Page 14 of The Beast's Heart

I hear Ray greeting them warmly. Typical. I creep up to the ajar door and witness Ray springing to action to “rustle up” some sandwiches. Gall rises in my throat. I should step in. I should stop this. I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t.

Malakai fidgets, looking everywhere but at Belle or Ray. Belle settles at the table opposite him.

Now’s the time I should intervene. I very nearly push through the door.

Then Belle says, “Do you want to talk about why you didn’t want the stew?”

Malakai shrugs.

“You know, Mal, if we’re aware of your preferences then we can try to make sure that you’re catered to.”

How casually Belle uses the collective ‘we’.

Malakai’s throat bobs, he looks down at his fidgeting hands. “It’s not apreference.”

“All right, so what is it?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Belle’s, as if he’s about to challenge him, then drops down to his hands again.

He doesn’t say more before Ray sets a sandwich and a glass of milk down in front of him. I think he’s going to refuse that too, but he picks up the sandwich with both hands and shoves it into his mouth. He hardly chews before swallowing, washing each massive bite down with his milk.

Shame washes over me.He’s starving.His file flashes before my eyes. Neglect. His addict parents leaving him alone at home for weeks at a time, with only school meals to sustain him. Then those were cut and, well, child services got involved not long after. But if he was so hungry then why…

Ray offers him seconds, but Malakai shakes his head. Ray takes his plate and disappears back out of view. Belle and the boy sit together for a long moment with only the rain filling the silence.

Eventually Mal whispers, so soft that I can hardly hear him, “Stew… stew was all we used to… sometimes.” His fingers worry at the edge of the wooden table. “And then once there was… I knew it had been sitting out too long but I was hungry.”

“And it made you ill?” Belle guesses, without missing a beat.

Malakai nods.

“Well there, that makes a lot of sense. I can’t eat oysters for the same reason.”

He’s so calm, nearly cheerful.

I hate myself in that moment. No matter what I might try to do to hide it, deep down I am the monster they all think I am. Because only a monster would deny food to a child who’s faced food scarcity, would assume fussiness in a situation like this.

I force myself to unclench my fists and take deep breaths. Impotent rage simmers in my gut as I turn away from the scene and head up to bed.

8

JONATHAN

Today, the quaint school room is less cheery nostalgia and more gothic claustrophobia. The rain’s still drumming against the windows and thick fog presses in. What little sunlight fights its way in through the panes is weak and watery.

The children have arranged themselves at the desks: Alisha at the back, Enrique on her lap, Mal in front of her and Ben beside him. All four children are in matching white golf shirts—uniforms, I suppose.

I push my glasses up on my nose. “For our first lesson, I’ve prepared a few little quizzes so I can get an idea of where you’re sitting, academically speaking.”

“We’re doing a test already?” Ben asks as I set his worksheet down in front of him.

“Just a little quiz. It will help me work out where to start. What you know, what you have yet to learn.”

Mal eyes me warily as I set his page down.

“Alisha, maybe Enrique can play with some toys while you take your test?”

“You said it’s not a test,” Ben interjects, his voice wobbling a little.

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