-The Fox- Prologue and 1st chapter

-The Fox-



































Prologue:



-The Last Witch of Salem-





Salem, Massachusetts, 1693,



In the distance the light of torches could be seen through the thick, bare trees, and the barking of excited bloodhounds echoed up towards the waning haze-covered moon. The hillside next to the clearing however, was tranquil, save for the young farmers daughter darting silently across the way and crouching beside a small outcropping. Though no more than eighteen, she was wholly adult in her exuberant physical beauty. Despite the girls stature, which was on the shorter side, her body was exceptionally endowed and a soft torso melted into the curves of child bearing hips, long, slender legs, and dainty ankles. Shimmering chestnut colored hair flowed with a slight curl down nearly to the small of her back, and entrancingly accentuated her pale olive complexion. The beauty; Vanessa Moony shivered, wearily. Her body ached from exhaustion and from the collection of cuts and bruises she had managed to sustain while frantically stumbling through the dark underbrush. She squatted, trembling next to a jagged rock on the ridge, overlooking a vast clearing. Her skin glistened with perspiration and her short, quick breaths turned to steam against the moon as she counted each and every last torch she saw, wistfully yearning for any source of relieving warmth. She had become soaked to the bone after falling into a nearby creek, and even after tearing away the sleeves and most of the bottom half of her dress, she was still unbelievably weighted down by the thick garment. Now that night had fallen and a steady Autumn breeze blew, she felt as though she might succumb to the cold before her pursuers would ever reach her. It seemed a terrible prospect, however as she continued to stare at the torchlight, her eyes sore with tears, she remembered that the very sources of light and warmth she so coveted would most surely be the same as those used to light the mound of straw and kindling under her bare and blistered feet. Vanessa was being hunted... accused of the worst imaginable heresy: witchcraft.



It was a curious thing to be accused of witchcraft; both vulgar and ludicrous. It was also completely untrue; at least of her. Perhaps there were those who possessed, or sought to possess inhuman, even unholy powers, and were willing to seek pacts with the Devil, or some other sort of thoroughly unscrupulous character to do so. But Vanessa wasn’t one of them, and what had transpired in the past year was obscene, ridiculous, and unthinkable. Medicine women seeking to tend to the sick with the use of very un-archaic herbal knowledge which had been passed down for centuries were ridiculed as heretics and blasphemers. Women upstanding in their community were taken in the night, tortured, and thrown in prisons or killed because their neighbors would catch spring fever, or the common cold while they maintained their health. If one were to wish for the chance to be rid of another, they need only to accuse the unlucky soul of practicing witchcraft. Vanessa herself had lived in fear for so long that the days and months no longer held meaning, and when common sense had seemed to take hold once again, and the madness had appeared scattered back into the shadows of the forest, she had fallen to her knees and wept openly, thanking God that the world could be safe again... Her thanks had come too soon. Before the week was through, she herself would stand accused of heresy by her own fiance. Before the week was through, she would watch in horror as her father, her elder sister, and her two younger brothers were beaten and hauled away for embedding her. Before the week was through, Vanessa Moony’s piety would burn away the same as her flesh. In her final, agonizing breath, she would plead with God to postpone her judgement. She would desperately bargain any who would hear to prolong her existence on the Earth and her first words anew; in a devil’s perversion of her dying wish, would be an anguished curse of God’s name, and the fate to which he had left her.

***

Book One:

-A Girl Named Vanessa-











































1

-Orphans-



Estill County Kentucky, 1996.



Though thick, rain-heavy clouds drifted slowly across the night sky, the moon was full and shown down brightly. In the shadows of a small tree, overlooking a steep incline to the bottom of a large hill, a lone figure stood, gazing up at the shining stone in the sky, and all the glittering starts surrounding it, dancing in place. He was of roughly average height and build, and his thick raven-colored hair was always combed smoothly down to the nape of his neck, and contrasted his simple white shirt. His name was Titus, simply Titus. No name proceeded it, nor did one follow. He had no last name, for he, as the rest of his ‘siblings’ were orphans, and had never been graced nor burdened with such identities by their guardian, Geneva Krantz, or ‘The Nun’, as she was often referred to locally, due both to her pious religious views, exceptional, even in that area of the south, and to her humanitarian efforts to adopt and care for children who found themselves on the wayward path. Though he knew she would never admit it, Titus believed she practiced putting into effect their lack of distinction to identify them as ‘special’, in some way. He had always found it to have insulting connotations, as it suggested that, in being orphaned, he had lost some sort of birthright. On the other hand, he had been orphaned only because his biological parents had refused to take responsibility for an irresponsible fornication, and had relinquished their burden to someone else. Thinking of this, he was happy not to be associated with whatever unknown family name he might have been entitled to. Taking that into consideration; if his own family name was unnecessary, then it was only logical in his mind that any such name would be superfluous.



Of course, his first and soul name seemed foreign and misplaced, given the circumstance of his lineage, and it was most unique that one such as himself had come to receive such a name, or to live in one of the most rural locals of the upper-most section of the Southern United States. One did not often come to be of such conditions when one was full-blooded Japanese. As best he could figure, his parents had been tourists to the states when he was born. After extensive research and pondering of the subject, he had arrived at the conclusion that, for whatever reason, they had decided it was not to their best interest to return home with him, if they had returned home at all. Titus had never been certain of that detail, but ultimately deemed it inconsequential. He would doubtlessly have fit in quite comfortably in one of Japan’s crowded cities such as Tokyo or Nagasaki. Here, however, he was treated with different attention. It wasn’t as much to do with his ethnicity as one might expect; not from the younger generations, anyway. Many of the young misfits were far less concerned with his foreign heritage, or his ancestry against which many of their fathers and grandfathers harbored lingering resentment. Rather it was the incidentals of his appearance. He did not often venture out during the day, as sun light and heat did very little to suit his tastes, and he liked simple clothing with little adornment or aesthetic character. Most often he wore barren colors; black, grey, or white, on plain clothing. He was quiet, and his preference of isolation was often mistaken for a unwarrantedly high self opinion. In short, he was different, and in most any place, different, unless directly and outwardly encouraged due to some form of conformity to a particular ideological perception or sense of social acceptability, was met with distrust and likely a concise lack of approval. He often resented the people around him for this close-mindedness and ignorance, but also knew that it would be very much the same nearly anywhere else in the world.





As Titus continued to stare up at the moon, deep in thought, he heard the faint sound of a car driving up the winding road, and could hear the softly thumping rhythm of Euro-beat techno music coming from inside. Dana, his ‘sister’, was finally home.



***



Despite having the advantages of patience, tact, and logistical reasoning, Titus could rarely seem to gain the upper hand against the girl; a fact which vexed him to no end. Even before he had ducked behind the tree to avoid being seen, he knew he would not go undetected.



Walking up the hill, her hands in the pocket of her dress coat, Dana looked around intuitively, before her eyes settled on the single oak, overlooking the road. “I know you’re back there, Ty’, she announced, her voice both cool and dry; triumphantly relaxed. ‘Why are you hiding from me?”



Saying nothing, he slowed his breathing, and considered what to say. When he remained silent, she shuffled over to the tree to peer around. “Ty?” A soft, dark face, appearing to glow with a spirited innocence appeared from behind the tree, looking up at him curiously, and a smooth hand reached up to brush jet black hair away from dark eyes. Dana, a full-blooded Cherokee, was short and slender, and stood nearly ten inches beneath his height. She had to reach up to wave her hand in front of his face.



Titus slouched over, and relinquished a sigh, stepping out into the moonlight, his white sweatshirt gleaming in it’s pale luminescence. In contrast with his simple clothing, Dana; a girl of nearly the same age, give or take a year or two, wore a festive and low cut purple shirt, a blue and teal skirt, a dark and richly colored green coat, and fancy looking black leather boots.



“Fine, Sis, you caught me”, he relented.



Smiling playfully at this, she gave him an affectionately weak punch to the arm. “I ALWAYS catch you!” she exclaimed.



At this, he coyly replied, “Do you now?”



For a brief moment, a look of uncertainty drew across her face like a fleeting shadow, and then was gone, as she grinned in self-assured sarcasm. “Uh-huh, sure! Good one!”



Turning away, he smiled to himself, having gained a slight but easy victory. However brief, he had seen her doubt. Taking a few steps, he spoke, though his back was still turned. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression, or think I was waiting up for you.”, he shrugged, innocently.



Crossing her arms, she gave him a suspicious look. “WERE you waiting for me?” Dana disdained being overly guarded, and though her patience was in short supply in general, she lacked the rare virtue particularly when it came to such coddling.



“No’, he retorted, cooly. ‘I just came out here to be alone, y’know, get some air’, he paused, looking up at the moon. ‘You know how the night and I get along.”



She eyed him with suspicion for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders. “Okay’, she exhaled, loudly. ‘Suit yourself, Mr. Vampire. I’m going to bed.”



“See you’ve been to the club again, huh, ‘Dane”, he remarked, indifferently.



She stopped, halfway across the yard, and stiffened. “How did you know?”, she asked, nervously.



He smiled. Titus enjoyed being right, and he especially enjoyed earning it. “Well, for one thing’, he began, ‘You’re wearing your nicest coat; the one that you usually wear to church. Not to mention, Melissa was playing her techno so loud I could hear all the way down the street. And furthermore, you’re wearing virtually every type of clothing, or as Mother would call it, ‘so-called clothing’, that has been banned from the house.”





Saying nothing, Dana quickly looked down at her chest, her red-tinged face turning all the redder and she quickly fastened the over-sized buttons off her coat up to the neck. With that, she walked off hurriedly towards the large, three story colonial house, known only as ‘the Orphanage’. Stopping on the rickety old stairs however, she turned to him, in dejected embarrassment. “Guess it’s your turn to catch me, Ty, but thanks for not telling Mom.”



At, this, he smirked, despite himself. “How do you know I didn’t?’, he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘How do you know she’s not sitting in there, in the dark, waiting for you to come in?”



At this, Dana whined in exasperation. “Bubby!”, she huffed, nervously. She always called him by that childish nickname when she was flabbergasted, or wanted something from him. It had once been a simple affectionate and often teasing term, but had since devolved into a personal means of playful persuasion, and was synonymous with agenda or a relative degree of desperation. As it were, their guardian was as strict as she was religious, and did not approve of such ‘unseemly’ modern trends as ‘skulking around at night with wild teenagers’. Dana however, was an insatiable socialite, and given to make friends of those with whom she came in contact naturally, as well as seek out more deliberate interaction of her own accord.



Titus said nothing for a moment, feeling the tension rise as she began to doubt his passive loyalty. While it was in his nature even as the mere stand-in of a sibling to antagonize her from time to time, he did take slight offense in the notion that she would suspect him of betraying her. Turning to her, and smiling, he replied, “C’mon Sis, haven’t ratted yet. Why would I now?”



Dana breathed a sigh of relief, trotting over, and putting her arms around his neck, giving him a quick but grateful squeeze. ‘Thanks, Bub.”



Simply chuckling, Titus gently hugged her waist, patting her on the back. “Don’t mention it. Now get to bed before I raise the alarm”. His threat was empty, and meant to sound no more unkind than literal. Grinning, Dana stuck her tongue out at him, before quietly making her way into the house for the evening, carefully closing the door behind her.



***



Upstairs Tomas sat in the chair by his bed, quietly reading by light of the soft fluorescent twenty watt bulb in his old-fashioned desk lamp. He turned the page, scratching his smoothly dark skin. As with the other two wards of the estate; his ‘siblings’, Tomas was of an interesting linage, and as always, one that was not common to the area. He was biracial, half of African-American, and half, interestingly enough, of French Canadian descent. Truly, he was ‘The Nun’s’ most prized acquisition, as she had always sought to adopt children of uncommon breed or lineage. Such was her greatest eccentricity. She had always told him that he was a product of good breeding, and despite the questionable implications of such a sentiment, she had, in effect, been correct for now, at the age of twenty-three, he stood tall and lean, with smooth even skin, a chiseled face, and bright green eyes. He did not take any particular pride in being the most doted upon, or the most favored, and felt it inappropriate towards the others but said little, as silence was the best perpetuator of peace. Furthermore, they wanted for very little considering the matron’s containing lifestyle and rigid discipline.



He turned a page, and heard the stairs creak. Someone was swiftly approaching. Looking up, Tomas quietly leaned forward, craning his neck to see through the cracked door. He saw Dana swiftly approach, and pass. After he heard no more, he turned his attention back to the novel, but was promptly interrupted as she quickly poked her head into his room.



“Hey Tommy,” she whispered, uneasily.



He said nothing at first, his eyes scanning the page, hurriedly finishing through the current paragraph. After he was done, however, he looked up and replied, “Yes?”



“You, aren’t going to tell Mom, are you?”



At this, he just smiled, good-naturedly, shaking his head. “No, Dana. I won’t tell her. Did you have a good time?”



She smiled slightly. “Yeah, it was fun.’



His smile broadened. “Good. I’m glad.’ Then he turned back to his book, and began reading again. Immediately, however, he remembered Titus, and looked back to her quickly. ‘Oh, Dane, did you see Titus?”



Responding thusly, Dana rolled her eyes in mild exasperation. “He was outside again.”



Observing the look of annoyance his ‘sister’ wore, Tomas expertly drew a deductive conclusion. “Waiting for you to get home again?’, he chuckled.



“Yes’, she sighed. ‘I wish he would be more like you, and just trust me.”



Tomas nodded understandingly, but calmly rebutted, “He just worries about you. He just wants to know you’re safe. It’s his way of showing that he cares.”



“Yeah,’ she sighed, ‘you’re probably right, but still...’ She paused, yawning deeply. ‘I’m going to bed now. So tired.”



“Good night, Dane,” he muttered softly.



She stepped into the room as light-footed as could be, and hugged him quickly, before quietly fleeing to her quarters, not wanting to think about what would happen, were their guardian to be awakened and find her up and about, dressed in the fashion that she was. Once she was gone, Tomas finally returned to his reading, becoming increasingly engrossed in the knowledge being laid out at his disposal. The book, titled “A Fever in Salem”, written by Laurie Winn Carlson was an interesting new account of the fear that gripped Salem Massachusetts in the late 1600’s. For the first time, an author had come forward focusing not on the unscientific myths and superstitious legends of the Witch Trials, and instead took the stand to examine the dark phenomenon in the light of medical science. It was a fascinating correlation between the outbreak of unexplainable and seemingly supernatural plagues of strange physical affliction and bizarre mental illness, and obscure medical conditions that would have been unrecognizable during the era.



He read for quite some time, whole heartedly engrossed in the details and revelations of the study. He became so engrossed that he did not at first notice as his ‘brother’ quietly made his way up the stairs, and stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame. Within seconds though, his instincts made him aware, however, he did not look up, or speak even a whisper. He merely sat there, continuing to read, waiting to see what Titus would do. After a minute or two, the younger remained silent, and so Tomas, deciding to break the silence, and his ‘brothers’ composure, extended his arm towards the door, pointing his fore and index finger and raising his thumb as if to pantomime a gun. He then jerked his forearm up, and muttered, ‘Bang.’



Chuckling despite himself, Titus replied, stepping into the room, “Aw, hell. You shot me.” Tomas laughed softly, too, and looked up from the book.



“What’s up?”, he asked, casually. Despite the fact that they rarely left the house, the two had not seen each other nearly all day; at the morning and afternoon lessons, and at their regular mealtimes. They often spent hours in conversation, but at times would become engaged in different activities.



Hardly responding to the rather habitual question given, Titus, noting the book, asked, ‘Hey, Tom, what’s that you’re reading?”



Turning his attention back to the book, Tomas quickly marked his place and closed it, explaining, “It’s about the Salem witch trails, and potential alternative medical explanations of all the goings-on that couldn’t be explained at the time.”



Looking away, Titus sighed, a strange distance in his eyes. “Another loose end undone, I see.”



“Don’t you mean tied off?”, Tomas asked, curiously.



Looking back to his elder, Titus shook his head. “Not quite how I see it, Brother.”



Tomas thought about this, carefully pondering his words for hidden meaning, all the while wearing an indifferent look of hard wisdom and consideration on his face. Looking into the same corner Titus was, he said softly, ‘How do you mean, exactly?”



“What I mean,’ he began, running his hands through his thick hair which had become slightly matted in the last of the summer heat, ‘is that there hardly seems to be a single damn mystery left that has yet to be explained away.”



Tomas merely nodded for a moment, selecting his words at his own leisure. “You seem disappointed,’ he countered, finally. ‘I thought you were the analytical type.”



His quip was met with a look of mild distaste. “If you knew nothing else about me, you would know that were so. I AM analytical, and scientific. But that doesn’t mean I believe that science can so easily explain every single phenomenon under the rug, or that they actually do every time they say.”



His ‘brother’ chewed on this wisely for a bit then said, with a knowing twinkle in his eye, ‘Is it that you don’t believe it, or that you don’t WANT TO believe it?”



Now taking a moment to gather his own thoughts, Titus considered the introspective insight and said finally, “Perhaps a bit of both. I would say that the truth is usually somewhere in the middle. But you have a good point.”



Noticing his subtle dejection, Tomas spoke to offer a trace of encouragement. “Of course there are mysteries that can’t so easily explained away, just not so many. Furthermore, the sooner we get through the false ones, the sooner we can get to the real.”



“The afterlife doesn’t count’, Titus interjected. ‘I’m not talking about the mysteries of God, and the Universe, and where you go when you die. I’m referring to things that are more within human comprehension and relevance.”



At this, Tomas flashed an odd sense of relief. “Oh look, he’s finally returned to Earth to walk among men.” In recent years, as Titus had began to study more outside of the realm of the Matrons lessons, he had taken to studying subjects far beyond his time such as quantum physics, and even metaphysics. What he had taken away from his studies had left him with thoughts and theories as intricate and profound as they were utterly unquantifiable by any reasonable or realistic means, and thus entirely inapplicable, and Tomas had told him as much from the beginning, attempting to enforce humility. Despite his strength of character, Titus often displayed tendencies to become self-absorbed with his pursuits, and often over-valued the knowledge and understanding he developed from the studies. Because of this, hearing him so casually confess or even suggest that such things were perhaps beyond the scope of limited human understanding pleased Tomas very much, as it indicated maturity.



Titus, of course, said nothing to his ‘brothers’ quip, but, as he frequently did, casually steered the conversation elsewhere. “Take this for example,’ he said, pulling a crinkled up piece of paper from his jeans pocket. ‘It’s an article I printed it off from the library.” <<Consider going further with this part. Make it match a more recent article or something>>



Tomas took the page, unfolding it more noisily than intended, as Titus peered out of the room, and down the hall, cautiously watching their Matron’s door. The headline read:



New accounts of ‘haunted’ ravers reported:

Wave of allegedly supernatural sightings at underground parties

lead investigators to suspect new drug, as yet, unknown.



Examining the headline carefully, Tomas began skimming the article as Titus spoke again. “Strange, isn’t it? It goes on to talk about mass hallucinations, and stuff.”



“Don’t believe in them,’ replied Tomas, his eyes not leaving the page. ‘Coincidences are possible, but rare.’ He paused for a few moments, then added, interestedly. ‘This is rather unusual.”



“I know’, exclaimed Titus, grateful for his ‘brothers’ affirmation.



Stroking the slight beard on his chin, Tomas mulled it over, then turned back to Titus. “What do you make of it?’ he asked. ‘What do you think they’re seeing out there?”



Titus was quiet for a moment, thinking.



“Do you think it’s a real mystery?”



“I don’t know’, he admitted, regretfully. ‘Not likely, if I’m being honest.’ He turned, as if leaving. ‘Still, it is unusual.”



“This is true’, Tomas nodded, looking over at the antique clock on his wall. Titus followed his glance, cringing a little. The time was 3:27 A.M. While not a bad time in Titus’ eyes, it was an unpleasant numeral when taken into consideration that ‘The Nun’, would be rousting them from their beds early the next morning to do chores, and partake of their daily lessons. ‘Look’, said Tomas, with a pleasant smile. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more tomorrow, and in better detail. We could both benefit from some rest right now. I heard Mother say we’re going to be cleaning tomorrow.”



“Wonderful,’ sighed Titus, in exasperation. ‘Bloody wonderful.”



Chuckling in spite of himself, Tomas took another look at the article. “In the mean time, do you mind if I keep this for a bit? I’d like to look over it some more after I’ve had some sleep.”



“Hmm? Oh, sure. Hell, you can have it”, Titus replied, moving slowly towards the door.



“Oh, thanks’, said Tomas, appreciatively. ‘I’ll look over it more, and we can talk about it after lessons, tomorrow.”



Nodding, Titus turned to his elder, waving casually. “Sounds good. Good night, bro.”



“Good night, Ty”, Tomas said, softly, smiling back at him. After his ‘brother’ had left for his own room, he went back to the book he was reading, having only two more pages to go. Quickly reading over them, thus finishing the chapter, Tomas folded the article, placing it between the pages as a book mark. He then closed the book quietly, setting it down on his bedside table, and laid back on the bed, rolling the comforter over himself, and turning out the lights.



***



The next day began much the same as any other. Titus awoke briefly to the sound of rain pounding against his old and dirty window. A draft flitted in from the pane and he pulled his blanket up farther, wishing to himself that the intense precipitation could find its way to the other side of the glass, so as to render it clean. Nevertheless, the tranquil familiarity of the sound brought much comfort to his ears and he fell back into a peaceful slumber with no difficulty whatsoever. This was short lived however, as no more than fifteen minutes later he awoke with a start to the sound of their Motherly caretaker ringing her old brass bell softly, as she leaned into his room. She was a self-made woman, and a picture of the specific cleanliness and dignity that only came with advanced years. Her silver hair was neatly combed and parted, and fell evenly to each side of her head, and her skin, despite the lines of age, had a smoothness to it. While many elderly women had long-since resigned themselves to living in night gowns and trusting their mobility on brushed titanium walkers, she wouldn’t hear of leaving her room in anything less than clothes to be worn the day, and would have no more assistance for her mobility than an old, gnarled oak cane, which had been her late husbands.



“Come, come. Don’t be difficult, Dear. I let you sleep in today as it is”, she politely prodded, moving down the corridor to wake Tomas in a presumably similar fashion. Groaning, Titus listened to the sound of the familiar yet obnoxious bell grow fainter and fainter. Then he promptly rolled over, graciously returning to sleep.



His regained state of slumber was cut short once again, however, as he soon felt something rubbing abrasively against his head, moving it around on the pillow, and tangling itself in his thick, uncombed hair. “Now see here, young man!’, squawked Dana, playfully imitating and over exaggerating their mothers voice. ‘If you sleep any longer, yer gonna forget what the sun looks like! Now get up, there’re chores t’be done!”



Titus groaned loudly. “The sun... isn’t that the big bright thing that comes up every morning and makes everything all hot?”



Dana giggled, but did not break character, playing along. “That’s the one, Sonny! Now get yer keister outta bed and c’mon downstairs! Yer missin it!”



“Saw it yesterday,’ he muttered. ‘It hurts my eyes. Think I’ll just stay here, and-’, he paused, squinting and looking around for some sort of ham-handed distraction or excuse in a feeble attempt to dissuade his sister. Finally, he spotted a few scraps of paper, and a dusty cloth on his bedside table and promptly swept them into the garbage pail beside his bed. ‘-And clean off my nightstand. That sound good, Mom?”



Finally speaking normally, Dana whacked her brother in the head playfully. “Nope! Now move your ass, Ty! I ain’t cleaning the attic by myself!”



“You aren’t cleaning the attic at all’, came a voice from the door way. ‘Dana looked over her shoulder curiously, as Ty, rubbed his eyes, beginning to succumb the the inevitability of facing the waking world. As his vision cleared, he could see Tomas standing there, watching the two. ‘Remember, Dane? Mother wanted you to help dust the living quarters and clean the kitchen. Plus, you’ve got extra studying to do for your history lessons. Me and Ty are gonna clean it after we get done with the upstairs and the yard.”



‘The Nun’, often spent solitary time with her wards for the purpose of their studies, when they fell behind, or when she otherwise wished to give them special attention regarding a subject. Today was Dana’s turn. “Wonderful’, she growled, tersely, finally appearing to turn her attentions from her playful antagonism. ‘Well, you boys have fun with that.” Having said that, she walked out of the room without another word. Left alone, Ty, and Tomas looked at each other briefly, in awkward silence. Then Titus snorted discontentedly, laid back down, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head.



Frustrated, Tomas moved to the bed, grabbing hold of the cover, and was poised to rip them away, pulling his brother out of bed with them, if need be. Just then, a long, light blue projectile came streaking from behind him, striking Titus squarely in the head, though it was concealed, and indistinguishable amidst the massive lump underneath the duvet.



“Get up, Stupid!” Dana barked, impatiently, but with the traces of amusement tugging at the edge of her lips, before disappearing once again.



Groaning in frustration, Titus wiggled around underneath the blanket until his arm was free. Having done this, he searched around on the covers blindly, until he found the offending object; Dana’s left slipper. Picking it up, he threw it in blind, directionless agitation.



Tomas watched silently as it sailed weakly across the room, landing with a flop on the desk on the far wall, very nearly the opposite direction of it’s intended target; the doorway, which had been vacant for almost half of a minute.



***



Downstairs, the three ate a humble breakfast of poached eggs and over-done biscuits.



“You not thirsty, Ty?”, Dana commented, nodding to his barely touched glass of orange juice. She was already on her second tall glass of milk, but he had barely had so much as a sip.



Noticing his lack of attention to the glass, he shook his head, pushing a mouth-full of eggs to one side of his mouth with his tongue. “Mmm, no’. he mumbled. ‘See, the way I fix my eggs... it makes the juice taste funny. So I save it for after.”



“Young man!’, declared ‘the Nun’, taken aback by his rudeness. ‘You’re almost twenty years old! Did I never teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”



Cringing at her sudden volume, nearly choking in the process, he swallowed quickly. “Sorry Mom! Sorry.”



“And chew your food!”, she persisted, pointing a jelly spoon at him.



Watching casually, Tomas chuckled to himself. Watching his younger siblings brought much amusement. As Titus was clearing his throat of the eggs, Dana leaned over the table towards his plate.



“What’s in your eggs anyway?’, she asked, curiously, coming closer to peer at them, only to recoil in disgust. ‘Ewww, they look bloody!”



At this, the elderly lady sitting at the head of the table turned to her daughter, her face showing a slight hue of green. “Dana, don’t say things like that!”



Dana whined, in protest, “But they do!”



Rolling his eyes, Titus held up a hand to calm her. “Take it easy, Dane, they aren’t bloody. It’s just hot sauce.



The girl leaned back over to sniff them curiously. Immediately, she shook her head, stunned by the surprisingly pungent aroma the ingredient gave off at such a short range. “Yuck!’, she exclaimed, sticking her tongue out. ‘That’s gross! How can you eat them like that?”



Titus grinned, sprinkling some salt on one of the eggs, as he cut off a bite, sticking it with his fork. “Like this’, he replied, sincerely, opening his mouth in preparation to eat. ‘Watch, carefully, now.”



She stuck her tongue out. “Smarty.”



After they were all done with breakfast, and the table had been cleared, the two boys went into the kitchen to wash the dishes, while Dana went to gather her study materials for her lesson. While the youths did or had attended regular school, their mother preferred to maintain a firm hand in their education; teaching them things that might be overlooked in a standard system, and reinforcing things that weren’t. She had done this as long as any of them could remember. Tomas, the eldest of about twenty-two had long since graduated from high school, and was studying more advanced things, such as foreign languages, and ancient history. Titus and Dana were a few years younger, but had started proper school at different times, with Dana being put into the system a year and a half late, Thus he was easily set to complete the course first. Though all to eager to learn from the comforts of his families living room, with his brother and sister near, Tomas longed to attend a proper college, just as he had a high school. In truth, they all did, and unanimously agreed that the University in Richmond would be most suitable, were they ever afforded the unlikely opportunity.



“What’s on your mind?”



The question shook Tomas from his thoughts and he looked over beside him to see his brother standing there, scrubbing a plate.



“Oh, just thinking, I guess,” was his only reply.



“College?”, Titus asked, knowingly.



He nodded. “Yeah.”



“That’ll be the day, huh, bro?’, remarked Titus, wistfully, as he set the plate aside, absentmindedly taking in hand their mothers tea cup. ‘Still want to be a doctor? Or is it psychiatrist this time?”



“Not sure”, he admitted, wiping down the plate with a towel.



After a few more moments of soaking and scrubbing, Titus handed off the cup to his elder brother, reaching for the next dish; a faded ceramic plate which was streaked with flour from a biscuit, and had a greasy spot from an egg just off center. It was his plate. He could tell by the soft stain of red that the hot sauce had left. He smiled to himself, chuckling a bit, as he began to scrub it.



Titus shook his head. “Sometimes, I don’t think we’ll ever get out of here, y’know?”



Tomas nodded thoughtfully. Their caretaker, though nothing if not a loving and nurturing woman, was very possessive of her wards and always had been. True, the ones before them had grown up and moved on, eventually, but just as with the three ‘siblings’ that now shared the home, they two, had endured much inner repression and social isolation. In Geneva’s mind, society was something to avoid, and the idea that one might in fact seek out social interaction and experience was at best a naive and foolish desire. Were she to learn of Dana’s penchant for shopping malls and dance clubs, she might, in her own mind, think the child in need of a casual exorcism.



***



When the two were done, they met Dana and their mother in the living room, just as she was finishing up her geography lesson. Acknowledging her brothers, as they came into the room, Dana remarked, “Y’know, Mom, maybe you should spend a little extra time with Ty on geography. It might help him if he ever needs to get to the store and back.”



At this, he shot her a half hearted sneer. Titus was thoroughly gifted with an impressive intellect and a broad knowledge of many subjects. His sense of direction however, was somewhat lacking, and he had become somewhat notorious among other members of the family for getting even the simplest of directions jumbled. Therefore, childish and exaggerated though it was, Dana’s comment had found it’s mark rather well, and he could see that she was well aware of this from the grin on her face.



Sensing that his brother had received a well-placed hit, and was more apt to retaliate, Tomas casually intervened. “Hey now, they say that Einstein had trouble tying his own shoes. Give him a break, Dane,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. He truly didn’t wish to listen to them bicker at the moment, and she had been the instigator this time.



Tongue in cheek, Dana nodded silently, even as Titus wandered out of the room and into the hallway. Having defused the situation, Tomas went back into the kitchen and tended to the waste basket. Seeing that it was full, he quickly tied off the bag, lifted it up, and went for an old umbrella propped up in one corner on his way towards the door. Outside, he moved quickly to place the trash bag in the nearest of two rusty metal pails. Once, when Dana had first come, Mother had found a raccoon nesting in one of them. While trying to coax it out with a broom, she had drawn the attention of her newest ward who had wandered to close unannounced, right as the old lady succeeded in removing the animal. In the ensuing chaos, poor, panicked Dana had ended up taking a broom to the side of the head and falling to the ground, cutting her hand on a protruding rock. Mother, convinced that the wild scavenger had infected her with rabies, and not deciphering any knowledge to the contrary through the child’s unintelligible wailing, had rushed her to the __ Hospital. Since that day, Dana had harbored a particular dislike for both the furry creatures, and the old fashioned cleaning instruments; two things about which Titus would frequently tease her.



Chuckling at the memory, Tomas looked up towards the woods, peacefully reflecting on the quiet life he and his family shared. Their existence was simple, it was true. They had little luxury, and few experiences of interest. The days were often a bit lethargic; neither fast, nor slow, with one relatively indistinguishable from the next. There wasn’t much to their routine, neither in substance, nor activity, but they wanted for little, and had learned to hold dear the simple pleasures that came with simple life. Once a month, they would go as a family to Richmond, or even as far north as Lexington, to shop when the nearby Clay City or Irvine lacked the sort of provisions or amenities which they sought to buy. For Titus, such occasion as would actually allow him to find anything he desired any closer than Richmond was exceedingly rare. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he would seize it immediately, ever anxious to see what new electronics or VHS tapes he might find, as well as to land himself another book or two. Dana, though an avid reader herself, could always be observed giving her first glances to where she knew to find shopping malls, as they offered her both a menagerie of money spending opportunities from clothes to candy, as well as limitless chances to socialize and make friends. Though such occasions were particularly rare, the girl, ever sly, had found ways to make them a regular possibility when she had introduced Mother to a particular candle shop and an adjacent candy store which happened to sell the very same types of licorice sticks and peppermints that the elderly lady herself had enjoyed as a child. Though all had grown to be instilled with literary-heavy tastes, Tomas was perhaps the most enthusiastic about his books, and would seldom be found elsewhere except the bookstore on such ventures.



His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a rusty metal door spring, followed by the soft slopping sound of rain boots on the old, broken concrete patio. Dana, wearing her well faded, hand-me-down raincoat stepped next to him. “Whatchya doin?”, she asked, in her usual cartoonish, yet endearing fashion.



Tomas shrugged “Just thinking, I guess.”



She looked up at him curiously, blinking as a drop of rain fell from her hood and landed just beneath her right eye. “About what?”



He searched for something to say. There wasn’t a particularly easy answer, as he hadn’t really been thinking about anything in particular, but rather had simply allowed his mind to drift. Finally he replied, “Just daydreaming, actually.”



She nodded, understandingly, and followed his gaze up the hill. “I can’t wait for it to stop raining,’ she muttered. ‘I wanna go for a hike again.”



“The more it rains, the greener it will be when it finally stops,” her eldest brother pointed out.



“True,’ she mused, absentmindedly biting her lower lip. ‘Just wish it didn’t have to be so gray and wet in the meantime.”



Tomas smiled wisely. He could sense in her voice that she was growing already restless with the frequent rain they had been getting. The girl had never been particularly gifted with patience, and could rarely contain herself to wait on anything quietly unless she had a particular and very important goal on which some sense of patience rode. Even then, it would take every bit of the limited self discipline she could muster. It was a curious matter, how similar she was to her other brother in such a way. Stubborn, bull-headed, and determined to do things her own way. One would not easily recognize that they had much in common, however, Tomas saw between the lines they had drawn, and their frequent head-butting over such lines. Secretly, he prayed that one day they would so the same.



“Anyway,’ she spoke finally, ‘Mom wanted me to tell you that she needs some bread to make lunch, and wants to know if anyone wants to go with her to town.”



Tomas was quiet for a moment, then, turning to her, said, “Sure, I’ll go with her. Might be nice to get out for a bit.”



“Amen to that,’ came a voice from their left. Both turned, and Dana gave a bit of a start to see Titus leaning against the crumbling old bricks of the house. ‘It’d be nice to go anywhere.”



Tomas smiled good natured-ly. He expected such attitude from his younger brother as well, and it was further proof of his younger siblings impatience. “How about we all go?”, he offered. The two found it an agreeable arrangement and went to make ready. Before piling in the car, Titus, restless soul that he was, would look toward the road, anxious to see the path to places elsewhere, and the experiences to break him of his uneventful and stiflingly sheltered life.



***