Grave Lies

River Dawn

"They want to adopt you."
 I never thought I would hear those words in my entire life. When I was a child, I had wished for it so much that for a moment, I doubted if I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Again. However, that was not the voice of my dreams.It was the rough tone of Mrs. Fridge, adorned with that hint of displeasure that she never deprived us of. "Me?," I responded in a faint voice, incredulous.She looked at me with her upper lip curled."Yes, you." "Are you sure?"She gripped the pen with her greasy fingers, and the look she gave me made me shrink back instantly."Now you've become deaf?," she snapped with annoyance. "Or are you insinuating that I'm the deaf one? Has the fresh air clogged your ears?" I hurriedly shook my head, denying with my wide-eyed astonishment.It couldn't be possible. It just couldn't.No one wanted teenagers. No one wanted older kids, ever, for some reason. It was a well-established fact. It was a bit like with dogs: everyone wanted puppies because they were cute, innocent, easy to train, but no one wanted the dogs that had been there their whole lives.It hadn't been an easy truth for me to accept, growing up under that roof.When you were little, at least they looked at you. But as you grew older, the looks became more circumstantial, and their pity carved you forever within those four walls.However, now... now..."Mrs. Milligan wants to talk to you for a moment. She's waiting for you downstairs; show her around the institution while you take a walk and try not to ruin everything. Behave, don't start with your quirks, and maybe, just maybe, with a bit of luck, you'll get out of here."I was a nervous wreck.As I descended the stairs, feeling the touch of the nice dress on my knees, I wondered once again if this was another one of my countless fantasies.It was a dream. At the bottom of the staircase, a friendly face greeted me; it belonged to an older woman who held a coat in her arms."Hello," she greeted with a smile, and I realized that she was undoubtedly looking at me, directly in the eyes, something that hadn't happened to me in a very long time."Good morning..." I exhaled in a faint voice.She mentioned that she had seen me before, in the garden, when she entered through the wrought-iron gate. She had spotted me amidst the overgrown grass and the stripes of light filtering through the trees."I am Anna," she introduced herself as we began to walk.Her voice was velvety, tempered by the years, and I stared at her fascinated; I wondered if it was possible to be captivated by a sound or to grow fond of something you had just heard for the first time."And you? What's your name?""Nica," I replied, trying to contain my excitement. "My name is Nica."She observed me with curiosity, and I didn't even pay attention to where I was stepping, so much did I desire to meet her gaze."It's a truly peculiar name. I've never heard it before, you know?""Yes..." I noticed that shyness made my face seem evasive and restless. "My parents gave it to me. They... um... they were biologists, both of them. Nica is the name of a butterfly."I remembered very little about my father and mother. And vaguely, as if I saw them through a very foggy glass. If I closed my eyes and stayed silent, I could see their blurred faces looking down at me.I was five when they died.Their affection was one of the few things I remembered, and what I missed most desperately."It's a very beautiful name. Nica..." she pronounced my name, rounding her lips, as if she wanted to savor its sound. "Nica," she repeated decisively, and then nodded gently.She looked directly into my face, and I felt illuminated. I had the sensation that my skin was turning golden, as if it could shine just from a reciprocated gaze. And that was not insignificant. Not for me.We walked around the institution for a while. She asked me if I had been there for a long time, and I told her that I had practically grown up in that place. It was a very nice day, and we took a walk in the garden, passing by the climbing ivy."What were you doing before... when I saw you?" she asked me with a hint of curiosity.a comment about the corner, a bit further away, next to some wild heather shoots.My eyes flew to that spot, and for some reason, I felt the impulse to hide my hands. "Don't start with your quirks," Mrs. Fridge had warned me, and that phrase now flickered in my mind."I like being outdoors," I said slowly. "I like... the creatures that live around me.""Are there animals here?" she asked, somewhat naively, but it was I who hadn't explained myself well, and I knew it."Some of the smaller ones, yes..." I replied vaguely, careful not to step on a cricket. "The ones that we often don't even see..."I blushed a little when our gazes met. But she didn't dwell on the topic. We shared a brief silence, amidst the screeches of jays and the whispers of the children spying on us from the window.She told me that her husband would be arriving soon. "To meet me," she implied, and I felt my heart become light, as if I could fly. As we walked back, I wondered if I could bottle that feeling and keep it forever. Hide it in my pillowcase and see it shimmer like a pearl in the darkness of the night.It had been a long time since I had felt so happy."Jin, Ross, don't run," I said playfully as the two children passed between us, swaying the skirt of my dress. They laughed heartily and continued up the stairs, making the old floorboards creak.When my eyes met Mrs. Milligan's again, I realized she was observing me. She alternated her gaze between my irises with a hint of what could almost be described as... admiration."You have very beautiful eyes, Nica," she said after a moment, out of the blue. "Did you know that?"I bit my cheeks in embarrassment and couldn't find words to respond."They must have told you that many times," she insisted discreetly, encouraging me to respond, but the truth was, no one in the Grave had ever told me anything like that.The younger children would innocently ask me if I saw in colors like other people. They would say that my eyes were the color of a crying sky, because they were a surprisingly light gray, speckled, uncommon. I knew that many found them strange, but no one had ever told me they found them beautiful.That compliment made my fingers tremble imperceptibly."I... No... but thank you," I stammered, feeling embarrassed, which made her smile.I discreetly pinched the back of my hand and welcomed that subtle pain with infinite joy.It was real. Everything was real.That woman was truly there.A family, for me... A life to start anew outside of there, outside of the Grave...I had always believed that I would be trapped within those walls for a long time. Two more years, until I turned nineteen; unless proven otherwise, in the state of Alabama, one became an adult at that age.But now, no, I wouldn't have to wait until I reached adulthood. No, praying for someone to come and find me was over..."What is that?" Mrs. Milligan suddenly asked.She had raised her head and was attentively scanning the surrounding air.In an instant, I heard it too. A beautiful melody. There, amidst the cracks and crumbling plaster, the vibrations of harmonious and deep notes resonated.An angelic music spread through the walls of the Grave, captivating like the song of a siren, and I felt my nerves tingle with anticipation.flesh.Mrs. Milligan walked away, fascinated, following the sound, and I couldn't do anything but follow her, rigid. She arrived in front of the archway of a room, our living room, and there she stopped.She stood still, enchanted, gazing at the source of that invisible marvel: the old upright piano, outdated and slightly out of tune, but still singing.And, above all, those hands... Those white hands, with well-defined wrists, gliding fluidly and sinuously over the teeth of the keys."Who is...?" Mrs. Milligan exhaled after a moment. "Who is that boy?"I clenched my fingers in the folds of my dress, hesitated, and he, at the back of the room, stopped playing.He withdrew his arms, slowly, with his shoulders upright, relaxed, silhouetted against the wall.And then, unhurriedly, as if he had anticipated it, as if he already knew, he turned.As he turned, we saw a halo of thick, black hair like raven's wings. A pale face, with a pronounced jaw, in which two almond-shaped eyes darker than coal stood out.And there he was, with his lethal charm. The perverse beauty of his features, with those white lips and finely chiseled features, silenced Mrs. Milligan, who stood beside me.He looked at us over his shoulder, with strands of hair brushing against his high cheekbones and his gaze lowered, shining. I felt a shiver and had the certainty that he was smiling."It's Rigel."I had always longed for a family more than anything else. I prayed for there to be someone out there willing to take me in, to give me the opportunity I had never had.It was too good to be true.If I stopped to think about it, it hadn't happened yet. Or maybe... I didn't want it to happen."Everything okay?" Mrs. Milligan asked me.She was sitting next to me in the back seat."Yes..." I made an effort to respond, forcing a smile. "Everything... is going well."I squeezed my fingers in my lap, but she didn't notice. She turned back again, occasionally pointing out something outside the window as the landscape passed by.However, I hardly listened.Slowly, I directed my gaze towards the reflection in the front windshield.Next to the driver's seat, occupied by Mr. Milligan, a tuft of black hair peeked out from the headrest.He looked outside, showing no interest, with his elbow on the window and his temple resting on his knuckles."There, in the distance, is the river," Mrs. Milligan said, but those black eyes didn't follow what she was pointing at. Beneath his dark lashes, his irises casually observed the landscape. And then, suddenly, as, as if he had sensed me, his pupils met mine.He intercepted me in the reflection of the glass, with his penetrating eyes, and I quickly lowered my gaze.I refocused my attention on Anna, blinking and nodding with a smile, but I still felt that gaze piercing the air through the car, holding me back.The Milligan's house was a small brick villa like many others. It had a white fence, a mailbox, and a weather vane.entre las gardenias.I noticed an apricot tree in the small garden at the back, and I stretched my neck to get a glimpse of it, observing that corner of greenery with genuine interest."Is it heavy?" Mr. Milligan asked when I picked up the cardboard box containing my few belongings. "Do you need help carrying it?"I shook my head, delighted by his kindness, and he led the way for us."Come, it's this way. Oh, the path, it's a bit neglected... Watch out for that loose tile. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?""Wait until they put their things down," Anna said calmly, and he adjusted his glasses on his nose."Oh, of course, of course... You must be tired, right? Come in..."He opened the door of the house. I noticed the doormat with the word "Home" on it, and for a moment, my heart raced.Anna inclined her friendly face."Come on in, Nica."I took a step forward and entered the narrow hallway.The first thing that caught my attention was the smell.It wasn't the musty smell of the rooms in the Grave or the smell of damp infiltrations that stained the plaster on our ceilings.It was a peculiar smell, full, almost... intimate. It had something special, and I realized it was the same scent as Anna's.I looked inside with luminous eyes. The slightly worn wallpaper, the frames scattered here and there on the walls, the mat on the table placed to one side, near the key bowl... Everything accumulated so much life and was so personal that I stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to take a step."It's a bit small," Mr. Milligan said somewhat embarrassed, scratching his head.I stepped outside and immediately crouched down to smell it: that fresh laundry scent intoxicated my nose; I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.How pleasant it was...I looked around, unable to comprehend that I had all that space to myself. I placed the box on the nightstand and rummaged through it. I took out the caterpillar-shaped doll, a bit faded and worn—the only memory I had left of my parents—and placed it in the center of the cushion.I looked at the pillow with shining eyes.Mine...I spent some time arranging the few things I had. I hung the t-shirts, one by one, on the hangers, along with my sweater and pants; I checked the socks and pushed the more holey ones to the back of the drawer, hoping they would go unnoticed.As I walked downstairs, after giving a final glance to the door of my room, I wondered with hope if that scent floating in the air would also permeate me soon."Are you sure you don't want to eat more?" Anna asked later. She looked at us with some concern. "Even something light..."I declined and thanked her. On the way, we had stopped at a fast-food restaurant, and I still felt satisfied.But she didn't seem convinced; she glanced at me for a moment and then looked up over my shoulder."And you, Rigel?" she asked hesitantly. "Did I pronounce it correctly? Rigel, is that right?" she repeated cautiously, reciting his name as it was written.He nodded, before declining her offer just as I had done."Okay..." she agreed. "In any case, there are cookies and milk in the kitchen if you change your mind."We said goodbye to Anna and left her house. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with golden and pink hues. We walked in silence for a while, each lost in our thoughts. Soon, we arrived at the bus stop and waited there, watching as the world continued its course.It was the beginning of something new, something I had never imagined possible. And though there was still uncertainty in the air, I felt a spark of hope burning within me.Fridge. And now, if you want to rest... Oh, our room is the last one, at the end, on the other side of the hallway. In case you need anything...She cared about us.She cared, I repeated to myself, feeling a slight flutter in my chest, she cared about me, whether I ate or not, if I needed anything...She genuinely cared, not just to pass the social services' health checks, like Mrs. Fridge did when we had to present ourselves clean and with full stomachs to the inspectors.No, she genuinely cared...As I walked back upstairs, sliding my fingers along the handrail, the idea occurred to me of sneaking down in the middle of the night to eat cookies on the kitchen counter, like I had seen people do on TV, in the movies we would peek at through the crack in the door when Mrs. Fridge fell asleep in her armchair.Footsteps made me turn around.Rigel appeared on the stairs. He turned as well, facing away from me, but for some reason, I was certain that he had seen me.