Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease by Shannon Rae Noble Read Free Book Online Page A

for his panic room, rolling through the rising water. It was already halfway up his shins. “Millie!” he called, suddenly thinking of his foul-tempered feline. An orange blur launched itself from the kitchen counter onto his lap. “Ah, there you are, my little baby!”
    Paying no heed to whatever was behind him, he punched in the key to the panic room lock and rolled in, slamming the door, locking and sealing it behind him. He had opened and closed the door quickly enough that not a lot of water had rushed in with him; still, he rolled around the room, picking Lily’s paintings up off the floor, finding higher places upon which to set them: on top of extra shelves already bursting with old belongings, balancing them on top of overflowing boxes. He found high places for her books, as well.
    Altogether, she had left him eleven paintings and nine books. She had shared the royalties for six of those books with him. He still received checks.
    Soon, a loud pounding ensued upon the panic room door. Troy didn’t care. If the monsters got him, they got him. He sat and gazed at his favorite painting. It was a painting of Lily and himself, together; her head on his chest, staring softly and sleepily at the artist. In the painting, Troy was wide awake. Lily had painted it from imagination, but it looked as though the painting could have been done from a photograph of the two of them.
    Tears ran unchecked down the old man’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Lily . . . I didn’t know.” He sobbed until the pounding ceased and all was quiet. A faint breezed brushed his damp forehead in the windowless room.
    He fell asleep in his sodden clothing, but it didn’t matter. The room was like a sauna. Miss McGillicutty slept comfortably on his lap.
    The panic room door, though marred with huge dents, had held firm.
    When he woke, Troy rolled through his living room, squelching across his sodden throw rugs to assess the damage of another, different kind of storm.
    Of Thomas Quinn, there was no sign. The ocean had receded to its proper place, and the monsters had gone. The rising sun turned the page of another heavenly South Pacific morning.
     

 
 
 
 
The Least of Us
     
     
    “Mommy, Mommy, look what I found!”
    Darce O’Neil turned from the sink she was filling with hot, soapy water for the dishes. “Chelsea! Where have you been? Look at you!” Grimy dirt covered Chelsea’s face and clothes. Her blonde hair, festooned with cobwebs, looked gray.
    “I was playing in the attic, Mommy. Look what I found!”
    “Chelsea! You know you aren’t supposed to be playing up there! It’s dirty and dangerous. Who knows what – what is that?”
    “It’s a doll, Mommy! Look at her!”
    Gingerly, Darce reached out and took the thing. It was, indeed, a doll. It wore a dingy bonnet and jumper that may have been white, once upon a time. Beneath the jumper were an equally dingy blue shirt and two or three layers of petticoats. A darkish- colored cloak covered the doll’s shoulders and draped its back.
    She brushed the dirt from the doll’s face. Its facial features were unremarkable. Wide-set gray eyes, pale complexion, straight nose; thin lips, parted slightly.
    Darce turned it upside down, looking for a tag or other marking that would indicate where it was made. She found nothing except grimy underskirts.
    The doll seemed completely ordinary. Still, there was something about it that Darce didn’t like.
    “Can I keep her?”
    “I don’t know, Chelsea. She looks really old. And she’s really, really dirty.”
    “But it’ll wash off! I’ll clean her up! We can wash her clothes, or I can make new ones. Can I keep her, please, please, please?”
    Darce looked at Chelsea’s upturned, pleading face. “Honey, you have lots of dolls –”
    “But this one’s different! She’s special! Pleeeaaasse?”
    Darce hesitated a moment longer. Maybe it’s just the dirt that makes it seem unappealing, she thought.
    She sighed. “Get her clothes