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The headache that was a result of my French twist hairstyle throbbed as I glanced at my phone mounted on the dash. Fifteen percent battery. I inwardly cursed the fact that I had left my charger in my personal vehicle. I’d be lucky to make it to the respite home before it completely died. My eyes shifted back to the rearview mirror to check on Connor.

Court always triggered behaviors in him, as it did with many kids. The Martins, Connor’s foster parents, were good people who took on tough cases and genuinely cared about the kids in their home. For their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, they decided to celebrate and had been gifted a couple’s trip. When events similar to this happened, another licensed foster home would be responsible for the child. Connor would be staying with the Baileys, a gentle retired couple that primarily only did respite for foster families instead of having one particular child in their home long term. Many of the families that used the Baileys for respite considered them to be grandparents, and the Baileys really had a heart for families that had a heart for foster care.

Once I dropped Connor off, I’d start my four-day weekend to burn off a vacation day from months of working overtime with no break. Social work was taxing in every area, but I loved making a difference, especially when it involved children.

“Why can’t my dad take me home?!” Connor bit out. His harsh tone startled me.

“He can’t right now. Kids deserve to live in safe homes. I’m sorry, buddy,” I said gently as I glanced toward him. My heart ached for his situation.

His eyes narrowed, as his face turned red.

“I’m not your buddy. You don’t care about me!” he spat. My heart caught because I genuinely did care. I thought about all the kids on my caseload daily, but I knew what he was saying wasn’t personal. He was frustrated with the progress and I was too.

“It’s okay to be disappointed, Connor, but it’s not okay to be rude.” I spoke clearly and calmly, knowing Connor thoroughly enough to recognize he was getting close to blowing his cool.

“I hate you!” he suddenly screamed and erupted in a combative volcano of anger.

Connor slung his arms around wildly, becoming aggressive, hitting things around him as he unbuckled himself and grabbed at the door handle. I had already been driving slowly due to the gravel road, but I immediately hit the brakes. The car slid to a stop as gravel dust billowed everywhere. Connor flung open the door, leaped from the car, and ran toward an open hay field as if the devil himself was chasing him. I shifted to park, hopped from the car and raced after him as fast as I could in heels, but he was already long gone. Damn. Panic built as I realized I could no longer see him.

I yelled out his name, but I knew it was pointless due to the distance. I spun around, studying the rural surroundings with no sign of life. It had been miles since I had seen a house or another vehicle. This portion of Rhodes County was especially rural, as it was mostly a patchwork of family-owned farms and ranches. I had no clue where I was because this wasn’t the route I normally took to the Bailey’s house. I trekked back to the work car where my cell phone was. Clutching my phone as I snagged it off the dash, I typed a quick message to my boss letting her know what happened. Surprisingly, the text had enough signal to go through. My cell signal kept dropping, but I was scared to turn off the navigation app, which depleted my battery even more.

This wasn’t the first time Connor had run. He had a history of becoming combative during times of heightened emotions, but once he was calm, he’d apologize and be the tenderhearted boy I knew him to be. I attempted to call 911, but my cell phone signal wasn’t strong enough for a call. Shuffling through the glove box, which served as a mini lost and found collection, I retrieved a hot pink ribbon, that had undoubtedly been left by a child. My heels sank into the soil as I tied it to a strand of barbed wire alongside the road. I knew the four-inch heels were impractical out here, but I was dressed for court, not chasing after a child through a field. The least I could do was mark a location for law enforcement to begin the search. I got back in the car and moved my cell around, trying to find a signal. Two bars. I froze and held the phone still, my arm almost fully extended, and dialed 911 on speakerphone.

Two rings.

“What’s your emergency?” a female voice asked.

“My name is Sawyer Brannan. I’m a social worker for CPS, and I was transporting a minor when he jumped from the car and ran. I don’t think he’s injured. I’m not familiar with the area and I no longer have eyes on him. My cell signal is spotty, and my battery is low.” This wasn’t my first rodeo with runaway situations.

“Stay on the line and I’ll get your location. What’s the age of the child?” I could hear typing in the background as she spoke.

“He’s nine years old,” I respond as I actively scan my surroundings hoping to catch a glimpse of Connor.

Suddenly, the phone chimed, indicating that the call had dropped. Hell.

“Ugh!” I huffed.

The only thing that was logical at this point was to turn around and find the house I had passed a few miles back. I crossed my fingers that they would have a landline or a different cell service that worked better out here. I couldn’t merely sit here and do nothing, even though I didn’t want to drive away.

I whipped the car around and sent rocks flying. This wasn’t anything like the time Connor ran away at a mall or the time in the neighborhood. This time, I had no idea how to find him without getting lost myself. Connor would most likely try to find me again once he calmed down, but would he be able to find his way back? That seemed unlikely. The landscape was wide open, and hills rolled as far as your eyes could see. Gravel pelted the bottom of the car as I sped back to the last farmhouse. Driving around a curve, I saw a large, beautiful white farmhouse with a wraparound porch. The house was something straight out of a dream. It was idyllic and the kind of peacefulness you could experience by simply looking at it. Off to the side of the house, a tire was hanging from a thick rope on a large tree branch.

Something felt vaguely familiar, which was disconcerting. I experienced that strange inkling again that I had the first time I drove by. It was as if I had been here before, but I didn’t understand why. I currently had fifty-seven children on my caseload, but I knew with absolute certainty that none of them were connected to this house, and I lived forty-five minutes away. There was no logical reason why I should feel this way. Somehow, it felt older, perhaps something from my childhood, which also didn’t make sense. I was exhausted from my unrelentingly stressful week, therefore I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I needed to find Connor, get him to the respite home, and then get some sleep. If the situation wasn’t intensely stressful, I could have appreciated the beauty of the house and the perfect shade of sunshine yellow that the porch swing was painted. My cell signal kept fluctuating between one and two bars, but wasn’t stable enough to call out. I parked and my heels clicked loudly on the wood as I hastily scaled the steps. I rapped on the door and tried dialing 911 again.

“What’s your emergency?” Thank goodness.

“I called a couple of minutes ago. My cell doesn’t have a good signal.” I froze so the signal wouldn’t change.

“Yes. Hold still and let me try to ping your location.” I knocked on the door again.

There were five modes of transportation parked outside. Surely, someone was in this house.

Two pickup trucks were lined up next to the barn, along with a large green tractor on the far side. One truck appeared brand new. It was the nicest pickup truck I had ever seen, with glossy metallic forest-green paint. The other was an old gray farm truck with rust around the wheels. There was also a semitruck and another piece of equipment that I didn’t know the name of, but it appeared to be something you could drive. I knocked on the door again.

“You’re at my brother’s house?” the dispatcher asked with an incredulous tone.

What? I had no clue where I was.

“I don’t know where I am. I drove back to the closest house I saw.”