some quick instructions on how to place a call. A flurry of thoughts hit her as she listened, but Dr. DeMarco cut them off. “I’ll know any time it’s used, so don’t get any bright ideas like calling 911.”
Her brow furrowed. “Who’s 911?”
He stared at her as if he thought she might be joking. “Let’s just say calling 911 is the last thing you want to do, child.”
Dr. DeMarco left, and those words ran through Haven’s mind as she wandered the house. She ended up back in the family room after a while, standing in front of the white telephone once again.
Picking it up, she turned it on like Dr. DeMarco had shown her. She hit the ‘9’ button before pressing the number ‘1’, her finger hovering over the ‘1’ again. She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding rapidly, before pressing the button to turn off the phone.
She did it three more times before placing the phone back into its cradle and leaving the family room, too frightened to press the last number.
The sun was setting by the time Haven ended up in the library again. She came across some paper and swiped a few pieces, finding a pencil before eagerly running to her room. She lay down in bed and started sketching, her mama’s face emerging on the paper. With no pictures, Haven was desperately afraid she’d forget what she looked like, afraid her memory would fade with time. She missed having someone to talk to, someone who could understand. She’d never felt as alone in her life as she did at that moment.
Drawing had come natural to Haven. When she was little, around the age of seven, her first mistress, Monica, gave her paper and crayons. It was the first time she’d given her anything, and it turned out to be the last, but it was a gift Haven cherished until the last crayon disappeared.
As she grew older, she’d sneak supplies from the ranch house, but afterward destroyed all evidence so no one would find out. She usually folded the sketches and stuck them in her pocket, burying the paper in the desert ground the first chance she got.
Haven lost track of time as she immersed herself in the drawing of her mama, and it was nearing midnight when the sound of music captured her attention. It was earlier than she’d heard it the other nights. Curious, she set the drawing aside and climbed out of bed, creeping toward the door.
Carmine sat in the library, holding a tan acoustic guitar. Darkness obstructed Haven’s view of his face, but the glow from the moonlight illuminated his hands as he plucked the strings.
She took a few steps forward, entranced as the music smoothed out and grew louder. It swirled all around her, goose bumps springing up as the melody seeped into her skin. Her stomach fluttered and limbs tingled, warmth spreading throughout her body. She closed her eyes, reveling in the foreign sensation, until the music stopped.
Haven’s eyes snapped back open, and she could see his face then, still partially encased in the shadows. He frowned, staring at her with questions in his eyes, but she had no answers to give.
Turning on her heel, Haven ran back into the room and closed the door, pressing her back against it as the music started up once more.
* * * *
The next morning, Carmine woke up earlier than usual and grabbed a bowl of cereal, his footsteps faltering as he stepped into the family room. Dominic sat on the couch with a Sports Illustrated in his hands, and Haven was beside him, neither of them speaking. Baffled, he just stood there as his brother glanced in his direction. “What’s up, bro?”
Before he could utter a single word, Haven leapt to her feet and scurried from the room. Carmine watched her retreating form before taking the seat she’d vacated. “She acts like I’m diseased and she’s gonna catch something by coming near me.”
Dominic nodded. “I noticed.”
“I haven’t done anything.” He paused. “I don’t think, anyway.”
“You just don't realize how
Her brow furrowed. “Who’s 911?”
He stared at her as if he thought she might be joking. “Let’s just say calling 911 is the last thing you want to do, child.”
Dr. DeMarco left, and those words ran through Haven’s mind as she wandered the house. She ended up back in the family room after a while, standing in front of the white telephone once again.
Picking it up, she turned it on like Dr. DeMarco had shown her. She hit the ‘9’ button before pressing the number ‘1’, her finger hovering over the ‘1’ again. She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding rapidly, before pressing the button to turn off the phone.
She did it three more times before placing the phone back into its cradle and leaving the family room, too frightened to press the last number.
The sun was setting by the time Haven ended up in the library again. She came across some paper and swiped a few pieces, finding a pencil before eagerly running to her room. She lay down in bed and started sketching, her mama’s face emerging on the paper. With no pictures, Haven was desperately afraid she’d forget what she looked like, afraid her memory would fade with time. She missed having someone to talk to, someone who could understand. She’d never felt as alone in her life as she did at that moment.
Drawing had come natural to Haven. When she was little, around the age of seven, her first mistress, Monica, gave her paper and crayons. It was the first time she’d given her anything, and it turned out to be the last, but it was a gift Haven cherished until the last crayon disappeared.
As she grew older, she’d sneak supplies from the ranch house, but afterward destroyed all evidence so no one would find out. She usually folded the sketches and stuck them in her pocket, burying the paper in the desert ground the first chance she got.
Haven lost track of time as she immersed herself in the drawing of her mama, and it was nearing midnight when the sound of music captured her attention. It was earlier than she’d heard it the other nights. Curious, she set the drawing aside and climbed out of bed, creeping toward the door.
Carmine sat in the library, holding a tan acoustic guitar. Darkness obstructed Haven’s view of his face, but the glow from the moonlight illuminated his hands as he plucked the strings.
She took a few steps forward, entranced as the music smoothed out and grew louder. It swirled all around her, goose bumps springing up as the melody seeped into her skin. Her stomach fluttered and limbs tingled, warmth spreading throughout her body. She closed her eyes, reveling in the foreign sensation, until the music stopped.
Haven’s eyes snapped back open, and she could see his face then, still partially encased in the shadows. He frowned, staring at her with questions in his eyes, but she had no answers to give.
Turning on her heel, Haven ran back into the room and closed the door, pressing her back against it as the music started up once more.
* * * *
The next morning, Carmine woke up earlier than usual and grabbed a bowl of cereal, his footsteps faltering as he stepped into the family room. Dominic sat on the couch with a Sports Illustrated in his hands, and Haven was beside him, neither of them speaking. Baffled, he just stood there as his brother glanced in his direction. “What’s up, bro?”
Before he could utter a single word, Haven leapt to her feet and scurried from the room. Carmine watched her retreating form before taking the seat she’d vacated. “She acts like I’m diseased and she’s gonna catch something by coming near me.”
Dominic nodded. “I noticed.”
“I haven’t done anything.” He paused. “I don’t think, anyway.”
“You just don't realize how
Similar Books
