The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2)

by Jean Nicole Rivers

  Her eyes were trained on the darkness. First, a slight movement among her hanging clothes, and then a figure rose in the corner of the closet. Blaire was paralyzed with fear when the petite shape leapt out at her.

  “Hide and seek!” the boy shouted awkwardly as he jumped into the light, his dirty blonde hair sat atop his head like a messy bird’s nest, he laughed and dashed from the room.

  “Holy mother!” Blaire whispered to herself before bursting into laughter. She poked her head out of the room, and heard the yelping of children in other parts of the building. The halls on the floors below were now filled with the gleeful squawks of children of all ages.

  Blaire stiffened as she got a whiff of something foul. She looked around and realized it was herself, vodka still oozing from her pores.

  “Gross,” she muttered before she gathered some clothes and a towel, heading out in search of the bathroom.

  It wasn’t long before Vesna found Blaire and gave her instructions on their meeting with Marko. The meeting hour left Blaire with just enough time for a mini-tour of St. Sebastian. By the front door, there was a room that appeared to have been a waiting area at one time. As Blaire entered, she found a little girl, still cloaked in the lavender dress she had been wearing yesterday in the backyard.

  “Dariya?” Blaire called to the girl, who was kneeling on the floor with her face pressed tightly to an L-shaped air vent that sat against the bottom of the wall and the top of the floor.

  “Dariya?” Blaire called again, taking another step toward the girl.

  Dariya did not respond, but the ruffles of her skirt perked higher into the air toward Blaire as the girl pushed her face closer to the vent. Blaire’s feet fell softly on the scuffed wood floor as she made her way across the room. A deep gurgling whisper flowed from the vent. The rumbling murmur offered a wicked, soft scowl of surprise as it suddenly ceased, and the girl turned her face abruptly, locking eyes with Blaire.

  Blaire gasped, What happened to Dariya? What happened to her face? No, not her face, it was her eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dariya’s golden-colored eyes were clear and glowed like honey hit by the perfectly angled light of a setting sun. How could it be that eyes that were just yesterday blinded by a thick white curtain were now as clear as a summer sky? For a moment, Blaire thought that maybe it was her own eyes that were the problem.

  “Dariya?”

  The mysterious girl shook her head rigorously, left to right. She used her small pale hand to lift a bushel of the tangled curls in order to reveal a primitive hearing device. Blaire’s features swam in momentary confusion as she studied the oversized contraption that wrapped itself around the young child’s ear like a malicious alien trying to burrow into her brain.

  Blaire pointed to the little girl, and then pressed her hands to her ears while shaking her head from left to right. Up and down the girl nodded to confirm that she was deaf.

  “You’re not Dariya,” Blaire said, coming to grips with the strange reality. The girl shook her head in agreement. “Her sister? You’re her sister? Twins?”

  The girl read Blaire’s lips carefully and nodded in agreement once again. She lifted her hand and allowed her fingers to move slowly in silent conversation. Blaire did not sign, but she did know some letters, and, once the girl finished, Blaire spoke.

  “Danya?”

  Danya nodded up and down with a smile, displaying a toothy grin.

  “My name is Ms. Baker,” Blaire said with slow and exaggerated facial movements. “What were you doing?” Blaire squatted and pointed toward the vent.

  “Did you see something down there?” Blaire asked as she peered into the darkness that lay just beyond the metal cover of the vent.

  Danya shrugged, and then she picked up an old, instant camera from the floor. She hung the camera on her neck by a worn leather strap.

  “Did you take a picture?” Blaire asked pointing toward the camera and mimicking the taking of a snapshot.

  Left to right the little girl nodded as she popped open the back of the camera to reveal that there was no film before scampering out of the room. Blaire’s eyes followed Danya as she exited, and then her gaze returned to the vent in the floor.

  Marko Anglov’s dimly lit broom closet of an office incited a claustrophobic reaction instantly upon entering. The director of St. Sebastian appeared professional sitting on the other side of the scratched-up desk. His black hair was combed neatly to one side, though some small cowlicks reveled in temporary freedom. With a studying look, Marko flipped through some papers before glancing back up at the pair who couldn’t help but feel out of place.

  “We are happy that you two are here to help,” he said with an odd smile that made him appear as if he had a metal plate in one side of his jaw.

  “We’re glad to be here,” Blaire replied.

  “I should start by telling you a little about St. Sebastian, no?”

  “Yes, of course. This used to be a home, right?” Blaire looked at the piles of folders heaped on the desk and wondered what they contained.

  “Correct,” Marko stated dryly. “Boslav was once a quite successful town, believe it or not. There were jobs and monied families. People came here for opportunity and a quiet life, which is what brought Anastasia Lutsky along with her mother Magda. Anastasia quickly found work cooking and cleaning right here in this house when it was the private residence of Viktor Raspla, an elderly heir to a banking fortune. The Lutsky’s were from Slokivka as many of the immigrants were at that time. It was a place where Magda was known for taking in unwanted children, and that reputation followed her here. People began to travel to Borslav to drop their unwanted children on the Lutsky’s doorstep, and, while the pair were by no means rich, Magda always took them in and cared for them in the best way she could.

  Viktor, on the other hand, was a self-serving man. As the years passed, many of his relatives died off or were banished from the home and his life for their incredible greed or some other sin. While the offenses of family members could have been real or just as easily imagined by the old man, the result left him completely alone. One day he grew ill and as his illness progressed rapidly, he asked Anastasia is she knew anyone who could nurse him. Anastasia thought first of her mother, but said that she was afraid her mother would be unable as she cared for a couple of unwanted children. Viktor told Anastasia to bring her mother and the children could come along as long as they didn’t bother him. There was plenty of room for them to play and move about without disturbing him much. Shortly after, Magda began coming in with her daughter to care for Viktor, with the children in tow. Often they played on the lawn or in one of rooms at the far end of one of the abandoned corridors while Magda fed or bathed Viktor. As Magda nursed him, they grew close. He was moved by her compassion for the children and though he never admitted it, people believed that he secretly loved having the children around, hearing their laughter ring through the halls. Within months he was dead, leaving everything to Magda to continue her work with the children, including this house. It was rumored that his last words to Magda were Money is nothing without love. That is how St. Sebastian came to be an orphanage. We take in any and all orphaned or unwanted children. We are based on a legacy of love, not money.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Blaire commented.

  “Yes, but unfortunately we have become painfully aware that children need more than love, which brings us to you. St. Sebastian is a non-profit facility that ran out of Viktor’s money long ago, and we are severely underfunded, but we do the best we can.”

  “We’re glad that we can help,” Travis said.

  “We’re short on staff here, so we work on a skeleton crew. There are no teachers, so it is my understanding that you will be setting up some type of lessons for the children?”

  “Yes, I recently graduated with my master’s degree. I have interned in several schools in the United States, created various learning and campus improvement programs, and facilitated many new teach—�
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  “Good.” Marko interrupted before moving his eyes to Travis. “And you are the nurse?” “Right.” Travis replied.

  “There are no doctors on staff, so the children do not receive regular medical attention. You will be giving basic medical care?”

  “That’s right,” Travis responded.

  “The children don’t receive any medical attention at all?” Blaire asked.

  “Very little,” Marko responded in an authoritative voice. “Every so often we may get a doctor to come here from Kerchaviv, but it’s rare.”

  Unspoken questions filled the room, like ocean water pouring into the lower decks of a sinking ship, and suddenly everyone was rushing to escape.

  “I should show you around.” Marko closed one of his files and lifted himself stiffly from his chair. Before he came around the desk, he opened his drawer and took out two sets of keys handing one set to each of them.

  “These keys go to various doors throughout the facility from your room to your offices, to the front door, etc. Keep your keys on you at all times,” Marko instructed.

  As they followed Marko through the corridors, the black and white photographs of the cheerful children now filled Blaire with melancholy, and she cringed under their watchful eyes.

  On the third floor, Marko began the tour with a clear directive. “The children are not to be up here. The third floor is for workers only,” Marko spoke clearly and waited for acknowledgement from the visitors. Blaire thought of the boy who had been playing hide and seek in her closet, but thought it better to keep it to herself for now.

  The third floor bathroom, which Blaire and Travis found earlier in the day consisted of a few toilet stalls, two showers and a tub; it reminded her of the bathroom in her freshman dorm, which she hated. Marko skipped over to their room, 3B, and next he motioned to the room of the other caregivers, who used them whenever they were scheduled for an overnight shift.

  “Usually, we have only one caregiver scheduled to spend the evening. They take turns.”

  “So one person watches over all of the children?” Blaire asked.

  “Yes,” Marko snapped, not bothering to disguise his annoyance.

  In the middle of the hall was a metal door with a silver bolt lock.

  “On the other side of this door are stairs that lead to the rooftop deck. This door is always locked, no exceptions,” Marko said.

  “St. Sebastian has a rooftop deck,” Blaire quipped in a muted amazement.

  “Rooftop deck on the left, spa to your right,” Travis said with a chuckle.

  Blaire began to laugh, but Marko’s razor-sharp glare pulverized the tiny joyous moment.

  “Yes, it was part of the home when it was a personal estate. Once this building became an orphanage, the workers were allowed to use it for sunbathing in their off time, until one of them, a young woman, plunged off the side.” He recounted the tale with a wicked calm. Every bit of the good humor that had been leftover within Blaire from Travis’ joke a moment earlier was now completely crushed.

  Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! Blaire could hear the iniquitous chants, and suddenly found herself on Grammercy Bridge with the autumn wind tousling her hair. Blaire looked around to see if Travis and Marko could hear them, but they couldn’t, just her—always just her.

  “She died?” Blaire asked.

  “No, but might as well. She shattered everything from her ankles to her collarbone. She can’t move from the neck down. Too bad, she was young and bright, but not much now.”

  “That’s terrible,” Travis responded.

  “No one is allowed on the rooftop deck, but you do have keys because there’s a fire escape in case it ever becomes necessary,” Marko’s voice trailed back to them as he began sailing down the hall toward the stairs. Before descending the steps, Blaire glanced into the room behind the first door on the right, the door labeled 3C, which had been left off the tour as Marko began down the stairs. It was another empty room, sparse with the same bedroom furniture as all the other rooms on the floor.

  “Ewl,” Blaire mumbled at the sight of a huge black stain in the middle of the floor, which caused it to sink in slightly.

  In one of the rooms on the second floor, Marko stopped abruptly in front of a window and pointed out of it. “That small cottage out back is where I live. I do like my privacy and prefer that you speak to me when I am here during office hours, but if you need something at any other time, you are free to come by and knock on the door.”

  Blaire looked over the charming cottage for a few seconds before her eyes wandered to an older dark-haired man who revved a pathetic lawnmower to a belching, dismal life.

  “That’s Heinrik. He works for St. Sebastian. He helps with the children and tends the grounds when needed,” Marko informed them. Heinrik’s eyes floated up to Blaire’s, and she smiled politely before turning away.

  Room 2D was the room for the older boys, and the younger boys were housed in 2E next to it. In both rooms several small metal beds were sporadically placed throughout. The quarters on the second floor were much larger than those on the third and hosted scores of children. A thin layer of dirt had made its home on the floors. Blaire studied the urine-stained sheets that were draped across the flimsy mattresses. At the end of each room were two oversized closets. In this room there were more of the eerie black and white photographs that hung almost everywhere throughout St. Sebastian.

  “This is where the children sleep?” Blaire asked.

  “Of course,” Marko said in a perfunctory tone.

  “Are there covers for all of the beds?” Blaire wanted to know. “I mean, it is much too chilly for all of the children not to have at least that.” She held up one of the discolored sheets.

  “We have what we have,” Marko stated.

  “All year-round?” Blaire pushed, dismissing the tension she felt building.

  “All year-around,” Marko mimicked calmly. He left the room, instructing them with a flip of his hand to follow. An uncomfortable Travis passed Blaire and exited behind Marko.

  Marko traveled to the other end of the hall. Previously, 2C was a room for the babies, but now it was just an odd museum for what once was because there were no babies at St. Sebastian. Noticing a stain in the ceiling, Blaire stepped inside and studied it; it was the same stain that was on the floor in 3C.

  “Ugh,” Blaire said, as she jumped back when a drop of heavy black liquid dripped to the floor.

  The sound of Marko’s voice startled her, “Ms. Baker, it’s just a leak. Please keep up.”

  Room 2B was for the younger girls. Room 2A was around the corner at the far end of the hall, and it housed the older girls. Blaire took a closer look into the closets of room 2A, inspecting the pathetic habiliments more than she should have judging from the look on Marko’s face. On this side, the rooms were not much different from the other end, except that this particular room smelled of urine and stringent soap.

  “Where do they keep their personal things?” Blaire inquired.

  “Personal things?” Marko asked.

  “Yes, you know, like books or clothes.”

  “They don’t have any personal things. All clothes are community property based on which room a child is housed in. Most of the children are brought here with no personal belongings. They barely have clothes on their backs when they’re dropped at our doorstep.” Marko motioned for her to continue following him as he fled the room.

  The most chilling idea to Blaire thus far was of the children having no personal belongings. There was nothing to define who they were or why they had existed. They had nothing to leave behind, and anyone who came after them would never even know they had been here.

  “Kinda like a prison,” Travis whispered to Blaire before he left the room to catch up with Marko.

  It’s not like a prison, Blaire thought to herself, even prisoners had personal belongings. It was as if they didn’t exist at all. They were more like ghosts.

  Blaire took one last look at the room and s
aw a little girl sitting on one of the beds staring out the window. It was the same little girl that she had seen earlier in the day wearing red corduroy overalls.

  “Hello,” Blaire greeted her.

  “Hi.”

  “My name is Ms. Baker.”

  The little girl said nothing.

  Blaire hesitated at the silence, but added, “What is your name?”

  “Lorna.”

  “Blaire,” Travis’ voice called from the hall, startling Blaire.

  “Well, I’ll see you later, Lorna.” Blaire gave a quick wave before jogging down the stairs to catch up with Travis and Marko.

  On the first floor, Marko started his tour by the front door where he showed them what used to be a waiting room. Across the hall was what Marko called a playroom, but considering the drab décor and the complete lack of toys, games, or any other device that would offer even the slightest stimulation, the room could have gone by any other name, and it would have probably been more accurate. Next to that was the nurse’s office.

  “Here is where you will be spending most of your time.” Marko turned to Travis with an awkward smile. Travis stepped into the room and eyed it skeptically.

  “This is where I will be giving medical care?” he said turning to see Marko nod briefly before he turned his focus back to the skeleton of a medical facility. On the desk sat a broken lamp. The glass doors of an armoire were covered in some type of caramel-colored filth, through which Blaire could make out a couple of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, splintered tongue depressors, and some archaic tools that even Hippocrates would have frowned upon. Travis’ eyes moved to the steel examining table that sat next to an antiquated-looking wheelchair, whose seat and back looked as if it were chewed by wolves. He noticed a derisible bookshelf that held one book simply called Anatomy.