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Swept

Jay Varton

I closed the front door of the lake house behind me and turned on the dimmed lights on the ground floor.

For a moment, I enjoyed the atmosphere.

For half a year, I hadn't used any lights so as not to attract attention in case someone from the pack came by the lake or the cops strayed into this part of town.

Not all the windows were covered with high-tech film, because that stuff cost more than all the houses on this lake combined. I had to leave out the entrance area.

Thinking about it now, I should make use of my contacts in San Francisco. At this point, I had enough money to ensure that Azara was kept as safe as possible.

She had had to learn to fall asleep without her little monkey-head nightlight, which had been quite a battle between her will and my patience at first.

And when the missing persons cases had started to pile up and the police had begun searching the woods, it had become even more stressful to make it look like no one was home.

I made my way upstairs to the second floor, which consisted of two rooms. With my heart pounding, I crept down the hallway to the second door, carefully pushed it open, and looked into the room with the window facing the forest.

The moon shone on her face, illuminating the chaos of books on the floor that must have been created today.

My heartbeat calmed down a little.

Of course she was in bed. Where else would she be?

I entered the room as quietly as possible.

Something sharp under my foot made me clench my teeth and eyes.

Azara, damn it, do you always have to leave your Lego lying around?

Somehow, I managed to reach the bed without making a sound, where I sat down on the edge and looked down at her.

She had kicked off her blanket, as usual, because her sleep was alarmingly restless. Sometimes I found her in her closet or in front of her window the next morning.

Right now, however, she seemed to be in a deep sleep, lying on her stomach, partially on top of one of her books, with the pages now dog-eared, her face turned to one side, the dark brown stuffed monkey I had brought her from Vancouver a few months ago tucked under her arm.

As cautiously as possible, I pulled out the book and smiled as I reached for the blanket to cover her again, glad that this house had a modern heating system.

I looked at her long eyelashes, her full red cheeks, and the three thin braided strands of red hair that she had insisted on keeping in before I had put her to bed.

Tomorrow she would look as if I had pulled her out of the bush somewhere.

My smile intensified and I tucked the blanket tightly around her shoulders.

Azara sniffed quietly, wrinkled her nose, and turned over.

My smile faded.

Even though I hated it, I was often forced to leave Azara here alone.

When I had left, I had already put her to bed long ago, but the feeling that something could happen to her, even though she was theoretically safe here, accompanied me throughout the day. And it had gotten worse because I had spent a lot of time with her over the last few months. To waste so much time on campus again was something I had to get used to.

“Sleep well, little monkey,” I whispered, bending down and kissing her on the forehead.

Then I got up, walked to the door, and looked back at her one last time, just to promise myself – as I did every night – that she would have a better life. That she would know what it felt like to be loved.

I closed the door and made my way to my spacious A-frame room. The night had only just begun. And I had a lot to prepare for tomorrow.