| |
It didn’t take nearly as long as I had thought it would before we were there. I had double-checked the address in the folder to the GPS. "This has to be it." The disbelief in my voice couldn’t be missed. I wasn’t expecting much, but this?
I bent my neck to get a better view through the Jeep window at the rundown apartment building. The neighborhood matched it a little too perfectly. I shivered. If my mother kept me, this is where I would have lived.
Michael sensed my thoughts. “She might have given you up because she wanted more for you than this.” Or she was hiding here.
My head swiveled in his direction as I felt his thought. Touching the Sioghra, I had no idea if it had come from it or if I had simply made the thought sound as if it had come from Michael. “It’s starting to feel like a super-long day. Maybe we should just head back and check a phone book or something.” Michael looked at me with sympathy, understanding my urge to run away, and it made me want to be stronger.
I closed my eyes. “Sorry. It’s fine. We need to do this. I’ll be fine. I need to do this.” I was rambling, trying to build courage and hide my anxiety. You’re doing a lousy job, I told myself.
Michael pulled the jeep to the side of the curb. He didn't say anything, which only made me more nervous.
"Think we should go and try to find a phone number first?" I played with a corner of the paper, tearing little pieces off.
Michael cut the engine and stuffed the keys in his pocket. "What’re you going to say if you call?"
I glanced out the window again to the third floor. Somewhere behind one of those rickety balconies lived my family - a mother who didn't want me. "What will I say in person?"
Michael opened his door and came around to open mine. "How about we go in, knock on the door and see who answers? Your mother probably doesn’t live here anymore. The address is at least fifteen years old." He reached for my hand and squeezed it. "I'll be right here with you." He slipped on his sunglasses to hide his bright blue eyes and appear less obvious.
It seemed pointless to me. With my luck, we were probably walking into a den of Grollics. Glasses or no glasses, they would know what he was instantly. I knew I needed to stop assuming the worst. He was probably right after all. In a place like this, it was unlikely that she still lived there.
I forced a smile, trying to absorb his courage and lack of fear. "Alright. Let's go see what's behind curtain number three." I was nervous but something else ran alongside the anxiety... hope. I didn't want to have any, but I did; and I knew I’d be disappointed if the address led us to a dead end.
We walked, hand-in-hand, to the building's entrance. A tall, overweight man sat on a concrete bench wearing a stained undershirt and old, worn pants. He stared blankly at us, not even bothering to hide the large can he held in his hand. It was a very generic brand of beer, only marked BEER in green against a yellow background. From the smell of him, it was obvious that it wasn’t his first of the day. This man matched the surroundings, blending in with the decay and filth everywhere. The jeep, our clothes, and basic cleanliness were something completely out of the norm here. I moved closer to Michael, not even realizing I'd done so until I bumped against him and had to catch myself from stumbling. "Sorry," I mumbled.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. "That guy's harmless. Big, but not a Grollic. No mark. Just a really bad aroma."
“I didn’t even think to check for it.” I hit the heel of my hand against my forehead. "I was too busy trying to figure out his brand of beer."
He ignored my lame joke, didn’t even crack a smile. "If it’s there for the seeing, you always need to look." Michael opened the dirty glass door for me. After letting me in first to the small entrance, he lifted his glasses to check the names on the intercom system. "I don't see her name. I bet the numbers don't correspond to the actual apartment numbers. It looks like it had been done alphabetically at one point a long time ago, but loads of names have been added. Who knows which one’s even a legit name?"
As he continued staring at the list, I tried the door to the lobby. It opened. "Lock's broke."
Michael turned and shrugged. "Yeah, guess we could have tried that first."
“If it’s there for the seeing, you always need to look.” I laughed at his silly grin. "Seems we make a good team."
"Never doubted that for a moment."
We headed inside and paused at the out of order elevators. The sign looked as ancient as the intercom system. Michael opened the door to the stairs, stepping in first this time. "Let me go first. I don't trust closed in spaces." He led the way to the third floor. No one entered the stuffy stairwell.
It took a moment to find the correct apartment door, the last number was missing off the door.
I inhaled a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth. "Here's goes." I knocked quietly and then rapped hard twice. I felt Michael tense beside me. He probably heard movement inside before my human ears could. Sure enough, a moment later a chain lock slid on the other side of the door, followed by another. I swallowed nervously.
The knob turned. "Marcus, wha—" the voice stopped short when the door opened fully. A boy about my age, maybe a year or two older, stood staring at me, mouth open. It was difficult to tell his exact age, the hard look on his face showed years of experience that had nothing to do with numbers. He glanced at Michael and took a step back. "What the hell?" His gaze flitted back to me.
He was definitely a few years older. He was as tall as Michael, but dark hair and complexion. I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were nearly the same color as mine. "Who are you?" I blurted unable to stop myself.
His gaze narrowed as he glanced once more at Michael quickly and then back to me. He set his hands on his hips, his biceps bulging. "Who the hell are you?"
Michael stepped in front of me, his foot halfway through the door. "We’re looking for somebody. Is your mother around?"
The boy scoffed. He was obviously too old to still be living with his mom. "My mother? She's having a rest. You can go find her down the road."
My heart rate sped up. He might be my brother. His eyes sure seemed to say we were related. I might have a brother? The thought had never occurred to me. I might have a brother!
"Could you be a little more specific?" Michael enunciated each syllable crisply.
"At Saint Andrews."
She was at a church? My mind was apparently frozen with stupid ice.
"Thanks." Michael turned to go steering me by the elbow so I walked in front of him.
"You aren't going to get much from her." The boy called down the hall.
I swung around, part of me wanting to see him one more time so I could burn the image of his face in my mind. I peered around Michael. "Why's that?"
"She's at Saint Andrew's cemetery. She's been there the better part of ten years."
My stomach dropped. "You're mother was Rebekah Gnowee?" Please say no, please say no.
He nodded. His eyes sympathetic a moment before they turned hard and unreadable again. His head tilted to the side, his brows furrowed together. "Jamie?"
I shook my head. "My name's Rouge.”
Michael beat me to my next question. “Who are you?"
"Robert. Why are you looking for my mother?" He didn't bother hiding the suspicion in his voice. It came out more as an accusation then a question.
"It doesn't matter anymore." Michael who had been standing quietly behind me reached for my hand. “We need to go,” he whispered curtly.
Robert crossed his arms over his muscular chest. "You shouldn't be here, Jamie – Rouge – whatever your name is. Especially with HIM." He glared at Michael.
I imagined the hair on the back of Robert's neck rising. The obvious dawned on me a second too late. "Crap!" Robert was a Grollic. Michael obviously had realized a lot sooner. "We're leaving. Sorry to have bothered you." I started backing away, my eyes trained on his neck imagining his birthmark just below his collar bone.
The stairwell door swung open with a loud bang. I jumped and Michael crouched ready to pounce. A burly guy about the same age as Robert bounded into the hall. Assessing the situation, his eyes burned from brown to a light color.
Yellow.
He was a bloody Grollic.
“What do we have here?”
“A mistake.” Michael’s voice stayed even and smooth.
I envied his ability to stay so calm.
“My apologies.” Michael took my hand, pulling me to his other side so he stood between the stranger and me.
The guy spent way too much time in the gym. He was huge. If he turned into a Grollic, I had no idea what kind of chance Michael and I stood between him and Rob. What if I couldn’t control them? Sweat began to form as small beads on my forehead.
“Rob?” Big guy glanced down behind us where Rob now stood only a few feet away. “Do these guys need to be escorted out the building?”
Rob grinned. It looked more like a snarl of sarcasm. “Be my guest.”
“We’re fine.” Michael’s always composed features were beginning to crumble. “We know the way out.”
“I’m sure you do.” The stranger stepped to the side to let us through the stairwell. “This isn’t the best neighborhood. I saw your Jeep outside. Might be better if I walk with you.”
Michael held his gaze, even and hard. “Fine. How about we get this fine young lady to the Jeep, then you and I have a nice chat?”
The guy burst out laughing. “I’ll be up shortly, Rob.” Marcus waved-off his friend like he couldn’t care less.
We started down the stairs, Michael making sure I was in front, then him and then the Grollic.
“Dude, I have no idea who the hell you are, but you have a serious set a cahones’s on you. Why the hell would you bring a sheep into the lion’s den?”
Michael didn’t stop walking down the stairs, he kept close to me. “I didn’t know. We were trying to find someone. It doesn’t matter... obviously a dead end.”
They arrived in the lobby. I had no idea how my legs carried me across to the door that led outside.
As we passed the big, fat guy on the bench, he suddenly came to life. “Marcus! Marcus Brutus! How is your mama? I ‘aven’t seen her in ages!” The man stood and hugged burly Marcus.
“Go!” Michael hissed, pushing me into a run.
I raced to the car, the door already open and the end running before I even reached it. Michael pulled into gear and tore away from the curb, tires squealing, dirt and debris flying behind us.
