Chapter 17
Adriana’s eyes creaked open.
Because she had a dental appointment at 1:00 p.m., she didn’t have to go to school today, which was fine by her.
The late Monday morning light crawled through the open window, laughed quietly among the white curtains, and drifted into the room, lapping against her bookcase full of Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and bird watching books. She loved horror stories, even though her life seemed to have stemmed from one.
Ever since her father—in a rage over spilled milk on the kitchen floor—took the ax from their garage, pushed her down, and swung the blade through her left thigh, she had been fascinated with reading. Maybe it was because other kids no longer wanted to play with her. Without a left leg she couldn’t ride bicycles, she couldn’t play hopscotch, couldn’t run and jump with other children, couldn’t skateboard, roller skate, play tag, climb trees with boys, play kick ball, play any ball, or take long adventuresome walks. No one she knew but Cindy wanted to put up with her differentness.
But maybe it wasn’t those things at all that made her want to read. She dreaded being teased. And other kids made up many terrible names for her: monster, deformed girl, cripple, alien from space, creature, ugly duck, elephant girl, and several other names she could not repeat. One boy at school used to love to push her over at recess and stand above her, yelling “Freak!” while other kids circled and watched.
Even though some of the nicer kids didn’t call her names, in their eyes she could see discomfort and twisted pity. She hated this more than anything. It separated her from them more than her absent left leg.
In her books, she found adventure, solace, and companionship with characters who accepted her for who she was, wouldn’t make fun of or look at her strangely, and would take her wherever they went without thinking her a burden.
And since she lost her leg, bird watching had also become a hobby. Seeing them free to fly anywhere they chose gave her a great sense of peace. Just last week, she even saw one missing a left leg like herself, hobbling around the front yard, but completely normal and capable when he flew away.
A glass of water sparkled on her nightstand, half full.
She filled that glass every night. When she woke—which tended to happen five or six times a night—without even opening her eyes, she could reach for the water, sip it, and fall back into her dream. In dreams, she still had two legs and could run around with the other kids. She would laugh so loud and clear and see bright smiles on children playing with her. When she woke, she didn’t want to hobble to the bathroom to quench her thirst, being reminded of her disability. For a whole night—at least in her mind—she had two legs.
Her crutches leaned against the side of the bed. Yesterday’s clothes lay in a pile on the floor. She always left them on the floor because she didn’t want to walk around in only her underwear to put her clothes into the hamper down the hallway. She felt ashamed of her body.
Her foster mother, who Adriana was supposed to call “Aunt Jenny,” said she would buy Adriana pajamas soon. Jenny was waiting for the monthly check from the foster care agency to arrive to purchase them. But Adriana had been in the home already four months now and still had no pajamas. She felt too scared to ask her foster mother about it again because she might be seen as a nuisance or a snotty handicapped girl. She didn’t want her foster mother to think she needed special treatment just because of her missing leg. Really, she was just glad to be in the same home for this long, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by asking for too much.
She sat up and took a sip from the water on her nightstand. It tasted stale.
To her surprise, across the room on the other bed, Cindy sat quietly.
She held a small brown box tightly in her hands, knuckles the color of bones. Her eyes looked into nothing.
Adriana sat straight up. She didn’t know how long Cindy had been there, but the girl was fully dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans, white socks and black tennis shoes. There was mud on her shoes and on the cuffs of her jeans. Her hair was messy as though she had been running.
“What’re you doing here?”
Cindy’s eyes continued to look steadily into nothing. She was gripping the box so tightly it appeared it might bust.
“I thought you went back with your parents.” Adriana tossed aside her covers and slipped into her one-legged jeans from the floor. “Don’t tell me they blew it. Don’t tell me they hit you again.”
Adriana was used to foster children coming in and out of her life. Inconsistency was what being in foster care was about. Children could be here one week and gone the next. Sometimes they were moved to a home closer to a new county worker assigned to their case just to make traveling easier on the county worker. Sometimes they were placed back with a natural family member who the state considered safe. Adriana had no other family to be placed with besides her crazy father.
Cindy seemed to have not heard anything. Her eyes looked glazed.
Adriana hopped to the closet and took out a white blouse, a pink knee-high skirt, white underpants, and a white sock. She sat down on the floor behind the bed and began taking off her old clothes and pulling on the fresh clothing. She asked, “What do you got in the box?”
There was only silence. And she couldn't see her foster sister's reaction.
After raising herself on her leg, she hopped back and got her crutches situated under her arms and moved to the older girl. “Did you run away?” She touched Cindy’s face. Except for the warmth, Cindy was like a statue. This wasn’t good.
“Aunt Jenny!” Adriana called.
No one answered.
She remembered Jenny was going to the grocery store this morning. Foster parents weren’t supposed to leave foster children unattended, but Jenny sometimes did for short periods. She told her foster children not to tell the social workers or court, otherwise they might have to leave the home. Nothing bad had ever happened to Adriana when she was left alone.
But now she felt scared.
She wanted Jenny. No, she needed her here. Cindy was obviously in some kind of trouble, and Adriana didn’t know how to help.
There were no other foster children in the home since Zoey, a fourteen-year-old girl who used drugs, was placed somewhere else. Adriana had no one to ask for guidance. If she called the police, then the social workers would discover that Jenny broke the rules and Adriana would have to leave.
She liked living here. She was getting used to it, and she didn’t want to be forced to move again, and probably have to change schools, getting new kids eager to tease her. It was always worse the first few months of a new school, until the school officials, teachers, and parents talked with the mean kids.
Besides, Jenny would be back soon. Cindy was breathing and apparently physically okay, so she didn’t need a doctor right away.
Adriana touched her foster sister’s hands.
The girl flinched and pulled the box closer to her stomach, but she still didn’t look at Adriana.
“Well, this is awkward.” Adriana had known Cindy to be a compassionate and understanding friend. She accepted Adriana, and Adriana never felt uncomfortable around her. Now Adriana wondered what her foster sister had experienced to get her zoned-out like this, and Adriana began to get angry, not at her friend but at whoever had done this to the girl. She didn’t want to ask Cindy about that right now though and cause more stress. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s in the box?”
The girl turned away. Adriana left her crutches leaning against the bed and hopped to the other side of Cindy to face her.
The girl didn’t seem to notice.
“Look, you can trust me.” Adriana put her hand on her foster sister’s knee.
She thought she saw Cindy’s eyes blink and turn slightly toward her, swelling with sparkling liquid, then drying as a desert.
“Tell me what’s in the box.”
Suddenly, her eyes widened as though a bloody knife was thrusting towards her.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s not safe.... It’s bad.”
“The box?”
Cindy eyes glazed over again, looking through Adriana.
Bump!
Adriana jumped.
Another bump sounded, which she could tell was coming from somewhere else in the house. Her heart beat fast. She went to the window and looked out. Jenny’s van wasn’t outside. Whoever caused that noise wasn’t her foster mother.
Adriana reached across her friend to get the crutches, pulled the girl up by the arm, and began leading her to the closet. It was dark inside and they could hide there.
But half-way there, Cindy pulled away from her.
“We have to hide,” Adriana whispered. “Someone’s here. Someone who doesn’t belong here.” She tried to get Cindy by the arm again, but the girl wasn’t going to be led in there.
Clacking footsteps from the wood floor of the hallway. Doors creaking open. More footsteps.
“Cindy, snap out of it.”
Her eyes remained glazed. Her body was limp, hands tightly grasping the box.
The box seemed the only link Adriana had to her foster sister, the only thing important to Cindy. With both crutches wedged in her armpits, Adriana grabbed the box, pulled it and Cindy towards the closet, and almost lost her left crutch.
She looked at Adriana. “Don’t. You don’t want to see what’s inside.”
They were a couple of feet closer to the closet, but Cindy had regained strength and wasn’t budging.
Some hushed voices in another room. Something falling off a wall and crashing against the floor.
“We have to hide. Don’t you understand? It’s not safe here.”
She looked confused. Her grip on the box slackened. Adriana used this opportunity to yank with all her might. The box ripped from Cindy’s hands, but with that force, Adriana slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, her crutches clattering against the closet door, the box ricocheting off the wall, chipping off a piece but still remaining closed. The box rolled across the ground to Cindy’s feet.
She stooped and picked it up, not showing any awareness of Adriana’s position.
From the floor, she complained, “Great. I’m sure they heard that.”
Footsteps rushing through other parts of the house. Doors opening and closing quickly.
“Come on, Cindy.” She crawled under her bed and lifted the dangling spread to peek out. “Hide under here. Hurry, it’s safe here.”
All Cindy did was slowly walk to the bed. Adriana heard it creak under the girl’s weight as she sat.
More footsteps rushing through the house, closer.
From her position, Adriana saw the bottom portion of her bedroom door being opened. Scuffed, brown high heels entered first, then dirty sneakers followed. They rushed to Cindy on the bed.
Adriana heard a loud slap, which made her cringe. Her friend began crying.
There were some electronic beeps. A man’s voice said, “Mary found her.... No, no, she’s fine.... We will bring her with us.” Another beep. “Let’s go.” Adriana saw shoes moving, including Cindy’s muddy black tennis shoes, toward the door.
She couldn’t let this happen. Whoever they were, they weren’t invited into this house. She reached for her crutch and thrust it between the legs of the heeled woman called Mary, and after a moment of tangled legs and wood, the woman fell with a thump.
Her red face smashed into the throw rug, eyes widening as Adriana slid further under the bed. The woman scuttled along the floor with the quickness of an alligator, a hand lashing onto Adriana’s ankle, Adriana trying to shake it off, and the woman pulling off Adriana’s sock, but then her other hand catching Adriana’s blouse and dragging her out, smacking her head on the bed frame in the process.
“Ouch!”
“A misfit. And it’s trying to save Cindy.” Mary chuckled and shook Adriana, causing her head to whip back and forth, rattling her neck bones. Then the woman turned to the man. “It would be fun to do it with a cripple, wouldn’t it, Joe?”
A sickening smile rose on the man’s lips. He licked them. “Yes, yes.”
“Call up Hank. We have another to bring.”
Mary started coughing. It wasn’t normal. She was smiling between each. Adriana smelled rotten eggs. The woman spat out a green, slimy substance, which hung from her lips as it stretched its way down.
Cindy’s eyes grew wide. She recoiled in Joe’s arms as though a dragon were hatching from her mother’s mouth.
The saliva string broke, sending the green glob at the end splattering into the throw rug.