Chapter 4 …Again
“And so it was that she did not see the man reappear inside the yard….”
The door let out a small creak of protest as it was cautiously opened. A face appeared in the doorway and scanned the empty hallway.
Aidan sidled mutely out of the room and tiptoed downstairs. She turned right at the base of the steps and stepped barefooted onto the cold tiled floor of the kitchen. She flinched and raised a hand to shield her eyes as a dazzling ray of sunlight distorted her vision. She squinted at the clock. It was almost noon; no one would be home for another two hours.
It was an orphanage of sorts; though not the kind imagined when that word is said. The building was really a house and not more than thirteen people lived there. The children’s caretaker sent them to a normal school like any normal mother would. They ate and laughed and were scolded like any other children. And though there is really no such thing as normal, any person could easily place them into that category. Well, almost all of them. And of course you know which one was different. For it is the different people that get stories written about them. Although of course there is no such thing as different.
Aidan climbed easily up onto the counter top and opened the cupboard. After a few moments of indecision, she reached in and placed a bowl and a cardboard cereal box beside her, and jumped down to fetch a bottle of milk. It was as she was shaking handfuls of granola into her bowl when something new caught her attention. She glanced at the open window. A strange man dressed entirely in black sprinted stealthily across the yard. Not noticing he had been spotted, he peered nervously about, lifted a loose board in the fence, and slipped out. Aidan strode to the window and pressed her face against it. She bit her lip. And without another thought, she was running down the back steps and across the grass; through the fence and after the man walking briskly down the deserted road. At the sudden noise, he spun fearfully around and upon seeing her broke into a run. His long legs carried him around the corner and away. Aidan stopped; she laid her hands on her knees, breathing hard. She felt strangely weakened; and for a moment was tempted to sit down. She turned her hand upward and stared at it; it tingled slightly. Yes, she knew. But she didn’t believe it. After all, stories do not happen in real life. The left out words: … or do they?
The orphan strode silently back to the fence, squeezed through, and returned to her unfinished breakfast. She uncapped the milk and tipped it over her bowl. She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. Aidan stared at it in disbelief, the second hand ticked slowly across the painted symbols exactly as it had done so at least fifteen minutes earlier. A cold trickle splashed onto her foot. She hurriedly righted the bottle and grabbed a rag off the sink. And so it was that she did not see the man reappear inside her yard, nor watch him sprint stealthily across and slip through a loose board in the fence. The left out word: Again.
