Lucky Number 23

by Krystle Able

  The all brick, newly constructed home had eight bedrooms and three bathrooms. The basement was fully finished as an apartment for our house mom, and the yard was professionally landscaped and maintained by a lawn care service. Most of the people in town couldn't even afford a lawnmower, so the halfway house had become quite the point of contention in the city with most residents not thinking so kindly of those of us who were forced to live there.

  Only two more weeks.

  I darted straight up to my bedroom without even checking with Barb, our house mom, or “residential aide” as she liked to be called when she was upset with us. I was in well before curfew, but I was supposed to check in with her after my appointments with Dr. Neumann to make sure I was “emotionally stable enough to be in the house.” A few bad days and everyone believed I was some psychopath.

  The bedroom was small, only eight by eight, but it was easy to manage. All eight of the women living there at the time were responsible for keeping their individual rooms clean and taking turns cleaning common areas. We were evaluated on our domestic abilities among other things every week. Luckily, Barb was generous. I was confident she’d recommend my being allowed to move on from the wretched place.

  I flung my purse onto a folding chair next to my door and collapsed onto the twin sized bed. I had been trying my best to sleep through most of the final days at the Lochnar Women’s House, but as my release was nearing, the anxiety and excitement of finally going back to Carter were keeping me up at night.

  I enjoyed imagining what he looked like. Would he still have the same curly brown hair that hung down into his sage green eyes? Did he grow up and take after Dr. John or his mother, Ester? Did his freckles still pop out in the summertime? Did the gap in his front teeth ever get fixed?

  I had spent days in the library scouring the internet and social media trying to find him to no avail. The closest I found was a yearbook from Cedarville High School that indicated he had graduated, but the trail was dead after that. Ester still owned our home according to public records, but Ester, who was well into her sixties, were social media ghosts like her son. The only phone number I found for the McCourt's rang endlessly without anyone ever picking up. At least I knew where I needed to start looking—back home in Cedarville.

  That night I needed to find something to take my mind off the waiting. I was out of sleeping pills, and Dr. Neumann wouldn’t refill my prescription for another week at least.

  I sat up and stared out the window above my headboard. The half-full moon hung in a dark sky. Too much light pollution from the city to allow the stars to breathe freely, but I always liked how the moon had the strength to shine, nevertheless. Just like I knew Carter would shine for me; he was the light in my darkness, my compass in life, finally leading me home.

  I could feel him, even then, as I looked out my window, gazing at the moon. I felt the delicately woven thread that connected my soul to his, the connection that bonded us across the universe, across lifetimes, a thread that could never be severed by time or distance. I took a deep breath and settled back down into the bed linens. I knew he felt it too, in my gut, in my heart, I knew he felt the same way.

  I kicked off my jeans and slowly roamed my inner thighs, dragging my fingertips over my delicate skin softly, as though he were teasing me with feather-light kisses. I smiled and imagined what it would feel like to finally be with him entirely as my two slender fingers slid inside, forcing me to tighten in ecstasy and draw in a sharp breath. I was good at finding ways to keep my mind—and hands, busy.

  Chapter Two

  "Come on; it’ll be fun I promise."

  Carter's hand reached for mine as I stood on the front steps of the McCourt home, refusing to take a step onto the leaf covered ground. The ancient maple trees that decorated the lawn of the estate had shed the first of their leaves, turning the small town near the Canadian border ablaze with orange, red, yellows and browns as much on the ground as in the trees.

  "We can't. Mama Ester will be so angry with me," an eight-year-old me tried to reason with Carter who, at twelve years old, was much more persuasive than I.

  His lips curled into a half smile as he reached for my hand once again.

  "Oh, come on. As long as you're with me, you'll be fine. She won't be mad. Mama never gets mad at me," Carter assured me.

  I didn't believe him though I wanted to so badly. Mother Ester had been clear on her rules. I had to stay inside the house for my own good--as much as everyone else's. I wasn't a bad little girl, I just had to prove it, she had explained to me, and that meant staying hidden away for a while.

  I shook my head and backed away from his outstretched hand. He let his arm fall to his side and heavily sighed as he climbed the wooden steps. His eyes narrowed as mine filled with tears. I didn't want to disappoint him but how could I disobey Ester?

  "Don't you trust me? Don't you know I would never do anything to get you in trouble or hurt you?"

  His words sounded nice, but his tone revealed he wasn't happy with me. Of course, he had never done anything untrustworthy. He took care of me, drew me pictures, even sang to me at night when there was no piano music to lull me to sleep. I knew what happened to children who didn't follow Ester's rules though, and I didn't want to anger the only woman who wanted to be my mother.

  My lip trembled as I nodded affirmation to Carter. His palm cupped my tiny cheek, and his thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped. I froze as he moved to run his thumb over the welt that marred the other cheek.

  "I won't let him hurt you again either," he muttered before quickly dropping his hand and bounding down the stairs. "Let's go. They won't be back for a while, and I want to show you something." There was excitement in his voice, and as he skipped the last step of the porch, jumping to the ground, he laughed, "Chase me, Lucky!"

  This was my favorite game, and my young heart jumped in my chest as his sly smirk turned into a wide, mischievous grin. He knew I loved it when they called me Lucky. I was their 23rd foster child, and 23 was Dr. John’s favorite number, it was also my birthday—January 23rd. John insisted me being Lucky was why my treatment was so necessary.

  Carter sprinted across the yard, kicking up leaves as he went, and it only took me a second before I too leaped from the steps, and chased after him with glee.

  The leaves floated down around me as we raced through the towering trees surrounding the McCourt house. There were no other houses for miles around, and we could shriek and laugh to our delight without ever having to worry about disturbing anyone. That evening was the first time I had been outdoors since the McCourts had saved me a few weeks before and it felt good to stretch my legs as well as my vocal cords.

  I chased him to the apple trees that lined the old carriage road behind the house and collapsed with him in a fit of giggles onto a pile of leaves that had been raked three feet high. The crisp autumn air stung my lungs as I breathed heavily, trying to catch my breath.

  "Are you okay?" Carter asked as he rubbed circles on my back.

  "Yeah," I told him as I picked up a handful of leaves and playfully flung it into his face. I laughed, but his expression dimmed.

  The sunset had turned the sky bright red and orange, just like the leaves that still floated gently down onto us.

  "Good, cause we gotta go!" Carter exclaimed and abruptly scrambled out of the pile of leaves.

  I looked at him in confusion, but he left me no time to ask questions before he yanked me up by my arm and began sprinting towards the house, dragging me along with him.

  "Carter, stop! Ow! That hurts!"

  I tried to jerk my arm away, but Carter kept going. He was twelve, four years older than I, and much stronger. I looked around frantically to decipher what had ignited the urgency in Carter and saw the headlights of a car--Mama Ester's car, flick off as the small black sedan pulled into the main drive and parked at the side of the house.

  My breath hitched in my throat and terror gripped my heart. We were going to get caught. Sudden
ly I was on the ground in seconds having tripped over a stick or rock, I couldn’t tell. I yelped as my knees hit the hard ground and my hand was ripped from Carter's. He turned around in a panic.

  "Get up!" He hissed as he grabbed hand once more and pulled me along.

  My knees throbbed. My hands were scraped up and covered in sticky mud and leaves, but we were only a few feet from the porch. Carter wasn't going back up the steps though. I followed him around the side of the house opposite where Mama Ester parked.

  Carter dropped my hand and pulled at the large wooden doors that lead into the ground next to the house. The cellar, Carter would tell me later.

  "Go on," he whispered and gestured at the hole in the ground.

  I peered down and saw only darkness. I shook my head frantically and tried to back away.

  "This is the only way, come on," he urged.

  I took a step down and felt Carter's hand on my back as he followed me down, shutting the doors behind us. Everything was dark, and I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of my face, but Carter seemed to have the room memorized. He maneuvered in front of me as we entered the cellar and pulled me along, making sure to tell me to duck, step over, or watch out for, different obstacles that were invisible in our path.

  We finally reached another staircase, and as Carter turned the knob, we heard the creaking of the front door opening and Mama Ester's purse being tossed onto the entry table.

  "Hurry!" Carter demanded as he pushed open the door and pointed to the grand staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. "I'll distract her, you’ll be safe, I promise." he said with a wink before he turned the opposite way down the hallway. He was out of sight before I heard him greet his mother.

  I dashed to the stairs and scurried up as fast as I could while still being quiet. I was terrified one of the other little girls tucked behind the foreboding black doors that lined the hallway would hear me and rat us out.

  I had asked Carter about them before. I never saw them, but I could hear them crying sometimes. He always just shrugged and said they were terrible kids that needed to be straightened out and I was lucky to be born when I was, and I shouldn't concern myself with them. They were all jealous, bad, evil, little girls who couldn't be fixed. Mama Ester and Papa John were only interested in correcting me. I was special. The other girls weren't.

  Even at eight years old I knew that if you were special, you had a target on your back. That's what the social worker lady had called me after my first foster family gave me back. I was a special little girl who needed special care.

  Nothing good had happened to me afterward, until the McCourts found me, anyway. They understood me, even if I didn't understand myself, and I knew everything they did was for my best interest. They knew the target was on my back and they wanted to protect me.

  The last thing I wanted to do was make Mama upset, but I was also desperate to watch Carter with his mother, our mother. I understood why Ester and John were keeping me locked away, but I wanted to be a part of their family so badly--even if just through watching.

  I was also curious as to what made Carter the most special of us all. Was it only because he was their blood, or was there something more to him? Maybe it was just because he was a boy and the rest of us were girls? My eight-year-old mind believed it had to be because there was something about him that was better than the rest of us.

  The top of the staircase overlooked the living room and foyer. I crept around the corner, where the hallway began, got down on my belly and slithered back to the edge of the staircase railing. I could hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen—Mama and Carter.

  “Your father says number eighteen will be saved tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “He wants your help tonight. You’re old enough to learn.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Carter’s voice was steady and sure.

  One of the doors in the hallway creaked open.

  I didn’t wait to see which door it was. I jumped up and ran as fast as my little legs could carry me down the hall ahead without looking over my shoulder. My door was at the end of the hallway, and I kept my eyes on it as I ran. I burst through the door and closed it behind me quickly before I jumped onto the mattress that sat on the floor in the corner and pulled the old, worn comforter over my head.

  I laid on the bed with my eyes squeezed shut as I panted and tried to catch my breath. Heavy footsteps padded down the hallway and stopped in front of my door. My heart stopped as I waited for the knob to turn. Instead, I heard the metal of the outside lock scratch against the door as it was slipped into place, locking me back inside.

  ***

  "Ivy, Are you in there? Ivy!"

  A shrill command and incessant banging startled me out of the single sized mattress, and I tumbled onto the floor in a tangled mess of sheets as I gasped for breath. The dream was already escaping me but the realness of what I felt lingered. I was scared, nervous, and doubtful in my dream. I was worried about what would happen if Mama Ester caught me outside. None of it was real, but then why did it feel like a memory?

  I fought my way out of the heap of linens and glanced up at the clock. 7 p.m. I was an hour late for dinner and I was surprised it had taken our residential aide, Barb, this long to come looking for me.

  "Okay, okay, I hear you!" I shouted back at the nagging middle-aged woman who lived in the basement rent-free in exchange for watching over all us degenerate women in Lochnar House.

  "You're already an hour late! Only two weeks left, and you want to fuck it up I see!" she badgered from outside of the door.

  "I told you I'm coming!" I shouted the last word as loud as I could and whipped a pillow at the door.

  I had learned in my first two weeks here that throwing things at Barb, the counselors or the other women didn't impress judges or your parole officer. The pillows barely made a thud when I pretended one of their faces were taped to the door, bedpost, or corner of the dresser however and this tactic had helped me release a lot of pent up aggression and anger at the other women here. I could thank the feather pillows they supplied us with for there being only two weeks left until my release. If Barb didn't get off my ass, it would all be ruined though.

  "I expect you downstairs for evening group in five minutes. You missed dinner, and there are no leftovers," Barb warned before her wide, flip flop clad feet were heard slapping against the laminate flooring as she walked away.

  Barb was supposed to be a motherly figure to us girls, but she was nothing like Ester. No mother on earth could compare to Ester McCourt, who was glamorous, beautiful, and the most intelligent person I had ever met. I used to listen to her go on for hours about things that most people probably had no idea about--aliens, lost civilizations, spirits, mediums, chakras. The McCourt’s were enlightened, and they were getting close to discovering some remarkable things when I was taken away from them. I don't know what happened to the McCourts after I was stripped from my bed in the middle of the night and carried off to the hospital, but I intended to get the answers I deserved.

  I glared into the mirror as I ripped a hairbrush through my short dingy blonde hair that hadn’t grown much since getting out of prison. I frowned hard at my reflection. I was worried Carter wouldn’t recognize me without the long, bright blonde hair I had when he last saw me. Goldilocks Ester had called me every time she ran her long fingers through my delicate waves.

  Piano player fingers were how Ester described her hands. Her talent for piano was no secret to anyone, and on nights I couldn’t sleep, all I had to do was lay on the floor with my ear over the cold air return and wait for the sweet melodies of her piano playing to lull me to sleep. Even as an adult, I listened to a piano playlist to fall asleep on most nights, and I loved every second of it.

  My memories of my foster family were so clear in my mind it caused me to feel even more confusion and agitation when I thought about the dream. I remembered the fall, I remembered running through the apple trees with Carter
, but I didn’t remember that day and what happened in the dream.

  I looped a rubber band around the hair I had gathered into a low ponytail then picked up the jeans that I had tossed to the floor earlier and slipped them back on. I took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door to head down to our common area for group therapy night. Candace’s tall, lanky form blocked me from exiting, however, and I took a step backward.

  “Excuse you,” I snapped at her and crossed my arms over my chest to show her how annoyed I was.

  Candace had turned forty years old last week and was currently one of the oldest women in the halfway house. Three of us were in our twenties, four in our thirties, and Candace was the oldest at forty now that Trixie, a sixty-year-old truck stop prostitute had been released.

  I had been sad to see Trixie go. She had a sense of humor at least. Old Trixie was replaced with Diana—a nineteen-year-old in rehab for the second time who refused to come out of her room and screamed through the first five nights she was here.

  I stared at Candace who just stood still and glared right back at me. Her long dreadlocks were wrapped up into a beehive of grey and black twisted hair that caused her to tower over me. Her dramatic locks cascaded down to her ass, so I wasn’t sure if the hairstyle was an intimidation tactic or for convenience. Her stance indicated Candace wasn’t blocking me into my room because she wanted to have a tea party.

  “Give it to me,” she demanded, breaking our staring contest.

  She took a step into my room, only inches in front of me. I smirked and took a step to the side while I gestured around the small bedroom.

  “There’s only a bed and a mostly empty dresser. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but go ahead and have a peak,” I offered with a shrug.

  Candace narrowed her eyes more and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t have time for your games, Ivy. We both know you have it. Just give it to me so I can give it back to her. She’ll report you, and then you might not get to leave,” she tested me.