Read Online The Stones Cry Out by Sibella Giorello - Free Book Online
Authors: Sibella Giorello
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her, and took her outstretched hand in mine. Despite the heat around us, her skin felt chilled, and I could suddenly see that red blanket pulled up tight against the summer heat, while she scribbled crazy words into nonsense phrases and Gustav Mahler pounded the plaster.
"Can I get you anything?"
"Tea." Her lips were dry, white. "Hot tea. Please."
Down in the kitchen, I boiled water on the stove— we didn’t have a microwave because she believed the energy waves altered our brains. I blotted perspiration from my face with a paper towel, and when Wally and Madame came in from the courtyard the dog's eyes were darting back and forth, as if preparing for enemy attack.
Wally opened the freezer and dropped two ice cubes into Madame’s water bowl. She lapped greedily, splashing more than she drank.
I kept my back to him, waiting for the water to boil. "What's your schedule for tomorrow?"
"Photo shoot in the afternoon. But I can stay all morning."
"Thanks. I really do appreciate it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be home by lunch."
"Like I said, a deal’s a deal."
When the water boiled, I carried the tea upstairs. Madame followed me and jumped on the high bed, turning in a circle, and dropping down beside my mother. All was forgiven. The world’s most loyal dog.
My mother wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and ignored the bowl of ice I’d placed on the tray. I picked up a cube and rubbed it on the inside of my wrist, catching the melt with a paper napkin. Sweat beaded along my hairline, rolling down my neck, then down my back.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
She stared into the teacup. Her eyelashes were thick, coal black. When she looked up, tears hovered. "I'm a burden on you."
"You're no burden. Tell me what happened."
"I heard a voice, it told me not to go outside."
"A voice?"
"In the kitchen. It said I would get hurt if I went outside." She looked into the cup again. "Did you use tap water?"
Gently, I took the cup from her hands then sipped the tea. I smiled. "See? It's fine."
Her eyes searched my face, searching for doubt, for any reason why she should believe her daughter over the voices in her head.
"Please don't call the doctor," she whispered.
"I won't."
"Promise me?"
"Yes, I promise."
The dog sighed, then rolled over.
"I just need some rest," she said. “Just some rest, that’s all.”
Leaning over, I kissed her cheek. “I’ll be here the rest of the day. And Wally’s downstairs.”
She nodded.
I got up and stepped into the hall, closing her door most of the way. Down the hall, Wally was in his bedroom and I could hear the fan whirring on High. I walked downstairs, put everything away in the kitchen, picked up my purse, and walked outside.
The afternoon heat felt tangible, something to scoop up with both hands.
In the carriage house, I cranked the air conditioner set in my bedroom window and peeled the damp clothing from my body. When my knees hit the floor, my prayers had no pauses.
Because they had no words.
Chapter10
Possession was nine tenths of the law, and early the next morning I found myself arguing for the remaining one tenth. But the argument was going nowhere with the director of internal affairs at the Richmond Police Department, a guy named Jeremy Owler.
“Agent Harmon,” he said, as I stood in his office, “until we close our investigation into Detective Falcon’s death, the FBI will not get one shred of evidence.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your department’s work. I just want to look at the physical evidence, anything collected at the scene. I don't even want to take it -- just look at it."
"Say, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Tell me what you have on the case. Then we can talk."
This was Owler's idea of a joke. A mean little joke, from a mean little man. Because when civil rights were involved, the attorney general recommended the FBI didn't share any information with the local police, particularly if the police were the subject of our
"Can I get you anything?"
"Tea." Her lips were dry, white. "Hot tea. Please."
Down in the kitchen, I boiled water on the stove— we didn’t have a microwave because she believed the energy waves altered our brains. I blotted perspiration from my face with a paper towel, and when Wally and Madame came in from the courtyard the dog's eyes were darting back and forth, as if preparing for enemy attack.
Wally opened the freezer and dropped two ice cubes into Madame’s water bowl. She lapped greedily, splashing more than she drank.
I kept my back to him, waiting for the water to boil. "What's your schedule for tomorrow?"
"Photo shoot in the afternoon. But I can stay all morning."
"Thanks. I really do appreciate it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be home by lunch."
"Like I said, a deal’s a deal."
When the water boiled, I carried the tea upstairs. Madame followed me and jumped on the high bed, turning in a circle, and dropping down beside my mother. All was forgiven. The world’s most loyal dog.
My mother wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and ignored the bowl of ice I’d placed on the tray. I picked up a cube and rubbed it on the inside of my wrist, catching the melt with a paper napkin. Sweat beaded along my hairline, rolling down my neck, then down my back.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
She stared into the teacup. Her eyelashes were thick, coal black. When she looked up, tears hovered. "I'm a burden on you."
"You're no burden. Tell me what happened."
"I heard a voice, it told me not to go outside."
"A voice?"
"In the kitchen. It said I would get hurt if I went outside." She looked into the cup again. "Did you use tap water?"
Gently, I took the cup from her hands then sipped the tea. I smiled. "See? It's fine."
Her eyes searched my face, searching for doubt, for any reason why she should believe her daughter over the voices in her head.
"Please don't call the doctor," she whispered.
"I won't."
"Promise me?"
"Yes, I promise."
The dog sighed, then rolled over.
"I just need some rest," she said. “Just some rest, that’s all.”
Leaning over, I kissed her cheek. “I’ll be here the rest of the day. And Wally’s downstairs.”
She nodded.
I got up and stepped into the hall, closing her door most of the way. Down the hall, Wally was in his bedroom and I could hear the fan whirring on High. I walked downstairs, put everything away in the kitchen, picked up my purse, and walked outside.
The afternoon heat felt tangible, something to scoop up with both hands.
In the carriage house, I cranked the air conditioner set in my bedroom window and peeled the damp clothing from my body. When my knees hit the floor, my prayers had no pauses.
Because they had no words.
Chapter10
Possession was nine tenths of the law, and early the next morning I found myself arguing for the remaining one tenth. But the argument was going nowhere with the director of internal affairs at the Richmond Police Department, a guy named Jeremy Owler.
“Agent Harmon,” he said, as I stood in his office, “until we close our investigation into Detective Falcon’s death, the FBI will not get one shred of evidence.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your department’s work. I just want to look at the physical evidence, anything collected at the scene. I don't even want to take it -- just look at it."
"Say, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Tell me what you have on the case. Then we can talk."
This was Owler's idea of a joke. A mean little joke, from a mean little man. Because when civil rights were involved, the attorney general recommended the FBI didn't share any information with the local police, particularly if the police were the subject of our
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