Part 3 (2/2)

Until the day it happened.

Until the day that Andy, the fat daytime guard, had clutched his chest and fallen, gasping and wheezing, to the ground, leaving her door unlocked and open as he shuddered and shook.

Neesha stepped through the door and around him and quickly slipped from the wing of the building where the children were locked in their rooms. And because she'd just had a visitor who'd wanted only to watch and touch himself while she bathed and then put on the clothes and makeup of a much older woman, she was able to fade back and then pa.s.s, unnoticed, through the women's wing, where the guards were there only to keep visitors from going where they weren't wanted, instead of keeping the workers from escaping.

And then there it was.

An unguarded, open door.

It led to an outside that wasn't part of the small, caged, inner courtyard that she had come to know so well during her long years imprisoned here.

Neesha stepped through that door, marveling at a sky that stretched out to the horizon, at a sun that shone full strength upon her upturned face, a sun that was not weakened by a screen.

But there wasn't time to stand there, stunned by the possibility of her newfound freedom.

She was in a parking lot, outside of a long, low, adobe structure, and she quickly lost herself among the rows of cars, ducking down to hide from anyone who might come looking for her.

And they would come. Mr. Nelson. Or the guard named Todd.

And if they found her? She would be punished.

Of that Neesha had no doubt.

CHAPTER THREE.

LAS V VEGAS.

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2009.

They met, after school, in the coffee shop at the mall, because Eden didn't want her mother or stepfather, Greg, to know she was back in town.

And it was crazy, but she honestly didn't recognize her little brother when he first walked in. Ben had grown-a lot-since she'd seen him last. He was now taller than she was. And while he'd always been skinny, he was now razor thin, as if he'd been stretched on a medieval torture rack.

But the biggest change was to his clothing and hair. He'd always been a kind of geeky, dorky little redheaded kid, but now he was dressed like a Hollywood vampire, in black jeans, black T-s.h.i.+rt, clunky black sneakers, and a black overcoat that actually billowed behind him when he walked.

Eden had to admit the effect was striking. With his hair down to his shoulders and dyed a relentless, unforgiving midnight black, and with heavy eyeliner around his eyes, with the remains of black fingernail polish peeling from his chewed fingernails, the look accentuated his pale complexion and his blue eyes.

Both of which he'd gotten from his father, an Air Force officer their mother had hooked up with briefly after Eden, Dan, and their older sister Sandy's father, Daniel Gillman the second, had moved out for good.

Because they were only separated but not divorced, and because the Air Force captain was both married and a total son of a b.i.t.c.h, when Eden's mother, Ivette, got pregnant and Ben was born, she put Daniel Gillman the second's name down on the birth certificate, in the slot that said father father.

Which had led to a lot of shouting and name-calling when their divorce finally went through, and paying child support became mandatory.

But Ivette had tried to pretend that then-five-year-old Ben was the result of a night she and Daniel had spent together when he'd returned to Fort Bragg, and she'd gone up to see him in Fayetteville. Daniel had been pretty drunk at the time-it was no wonder he didn't remember any of it.

Of course he didn't remember it, because it hadn't happened.

But because Ivette was not only a loser, but was also drawn to men who were losers as well, and because Eden's father was a son of a b.i.t.c.h, too, he didn't think about the damage that his words might do to a child when he used Ben with his blue eyes and red hair as Exhibit A. He didn't need a paternity test, he'd shouted, because there was no way a child this ugly, scrawny, and fair-complexioned could possibly be his.

It had been Ben's first meeting with his estranged ”dad,” and all of his fantasy expectations had been cruelly dashed.

As he grew, he continued to see himself only as ugly. Try as she might, Eden hadn't been able to change his mind about that. Because, bottom line, he wanted the same brown eyes and thick, dark hair that she and Danny and Sandy all had. He wanted to be a full, not a faux Gillman.

Eden stared at Ben now, dumbstruck. As she forced herself to greet and embrace this exotic stranger that her little brother had become, she wondered if he realized just how handsome-movie-star worthy, in fact-he was going to be in a few more years, when he filled out.

”Thank you for coming to Vegas,” he said as he hugged her in return. ”I would've just left home, the way you did, but...”

”Your diabetes,” Eden said. He'd eventually run out of insulin.

She felt him nod. ”I'd have to come back home. Or die.”

His voice was different, too-it was now deeper than hers. It had always p.i.s.sed him off, the way he'd often been called ”ma'am” when he'd answered the phone.

Eden's voice had always been unusually low and husky, even when she was a child, and she'd turned it into a game-a contest-so that Ben would stop feeling bad. She would pitch her voice even lower to try to get the people who called to address her as ”sir.” Ben, in turn, had to try try to get people to call him ”ma'am,” and whoever scored the most number of hits during the week got to choose the TV shows they'd watch on Sat.u.r.day mornings, when their mother was sleeping late with whichever husband or boyfriend was currently sharing her bed. to get people to call him ”ma'am,” and whoever scored the most number of hits during the week got to choose the TV shows they'd watch on Sat.u.r.day mornings, when their mother was sleeping late with whichever husband or boyfriend was currently sharing her bed.

Ben always won, but it didn't matter. Eden had always let her little brother choose anyway.

But those days were long gone. No one would mistake Ben for a ”ma'am” ever again. Unless, of course, he threw away the Goth look and dressed in drag. That could work. He was going to be that that pretty. pretty.

”How are you?” he asked as he hugged her. ”Eedie, I'm so sorry about the baby.”

Eden closed her eyes, refusing to go back there, but knowing it didn't matter. Whether she focused on it or not, for the rest of her life, she was going to walk around with an empty s.p.a.ce in her heart. ”Yeah, that sucked. Let's not talk about it.”

”I didn't want to not say anything,” he told her. ”Not just about the baby, but, well, about Izzy, too. He was cool. He, um, came looking for you after you, you know, left.”

”He did?” She pulled back to look up into her little brother's eyes.

Ben nodded. ”He gave me his e-mail address and his phone number and, um, some money. A lot of money, actually. Three hundred dollars. He said I should hide it where no one would find it-it should be my emergency fund.”

Eden stared at him. ”Three hundred hundred...?”

Ben nodded again. ”He said that you told him you were worried about me, but that you were in a place right then-on account of Pinkie dying-where you had to focus on taking care of yourself. He said if I needed any help, for any reason, that I could call him. If you hadn't e-mailed me and told me you were coming back...I don't know. I think I would've done it. You know. Called Izzy.”

Great. All she needed was Izzy showing up. She could picture him, striding into this coffee shop in his cargo shorts and clunky boots, ready to save the day. Lord help her...”But you didn't didn't call him, right?” Eden verified. call him, right?” Eden verified.

”No.” Ben paused. ”So what happened? That e-mail you sent me last year, right before you got married...It sounded like you really liked him.”

Eden just shook her head. She hadn't come all this way to talk about her problems. Not that Izzy Zanella was her problem any longer.

She forced a smile and changed the subject. ”So this is weird-you being so tall. You were so sure you'd be four foot eleven forever. I told you you'd grow.”

Ben gave her a crooked half smile at that. ”Yeah, I get these spurts and...It's been expensive. Always needing bigger clothes?” He gestured to himself. ”This way, it's like a uniform. A pair of black jeans and a few T-s.h.i.+rts and I'm set-until I outgrow 'em.”

”But that's not the only reason you dress like that,” she pointed out.

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