Untouched The Girl in the Box

Chapter 30



It was a Monday, I think. I let the nice agent (he didn’t sneer or get pissy at all with me, a rarity for people from the Directorate in my experience) drive me to the bank. They were very pleasant and understanding, having had a long relationship with the Directorate, and so I opened an account and the money was in it within just a few minutes. Which was fortunate, because I didn’t have a driver’s license. Somehow, Ariadne had gotten copies of my Social Security Card and Birth Certificate, which made things easier.

I left the bank with a temporary checkbook and a debit card, walking across the parking lot back to the car where the agent was waiting for me, the heat from the exhaust causing the tale pipe to steam in the cold. And it was cold, cold but beautiful, the sunlight streaming down from above, shining off all the ice and snow. I looked up, just to make sure the sun was still there. It was, seated in the middle of the blue sky. I smiled and got in the car.

The drive to Eden Prairie Center only took a few minutes. I entered through the same entrance by the food court that I had fairly destroyed last time I was there. There was still a hole in the wall where I’d thrown Henderschott through, though they had workmen patching the damage. I passed by without paying too much attention, trying to appear innocent.

I stopped at a lot of different stores, and I bought a few things. I had decided before I walked in that I was going to try and spend less than five hundred dollars, because even though I had ten thousand, I didn’t ever want to be stuck in a situation where I needed money and didn’t have it. I tried to find the bargain tables, checked the prices on everything before I bought it, and did the math in my head. It all worked out well and I found some very nice things (all of which were long sleeved and didn’t show much in the way of flesh, because every inch of it I exposed was an inch that could kill someone) but that took my wardrobe beyond the dullness of Ariadne’s. Not that it would take much.

I walked out of the store I was in, having stocked up on some professional-looking outfits and started to make my way back to the car. By my estimate, I was a couple hundred under my limit and quite content with that until I passed the store I’d gone by with Zack only a week earlier. The dress was still in the window, the red one that I had seen on the woman I had thought was my mom. I hesitated outside, staring. It was impractical. It wasn’t for me. But I went inside, and they had it in my size.

I tried it on and stood in front of a mirror, staring at myself again. I looked...so different, now. I bought it and I couldn’t define exactly why. Call it recklessness (even though I questioned whether I’d ever wear it in public), call it desperation (because to be able to wear it meant consequences that could be quite dire) or you could call it...hope. That things would change somehow, get better.

I was walking out of the store, lost in thought when a flash of red drew my attention to someone standing in my path. I looked up and found her staring at me, the woman from before. She still wore red, but it was a different dress this time. This one was cut to the knee, a little more conservative but not much. I could still see every curve she clearly wanted displayed, and it made me want to shrink away in envy. I tried to smile and go around her, but she stepped into my path. “Hi there,” she said.

“Hello.” I didn’t know quite what to say. I could feel the hint of flush on my cheeks. “I’m sorry about last time, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just...saw you from a distance and thought you were my mom.” She stared back at me, impassive. “She’s missing, so...anyway, sorry.” I half-expected some soft, cooing sound of sympathy like I had heard from the women on TV. She didn’t make a noise like that.

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, although you have to admit, it was kind of a foolish mistake to make.” I feigned a smile and as I started to leave she blocked me again. “It’s hardly the first time it’s happened, though. I mean, growing up in the shadow of Sierra Nealon wasn’t the easiest experience.” My blood turned to ice at the mention of my mother’s name and I locked my gaze on hers and noticed for the first time that her eyes were blue but flecked with green. She laughed again. “I had to find some ways to stand out from big sister.” She ran a hand down the side of her dress. “See what I mean? Your mother would never wear this.”

I froze and my shopping bags slipped from my fingers one by one. I knew the look on my face was pure shock and she reached out for me, grasping my arm, hooking it in hers and angling it so I didn’t drop my bags. “You look surprised. I take it mommy dearest never told you about her little sister? That’s all right. We’re three of a kind—you, me and her.” Her hand found its way to her chest. “But where are my manners? I’m your aunt, Charlene—but you can call me Charlie.” Her smile was ten thousand watts, bright and vibrant. “I’m here to help you.”





A Note to the Reader

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Thanks again for your time.


Robert J. Crane





Acknowledgments


Who's in charge of this mad house of literary achievement (or mediocrity, depending on your perspective)? Well, technically, as the author, I am. But that's not the whole story.

Shannon Garza once more gave me her whole-hearted effort at making sure my characters didn't jump the emotional shark, as it were. She gave detailed feedback and commentary that allowed me to keep a pulse on how everyone was feeling, what everyone was doing, and how it all fit together to create a reading experience, and for that, I owe her my thanks.

Debra Wesley once more came to the rescue with countless technical details and thought of things I didn't even consider.

More thanks also to Calvin Sams, who once more read the draft and provided some additional critique.

We also had a new addition this round, the great Robin McDermott, who took time away from her busy life as a new mommy to parse the book, and she found some insights that no one else did.

Lastly in the editorial department, but certainly not leastly, muchas gracias to my esteemed Editor-in-Chief, Heather Rodefer, who not only finds my errors and corrects my grammar, but also found the flaming man in the cover art for this work! That's why she's the Editor-in-Chief.

The cover was put together by Karri Klawitter (artbykarri.com) using a work done by user dmv-bros on dreamstime. I don't know who dmv-bros is, but I know Karri did an amazing job turning it into a fantastic cover.

My apologies to the city of Glencoe, Minnesota. It was nothing personal; it was down to either you or Norwood Young America, Minnesota, and frankly, look at the name on them! You expect me to type that over and over? Simplicity was your undoing. Accept it with grace and move on.

My mom marvels at my ability to churn out books (frankly, so do I, but let's not look gift equines in the oral cavity, okay?) and recently asked me how it came to be, since neither she nor my father have even the remotest interest in writing. The answer is this - my mom has read more books than any other person I've ever met. If she ever created a Goodreads profile and plugged in all the books she's read, it'd crash the site (thanks for not doing that, mom). My father, on the other hand, is not much of a reader, but is quite the wordsmith. He makes up rhymes and turns phrases just for the fun of it. Nothing narrative, just idle amusement. But when you combine my mother's love of story and my dad's enjoyment of messing around with words...well, you get me. Someone who wants to write a lot of novels. For their respective contributions to my career path, I owe them my thanks.

Finally, we come to my wife and kids. Once more, I owe them everything, because without them, I wouldn't be doing this.