The Lost Boy Read Online Free PDF Page B

rancid breath on my neck and hear her cold voice chanting that there was no escape and that she would never let me go.
    I snapped put of my dream. My face and chest were covered with a cold, sticky sweat. Not knowing if I was still dreaming, I covered my face. After my breathing began to slow down, I frantically looked all around. I was still in the cedar room. I still had on a pair of pajamas that Aunt Mary had loaned me. I patted myself, feeling for any wounds.
A dream,
I told myself.
A bad dream, that’s all.
I tried to control my breathing but couldn’t shake the vision. The Mother’s words echoed in my mind:
“I will never let you go. Never!”
    I jumped out of bed and scrambled around in the darkness to throw on my clothes. I returned to the head of the bed and held my knees close to my chest. I couldn’t go back to sleep. That’s where The Mother now lived – in my dreams. I felt it was a mistake that I was taken away, and I knew I would soon be returned to her. That night, and those to follow, while everyone slept, I held on to my knees as I rocked backed and forth, humming to myself. I would stare through the window and listen to the trees sway in the evening breeze. I told myself that I would never fall into the nightmare again.
    My first encounter with the county’s Child Protective Service agency came in the form of an angel named Ms Gold. Her long, shiny blond hair and bright face matched her name. “Hi, ” she smiled. “I’m your social worker.” And so began the long and drawn-out sessions in which I had to explain things I did not totally understand. In the beginning of our first session, I huddled at the far end of the couch while Ms Gold sat at the other end. Without my knowing, she slowly inched her way toward me until she was close enough to hold my hand. At first I was too scared to have her touch me. I did not deserve her kindness. But Ms Gold held on to my hand, caressing my palm, assuring me that she was there to help me. That day she stayed with me for over five hours.
    The other visits were just as long. At times I was too scared to talk and long moments of silence followed. Other times, for no apparent reason and not understanding why, I’d burst into tears. Ms Gold didn’t care. She simply held me tight and rocked me back and forth, whispering in my ear that everything was going to be all right. Sometimes we would lie at the end of the couch, and I would talk about things that were of no relation to my bad past. During those times I would play with the long strands of Ms Gold’s shiny hair. I’d lie in her arms and breathe in the fragrance of her flowery perfume. I soon began to trust Ms Gold.
    She became my best friend. After school, whenever I saw her car, I’d spring down the walkway and burst into Aunt Mary’s home, knowing Ms Gold had come to see me. We always ended our sessions with a long hug. She would then bend down and assure me that I did not deserve to be treated the way I was and that what my mother did to me was not my fault. I had heard Ms Gold’s words before, but after years of brainwashing I wasn’t so sure. So much had happened so fast. One time I asked Ms Gold why she needed all of this information on Mother and me. To my horror, she told me that the county was going to use it against my mother. “No!” I pleaded. “She must never know I told you!
Never
!”
    Ms Gold assured me that I was doing the right thing, but when she left me alone to think, I came to a different conclusion. As long as I could remember, I had always been in trouble. I was always being punished for one thing or another. Whenever my parents had fought, my name was always thrown into the ring. Was it really Mother’s fault? Maybe I deserved everything I got over the years. I did lie and steal food. And I knew I was the reason why Mother and Father no longer lived together. Would the county throw Mother in jail? Then what would happen to my brothers? That day after Ms Gold left, I sat