Read Online Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes by R.M. Grace - Free Book Online Page A

The
widest part of the cliff ascends from the right corner to the cusp.
That side cuts short of the page where the sea laps the rocks in
foamy waves.
    From
the red door, the path winds one way, then the next like the uncoiled
body of a snake. The blue and violet blobs on the land are not a
secret because he knows what they are. He always has. He can almost
smell their wild scent roaming free and hear the soft hum of those
lazy bees.
    All
but the signed shutter are open. The rest spread a glow over the
vines along the white stone. Outside the house is a wishing well
that's painted with colourful dots like Christmas lights. The paint
smudges around the well in deep red to give it a mirage-like quality.
The quality conflicts with the textured paint of the surrounding
artwork, but is eye-catching and works.
    The
sky has white waves running through it as though capturing motion.
Bobby recalls the dream and how free it felt.
    “ Any
sign of bluebells yet?”
    “ No,
not yet. That's why I wanted to ask you a favour.” She trails
off as she heads back to her seat while Bobby continues his stare
into the painting. It is captivating and he cannot help wondering if
someone painted this from a dream, or reality.
    Has
someone else been in those woods?
    Bobby
tries not to feel jealous by this, but cannot help himself.
    Mum
told me it was our secret place.
    While
the armchair creaks as Mrs Colby steadies herself back down, a frail
form shuffles through the doorway. Bobby reluctantly turns toward the
sound.
    “ I
wanted to ask if you could . . .” Mrs Colby's words fizzle out
as she glances toward a stick-thin woman clutching herself at the
door. Her pelvic bone protrudes from the thin material of her navy
leggings.
    “ Morning,
Evie,” Mrs Colby says before turning her attention back to
Bobby. “Write a poem for me?”
    Without
responding, the elderly woman hustles her way inside. Her long,
withdrawn face is set within deep wrinkles which sag at the jaw and
neck. As she comes into the bright room, her brown eyes do not notice
the change from the hallway, nor does she survey the room. Instead,
she keeps her head tucked into her collar bone. White, wiry strands
stand vertical from her scalp which tremble with the movement.
    As
she scuffles along the floorboards, her fingertips stroke over the
wallpaper until she comes to an abrupt stop in front of Bobby. The
slender digits on her free hand twitch against the cream jumper. It's
raised and limp against her chest, making her appear fragile and
distant.
    Backing
up, Bobby stares as the woman who can be no taller than 4ft 11”
and anorexically slim. She continues to feel the wall, twisting her
fingers in jagged circles over the same spot.
    “ Just
leave her, Bobby. Evie zones out from time to time.”
    Sliding
away, he joins Mrs Colby at the front window as he continues to
glance back towards the woman.
    Although
he only comes to visit Mrs Colby, other residents often join them to
listen to the poetry. He sees them fall asleep with slack jaws,
catching flies and snoring. He sees residents soil themselves, or
lose their temper because they fail to do tasks the way they once
did.
    This
is different.
    Evie's
actions are different from Mrs Colby's fuzzy periods, yet he cannot
say for sure why. She appears distant like they do, frigid and
unresponsive too, but there is more he cannot understand. Yet, he
finds he wants to. Something within his heart screams out for him to
find an explanation.
    “ She's
new here. On the first day she was fine, talking about how her
son-in-law always drops her off at bingo every Thursday night. Since
last Friday though, she's been in this detached state.”
    “ What's
she looking for?” It slips from his mouth before he has time to
reel it in. He hadn't expected the question to form in his head let
alone spill from his lips.
    Where
did that come from?
    “ I'm
not sure she's looking for anything, but now and then you can hear
her mumbling to herself. It sounds