The Sick Wife Read online

  The elderly “professor” has been retired for many years, and his bank account dried up a long time ago. His monthly pension and the income from fostering just aren’t enough to sustain his filthy habits. I sometimes wonder if I’ve eaten more satisfying meals while huddled around a trash can fire or spending the night on a park bench than I have in this home. This is just one of the countless reasons I am eager to head off to college and leave this cold and unpleasant place behind.

  I had a home. I had a loving family. This is nothing like that.

  Convinced that the house isn’t burning to ashes, I step back into my room. I listen closely for a moment longer, just to double-check that there are no intruders intent on murdering me in my sleep. The only sound that reaches my ears is the faint clickety-clack of my foster sister’s keyboard from across the hall.

  A crooked smile touches my lips. Scarlett is one of the only reasons I have remained here. Up until recently, I’ve made it a habit to escape from my foster homes at the first sign of trouble. I would have hightailed it out of here long ago, if not for the strange young girl who lives across the hall.

  Scarlett Smith is very peculiar. She has serious lips that hardly ever smile, and a mind that’s sharp as a razor blade. What really gets me is her eyes—they are pale blue, innocent, and wounded. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving this house unless I know that she’s going to be okay. When we’re sitting across from each other at the dinner table, sometimes she studies me in a way that makes me feel like she knows me. This is ridiculous, of course, because we’ve only lived in the same house for a few weeks, but I still find something about her unsettling.

  I was supposed to have a sister. My mother was seven months pregnant when the fire happened. I like to imagine that my sister would have been clever and capable like Scarlett. Sometimes, living in this house with her, I like to imagine that Scarlett could really be my sister. And for a moment, I feel at peace—like I haven’t lost everything. For a moment, it doesn’t hurt.

  I never had thoughts like this before. In all my crappy foster homes, I never encountered someone that I could even stand to be around. I suppose, they did bring Scarlett to live here because they thought she could benefit from living with me, due to my impressive academic record, but it was a big surprise to actually begin to think of her as family. From what I’ve gathered, Scarlett has never had any family of her own, and doesn’t seem to have any friends. She spends every waking moment sitting in front of her computer and typing away at mysterious projects. I think she must be the only person on the planet lonelier than I am.

  The incessant clatter of keys comes to a halt, and I realize that I am staring at Scarlett’s room. I quietly shut my door and head back to bed, placing my baseball bat down beside my pillow and tugging the comforter up over my legs. I am determined to try to fall asleep again when my door bursts open and a dark-haired girl fixes me with a stern look.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Cole.”

  I blink at her in surprise. “What? What did I do?”

  She marches over and dumps some papers in my lap. “You’re flunking AP European History.”

  “Where did you get this?” I ask, reaching out to examine the papers. I fix her with a suspicious look. “Scarlett… Have you been hacking again? Are these my high school records?”

  “It doesn’t matter about that,” she says with a dismissive wave, plopping down on the bed with a frown. “You have a paper due on the Black Death soon, but I haven’t seen you working on it. You’re not showing up to class. You’re going to fail.”

  Taking a deep breath, I lean back and stretch my arms behind my head. Scarlett is wearing her thick-rimmed, black librarian glasses that she needs to view the computer screen. I should know by now that when I see her in those glasses, it means she’s gotten her hands on some information she shouldn’t have. “You’re a year younger than me,” I remind her gently. “I’m supposed to be your role model. You shouldn’t have to keep tabs on me and show motherly concern. That’s Mrs. Brown’s job.”

  “Quit changing the subject,” she says sternly. “European History! Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius? You’re doing really well in all your other classes.”

  I have to struggle to repress a grin. I had almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone care enough to scold me. To care about someone enough to let myself get scolded. I gaze at Scarlett for a moment, wondering if she is the reason my insomnia is getting worse. With every passing day, I grow more afraid that I will lose her, like I have lost everyone else. The impending sense of dread is keeping me up at night and forcing me to take naps during the day at school.

  “Cole,” she says softly, pushing my knee to get my attention. “Why aren’t you going to class?”

  “It’s depressing,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t like thinking about shitty things that happened in the past.”

  She sends me a puzzled look. “History is in the past; it can’t hurt you.”

  “That’s not true,” I tell her. “The past hurts me every day.”

  She looks away with an unreadable expression, and I begin to feel a little guilty. The only thing worse than my past is not having any past at all. At least I knew my parents before I lost them—Scarlett has always been alone.

  We sit together awkwardly for a moment before I clear my throat. “With these AP classes, it’s mostly about the exam at the end, anyway. That’s what determines whether I get the college credit so I can get the hell out of here faster. It’s all I really care about, Scar. I’ll ace that test; I promise.”

  “Good,” she says, standing up and moving over to my desk. “If you flip through the papers I gave you, you’ll find some practice questions. They may or may not be the exact questions that will be on this year’s final exam.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask, flipping to the questions to scan through them. “Jesus, Scar! You’re a little cyber criminal.”

  “No,” she says, glancing back at me with an innocent smile. “I’m just a good sister.”

  I shake my head in disbelief, placing the papers down beside my baseball bat. “This is really impressive, but I don’t need to cheat.” Proudly sticking out my chest, I give her my most charming smile. “I actually am a genius.”

  “Maybe. I’m not convinced.” Scarlett curiously fingers some of the sketches on my desk. “Is this what you’ve been working on instead of going to class?”

  “Don’t look at those,” I warn her nervously. “They aren’t finished. They are just… doodles.”

  She holds a sketch up to the light and squints at it. “This is a beautiful house,” she says quietly, removing her glasses to study me from across the room. “Most teenage boys draw pictures of naked girls. You’re a strange one, Cole Hunter.”

  “Most teenage girls are into makeup and shopping,” I counter smoothly. “Not cyber sabotage.”

  “Maybe we could take over the world together,” she says to me with a playful smile.

  “Sure. If we survive adolescence in this house.”

  She looks down at her feet, and her smile abruptly disappears. “It’s not so bad,” she says with a shrug. “We have food and Internet access. There are plenty of books on the shelves. What more could we need?”

  “Parents who give a shit,” I inform her.

  She gives me a sad little smile. “Well, I’ve never had that. The Browns are pretty great compared to some foster parents. I don’t mind being here.” She hesitates and places my sketches back down on the desk before looking at me shyly. “And it’s kind of nice having a genius big brother.”

  I am unable to respond before she rushes to the door, disappearing as quickly as she arrived. “Goodnight, Cole!” she calls before slipping out into the hall and back into her own room.

  A goofy smile settles on my face as I snuggle down into my blankets. Scarlett has the ability to lift my spirits so easily. Maybe I will take some of my medicine so that I can get a better night’s rest and avoid falling
asleep at school tomorrow. If I can pull off great grades while half-asleep, I am sure that I could get scholarship-worthy results with a little more effort.

  Scarlett doesn’t know that I have already taken the SATs and applied to colleges. I didn’t want to get her hopes up if I was rejected. It’s still early, but if all goes well, I could be out of this place in a few months—while I’m still fifteen. And maybe I could take her with me.

  Reaching for the bottle of pills, I feel a renewed sense of determination. Can I really do this? When I originally planned my future, Scarlett wasn’t in the picture. Could I manage to provide a good life for her, even if I am living on campus and going to school full-time? Does she even want to be around me after we leave this house? I hope so.

  I think I can take care of her.

  And I don’t want to be alone anymore.

  She will probably like the idea of getting away with me—anything would be better than this hellhole. Closing my eyes, I imagine how awesome it would be to get into the college of my choice. I could study architecture like I’ve always wanted, and start my own company as soon as I graduate. Then our real lives in the real world can finally begin.

  Chapter Three

  A muffled sound in the distance pulls me from my drugged daze. I feel like I have been sleeping deeply for several hours, and my limbs are heavy, like I have been partially turned to stone. This is strange for me as I can normally only reach a state of limbo where I am partially awake. Falling any deeper would require letting go—something I refuse to do unless I’m artificially knocked out.

  When I open one eye to peer at the clock, I am surprised to see that only about thirty minutes have passed. What the hell? Maybe the medication isn’t that effective after all. I am grabbing one of the bottles to check the expiration date when a bloodcurdling scream causes me to drop the plastic cylinder to the ground.

  “No!”

  Ripping the covers off my legs, I jump from the bed and rush out into the hallway. I dive for the doorknob of Scarlett’s room and turn violently, but it is locked. Visions of all the horrible things that could be happening behind this door flash across my brain. I know that I heard her scream. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?

  “Scarlett?” I call out frantically. Imagining her bedclothes and curtains going up in flames, I place my hand on the door to check for heat. It is cool, but the temperature isn’t enough to assuage my fears. “Scar!” I shout again, wrestling with the doorknob.

  I hear her then, speaking softly. “How could you?” she is saying between sobs. “How could you do this?”

  “I told you not to dress like that in my house!” a deep voice bellows. His speech is marred by his country drawl and the unmistakable slur of alcohol. “As long as you’re living under my roof, you gotta follow my rules, y’hear? Ain’t no girl o’ mine gonna go around town looking like a slut!”

  “Professor Brown!” Scarlett begs with a gasp. “Stop. Please—dammit. Don’t!”

  “You filthy orphans are all the same!” Mr. Brown spits with an angry hiss. Something crashes to the ground and the volume of his voice escalates. “We took you in to save you, but we should have let you rot. You don’t belong among civilized folk with good breeding. You’re just dirty little animals. Dirty, disgusting animals!”

  There is another crashing sound, and I hear Scarlett sob.

  I feel like I am going to be sick. “Hang on, Scar!” I shout, running back to my room. My mind is racing, and fear is pumping through my veins as I quickly grab the baseball bat. On second thought, I pause and reach under my mattress to grab a switchblade I have tucked away there and shove it into my pocket, just in case. I rush back to the door and slam my foot into the wooden panel near the doorknob.

  “Leave her alone!” I yell as I kick the door until it splinters. When it is starting to open, I shove my baseball bat into the opening and use it like a crowbar. I am startled when the baseball bat is ripped out of my grip, and the partially broken door swings open to the inside.

  I am assailed with the scent of Jack Daniels and cigarette smoke. These two substances seem to seep out of Mr. Brown’s pores. I reach for the knife in my pocket, but the large man is already slamming my baseball bat into the side of my head. I find myself crashing into the wall. Dizzily, I stumble backward, and Mr. Brown looms over me with a sneer.

  “You ungrateful little shit,” he says slowly, advancing on me.

  His eyes are full of hatred and drunken rage. My own anger grows as I wonder about Scarlett. What has he done to her? Is she okay? My heart beats in my throat and I try to pull myself off the floor, but Mr. Brown plants his heavy boot in my shoulder to kick me back down. He clenches his fingers tightly around my baseball bat, and I tense up, ready to defend myself from the swing.

  “I give you everything,” he says. “I work my fingers to the bone to keep you fed and clothed, and this is how you repay me? By damaging my property? By ruining the house that shelters you? Worthless pig.” He sneers at me hatefully for a few seconds, as though he is considering smashing my head in until my brains spill out on the floor. I would like to see him try. He may weigh around two hundred and fifty pounds, but I’m fast and I know I can take him.

  My fingers hover over the switchblade in my pocket.

  Glaring at the old man, I almost challenge him to act, but he seems to change his mind. He spits on me, tosses the baseball bat to the floor beside my arm, and then walks away.

  As quickly as I can, I push myself off the ground and run into Scarlett’s room. I am relieved when I see that she isn’t unconscious or lying in a pool of blood. She is kneeling on the floor near her bed and staring at her smashed laptop, which lies on the floor before her in several pieces. A lump forms in my throat, for I know how much that little machine meant to her.

  She looks up at me with tear-stained cheeks. “He broke it. He broke my computer.”

  I move to her side and crouch down so that I can give her a hug. I can feel her small body shaking in my arms.

  “Damn him,” she mutters. She turns into my chest and buries her face against my shirt. “I hate him!”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, holding her close against my chest. It occurs to me that I don’t remember the last time I hugged someone like this. It may have been back when my mother was alive. I am in the middle of thinking that I might need this hug even more than she does, when I notice that her black-rimmed glasses are also broken and lying near her laptop. “Scar,” I ask her urgently. “Did he hurt you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says in a shaky voice. “My whole life was on that laptop. What am I going to do now, Cole? I’m useless.”

  “The computer is replaceable,” I tell her reassuringly, trying to soothe her by running my hand over her hair. “Don’t worry. I can try landscaping again to make some extra cash. I’ll get you a new one soon. I promise.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she tells me. “You need to save up for a car, and college…”

  “Scar,” I say suddenly, noticing the way she is clutching her side. “Did he hit you?”

  She turns away from me, trying to conceal her body. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Reaching forward to grab the hem of her t-shirt, I pull the fabric up to expose her abdomen. My eyes widen at the sight of her skin. “Shit,” I whisper, staring at the scars in disbelief. My fingers reach out to examine her wounds, and it takes a moment for me to be able to speak. “How long?” I finally manage to blurt out.

  She shakes her head in response.

  Little circular lesions are littered all over her side like ugly, unnatural freckles. They can only be one thing: cigarette burns. One of the wounds looks fresh, like it was made tonight, but several of the other marks look older and faded. I lift her shirt a little more, and I see blue and purple bruises on her skin, like she was punched repeatedly. Some of the bruises are turning yellow, so I know they are relics of past injuries. Unfortunately, it looks like there have been new bruises added to her pre-existin
g ones.

  How did I not know this was happening?

  I gulp down a bit of bile that has been gathering at the back of my throat. The muscles in my jaw tighten until it hurts. I suppress my urge to unleash a cavalcade of curses inappropriate for the ears of a young girl. “How long has he been doing this?”

  “A while, I suppose.”

  My blood is simmering to a boil beneath my skin. “You suppose?”

  She shrugs and brushes her hands over her middle as if she could remove the pain as easily as pieces of lint. “It doesn’t bother me that much. I can easily block it out.”

  “But…” I say slowly, trying to keep calm, “but I barely sleep. I would have woken up. I would have heard you scream before now.”

  Scarlett shakes her head. “I don’t scream, Cole. I’m not weak. I mean… I guess I screamed tonight, but that was only because of my laptop. Not because of pain.”

  “This ends now,” I say finally, rising to my feet. “The professor is right about me. I’m a useless piece of shit. I could have stopped this sooner. I had a feeling something was wrong, but I never came into your room to check on you…”

  “It’s okay,” she says softly.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “No, no, Cole. Please don’t.” Scarlett grabs my hand with both of hers to keep me from leaving the room. “This isn’t a big deal. I swear. I’m happy here. Relatively. I’m happy-ish.”

  “You’re happy?” I ask her incredulously.

  “Yeah. You don’t know what my life has been like.” She gives me a small smile. It’s rare to see her smile, and it catches me off guard. Her voice grows softer when she speaks. “This is easy.”