The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

S
oon the leaves turned to the soft golden colors representative of the season but were now passed the point of perfection, drying into ugly browns that signaled the season of death.

Blaire had not smoked a cigarette in weeks, but she was up to three cups of coffee per day. Though jittery movement was now a defining aspect of her demeanor and she found herself sometimes hesitant to peek around dark corners she was growing somewhat used to St. Sebastian and the things that softly bumped in the night.

Toward the end of class, the children finally began to settle after a hectic morning, as they sat reading or coloring quietly. Blaire had given Dariya her music player and headphones, and the girl rocked her head back and forth slowly as she listened. Danya was focused on a drawing that she was creating.

“Hello,” a voice whispered from the doorway.

Blaire turned to see Latif smiling brightly. He had been working off and on at the orphanage for the last couple of weeks trying to finish up preparations for the winter.

“Did you get the heat back on?” Blaire whispered unable to dull the smile that was forming on her face.

Latif waited a moment, his eyes swam across the ceiling and a soft groan rumbled through the vents and eventually coughed up warmth.

“Yes.” His smile lit up his face. “You wanna get dinner in Kerchaviv tonight?” he asked.

“I can’t. I promised the kids a game night,” she replied with genuine remorse. A reprieve from St. Sebastian was probably something she needed more than anything, but she couldn’t disappoint the children, and besides, she found that the longer one stayed at St. Sebastian, the harder it was to leave.

“Maybe, next week,” Latif said before he disappeared.

Abrupt laughter ripped through the room. Lorna was scribbling furiously on her paper as she chanted quietly to herself between bouts of awkward laughter. Dariya ceased bobbing her head to the music and angled her face to look around, and then laid her eyes directly on Lorna as if they could see the girl.

“Lorna?” Blaire called out, but the young child paid her no attention. She rocked back and forth, with her hand still moving furiously across her paper. Blaire’s eyes shifted to the vents on the floor that now blew the heat so furiously it almost sounded like the whispers of little people flooding into the room, communicating with Lorna directly, firing her up into a frenzy. Danya looked over to the vent as if she too heard something sinister. Blaire studied her students and none of them, except Danya and Dariya, noticed anything extraordinary.

Blaire stood up from her desk and started toward the girl.

“Lorna.”

She could hear the girl’s cryptic chant louder now.

“Lorna,” Blaire called again as she reached out to touch the girl’s shoulder.

“I won’t tell,” Lorna whispered one last time. Blaire’s wrist stung as the child’s hand shot out swiftly like a striking snake, capturing it in her grip. Lorna’s eyes seared through Blaire, and she jerked violently to pull her wrist out of the vicious hold.

“Sorry, Ms. Baker,” the girl peeped. Blaire picked up the photograph on which the girl was scribbling. It was a picture of Blaire in the backyard on the day she slipped on the rocks, a picture that was taken from Blaire’s bedroom.

“Where did you get this, Lorna?” Blaire asked. “Were you in my room?”

Blaire was startled at the sound of Anya knocking on the doorframe. Lorna, the twins, and all of Blaire’s seemingly unconscious students woke and rushed from the room.

“No running. Single file,” Anya reminded them. “How are you?” she asked Blaire.

“I’m fine,” Blaire responded, studying the photograph of herself which was almost completely covered with the cherry red scribbles, but just enough of her face was visible for Blaire to see that the left side was completely deformed by some unexplained flaw. Blaire folded the picture and shoved it into her pocket.

“Where is Natalka?” Anya asked, as she silently documented each child that exited the classroom.

Blaire looked over to Natalka’s desk and, for the first time, realized that she had not been in class.

“I…I don’t know. It was a rough morning, and I hardly had two moments to string together for a clear thought,” Blaire responded.

“She’s probably not feeling well or something,” Anya said as she followed the last of the children out into the hall.

Once everyone was gone, Blaire locked her classroom door and started to make her way upstairs. She walked by Travis’ office and stopped just outside of the door where she could barely hear Travis’ frustrated voice on the other side.

“I want to speak to him, Mother,” Travis said. “Why? Why can’t he just talk to me? Hello? Hello? Stupid phone!” Travis grumbled.

Blaire lowered her eyes and continued toward the stairway.

“Natalka,” she called, stepping into room 2A. The room answered with silence.

Blaire went to the third floor where she searched the bathroom and bedrooms, and then on to room 3C.

“Natalka,” Blaire called, but there was no answer. Blaire walked to the window and looked out at the dreary day. Studying the shore, Blaire followed the sand, rocks, and water landscape until her eyes lit on a small body that sat on the bench next to the stone statue.

Blaire pulled her hands into her sweater and folded her arms in an attempt to warm herself as she made her way across the backyard. Harsh winds ripped a strip of hair from her loose ponytail and flailed it wildly, until Blaire pushed it behind her ear. She took long and purposeful strides until Natalka came clearly into view.

“Natalka,” Blaire called out. Natalka was facing the sea, her wavy chestnut colored hair blowing madly in the wind.

“Are you okay?” Blaire asked, taking a seat next to the girl.

Natalka took her eyes from her lap and looked out at the water. Blaire had never seen the girl with her hair down. It was the first time it was not pinned up in a million different ways, and Blaire studied her strange beauty.

“No one came,” Natalka said, never moving her eyes from the sea.

Natalka was, once again, anticipating the return of her parents that week, a notion that had been completely lost amid Blaire’s daily thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Natalka,” Blaire said, gently pressing the girl’s hair back.

“I’m not. Who needs them anyway?”

Blaire allowed a few waves to tumble to shore before she spoke. “I know how you feel.”

“No, you don’t! You have no idea what it’s like to be me. I am ugly and stupid and my own parents don’t even want me.”

“Natalka, I do know how you feel. My mother and father died when I was just a little girl
and
—”

“This isn’t about you!” Natalka said, raising her voice and startling Blaire. “You’re parents died. They had no choice but to leave you. You are normal, while I am nothing. My parents are still alive and I am alone, not because they died, but because they don’t want me. Don’t tell me that you know how I feel because you know nothing!” Natalka jumped up from the bench and raced toward the building.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“I
’m glad that you finally made time for dinner with me,” Latif said with a wink.

“Yes, very romantic by the way,” Blaire answered as she looked around at the St. Sebastian cafeteria. Blaire and Latif were almost completely alone, since most of the children had already cleared out after dinner.

“Are you any good with computers?” Blaire asked.

“I do okay with them, but I’m not expert or anything, why?”

“I am paying for an internet hotspot here and I can’t get it to work.”

“I can take a look at it after dinner.” Latif responded.

“Thank you. I thought you fixed the heat,” Blaire said, sinking lower in her fluffy crimson colored sweater.

“It
is
a little cold in here. I’ll look at it again tomorrow,” he answered. “How was your day? Another rough one?”

“A little,” Blaire admitted.

“So what’s the problem?” Latif asked as he forked up a mouthful of pasta.

“What’s not the problem?” Blaire snapped. “I’m sorry,” Blaire apologized quickly, disliking her own tone. “It’s been so challenging lately. It’s just hard to understand places like this.”

“Is it Natalka? Is she still having problems since her folks didn’t turn up and all?”

“She’s okay, I guess. Recently, I took her out to buy baking supplies, so she has been doing that, and it seems to give her some joy. She baked us brownies today, but brownies can’t make you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“This place.”

The next morning Blaire rolled over and looked at the plate of
half
-eaten brownies that sat on her dresser, and then she looked over to Travis’ bed where he slept nestled in a small pool of chocolate crumbs. Desserts weren’t Blaire’s preference, but for Natalka’s effort, she pretended to eat them, taking a small bite in front of Natalka. She over sensationalized her reaction to the flavor, and then carted the rest off to her room where Travis later devoured them.

“TGIF!,” Blaire said to her partner when she saw him waking. “How are you?”

“Okay, just feeling a little tired,” Travis answered as he roused himself and stretched his arms up toward the ceiling. “You want to take a walk with me this morning? I’m going to travel around the yard and see if I can find a decent spot for reception, so I can try to call my mother.

Blaire peered out the window at the gray and darkening sky. “No thanks, I want to get an early start,” Blaire replied. She didn’t care much for getting an early start, but wanted to avoid watching the heartbreak of Travis getting his mother’s voicemail one more time, if he was able to get any reception at all.

“Can I tell you something?” Travis asked as he watched the sky thoughtfully.

“Sure.”

“I’m glad I’m here and with you. When we first met, I said that I would rather be in Paris, but that’s not true anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Blaire responded.

“I told you I have two older brothers and I do…but I had a sister, too.”

“Really?”

“Laurely, she was the oldest, but I didn’t know her that well. She was eight years older than me, and by the time I was four, she was in a home in a town called Valentine, which was about an hour away from where we lived. She had severe cerebral palsy and epilepsy, couldn’t walk, could barely talk, and she needed constant care and attention. Sometimes, she would have these massive seizures that were terrifying. My parents were heartbroken at her condition, and by the time she was twelve, they couldn’t take care of her anymore, so they sent her to Valentine. I don’t remember anyone hardly ever talking about her. Like I said, they were heartbroken, and I know that my parents always felt like her condition was some punishment from God for misdeeds committed by one of them, though which one I don’t think they could ever agree on. That’s one of the reasons they began to fight so much, fierce battles that moved to the music of shouts about dirty socks left on the kitchen counter, of needless spending, and of hurtful flirtations, but it was always, always about Laurely, and whose fault it was that she was what she was.

My mother went to visit her once a week, but I don’t ever remember my father going. I went once or twice but that place was so cold, and my sister frightened me. Because she was my sister, I felt like her disease could just one day travel through the family bloodline to come and get me. Of course, I know now that isn’t true, but no one ever told me that back then. After a few times, I told my mother I didn’t want to see Laurely anymore. She understood and I never went again. Eventually, no one did except my mother and she never talked about her, as a result none of us
ever
talked about her. It was like she disappeared from the house, but she was always there, in the awkward silence at the dinner table and in dark corners of shadowy rooms. She was the Lockely family secret. She died when she was eighteen years old; I was ten. Even her funeral was a small event, because no one was invited but the closest of family. We put her into the ground quietly, almost silently, without anyone speaking a word.

I’ve always felt like we killed her. We didn’t give her the condition, and we didn’t make her stop breathing that night when she was alone in bed, but sure as the sun rises we took every breath from her. I’m still ashamed of it all. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except I guess I’m just tired of hiding it,” Travis said, grabbing his towel and walking out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

I
t had been a while since Blaire or Travis had spoken to anyone from home. Rain attacked Blaire’s classroom windows, beating them with fierce bullets of water. Her older children were reading silently; those who could not read were looking at the pictures in their books. It had been raining for days, and the downpour struck St. Sebastian with a considerable case of melancholia, from which Blaire had little immunity. Her progress with the children had started off so wonderfully, but seemed to plateau recently, and, for the first time in her career, she felt that she was not good at her job, the job that she loved and spent years nurturing.

She was a stranger in a strange place, and she suddenly felt lonely. It was not the same loneliness that had been a comfort to her many times in the years since her parents died. It was a new strain of lonely, a mutation, relentless and terrifying. She imagined it must have been the same sentiment that each of the children felt, not upon their arrival at St. Sebastian, but upon their realization that it was home.

An alert chimed on her computer and she was reminded of Latif’s ability to make things work. Blaire looked over to see that a message from Emma was waiting for her.

She opened the blinking electronic box.

“Hey! How is it going?”

“Okay,” Blaire typed back, the clicks of her computer keys sounded harsh against the backdrop of the room whose only soundtrack was the steady pattering of the rain.

“…?” her screen read moments later.

“Things are okay, but not great,” Blaire admitted.

“What do you mean? Great is a lot to expect sometimes,” Emma assured her.

“The kids’ progress has seemed slow lately, so it just feels bleak. Travis has not been feeling too well either,” Blaire replied.

In the back of the room, one of the children raised her hand and asked Blaire if she could go to the bathroom.

Blaire waved her a
go
-ahead.

Her computer dinged with a reply. “What you are going through is normal. We went over this in orientation. Many of our volunteers go through it. Once the initial romance of the adventure passes and reality sets in, volunteers have been known to experience a period of mild depression. Same thing for Travis, sometimes along with the adverse psychological reaction people often exhibit a physical reaction that manifests itself with symptoms of fatigue, vomiting, and aching joints. Does that sound familiar?”

It did.

“It will pass, Blaire,” Emma said, as she explained it all away. She was very good at doing that, which is why she moved up in the organization so quickly. While Blaire appreciated her reassurances, she realized that Emma no longer went on tours and imagined that was for a good reason, because Emma was aware of how harsh this experience could be.

“You and Travis will be fine I promise you. However, if in a couple of days you are still feeling the same way, we can discuss bringing you home.”

Blaire tensed and felt her throat drying up. Emma’s suggestion that she come home early made Blaire feel weak. It was insulting, and she hated the insinuation.

You can’t escape the curse
.

Blaire shook her aunt Bella’s words from her head. She couldn’t leave; she wouldn’t leave until the job was done.

“No! I would never do that. I am just venting. We will be fine,” Blaire typed, quickly logging off of her computer.

“Children, I am going to step out for a moment. Everyone stay in your seats and continue working quietly.” Blaire headed to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup.

She passed by Travis’ office, where she looked in the open door and spied one of the girls who lately had complained of feeling sick, sitting on his examining table. Travis was peering into her ear with a small light. She noticed that his eyes were dull and dark circles were taking root under them.

In the kitchen, Blaire freshened up her coffee and headed back.

As she turned the corner to trudge that last corridor before entering her classroom, she passed Hannah and wondered what she was doing in this hallway as there was little else there besides Blaire’s classroom and a storage closet. Hannah’s long red hair bounced behind her, and her gray eyes watched Blaire closely. Hannah was unusually cold and muttered some indecipherable greeting. Blaire kept suspicious eyes on her until the
fiery
-headed woman disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

As Blaire reentered her classroom, a feeling of dread surged through her. All eyes in the classroom grabbed like hissing snakes stretching out from their sockets, coiling around her. Thunder from the storm crashed into the building like a Mack truck, rattling everything inside. A moment later there was a second crashing but not from the storm, it was loud and close, inside of the room. Blaire looked down to see brown liquid jump across the floor in every direction as the broken pieces of the coffee cup blew apart upon hitting the hard surface. She had not even felt the cup slip from her grip.

Natalka, who had been sitting in the corner reading before Blaire left, now rested her book on her lap and was staring idly into space, rocking back and forth at a methodical pace. She was lost in the other world of St. Sebastian, the bad place, the bizarre side that could not be seen with the sane eye.

Blaire raced over to the girl, grabbed her, and shook her roughly. “Don’t do that!” Blaire snapped, alarmed by her own rage.

Natalka looked up at her teacher with eyes that were empty circles.

What are you doing?
Blaire asked herself, yanking her hands away from the girl’s shoulders. Blaire was sick with thoughts of impotence, and then she whipped around at the screeching of Andre who was struck by a bout of relentless pain. Dariya started to scream in short sporadic bursts, and Danya watched something closely, real or imagined, that lurked outside the window, and the others rocked. They were all rocking slowly in the comforting arms of their own madness.

Ivan’s voice cut through the noise, speaking to himself in a chanting whisper, but his words seemed amplified as if they were being spoken directly into her brain.

Mommy, mommy, take me home, far away from the unknown. Pick me up and fly away into the light of another day. Rescue me from the halls of the haunted, the desperate, the evil, unloved, and unwanted
. Ivan finished the chant and began again.

Blaire turned back to Natalka, who was rocking again, now more furiously than before. With the noise of the unwanted children plowing into her head, Blaire felt the room begin to spin, and she could not think or speak or focus. She could not even breathe. She drove her fingers into her hair, grasping her scalp, trying to make it all go away.

Jump, jump, jump,
she could hear the wicked girls whispering in her ear.

“STOP!” the young teacher yelled as she fled the classroom, running down the hall into the bathroom, where she locked herself in a stall and pressed her face into her palms, sobbing loudly.

After several minutes she managed to compose herself, and, when she returned to class, she was shocked at how fast normalcy had been restored. Some of the kids were coloring and others were reading, and she wondered if what happened was all in her head.

“I’m sorry for stepping out of class,” Blaire said, but no one responded.

Blaire sighed. She looked at their little faces and forced herself to recognize how lucky she was to be having this time with them. They were children who took so much joy from a good meal and pink eye shadow, children who had been cast off like yesterday’s trash. She wanted to do something for them. She was doing as much as she could, but it was not enough.

“I have decided that since you have all been such wonderful students, we should have a big party,” she announced.

Their laughter and excitement immediately filled the room.

“What kind of party?” Andre asked.

“Hmmm,” Blaire thought. “How about a costume party?”

Andre’s mouth shaped into an “O” of delight.

“At the end of the month, Ms. Baker is going to throw you all a grand costume party!” she announced, as the children began to applaud eagerly. As Blaire turned back to her desk, she put her hand to her chest, startled by Travis’ abrupt appearance and the sound of his clapping. Blaire grabbed a roll of paper towels from her desk, pulled off a handful and began to wipe up her coffee just as Anya arrived to escort the children to their playtime.

Travis saw the mess and bent to pick up pieces of the shattered mug.

“Class dismissed,” Blaire announced.