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- Herausgeber: Wildside Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Nine-year-old Blaise finds solace in a forest near his troubled home, where he bonds with Sophie, a mysterious seven-year-old girl. Their friendship begins under tragic circumstances and grows as they share stolen moments and small gifts. When Sophie suddenly disappears, Blaise, suspecting foul play from her abusive family, risks everything to uncover the truth.
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Seitenzahl: 41
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
SOFEE, by David Dean
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2018 by David Dean.
Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, March/April 2018.
Published by Wildside Press, LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
SOFEE,by David Dean
Blaise squatted in the damp patch of woods studying the candle he had lit. It was a long white taper and he had found a discarded soda bottle to act as a holder. Though there was little breeze, sometimes the flame guttered and smoked before once more flaring into brilliant life. Brushing a lock of his dark-brown hair from one eye, the nine-year-old boy waited as the late afternoon darkened toward evening.
Something white glided into the edge of his vision, and turning, he found Sophie had joined him. They often met here after school, though he could never be sure when, or if, she would show up.
Their first meeting had been seven months before, when his mother’s latest boyfriend had chased him out of their two-bedroom rental house in a drunken rage. Escaping into the woods that bordered their neighborhood, Blaise had come to the spot he was at now. Weeping, he had not seen, or heard, the seven-year-old girl follow him; he’d only become aware of her presence when she touched his hand. Startled, he had snatched it back, turning his face from her. When she took his hand a second time, he did not object, and they sat in silence until his tears had ceased.
Blaise had seen Sophie often on their street, wandering without apparent purpose or company, had been aware of her in the corridors of their school like a wan, ragged phantom.
Pale, with smudges beneath her ice-blue eyes, Sophie squatted next to him now without a word, wrapping her thin arms around her knees. Blaise noticed that her lank blond hair was damp with droplets of moisture, her pastel-pink sweatshirt and tights stained and streaked. She coughed.
The two sat side by side watching the dancing flame in silence until Blaise asked, “You want to wear my jacket?”
Sophie shook her head and said in her small voice, “Where’d you get that?” meaning the candle.
“Father Gregory gave it to me at church,” Blaise lied.
“Why?”
“It was for me helping out at Mass.” Reaching inside his jacket, he removed another candle from an inside pocket and held it out to her. He had stolen both on his way out of the sacristy. “He said you could have one too. It’s even been blessed.”
This was the second time he had given Sophie a gift—the first had been a plastic tiara he’d stolen from the backpack of one his classmates. All the girls had them because of some movie everyone had seen.
Taking the candle from him with a slight smile, Sophie looked the gift up and down as if she were unfamiliar with such things. “What do you do with them in church?”
“We blessed throats with them today.”
“Why?”
Shrugging, Blaise explained, “Cause it’s Saint Blaise’s Day and he was like the best saint for blessing throats. It’s supposed to be done with candles.”
Sophie scrutinized Blaise for a moment, her brows knitting in confusion. “You’re named Blaise,” she observed.
Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Blaise answered, “Yeah, I know. I’m named after him. It’s kinda stupid, I guess. That’s why it was such a big deal for me to be the altar server.”
Sophie coughed into her hand, then wiped it on the sequined unicorn on the front of her shirt. “Oh.”
“Let me show you,” Blaise went on, blowing out his candle and removing it from the bottle. Taking Sophie’s from her cool fingers, he crossed the two like an X, holding each by its end. “It’s like this,” he explained, placing the scissor-like arrangement to either side of her throat. “Then you say the blessing.”
“Okay,” Sophie said, holding very still, looking into his face.
Blaise concentrated, trying hard to recall the words the priest had used. “We pray for the intersection of Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, to bless Sophie’s throat and... and...” Up close he could see several purplish bruises around her neck, almost hidden beneath the shirt. “And keep her from being sick... or anything bad... and... and just, you know, take care of her and don’t let anything happen to her, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”
Lowering the candles, he added, “That’s not exactly right... but it’s pretty close.” He gave Sophie her candle back.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“You won’t get a sore throat now, prob’ly.”
He wished he could invite her to stay at his house, but he knew his mother would never agree, even though there was no boyfriend currently living with them—the last had left after noticing a portable electric heater sitting on the edge of the tub as he ran his bath, its coils faintly glowing—it had been late summer.
