Read Nightingale Songs for Free Online

or film -- its angles bent, its windows off center. In the face of that imposing structure Claire realized the tiny prefabricated home she had grown up in -- the same home in which her father would be worrying after her -- had been her prison; a prison with walls which until then she had never before been aware.
    There was no bulb over the door, nothing that might indicate anyone was home except for the lit window above her. She approached the door and knocked, the sound deep and resonant like an echo in an empty cavern. She shivered, waiting for a response, and then stepped back to get a better look at the window above. She hoped for some movement, some semblance of life beyond the sheer curtains, and thought she saw the briefest shadow pass across it, but could not be sure she could trust her tired eyes. As she stared, trying to will something more to happen, she heard the quiet strains of a piano beneath the wind wrapping around the house. Her eyelids became heavy and began to flutter; it was as though the warmth of a dream were washing over her, carried by those notes that floated down from the lit window. She had never heard anything so beautiful, but when it was done her eyelids snapped open and the cold returned. She rapped her frigid knuckles on the door again and heard the music instantly vanish. Mournfully, she waited.
    There was a quiet click amid howls of wind, and though she could not be sure Claire thought she saw the dark gap of the door cracked open.
    "Yes?" The voice was old and careful and Claire worried she had somehow drawn the woman from bed.
    "I'm really sorry to bother you, but there's been an accident and I was hoping--"
    "How on earth did you get past the gate?"
    "The gate?" Claire was confused. "It was open. I hope you don't mind but my f--"
    "Do we mind, Eloise?" the woman said, and Claire heard a shuffling noise that disturbed her come from the dark house. The voice repeated itself, and she did not realize there was another person inside until she heard that voice ask, "What does she want?"
    "I just need to borrow the phone," Claire offered, not bothering to disguise the hope in her voice.
    "She needs to borrow the telephone."
    "I need my father to pick me up."
    "Her father was supposed to pick her up."
    "Not exactly," she mumbled, but her words were obscured by the wind. The other voice, Eloise's voice, did not seem to have heard her at least. Instead, it said, "Let her in, Doreen."
    There was a heavy exhale, or perhaps the sound of the nighttime wind against the house, and in the darkness the door closed, leaving Claire nonplussed. She held her breath as she listened to the sound of locks being turned, and when the door finally swung wide, all it revealed was a rectangle of deeper darkness.
    "Please, come in."
    Claire had barely set foot inside the darkness before a lamp was lit, throwing the shadows of her and Doreen against the walls behind them. There they remained, hovering over the two women like spirits. In the light, Doreen looked much as Claire had imagined her: grey hair tied up from her face in a makeshift bun, strands pulled free and dangling above soft features. The woman appeared uncomfortable in her clothing, nervously adjusting them as Claire's eyes were drawn to the series of paintings that ran around the room. All were of the same subjects: two young girls and an older bearded man, all in some idyllic lakeside setting. In the middle of the room stood Doreen, her smile crooked and full of warmth.
    "Let me take your jacket for you."
    "It's okay," Claire said, discreetly clutching it closer. "After I use the phone I should get going."
    "Out there?" she said. "Well, let's see what Eloise has to say before we go making any plans. She doesn't like it when people go out." Doreen laughed a strange titter though Claire did not completely understand the joke. Her mind was distracted by an incongruity, though it took some time to narrow down. On the wall behind Doreen was an empty space