by Allie Jean
“Of course not,” Becca said, dropping back down onto her bed.
Peanut walked across the room, her arms filled with her dirty clothes, and threw them on the bed. She put her clothes away meticulously, treating each object as if it were something precious to her. It probably was.
Peanut was the youngest, having come to stay at the home only five months ago. She arrived emaciated and emotionally scarred. No one really knew much about Peanut’s backstory. Even her real name had been a mystery; she told everyone to call her by the nickname she’d picked up at an orphanage back in Montana due to her small stature and shelled disposition.
One time she did let it slip. Chantal was supposed to pick Peanut up from the junior high on her way home, but she hadn’t been in their usual meeting place. She had spent an hour looking for her among the long-since-vacated classrooms and finally found her in a secluded bathroom, tears cascading down her face as she huddled against the tiled wall.
Chantal coaxed her out with promises of kindness and security, knowing in her gut that something very wrong had happened. With a child as damaged as Peanut, things like milk and cookies wouldn’t earn her trust. It was safety the girl craved.
She’d finally told Chantal that her name was Emma Grace, but she didn’t want to be called that because it was bad luck. She didn’t push her on it, and she never told a soul Peanut’s secret, earning the trust of a girl whose real name fit her subtle beauty better than her nickname.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” Natalie asked, then pulled herself off the bed, picked up a hair brush from the dresser, and then went over to gently brush Peanut’s hair.
“It smells like fish,” Peanut said in her soft voice, and Natalie made a face.
“Did the boys go fishing in the canal again?” Natalie said, looking at Becca in alarm.
“You know they did. John Paul had a whole bucket fulla bottom dwellers, and you know how he gets all proud when we eat his catch,” Becca said.
Natalie and Peanut shuddered in response, causing Chantal to chuckle. She was going to miss this, she thought, and a sudden wave of grief enveloped her.
New York law stated that a child could no longer receive foster care once they reached the ripe old age of eighteen, when they were considered an adult and no longer a ward of the state. It didn’t matter if the child was still in high school or if they didn’t have place to go, which resulted in a horde of uneducated, homeless kids with no hope for a future.
Adiós! C’est la vie! Peace out and good luck!
Chantal was one of the lucky ones, since her birthday fell in late summer. She’d already finished high school, having skipped a grade in elementary. Her good marks had given her an opportunity that not many in her position were awarded: an academic scholarship to NYU. Paying for room and board was another issue, but she’d figure that out once she got there.
“Dinner!” Regina called in her usual bellow, and the girls grumbled as they reluctantly began to head out the door.
“Just plug your nose,” Natalie whispered to Peanut. “It makes it taste less like slime.” Peanut giggled, following Becca out the door.
“Hey.” Natalie paused to look up at Chantal in concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Chantal nodded, taking a deep breath to squelch the emotions threatening to consume her. “Just nervous, you know?”
“Don’t be,” Natalie said in a firm tone. “You’re going to be fine, Chantie. Out of all of us here, you’re the one that will make a better life for herself. Just . . . be safe, okay?”
Chantal nodded, unable to speak against the lump in her throat. Natalie gave her a half-smile and left the room. Chantal got up and made her way down the bunk ladder with a slowness that matched the heavy emotion in her heart. This would be her last night of security. Tomorrow was her birthday, and there was no telling what the future would bring.
“It’s not much, but it’s clean.” Chantal glanced around the small studio apartment, taking in the space she’d be leasing on a month-by-month basis at a decent price. Located near a subway station, she’d decided that although it wasn’t close to NYU, a thirty-minute train ride beat trying to afford a nicer place. It would be the first time she’d ever had something of her own, and despite the less than hospitable neighborhood, it was hers.
“It’s perfect.”
She beamed at her new landlord, her exuberance not amusing. Mr. Cannon was a stout man with three strands of hair and a firm, unyielding expression.
“Rent’s due the first Tuesday of every month,” he said and then turned a steady gaze on her, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t take late payments, so if I don’t get my money, an eviction notice will be given for the standard thirty days.”
“Here.” Chantal reached into her bag, pulled out a wad of cash, and handed it to him. It was half of what she’d earned in the last three years working at the neighbor’s pawnshop. “This is the next three month’s rent up front.”
Mr. Cannon stared at the money, his mouth slack, obviously never having been paid in advance before. She figured his tenants weren’t the type to be able to. The term “slumlord” came to her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. She may have to live like a pauper now, but she was on the right track to make a better life for her. Besides, she was used to living in less-than-comfortable conditions.
“Okay,” Chantal said, rocking back on her heels a couple of times in an impatient gesture. “If that’s it, Mr. Cannon, I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
“Y-yes. Of course not. Good day, miss.”
“Good day.”
The man shuffled slowly through the open door, and she stared in his direction long after he’d closed the door behind him before finally turning to face her new life. The vacant expanse of her new living quarters was a sharp reminder of how alone she truly was.
She’d come by herself since Regina didn’t find it necessary to see her safely to New York City. She hadn’t even seen her to the door. Sitting on the large recliner she had planted in front of the flat screen, Regina had held her hand up in a small salute of good riddance, yelling ‘have a good life!’
“Have a good life,” Chantal whispered to herself, tracking her meager surroundings. This was a humble beginning, but it was something she could build upon and make her own. After all, she’d seen the lowest this world had to offer and survived. Here, she could make her life whatever she wanted it to be.
Sighing, she entered her small, enclosed bathroom with her bag of toiletries and placed it on the counter before pulling her hairbrush from its depths. Catching her reflection in the mirror, Chantal stared. She had dark circles under her eyes, almost matching the jet-black color of her hair which hung long and unkempt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cut it.
She met her gaze in the mirror, the color of her eyes almost violet in the iridescent lighting. The deep set of them made her seem older than her eighteen years. It didn’t help they’d seen unimaginable things that kept her up at night. She had her mother’s eyes; it had been the one thing she’d received countless compliments on.
Chantal ran a hand over her face, turning away from her reflection. Thoughts of her mother always made her feel a little sad, especially when she thought of how unalike she was to her, except her eyes, of course. Regina made it a point to make her feel like her eyes were strange or unusual, spouting crass comments anytime someone would try to give her a compliment for their rare color.
Regina.
Chantal hoped it would be the last time she would think of that woman. She’d help Chantal survive a life without her parents, and she guessed she owed Regina some thanks for that, but she was glad to be rid of her. Despite the fact that she was scared and alone, anything was better than living with someone who despised you.
She unpacked what little she brought with her, organizing her clothing and shoes multiple times until she found which way she liked them best situated. Then, sometime in the afternoon, she made her way out to get some groceries.
Passing the door to apartment 13B, she heard raised voices and an infant screaming. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, she scurried by.
She returned an hour later, her arms filled with two paper bags loaded with the essentials. On her way back up the stairs, she’d passed by apartment 13B again, but this time the tenants were silent. She hoped the fighting wasn’t a common occurrence, but she knew that was most likely wishful thinking. Still, she felt bad. No child should have to live in that kind of hostile environment.
Chantal knew firsthand the kind of unease that churned in a young person when they listened to their parents screaming at each other. She remembered her own parents fighting late at night while lying in her bed with the covers pulled up to her chin in a vain attempt to get comfort and muffle the noise. Chantal would listen to her mother’s cries as her father shouted in frustration. Her sense of security had been rocked, and she carried that anxiety with her even when she’d been taken away from the situation. Nighttime had always been the worst.
In time, she’d found a way to cope and had made up an imaginary friend to talk to, creating a world in her mind that offered an escape, if only briefly. Her best friend was a werewolf that would stand above her bed at night, serving as a sentinel protector. He was terrifying, but he didn’t scare Chantal. His fearsome looks were only there to ward off her enemies, so she wasn’t afraid.
When the lady had come to take her from her home, Chantal left her wolf behind. He watched her from her bedroom window as she was led to the police car, a heartbroken expression on his face. She didn’t know why she was taken away or why he couldn’t come, but she felt his absence through the countless homes she’d stayed in afterward.
Once Chantal had landed in Regina’s hovel, her apprehension overwhelmed her. Being in a new place added another level to her fear, one she couldn’t escape from, and the doctors had diagnosed her with an anxiety disorder. They’d loaded her with medications that made her seem half asleep, and she’d hated the way they made her feel, but Regina made her take the pills anyway, shoving them down her throat and keeping her almost comatose at times. It wasn’t until she was older that Chantal learned to pocket her pills, keeping them hidden in a small tin in which she kept her rosary.
The anxiety had been hard to take at first. She’d find herself lying in her bed at night, her position eerily familiar to the one she’d held before her wolf’s protection had allowed her some peace. At night, the creaks of the settling house had startled her, keeping her on a knife’s edge. She’d watch the ominous shadows around her with wide eyes, waiting for one of them to move, to come after her.
One shadow in particular drew her attention night after night. Formed in the shape of a tall man, he leaned against her designated dresser, relaxing in polite conversation with someone unseen. Chantal had studied the shadow from her bed, expecting the morbidly realistic image to move, but it didn’t.
After a thorough investigation, she’d discovered that the silhouette was formed by the moonlight falling across different objects and knowing its origins had made her feel a little better.
When she’d turned fifteen, the nightmares started. At first, they’d been mild, but as the days passed, they became more macabre and she’d awaken terrified, her body covered in sweat. The images in her dreams were so violent, so vivid, that the terror would haunt her throughout the day. She hadn’t been able to talk to Regina about her dreams. She’d probably send Chantal back to the doctors. Then they’d find out she hadn’t been taking her pills and they’d send her to a hospital for psychotics. Instead, she’d lay still in her bed, terrified to sleep, trying to keep the screams muffled into her pillow, alone in her panic.
After a particularly bad nightmare, she’d awoken with tears streaming down her face. The images she’d seen were made from the stuff of horror films. Dead bodies scattered throughout the streets, mouths gaping in sheer pain, blank eyes staring at her as their final moments slipped away.
She’d cried silent tears in the dark for the misery she’d seen, staring up at the ceiling, silently praying that God would rescue her from her nightmares. Then she’d find her shadow perched in its familiar place, seeming to watch her with interest in his lackadaisical position.
What are you looking at? You have horrible dreams and see if you don’t cry, she’d thought to herself, glaring at the shadow.
He wouldn’t move, his silhouette seeming to gaze at her without judgment. He would just stand there for several moments, and she felt a little odd that she experienced a modicum of peace by talking to the shadow. Then she’d turn on her side, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. Did it mean that she was crazy for wanting to share her dreams with a one-dimensional figment of her imagination?
She’d had started confiding in the shadow and told him about her dreams, relayed her fears for her unknown future, and revealed the confusing details of her past. Although she only spoke to him in her mind, he seemed to hear her, or at least she’d thought he could.
Chantal called him Nick, and her emotional attachment had deepened once he had a name. He had quickly become not only her confidant at night, but also her strength during the day. Knowing that he’d be in his familiar spot every night had been comforting. She’d left her wolf behind long ago, but she found the same sense of security when she spoke to her shadow. Time passed and Chantal had begun to feel better knowing that at least one person knew her secrets.
She’d known that if the girls she roomed with found out about her shadow, they’d have had her committed. They’d already taken to walking on eggshells, knowing that she had psychological issues to begin with. Regina had made a big fuss about having to take Chantal to the “loony doctor.” There was no confidentiality when it became an inconvenience for Regina.
The day that had gone down in infamy for the Monson household came in a whirlwind of revelation. Chantal had arrived home from school to find her bedroom rearranged. They were getting a new housemate named Natalie, so Regina had purchased a set of bunks for Chantal and the new girl to share. The dressers had been moved; the lamp had been thrown out, leaving no possibility that Nick had survived in the shuffle.
Chantal had cried uncontrollably, screaming at Regina who then threatened to call child welfare.
That night, Chantal climbed into her new bed with a knot of grief in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want the lights to turn off, knowing how the reality of the situation would hit her. She stared at the ceiling for hours, refusing to look for her shadow. The absence of Nick would have been more than her fragile mind could handle.
Her nightmares had awakened her, and she looked toward Nick for relief, but regretted it immediately when she found his spot vacant. Sitting up in bed, she’d pulled the covers closer to her, regressing back to her old behavior, and watched as the ominous shapes and darkened corners played tricks on her mind.
Then she’d found Nick in the corner of the room leaning against the wall. The silhouette had an aura of mischief; his ankles were crossed as if it were Peter Pan’s shadow, whimsical and daring.
Nick? Chantal had said in her mind, wondering how he could exist now that the room had been rearranged. The shadow had stayed unmoving, but in her mind’s eye, Nick was beaming at her, and she’d barely remembered to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep her elated cry from waking the other girls.
From then on, it hadn’t mattered what room she’d been moved to or how the furniture was arranged. Nick would always find his way to her, in different positions, but with the same nonchalance that made him endearing. He became the backdrop of her life, the support she leaned on when things were getting too dicey for her to handle alone. It was every bit loco en la cabeza material, but she didn’t care.
Over time, her conversations with Nick had lessened. She’d known he was still there, but she didn’t rely on him as much. Regina had occupied her time during the day with endless chores after she’d learned that the kids she put up with made excellent free help. The d
reams had still plagued her, but one glance over at Nick at his post had made her feel protected.
With age, Chantal had grown jaded. Regina had always made sure each child knew their place and so she’d brought on the harsh reality that there were no such things as shadow men. Chantal had still smiled warmly at her Nick when she’d see him, but she chalked up the late night conversations to a young girl’s desperate need for companionship, creating a friend out of nothing but darkness.
If only it were that simple now, she thought, looking around her vacant apartment as a wave of anxiety took over. She was alone, yes, but she was different now. She’d learned through her years at Regina’s that she could be the one to define who she would be, and a sniveling, scared little girl in a huge city would not be it.
She guessed she had to thank Regina after all because she never would’ve survived this place if it hadn’t been for her tough love. In the end, fantasy was just that, and all she had to depend on was herself.
“I caught you with her, you bastard!”
Chantal stared at the ceiling as Days of Lives played out in the apartment next door. She’d gone to bed three hours ago, only to be awakened by her new neighbors’ heated argument. Apparently, they had a few issues that needed to be ironed out at two in the morning.
“It wasn’t me!” the man said, and then a resounding crash was heard through the paper-thin walls.
Chantal turned onto her side, pulling the covers over her shoulder. She stared at the clock beside her bed, the light green digital numbers casting a soft glow on the flashlight she was using until she could get herself a lamp.
Tomorrow looked like it would be a long day. She had planned to get up bright and early, starting her job hunting first thing in the morning. She wanted to be settled into a part-time position before the fall semester started at the University.