The Lone Dove #1
Love and Trust are two very important ideals, but what happens when the moment you lose the two most important people in the world and are left with an inheritance, and a company you find you cannot trust anyone else with. That is P...
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CHAPTER SEVEN: Lost In Memory
I snap my head up with a fast beating heart and a cold shudder in my bones, breathing hard and letting my pulse face like a hurricane in a storm. I could barely see properly for the five straight minutes after sitting in my nightgown and squeezing my eyes closed. I could see the vague light outside my room, footsteps that echoed when I hear the guards on their rotations. Silent, but not silent enough for my six year old ears. Sliding down my king-sized bed, a cushion headrest and the ice cold pillow cases I preferred, I move towards the door, stealthily.
During the one minute rotation sequence, I slide through the brown wooden casings of my door and close it in the same second. Counting the time it takes my silent feet to run down the hall and move towards the stairs. My white blonde curls bouncing when I do. I slide down the railing of the stairs, remarking the mere fact Dad had inserted new detection systems in the Parker Mansion.
I slow to a stop at the edge of the stairs and halt when I see Dion about to move his rotation and I pause like a statue, "Dove." I hear behind me and snap my head over my shoulder to see Dad standing there in a grand black and red suit.
I frown where I sit, he caught me, and he raises an eyebrow in question, "What was your mistake?" He asks me, slowly as he steps down the stairs.
I fold my arms, "Running pass your office." I mumble in a soft grumble before I'm picked up off the railing and placed on his hip. I couldn't get a single thing pass my hawk of a Father...John Parker. In the low light of the foyer, he slides a burly arm underneath me and walks us both to the kitchen.
"Almost there." He says down to me.
I raise an eyebrow, "You caught me, Dad? Not even the guards caught me." I tell him, outright.
Before scenting Mom's perfume in the air and snapping my curls around, "Mommy." I say to her, reaching out, she was wearing a silver diamond dress, her hair curled to one side and arms laced with some floral fabric that I found myself tinkering with, threading and playing with as Dad places a kiss on my nose and one on Mom's forehead.
Mom snuggles me into her, "Now, what are you doing out of bed, beautiful?" She asks me, calmly, warmly.
Dad watches us, watches me, "She snuck out of her room. Memorising rotations of our guards now, Poppy Dove. What am I to do?" He wonders, holding a small cup of warm milk towards me and holding his hand underneath it as I take small sips.
Mom looks at me, "You memorised their patterns, Poppy?" She whispers down to me, her emerald green eyes shining, she looked impressed while I just sip on the milk in my hands and stare at the marble on the counter when I shrug.
"Words, Dove." Dad says down to me, his heightened senses or maybe an instinct I didn't know about made me look over to meet his eyes. He waits patiently as he straightens a curl over my head.
