return of the future,

[aaron]

A hair cut, facial trim, and new set of clothes later, Aaron Seymour was back on the road in his '67 Chevy Impala. Yes, the same car used in the television show Supernatural. However, Aaron had a love affair with the car long before it was associated with pop culture. It took him a while to track it down, having been taken to the police impound ten years ago when he was arrested. Thankfully, it hadn't been crushed and after some haggling he managed to get it back. Ten years inside a chain-link fence, the car made him feel like things were finding their way back to normal. Then, his thoughts shifted and hope was nearly lost. Things weren't normal. His wife was dead and his daughter was living with a family other than her own. Not all was right in the world, but Aaron was going to do is damnedest to fix that. Just a few hours after being release, Aaron was headed for the nearest social services office to locate his estranged daughter. So many questions and scenarios ran through his mind he barely saw the road in front of him. His subconscious was doing all the driving.

Aaron headed for the front desk of the office, stating his reason for visiting, then took a seat while a case worker freed up. He sat thirty minutes thumping his leg and wringing his hands. Patience really isn't his strong suit. Finally, he was escorted to a corner office where a tall woman with shoulder-length blonde hair was filing a couple manilla folders. "Mr....Seymour, have a seat. What can I do for you?" She said after Aaron filled in her pause. He shook her hand, then obliged her request. No dilly-dallying, he jumped right in explaining his situation. The woman, Clara Wolf, listened carefully, but about halfway through seemed to have almost written him off, digging through her files and extracting a numerous amount of paperwork. She set the stack in front of Aaron, explaining that regaining custody, especially for someone in Aaron's shoes, was going to be a rather lengthy process. This did not appeal to Aaron at all. Of course, he didn't expect to be handed and address and the okay to get his daughter, but he certainly didn't expect to have to wait weeks, even months, until he could regain custody of his daughter. Clara listened to his appeal and impatience, but did not relent. "I understand you're anxious to return to your normal life, but you have to understand that she belongs to the state." Aaron rose from his chair in anger. "She belongs to me. I'm her father! You people sit here behind your desks and shuffle children around from home to home..." "Mr. Seymour, please. There's a protocol. It'll be faster, and easier, if you just follow it." Aaron was leaning on her desk now, pushing into her personal space. "I don't give a flying fuck about your protocol. Tell me where she is." His words were slow, low, and menacing. "i can't give you that information. I can call the family and set up a meeting..." Aaron cut her off. "Do you know why, Ms. Wolf, I was in prison?" Something in her body language told Aaron he crossed a line. If this were a bank, she'd be hovering over the big red button on the floor. "No, I don't." Her voice was steady, trying to make up for her shrinking stature. "My wife, the mother of my daughter, was attacked in a parking garage and left to bleed to death. The police, who like you, are on the government's payroll, could not connect the dots and gave up after two months. Two months. You know how long it took me to find him? Two weeks. I put two bullets in the son of a bitch before he could turn his head. Now if you're worried about sending a child off with a murderer, I suggest you look at the motive rather than the act, because I can protect and care for her better than any sap of a home you place her in." Aaron leaned off the desk, stood straight and stared down the social worker. There was a pause where Clara and Aaron stared one another down, then the woman turned to her computer and started typing. "Like I said, I can't release your daughter's address until the appropriate paperwork have been filed and you've been cleared. Now, sit down, Mr. Seymour and I'll be happy to help you. Otherwise, the exit is that way." She seemed to have gained some of her nerve back and was ready to stand up to Aaron, whom had just lost what little patience he had left. In about ten seconds, he slumped back in the chair. "All right fine, we'll do it your way. But first, can you point me in the direction of the lavatory?"

Aaron did use the bathroom, but not before casually wandering into the records' room where the walls were lined with filing cabinets, each labeled with a section of alphabet. Checking for any on lookers, Aaron slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack. Finding 'Sa-Sh' on the cabinet, he pulled open the appropriate drawer and began fingering through the names. About halfway in the drawer, 'Seymour, Katie' stuck out like a sore thumb. Bingo. Pulling out the folder, Aaron spread it open and scanned the first page, the current residence, for an address. Committing it to memory, he slipped the folder back in its rightful place and closed the drawer, turning around just as Clara Wolf entered the room. "What were you doing?" How conspicuous he was, standing conveniently in front of the 'Sa-Sh' filing cabinet. Yet, he still put on a show. "You said second on the left didn't you. I'm sorry, almost forty years old and I still don't know my right from my left." He chuckled and shook his head at himself, walking past Clara Wolf and into the hall. "You can't just waltz in there and take her, you know." The blonde said, causing Aaron to stop and turn around. So she knew what he had done. "How do you know she'll even be comfortable being taken from a home she's grown to know by a father she hasn't seen for most of her life." Aaron's face hardened. "Watch me." With that, he left Social Services. When he got into his car, he paused for a few moments. What that woman said struck something, leaving Aaron to ponder a situation he hadn't thought of.

Slowing to a crawl in front of the address that flashed across his vision, Aaron scoped out the place before taking another turn around the block. He did this twice before finally parking across the street, but he couldn't quite make himself get out just yet. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared at the house. It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. Tastefully decorated on the outside, a fence encased the backyard but Aaron could see the ropes of a swing hanging from the sturdy branch of a tree. Maybe these people would be better for Katie than him. Judging from their home, they were nice people. Then again, that could simply be a cover. Indecision tugged him in both directions, but the need to see his daughter again was strongest. She was the last remaining link he had to Kate, his beloved wife and what could have been. Finally, Aaron stepped out of the car and crossed the street, strode up the front path, ascended the steps, opened the screen door and rang the doorbell. He had to do it again before someone answered the door. "Can I help you?" Aaron hesitated, his mouth hanging open and forming words but no sound came out. The woman waited patiently for Aaron to form his words. "I'm here for Katie. I'm her father."

katie ellen seymour

[katie]

Katie stood pressed up against her bedroom window, blowing a trail of smoke out into the air. It was a dirty, filthy habit her foster parents didn’t approve of in the slightest, meaning she had to be super careful to make sure none of the smell lingered in the house. They knew she did it, of course they did, it was impossible to completely disguise it and besides, the manky cigarette ends lying discarded underneath her bedroom window probably gave the game away somewhat. Still, if she was careful to not let the smoke stay in the house, she didn’t really see what they had to complain about. They helped with the stress more than anything and as an abandoned kid of a murdered mother and murderer father, having been passed from pillar to post over the last 10 years with carers who ranged from unable to cope to downright abusive, Katie probably had more stress than the average fifteen year old.

Katie looked out onto the street below as she smoked, raising a little smile as she watched a car similar to the one her dad used to own rolled down the street. They were pretty distinctive cars and not particularly common so it couldn’t help but catch her eye. She was only five when her dad was put away but she still had some memories from before that time; one of her fondest was in that car. One day her dad had driven her to an old unused dirt patch and, popping her onto his lap, had let her ‘drive’ his beloved car. She was only the tiniest dot, barely able to see over the steering wheel but she remembered giggling and squealing as they span tight circles in the car, kicking up the dust behind them. She smiled sadly at the memory. It seemed like longer than ten years since she’d lost her parents. Despite her dad still being alive, incarcerated somewhere, she often referred to him as if he was dead. In all honesty he’d had as much input into her life in the last ten years as if he had been dead. Harsh this may seem, Katie felt she’d lost both of her parents, not just her mother, all those years ago.

Katie watched as the car pulled up outside the house, a strange heart-in-mouth feeling as it parked. It obviously wasn’t her dad. She had been waiting for the last ten years for him to turn up and rescue her and it had never happened. Besides, years ago she had looked up the case, once she was old enough to want to know what happened to her family, and he had been sentenced to 25 years. Katie remembered thinking that she would be grown up by the time this came around; 30 years old and probably a parent herself. She didn’t need her dad when she was 30, she needed him now.

As the man stepped out of the car, Katie felt her legs almost give way underneath her. She didn’t remember his face clearly in her own mind but looking over at the picture of the three of them she kept by her bed, she knew it was him. Katie slumped onto the bed, unconcerned about the cigarette which now dropped ash onto the carpet. Sitting there silently, Katie heard her the ring of the doorbell and then the sound of her foster mother answer the door.

"I'm here for Katie. I'm her father."

Katie gulped hard. She been waiting ten years for this but she still didn’t feel prepared, she didn’t feel ready to meet the father she hadn’t seen for so long. Despite her warm memories, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to meet him. She looked towards her bedroom door, quiet and still as if she expected him to bound up here any second and snatch her.