“I can handle it,” I say. “I want to work. I need to work. It’s the one area I feel I have complete control of right now.” I smirk. “That, and I’m homeless.”
Max laughs. “A Davenport homeless. That’s a good one.”
19
Ember
Dr. Stevens thinks I’m improving, and I have to agree.
He’s helping me realize that Papa Rich— Richard is not and has never been my father. Hallelujah Junction is not my home, and therefore, I can stop missing it, or at least can start the process in saying goodbye to that part of my life. But he also allows me to grieve everything without feeling ashamed for it. He tells me the feelings and thoughts I’m having are normal. He makes me feel… sane.
Walking out of the bathroom, drying off my hair with a towel, I’m excited for the evening. Christopher has promised to take me to Luciano’s for dinner, and I’m looking forward to seeing our friends again. Getting dressed in one of my favorite dresses from Christina’s, I decide I want to ask Louisa if she has any makeup I can borrow. Maybe she’ll offer me some tips. I haven’t really put makeup on yet, unless you count lip gloss, and I think tonight will be as good as any night to start.
I walk toward Louisa’s room and stop. I hear something. Whispers.
Whispers from downstairs.
I know Ms. Evans is still here, and I know Louisa is in her room getting ready for her own social engagement. But the murmurings are male. Though I can’t hear what’s being said, it’s masculine. And it’s clearly whispers. Whoever is downstairs is purposely trying to keep their voices concealed.
My heart stops, and I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be concerned. I shouldn’t be worried.
Tiptoeing to Louisa’s double doors, I try to turn the handle. I don’t want to knock in case the people below hear me. Why I care if they hear me or not, I’m not sure, but something in my gut tells me to be quiet.
Louisa’s door is locked.
I glance down the hallway at my door and consider running back to my room and locking myself inside. But I feel silly. Why am I afraid? Why am I assuming the worst?
The whispers stop, and I freeze, listening.
Darting my eyes to the top of the stairs, I see a piece of straw, and then another. In fact, there is straw in several places along the landing and near a table that has a collection of glass vases on display. I run over to the table to see the straw closely.
Dr. Stevens would tell me that I’m creating the straw in my mind due to the trauma, but as I pick up the dry fiber and run it in between my fingers, I know I’m not making it up.
The whispers…
The straw…
They’re here.
I pick up a vase and hold it as a weapon. If they’re going to try to kidnap me, I’m going to put up a fight. I won’t go willingly. I won’t leave Christopher. I won’t let them hurt him, or Louisa, or Ms. Evans. I look over the railing to see if I can tell who is down there. I now know there are men down there. I know. I know!
I need to be strong. I need them to know I’m not weak; I’m not someone they can mess with.
Not thinking but acting on the need to rid them from my life, I toss the glass vase over the stair railing to the foyer down below.
“Get out of this house now!” I scream as the shards of glass shoot in all directions as it crashes down below.
When I don’t hear footsteps running away, or even see bodies running out the door, I reach for another vase and throw it down below.
“I said get out! Get out!”
“What are you doing?” Louisa screams. “My vases! Stop! Ember, what in the world are you doing?”
I see Ms. Evans run to the bottom of the stairs, terror in her eyes as she looks at Louisa and me. She pauses for a moment but then charges up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Louisa asks as she approaches cautiously.
“They’re downstairs!”
Louisa looks at Ms. Evans, who is just now at the top of the stairs. “Do we have guests?”
Ms. Evans shakes her head. “No one is here, Ember. It’s just the three of us.”
“I heard men speaking downstairs. I heard them.”
“There are no men in this house, for Christ’s sake. You’ve lost your mind,” Louisa says, clearly upset about her priceless vases.
But she should care about her life! Not the vases.
“You both aren’t listening to me. No one is listening to me! I heard them. I can feel them!”
“No one is here, Ember,” Ms. Evans says calmly with her hands out to try to placate me.
“I’m not making this up!” I scream. “It’s not in my head!”