“Your mother is dead.”

Hana, the woman my Father paid to take care of me, stuck her head inside my room. “Your mother is dead,” she repeated.

“Where’s Father?”

“He’s busy, Susie.” He’s busy.

The phrase echoed in my ears. Father was always busy. He had made it clear to me at an early age: his company was all he cared about and he preferred contract negotiations with his suppliers over conversations with me. Apparently, even Mother’s death wasn’t enough to make him to pretend to care.

“Turn the heat up, I’m really cold,” I said, pulling another blanket over me. Hana slammed the door behind her, causing me to jump.

I woke up, opened my eyes and saw a taxi speed away, throwing an oily mist behind it after another night of cold drizzle. I blinked to reorient myself in the dim light. I was on the street corner I’d been living on for several weeks, leaning up against the side of a coffee shop. The wrinkled banner of the USA Today newspaper covering my legs winked at me as the breeze picked it up and let it drop back down. The man who had awakened me by slamming the cab’s door rushed down the sidewalk with a large body pillow under his arm. I caught a glimpse of my father’s company’s logo on the pillow, surprised he had finally made his company an international success.

Not that I cared.

The rain picked up again, pelting my face with its bitter, demoralizing dampness. I shivered, closing my eyes tightly to block out the pain this caused in my arms and legs.

“Chilly night – should be better when the sun comes out.”

My eyes snapped open to the smell of a homeless man staring at me with a grin on his face. He offered me his dirty, torn blanket and looked as though he intended to settle in to share it with me.

“No,” I said, wondering why he’d want to sell his blanket. “I don’t have any money.”

“You misunderstand,” he said, looking confused as he leaned in closer. “I don’t want money.”

“You misunderstand!” I shouted, causing people walking past us to slow down and stare. “I don’t want your blanket!”

He protested but I kicked at him, just missing his upper thigh with what remained of the heel of my shoe. He got the hint and left. With the argument over, the students and businesspeople on the sidewalk lost interest and returned to actively ignoring the despair around them.

My blood flowed hot with anger, warming me slightly. Who was he to offer me charity? I didn’t need his help. If I’d learned anything, it was nothing is free. Everything – everyone – comes with a price. Whatever his price would have been for the warm blanket, I wasn’t going to pay it.

I got up to follow him, to yell at him, but a woman in a wheelchair cut in front of me, running over my foot as she pushed herself along. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” I shouted. Anger consumed me. I grabbed the wheelchair’s handles and shoved hard, spinning it as I pushed. She screamed as the chair went over the curb, spilling her into the road. The tray of coffee she was holding on her lap landed unhappily next to her.

Breathing heavily and fearing someone would take my soggy newspapers, I settled myself back into my spot in the shadows against the coffee shop wall. My anger increased as I watched the people on the sidewalk rush to her aid. Why did they hurry to help this woman today when they ignored me every day? They started looking for the person who had done this to her. I wasn’t worried about them finding me because I was sure no one had seen me in the dim light of the early morning gloom. No one ever saw me. The woman assured them that she was fine and they stopped searching. I scowled at her as she wheeled herself back up the sidewalk. She smiled innocently as she rolled past me. I watched for a few minutes as she wiped the road grime off her face and went around the corner, out of my line of sight.

I felt sick with hatred.

____

Purchase The Red Book to read “Out of the Darkness” in its entirety.  Official release is 1st December – pre-release orders taken as of 24th November.