Free Remember Me by Sharon Sala Page B

known it almost from the first day he’d seen her.
    He shifted restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the mattress.
    His eyes closed, and finally he dreamed…of the beginning, when Francesca Romano had entered his life.
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    By the age of thirteen, Pharaoh Carn had accepted the fact that people didn’t like him. In fact, he’d capitalized on it by terrorizing the other orphans of Kitteridge House. He was the undisputed ruler of his domain, in the classroom as well as at the home. But it wasn’t just his looks that set him apart. In New Mexico, where the Native American face was a familiar fixture, his dark skin and black hair were nothing remarkable. It was his hate that made him different. His hate was a rage. His rage was a power. He was vicious and cruel and took pride in the fact that everyone—including the teachers—was afraid of him. At least they had been—until her.
    He’d been sitting in the director’s office, awaiting his latest punishment, when a social worker had arrived with the little girl in tow. The first thing he’d noticed about the child was her hair. It was almost as dark as his. And her eyes—brown and rounded in fear—shimmered with unshed tears. She was clutching a small teddy bear in one hand and a shred of an old blanket in the other. Her shoes were scuffed, and the ribbon someone had tied in her hair earlier had slipped from its bow and was hanging down the back of her head.
    She looked at him and then poked her thumb in her mouth.
    He glared at her.
    Only this time the glare didn’t work. He watched as her gaze scanned his face, picking apart his features with undisguised interest.
    He glared harder. Stupid kid. He’d been stared at all his life. Just because she was little, that didn’t mean he was going to take any crap from her, either.
    But his angry expression seemed to have no impact on her. In fact, when the social worker sat down, the little girl took her thumb from her mouth and moved toward him, dragging her blanket behind her. To his discomfort, she walked all the way across the room, stopping only inches from where he sat. Her wide-eyed stare discomfited him, and for the first time in his life, Pharaoh Carn didn’t know quite how to react.
    â€œGet lost, kid.”
    She barely blinked.
    He had no way of knowing that her father’s hair had been black like his, and that her mother’s skin had been as smooth and brown as his own. All he saw was a little kid who should have been afraid, but wasn’t.
    â€œFrancesca, come here, please,” the social worker said, but the little girl didn’t move.
    Pharaoh saw the woman stand, and he could tell by the set of her mouth that the kid was going to catch hell. In that moment, something gave way inside him that he hadn’t known was there.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he mumbled. “She ain’t botherin’ me.”
    The woman hesitated, then shrugged and sat back down, keeping a close eye on the pair, nonetheless.
    â€œSo, how old are you, kid?”
    The little girl held up four fingers.
    He nodded, then leaned back, thinking to himself that, for a kid, she was pretty cute. And her eyes—they cut right through his armor to the boy beneath.
    They stared at one another. Finally Pharaoh tried another approach, searching for something else that might elicit a verbal response.
    â€œSo, your name is Francesca, is it?”
    Clutching the teddy bear a little tighter, she considered the question and then nodded.
    â€œMy daddy calls me Frankie,” she finally said. And then her lips trembled, and the tears that had been threatening suddenly spilled. “My mommy and daddy went away. They went to heaven without me.”
    Pharaoh flushed. Damn, this was too intense. What was he supposed to do now? He looked up, certain that someone was going to blame him for her tears, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.