Chester didn't talk to him again that day, setting up beside
the bed and pretending to be inert.
Bolt had a lot of questions, starting with why had he been
assigned if Freddie already had a Guardian. Asking that led to Bolt wondering
if Chester was actually a suitable guardian for Freddie. Why else would Bolt be
assigned here?
The memory of that chill that had infused Chester wouldn't
leave him alone. Why had the rabbit been so cold? Like ice. Was it the effect
of the Dark?
No one had ever spoken of the side effects, at least not
that he could remember.
Freddie came home before he could pose any of these
questions to Chester, or frame them in a way that probably wouldn't be
offensive to the old bunny.
The boy was very much like his mother. His bag, a tidy blue
backpack with a cartoon dog on it, fell to the ground with a thud, the boy
stomped over to his bed and threw himself across it. He didn't move for several
minutes, then his head tilted sideways, and he reached for Bolt and curled around
the bear.
"I want..." Freddie said, but didn't continue,
leaving Bolt in the dark. Bolt wanted a chatty happy child that was easy to
figure out.
They stayed like that until Freddie's mother called them
down for dinner.
Any sigh of unhappiness from the mother was carefully hidden
away now, the sugar sweetness of false cheer coating every word she spoke.
No wonder Freddie felt so lonely. No. It wasn't just that.
Something bad had happened here, and she was trying desperately to paper over
the cracks.
She talked, the words falling awkwardly into the silence,
Freddie quietly ate, Bolt listened.
It wasn't the most awkward dinner he had ever attended, he
now had a ever growing list of them.
Something had to break soon.
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