The Special Ones Read Online Free PDF

me.’
    I nod and drag myself over to the chest near the door. It creaks as I open it. The whip is near the top, curled in on itself like a snake. My hand trembles as I get it out, and then I walk slowly back to Harry.
    ‘Thanks,’ he says as I hand it to him.
    How can he remain so calm? The tail of the whip is as thin as a blade.
    ‘You go now, Esther. And don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’
    As he begins to unbutton his shirt, I turn mechanically and walk out of the parlour, not daring to speak. As I close the door behind me, I hear the sound of leather cracking against bare skin.

    My first task every morning after washing and dressing is to receive the guiding word. Sometimes I go to the chat room to receive it, and sometimes there’s a note. Like today. The envelope, marked Esther , is propped up against the purple bottle on the kitchen table. I slit open the envelope, which is thick and creamy and smells oddly of flowers, and remove the card within. The guiding word is written on it in old-fashioned script: Transform.
    Automatically I start considering how this will impact on my tasks and routine. It’s an easy word to apply to our food, at least. Bread is transformed into toast when it’s held over a fire. And it works well with my chores too. After all, tidying and washing are types of transformation. And then, of course, there’s the big event of the day: the collection. That will also involve transformation – both for us and the girl. If everything goes according to plan, that is.
    The kitchen is how I left it last night, except that the purple bottle is now empty and clean. It’s strange to think of him standing in our kitchen, washing it. Or maybe there are two and he swaps the empty one for the full. I put the bottle away, trying not to dwell on the thought of his having been here during the night. Was it before or after our sharing session? Or was he there as it happened, watching us through the keyhole? The idea makes me shiver, despite the heat which has already started to build.
    As I’m preparing our breakfast Felicity appears, dressed and stifling a yawn. ‘Where’s Harry?’
    ‘He’s already working.’ Harry gets up extra early on collection days so that he can do his chores before heading off.
    Felicity sips at the glass of frothy, fresh goat’s milk, which I’ve poured from the canister Harry left by the front door. ‘Can I go with him today? To collect Lucille?’ she pleads.
    I’m surprised – shocked – that she would even ask. ‘You know that’s impossible!’
    Felicity puts her elbows on the kitchen table, supporting her chin in her hands. ‘I just want to help him.’
    I’m sure she means it. But I’m also sure it’s not her only motivation. She wants to go out there. ‘Absolutely not,’ I tell her. ‘You’ll stay here with me.’
    Felicity doesn’t cry, but her mouth quivers and I feel like a monster. I probably didn’t need to say it so harshly. If only I could hug her, or even just pat her shoulder so she could see I’m not like this really, that it’s just an act.
    ‘We’ll have fun today, I promise,’ I say, softening my voice. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t respond. But I persist. ‘How about we make some biscuits while we wait for Harry and Lucille to return?’
    Felicity chews her bottom lip. Finally she peeks up at me. ‘You mean like a welcome-home treat?’
    ‘Exactly!’ I say. My voice is a little too loud for Esther, but I’m happy to be winning Felicity back. ‘We could have a party.’
    I know too well that when the new Lucille arrives, the last thing she will want to do is celebrate. But that’s irrelevant. The main thing is that, for now, Felicity is happier.
    Harry appears for breakfast. His whistle is as bright as ever but his eyes, when I sneak a look at them, are rimmed with dark shadows. I wonder if he slept at all last night. I also wonder how his back must look, after being lashed by the whip.
    He sends Felicity off to collect