Chapter Twenty Nine
She almost hid herself behind Mr. Smith, staring reproachfully at an overgrown maple tree, bare of all its leaves. Winter was coming and she felt cold, almost numb. The sun was sinking, bringing the temperature down with it. Mr. Smith knocked on the door of the cabin, and they waited.
The door swung open not moments later, and she looked up, meeting Dustin’s bright blue eyes. They stared, neither daring to speak a word. She felt Mr. Smith shift as he prepared to shake Dustin’s hand.
“It’s nice to-“ he began, stopping only when the door slammed shut. Austin and Mr. Smith looked at each other. Austin wondered if this was such a great idea, but she didn’t express her doubts. Her expression said enough.
“Sorry,” Dustin yanked the door open again, standing aside so that the two refugees could enter, “I didn’t expect you to bring her.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Mr. Smith said, no malice evident in his voice, “Poor little Austin got herself discovered.”
“Already?” Dustin asked. They followed him through the corridors, but Austin lagged behind. Mr. Smith had captured Dustin’s attentions and neither noticed when she stopped, staring at a picture on the wall. She stared.
The picture was of Dustin. He looked almost exactly the same as he did now, except his skin was a little paler and his hair was a natural dark brown. Beside him stood a toddler with bright red hair and a full smile.
Austin touched it gingerly, smudging the smooth glass as she traced the child’s face. That was her, she knew. She was looking at herself. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything. The child she had once been died the moment that her memories erased. She might as well have been looking at a stranger.
“Aussy,” Dustin laid a hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened. His hand was hot against her cold flesh, and it brought memories to the front of her mind. At once, she could feel her arms wrapped around his waist as they rode through the streets of New York on his motorcycle. The greasy scent of cheeseburgers, seasoned with hot sauce, filled her nose. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
She could see Chelsea falling to the ground, the gun clattering to the ground beside her.
“Don’t touch me,” she flinched away from him, stumbling into the wall. He reached a hand out to steady her, but he never made contact. He listened to her, “You’re being really helpful for letting us stay here for the night, but please. If you touched me…”
She would break into little pieces, like a doll. She didn’t like being fragile, but right now, she was.
He looked away, “I’ll get you something to drink. Is apple cider fine?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, accepting his help as long as he didn’t touch her. She followed him into what looked like a living room, where Mr. Smith was sitting on a sofa. Austin sat on the other edge, taking the blanket that was tossed at her. She clutched it in her hands, trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill over.
She would not cry.
“What day is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Dustin was no longer in the room, so Mr. Smith answered.
“Wednesday,” he answered, “Was there any reason why you wanted to know?”
“Today was Chelsea’s funeral,” her laugh sounded more like a sob, “And instead of being there, I’m hanging out with her murderer.”
He was quiet for a long time, staring at the deep creases of his hands, “I’m not going to tell you to forgive him.”
“Then don’t,” she said, not wanting to hear anything else. She was fine with not forgiving him for what he did.
“But,” he said calmly, carrying on, “Our bodies barely age, Austin. We each have the capability to live near forever, and forever is a long time to hate someone.”
Austin was saved from answering because, at that exact moment, Dustin came into the room. The shadows became more defined and pronounced, and Austin wished desperately that someone would turn on a light. He placed a steaming mug on the table and she picked it up, taking a sip. Apple cider.
“Aussy—I mean, Austin,” Dustin sat down on the seat across from them, “I, we, thought that maybe you’d like to know about your life when I was your guardian, before Aiden found us.”
“No,” she stopped him, lowering her coffee cup. She stared at him readily, meeting the eyes that haunted her dreams for weeks, “I’ve made up my mind on a lot of things. I’ve decided that storytellers are great and that chaos dragon like Mr. Smith aren’t bad, but ones like you are. I don’t need to know anything that you have to tell me.”
“Austin,” Mr. Smith begun, disapproving. She knew that she was supposed to readily accept new information, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t listen to Dustin talk about how happy the two of them were, before he turned into a homicidal maniac.
“Maybe I’m being immature,” she cut him off, her voice rising, “Maybe I’m acting like a child, but I’m telling you that I don’t want to know.”
“It’s fine,” Dustin said, “But it’s getting late. Austin should get some sleep.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” she said, but her heavy eyelids betrayed her. Mr. Smith nodded at Dustin, who pulled her up, making sure not to let his skin touch hers. She could still feel the warmth of him through her clothes, and she pushed him away. Still, she followed him until the came to a plain wooden door. He stood to the side and hesitantly, she pushed the door open.
“I’ve barely changed it since you…” Dustin’s voice faded as she shut the door behind her, locking it. He probably had a key to open it from the outside, but that didn’t matter to her. The locked door made her feel safer. She allowed herself to look around.
It didn’t look like a child’s room. The walls were a dark blue and the floors were just a continuation of the same dark wood that ran through the rest of the cabin. She ran her fingers along the designs sketched in silver paint. Words in clumsy prints mixed in with delicate swirls, which took up all the space until they reached the ceiling. She reached a hardwood desk and opened a drawer, where she found stacks upon stacks of stories and drawing. She held one up to the dying light that came through the window and read.
It was a journal entry, signed with an A at the bottom. It described, in detail, a trip to a busy city full of cars and smoke. It looked like Dustin had taken her on field trips in the human world.
She dropped it, letting it float to the ground. She investigated the bookshelves and found everything from a printed copy of the Origin story to crime novels. She picked up a book, one that she remembered telling Dustin about when he enrolled in her high school, and threw it against the wall. It made a satisfying thump and hit the floor, bending and destroying the new pages.
She ignored the sounds of concern outside her door and sat down on top of the dark blue comforter, leaning against the headboard. She threw her jacket to the ground and spread the thin blanket, one that she had taken from the dining room, over her crossed legs. She stared at the door for a long time, daring Dustin to unlock the door and come inside.
She did n’t notice when her eyes slid shut.
Fledgling Page 30