Read Online Seeing Is Believing : The Whispering 1 by Eden Laroux - Free Book Online
Authors: Eden Laroux
Tags: steamy romance, erotic fantasy, Ghosts, Erotic Romance, ghost romance, sensual romance, sexual fantasy, Erotic Paranormal Romance, erotic thriller, sensual fantasy, adult paranormal, adult mystery and suspense, adult romance and fantasy, erotic mystery and suspense, romance with a ghost, sex and ghosts
Ads: Link
Chapter One
"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Meg announced.
The sullen boy next to her said nothing. Instead
he looked down at the floor of the beat-up station wagon, clearly
lost in his thoughts. From time to time, his hands would clench
within the sleeves of his grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt, a habit
Meg had noticed since the first time she saw the boy.
At first glance she knew that she was looking at
a boy who had seen too much of the dark side of life far too soon.
His brown eyes would always have a hint of a deeper sadness. Sad to
say, it was a look that Meg had seen in a few other children she
had fostered. And every time she saw it she could feel her rage
rise to her chest as if it were a form of heartburn.
How anyone could hurt their own child physically
and emotionally on a weekly basis was a mystery Meg would never
ever figure out. A part of her didn't want to solve it. To solve
would be to understand, and to understand could lead to a form of
sympathy. Monsters don't deserve sympathy.
The boy's name was Tony. He was a sweet boy and
like every victim of abuse he would be an emotional wreck for a
long time. So the silence that was only broken by the occasional
question Meg would ask Tony was a part of the drive that one
couldn't ignore.
"Tony, you must be really warm wearing that
sweatshirt in this heat," she said.
"I'm fine," Tony said, his brown eyes still cast
down.
Meg knew that wasn't so. The inside of the
vehicle was oppressively hot due to the summer heat. Even with the
windows down. She wished she had made that appointment to fix the
air conditioner in the vehicle before heading down to pick Tony up.
The poor boy didn't need heat stroke added to his list of
problems.
She wouldn't push him to remove the sweatshirt
though. Clearly it was a form of personal protection to the
thirteen-year-old.
Turning all thoughts away from the short
conversation, Meg searched her mind for a safe topic of
conversation that would interest Tony enough that he would want to
engage in it.
"I heard you like to draw."
From what she knew of Tony, that comment was
true. His teachers had commented on his love for the art form. They
also noted the quality of his work when they would catch him
drawing in the middle of class. Something the teachers noted with
more amusement than contempt.
"Yeah. But I don't think I'm very good," Tony
said.
"Bullshit."
Meg did not hear that remark. However, Tony
heard it and frowned at the spot next to him.
"It's true."
Of course Meg noted that Tony was focused on the
empty area of the backseat with a look that suggested he thought
someone was there. She had been informed of Tony's coping mechanism
in the form of an imaginary friend named Bruce. Of course, it was
being addressed by a psychiatrist. But as long as the imaginary
friend wasn't causing any problematic behavior, Meg wasn't going to
say too much on the subject.
If Meg could see the imaginary friend, she would
have seen a man in his thirties with scruffy, black hair and
wearing a pair of reading glasses that were so large they looked
comical. His green eyes had a spark of humor to them. It matched
the look about him that suggested a smile could break out onto his
face at any moment.
The imaginary friend's limbs were falling
asleep, by then. He complained about this condition frequently.
"Are we there yet?" Bruce asked.
Tony attempted to hold back a laugh but failed.
Even though Meg didn't hear the joke, she did allow a small smile
to come to her lips. At least the young man could still laugh every
now and then. For a while, Meg let Tony talk on as she enjoyed the
breeze blowing through her almond brown hair.
The moment of serenity ended too soon. Meg
almost didn't want to say anything even as the pale yellow house
came into view.
"Oh, look! We're here."
She drove up the gravel driveway before parking
at the foot of the crab apple tree that was in bloom. A former
foster child had dubbed the tree "Oscar" and, since then, that was
what Meg
"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Meg announced.
The sullen boy next to her said nothing. Instead
he looked down at the floor of the beat-up station wagon, clearly
lost in his thoughts. From time to time, his hands would clench
within the sleeves of his grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt, a habit
Meg had noticed since the first time she saw the boy.
At first glance she knew that she was looking at
a boy who had seen too much of the dark side of life far too soon.
His brown eyes would always have a hint of a deeper sadness. Sad to
say, it was a look that Meg had seen in a few other children she
had fostered. And every time she saw it she could feel her rage
rise to her chest as if it were a form of heartburn.
How anyone could hurt their own child physically
and emotionally on a weekly basis was a mystery Meg would never
ever figure out. A part of her didn't want to solve it. To solve
would be to understand, and to understand could lead to a form of
sympathy. Monsters don't deserve sympathy.
The boy's name was Tony. He was a sweet boy and
like every victim of abuse he would be an emotional wreck for a
long time. So the silence that was only broken by the occasional
question Meg would ask Tony was a part of the drive that one
couldn't ignore.
"Tony, you must be really warm wearing that
sweatshirt in this heat," she said.
"I'm fine," Tony said, his brown eyes still cast
down.
Meg knew that wasn't so. The inside of the
vehicle was oppressively hot due to the summer heat. Even with the
windows down. She wished she had made that appointment to fix the
air conditioner in the vehicle before heading down to pick Tony up.
The poor boy didn't need heat stroke added to his list of
problems.
She wouldn't push him to remove the sweatshirt
though. Clearly it was a form of personal protection to the
thirteen-year-old.
Turning all thoughts away from the short
conversation, Meg searched her mind for a safe topic of
conversation that would interest Tony enough that he would want to
engage in it.
"I heard you like to draw."
From what she knew of Tony, that comment was
true. His teachers had commented on his love for the art form. They
also noted the quality of his work when they would catch him
drawing in the middle of class. Something the teachers noted with
more amusement than contempt.
"Yeah. But I don't think I'm very good," Tony
said.
"Bullshit."
Meg did not hear that remark. However, Tony
heard it and frowned at the spot next to him.
"It's true."
Of course Meg noted that Tony was focused on the
empty area of the backseat with a look that suggested he thought
someone was there. She had been informed of Tony's coping mechanism
in the form of an imaginary friend named Bruce. Of course, it was
being addressed by a psychiatrist. But as long as the imaginary
friend wasn't causing any problematic behavior, Meg wasn't going to
say too much on the subject.
If Meg could see the imaginary friend, she would
have seen a man in his thirties with scruffy, black hair and
wearing a pair of reading glasses that were so large they looked
comical. His green eyes had a spark of humor to them. It matched
the look about him that suggested a smile could break out onto his
face at any moment.
The imaginary friend's limbs were falling
asleep, by then. He complained about this condition frequently.
"Are we there yet?" Bruce asked.
Tony attempted to hold back a laugh but failed.
Even though Meg didn't hear the joke, she did allow a small smile
to come to her lips. At least the young man could still laugh every
now and then. For a while, Meg let Tony talk on as she enjoyed the
breeze blowing through her almond brown hair.
The moment of serenity ended too soon. Meg
almost didn't want to say anything even as the pale yellow house
came into view.
"Oh, look! We're here."
She drove up the gravel driveway before parking
at the foot of the crab apple tree that was in bloom. A former
foster child had dubbed the tree "Oscar" and, since then, that was
what Meg
Similar Books
