Daughter of the Refuge

Chapter Eleven

He heard the moment she had left her room. He heard the moment she had made her way down the hall to the lounge room. He heard the moment she walked down the steps and to the front doors of the Lodging House. And he followed her, because, like she always said, he was far too curious for his own good. 

Jojo didn't understand why she had chosen this moment in time to leave the Lodging House, but he suspected that she was headed back to wherever it was that she lived. 

Staying just under fifty paces behind her, he watched her as she took each turn with incisive precision. 

It probably wasn't his finest moment, choosing to follow the girl when he knew exactly how angry she'd be if she found out what he was doing, but he needed something, anything, that would give an explanation to why she had so forcefully pushed him away. 

Yes, he had been hurt, and he still was hurting, but he couldn't just let her go. Not without knowing her reasoning. And he knew she had a reason, because Amara never did anything without a reason behind it. Every step she took was calculated and thought out, and almost every time it could be guaranteed that there were no flaws. 

So he moved forward, pushing away all thoughts from his mind as he focused on the girl in front of him who kept moving forward, seeming to have no intention of ever stopping. Until she did. 

It was a small house, one that looked to have been vacant for centuries. The shutters covering the windows were hanging off their hinges to reveal shattered pieces of a once beautiful window. The paint that could have been guessed to have been a warm white was now stained a murky brown. The door, still intact, was lying in the grass beside the small staircase that led up to the house, leaving nothing more than a screen door in it's place. 

He watched Amara make her way up the stairs, and as she sucked in a deep breath before easing the screen door open. It let out a loud screech, one that forced both of them to cover their ears until Amara finally let the door slam shut behind her. She was gone for fifteen minutes before exiting the house, a small fabric bag slung over her shoulder. 

Jojo watched her walk away, trying to decide if he should continue following her or if his answers would lay inside the house. He eventually decided upon the house and repeated Amara's earlier actions, this time opening the door with caution to avoid the loud wails of the unoiled door. 

If he had thought the outside looked awful, he never would have imagined that the inside would have been as bad as it was. Furniture was strewn about everywhere. The window curtains were torn apart, but still managed to cling to the rusted staples that were hammered into the wooden frame. There was pieces of broken wood lying all over the floor, along with a few shattered dishes. 

Jojo made his way around the disaster and passed into the next room which looked like at one point in time it had been a kitchen. He walked over to the large counter and ran his hand along the rough wood. His eyes fell on a small picture frame lying on the floor beside the counter and he picked it up. 

The frame was shattered as every piece of glass in the house seemed to be, but the picture, besides the layer of dust covering it, was still intact. He eased it out of the frame and gently wiped away all remnants of grime. Two people smiled up at him, a young girl and what looked to be her mother. The girl had a beautiful smile, one filled with joy and hope, her eyes shinning with the memories of the day. Her mother, even though her lips held a smile, had tired eyes, holding back a tidal wave of emotions as she held her daughter close to her side. There was no mistaking it, this was Amara and her mother. 

He turned the picture over in his hands and furrowed his brow when he caught sight of the neat, but faded, handwriting that had been scribbled onto the back.