The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2)

by Jean Nicole Rivers

  Travis frowned. “Something like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she finally replied, somewhat irritated by the fact that Travis was failing to recognize the inherent eeriness of it all or maybe she was irritated that she was so quick to make the far-fetched recognition.

  “I’m sure that there is something in the basement…after all, that’s what basements are for, storage and somethings and such.”

  “No, not like that, something like…a…a…” Blaire said, trying to conjure an idea that justified her alarm.

  “…like a pirate?” Travis whispered.

  “A what?”

  “A pirate,” Travis repeated.

  “Why would there be a pirate in the basement?”

  “Exactly!” Travis triumphed. “…or anything equally ridiculous.”

  Blaire sighed.

  “Look Blaire, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but there is nothing in the basement besides dusty old furniture and pictures and stuff. The same thing that is in every basement.”

  “But why would he say that?”

  “Because he’s a kid, and kids have wild imaginations.”

  Both Travis and Blaire froze at the faint whispers that floated into the hall from room 3C. She realized they were not alone, as someone stepped out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Ivan, what are you doing up here?” Blaire asked, immediately recognizing the child. “Are you okay?”

  Ivan nodded.

  “I’m turning in. Goodnight, Ivan.” Travis ruffled the boy’s hair before continuing toward their room.

  “Ivan, I wanted to tell you that I am sorry for what happened up on the roof. I am so sorry that I put you in danger. Nothing like that will ever happen again,” Blaire promised.

  “There is danger,” he informed her as his gaze wandered to the discolored rectangle on the wall, where Blaire assumed a picture had once hung.

  “Ivan?” Blaire called to the boy who seemed far away.

  “Everyone gather around, and I am going to tell a story,” he said. “You too, Ida.” Ivan looked at someone behind Blaire, and she could feel cool air at her back. Craning her neck slowly, Blaire looked to see what hovered behind her, but it seemed she and Ivan were alone.

  Blaire sighed. Maybe Travis was right, this was ridiculous. She smiled lightly and said, “C’mon, Ivan. I’m going to put you to bed.” Blaire pressed her hand firmly into his back. The boy winced.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he responded. She touched his arm lightly, and he reeled back in pain once again. Instinctively, Blaire lifted his shirt and gasped at the dark gray and purple bruise that covered his right flank. Pulling his shirt off over his head, she inspected his body and found another deep bruise on his back.

  “What happened to you?” Blaire asked.

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Ivan, you tell me what happened now!”

  “I fell.”

  “You fell on your back and your side?”

  He nodded.

  Blaire stared at him blankly, and then took another look at the bruises.

  “Are you sure you fell, Ivan? You can tell me,” Blaire said.

  “I am positive.”

  “Did Vesna do this to you?” she asked in a pleading whisper.

  “No, I fell,” the boy repeated.

  Blaire looked into his eyes and tried to see what was happening inside, but it was like looking into a broken kaleidoscope, as it didn’t make any sense at all.

  “Let’s have Travis take a look at this and make sure you are okay,” she finally announced.

  Travis examined the contusions and assured her that there was no long-term damage and that the boy would be fine. After Ivan repeated to Travis that he had only fallen, and it was nothing more sinister than that, Blaire put him to bed.

  “It wasn’t Vesna,” the boy said again.

  “I believe you,” Blaire said as she kissed his cool forehead and left the room making sure to lock the door behind her.

  On the third floor, Blaire found herself standing in the middle of the dark vacant room, 3C, and she got on her knees to look under the bed. Next, she looked in the closet, but there was nothing there either. Blaire stood at the threshold of the bedroom door and turned toward the hallway. Again, she noticed the light rectangle on the hall wall. Something had once been there that was now gone. Upon first seeing the space on the wall, she assumed that it was a photograph, but the longer more rectangular shape made her think twice. There were likely many things that were once at St. Sebastian that were now gone. Blaire looked back at the room once again and decided to accept that there was nothing there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Soon 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 thi
s, 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 he
r 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

  It 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.