Entropy by Petra J Knox

Author:Petra J Knox [Knox, Petra J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

After my meeting with Beady-eyes, which consisted of her going over her expectations of me and me reciting them back, we all met up in what the Sisters called the breeze way and stood in line to go inside the church for mass. It was full-on dark now, and I was about to drop. Thankfully, the mass wasn’t a long one—Father Kent mainly just went through the motions of prayers and rites—and by the time it was over, Sister Hazel was pulling me up and out of the pew as though I were a rag doll.

“Go on to bed, child. We wake at six, so sleep up.”

I nodded absently and dragged my tired ass back to the convent. I didn’t pay any attention to the other occupants I passed in the hall on the way to my room, just found my door, pushed it open, and fell to my bed after kicking the door closed with my foot.

“You will feel better in the morning,” Solomon said in that same, real, voice.

Fatigue forgotten, I sat up, scrambling back to lean against the headboard, and stared at the apparition at the foot of my bed. There stood Father Kent, who I’d just seen in the church. There was no way on earth he got here before me.

“Do not be frightened, Constance. It’s a shock, I know. But it really is me.” He slowly walked around the bed and sat down. “It was time to finally meet in person.” His expression was almost… tender. My breath caught as I felt his eyes tracing each inch of my face. “You are beautiful, my Constant Star.”

I closed my eyes tightly. “No. No, no. Stop playing tricks, Mr. Voice. This isn’t funny. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” When I got no response, I opened my eyes to peek at him, but he was still there.

“Shh… we will have plenty of time to talk, I just… wanted to see you for my own selfish motives, I suppose.” To my utter shock, he reached toward me and cupped my cheek. His hand was warm, soft, and so very masculine. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

And just as quickly as I could blink, he was gone. I waited a few moments, my arms wrapped around my drawn-up legs, staring at the closed door. But he didn’t return. Slowly I reached over and felt the coverlet at the end of the bed wear he had been sitting. There was an indent there, still warm from his weight.

“He’s real,” I said to the room. Shaking my head, I tried to deny it again. I ran all the logical reasons and past experiences through my mind, replaying every single thing Solomon/Mr. Voice and I had ever said to one another.

“Constant Star” was what he’d once named me one night when I was six. I’d been crying about not ever having had a nickname like the other children in the orphanage did. I thought the nickname was ridiculous, and we had laughed and laughed then, but the name stuck.

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