competing with the sun as it dipped into a layer of molasses that coated the horizon.
His feelings for April were comfortable. But were they enough to take away his scars? Or to take away April’s scars?
CHAPTER 12
The quiet of the Imola Day Room no longer soothed Agnes’s desire for solitude. The silence was a threat. Instead of staring at the shadows of the outside world, cast on the wall opposite the windows, she sat with the wall to her back, where she could see the entire room. Relaxing and being on guard were on opposite extremes of her behavioral continuum, and it distressed her because she wanted to do both.
It felt like her life in Imola was degenerating, falling apart. And it was all Stuart’s fault. He’d cracked her globe of security. Without it intact, serenity no longer existed.
Stuart hadn’t been transferred as everyone had said he would. He still lived down the men’s hall. Still came into the Day Room. But he didn’t bother any of the girls anymore. No more fondling, anyway. No morehunched shuffles to his room. He still spent time in his room, but he half stomped, half limped down the hall in his walking cast. Each trip, his door slam reverberated throughout the wing. It shook the television on the overhead wall bracket.
In the Day Room, he stared. He sat and stared all day, his eyes nearly closed to slits. They flicked like the eyes of a nervous ferret, from one girl to the next.
Agnes shuddered. Mostly, Stuart’s eyes found her. If she moved, flinched, breathed deeper than a sigh, his stare pierced her. And his middle finger would go up. It was seldom still, jabbing the air at anyone or anything that moved. He wouldn’t say a word. He’d just thrust the finger in the air and sneer.
Agnes stayed in the Day Room as long as she could. But the comfort she craved didn’t show. The room had never felt drafty before. Now there was a constant chill. The kind a sweater couldn’t tame.
She stood and stretched. The nervousness of the night had triggered a series of eye-closing yawns, each making her lightheaded for an agonizing instant. She backed up against the wall and looked around the Day Room. The sun touched the horizon, stretching the branch shadows across the ceiling. Giving them a pink tint.
Something didn’t seem right.
A noise from the men’s hall startled her. She leaned back against the wall, spreading her fingers out on thecold, smooth plaster. She had to cross the hallway entrance to get to the women’s hallway. A door creaked. She couldn’t tell where. The outside light ratcheted down with an abrupt flicker and turned orange. The branch shadows seemed to pulsate.
A shoe squeaked on tile. This time, she caught the direction. The men’s hall. She had a choice: circle around the entire Day Room or dash across the opening of the men’s hall. She froze.
Go across
.
A shuffling sound echoed in the hallway. Distant? All went quiet.
Agnes sidestepped to the edge of the hall, her back pressed against the wall. She leaned, then straightened. The quick glimpse was useless. The hall was dark.
You hurt him before. You can hurt him again
.
She slid her hand around the edge of the right-angled wall joint. She peeked again as her eyes adjusted to the failing light. The hall didn’t seem so dark: she could see down half of its length. It was empty. She slid one foot into the opening. Her leg, her hip.
You’re ready. Hurt him
.
Agnes pivoted into the hall opening, facing the long dark corridor. She crouched, hands held out, fingers ready to jab and gouge. There was nothing there. No movement.
She slithered to the other side of the hall openingand stopped. Another squeak. A hinge? A door closed. No attempt to silence it. She sprinted for the women’s hall but skidded to a stop at the hall entrance. The light was better on this side. She peeked around the corner. Nothing was visible well past her room, but the end of the hall was obscured by the shadows of distance. She swung her
His feelings for April were comfortable. But were they enough to take away his scars? Or to take away April’s scars?
CHAPTER 12
The quiet of the Imola Day Room no longer soothed Agnes’s desire for solitude. The silence was a threat. Instead of staring at the shadows of the outside world, cast on the wall opposite the windows, she sat with the wall to her back, where she could see the entire room. Relaxing and being on guard were on opposite extremes of her behavioral continuum, and it distressed her because she wanted to do both.
It felt like her life in Imola was degenerating, falling apart. And it was all Stuart’s fault. He’d cracked her globe of security. Without it intact, serenity no longer existed.
Stuart hadn’t been transferred as everyone had said he would. He still lived down the men’s hall. Still came into the Day Room. But he didn’t bother any of the girls anymore. No more fondling, anyway. No morehunched shuffles to his room. He still spent time in his room, but he half stomped, half limped down the hall in his walking cast. Each trip, his door slam reverberated throughout the wing. It shook the television on the overhead wall bracket.
In the Day Room, he stared. He sat and stared all day, his eyes nearly closed to slits. They flicked like the eyes of a nervous ferret, from one girl to the next.
Agnes shuddered. Mostly, Stuart’s eyes found her. If she moved, flinched, breathed deeper than a sigh, his stare pierced her. And his middle finger would go up. It was seldom still, jabbing the air at anyone or anything that moved. He wouldn’t say a word. He’d just thrust the finger in the air and sneer.
Agnes stayed in the Day Room as long as she could. But the comfort she craved didn’t show. The room had never felt drafty before. Now there was a constant chill. The kind a sweater couldn’t tame.
She stood and stretched. The nervousness of the night had triggered a series of eye-closing yawns, each making her lightheaded for an agonizing instant. She backed up against the wall and looked around the Day Room. The sun touched the horizon, stretching the branch shadows across the ceiling. Giving them a pink tint.
Something didn’t seem right.
A noise from the men’s hall startled her. She leaned back against the wall, spreading her fingers out on thecold, smooth plaster. She had to cross the hallway entrance to get to the women’s hallway. A door creaked. She couldn’t tell where. The outside light ratcheted down with an abrupt flicker and turned orange. The branch shadows seemed to pulsate.
A shoe squeaked on tile. This time, she caught the direction. The men’s hall. She had a choice: circle around the entire Day Room or dash across the opening of the men’s hall. She froze.
Go across
.
A shuffling sound echoed in the hallway. Distant? All went quiet.
Agnes sidestepped to the edge of the hall, her back pressed against the wall. She leaned, then straightened. The quick glimpse was useless. The hall was dark.
You hurt him before. You can hurt him again
.
She slid her hand around the edge of the right-angled wall joint. She peeked again as her eyes adjusted to the failing light. The hall didn’t seem so dark: she could see down half of its length. It was empty. She slid one foot into the opening. Her leg, her hip.
You’re ready. Hurt him
.
Agnes pivoted into the hall opening, facing the long dark corridor. She crouched, hands held out, fingers ready to jab and gouge. There was nothing there. No movement.
She slithered to the other side of the hall openingand stopped. Another squeak. A hinge? A door closed. No attempt to silence it. She sprinted for the women’s hall but skidded to a stop at the hall entrance. The light was better on this side. She peeked around the corner. Nothing was visible well past her room, but the end of the hall was obscured by the shadows of distance. She swung her
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