Forget Me Not

by Stacey Nash

  He looks at me with a blank expression.

  “Al and Bertie’s shop.” I mirror his clown look and rub his word out of my message.

  “Ah, right, but it’s all the way out in the suburbs.” He rises to his feet in one fluid motion.

  “We don’t have any transport, Lilly has the bands for the port-all, and Will has the keys for the bike. We don’t even know where it’s parked.”

  He dangles his hand in front of me. I grab it, and he pulls me to my feet. “We can take the train.”

  As we walk through the park, away from the Council building, a sense of calm surrounds me. Even though we’re leaving without our friends, without Dad, it’s good we’re moving forward.

  The dark shadows don’t feel like they once would have. I used to hate being in parks at night because of all the warnings from Dad about it being dangerous. He’d say it’s when all of the troublemakers hang out, shooting up drugs, getting drunk, and waiting for people to assault. Typical paranoid parent stuff.

  I hobble along, supporting myself with Jax’s arm. The knuckles on my hand grip his forearm, stark white mounds in the night. Dark shadows stretch across the Avenue of Elms. I would have once imagined long, misty fingers reaching out to grab me, but now I can see them for what they really are.

  Up ahead a large dark lump sits on the side of the footpath. The shadows dissolve into the form of a person curled up on a park bench, covered in layers of clothing and papers. A knitted hat is pulled down over his head. We walk past without him stirring. My head swivels, watching to make sure he’s breathing. Finally the papers rustle and rise as he inhales. Jax pats my hand. “Nothing to be scared of, cupcake.”

  The harsh light of a street lamp pools on the ground in the near distance. We emerge onto the lit sidewalk. A glance either way reveals a green neon subway sign shining above stairs which disappear into the sidewalk. It’s only a short way down the street, but a cluster of people warm their hands over a subway vent halfway between us and the entrance.

  “Let’s cross over,” I say.

  Jax looks at me, his expression steady and serious. “You’re safe with me.”

  He’s proven several times over that I am, but my stomach still flutters uneasily. As we get closer, my throat constricts and my fingers squeeze around his arm. Something’s just not right. The way they stand, all faces turned to us. The way their hands are now hidden in their pockets. The way their keen-eyed gazes watch our every move.

  Agents?

  Chapter Nineteen

  THEY CONTINUE TO STARE at me and Jax as he helps me hobble along to the street. My gaze stays on the opening to the subway entrance, but I flick my eyes without moving my head to make sure they don’t move. Unease writhes through my belly.

  I tug on Jax’s arm. “We need to cross over.”

  It’s too late. The leader, I think, the one in baggy jeans, faded denim jacket, and hands hidden by pockets, nods. “Nice night for stroll.”

  I keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t answer. My heart is thudding, trying to rattle my ribs free.

  “Been making out in the park, eh, lovebirds?” says a second guy with a black beanie pulled down low over his ears.

  All three of them look as rough as the nighttime park dwellers Dad always warned me against. Not agents after all—street thugs.

  “Something like that,” Jax says as we walk past them. Although his voice is flat and indifferent, the muscles in his arm flex under my hand.

  “How about sharing the lady?” the third guy says, and they all snicker.

  My heart and breaths accelerate. I don’t run. Once I would have but, after all I’ve seen tonight, these guys are insignificant scum. I stop, spin around, and glare at the dude. Jax lurches to a stop too. The sudden jerk burns my thigh and my hand flies to it.

  “Excuse me?” Jax shoots them a dark look.

  Denim Jacket Guy pulls his hands out of his pockets. Light glints of something in his hand. A small knife? Jax snorts and takes his collapsed blade out his jacket.

  “Going to defend her virtue with a stick, lover boy?” says the second guy while kicking at the vent. They all laugh.

  Jax’s blade springs out from its handle with a click. Denim Jacket’s mouth drops open, and their laughter stops.

  “Shit,” says Denim Jacket. The others start to back away.

  The Beanie guy turns, glaring at his friend. “Told you he’d put up a fight.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” says the Denim Jacket guy, holding his hands up.

  Jax raises a crooked elbow, I link mine through, and we turn away, leaving them staring after us. Jax looks at me with a crooked smile while I use him as a crutch to descend the stairs into the subway. “Do you feel safe now?”

  I squeeze his arm and give him a small smile.

  He leaves me leaning up against the wall. Minutes later he returns with two tickets, and we stand on the platform for a few moments before a train stops. We climb on, and Jax waves his hand toward the dark blue bench, indicating I should sit. I lower myself onto the cool, hard seat. The pain immediately lessens to a dull ache. My muscles relax, and it’s bearable.

  Jax slumps onto the vinyl bench beside me.

  This car of the train is almost empty. A small boy squeals and grabs at his father’s scarf a little further down, and opposite them a woman sits with her head bent over a book, reading to a small girl. An old lady with frizzy grey hair and a knitted shawl pulled around her shoulders sits across from us, looking me over, her gaze lingering on the blood seeping through my bandage. She looks from Jax’s toes all the way up to his face like she’s sizing him up for impertinence. If only she knew. She gives a small shake of her head, looks back to me, her eyes catch mine for a brief moment, then dart away.

  My head lolls forward, and my eyes slide closed. I force them back up. I can’t sleep here.

  An automated voice comes over the sound system, making me jump up from Jax’s shoulder. My eyes spring open, and my hand darts to my chin, wiping the drool off. The recording crackles, and I can’t make out the words. The loud squeal of metal on metal slowing the train means it must have been a next station announcement.

  Jax chuckles and wipes at a wet splotch on his leather-covered shoulder.

  I turn my face away, cheeks burning, toward the young family. “Sorry,” I mumble. How embarrassing.

  A bunch of college-age students enter the train in a whirlwind of noise. They walk past us, surrounded by laughter and the sweet smell of alcohol coupled with the tang of lingering cigarette smoke. A girl in a dress with a hem that brushes her upper thighs leans all over a smooth-faced guy. Her gaze slithers up and down me in the way only a girl’s can. A look that appraises my weight, my looks, and the way I’m dressed in one long glance. I return her stare with an arched eyebrow.

  “What happened to you?” She points at my bandaged leg. Her eyes move to Jax and rake over him. She waggles her finger between us. “You two together?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I spin to face him, my look questioning. Sure, we shared a kiss, but neither of us ever acknowledged it, and earlier he shied away from a second one. Two other girls in the group giggle, breaking our shared gaze. “Thanks.” Sarcasm drips off his voice as the girls stumble over each other in a race to sit beside him.

  A skinny blonde with legs that reach all the way to her armpits makes it there first. “You’re cute.” She giggles and runs her hand down his arm.

  “Ah-huh.” He stares out the window, making no effort to shrug off her touch.

  She bats her heavily made-up eyes at him. “What’s your name?”

  “Jax.”

  Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I shake my head. She’s skinny and looks trashy. She wouldn’t want to bend over in that dress or the world would see her panties, if she’s even wearing any. I force myself to look straight ahead at the lights of suburbia twinkling through the window. We must have come out of the tunnels while I slept. Pity I can’t force my
ears to shut off too.

  She twines her fingers through his. “Cool name. I’m Krystal.”

  Turning my head further away, I look at her friends. The two girls whisper behind their hands and openly glance in this direction, but not at me. One gives Krystal the thumbs-up and grins.

  “I like your jacket,” Krystal says in a super-sweet voice.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, Jax, we normally hang out at the Skate Park on Sunday evenings. You should come next week.”

  Her proposition is met with silence. Jax must be flirting with her if she’s asked him out. My neck twitches, the desire to look trying to tug it around. Would he flirt? He called me his girlfriend, but what does that even mean? No doubt it was just a lie to hold her at bay.

  “Call me,” Krystal says.

  Keeping my eyes down, I sneak a sideways glance in their direction. She holds his hand in hers, fingers entwined while she writes on it with a red pen. My stomach twists. He is flirting. I can’t drag my eyes away from their joined hands.

  Jax twists his fingers, and hers twist with his, trapping him in her hold. He pulls free with a sharp yank.

  “This has been lovely, Krystal, but I really should get my girlfriend to the hospital. My knife slipped and sliced right into her leg.”

  The old lady hisses like she sucked air in through her teeth. Her eyes narrow, and she shoots a long, harsh look at Jax. She probably thinks he beat me up. I clench my lips together, suppressing a smile.

  Krystal gets up and stalks away with wide eyes and a horrified expression. My lips curl. I suck on my top lip to force them back down. Jax slips his warm and comforting hand into mine. He pulls me to my feet a moment before the train comes into the station, and the glass doors slide open.

  Cold night air rushes through the doors and stings my face, making me realize how warm and stuffy it was in the train. I drop his hand and lean on his arm, hobble off the train, and onto the platform.

  My stiff, aching leg protests as we trek down the deserted street of shop fronts. The doors are all closed, the lights are off, and even the bakery’s empty. It’s either very late or very early. The run to safety, the wait, the thugs, Krystal—so much has happened that my sense of time feels warped.

  A small light from deep inside Al’s shop illuminates it with a dull glow. The red sign on the front door reads: Closed.

  “Here we are at Crazy Asshat,” Jax says.

  I shake my head and smile at the Prince of Dry Humor. At least something feels normal. How will we get inside? Even if we can break the locks, the store must be alarmed. I glance to the side alley. Maybe we can get in through the back. My feet refuse to leave the ground, suddenly heavy as a ton of bricks. I force myself to move, shuffling toward the alley. It’s dark but short, and light from the small parking lot glows at the far end. I sigh. Thank God it looks empty. Jax strides to the end of the alley, turns, and comes back holding out his crooked arm.

  “All clear.”

  Hooking my arm through his, I grip his welcome forearm. The short walk feels long. It’s like my body has already turned off and started resting now that we’re so close. We emerge from the alley and move to where brickwork at the back of the shop is painted the same aqua as the shop front. Jax runs his hand over the small red door. Albert’s Second Hand Treasures crosses it in matching aqua lettering. He fingers the metal bolt, shot home from the door into the jamb. A bronze padlock bars it from sliding out. A rough jiggle tests the bolt.

  “Easy.” He pulls out his blade, clicks it open, and slices the padlock in half.

  My mouth drops open. “Wow. You weren’t wrong about Clarinium.”

  “One of my angelic powers.” His eyes carry that tormenting glint as he opens the door. I glance around; we don’t want anyone to see us slip in. When we’re both inside, Jax eases the door closed and slides another bolt into the lock.

  “Wonder why it’s locked from the outside?” I ask.

  “It is pretty weird. Probably agents, buying themselves more time when they captured Al and Bertie.”

  We twist our way between piles of junk all the way to the narrow staircase at the back of the room.

  Looking around, a sad sigh billows from my lungs. A lifetime ago, Al ushered me and Will up these stairs. Back then, we knew nothing of the secret world of The Collective and I never thought we wouldn’t go home. Clasping my hands together, my gaze drops to the floor, and unbidden tears well in my eyes. Will was with me, but now it’s Jax, and Dad’s old friend is broken and bruised, but safe. God, let him be safe. Dad’s missing, and who knows what happened to Will? I’m not sure normalcy can ever return.

  I put one foot in front of the other, climbing the stairs, feeling like a zombie. Jax’s palm thumps into my chest, and I almost topple backward. He points to the earpiece and holds up his hands in a cross while shaking his head. Reminding me not to use the telcom, or we’ll call The Collective right to us. I nod, indicating I understand. He cups his hand to his ear and raises his finger to his lips.

  I look up the staircase; a dim light shines under the closed door.

  He tiptoes to the top, then I hear it—the unmistakable shuffles and thumps of movement inside.

  Chapter Twenty

  WITH MY EAR PRESSED flat against the door, my pulse charges like a caged bull. A high-pitched whistle squeals through the thick timber. Jax pulls out his blade and goes alert.

  Muffled voices bounce back and forth, two of them, speaking too soft for me to hear anything more than murmurs. Jax points to me, then thrusts his thumb over his shoulder, asking me to move out of the way. I take a few steps back and dig my fingers into the crevices between the bricks. Sweat drips into my eyes, and pain rips through my leg.

  The fine bone where his jaw meets his temple moves slightly as he prepares to launch into attack. He pulls his knee back until it almost touches his shoulder, and lets his leg fly in an almighty kick. The door bursts open, slamming hard against the wall and smashing around the knob. There’s a crash, a high-pitched scream, a splash, and the noise of something shattering.

  I swivel, my whole body following the sound.

  Lilly stands in the kitchen, her hand outstretched, spots of wet liquid splashed over her fawn pants. Black tea and shattered china carpet the floor.

  “Way to make an entrance,” says a voice from the couch.

  “Will!” I hobble up the last few stairs as fast as I can.

  In one swift movement, he’s by the door and scoops me off my feet, his arms squeezing until I think I might burst. His head sinks into my neck and hair, his shaky laughter warming my heart. We’re both safe. Tears of relief slide down my cheeks.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” I say through the lump in my throat.

  “It’s not that easy.” His chest rises against me with his deep breath. He releases his hold just enough so he can squeeze me again.

  “Heartwarming reunion, guys. Lilly, you need to look at Mae’s leg,” Jax says in a flat tone.

  Will brushes a kiss on my forehead and sets me down on the couch. When I turn to Jax, his mouth’s turned down as he looks up at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Your dad?” Will asks.

  “It was a trap,” I reply.

  His eyes widen. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Will. They ported him out of the room right as I got there.”

  “Ouch.” His expression echoes the loss, pain, desperation I know must be written all over my face. “What now?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  I look around the dim, sparsely furnished room. The small television is on its side against its overturned stand; the hand-knitted blankets on the shabby armchair and couch sprawl out, skewed and amiss. Shattered glass from the cabinet lies all over the carpet, and all of its odds and ends are strewn across the floor. The glass frames on the mantelpiece are crushed, their photos crumpled and discarded on the floor.

  My brows wrinkle, and the aching lump in my throat reappears. An imag
e of Al lying bruised and broken on the cold stone table flashes into my mind.

  Jax scans the small apartment. “Looks like they put up a good fight.”

  “Poor Al. Where are they now?”

  Lilly’s voice comes from another room. “They’re safe with Dad.”

  “Thank God.”

  Jax plonks himself in the armchair. A loud whoosh of air puffs out of the tweed cushion. Relief they’re safe opens my throat just a little. Safe but not unhurt. Will slides to the floor beside the end of the couch and strokes the sweat-plastered hair from my forehead.

  “Do you think Al will make it?” I ask through my thick throat.

  Lilly emerges from a door between the kitchen and the lounge with a first aid box. “Yes. I checked him out while we waited for you at the Council building. It’s mainly external damage, nothing too serious. So long as he doesn’t get an infection, he’ll be okay. A few of the wounds looked angry, but penicillin will soon fix them. He’s also dehydrated and half-starved, but he’ll be all right.”

  “We went back for you, but the room was empty,” I say.

  She kneels beside me and opens the box. It’s stuffed to the brim with bandages and wadding, antiseptic creams, needles and safety pins, small vials of colored liquid. “Bertie cleaned Al up, and while I was examining his wounds, the lights all turned red. It was really weird. Not long after that, we heard a billion people stomping through the hall.”

  “A billion?” Jax says. I can’t see him through Lilly sitting between us, but I can hear the smirk in his voice.

  “Well, maybe it’s an exaggeration,” she says.

  She unwinds the bloodied bandage from my leg. As she reaches the last layers, I wince and squeeze my eyes shut, fending off the sting. The bandage has glued the wound together with the fibers of my pants, and each small tug feels like it’s tearing the scab open.

  “I need warm water and a wash cloth,” she says.

  I glance around at Bertie’s prized possessions strewn on the floor, determined to look anywhere but at Lilly’s work site. “You ported them back to the farm?”