Chapter 22 - The Blind World
The penthouse had never felt so vast, or so terrifyingly hollow.
Faith refused to sit on the plush Italian leather sofas. She sat on the hardwood floor in the living room corner, her back pressed against the wall, her small arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her white cane lay across her lap like a weapon.
Whenever a grandfather clock chimed or an air conditioning vent clicked on, her tiny shoulders flinched violently.
"She spent eight years in an eight-by-ten room," Willa whispered to Jared from the kitchen island, pouring a mug of warm chamomile tea. "At St. Jude’s, everything was predictable. Footsteps at 7:00 AM, porridge at 7:30, tactile braille books until noon. You brought her into a glass tower suspended four hundred feet in the air. The echo of this room alone is disorienting her."
Jared stepped forward, holding a pair of soft fleece slippers. "Faith?"
The girl stiffened instantly. "Sir?"
The cold formality cut through Jared worse than any bullet ever had. He knelt five feet away, carefully keeping his voice even. "You don't have to call me 'sir.' My name is Jared. Or... whatever feels safe to you."
Faith hesitated. Her sightless eyes wandered toward the sound of his voice. "The sisters said my father was a devil who made people disappear."
Jared didn't deny it. He wouldn't lie to her. "I’ve done things I can never undo, Faith. But none of those things will ever touch you. I swear on your mother’s memory."
Faith didn't answer. She turned her head toward the faint sound of heavy, rhythmic pads clicking across the oak floor.
Roman was limping slightly from the stitches in his front leg, but his gait was deliberate. The giant Mastiff walked past Jared, approached the corner, and without making a sound, lowered his massive bulk down beside Faith. He rested his chin directly on the toe of her sneakers.
A soft gasp escaped Faith’s lips. Her small hands found Roman’s broad, wrinkled forehead. She felt the heavy fold of his ears, tracing the line down to his wet nose.
"He breathes funny," Faith whispered, the faintest hint of a smile touching her cracked lips. "Like an old train."
"He snores louder than a chainsaw," Willa said gently, stepping over and offering the mug. "He also steals bacon when nobody looks."
Faith took a cautious sip of the tea. "Are you the lady from the clinic?"
"I’m Willa. I take care of Roman."
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"Roman likes you," Faith said softly, leaning her cheek against the dog’s warm back. "I can feel his heartbeat. When the bad man with the gun was shouting on the road, Roman’s heart sounded like thunder. Right now, it sounds like rain on a tin roof."
Jared watched his daughter curl into Roman’s fur. For the first time in nine years, the crushing weight in his chest loosened its grip. But as he looked toward the skyline through the rain-streaked glass, he knew the silence wouldn't last. Marcus Vance had not surfaced yet, and men who wait in the dark always strike when the house feels safest.
