Page 111 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Kids?’

‘Twin boys. They’re about your age.’

‘Was I born… to a mom?’

Zachary closes the book. ‘Let’s focus on multiplication today.’

It’s disappointing, but Riley is used to that.

He writes cramped notes in the blue of the page Zachary showed him while alone in his room that night, Bunny sitting on his pillow like always, now bigger because he adds to Bunny, helping him to grow like Riley. Hair and dust and debris. Riley uses his own hair sometimes, so they look alike.

He starts writing other things too.

Knowing the days of the week, he now tracks whenever Troy leaves and how long it is before he comes back.

By the age of eleven, Riley knows that Troy goes out on Monday nights no matter what. There are always people here, just in different places, so Riley avoids them to sneak downstairs. Alone, he tries the small door at the very back of the kitchen.

It’s locked.

He searches around for a key.

Nothing.

Riley studies it.

No glass. It’s strong.

But the window above the sink might work.

He climbs up and opens it, tasting glorious night air on his tongue for the first time, and it draws a shiver out of him, awakening senses he had no idea were so strongly dulled. It’s a small window but Riley is a small boy, so he makes it out and then drops awkwardly down.

Oh.

It’s so…

His throat swells, eyes filling with tears.

Home.

It’s out here.

Riley walks slowly, looking back, but no one is following him. He walks faster. His shoes scuff on the pebbles, so he takes them off and then lets slip a tiny noise. Can’t hold it back.

Bare feet on the ground. Something moves through him.

He looks down at his hands.

They feel strong.

Riley walks on exquisitely soft ground beneath his feet.

He thinks it might be grass.

Falling to his knees, he drops his head to smell it and can’t help but rub his face into the lush, living prickles. The scent is overwhelming in the best way. He smells a million things, all of which form like tiny bubbles in his mind, gleaming silver and full of learning.

He licks the grass.

Tastes it.