Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

meet above
her head. It’s like a double whammy for me because he wears a mask of pain I’ve
never seen before and my confusion and apprehension triples. He schools his
expression and clears his throat.
    ‘Tell us about your dream, Shaylee.’
    I drop my gaze from his and focus instead on the
comforting pot of violets beside the bed.
    ‘It was just a dream, dad -’ I evade but he interrupts
me.
    ‘Tell us,’ he insists, ‘it’s important.’
    I reach out to fondle the violet petals and glance up,
meeting my father’s gaze again. I’m going to have to admit the truth and there
are so many reasons I wish I didn’t have to.
    ‘It’s the same one,’ I say in a small voice.
    My mother’s breath catches and dad tightens his arms
around her, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly.
    ‘The same one you used to have as a child?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How long -’ His voice wavers and for a terrifying
moment I think he is about to cry but he clears his throat and says: ‘I thought
you stopped having them years ago?’
    I turn back to the violets, unable to look him in the
eye and shake my head, once.
    There is a heavy pause and I glance up to see an odd
mixture of hurt, anger and disappointment flash across my father’s reflected face.
    ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’  
    I am so taken aback by the betrayal in my father’s eyes
that I cannot speak, so instead, I focus my gaze on the reflection of my
mother’s back. Her shoulders still tremble as she cries into my father’s shirt.
Dad’s gaze follows mine and his lips pull into a tight line.
    ‘Get dressed.’
    He leads my mother gently from the room, shutting the
door softly behind them. For a full minute, I just stand there, staring at the
closed door, and then I mentally shake myself and face the mirror again, trying
to understand what has just happened.
    I remember the dream vividly: the screaming, the fire,
the shadow and the pain - but it doesn’t make any sense. Dreams don’t leave
physical memoirs like this symbol. I rub my hand over the faded ink again,
once, twice, three times. Maybe if I can erase it from my skin, I can erase the
look in my father’s eyes too.  
    With a growing sense of desperation, I walk to the
en-suite bathroom, pulling off clothes as I go. I climb into the shower and
turn on the taps, making the water scalding and then I scrub. I scrub and scrub
and scrub until my abdomen glows raw and red - but the symbol remains.
    When my skin feels too tender to touch, I drop the
sponge and tilt my head up into the scorching spray, letting the water run down
my face alongside the tears.

 
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    I stand reeling in the centre of the lounge, looking
from one parent to the other, trying to make sense of what they’re saying. My
mother is perched on the edge of the black leather sofa opposite our wide-screen
television and Dad stands beside her, rubbing his hands soothingly over her
shoulders. She is still visibly upset and this should make me feel
compassionate toward her, instead, all I can manage is annoyance. I’ve come for
answers but all I’ve gotten from my parents, is another bomb-shell.
    ‘It will only be for a couple of months,’ Dad says,
‘we’ll join you as soon as I can get out of my contract.’
    I press my fingers to the dull throb that still lingers
at my temples and groan.
    ‘But I don’t understand why and you still haven’t explained what this is.’ I lift the hem of
my camisole and crochet shirts in emphasis, revealing the marking beneath and
my mother flinches.
    ‘We can’t explain that now, Shaylee,’ Dad says,
squeezing mom’s shoulder and his action just serves to inflame my mounting
anger. Why is he comforting her ?
Shouldn’t I be the one he is comforting?
    ‘You can’t explain what it is but you can send me to
another country because of it?’
    ‘Shaylee, please -’
    ‘No,’ I say, in a rising voice, ‘I won’t go. I’m not
leaving my entire life behind to go and live in