you trust us?"

Oh, so the man was confused. He thought I was some British girl named Nadia Blair, and he wanted to take me to a certain Lady Folman's house. I knew the voice's owner meant business, so I decided to play along.

"Please, sir," I began in a (hopefully) convincing British accent, "I didn't realize you were from Lady Folman. I am really sorry. I'll go."

"There's a good girl," another male voice praised.

I didn't say a word after that. Quietly, I followed the men to a black car. One of them opened the back door, and I clambered in. Buckling my seatbelt (safety first!), I could feel my heart hammering. Yet I kept silent. Soon we would be at an airport—or so I thought—to take a plane to England. However, the driver pulled into a dark alley.

"Here we are," announced the first speaker. "Now, Miss Blair, I'll need you to hold on to me."

"Thomas, are you sure taking the lass this way is going to be alright?" the second speaker asked with concern evident in his voice. "I am quite sure she's never teleported before."

Thomas laughed. "Easy, Harry. It'll be fine. Besides, don't you know better than to question a superior? Guess who's higher in Her Ladyship's graces?"

Harry—the first man—groaned. He still seemed leery about taking me with him. In all honesty, I was inclined to agree with him. But I knew better than to voice my thoughts out loud. Without even asking whether I was comfortable traveling in such an unusual manner, Thomas grasped my hand. Then we vanished.