Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

As he started toward a door on their left, a woman Cian assumed was Mrs. Kelly entered the foyer followed by Celeste.

The woman stopped short, and Celeste barely avoided crashing into her. “Well for heaven’s sake! I don’t believe this. Uh, Cian, is it?”

He nodded, hazarding a glance at Celeste, who was shaking her head.

Stepping around her mother, Celeste stared up at Cian. “What are... how did you find my house?”

Cian looked at the floor. “I called Katie. I hope you don’t mind and won’t be angry with her. I’m pretty sure I woke her up – twice – and didn’t give her time to think.”

“Why? Is there a problem?” Mrs. Kelly crossed her arms and scowled.

Cian looked back up. “The harp teacher. I know him.”

“Is he someone we should be worried about? And… wait. How did you know he’d be here?” asked Mr. Kelly. “Did Celeste tell you at school?”

“No. I’ve been needing to talk to your daughter about some things that happened Thursday, but then Katie mentioned the lessons and told me the teacher’s name and… I... ” He stopped, having no idea how to continue.

A pretty girl with long dark hair and eyes the same shade as Celeste’s entered the foyer. She looked a few years younger, but the resemblance left no doubt she was Celeste’s sister. So far, she’d been looking at her family, but he knew she’d eventually see him and he cringed, knowing what would happen.

“Hey, why is everyone hanging out in… the… oh. My. God.”

Yes, that. Cian bowed his head. “I’m sorry.” Why do they react this way? I no longer believe I’m a monster, but how could anyone’s face cause that kind of... i hate this!

“So. Where’s my next student?”

Cian looked up. All the tension in his shoulders and neck faded.

A second later, the harper saw him. “Ah, Cian MacDara. I expected we’d meet again soon.” He crossed his arms and nodded at the boy with a huge grin.

“The Croghan. I was right, then.” And something inside wanted to weep with a relief that nearly broke him.

“I’m not sure yet, but I think so.” His eyes slid briefly in Celeste’s direction.

“As do I.” It was real! It was all real!

“And that, I suspect, is why you’re here, yes?”

“It is, sir. Have you – "

“Not yet, but then, we haven’t had our lesson.”

“Excuse me!!!!” Mrs. Kelly had apparently had enough. “Will someone please tell us what is going on here?!”

Judging by the startled looks of her family, Cian guessed this woman didn’t make a habit of raising her voice, but realized that his exchange with Croghan had to have been disturbing.

Gerald Croghan, however, gave her crooked smile and shrugged. “Mr. MacDara and I have known each other for... years. He knew I was seeking someone special, someone with a, ah, certain ability with the harp, and I believe he – as do I – thinks it may be Celeste.”

The woman pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. “I see. No, I don’t see. What in blazes are you talking about?”

“And where do you know each other from?” put in Celeste’s father. He turned to Cian. “For that matter... why are you so, so unnaturally, uh, I mean –”

“Drop-dead gorgeous?” Tara supplied. “Beautiful beyond belief? Too incredibly handsome to be real?”

Cian sighed. “No, I’m not.”

Almost as one, the Kellys exclaimed, “You’re kidding!”

“No he isn’t.” Croghan put a hand on Cian’s shoulder. “He’s been through some horrible things. I won’t go into detail, unless he wants me to.”

“I’d rather you didn't. Not yet.”

Croghan nodded. “I understand.” He looked back at the Kellys. “Let’s just say he had no idea what he looked like until recently, and he still doesn’t realize the extent.”

“That’s all great,” said Celeste, “but what about the other stuff you were saying? You don’t think I missed that, do you? What is it you’re both ‘right’ about? Me? And why? Does it have to do with the harp? Or maybe my trances?”

One of Croghan’s eyebrows shot upward. “Trances?” He stood straighter. “Cian, please stay with the girl’s family. She and I have a lesson to do.” He gazed for a long moment at her parents and sister, and then turned to go back they way they’d all come, the Kellys following without a word.

Cian knew why no one objected or insisted on continuing the conversation, why they allowed Croghan to lead Celeste away toward a fireplace at the far end of the room they had entered as he went with her parents and sister into the kitchen. They had, in fact, no idea who or what they’d invited into their lives, but Cian did because in that moment, he remembered about this man and what he could do. How he could put people into a kind of mental stasis when necessary.

As he stood observing their glazed eyes, none of them moving, more details from the past returned to his still-healing memory, including this one about how the harper would speak into the minds of others to calm them, or as needed, convince them that they should allow what was happening because it was for the best. The recipients would be left in a kind of daze that allowed them to function, but not think normally for several minutes.

With this restored recollection came the knowledge that the Kellys were in good hands. Things were coming together, giving him hope that the glimmers of recollection sparking through his mind meant that he would finally remember the rest.

Georgia – Three Years Earlier

The dreams had gone on for much longer, but now he was awake. Bones and muscles were stiff, his back… he was on his stomach, a position in which he never slept. Why is it so bright? He tried to turn over. Couldn’t – too much pain. And he remembered.

Retta. I looked at her, let her see my face. The beating her mother had given him for this transgression had been the worst yet, and after what had felt like hours of being struck by the electrical wire, she had scrubbed the wounds with lemon juice and salt poured into a steel wool pad. Only a few seconds of this, and he had succumbed to the pain and blacked out.

Blinking away grogginess, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then of Retta’s puzzling reaction. Her expression had held surprise, not disgust. Or, no, not surprise. He couldn't put an adjective to it. Like the place he was in – confusing, strange.

A slow-moving wave of pain made him wince. Miserable, he closed his eyes. When it passed, he opened them again, and found someone standing near the bed. Wait. I’m on a bed. Why? And where? To spare whomever this person was, Cian tried to bury his face in the pillow but the exertion cost him too dearly, so he lay still.

“Glad you’re awake, young man. I’m Dr. Lee. How are we feeling?”

We? What... oh. He means me. Wait – a doctor? Ah. Now I know. Years before, while traveling with his parents, his mother had become ill and they’d taken her to a huge place where many sick people could be treated at once – a hospital. Still, how? “It hurts some.” His voice was hoarse, he didn’t know why. “How long have I been here?”

“Your poor mother brought you in three days ago.”

Cian’s fists tightened on the edges of his pillow, an inner burst of helpless rage forcing words through clenched teeth. “She’s not my mother!”

A brief silence before the doctor spoke, his tone placating. “Of course not – I know she’s your foster mother, but I’m sure she loves you as much as any real mother would.”

Cian wanted to scream. Why would this man assume such a thing? After what she’d done to him – ? Tears of frustration darkened the sheet by his cheek in tiny spots.

“It’s all right, son. We know about your self-destructive episodes. She told me all about the barbed-wire fence.”

Despite the pain, he raised his head enough to look into the doctor's eyes. “What… is a barbed-wire fence?”

Dr. Lee frowned. “You’re saying you have no idea what that is? Or that maybe your foster mother lied to me… huh.” He reached to his right, pulled a stool on wheels over to the side of the bed, and sat. “Do you have a fence on the property?”

“Yes. Wooden one.”

“Then how did you get injured, Charlie?”

Cian closed his eyes and lowered his head to the pillow once more, exhausted, incredulous. “My name is not ‘Charlie.’”

“No? What is it then?”

“Cian.” It felt good to say it out loud. “Said she didn’t know how to pronounce it, so... ”

“So she calls you ‘Charlie,’ right?”

“No, sir. She calls me ‘Unacceptable.’”

Dr. Lee put his head to one side. “You mean, she describes you that way?”

“No, it’s the name she gave me.”

“I see.” The doctor thrummed his fingers on his lap for a second. “All right, let’s try something else. Tell me how you got your wounds.”

“From her.”

“Why?”

Cian felt too tired to answer, but knew this would be his only chance to speak on his own behalf. Willing his eyes to stay open, he said, “I looked at Retta by mistake. She happened to come out of her room as I was going down the stairs with the laundry basket, and I turned around.”

“And why was that such a bad thing?”

Was the man blind? “How can you ask that? You’re looking right at me – I’m so ugly… probably made her sick. I was told never to look directly at anyone, but because I’m an idiot, I didn’t think, and got a beating for it.”

“With what?”

“Electrical wire. That’s what she uses when I've done something dumber than usual.”

“What does she use when you do something, uh, not so dumb?”

“Her fists, the broom, whatever’s nearby.

“I see.” He stood, shaking his head. “Get some sleep, son.”

Cian tried to answer, but couldn’t. He was already sliding back into unconsciousness. Much better.

*******

Confused and worried, Dr. Lee returned to his office and shut the door – he’d go talk to Mrs. Pettijohn later. Right now, he needed to figure things out.

Had she been lying to him about everything? Based on the boy’s words and behavior, it was beginning to look possible. She hadn’t lied about his looks, though – they were startling, almost unreal. Other than that, she may have indeed been untruthful about the rest.

The lad’s responses had come easily, for one thing, making it plain that he hadn't needed to think about them first the way someone who was making things up might. Besides, in his condition – and it was obvious he’d been fighting to stay conscious – he wouldn't have the clarity of mind to formulate answers like those. In fact, even though he was in pain, Charlie… Cian?... had turned to look him in the eye when he’d spoken, and had displayed not an iota of deceptive behavior.

Another thing: after Mrs. Pettijohn had told him the boy had caused his own injuries by throwing himself into a barbed wire fence, he’d wondered aloud why someone with such good looks would do a thing like that. Her explanation that her foster son hated himself, while