Fallen

A lone set of footsteps suddenly sounded on the hardwood, drawing nearer. “Is everyone out?” a voice called. Ms. West, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure. A swooshing sound filled her head and that damn headache still throbbed. Kandace glanced around desperately, but there was nowhere to hide, only a long empty hallway in front of her. She dropped the pin again, the small dark object disappearing onto the dark mahogany floors. “Hello? Anyone?” the voice called. “There’s been a fire. All students must gather out front.” Kandace dropped to her knees and grappled blindly for the pin, the feel of the small tool meeting her fingertips. She grasped it and stood quickly, sticking it in the lock.

You can do it, you can do it.

With a very small click, the lock disengaged. Kandace grimaced as she opened the door as slowly as she dared, only one tiny squeak emerging. She prayed whoever was coming hadn’t heard it, or that it had been disguised beneath her own clicking footsteps.

She slipped through the crack of the door and pulled it closed quickly behind her, engaging the lock from the other side.

As Kandace stood stock-still just like she’d done the first time she was behind this particular door, the footsteps moved past, not stopping. She let out a long, slow breath and headed down the steps.

When she reached the bottom, this time she didn’t linger. She headed straight through the piled furniture and boxes, rounding the corner into the dim hallway beyond.

The first room was empty as was the second room. As she approached the open doorway of the third, she heard the very distant sound of fire engines approaching Lilith House. Please let the arrival of the trucks cause enough distraction that I’m not missed.

In the last room, the three children sat together on the bed. Dreamboat was sitting with his back against the wall, the girl—Georgia—was at the end, and another boy was sitting on the right edge. All three of them looked up as she appeared, their eyes growing wide with surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Dreamboat asked, setting down the hefty-looking book in his hands. A Bible. He’d been reading to them from the Bible.

“There’s a fire,” Kandace said. “Did anyone tell you?”

The girl’s crooked mouth set in as thin a line as it could being that her lips didn’t—couldn’t—meet. “We already have a caretaker,” she said. “You should go.” Well. Wasn’t she a pleasant little thing? Kandace identified, but it didn’t mean she appreciated the nasty attitude directed straight at her.

Even so, she couldn’t help feeling some pity for the girl. Despite the unlucky hand Kandace had been dealt in some respects, she’d always had a pretty face. And she hadn’t hesitated using it to her advantage. This girl didn’t even have that.

Kandace narrowed her eyes at the girl briefly just to show her she didn’t care for her, shifting her attention to the other boy sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hi, I’m Kandace.”

“Mason,” he murmured, his shoulders curling slightly as he looked down.

Kandace looked at Dreamboat. “What if there’s a serious fire? You’re just supposed to stay down here?”

He shrugged. “Ms. West would make sure we got out. It’s not like we’re locked in here.” Still . . . if something happened to the school—if a fire really erupted and burned the place to ash—where would they go? She had a feeling that at least on paper, these kids didn’t exist.

“Where’s Ms. West now?”

“She had a class upstairs. She used the intercom to tell us what was happening.” He nodded to an ancient-looking receiver on the wall—one of those antique intercom systems that had once been used to summon servants. So these kids weren’t even considered important enough to leave the premises during a kitchen fire? Her own problems, her own grievances with life, the fact that she felt invisible to her mother unless she was disappointing her, suddenly seemed sort of . . . pathetic.

“You’re just supposed to stay out of sight?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever left Lilith House?”

The three of them glanced back and forth between each other. “No,” Dreamboat finally said.

God. They’d spent their lives in these three, small basement rooms? Kandace studied the teens for a few seconds. She needed to find out more about them. Because when she left, she might not have proof that the people who ran this school were batty as shit. Maybe no one would believe a word she said about her own experience. But maybe, if she produced some evidence about these children, they’d do something about the fact that three kids had been hidden away from the world, outcasts through no fault of their own. And yet, they seemed to simply . . . accept that this was normal. To them, it is. They weren’t asking for help. They were just existing. Are they allowed to see the sunshine? Or do they always have to sneak? Too weird. So wrong.