Isabel knew something was different when her parents bought a small suitcase. Their suitcases always looked so big to her. She'd gotten used to seeing them stuffed full of belonging and waiting by the front door. Her parents were always leaving on trips, sometimes for two or three weeks at a time, and only after spending hours on the phone begging their friends or family members to please, please come over, just for a few hours a day, just to make sure the kid hadn't died or set the house on fire while they were gone.

She would sit on the sofa and watch them as they made their frantic calls and ran around completing last minute preparations. They never paid much attention to her, save for the occasional wary or almost-but-not-quite guilty glance in her direction, though they ever really said anything to her. Even on her birthday, just a couple of weeks prior, they had played their game of telephone tag while they got dressed up and ready to go out to dinner. They had, of course, gone out without her.

She had just turned nine years old, and no one cared. If she attempted to hint at it being her birthday, she was only ignored all the more determinedly. They had busied themselves decorating their Christmas tree that they had picked out without asking her opinion, with decorations that she didn't like. They didn't care for that opinion, either. The presents beneath the tree made it look a little bit better. It hadn't escaped her notice that none of the tags had her name written on them, no matte how often or hard she looked.

The only thing she liked were the candy canes that hung from some of the branches. She liked the deep candy red against the white.

The small suitcase made her nervous as she sat by the tree and watched the couple rush about, one on the phone, one opening the bag on the sofa. Even on their previous trips they'd never bought her a suitcase. She'd never needed one. The absence of their normal bags put her on edge as well.

The suitcase was just her size, and it was being filed with what little clothing she had that still fit.

It was Christmas. There were colorful envelopes coming in the mail and the number of presents under the tree had nearly doubled. There still weren't any tags with her name written on them. She tried not to think about it by stealing samples of various frostings here and there from the pastries that were being piled on the table and counter. She didn't care if her mother saw. Her mother wouldn't have reprimanded her anyway. That would have meant she mattered.

The Duskmoors were planning a Christmas party. They'd invited more people than Isabel could count, though they hadn't let her see or sign the invitations they had sent out. They hadn't wanted her to know the secondary reason for the celebration: The absence of a certain horror of a child that had often spent days tormenting the couple, terrorizing their guests, and systematically destroying their home. If the child knew her leaving would be celebrated, she might have thrown the mother of all tantrums and ruined the party before it had even had the chance to get going.

The suitcase had sat by the front door for the past three days, taunting Isabel in its silence and foreboding look. She'd tried to unpack it several times. She hadn't quite mastered lock picking and had resorted to tearing the fabric instead. Every time the clothing was replaced and a new layer of duct tape was slapped on. The suitcase wasn't going anywhere, and they wanted her to know it.

Of course, this only encouraged Isabel, who interpreted the repairs as meaning that her parents were once again noticing her for a brief period of time and only tried all that much harder to gain that attention by trying to destroy the bag and making a general pest of herself.

Finally, early in the morning, after Isabel had exhausted herself searching the house for any sign that Santa might have forgiven her for being bad and left her a little something, she plopped herself down by the tree once more and watched as the poor excuse of what was once a plain suitcase was carried through the front door and out to the car.

Her mother made a vague gesture and said that she should get up and get ready to go, and Isabel obliged. Her mother had actually spoken directly to her without any sign of the explosive anger she normally exhibited after the girl had tried to get her attention. The little bonemancer was very nearly stunned by such a thing, and obediently gathered her coat.

Her father paid her very little mind as he returned from the car to fetch his wife and the child. Isabel retaliated by snatching a candycane from the tree and hiding it in her pocket as she'd been wanting to do ever since the tree's decorations had been put up. She had a feeling she wouldn't have gotten another chance had she waited.

The cheery Christmas music filing the interior of the minivan was at odds with the general mood of its occupants. Mother and father sat in the front, dad driving and mom in the passenger seat, while Isabel occupied one of the seats in the very back of the van. She had gotten used to trying to put distance between herself and her parents when she wasn't in one of her moods. They seemed to appreciate it. Putting herself at some distance also allowed her some freedom in carving her name and various shapes into the leather interior with a crude spike jutting from her index finger.

Mom and dad tried to make small talk now and again, commenting on whether or not they agreed that it looked like snow or how terrible every other driver on the rode was. Isabel remained silent, continuing to vindictively carve symbols into the leather seats. She hoped all of the pretty packages back at home were stuffed full of coal. Briefly she wondered f she should have ripped them all open before she'd left. The party wouldn't have been as much fun if all the presents were already open.

It was hours before the car finally pulled into a parking lot and stopped, the change in pace only minimally dispelling the tension in the vehicle as everyone finally had something to do. She decided to be difficult, refusing to obey either of her parents when they told her to unbuckle her seat belt and get out of the car. She sat very still and simply looked at them. Her father was the one that finally got frustrated enough to pull her out of the vehicle himself and set her on her feet outside while her mother retrieved the beat up suitcase and pulled up the handle that would allow someone to roll it along behind them.

Isabel was busy looking around at her surroundings, ignoring her parent's orders to follow them. Unfortunately at her current height there was little she could see besides buildings stretching up all around her in the sky and cars blocking her view of anything else on the ground. Nothing looked familiar. She had never been to this part of Boston before.

Her father snatched her limp hand and dragged her along to the nearest building. She just barely resisted the urge to imitate a ragdoll, fearing the pavement burns she would undoubtedly receive otherwise. Dad might take her hand out of perceived necessity, but he was going to draw the line at carrying her.

The sound of small, plastic wheels rolling over the uneven pavement filled her ears as her small fingers found their way around the candycane in her pocket.

They weren't in Boston anymore. Isabel had been so busy slowly destroying the backseat of he parents' car that she hadn't been paying any attention to the road signs they'd passed on the way to their destination. The party was apparently going to be held later in the evening. It would take a while for the Duskmoors to get back home.

Isabel was hoisted onto the top step of the stoop that belonged to the building they had been heading toward. She had spent too much time silently sounding out the words above the door and her father had gotten irritated again. Her suitcase was placed beside her as her mother rang the buzzer and waited for an answer. She used Isabel's name when she introduced herself and ushered the child in past the heavy metal door when they were buzzed in, her suitcase getting much the same treatment.

Mr. Duskmoor stood outside the doorway and lifted his arm to check the watch on his wrist as Mrs. Duskmoor quickly brushed Isabel down and awkwardly attempted to make her look somewhat presentable. A door opened and shut somewhere overhead, shortly followed by the sound of footsteps on stairs. Mrs. Duskmoor turned the child toward the sound and slipped out the doorway to join her husband, closing the door behind her. They would need to get back on the road immediately if they wanted to make it to their own party on time.

Isabel wasn't sure what to do. Part of her wanted to follow after her parents, even though she probably couldn't have moved the heavy door if she tried. Another part of her was glad they had left. In any case, the footsteps she could hear approaching were the thing to be concerned about. The person they belonged to would be deciding what was to be done with her.

She had sounded out the words above the door. They had read 'New York Adoption Agency'.

"Merry Christmas," came the preemptive greeting. The words sounded very dull and lifeless to Isabel as she stood very still in the doorway. The footsteps had dropped from the stairs to the floor but she couldn't see their owner just yet. She was still in the small foyer while whoever was coming to greet the newest drop-ins was presumably in a main room of some sort. She'd had a short foyer in her home, too, one that lead to several doorways into different rooms. She was used to being left in such a place.

It was an older woman that finally turned the corner and took in the sight that greeted her. A skinny little girl in a worn coat and what she could only assume was a small suitcase. It was more duct tape than fabric. The woman dropped her hands on her hips and glanced at the door before looking back to the young girl. Another one that was dropped at her doorstep without any sign of the parent or parents. Just great.

Isabel just stood looking at the woman. The candycane had made its way out of her pocket and had wound up pressed against her chest in her fist while her other hand lay limp at her side. She hadn't even done anything yet and the lady seemed upset. Sometimes her parents got mad like that and she'd ended up being sent to her room. This time she didn't have a room to go to, though.

"What happened to your mother?" the old woman asked, assuming the girl had had at least that much, since the voice that had answered at the intercom belonged to a woman and not a little girl. Isabel just stared at her. This woman was willingly speaking to her, albeit with some irritation, but it was the start of a conversation, none the less. She was used to people paying as little attention to her as was necessary. Even the people that had been roped into checking on her while her parents were away only paid her enough mind to make her lunch or dinner before taking off again.

The woman's shoulders slumped and she closed the gap between the girl and herself, holding her hand out for the girl to take so she could be taken to the front desk and then shown to a temporary room. The girl just looked at her like the gesture was completely alien before tentatively offering her own small hand. The woman, whose name turned out to be Ms. Roberts, took the handle of the small suitcase as well, seeing as the girl was entirely unwilling to release the candycane. She had to wonder if t was a bribe from her parents used to get her into the car. Or to prevent her from getting into it. Conversation was very rare.

"Come on, we just need to know a few things, then you can go lie down for a while."

Name, age, birthday, etc., etc. Isabel had grudgingly replied to the short series of questions they'd asked her in Ms. Robert's office. They hadn't asked for any information on her parents. She wouldn't have been able to answer them anyhow. She didn't even know their names. They were just Mom and Dad. At least, they used to be. Now they were just the Duskmoors, and she was just Isabel. She'd given the woman her last name when asked, but she'd already decided not to give it to anyone else if it could be helped. Being angry at last, she'd made up her mind that she didn't have a family anymore, and as such she didn't have a last name. Maybe she'd change her mind later, but for now she didn't want her parents.

Ms. Roberts showed her out of the office and upstairs to a hallway lined with doors. She could hear voices on the other side of some of them. The woman informed her that they were other children in temporary care until they could find either a home for them, or a more fitting facility that would house them until a family could be found. Other kids were down the hall in a general play area or in the kitchen helping the supervisors make lunch.

Isabel was assigned to a vacant room, though she was told she might be paired up with someone later on. Ms. Roberts helped her to get settled in, which consisted of little more than taking her coat and hanging it in the closet and placing her suitcase on the bed before heading back to her office again.

Only after the door had been closed and she'd stood in the middle of the room for a few minutes did Isabel finally begin to vent. The realization that she was completely alone now and that her parents weren't going to be coming back this time was hitting her. She was hurt, angry, and confused. She'd made a little terror of herself, but they'd never tried to get rid of her before. She had to wonder what she'd done to finally push them that far.

Was it when she'd broken the windows in the house last time they'd gone out? Or maybe when she'd spoiled all the food in the fridge by jamming spikes through the door and letting the warm air in? Maybe they hadn't liked that she'd carved her name all over their walls so they'd have to remember she was there.

She walked over to the closed door and slammed her palm against the crease between the door and the jamb, a small band of bone set in place each time, almost as if she was imitating a stapler. She wanted to seal the door. If her parents wanted to leave her on her own and the head supervisor had no interest in getting to know her, then she'd make sure she was left alone for as long as she could manage.

She'd begun screaming about halfway through her stapling. She proceeded to tear her suitcase to pieces, along with everything inside. The bedspread was next, followed by the mattress it covered and the pillows. The carped was torn up in big patches and the walls were defaced. Her closet door would never close the same again and her coat couldn't be repaired. The lamp was smashed and the glass was trampled on without a second thought.

There was someone banging on the outside of her door and yelling for her to open it.. There would be sirens soon when the police and the firemen were called to break down the door and help whoever was trapped inside.

The little bone manipulator took a seat on the edge of the bed after retrieving the candycane that had ended up on the floor during her tirade. She'd accidentally stepped on it and broken it in several places. She started to cry.

Isabel hated Christmas.