Unwritten Books 1 - Unwritten Girl Read Free Page B

into their driveway. Rosemary brightened. “Mom’s home!”
    They ran for the door. Shamus beat them to it, his tail banging into an umbrella stand. Then he stopped. He whimpered once and shied away.
    Rosemary frowned. “Shamus, what’s wr—”
    Mr. Watson yanked open the front door. The squall had broken, but snow was still falling. Two figures stood on either side of a station wagon, recognizable even as silhouettes.
    Rosemary’s mother darted towards her husband. “Alex!”
    “Kate,” said Mr. Watson. “Kate, what’s wrong?”
    “It’s Theo!” said Kate Watson. “Alex, there’s something wrong with Theo!”

CHAPTER TWO
    BEHIND THE SHELF
     
    “That’s how it started. That’s how it went until she stopped.”
    — Marjorie Campbell
    Theo walked past his parents, his attention captured by a book in his hands, a paperback with a painting of a book on the cover. “Mom, I’m okay,” he said, without looking at her. He moved like someone half in another world: a sleepwalker, or a scuba diver, or someone in a lot of pain.
    Mr. Watson, his breath fogging, touched his son’s arm. “Theo?”
    Theo paused. He turned. He focused. “Hello,” he said. Then he stepped into the house. They followed him in.
    “He’s been like that ever since I saw him in his residence,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I found him staring into that book, and I had to shout to get him to acknowledge me. It’s like he has tardive dyskinesia — flat affect.”
    Peter blinked. “Huh?”
    Rosemary tugged at Theo’s sleeve. “Theo?”
    Theo gave her a smile, but his eyes were vacant. “Hello, Rosie,” he said. Then he turned back to his paperback book. Rosemary frowned at it, tried to see if there was a title. She caught sight only of an image of smoke emanating from an open book before he walked away, into the kitchen.
    “Drugs?” Mr. Watson blanched.
    “No,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I took him to the hospital. That’s why I was late. I had them run toxicology tests. Physically, he’s fine, but I don’t know, Alex, I don’t know. Who’s he?” She stared at Peter.
    “Rosemary’s friend,” said Mr. Watson.
    “Rosemary brought home a boy?”
    Rosemary huffed. “He’s just a friend!”
    Peter shifted on his feet. “The squall’s let up a bit. Maybe I should go home?”
    “I’ll drive you,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s get our coats on.”
    Rosemary stood in the living room, torn between Peter and her father preparing to leave and her brother in the kitchen. After a moment, she settled on her brother, but froze at the kitchen door. Theo stood, facing the refrigerator, staring at the jumble of coloured-letter magnets as if he expected them to change and spell something. Her mother stood behind him, still in her winter coat.
    I’m not supposed to be here yet
, Rosemary thought, and she turned back to the living room.
    Peter and her father were ready for winter and stepping out the door. Rosemary stopped Peter in the foyer. “Wait!” She clasped his hand in a sort of handshake. “Thanks for rescuing me.” She pulled a face.
    “I wasn’t rescuing you, I was rescuing Leo.”
    She scowled at him. Then her mouth quirked. She snorted and broke out into a grin.
    He smiled at her. After a moment, she sobered. “Thanks,” she said again. “I guess ... see you Monday.”
    “Yeah, at school,” he said. “Not much to do till then. You doing anything this weekend?”
    She started. “I’m ... I’m working!”
    “You work? Where?”
    “At the library. I volunteer.”
    “Isn’t the library closed on Sunday?”
    Rosemary spluttered. Mr. Watson called from the idling car. “Ready?”
    Peter nodded. Then he turned back to her. “Your brother’s going to be okay.”
    She looked away. “How would you know?”
    “I’ve seen worse.”
    He turned away, leaving her staring, and got into the car. A moment later, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the snow-covered road. It crept carefully