THE 33 KEYS: Key 2 - ANSWER THE CALL "Listen for that Perfect Beat"

CHAPTER 12: A FANTASY WORLD

I close the door so hard that the calendar slaps my face in a bid for attention. So I trace my finger from the 2nd to the 23rd and circle it with a sigh. Gosh! What kind of charitable organization puts someone out on her birthday?

The irony of the question makes me pause and reflect. Sometimes the memories come to me in spurts so I am not sure if they are real. But for some reason being homeless on my birthday seems very familiar to me. Yet I have blotted out so many memories over the years that I should not expect loyalty from my mind.

Now if only I can blot out this horrid grater skin of mine so easily, that would be great. But it has been with me for what seems like an eternity. The doctor once told Ebony it was a rare condition, that even though Dahlyxians usually go from rough to smooth skin over their lifetime, I am the only case he knew of to go from smooth to rough. Then he added that it was only temporary, that I would smoothen out in my teens.

Yet here am I, fast approaching my twenty-second birthday with no relief in sight.

Alone with my thoughts now, I realize I have nowhere left to go. My relatives and strangers too have all passed me along like a slippery baton since Ebony's death. And Pete does not want to see me again, so I know he will not help. I guess it will just be me, myself and I until the end of time, then. But I am not too worried.

Something or someone always comes to my rescue. I am like a dog abandoned at the roadside, where humanitarians pass by every day. Somebody is bound to see me and stop, pat me on my head, rub my fur and take me to the vet when they see I've got no collar. My mother was my collar. But some faceless hand cut it off and made her die. Since then, I have been living off pity. You know what, Mary? Not today, I say talking to myself as usual. However, someone needs to remind me that I cannot let myself slip into a funk twice in one morning. Time to pull myself out of it before I sink too low.

I do my best to ignore Lily's picture and grab my phone off the dresser. It reads thirty percent. That is usually when I charge it. I push the chair beneath the light bulb, stand and unscrew it, then grab the attachment from my drawer and screw it in. Now where is that extension cord? I look beneath the single bed, inside the cupboard, below the chair, but still nothing.

Did I lend it to Hazel or something? Zero. She recently bought her own extension. And hers is always plugged in since Matron Caine never checks her room. I hold my head in frustration. Think, Mary, think. Then I remember where I left it, hanging outside my window. I had wrapped it around the handle in a rush and had not used it since.

With everything in place, I plug my phone in and select my favourite reading app, an upgrade from my days of buying and reselling used novels. Today I get it all for free. Yes! Free wifi and a good book. Now that is what I call heaven. That and a spicy menu complete with dessert. The app finally opens. I scroll through the suggestions then head straight for the unknown writers section. My favourite is Daniel Sotina.

So far he has written five books for a series called The Trial and I have already read two. Basically, The First Trial is about a man who was charged for rape. Yet it was clear to all the readers he was being wrongfully accused. Throughout reading it, I kept hoping he would not be sentenced to death, as is the punishment for rape in Daniel Sotina Land. And when he was not, I exhaled like a leaking balloon.

Nevertheless, he still received an undeserved lesser sentence, which – believe it or not – caused me sleepless nights until I remembered book two was patiently waiting on me. Then The Second Trial showed him being exonerated by DNA evidence and ended with him promising to go after all his false accusers.

I anxiously click on The Third Trial now. The first page shows one name in bold print: SANYA. I immediately condition my mind for the long haul. Sanya is the evil bitch who lied on him, for no other reason than she had to find somewhere to place the blame, and he fit the bill. She had left no details unsaid either. Sanya just kept going in without mercy, hacking away at his character like a vampire hunter, condemning a good man to her manufactured hell, making liars of true victims who still crouch in their dark silence.

So for me this is personal. It is why, more than any villain who has earned my hatred over a fine career of novel reading, I want to see Sanya suffer. He had better make it good too or I will find him and ask why the hell not.

Oh, for goodness sake, Mary! Not this again!

It is just a book. Daniel Sotina may be real but none of his characters are. Come on. A death sentence for rape? Where does that ever happen? This shit is not real. Pull yourself together and focus on your own problems for a change.

Still, I pull my feet up on the bed, down two pills with a glass of water, draw the covers over me, turn on my left side and get lost in their world of make-believe once again.