The Soles Of Damini Manor

CHAPTER 12: NOT DEBORAH?

Kola

Mom's voice never left.

Her distant voice beckons, the call barely audible almost like she's not in the manor, but a part of her is. I don't know how to explain it, but I know that it disappears each time her voice grows closer.

It's back again, and I'm following it to another wing of the manor I've never seen before. Kanyin and I haven't done a proper tour since we moved in, so the new row of three rooms in this wing is new to me. I open one of the doors, there are no bunk beds but a single bed with a cupboard on its right. I notice how big the row of identical rooms are, and I'm guessing these are probably the staff rooms. I remember Dad mentioned that only three staffs were in charge of this dorm: grandma, a live-in nurse, and of course, Madam K.

My mother's eerie and unsettling call rings through my ear, sending a shiver of nerves down my spine. I head further down the hall nearing a room with the door creaking open. It's the last room in the row. The calls are hard to resist as I inch closer, unsure of what awaits me, my Mom, or someone more surprising.

The marimba sound from my phone breaks my daze. The caller ID reads Deborah, and I instantly pick up, wondering what emergency could have occurred if she has to call despite us being in the same house.

"Yes?" I ask.

She doesn't say anything at first, and I bet it's because she just dialed my number and went to do something else, oblivious to the fact that I've picked up.

"Hey, Kola, I need your help with some research," she replies.

I roll my eyes. "I'm in the middle of something Deborah. Can it wait?" I ask.

She draws in a breath. "Look, I know you're preoccupied with finding your Mom's shoes, but Kanyin found some shoes earlier."

"What shoes and where?" I ask immediately.

"She called them flatforms, and they were found in some compartment in a stair," she explains.

I nod even if she can't see me. "Okay, tell Kanyin to stay put. I'll be right there. We don't know whose shoes they are, and we've got to figure out the owner before trying anything with them," I lecture.

"Yeah, that's going to be a problem," she says in a tone laced with guilt.

I'm alert, my eyes narrowed into slits. "What do you mean problem? Where are the flatforms, Deborah?" I ask.

"Ummm. Kanyin." She pauses.

I let out a deep, resigned breath. "She wore the shoes, didn't she?" I ask, already predicting Deb's answer.

She merely squeaks in agreement before I jog in the opposite direction of the room I was heading and towards the stairs.

"Where are you?" I ask into the phone.

"I'm at the library trying to figure out who owns the shoes," Deb answers, her voice has a distracted ring to it that I'm assuming is from flipping through yearbooks and journal articles.

I appear at her side in seconds, grabbing a journal article by her right and flipping through it for any signs of pictures of women not wearing Doc Martens.

"Found her," Deb announces, her fingers pressed on a page of Dark Sole's monthly school magazine so she won't lose it.

I stand next to where she's sitting. "Her name is Cheryl Doyle," I say, my gaze wandering over the brown-skinned girl with straightened hair wearing a bright red and black cheer outfit and grasping onto red pom poms.