Chapter OneA Chapter by ScottWinchester
The post-Adam world was bleak one. When he was still around they could sometimes salvage the day, whether by telling ghost stories hiding under the bed, or playing with ants in the yard, or whatever… fun stuff. Sometimes they would run to Grandmama and Granddaddy Longleg’s house and stay for two or three hours (that wasn’t their names… they were both actually kind of short) until the storm passed back home. Adam wasn’t yet gone for a full day and already such endeavors seemed lifeless, impossible without him. He protected her. He was strong; Nicolle was not. “NICOLLE!” She heard her name called but did nothing. Her knees pressed together closely; her hands knotted together in her lap; her head bowed as if tired.
She’d
never had an alone moment with Adam once the treatments began. He was
often away from home, and if she saw him at all, the doctors were
usually around, and her parents always were. She could tell that her
big brother had something to say to her, but they both knew better
than to speak the truth where the parents would hear. So they bided
their time. She wished they had made a secret language or something,
like spies or something. Despite the parents hovering nearby, he
could flash a double wink at her, meaning “Hey Nicky, guess what”,
and she would sniff, meaning “What” and he would scratch the
bridge of his nose while simultaneously licking his lips,
saying... A fist struck the bathroom door. Though Nicolle could not see her it wasn’t a stretch to imagine her mother with her hands balled up into fists and her chest rising and falling from furious breaths. This reminded her of their comic, where she and Adam escaped the dark caverns of the Darling home, evading the blasts of Fire Woman and Ghost Man as they did so. In the comic they’d been successful. In real life, alone and shaking a little, Nicolle opened the bathroom door and looked up. Fire Woman was staring at her with eyes that lived up to her name. Her bottom lip was quivering. “You,” Fire Woman said, never blinking, never looking away from Nicolle, shaking her head in intimidating disapproval. When she spoke she spoke through gritted teeth. Nicolle braced herself for the fireball. “What are you doing in here?” “I was using the toilet.” “No
you were not, you were in here thinking about how bad of a mama I
am,” Fire Woman said, chest rising and falling. “Don’t lie to
me.” “Don’t you dare sit in here, throwing a damn pity party, thinking about how hard you think you have it. Don’t you have any sense?! Do you not know how hard I’ve had it the last few months?!”
Nicolle’s
face was peppered with her mother’s spit; that happened sometimes
when her mother ranted. Nicolle, knowing the penalty for not nodding
in the right places, nodded. A few moments passed in silence… then, in the living room, the television turned on. She was safe, for the moment; her mother was likely too exhausted to hit her now. But later it would come, perhaps while Nicolle was asleep… that’d happened once. Her eyes looked to the wall calendar that hung above her. It wasn’t on the right month… it wasn’t even on the right year. But no one bothered to change it, and for that she was glad: the photo accompanying March was Tybee Lighthouse. The image had always been comforting, as if this Tybee Lighthouse, somewhere far away, was her refuge, a place where she could be safe. She and Adam spoke of going there… Run away, she thought to herself. Escape. She ran to her room as quietly as possible and tossed some clothes and other things into a plastic bag. She grabbed her jacket, Adam’s jacket (though she was unsure why), her pillow, and ran to the window across the room. With the speed of a practiced skill, Nicolle undid the rusty lock, lifted the window, held it up with her back as she tossed out her things, and then crawled out, her short feet touching the shaky concrete blocks on the other side. The skies were pewter grey, overcast in all directions; night approached and the air was cool.
She
wanted Tybee Lighthouse, the place of refuge, her ultimate escape,
but she didn’t know how to get there, nor did she want to go alone.
For now, she needed to go somewhere closer. Nicolle made a break for
it, running against the wind; her dark hair flew around her head, and
Adam’s jacket nearly blew loose from her arms. In the far distance -- over the fence, through the patch of woods, and up the hill -- she could see her grandparent’s house. There were no lights on, but
that didn’t stop her.
© 2016 ScottWinchesterReviews
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4 Reviews Added on June 1, 2013 Last Updated on January 2, 2016 AuthorScottWinchesterCullman, ALAboutThis is the official page for Scott Winchester's THE CHESS CLUB. Nicolle Darling knows all about unhappy living. Friendless, broke, and abused, she spends her time reminiscing about the days when h.. more..Writing
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