Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs nor to anything connected with it.
Author's note: I hope the author purehalo does not mind, but I enjoyed her two stories so much, I couldn't help but reference them when discussing the items on the Eppes family's shelf.
Shelby wandered through the large house, sidestepping the man with the long, curly black hair as he appeared to be busy working in the kitchen. She did not want to help- she wanted to be by her self and avoid the crowd of people outside. Since her Daddy had died, she didn't want to talk to anyone else. They all told her they understood, but she knew they didn't.
They didn't know her Daddy like she did.
They didn't talk to him while watching t.v. every night.
They didn't go to church with him on Sunday.
They didn't race him to the mailbox.
They didn't laugh at his jokes, even the corny ones.
They didn't sit next to him at the ballpark, eating hot dogs and singing the team's song.
They didn't get pushed on the swings on Saturday-every Saturday-even if it rained, and Mom would get so mad.
They didn't get to hear him singing.
Or get to feel the comfort and love from the touch of him brushing their hair.
(Shelby unconsciously ran her fingers through her hair, as if to recreate that touch.)
And they didn't know how it felt to have him next to them, how safe it felt just knowing he was there.
Shelby didn't want to hear what they had to say- nor did she want them to hear what she was thinking. Because what she was thinking was that they should be gone, that they should have gone away- not her Daddy, not her Daddy.
As she passed through the kitchen, Shelby began looking around the house. She noted a large dining room table with only one chair. She rightly guessed that the others were being used outside at the barbecue. She grabbed the remaining chair and placed it in front of a shelf along the wall. As carefully as she could, Shelby stood on the chair, and balancing on her tip-toes, she began going through the items on the shelf.
Looking on the first shelf, Shelby found a small silver bell, but it made no noise as she shook it; the silver jingle inside appeared to have been torn out. She wondered who would do that to such a pretty bell- and what had caused him to do it. A small box, two statues, a whistle hidden behind a picture of a man- the child paused in her search as she looked at the man. He was smiling, wearing a baseball cap and swinging a bat. He had dark hair like her Daddy's, and she felt a pain in her stomach as she remembered the times she and Daddy went to the batting cages- she watched and cheered while he swung the bat; he missed more balls than hit them, but they giggled and laughed and pretended he was in the big league.
Eyes still on the picture, Shelby reached onto the top shelf and felt something bristle against her fingers. She trailed her fingers along it, until she felt a handle. Grasping it, she jumped down from the chair and looked at her treasure. It was a large hairbrush, the bristles gleaming white with a solid silver handle and backing. She blew on it, dispersing shivers of dust on the floor. Shelby heard voices coming from the kitchen, so she slipped behind a wall in the living room, watching as a man grabbed the chair she had been standing on, then took it with him through the kitchen door.
As she started to leave the living room, Shelby heard a sigh behind her. Turning around, she saw the man from the picture lying on the couch, his head on a small throw pillow and with eyes tightly shut. It was clear, however, that he was neither asleep nor aware of her presence. Shelby stood still for a moment, looked at the hairbrush in her hand, turned to make sure no one else was around, and then she started to approach the man.