I glanced around, for the first time seeing my neighborhood through a newcomer’s eyes. The street was dim; at least half of the streetlights had burnt out. Here and there, groups of young men huddled, watching the few lone passersby with wary, hooded eyes.

“I’m sure,” I said. “This is home.”

The driver helped unload my bags as quickly as he could, then jumped back in the town car and was gone before I could blink. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to stick around. In this neighborhood, a nice car stuck out like a sore thumb. I picked my way through the street toward my building, ignoring the low whistles and jeers from the nearest group of men.

The first thing I noticed when I entered my apartment was how small it felt, how cramped. I had gotten used to the sprawling grounds and open, airy feel of the castle. My nose wrinkled involuntarily at the damp, musty smell that greeted it. Had home always smelled this way? How had I never noticed it before?

Voices drifted out from the living room, and I followed them wearily. My sisters were perched on the old, dilapidated sofa, drinking wine. From the looks of things, this wasn’t their first bottle of the evening.

“There you are,” Patsy said. Her face was flushed. “What took you so long?”

“I left right after you called,” I said. “How’s Papa?”

Patsy shrugged. “Crazy as ever.” Andrea giggled, a high, grating sound.

My last exhausted nerve finally snapped. “He’s not crazy, stop saying he is. If you cared about anything other than yourself, maybe I could have left him with you for a few goddamn weeks without everything going to shit. I don’t know what I was thinking; you’ve never thought about anyone other than yourself in your life.”

Patsy and Andrea stared at me, wide-eyed. I’d never spoken to them like this before. Patsy’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I don’t have to listen to this,” she said, finally finding her voice. She stood and left in a huff. After a second, Andrea scurried after her, casting a petulant look in my direction as she went. The door slammed behind them, and I collapsed into my father’s favorite armchair, worn out.

Outside, sirens wailed, and raised voices swore and laughed. I missed the tranquility of the country, where I could sleep with the windows open, falling asleep to the sound of crickets and waking to birdsong. I missed Isiah’s cooking and Raphael’s quick jokes and easy laughter. I wished that I were still back with them, falling asleep nestled between their bodies.

I snuggled deeper into my father’s chair, wrapping a throw blanket around myself. A whiff of his tobacco met my senses, and I finally succumbed to my tears. The thought of my father, confused and alone in a sterile hospital room, was more than I could bear. Hot, salty tears streaked my cheeks as I wept for him, for myself, for the man I had left behind.

Before long, my exhaustion finally overwhelmed me, and I sank into a deep, fretful sleep, my cheeks still damp with tears. My dreams were a confusion of loss and betrayal. In them, Jacques ran from me, constantly just out of my reach, and I followed behind, calling for him to wait for me. Doleful eyes watched me from the shadows.

When I woke, the sun was shining, but the loneliness of my dreams clung to me still. My neck and back ached from sleeping upright, so I spent a few minutes trying to stretch them out.

I spent the morning calling around to nearby hospitals, until I finally found the one my father was in. I tried asking about his condition, but the woman refused to give me any information over the phone.

I shivered involuntarily as I stepped through the hospital doors. I hadn’t stepped foot in a hospital since my mother died, and the smell of disinfectant made me feel slightly nauseous. Quickly, I got my father’s room number from the front desk and went off in search of him.

The door was open when I found it, so I stepped in, surprised to find a young woman I didn’t know sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. My father laid in bed, apparently sleeping peacefully. “Hello?” I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

The woman looked up, surprised. “Oh hello!” she said. “Are you a family member of Mr. Perez’s?” She had a round, friendly face, surrounded by a halo of frizzy red hair.

“I’m his daughter,” I said. “Isabel. Are you a nurse? Is my father all right?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Isabel. My name is Kathy, I’m a social worker at the hospital. Your father is fine, this is just a 72-hour psychiatric hold, to make sure your father isn’t a danger to himself.”

“A social worker?” I repeated numbly.

Tags: Nicole Casey Seven Ways to Sin Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net