Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising

by Tessa Van Wade

  “I’m always here.”

  I smile. “I know. Why?”

  He takes a moment to respond, his lean but built chest rises beneath his sweater when he takes a thoughtful breath. “To protect you.”

  My body erupts with electricity. “From what?”

  “Don’t you know?” He studies me, clearly hoping for a certain response.

  “No. Should I?”

  He releases his breath as though he’s been holding it. “No,” he says. The rain comes down a bit heavier until his hair grows darker and I’m flustered by how bright his eyes are. “You need to get out of the rain and sleep,” he says. “Be careful tomorrow.”

  He starts to turn away, so I reach out and grab his hand. Lightning shoots through me like I’ve never felt before, so much so that I let go instantly and look at him in surprise. Again, he seems to be studying me. “What was that?” I ask.

  “What was what?” he calmly repeats, although I know he knows.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He confidently takes a step until his shoulder touches mine and he assures me. “We’ve got you. I promise.”

  The rain comes down so hard, my clothes stick to my skin, but I can’t pay any attention when he’s there. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  He is more than comfortable with his proximity. “Not yet, but soon. You need sleep. I am here.” When I don’t move, he nods his head toward my apartment, “Go.”

  Finally, I walk away. Strangely enough, I instantly fall asleep till morning.

  However, I am still thinking about Arek’s touch through the next school day. The last thirty minutes are the longest as the kids run around wild.

  “DeSean, take a seat, please,” I beg.

  “Miss Willow, there’s a stranger on campus,” he says, leaning over the shelf of plants to peer outside. I look up from the papers I’m about to pass out and see his inquisitive eyes. “There’s lots of people out there.”

  Some of the kids rush over to the window. “Everybody sit down!” I holler kindly. “Y’all don’t need to look. Just sit.” I walk up to the window and lean beside DeSean.

  Beside the red swing set and jungle gym a man stands on the blacktop with his phone pressed to his ear. A thick mist clouds the windows, creating more work for my eyes as I step closer. Finally, he comes into focus. His stance and frame are familiar.

  Arek.

  Soon in my peripheral vision I see each child peering out the windows beside me.

  “Who’s that?” DeSean asks coolly.

  I don’t answer as more people surround Arek on the playground. Their faces are familiar, too.

  “What in the world?” I breathe out. The couple from BART, the boy from the supermarket, and the couple with the white Aston Martin are there.

  “Who are they?” DeSean asks again.

  My voice comes out harsher than I expect. “Grab your backpacks. You’re going to the library for the last few minutes.” Every child rejoices loudly, except DeSean.

  Across the hall the librarian is cleaning up as the kids march in. She looks at me with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry Sue . . . please help me. I’m not feeling well.”

  DeSean cocks his head to the side, “You need help, Miss Willow?”

  I give a forced smile. “No, thank you, DeSean.”

  The door nearly hits me in the heels as I rush out.

  The winding staircases and slick aging tiles of the old schoolhouse aren’t easy to navigate. After descending two floors in my clumsy version of a sprint, someone collides with me, coming the opposite direction. The impact jars my teeth as my hip hits the hard floor.

  I gather myself and finally look up. Instantly my body goes cold and my fingers numb. The angry man from the other night stares at me. A familiar race of my heart warns me.

  Get away, I tell myself. I don’t even try to stand but crawl back, my palms cold against the floor. Yet he follows with clear advantage. His lips move as if speaking under his breath and just as before, my chest constricts. An immediate headache makes me close my eyes and fall back in pain. I groan.

  He seems to control the raging fire in my head—no amount of burning or pressure I have ever felt could emulate the same torture. His boots stomp close to my head as I beg him to stop.

  Instead, his strong tourniquet-like fingers wrap around my arm and cut off the blood flow. “Welcome back,” he growls. His voice creates a fog in my brain that makes it difficult to react. My eyes roll uncontrollably back in my head. Only when he stops talking am I able to pull away. The more I pull, the tighter his grip becomes on my arm and, despite my best effort, my skin feels as though it will tear, or my bones might break. Someone shows up behind him, which at first gives me hope, until his face comes into view. My world suddenly spins out of control.

  The old man. His arthritic fingers bouncing like he has a tick. White hair just touches his jaundiced eyes.

  “What . . .” I cry out, but soon my eyes roll back again with pain so severe my body convulses.

  “Rapit, bye te sen,” the old man says in a different language.

  Years of my life he has intruded upon my dreams. I fear him. Loathe him. Yet I know nothing about him.

  When he steps closer, my body writhes more.

  “Al e dine noru, Japha,” the younger man tells the old man in an almost irritated tone. Was that the old man’s name—Japha?

  “Noru!” the old man growls back.

  They stop talking for a moment, allowing me to gather myself as he pulls me to my feet. My shoes screech across the smooth marble floor when he drags me toward the nearest exit as though I weigh nothing. My struggle to get away is fleeting. He freezes when he hears someone running up the old schoolhouse stairs. Japha rushes forward but stops when he sees Arek.

  For just a moment, I am relieved.

  Arek comes to an abrupt stop when he sees us and swiftly surveys the third-floor hall. His eyes dip in anger and his jaw tenses as veins pulse up and down his neck. More men run up the stairs and swiftly stop behind Arek. The man with long locks from the white Aston Martin, angrily shakes his head at the sight.

  “Japha!” he yells and tries to run forward, but Arek stops him with an arm across his chest.

  This makes the old man smile sadistically.

  “Let her go, Navin,” Arek calls out. He takes the final step from the stairs. “Ete ella gari, Navin.”

  “Ellan suela gari,” Navin slurs. Once again, just as before, my eyes roll back. Whatever poison he fills me with is toxic. It seems to follow in the same order, my temples to my chest, and convulsions. “Al me, Arek,” the man named Navin warns.

  Arek takes angry steps forward, belting out in his deep voice, “Navin! Let her go.”

  “No, Arek. I get what I want.”

  Arek makes a choice to push forward, but Japha steps toward him with a raised hand. Despite neither man touching each other, Japha and Arek both fly back in opposite directions. My eyes widen. What in the hell? Arek slams into the others and they tumble down the stairwell while Japha screeches across the floor. These things have no explanation and my heart stings with panic. Every man tries to be the fastest to their feet; once they are up, Arek and his men try to rush forward but stop abruptly as though there’s an invisible barrier.

  “Sine rus me keprin,” Arek and the other man repeat again and again. Each word comes out a bit stronger. Their steps accrue strength.

  Navin rakes me across the floor, clearly wanting nothing to do with Arek and the other men. I can hear struggling behind me, possibly fighting, but even though I try to see, Navin’s body is in the way and his hand tethers me tightly. Suddenly we are falling—Navin on top of me onto the hard ground. My bones crumple beneath his two hundred or more pounds, and a rush of breath squeezes from his lungs.

  Struggling to turn, Navin roughly pushes against me in order to face Arek, who is slowly but aggressively walking our way. Navin scrambles to his feet, and when he has his footing he tries to push back. Nothing expl
ains the strange energy between them.

  The man with long dreads joins Arek and they keep their gaze directly on Navin. Yet something is different. They drop their chins and stare intently, seeming to speak under their breath just as Navin has done before. Navin’s shoes squeak across the tiles, which makes me look down. How is this happening? No matter what Navin does, his staggered boots are pushed back one centimeter at a time. His body presses forward, as he tries to work against them, but to no avail. Black marks from his tread are left on the tile in front of his toes.

  Navin’s hand begins to weaken around my arm. They push harder, never losing a concentrated stare. He growls as his muscles pulse under the pressure. Yet finally, after several minutes pass, his body weakens.

  Behind Arek, a desperate struggle continues between Japha and three men. His arthritic hands and spotted skin say nothing about his strength as he defeats the fresh skinned, thirty something men.

  When it is too much, Navin lets go as he falls.

  They rush to my side and Arek takes my arm as though they are racing for time. “Go!” Arek commands.

  “Arek!” A yell fills the halls behind us as we run. When I look back, the three young men are lying lifeless as Japha gives chase.

  “Don’t look at him,” Arek commands. “Just go, Kilon!” he tells the long-haired man.

  We scale a series of stairs and pony walls faster than I’ve ever moved. Meanwhile, Arek stays just a bit behind and places his phone to his ear. “We have eight minutes to clear it up,” Arek tells whoever answers. “Send them through the back, Navin and Japha are following.”

  We reach the bottom of the stairs. “There!” I point to the last door on the left. When I throw it open, a man lunges at me. Arek latches his leg around the back of the attacker’s knee and sends him to the ground with an arm across his chest. It takes only seconds.

  “Go!” Kilon says.

  As Kilon presses a knee to the man’s chest, his jacket flies up to reveal two neatly tucked guns and a long knife sheath on his side. Arek pushes me on, leaving Kilon to take care of all that follows. Just then the bell rings and immediately the kids begin to break out of the classrooms.

  We slow down, as sweat pours from our skin. Arek keeps a hold on my arm, while surveying the short crowd.

  “We can just hide,” I mention.

  “Keep going.”

  “I know places they won’t find.”

  With steady eyes he shakes his head, “There are no such places. Trust me.”

  We push through the kids as normally as possible. None of them pays much attention to us—rather they are just happy to be done after a long day.

  “Everyone’s going to see what happened upstairs,” I whisper.

  “Someone’s taking care of it.”

  Finally, we exit the schoolhouse beside seventy-five children. Parked on the street several yards away, I notice several out of place silver sedans, to which Arek seems to be directing me. We hurry to them, yet I refuse to get in.

  “What is happening?” I desperately ask.

  “I’ll explain everything. I just need you to get in the car.”

  Behind us, Kilon subtly makes his way through the children.

  “Take your chances with the men inside or with us. But make your decision quick. These children will be fine if we leave now. They aren’t a part of this . . . only you.”

  Kilon reaches us at that point, sweat covering his perfect skin, but he refuses to get in the car until I do. With a strong and thick hand, Kilon opens the door beside me. Both men wait uncomfortably.

  Only when Japha and Navin hurry out from the opposite side of the school do I realize this won’t end until we drive away. Just as I step to the car, the same electricity jolts through my head until my eyes roll back. Kilon and Arek catch me before I fall, then shove me into the vehicle.

  “Go!” Arek yells to the woman behind the wheel as he jumps in beside me and Kilon in the front. The car squeals away.

  “Shut ’em,” Kilon quickly tells the woman. With her black glasses blocking any expression, she coolly presses the button under her hand that closes the windows. Inch by inch as the shaded glass rolls tightly shut providing a penetrating silence, I find relief and collapse against the seat.

  “What happened?” the woman asks. “Talon, Michael, Kyler . . . I sent them in to find you.” Her strong voice matches her refined beauty.

  Arek shakes his head. “Japha.”

  She turns to Kilon in question.

  Kilon nods, “Japha’s alive.”

  Her eyelashes touch her brow bone when they widen with shock, but he continues, “They had no chance. But they did their job and distracted Japha. They gave us time.”

  When there has been several minutes of silence and plenty of distance, Arek lowers his intensity. “Are you okay?”

  My hesitation hangs in the air mounting the tension, yet that isn’t the objective. Rather I am just unsure of the answer, so a slight nod must suffice.

  “This is Kilon,” Arek introduces me, “and his wife, Sassi.” She peers at me in the rear-view mirror behind her dark sunglasses.

  When it seems no one is going to continue, my discomfort grows. “Do I get to know what’s going on?”

  “We can’t take you home. You have to come with us,” Arek states.

  “I’m supposed to just go with you?”

  “The last thing you need is an explanation right now.”

  My chin lifts with surprise, “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen every one of you for months.” They look at each other but seem to avoid me. Arek makes a noise like he is going to respond, but then thinks better of it. “Where are the others . . . the others who have been around?”

  “They’re following us,” Sassi explains. I notice two silver cars ahead and two behind.

  “That’s all I get?” I continue.

  Finally, Arek turns to me with a look that tells me not to ask again. “For now. We will tell you only what you need to know.”

  The car pulls to a stop. “We are here,” Sassi says.

  The brick wall, a familiar alley, the same metal door I have been entering and exiting for years: all of these things tell me that we have arrived at my home, and I quickly try to open the door, but it is still locked.

  “You may get some things, but quickly,” Arek instructs. It isn’t that he is unkind; security is the obvious tone. Finally, the locks pop and I jump out in seconds, as does he.

  “I can do this alone.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Once again, this would be where you could tell me what is happening.” But he remains silent as we climb the stairs to my apartment. Only then does he place an arm in front of me and take my key from my hand.

  “Wait here.”

  “You think someone’s in my apartment?”

  “It’s possible.”

  My fingers trace the molding on the walls, as my eyes dart from the overhead lights to the staircase behind me, while I picture my bra on the bed. Within a minute, he opens the door to let me in.

  “No scary people in the closet?” I walk past him into the middle of the room.

  “Not today . . . you have three minutes.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we leave.”

  “When will I be back?”

  The look on his face tells me that I shouldn’t plan on ever coming back and the tension in my shoulders travels up my neck.

  “It feels like I just got back,” I whisper.

  His voice softens. “Come on. Get your things.” Back in my room, without any method I throw clothes into a bag. From the bathroom, I take all the necessities—toothbrush, hairbrush, and shampoo.

  “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” The heavy bag weighs my arm down as I walk through the hallway.

  From the living room he answers, “I don’t know, Remy, we haven’t figured that out.”

  My eyes shoot up from the floor and I dro
p my bag. He hears the loud crash and runs to the hall.

  “Are you okay?” he asks with concern.

  “What did you just call me?” He doesn’t seem to understand. “Did you just call me Remy?”

  He steps away from me as though he is mad at himself. I watch him closely as he runs his hands through his hair.

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie,” bursts out of me. I have been through enough and want some answers. “Once in the hospital and now . . . I’m not Remy. That man after me . . . he called me Remy, too. You have the wrong person.” He starts to walk away, but I hurry after him. “Please, Arek, tell me what is happening. I don’t understand. What if I’m the wrong person?”

  “You’re not—”

  Suddenly a loud voice comes from the hall.

  “Willow!” Soon, Ian stands in the doorway dressed in his police uniform. When he sees Arek he charges him with an angry growl. It is over too quickly to understand what has happened, but after just a few moves, Ian is on his back with Arek’s foot at his neck. Ian tries to get free, but Arek is strong and keeps him pressed to the ground. My shock mounts since I have never seen someone move like that. It is as though Ian’s large body is absolutely no match.

  “Let go of him!” I shout, running to Ian’s side.

  “Are you done?” Arek asks angrily. Ian grumbles under his breath, with his face smashed against the hard floor, so Arek pushes harder. “Are you done?”

  The cop in Ian wants to fight, but Arek gives him no option. “Yeah,” Ian says sheepishly.

  “Yes?” Arek asks again, then cranks Ian’s wrist just a bit more.

  “Ow! Yes.”

  Slowly, Arek lets go as Ian scrambles to his feet. “Look, what’s going on?” Ian asks.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “We were called to your school,” Ian explains as his scanner makes noise.

  Arek interrupts as he peers out the window, “We have to hurry.”

  “Hurry where?” Ian interjects.

  Then, suddenly, Arek sees something outside that he doesn’t like, and he rushes to my side. “We’re out of time.”

  “Out of time for what?” Ian barks. Arek doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs my bag and heads for the door, but Ian blocks us.