Sheep [ONGOING]

Chapter 19: January 15

Jon had delivered the news, following them in; they were cleared to meet unannounced with half an hour's time so long as disclosure and moderation were on the table, devices set up around the room in several unseen nooks to monitor and record their correspondence.

On a second, exhaustion-fogged visit, both unprecedented and unannounced, Ace's perspective of Bella morphed, met by her own sleepy compliance on entry.

In their differences, Bella in almost every aspect separated from Sheep, it was in the mirrored affect of fatigue (and unmistakable sheep's ears) that he drew any resemblance between the two, Bella meeting them for the first time with hardly any implication of a disagreeable personality.

At Jon's lecturing, Ace could finally embrace Bella in ways he felt familiar, observant of her embodying a similar frightfulness, anxiety, naivete, fear—however disguised in defensive care of her image.

Ace recognized her room's differences, sure of their origins: the surplus of chairs, the drawn curtains, the matte track of shoes carving a path across the porcelain laminate.

With Jon positioned at the far end of the room, back flattened against the door, Ace took the open seat at Bella's bedside with Charlotte in tow, absent of unfamiliar spectators.

Bella scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. "G'morning."

Ace offered a nod, fixed on the sight of her. "Morning."

"I thought about a lot of stuff to say," she announced, dulled by lethargy, "but I don't remember much."

"I bet we've all got lots of questions, too," Charlotte pitched in, posting both elbows against metal armrests.

"Anything on your mind?" Ace prodded Bella's way, patiently poised.

Blinking into his spotlight, she quickly drew in her brow, dropping her head. "Mm..." she hummed at first, in her droning reaching to the elevated table at her side. She produced a Manila folder into her lap, swiping it open, and plucked lazily through its contents—one file, another leaf of paper—before producing a color photograph.

Scanning the contents and finding herself satisfied, she presented it outstretched to them both, grumbling. "Dad."

It was instantly recognizable, a man to which he had no connection, yet—

"You're kidding," Charlotte gawked.

Bella reacted with disappointment in turn, scowling. "Everyone reacts like that."

The silence was oppressive.

"That can't be him... really?"

Ace grounded himself, giving his arm a pinch before he could fire off at Charlotte's expense.

The frame of black waves ebbed along Bella's jaw, denying Charlotte the shock of disbelief. "It's him," she asserted, tucking the paper away with a crunch. "Everyone knows. Not real dad, but that's what he makes us call him. Dad." She sniffled. "Not related."

"He's famous, Bella," Charlotte urged at a hush despite the room's abject vacancy. She eased forward. "This isn't... that's—"

"I'm not lying," Bella reiterated, head easing forward. Her face tightened, self-pitying. "It's true."

"Do you..." Ace tried, falling flat as he pitched his aid, "... you knew who he was? Seems like you have some idea."

Bella's jaw clenched, hands sliding to rest motionless atop the folder. "We didn't meet new people," she told him, straining to tuck vulnerability out of sight. "Not a lot, but sometimes, so you remember everyone, mostly. And then you always talk to the same people every day, so when someone new shows up or maybe someone doesn't show up very much, you remember it."