A Simple Mistake

Chapter I

The rustic desk separated Dr. Joel Hayes from the teenager and his guardian. The woman wore a tight suit-coat with an equally tight skirt, the fabric crushing her thighs and her comfort. The teenager beside her sat in placid silence, but his eyes were actively searching around the small office, noting every possible exit. The tips of his dark hair tickled the top of his ear, slightly curled with a few wayward strands. The morning light shined through the dusty window behind , the winter wind knocking against the frame asking politely to be let in. Dust paraded the thin air like the fallen pixie dust of a recalcitrant fairy. Joel flipped through the pages in front of him, the sun beating ruthlessly against his back--he was tempted to close the blinds behind him. He fished for information through the twenty-page report, the pages were stiff, indicating their recent creation. Hayes peered up at the boy and his mother, her face was painted with irritation and something he couldn't quite decipher. The boy's face showed fear, desolation, and enmity--emotions Joel knew all too well.

"Well?" The mother asked, irritation slowly masking her fragile voice.

"Well, what?" Hayes said, adjusting his reading glasses; his eyes fixed on the condensed biography.

"Can I go?"

The venom in her voice was enough to alarm the most callous of person, the tone seemingly infected the air and had the capability to a provoke a painful chill down the backs of anyone who was in range. Joel could see the damage the poison had done to the teenager beside her, his back arched up while his arms met his knees in an attempt to reach a feedle position on the wobbly office chair. The child's obvious pain provoked the hidden enmity within Hayes. He had seem many children brought to him, some reluctantly and some without remorse--this lady described the later. She had straight black hair, the outfit she wore resembled an office receptionist, but Joel knew she lacked the compassion and sensual voice for that line of work. She had long and empty fingers, they showed no signs of ever having an elongated occupant on them.

She looked at the child, no sign of love or even recognition in her faded eyes, she felt no love for him, no love and no responsibility toward the marred creature she had brought. She didn't look over until Joel cleared his throat and removed his reading glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"You are free to go," Hayes said simply, no specific emotion taking control of his quiet voice.

The woman grasped her purse and glared at the doctor, whose eyes were latent behind a mask of anonymity. She hated him, she didn't even know him--but she hated him, along with the atrocious animal she signed into his possession. She opened the door, placing herself in front of it, offering one last glance toward the boy--his back still arched. She slammed the door, and grasped her chest, finding her breath--breath she didn't know she had lost.

The room's atmosphere became incredible complacent, the aggressive emotions of the mother slowly dissipating as the clock hands ticked over the lines. The boy peered up from his knees, he saw Joel hunched over an old metal filing cabinet, the sides dinged up from years of frustration. He could see the paper the woman brought being placed into a manila folder titled: Elijah Crane. Four other names srrounded his, but before he could read them Hayes's closed the cabinet and brushed his hands together. The lamp beside the boy flickered, a tiny noise expressing the lamps fatigue and need for more energy.

"I can't imagine what you feel right now, so I'm not going to try and level with you Eli," Hayes said, finding it difficult to hold the boy's attention.

Eli said nothing--tears trickled toward the edge of his mouth, mixing with the already accumulated moisture of his lips. Hayes receded from the cabinet and smoothed down his shirt, which was neatly tucked into some nice black suit-pants. He took his glasses off the bridge of his nose, letting them fall onto his chest, the string attached to both ends clung to his neck--the glasses now comfortably hanging on his chest. Eli finally let his eyes scan over the man who had technically adopted him, but he found it hard to stare him directly in the eyes. Hayes was a younger man, Eli noticed, but the sporadic grey hairs on his short beard added a couple years to his face. If Eli were to speculate his age, he would estimate late thirties. The bags under his eyes indicated an uneven sleep pattern. Insomnia? Eli wondered, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the emotions on the older man's face. He could see nothing particularly threatening about this man, other than the restlessness that sketched his face in premature wrinkles.