“I’ll help you.” The teenager, who sounded much younger than his years, offered his hand again, and I took it, only because I wasn’t sure I could hold my own weight.
I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
As our hands locked and his fingers tightened around mine, something inside me felt a spark, like static, possibly from the blanket.
Lifting my leg high, I side-stepped out on shaky legs. Stepping down onto the dusty stone floor. I let go of the boy’s hand as soon as my toes graced the tiles. I didn’t comment on the feeling between our fingers, and neither did he, but once we broke apart, he rubbed away the sensation.
My toes curled in again, feeling the harsh tiles below them. I’d soon learn, most of this house didn’t have carpet, didn’t have personality. It had nothing but a forceful sense of unwelcome, and it was giving it to me.
“Would you like to take a bath before I find you something to wear?” the woman asked me.
“Ma’am, can I please use the phone? I need to call the police.” I finally found the courage to talk. My accent was different too, birthed from sunny California, just like I was. My eyes flicked to her, away from her son, who was still staring at me. Still pulling at my attention.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. We don’t have a phone,” her husband answered for her. I couldn’t read his tone; I had no idea if the words he spoke were true.
“I need to speak to the police or the sheriff. Do you have a car?”
“Honey, let me take you for a bath. You can tell me what's bothering you then.” The woman didn’t wait for my reply. Her arm waved in my direction, ushering me to follow her out of the room.
I trailed her shadow, avoiding the cracks in the dark tiles. The long sheet around me brushed away the dust behind me as it dragged along the floor. I figured the woman was my best bet for safety—there was less she could do to hurt me, and that brought a strange sense of minimal trust.
Wandering through the dated hallway, following the woman already out of my sight, I realized the house was much bigger than I thought. Huge and hard to maintain. I glanced into a dark room, learning it was the living room. Furniture sat, scarred by old age. Time hadn’t been kind to the antiques in this home, dents had been left smearing the surfaces of varnished wood, just as it would the faces of those lucky enough to grow older.
“She’s not like the others. Not like you said.”I heard the teenager speak as I continued on.
My eyebrows dipped, pulling down in the center of my forehead. My feet froze on the spot where I stood, cemented to the seventh step of the staircase. I’d counted them all, trying to keep my mind occupied.
Was he referring to my skin color? My heritage? Had there been othersisters? Was he disappointed? What did that mean for me if I was meant to be his fucking gift? I had no idea, and I had so many questions that I didn’t want to find out the answers to.
I wanted to run, but I had no idea where I was. Was I far from a town? With my recent luck, probably.
“Well, no, kid. Of course not. This one is real.” His father laughed.
I stared back at the front doors, one wooden, which was open, and one glass, which showed the darkness falling outside.
I was so tempted to run.
The woman’s voice echoed down the stairs, calling me up. I focused on her sound; I couldn’t listen to anything in the kitchen that came after the father’s reply. I didn’t want to think what those words meant. . . but part of me was relieved. Relieved that they didn’t make a habit of purchasing humans.
The warm bath water started to turn cold, but the air drifting in from the open bathroom window was hot and heavy.
Big white bubbles depleted in the clear depths. I splashed water over my body, trembling under the foam, growing colder by the second.
I’d been up here somewhere between a minute and an hour; time had stood still, moving on, and leaving me to dwell in my loss and sadness.
“Hi!” a little voice traveled from the doorway and bounced off the tiles on the wall, where beads of condensation had formed.
She was the distraction I needed. My eyes shifted in her direction, and I painted a smile on my lips for her benefit.
The little girl stood, hands behind her back, a smile on her face—a smile nothing like mine—hers was real. She stepped forward, and I tried to shield my nakedness from her young eyes.
“Do you want to play mermaid? I like to play mermaid at bath times.”
The little girl brought her arms forward, bringing forth two dolls with scaled tails. One, bright like her dress. The other, silver, like the eyes of her brother.
Her hair bounced as she skipped towards me; she dropped to the floor, little arms hanging over the ceramic bath ledge. “My name is Vanessa. But my family calls me Nessie. I guess that’s what you’ll call me, seeing as you’re my sister now.”
The big smile on Vanessa’s little face lit up the room, trying in vain to force the recent dark memories from my head.
