Bebe Page 2

  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 unwanted. At least until the day Sir and Ma’am walked in. They had like Bebe so much, they not only brought her home with them, but they gave her a name. Her very own name; she’d never had one of those before, either.

  How long ago had that been? Three winters now? Maybe four. Bebe wasn’t sure.

  Regardless, even in the Awful Place, pets were never left alone. There was always someone there, dark-haired giants who walked up and down between the cells, bringing food and water, taking each inhabitant outside to run the grounds while the cages were cleaned, and spraying them down with the hose before locking them up again. If forced to admit it, during daylight hours the Awful Place hadn’t really been that bad. But at night...oh now, nights there were often a wholly different matter.

  Night was when the guards took command, walking the halls, keeping the pets quiet and the escape-prone males securely locked out of the females’ pens. Sometimes, in the very wee small hours, and if a guard was so inclined, a female—or even a male—could and often was taken from the relative safety of their cage and led off into the dark. Bebe could still hear the cries, the pleading, the wet, rhythmic sucking/slapping noises. Sometimes she still had nightmares where she again heard that unforgettable sound of the electronic key unlocking her cage door.

  She quickly turned her face back the other way. She didn’t want to think about that, either.

  Yes, the Awful Place had been truly horrible, but she liked it here. She liked Sir and Ma’am, despite occasionally having to bend over the ottoman while lubricant was rubbed between her legs. She liked them even if they got up and left her in the middle of the night. Even if they smacked her in the head with their luggage as they left. They could smack her in the head all day long, and it would still be better than what she’d endured the night the guards had dragged her from her cell.

  Abandoning the window, hoping at any moment to see the splash of lights washing across the dining room wall as the transporter drifted back up the driveway, Bebe padded softly back out to the living room again. She paused once, glancing down the hall at the open bedroom door. The light on the nightstand was still on. If she were allowed to go into their bedroom, she might have been tempted to wander down the hall and turn it off. Instead, surrounded by all this nerve-wracking silence and much too unsettled to sleep, she returned to stand before the front door.

  Blinking up at it with solemn blue eyes, she gathered her blanket tight around her and lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the floor. With no other options, Bebe did the only thing she could: she waited.

  And waited.

  And waited until her legs and her back began to ache from the strain of just sitting there. Bebe left the door then, but only long enough to drag her cushion from the now cold and dark fireplace to her self-appointed sentry spot. Then she sat down on it, folding herself in as much of her blanket as she could to continue waiting.

  Until the darkness outside began to fade before the rising of the sun and the sky lit in myriad hues of pink and orange. A soft whir and click from the corner signaled the moment when the sweeper activated itself and began to make its rounds through the house. She glanced down at the round silver disc when it bumped into the side of her misplaced cushion. A series of lights flashed across the flat surface before it accepted her disruption of its standard work-path and changed trajectories.

  Rising stiffly, Bebe hobbled into the kitchen to check the clock and start the coffee. She wasn’t sure if Sir intended to come home for a cup or two before work. For all she knew, he might already be at work. Maybe he’d just left really, really early. But, he’d never taken Ma’am with him before. And if he did come home for coffee, would it be a spanking offense to not have it ready for him? Bebe tapped her fingers twice before deciding she’d rather not find out for sure.

  As the coffee brewed, she fetched her stool from its resting place behind the chiller and used it to bring Sir’s favorite mug down from the cupboard. She poured fresh cream into a small floral pitcher and set it on the counter next to his cup, then she returned to her pillow. Pulling her blanket back around her, she stifled a weary yawn and made herself as comfortable as her stiff legs would allow. Elbows on her knees and head cupped in her palms, she resumed her watch.

  Time passed. The sun climbed. Her stomach growled and she had to go to the bathroom. She returned to her cushion just as soon as she was done. She wanted to be there to greet them when they returned and to help, just in case she was needed.

  Outside, a transport door slammed, startling Bebe’s head up off her hands. Were they home?

  She jumped up—Oh, her body was so stiff and sore!—and hobbled to the dining room window, arching onto her tiptoes in time to see a uniformed man strolling up the cobbled-walk to their porch. He stepped up far enough to knock twice at the door, then bent to place a plain-wrapped package on the upper step. He left again, whistling cheerfully as he strolled back the way he’d come. Bebe raised one hand to wave, but he didn’t notice her. She watched as he climbed back into his vehicle, connecting the delivery transport with the commuter rail, and then shot swiftly out of sight.

  Alone again, she lowered herself back off her toes and reluctantly left the window. After pausing a moment in the dining room, rubbing at her empty stomach, she went into the kitchen and put the room-temperature cream back into the chiller. If... when Sir came home, she’d hurry and pull it out again. Then he’d think it had always been ready for him, and she wouldn’t be in trouble.

  By now, the coffee-maker had shut itself off and was rapidly cooling, so she poked it on again. She really was quite hungry. Even knowing she shouldn’t, she took her stepstool from the wall and climbed up onto the counter. After a cautious rummage through the pantry cupboards, she pulled down the cookie tin and removed the top. Nestled on a thin bed of crumbs, were three cookies. Only three. Her stomach rumbled, but if she ate one Ma’am was sure to notice.

  Bebe stared into the tin, her mouth watering and her stomach aching it felt so hollow. Careful not to break them, she removed each of the remaining cookies and lay them on the counter beside her. Shaking the crumbs out into her hand, she ate those instead. Some accidentally spilled through her fingers and, sensing the minute disturbance sprinkling across the kitchen floor, from the other end of the house the sweeper adjusted its course. Quickly putting the cookie tin away, Bebe leapt off the counter barely in time to grab the biggest crumbs before the sweeper got them all.

  Her stomach still felt empty, but Bebe put her stool back in its place and returned to her cushion. She stood for a few uncertain minutes before hesitantly unlocking the door to peek out at the package still sitting on the porch. She glanced cautiously up and down the street to see if anyone might be watching, then quickly dashed outside to bring it in. She slammed and locked the door behind her, pressing back against it with the package hugged tight against her chest and her own heart pounding in her ears.

  How many times had she broken the rules today?

  She looked down at the wrapped box in her arms. It felt relatively light as she turned it between her hands, studying all angles before giving the box a gentle shake. Nothing inside shifted or rattled. Maybe it was empty. Maybe she should put it back on the porch. They’d know for sure she’d gone out after it unless she did, except t
hat outside it might get stolen. That male who got put out sometimes liked to take things that didn’t belong to him. Especially if he thought it might be edible.

  Half certain that no matter what she did now she would never be able to extricate herself from the trouble she was in, Bebe left it on the dining table. One hand pressed to her hollow belly, she went back to her cushion, wrapped up in her blanket and tried to get comfortable.

  The house grew colder and colder. She had to go to the bathroom again, and her empty stomach was cramping so badly that she was very close to tears when the thought finally occurred to her that Sir and Ma’am might never come home. On shuffling bare feet, she padded into the kitchen to steal a few sips of the cream. Just to quiet her stomach. There was nothing else available that did not first require using the stove or opening packages (which Ma’am would definitely notice). She wasn’t supposed to be in the kitchen any longer than what was necessary to make Sir’s coffee. The kitchen was Ma’am’s domain, and she never liked it when Bebe tried to do things in here.

  The cold floor prickled up into her bare feet as she paced guiltily in front of the pantry cabinets, rubbing and rubbing at her stomach. She scoured the floor in hopes of find a crumb the sweeper might have missed, but there wasn’t one.

  Her little blanket wasn’t enough to stave off the creeping fall chill anymore, so she padded down the short hallway to Sir and Ma’am’s forbidden bedroom. Miserable, she crawled up onto the foot of their bed. If they never came home, they would never know anyway. And from here she could sit in comfort and warmth under thicker blankets while she watched the front door. She swaddled herself in a corner of the mussed bedding where everything smelled so strongly of them. It made her feel a little less alone. If she closed her weary eyes, she could even pretend they were already home—maybe just sleeping late—and that she was back on her cushion in front of the fireplace, and that everything was normal.

  Bebe’s chin thumped down onto her chest and the resulting loss of balance jerked her awake barely in time to keep from falling off the end of the bed onto her nose. Bebe sat bolt upright, sucking in a hard breath and blinking rapidly. Had she fallen asleep?

  Her breath steaming the air as she kicked off the blankets and slid from the bed. Her feet had gone to sleep and every step down the hallway felt like she was walking on needles. Still she staggered to the window to check first the empty driveway and then the position of the shadows on the ground. Noon had long since come and gone. The sun was already behind the house. In the kitchen, the coffee-maker had switched itself off again, and the coffee remained untouched. It also smelled slightly burnt, although the pot was now cold to the touch.

  So unbearably hungry and thirsty, Bebe drank the strong black liquid straight from the pot. She also raided the pantry cabinet, stealing a package of sour fruit because there were a lot of those and that might make her theft significantly less obvious. She hugged it to her stomach, hiding it in both hands as she crept past the sweeper (which couldn’t possibly have cared) on her way back to the bedroom and the warm, engulfing folds of the blankets. She pulled the blankets all the way over her head before breaking open the thin, plastic seal.

  She scooped out the fruit with her fingers and sucked on each one afterward until she could no longer taste the tartness on her skin. The plastic edge cut into the corners of her mouth when she licked the inside clean, but she got every last drop from the bottom. Then she sat there, huddled in the dark, guiltily hugging the empty package to her chest. Her stomach still felt empty, but at least the gnawing aspect of her hunger was softened.

  Where were Sir and Ma’am? Tears flooded her eyes, but she blinked rapidly to stem the tide and quickly swiped what few escaped from her cheeks with the back of her wrist. They loved her, she told herself. They loved her and they would come back.

  Breathing deeply, struggling to find some semblance of calm, she went to the bathroom to wash her hands and, knowing the incinerator logged its use, she stashed the empty food package beneath some old rags under the kitchen sink. She turned her face away so she wouldn’t have to think about how she could possibly get rid of the evidence further without getting caught.

  She always got caught.

  Always.

  Her bottom tingled, and it was such an awful prickling sensation of dread. After several minutes of finger-tapping indecision, she went and got the Bad Bebe hairbrush from Ma’am’s dresser top and hid that under the kitchen sink as well. There was no preventing the cascading consequences at this point. All she could hope to do now was mitigate the inevitable penalties.

  Bebe looked at the clock above the cooking box. Five of the seven squiggles and lines were recognizable. If this were any other day, Sir would be coming home from work soon. If this were any other day, by now the house would be awash in wonderful smells, and Ma’am would be sitting on the couch, a book propped open in her lap, with one hand lazily rubbing at the rounded girth of her belly.

  If this were any other day...

  But it wasn’t. Bebe set the table anyway, and then because the edge was creeping back into her hunger, she drank the rest of the cream from the pitcher and set the now empty container in the sink. She looked at it there, dripping slow creamy drops into the metal bottom. Blinking back tears, she quickly pushed her stool up to the counter to wash the pitcher and hide that evidence back up in the cupboard too. Then she washed the coffee pot, cleaning everything as if this morning had never happened. As if she’d forgotten the coffee and the cream, everything in its entirety. She wasn’t disobedient. She was just...forgetful.

  Rubbing her stomach, Bebe went back to the bedroom, climbed onto the foot of the bed and pulled the blankets close around her. Miserable and close onto tears again, she let the warmth creep into her. Her eyes already felt so impossibly heavy. If she lay down, she’d probably fall asleep again and she didn’t want to do that. Not on Sir and Ma’am’s bed. They would definitely disapprove of that, and she had already been so bad.

  But after a few moments, she shifted back far enough to lie down anyway, curling on her side so that she could watch the door. She was still hungry, but the stolen cream made it a little more bearable to be this empty. More than anything else right now, all Bebe was, was tired. She could close her eyes for a little bit, she decided. Just for a few minutes and then, cold or not, she’d go back to her cushion by the door and wait for Sir and Ma’am to come home the way she was supposed to.

  Like good girls should. When they weren’t stealing food, or climbing up on the furniture, or going into places they knew they shouldn’t.

  When they weren’t forgotten, neglected or abandoned.

  Her bottom lip beginning to quiver, Bebe covered her face with one hand and cried herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  An overprotective parent is a good

  pet’s worst nightmare.

  “Bebe!”

  The room exploded into light and Bebe jerked awake so violently that she fell off the foot of the bed, landing flat on her fanny under a tumbling waterfall of blankets. They instantly covered her, casting her back into blinding darkness.

  “Bad Bebe!” Sir’s voice thundered, and she scrambled to her knees, batting and throwing back the blankets until she’d fought her way out from under the pile and into the light once more. She stared up at Sir, frowning and positively filling the doorway with his disapproval, and her jaw dropped. He was home!

  Sir glared from her to the corner of the bed where she had been lying only moments before. He shook his head and repeated no less firmly, “Bad, bad Bebe!” He stormed the distance between them in only two steps, leaning down to thump her on top of the head with the tip of his finger. It was a very gentle thump, all things considering. Then he gestured to his mattress. “No!”

  Off the bed, Bebe. Yes, off the bed. She knew all about off the bed. They’d come home!

  Unable to bite back an excited squeal, she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him fiercely.<
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  He made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat, but a moment later his hand came down on the back of her head, offering her a distracted pat or two before regaining control of the situation with a slightly disgruntled, “Down, Bebe.”

  From out in the living room, she heard Ma’am’s voice half muttering and half laughing. They were both back! Ducking past Sir as he bent to gather the blankets off the floor, Bebe ran down the hall. A somewhat skinnier Ma’am was in the process of moving her cushion and blanket back to their customary position near the mantelpiece. She straightened when Bebe threw her arms around her hips now too, hugging her every bit as ardently as she had Sir.

  “Okay, okay,” Ma’am cooed at her, stroking her claws through Bebe’s hair and giving her back a fond pat.

  When she finally pushed away, Bebe let her go but followed fast at the taller woman’s heels, another squeal of excitement bursting from her throat when Ma’am headed straight for the kitchen. Food!

  Bebe’s eyes darted from the raided cookie tin, to the innocent-seeming sink, her excitement not exactly diminishing, although she did tap her fingers once or twice. She should confess to stealing the food. Neither Sir nor Ma’am had ever starved her before, and she didn’t for a second think anything that had happened this last day had been intentional. If she gave them the empty package now, maybe they would understand. Maybe they’d think she wasn’t hungry any more and send her to bed in disgrace. Or maybe they’d feed her but they’d also think that, since she hid the Bad Bebe hairbrush along with the empty food package, then obviously she felt she ought to be spanked, and then they’d oblige her. They had done that before; Bebe’s bottom began to tingle again, and distracted as she was, it wasn’t until the soft, white sling around Ma’am’s neck made a soft grunting noise that Bebe noticed it at all.