I couldn’t go back to the community. My dad was dead. My mom was dead. Uncle Sam would get rid of me. People wouldn’t even notice I was gone.
“You still there?” the woman asked.
I swallowed my troubles, refocused on the now. I needed someone to show me around, and then I could do everything on my own. Dark would show me around. “Sorry, yes. Which community is yours? I’ll get him by tomorrow. I’ve moved, and my car is…is in the shop for the day.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem. I found him in the City, right by the Beast’s main compound.”
“He followed the bikes from the community,” I whispered in disbelief. “That’s a hundred plus miles. My poor baby, his paws must be raw.”
“Very cool hound, huh?”
Dark barked in confirmation. He was cool.
“He deserved his Fast-Kid meal. I’ll pay you back for it. Thanks so much, he means the world to me.” Happy tears spilled, and I let them. How could I get him? I wiped my face and sniffed. “Where do you live?”
“Let’s meet at the City Park.”
“I’m new in the area, and I don’t know where that is, but if you give me—”
“I’ll come by.”
Click.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I pressed the touch screen. Things beeped. I presumed I’d pressed buttons, so I tried to find a redial one.
Beep.
She hadn’t taken my address. I didn’t even know my address. “What is my house address?” I mumbled.
“House of the Alpha Beast. House Nine, Street E, Zone One of Beast City,” a female voice said.
I placed my hand over my collar and gripped the little heart pendant. “Oh dear God, what is that? Who are you?”
“I. Am. House Nine. Street E. Zone One of Beast City.”
The house spoke! “Hello, House Nine. I’m Rey.”
“Hello, Rey. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, oooh yes.” I even clapped my hands at the tech. “But first, how can I redial a number?”
“Press the green button.”
“Thank you. Very useful. I cannot see the green button. I do not see any buttons. Is it on the top or the bottom?” I ran my fingertips over the touch screen and, presumably, the numerous buttons. Things around the house beeped. Was this even the phone or a controller? “Hopefully, the button’s not in the middle,” I said.
“Processing Rey’s replies. Please wait.”
A minute later, I fidgeted in my seat, seeing as I’d lost the sense of urgency with the woman on the phone. I bit my nail. “Are you done processing?”
“Yes. Voice commands are activated on all appliances. Speak into the appliance.”
Phone in hand, I touched my lips to the phone. “Hello. Phone.”
Nothing happened. “It’s not working,” I announced. The house didn’t reply. “Hellooo. House?”
“Yes, Rey?”
Okay, okay. So to address the house, I had to say “house.” “House, I don’t understand how you work.”
“I do not work.”
“Operate!”
“Processing. Please wait.”
Damn it!
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The house processed the coffee. I’d play nice with the house and wait until it processed. I bit my other fingernail. Once done, House mimicked my voice and said, “Command redial.”
Well, hearing my own voice was a bit freaky, but the phone redialed and rang on the other side.
“House, can you use Jamie’s voice?”
“Who is Jamie?”
“Alpha Beast.”
“Yes, Rey,” the House said in his deep baritone. I smiled and waited for the woman to answer. I’d get Dark. Somehow. What I’d do with Dark after he got here, I’d worry about it after he was here.
Minutes later, I couldn’t get the woman back on the phone. I thought about the pills but poured a cup of coffee instead.
Chapter Eight
Rey
An hour later, unable to get in touch of the woman and get Dark back, unable to make anything for dinner because I didn’t have any food, memories of Mom assaulted me. I didn’t want to have another bad day. I tried to force my brain to think about the memories I wanted to embrace in favor of the ones I wanted to forget. I wanted to remember my mom as the good mom she could’ve been. After she’d overdosed, I couldn’t shake of the guilt that rode me when I thought about her. I only remembered her bad days. And they were many.
Sitting on the floor, I leaned my back against the couch. Mom tried to stay sober when I’d lost my sight. She’d tried. At least I liked to think she’d stayed away from drugs and alcohol. I wanted to treat her addictions as a disease. I wanted not to blame her and feel guilty about blaming her. But it was hard to treat an addiction as a disease when I knew it was one she could’ve cured with willpower. When did lack of willpower become a disease? And when were people better people once they’d died? Did death make people better, somehow justified the way they’d lived and what they’d done while alive?