opportunity to snoop, but it felt like forever. I followed the same meticulous routine over and over of running in the morning and at night. Only one other midnight run but I was beginning to adjust to those. I'd get up, run, then fall back into bed and sleep. I maintained a strict diet of only healthy food, except when I sneaked down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for cookies.
I took out my frustration and poured it into training. It was all business. I started every morning exhausted and I ended each day exhausted. And just like them, I learned to keep my private thoughts and emotions, my heartache, my fear and anger, tucked away inside where only I could access them. No longer were they written on my face like a child's messy sidewalk chalk drawing.
After just the past couple weeks, I was stronger. When I made a muscle in the mirror, a little bump formed. My whole body was more toned and ready. For what? I wasn’t sure. They weren’t telling me anything. And something was brewing. I could tell by the stormy looks that crossed Bartholomew’s face at odd moments of the day when he thought no one was looking. Edith attacked her knitting like a dog with a raw bone, making some god-awful puke green sweater. And Janelle baked up more cookies and treats then the family needed for a year. Oh, yeah, something was up. And they weren’t telling me a thing.
I quickly learned that Malcolm’s family was more than fun and games. In fact, there hadn’t been much joking since that first breakfast together. Who knows what went on after I collapsed on my bed at night? They probably sharpened their collection of knives hidden away in some secret closet or they practiced torture techniques using kitchen tools. But I couldn’t complain. They kept their end of the bargain. My family was safe. I was safe. And Constance was safe. No poison in the whole-wheat pancakes Will offered one morning. And I was being trained to protect myself.
The weekend finally came. The whole family went out for dinner. Even though they were gone, it took quite a bit of pacing outside Bartholomew's office to gather the courage to even open the door. The afternoon light was fast fading, and I wanted to get inside before I'd have to use a flashlight. Even though I hadn’t seen evidence of henchman, I suspected that was due to their skill in keeping with the shadows. They were sure to suspect a bobbing light inside the most important room in the house, and I didn't want to find out what they'd do to intruders. Even if I was a houseguest.
With a hand on the knob, I listened to the quiet. It was unnerving not hearing Edith complain or the pans rattling in the kitchen or Bartholomew's booming voice. But this was my time. I might not get another chance.
I gripped the doorknob and opened the heavy oak door. The moon shining through the glass doors that opened into the garden spotlighted Bartholomew’s desk. What was I looking for? A file or a locked cabinet? A photo? Something. But they were too smart to leave evidence lying around. I ran my fingers around the bottom of his desk in search of a lever. I opened his desk drawers but found nothing but office supplies. There was nothing but damn office supplies.
At first, the office seemed like a real place to work: the desk, a photo, office supplies like Staples was a candy store. But something was missing. Other than the family photo there was nothing personal. Like the set up could be in an office decor magazine. They were one step ahead of me. This was a fake office.
So where was the real one? The one with all the hidden papers and scribbled notes that revealed their nasty plans for Constance. I might’ve left my mom behind but I liked to think about it as more of an undercover role. I mean, yes, I was training in exchange for safety but this wouldn’t last forever. At some point the sweet cookie would crumble and we’d go back to being mortal enemies.
Before that happened, before I left,
I took out my frustration and poured it into training. It was all business. I started every morning exhausted and I ended each day exhausted. And just like them, I learned to keep my private thoughts and emotions, my heartache, my fear and anger, tucked away inside where only I could access them. No longer were they written on my face like a child's messy sidewalk chalk drawing.
After just the past couple weeks, I was stronger. When I made a muscle in the mirror, a little bump formed. My whole body was more toned and ready. For what? I wasn’t sure. They weren’t telling me anything. And something was brewing. I could tell by the stormy looks that crossed Bartholomew’s face at odd moments of the day when he thought no one was looking. Edith attacked her knitting like a dog with a raw bone, making some god-awful puke green sweater. And Janelle baked up more cookies and treats then the family needed for a year. Oh, yeah, something was up. And they weren’t telling me a thing.
I quickly learned that Malcolm’s family was more than fun and games. In fact, there hadn’t been much joking since that first breakfast together. Who knows what went on after I collapsed on my bed at night? They probably sharpened their collection of knives hidden away in some secret closet or they practiced torture techniques using kitchen tools. But I couldn’t complain. They kept their end of the bargain. My family was safe. I was safe. And Constance was safe. No poison in the whole-wheat pancakes Will offered one morning. And I was being trained to protect myself.
The weekend finally came. The whole family went out for dinner. Even though they were gone, it took quite a bit of pacing outside Bartholomew's office to gather the courage to even open the door. The afternoon light was fast fading, and I wanted to get inside before I'd have to use a flashlight. Even though I hadn’t seen evidence of henchman, I suspected that was due to their skill in keeping with the shadows. They were sure to suspect a bobbing light inside the most important room in the house, and I didn't want to find out what they'd do to intruders. Even if I was a houseguest.
With a hand on the knob, I listened to the quiet. It was unnerving not hearing Edith complain or the pans rattling in the kitchen or Bartholomew's booming voice. But this was my time. I might not get another chance.
I gripped the doorknob and opened the heavy oak door. The moon shining through the glass doors that opened into the garden spotlighted Bartholomew’s desk. What was I looking for? A file or a locked cabinet? A photo? Something. But they were too smart to leave evidence lying around. I ran my fingers around the bottom of his desk in search of a lever. I opened his desk drawers but found nothing but office supplies. There was nothing but damn office supplies.
At first, the office seemed like a real place to work: the desk, a photo, office supplies like Staples was a candy store. But something was missing. Other than the family photo there was nothing personal. Like the set up could be in an office decor magazine. They were one step ahead of me. This was a fake office.
So where was the real one? The one with all the hidden papers and scribbled notes that revealed their nasty plans for Constance. I might’ve left my mom behind but I liked to think about it as more of an undercover role. I mean, yes, I was training in exchange for safety but this wouldn’t last forever. At some point the sweet cookie would crumble and we’d go back to being mortal enemies.
Before that happened, before I left,
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