"Just think about it. It would mean so much to her," Cinder said.
My vision of Sunny vanished and the girl from the Fire Realm stood before me once more. Sad, I closed my eyes. I didn't say another word.
She soon grew tired of my non-response. I heard her feet shift on the ground. I felt her pull away what little shadows there were to be found. Then I felt her leave. It was the absence of her presence more than her jump to wherever she was headed. I felt her leave regardless. I was alone, once more.
I took a deep breath and hoped that finally, I would get my wish. I wanted to die. I deserved to die. It was time.
~ * ~
Minutes, hours, days, I didn't know how long I lay there on the ground, but I grew restless. My thoughts would not leave me alone. I'd spent months trying to forget, and in one moment, at the appearance of a simple yellow envelope, all that hard forgetting was gone. It wasn't fair.
I stood up and grabbed the offensive object. I crumpled it up into a ball within my hand. I drew my arm back to throw it as far away from me as I could, but then I saw the writing again, it taunted me, twinkled in the light, and I couldn't do it. I opened my hand and stared. I sighed, but in the end, I un-crumpled it as best I could and tried to press out the wrinkles. I folded it in half and put it in my back pocket for safekeeping. It was from Sunny after all. She wanted me to have it. She'd made sure I got it. I had to keep it.
I looked around. I was in the Fire realm, one of the four realms of our galaxy. Did I think there were other realms? Yes, I did. We just hadn't found them yet. Maybe we weren't supposed to find them. Maybe that was the point, but I didn't think we were the only ones in the universe. Even I wasn't that egotistical.
The realm of fire was red and black in color. Rocks formed all over the land, thanks to pockets of lava geysers. You had to be careful around them. They could take your skin off all the way to the bone in only a moment if the hot liquid fell on you. Bare skin or not, it was dangerous. Most important about the realm, though, it was hot. So hot that sometimes at midday, the sun would feel like it was searing off your skin. That if you didn't get out of it you would die. So far, that hadn't happened. I could try again the next day. Maybe I would get it right the next time.
Without having to look up, I knew she'd returned. "I thought you'd left?" I said as I stood and brushed off what I could from my already filthy clothes. I stared at the frayed seam of my short-sleeved t-shirt and realized how ragged I was looking. My jeans, what was left of them, were covered in holes and stains and dirt. How long had I been wandering? It couldn't have been that long. Could it?
"Nope," Cinder said. "I figured while you wallowed in the pieces of your life, I would stop over and say hello to my family. Since I was here anyway."
I looked at her finally and said, "Don't you live here? With your family?" Her hair really was shiny. The bright sun glinted off the black locks that hung down to her shoulder blades. I quickly looked down at my feet. I didn't want to see her anymore. She was too pretty. It hurt my eyes. Made me think of another girl even more beautiful. One that I let go, drove away.
I saw her shadow on the ground and watched as the shadow head shook back and forth in denial. "No," she said. "Once I turned eighteen this past fall, I moved to the castle to be with Sunny. My mom thought it was a good idea."
"Why?"
"Why did she think it was a good idea?" she asked.
I nodded my head in answer.
"Well, as you may know, there aren't many shadow walkers here in the Fire Realm. Sunny is teaching me how to be both a shadow walker and one of the fire people. Since my mom is a walker and my dad has the fire, it's been hard finding a place that I belong. Being with Sunny helps. She gets it."
"She has that effect on people," I said quietly. Talking about Sunny made my heart hurt. I rubbed the spot just under my sternum where the pain tended to reside. "The Sunshine of the Realm," I whispered to no one. Then louder I asked, "Does she still hate that title?"
She smiled at my question and her whole face lit up. I took a step back, farther away from her. That brilliance in her face almost overwhelmed me. I didn't like it.
"She doesn't love the title, but I think she is getting used to it all the same. She has at least stopped correcting people when they say it or call her 'my lady'. Being a queen, I think, is harder than we realize."
I nodded my head. I was sure it was, especially for someone like Sunny, who just wanted to be normal. Being a queen and having all the power that came with her gifts would be a lot for anyone. That was my fault, too. Had I just left her alone, she never would have had to give up her other life. She could be happy being normal or as normal as she could be. The fact was, and I was willing to admit it, that whether she was queen or not, she still had the gifts that came with being a shadow walker. She couldn't get rid of those, no matter how much she wanted. "What about Lucas? Is he…?" I couldn't finish my sentence. Lucas, I already knew was a good man. Better than I could have been to her. Didn't mean I liked him.
"Lucas is wonderful," Cinder said, agreeing with my own unspoken assessment. "He loves her. That's all she wanted and needed. They have a bond that I don't really get. They understand each other without either of them having to say a word. They are what love is supposed to be. It's hard to watch sometimes."
That perked my attention and I again looked at her face. "Why?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It's hard to feel like you're intruding upon someone, or in the way. They encompass each other and forget about everyone else. It's just hard sometimes, is all."
I knew what she meant. "It's something you want for yourself?"
She shrugged again, "I don't know."
The red sun was beginning to make its descent from the high point of the sky. The shadows were changing forms from short and squat to long and lean. After a few moments of contented silence between the two of us, Cinder said, "So, will you at least think about it?"
"What?" I asked. "The wedding?"
She nodded.
I wanted to see Sunny again, even if it was only to assure myself that she was fine and happy. Maybe a part of me wanted to see if she missed me or longed for me, like I did her. Did she crave my touch like I did hers? Did she still feel my lips upon her skin in the dark of the night? Did my face haunt her dreams? Was I the only one that felt it? Was I?
I turned to the girl that stood tall and proud beside me and said, "Yes. I'll think about it. That's all I can promise."
She again smiled that smile that took my breath away. I frowned at her. What was it about that girl that drew me in all the while I tried to pull away?
Chapter Four
Present
I love the smell of steel, the shine of it in the sun. I love how it warms within my hand as I take on its weight. The sound, the ring in the air as it connects with another of its kind. Mine is smaller, not much smaller than full size, but small enough so I can wield it with power and force and not be dragged down by its size. I love my sword. The metal sings to me as I shove it into its sheath. I can't wait to see it drenched in red. I can't wait to feel the give of flesh as I slice into her. I can't help but laugh out loud, as I can see the scene in my mind's eye. Not long now.
Chapter Five
Eleven Years Ago
Memories are funny things. I have no memories of a father, and I don't remember much about my mother. I remember her hair most of all. Long, shiny, and dark. She'd tickle my face and neck with it, and she would laugh when I laughed. I remember her hands. She had tiny hands, with long fingers. Long like a piano player would have, only I don't think she ever played. I don't know what it was about her hands, but I can see them in my mind. Whenever I think of her, I think of her hands first, not her face.
Since ending up on the streets as a runaway, I found myself thinking of her all the time. Who was she? I knew her name was Tori, but that was about it. I'd been in the system since I was a toddler, and no one had ever claimed me or wanted me. Pushed around from foster p
arent to foster parent, I was never loved again. I know my mother loved me. That I know. I always came back to her, though. Could she do what I could do with the shadows? Was she special like me?
I decided to find out. I had this power after all. Why not use it to my advantage. Who was going to find out? Who was going to stop me? No one, that's who.
I walked all day and half of a night, until I reached the main office of the City Child Protection Services. I slid down the black marble of the wall until I was sitting on the cement sidewalk. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Morning would come soon enough. I didn't think anyone would bother me. I didn't have anything to steal, and I was big enough to put up a fight if I needed to.
Morning arrived and with it, came excitement. I was about to get some answers to long awaited questions. The morning cleaning crew arrived just as the sun crested red over the horizon. I pulled into the shadows and waited for an opportunity. I stepped up behind an older man and took the chance. He had a perfectly circular bald spot high on the back of his head. I stayed close and followed him right through the door. He never suspected a thing.
I was surprised he didn't know I was there. How can you not feel someone right up behind you? Just because you can't see something, does that mean you don't feel it either?
Once inside, I had no idea where to go. However, I knew I only had so much time to get in and out without being noticed. Invisible or not, once people came in for work, I was pretty sure they'd notice doors and cabinets opening on their own.
I stared at the directory on the wall by the elevators and decided to try the records room on the third floor. I took the elevator up, holding to the shadows with a white knuckled grip. Anxiety poured off my body. In the shadows, I felt I could almost see the waves of emotion as they dripped from my body.
The elevator opened. I stepped out into an open white room. There was a giant wooden desk, thankfully empty, and to the left of the desk was one large steel door. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I don't know why I was surprised, but I was.
I turned to the desk. I opened first the middle drawer, but only found paper clips, pencils, and sticky note pads. I tried the side top drawer; nothing. I quickly tried the two other drawers remaining, but came up with tablets of paper, forms, and just worthless stuff. Where was the key?
My adventure to knowledge was not starting out all that great. I sat on the corner of the desk and tried to think of a way to pry open the door. There was nothing in that bare white room but for the contents of the desk and a large, fake tree in the corner. I didn't see any way to get into the room of files. I hadn't thought something as simple as a locked door would hold me back.
I was not leaving, though. I was getting into that room one way or another, even if I had to wait all day.
Finally, after what felt like forever, but most likely was only an hour, I heard the unmistakable ping of the elevator. Hiding under cover of shadows, I watched as a trim, older woman stepped off the elevator. She wore a black skirt that was cut off right at the knee along with a white, no wrinkles allowed, button up shirt. Her hair, brown with white stripes swirled throughout, was arranged in a pile up on her head.
After retrieving a set of keys from her purse, she stowed it in the bottom drawer of the desk. Then she walked over to the steel, impenetrable door, and clicked it unlocked, simple as that. She swung open the door, propped it open with a doorstop in the shape of an iron then sat down at the desk.
I watched this all take place from my spot on the floor in the corner of the room, a window at my back. I felt a smile slide over my lips. The door was wide open before me. With silent stealth, I walked over to and through the doorway into the records room.
The room seemed to go on for miles and miles, and was filled with rows and rows of grey, four drawer filing cabinets. Sterile and white, the room had three windows along the back wall that gave it the only touch of reality. Without those windows, it was a cell of grey and white, oppressive and huge.
I opened the first drawer I came to. The metal squealed loudly. I halted all movements, and stared at the doorway that was only a few feet from where I stood cloaked in darkness. She may not be able to see me, but she could hear anything I did.
I listened as hard as I could and was rewarded with a faint squeak of sound from the woman's chair as she stood up. I tiptoed backward, further into the room. The lady peeked around the corner, and hesitantly stepped in the room with me. I held my breath. She looked left. She looked right. She moved further into the room, and slowly walked the main aisle, all the way to the far end where the windows were.
She turned back around and stared at me. I could have sworn she was looking right at me. I didn't budge. I stood still and waited. Finally, she shrugged and quickly walked her way back out of the room. When I heard the sound of her chair as she sat back down, I let out the breath I had been holding. I quietly walked down the aisle to the windows, and slid down the wall to sit on the white and grey tiles. I was going to have to wait. Again.
It was a long morning. People came and went from the room as I sat unnoticed against the wall, hiding within the shadows. Everything looked different in the shadows. Greyer, blurry, and faded. Staying in the shadows for so long made me tired. Maybe it was the lack of real sunlight, maybe it was staying still for so long. I don't know, but I got drowsy. I couldn't fall asleep, though. I wouldn't be able to hold to the shadows in my sleep.
When I thought I couldn't stand it another moment, the lady out at the desk got up. I watched in complete and utter surprise and thankfulness as she closed the door. Then when I heard a quiet click, I knew she'd locked me in. I leaned forward and strained to listen and then there it was: the ping of the elevator. I'd been hearing it all day. I knew what it was by then. The clock on the wall said it was noon. Lunchtime.
I jumped to my feet and grabbed the first drawer I came to, and all but yanked it open. It was full of files with the last name beginning with 'f'. To the right of that drawer, they began with 'e'. I jumped over to the next aisle and down a bit. Drawer after drawer I opened, getting closer and closer to the 'h' drawer that I needed.
Then it was there, right before me. I opened the top drawer; not there. I then tried the second and then the third. I trundled through the manila files, searching for my name. Then in the bottom drawer, about fifty files in, I saw it. Leif Daniel Hagan.
My hands shook as I pulled it out. There in my hands were all the answers I could need. I hesitated. What if it wasn't what I hoped? I forcefully shook off the fear. I didn't have time for fear. Fear was for babies. I opened the file.
It was a small file, actually. Held together with a two pronged file fastener were about fifty pages of paper. The top page was a report from a caseworker, noting me as a runaway. File to be closed in six months, if I hadn't been found. Six months? That's all the time they were willing to look for me.
I shuffled back to my spot by the window and sat down. I flipped to the next page. It was another report about my placement with the last foster family, the Davis'. It stated they were a good family with religious values. I scoffed at that. Religious values, my butt. He was a drunk who beat his wife and anyone who got in his way. His wife yelled like a harpy and self-medicated with anything she could find in order to escape from her life. Yeah, that was religious. I flipped back another page; this time it was a report about me.
Words like unruly, delinquent, mouthy, liar popped out at me. I continued backward through the file and back through the years of my life. Page after page of glowing references for adults and fosters. All of them lies upon lies, from what I could tell. Then there was page after page of insults and accusations about me that were just untrue.
Take the Pattersons for example. I got there when I was about six years old. They were what I liked to call, serial fosters. They had kid after kid come through their home. In the file, I read they were an excellent fit for me, as they loved children, had a good economic background, and had children of their o
wn.
The Pattersons were abusive. They wanted the foster kids as slave labor on their small farm. They would force the children to work in the fields or the orchard from the break of day until it was too dark to see, all while their loved, real children played sports or watched TV, or did whatever they wanted. Yeah, they had a good economic background all right. They got hours and hours of free labor from all the kids, along with their monthly check from the government as support. They were crooks.
That was the foster system as I knew it. I'd been through home after home of drunks and crooks and abusers, but there in that file I was the one they blamed and mocked and called a thief and unruly. That was the system, and from my shoes, the system sucked.
I flipped to the last few pages and finally found what I was looking for. My birth certificate was the first to catch my eye. It listed my mother, Tori Ann Hagan. She was twenty years old when she had me. My father was listed as: Unknown.
Unknown? What did that mean? My mind swirled with ideas. Was she a slut that had no idea which guy she'd been with was my father? Was I the product of rape? Why didn't she know? I couldn't see past that one word. Unknown. Such a simple word that conveys so much and yet nothing at all. It stabbed at my heart and made my eyes burn and my nose run.
Past the copy of my birth certificate was a short, one-paragraph report. It read:
CPS took custody of a male child, approximate age: 3 years old, due to death of mother. Mother was found dead on the side of the road after an apparent hit and run accident. Male child was found nearby, safely strapped in a mobile stroller. Although hungry, male child appeared to be nourished and groomed and well provided for. Child placed with CPS. Investigation into mother's death transferred to local police authority.
I flipped through what was left of the file, but there were no other references to my mother or the investigation into her death, other than the name of a cemetery and plot number. The agency didn't care about her death. All they cared about was placing me into a foster home, which they did sixteen hours after finding me.
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