Free Out of the Dark by Sharon Sala
Authors: Sharon Sala
on a faux marble stand opposite a large mirror. A navy-blue futon had been angled into the corner of the room opposite a large wooden bed. The artwork on the walls was an eclectic mix of unknown originals and familiar fakes, but all with a Middle Eastern flair. At that point, he was too tired to wonder if sleeping in a pseudo-tomb would leave any lasting problems.
He tossed his raincoat on the back of a chair, then slumped onto the side of the bed. His head ached, and a scar on his shoulder from an old gunshot wound was throbbing unmercifully. He thought of his shaving kit inside the lost luggage and cursed beneath his breath. Considering the fact that he might have to spend tomorrow in these same clothes, he made himself undress, then crawled between the sheets.
The pillow smelled vaguely of lavender. He thought he remembered reading somewhere that the scent of lavender was supposed to promote sleep, but he didn’t need any help in going to sleep tonight. He closed his eyes on a sigh, rolled over on his side and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. The last thing he remembered hearing was a floorboard creak and some tree limbs rubbing against the outside of the house.
At the same time, in another part of the city, the temporary shelter in the old YMCA was wall-to-wall with flood victims. Dozens upon dozens of cots had been set up in rows running the length of the old building. It was long after midnight and should have been quiet, but the cacophony of sounds in the dormitory-like room ranged from crying babies to loud, intermittent snores. Parents too upset to sleep held their children in their laps while trying not to dwell on the fact that what was left of their worldly possessions was heading toward the Gulf via the Mississippi.
Clarence had dropped Jade and Raphael off at this building, then taken his sister, Clarice, home with him, leaving the cot she might have used for someone with nowhere else to go. Now Jade slept on a cot in the corner of the room with her back to the wall, while Raphael slept on another cot next to her, putting himself between her and the rest of the world as he always did.
Somewhere in the back of Jade’s mind, the sounds in the large room were getting mixed up with a long-buried memory and turning it into a full-blown nightmare.
The uncle had fallen asleep. Jade knew because she could hear him snore. She wanted up, but the weight of his arm kept her pinned to the bed. Tears welled, then rolled down her face, but she knew better than to make noise. It would only wake the man up. If he woke up, he would want to play the game all over again, and she didn’t want to play.
She closed her eyes and thought of Raphael. Sometimes, if she thought of him hard enough, he would come and find her. She wanted him to find her now and take her away. The uncle’s arm was heavy, and his breath smelled bad—real bad.
Raphael. Raphael. Raphael.
She thought of his name, picturing his face, imagining him coming into the room.
Suddenly the uncle’s snore turned into a snort, then a deep choking cough.
Jade flinched and then closed her eyes even tighter, wanting him to think she had fallen asleep.
Raphael. Raphael. Raphael.
Suddenly there was a hand on her chest; then it slid between her legs.
“Hey there, my pretty baby…wake up for Uncle Sugar. Wake up. Wake up and we’ll play our little game.”
Jade stiffened.
Raphael. Raphael.
“Come on, baby girl…Uncle Sugar can’t wait all night. I got to get out of this shit hole before daylight.”
Raphael. Raphael.
“Open your eyes now. Uncle Sugar likes for you to watch him play the game.”
The fingers were probing now. Deeper. Harder.
Raphael. Raphael.
“Open your eyes, damn it! Uncle Sugar wants to play!”
Suddenly the flat of his hand connected with the side of her jaw. Instinctively she opened her eyes with the intent of dodging the next blow.
“There are those pretty eyes. That’s what I want to see,” he said, and
He tossed his raincoat on the back of a chair, then slumped onto the side of the bed. His head ached, and a scar on his shoulder from an old gunshot wound was throbbing unmercifully. He thought of his shaving kit inside the lost luggage and cursed beneath his breath. Considering the fact that he might have to spend tomorrow in these same clothes, he made himself undress, then crawled between the sheets.
The pillow smelled vaguely of lavender. He thought he remembered reading somewhere that the scent of lavender was supposed to promote sleep, but he didn’t need any help in going to sleep tonight. He closed his eyes on a sigh, rolled over on his side and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. The last thing he remembered hearing was a floorboard creak and some tree limbs rubbing against the outside of the house.
At the same time, in another part of the city, the temporary shelter in the old YMCA was wall-to-wall with flood victims. Dozens upon dozens of cots had been set up in rows running the length of the old building. It was long after midnight and should have been quiet, but the cacophony of sounds in the dormitory-like room ranged from crying babies to loud, intermittent snores. Parents too upset to sleep held their children in their laps while trying not to dwell on the fact that what was left of their worldly possessions was heading toward the Gulf via the Mississippi.
Clarence had dropped Jade and Raphael off at this building, then taken his sister, Clarice, home with him, leaving the cot she might have used for someone with nowhere else to go. Now Jade slept on a cot in the corner of the room with her back to the wall, while Raphael slept on another cot next to her, putting himself between her and the rest of the world as he always did.
Somewhere in the back of Jade’s mind, the sounds in the large room were getting mixed up with a long-buried memory and turning it into a full-blown nightmare.
The uncle had fallen asleep. Jade knew because she could hear him snore. She wanted up, but the weight of his arm kept her pinned to the bed. Tears welled, then rolled down her face, but she knew better than to make noise. It would only wake the man up. If he woke up, he would want to play the game all over again, and she didn’t want to play.
She closed her eyes and thought of Raphael. Sometimes, if she thought of him hard enough, he would come and find her. She wanted him to find her now and take her away. The uncle’s arm was heavy, and his breath smelled bad—real bad.
Raphael. Raphael. Raphael.
She thought of his name, picturing his face, imagining him coming into the room.
Suddenly the uncle’s snore turned into a snort, then a deep choking cough.
Jade flinched and then closed her eyes even tighter, wanting him to think she had fallen asleep.
Raphael. Raphael. Raphael.
Suddenly there was a hand on her chest; then it slid between her legs.
“Hey there, my pretty baby…wake up for Uncle Sugar. Wake up. Wake up and we’ll play our little game.”
Jade stiffened.
Raphael. Raphael.
“Come on, baby girl…Uncle Sugar can’t wait all night. I got to get out of this shit hole before daylight.”
Raphael. Raphael.
“Open your eyes now. Uncle Sugar likes for you to watch him play the game.”
The fingers were probing now. Deeper. Harder.
Raphael. Raphael.
“Open your eyes, damn it! Uncle Sugar wants to play!”
Suddenly the flat of his hand connected with the side of her jaw. Instinctively she opened her eyes with the intent of dodging the next blow.
“There are those pretty eyes. That’s what I want to see,” he said, and