ESCAPE PLAN

.01 -- THE TRUETT HOUSE

Despite his exigent efforts to remain away from the grasp of the Department of Children's Services, John B. had eventually been caught up to. Deputy Shoupe led a stealthy mission on the marsh-side house, with agents posted at each entrance, and prepared them to catch a tall, brawny sixteen-year-old, who was likely to run, fight, or both. It took three grown men to restrain the teenager and load him into their van. The boy pleaded, explaining that he had none of his belongings, and his friends would be worried about his whereabouts, but the service members tuned him out and drove him away from everything he knew.

The boy spent three days in a holding facility on the mainland, as the department reminded him that they were looking for a family that was willing to take him in, and was prepared to deal with the delicate situation of the boy's attitude. On the third day, John B. was delivered a small duffle bag, littered with donated clothes that would not fit him, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a bar of soap, and deodorant. As the agents hastily loaded the boy up into another suspicious van, they explained the family that the teenager would be arriving to.

"The Truetts are good people." One dainty woman said from the passenger seat. She had been the one to kindly provide him with the duffle bag, and was the only woman who smiled at him in the past few days. "Marcus was stationed in Jacksonville for twenty years, and Diane manages construction sites. They have two other foster daughters, Julie and Sofia, and they're sweet girls. You should get along with them just fine!" The woman smiled to the stoic, brooding boy in the backseat.

Great, John B. thought to himself. I went from having my own house to living with four other people.

The remainder of the three-hour car ride was filled with chatter from the female agent, old music, and the occasional silence. It was early afternoon when they arrived at the residence. The one-story farmhouse was situated at the end of a long, gravel driveway, and surrounded by freshly manicured grass and more luscious landscaping.

Nowhere to run, was the first thing that came into the boy's mind. The reality began to settle in as the van was parked and the side door was slid open, revealing the buff man that was prepared to catch the boy if he chose to run. Begrudgingly, John B. stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards the front porch. The dainty woman knocked on the door, and soon, the three were met with an older man with a permanent scowl indented into his face. He forced a smile, which seemed to be painful, at the sight of the woman.

"Hey, Sheila!" He cheered, then stepped aside. "Come on in." His southern accent was thick, and the twang made John B. cringe.

"Hello, Mr. Truett." She smiled back, then led John B. and the other male agent into the house. "How's everything? How're the girls?"

"Everything's goin' just fine over here." Marcus smiled back. "The girls are around here somewhere," The man turned his head and looked back at his empty living room. "Diane?" He called out, earning a muffled, coming! from what appeared to be the other side of the house.

"Well," The woman, Sheila, smiled, then placed a hand on John B's shoulder. "This is Jonathan, he's the boy we were telling you about."

"Nice to meet you, son." Marcus said, extending his hand towards the teenager, who was reluctant to take it, but allowed the man to shake his hand. He had yet to speak. "I will tell you, we run a tight ship here." He told John B. once their hands had dropped. "You'll get the hang of it, though."

Before John B. could say anything, not like he wanted to, a woman rushed around the corner, pulling gardening gloves off of her hands.

"Diane!" Marcus said cheerily, but John B. could hear the strain in his voice. "Sheila's here, and she's brought Jonathan."