Bebe Read Free

black keypad with the tip of her finger, but unlike when Sir or Ma’am did it, the thermostat did not reactivate and the flame in the fireplace did not instantly rekindle. Instead, a red light blinked at her twice, beeping in a negative tone before the keypad went black again.
    Disappointed, Bebe pulled her blanket tighter and climbed back down off the couch.
    What time was it?
    Hugging herself for warmth, she wandered into the kitchen to stare blankly up at the neon glow of the wall clock, situated just above the inset cooker. The small thin strips of light were arranged in incomprehensible dashes and squiggled lines. Not one of the lines matched what she was accustomed to seeing in the mornings when it was time to make Sir’s coffee. They didn’t match the afternoon either, when Ma’am said it was time for shopping, knitting or napping. One of the seven lighted lines looked similar to when the when the sun disappeared behind the house, which usually meant Sir was on his way home from work and the table needed to be set for supper. Except that it was the middle of the night and Sir had only just left. So, obviously that wasn’t right.
    Heaving a sigh, Bebe wandered back out to the dining room, squeezing in behind the table and chairs to stand at the only window in the house low enough for her to see out of without first standing on a stool. In the daylight, she could rest her chin upon the sill and see birds and trees and even glimpse people and objects through the upper windows of the houses across the street. Unfortunately, right now all she could see were shadows in the blackness, transporter lights streaking high, high up in the sky, and the faint winking of the stars.
    Turning her face sideways, she pressed her cheek to the cool glass to catch sight of the upper halo of light from the streetlamp further down the cul-de-sac. Hugging her blanket, Bebe rose onto tiptoes but there was nothing moving around in the darkness underneath. Not even that big male who lived three doors down and who sometimes got put outside at night. She always felt so sorry for him; she never got put outside.
    Bebe studied the night, hoping that Sir and Ma’am might come straight home again, that Ma’am would be better, that life would return to normal and she could go back to sleep. One minute bled into two, and then ten. Her feet began to ache from standing on tiptoes for so long, so Bebe quietly lowered herself to stand flat on the floor again. The house felt very strange, very quiet. Very cold. It wasn’t natural. It made her nervous, especially since she wasn’t accustomed to being left alone. In fact, nothing like this had ever happened to her before, at least not that she could remember. Ma’am was very fond of Bebe, after all, and always took her along whenever she left the house. Even before Sir and Ma’am when she had lived in the Room, she’d always had her mother and siblings to keep her company. At least until the Man came and took her away, giving her to First Ma’am, that kindly old, silver-haired woman who was deaf and almost blind and who tended to drop things, which Bebe would pick up and press back into her withered, shaking, searching hands again.
    First Ma’am had never left her alone either. She had been too frail to leave the house. Not in all the time that Bebe had been with her had she ever once ventured farther than the front door, and always Bebe right by her side, helping her find her way. But then First Ma’am had died, and the Man moved into the house long enough to pack up First Ma’am’s things and send Bebe away.
    Shuddering, Bebe turned her face physically from the window, as if that alone could help her avoid the memories of the Awful Place she had ended up in. She stared through the chilled glass into the blackness, trying not to breathe because along with those memories invariably came the remembered smell: cage after cage of pets like her, huddled together two or three to a cell. Burdensome and