Jessica Swift These Wings Were Made to Fly

by Jennifer Clark

  Jessica Swift

  These Wings Were Made to Fly

  A novel by Jennifer Clark

  Copyright © Jennifer Clark

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. But since no one seems to read these things they’ll generally do what they want. I doubt I would do much in retaliation, probably turn them into a character in my next novel or something. Anyway, enjoy the book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and would be awesome.

  Chapter 1

  My Mom always told me “I’m going to die and you’ll be on your own. You won’t have time to mourn me, the Suits will come soon and you have to keep flying.”

  I always thought she meant she’d die a really long time in the future, and that flying was some kind of metaphor. We were always moving, practically fleeing, from one place to the next, so I’d assumed that as well.

  I never thought it would happen when I was only sixteen.

  I was walking home from school when I got a text from an unknown number.

  It read: Don’t go home, they’re trying to kill you.

  Of course I didn’t believe it until I got home and saw the curtains on fire through the living room window. I started running, dumping my heavy backpack in the middle of the sidewalk. There were no emergency vehicles or anything to suggest anyone else had seen it yet.

  Mom was nowhere to be seen.

  When I got to the door I slammed into it, unable to believe that it was locked as I fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice in my panic. When I finally got the door open, black smoke poured out.

  The cardboard boxes in the living room burned fast, we still had a lot of them from the move here. What meager possessions we had were on fire but I didn’t see them at all.

  What I did see was a man holding my mother up in the air.

  He was at least seven feet tall with a long, white robe wrapped around him, a deep hood covering his features. One gauntlet-covered hand held a glowing-hot sword, the other was wrapped around my mother’s neck. She was trying in vain to peel his fingers off of her. They both saw me at the same time.

  “They’re here, run Jessica!” my mother choked out before the man ran her through with the sword. When he let her go she dropped like a rag doll.

  I screamed and launched myself at him only to be batted to the side. To a giant like him I probably felt like a gnat. As the gnat, I went flying across the room, slamming my backside into the drywall hard enough to leave a dent. My rage was overwhelmed by pain as I hit the floor, gasping and coughing a lungful of hot, acrid smoke.

  Metal-plated boots stomped slowly over to me and the Hooded Man emerged from the fire to pick me up like he had with my mother. From beneath his hood I saw two glowing blue eyes of cold menace.

  “Crescere fortis,” he murmured before throwing me out a window.

  I smashed through the glass and rolled across the lawn, hot embers falling down on me like snowflakes. I scrambled to my feet and looked back to see the Hooded Man watching me from the burning living room as I ran.

  As I dialed the police all I could think was, All this time, Mom was right.

  “They” were here, the Suits, just as she’d said.

  Throughout my life my mother had kept us on the move. Mom never liked to stay in one place for very long. When I was little, it was fun, I got to see all kinds of cool places and Mom always made it seem like we were on a nonstop adventure. As I got older though, it started to bother me. I never lived anywhere long enough to make friends, or even finish a whole year at one school. I was eternally known as “the new girl.”

  Getting older meant I learned about other things too, like paranoid schizophrenia. My mom didn’t hear voices or anything, instead she believed there were people, people she called Suits, out to get us.

  Well, not so much her as me.

  We’d stayed here for six months though, and I’d started to think that we were going to stay for good. Mom had gotten promoted from housekeeper at the motel to the night shift front desk. Things were starting to look good.

  Except when I had woken up today all of our stuff had been packed up and ready to go.

  Today was supposed to be our last day here in Nepasko Lake, Idaho. We’d gotten into a huge argument. I yelled at her, called her crazy. I told her about how all the kids made fun of me because we were poor.

  She still hugged me goodbye. I remember seeing dark circles under her eyes. She looked old and tired.

  “I love you,” she’d said. “Everything I do is for you.”

  I didn’t reply, I’d just left. I never thought that would be the last time we talked.

  And I never, ever thought maybe her delusions were true.

  Someone picking up on the other end of the call snapped me back to the present situation. As soon as I heard a voice I said, “My house is on fire and someone is trying to kill me.” I gave them the address and hung up.

  When I was out of breath I slowed to a walk and took out my phone again, rereading the message from the unknown sender. Not only did someone else think I was a target, they’d tried to warn me.

  Who is this? I typed back. What do you want?

  Lie low. Don’t tell anyone about the fire, was the reply.

  What was that supposed to mean? I’d already told the police about the fire.

  The only place I could imagine lying low was home, which no longer existed.

  After a few minutes of thought, my second more hesitant choice was a girl named Brandy. Brandy’s house was only two blocks away. She was a classmate and had started taking the same bus as me when she wrecked her car. I couldn’t exactly think of her as a friend, she’d only been talking to me because, for some reason, looking poor was “en vogue” at this school. I continued to talk to her because I was, admittedly, desperate to make friends here.

  Normally the walk would have been a breeze, but the late spring temperatures in Nepasko Lake were fairly frosty, and I didn’t have a jacket. I thought I would have been tired from running, but I recovered quickly.

  Brandy’s house was nicer than mine, all white with two stories, a three-car attached garage, and a huge maple tree in her front yard. A tire swing hung from a sun-faded rope. I stepped up onto their covered porch.

  Before I rang the doorbell I swept glass off myself, pieces still clinging to me from the window I’d gone though. I took deep breaths and wiped my eyes dry, trying not to look like my world had just turned sideways.

  As soon as the doorbell chimed, a dog began barking, his toenails scraping audibly across the floor as he ran to the door. I heard shouting and, a minute later, Brandy herself answered. Even after a long day at school not a highlighted hair on her head was out of place.

  “Oh, hey,” Brandy said, stretching the words out for a long time, trying to keep her excited golden retriever from knocking me over. “Jessica, right?”

  “Yeah, hi,” I replied, distracted by the inside of the house. Is this what people’s houses looked like if they didn’t move all the time? Their TV was as big as my bed.

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  Vehicles with sirens raced by behind me, filling the awkward pause.

  What was I supposed to tell her? That my house was currently burning to the ground and my mom had been murdered?

  If Mom was right then I had to start thinking like her. The message told m
e to lie low, while I couldn’t guarantee safety here I could at least stay for a while and figure out what to do next.

  “I thought we could hang out,” I lied.

  Brandy gave me a disbelieving look, like she would never be caught dead with me. “Uh, yeah sure. Come on in before Charlie loses his mind.”

  We went into the kitchen. I sat down at a breakfast nook as Brandy sized me up and down.

  “Ugh, how do you make being poor look so fashionable?” she said, motioning wildly to my hole-filled jeans. “I buy my stuff already distressed but it looks so fake.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say about her commenting on my stuff. I didn’t want to be rude so I kept quiet about it. It seemed weird that someone would take a perfectly good pair of jeans and rip holes in them. Mine were worn out because they were too expensive to replace.

  “I’ll buy them from you,” she said suddenly. “What size are you? Never mind, I’ll get them tailored, you look taller than me anyway. How does twenty bucks sound?”

  “But then I wouldn’t have any pants,” I said.

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, I’ll throw in a pair of my own pants, okay?”

  “I’m not going to give you my pants.”

  Brandy’s eye-rolling caused her to look through a window, she stared though it open-mouthed, saying, “Whoa is that smoke?”

  Oh crap.

  “Someone’s house is on fire!” she continued. “That’s gotta be so bad for the air.”

  I had to find a way to distract her.

  “I bet that’s what all those sirens were about. Hey, you wanna go check it out?”

  “Make it fifty dollars and you can have my pants.” I said.

  Chapter 2

  I was pocketing the cash in my new jeans when I got a text. Although the phone number was different than last time, I had a feeling it was from the same person as before.

  Leave when it gets dark.

  Why? I texted.

  They can track you, but they can’t see as well in the dark, was all I got back.

  I did everything I could to delay leaving Brandy’s house for hours. I helped her with homework and we had dinner with her parents. We were halfway through a movie when my phone buzzed.

  LEAVE NOW.

  I had barely managed to read the message when Brandy snatched my phone out of my hands, laughing. “Holy crap how old is this thing?”

  I tried to take it back but she hopped off the couch.

  “Wait wait wait,” she said, ducking and dodging me when I followed. “Except for the cracked screen this thing looks brand new. How much did you even pay for this, ten whole dollars? I’ve never even heard of this brand.”

  “Give it back,” I begged. “I have to go, please.”

  Brandy laughed, "Sure, you suddenly have to leave now? What a coincidence.”

  I’m not sure if she was teasing me or genuinely mean. That was my “friendship” with Brandy in a nutshell.

  A knock and ring of the doorbell made us both pause. Outside in the failing sunlight I could see a police car parked at the curb. Brandy tossed me my phone and began walking over to answer the door.

  I almost went with her. I wanted to tell the officer everything that happened. The police would find the Hooded Man who killed my mom and burned my house down. I know my mom didn’t trust cops, but I also wondered if she could have saved herself if she’d trusted them.

  It was Charlie that stopped me.

  Brandy's dog, upon hearing the doorbell, raced downstairs, barking loudly. The moment the door opened however, he skidded to a stop and immediately began growling softly, his hackles raised as far as they would go and his ears flat against his skull.

  Then I remembered the text.

  Whoever sent it seemed to know something I didn’t. Carefully, I backed into the kitchen and started walking towards a back patio door, trying hard not to move too fast or too slow. Either way risked attention.

  “We’re looking for Jessica Swift,” I overheard the officer say. “Witnesses say they saw her go into your house earlier today.”

  “What is this about?” Brandy replied.

  “We just want to talk to her,” he said.

  “Uh, let me get my parents,” Brandy turned to go upstairs, leaving the door partially open. The officer, meanwhile, saw me leaving.

  “Hey!” he shouted, nearly knocking Brandy down as he pushed through. She gave a startled yelp and that was all Charlie needed. The dog leapt at the officer, biting down on his leg.

  I slid the patio door open so hard the glass shattered. When I looked behind me, I saw the officer. Despite blood soaking through his pant leg he was moving fast. Charlie wasn’t far behind.

  The backyard was spacious but enclosed with a tall, wooden fence. I turned to the side of the house and through the front yard, running past the police car and down the road. When I heard police sirens in the distance I kept running.

  I heard a roar of pure rage. When I looked back again I saw he’d fallen behind significantly, harried by Charlie’s attempts to stop him, and I watched in horror as he turned to the dog.

  I would never forgive myself for this, but I had to keep going.

  Charlie cried out in pain behind me.

  I couldn’t look back this time.

  After I was sure I had lost them, I ducked behind a house for sale and half collapsed on the lawn.

  My legs felt like lead weights and my back felt like it had been hit with a giant hammer from where I’d been thrown out of my house.

  Just as mom had said, Suits had killed her, burned down our house, and were trying to kill me. I started to rip out handfuls of grass in frustration. Why? Why me? In less than a day I had lost everything. I wanted to scream, but feared someone would hear me.

  Could I find help? Not likely, I’d only been staying at Brandy’s house to buy myself time to think and they’d probably murdered her dog as a result.

  A sharp thrill of fear lanced through me.

  Brandy.

  Would the Suits go back to her house? Would they hurt her? If they did her blood would be on my hands.

  I stood up, it was dark. My anonymous messenger said they couldn’t see as well in the dark. I could check on Brandy and make sure she was okay. If she wasn’t…

  Well, I didn’t want to think about that.

  It took me much longer to retrace my steps as I tried to stay in the dark and hide whenever a car passed by.

  When I got back to Brandy's house I went around to the back yard. The police car was gone and there was no sign that anything bad had happened. I could see Brandy’s mom sweeping up broken glass from the back porch. Brandy, meanwhile, was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug clutched in her hands.

  Charlie was nowhere in sight.

  I wanted to walk up there and apologize, find out what happened to him, but I knew it would cause more harm than good. The Suits would probably check here again, and if I was even close by I doubted they would be so nice the second time.

  I shivered. With the sun down the heat of the day was dissipating fast. Charlie had a doghouse outside and I felt like the worst person in the world as I took the scratchy wool blanket from it.

  I watched them for more than an hour as they cleaned up and stapled a big flat of cardboard over the sliding door where the glass used to be. I heard a car pull into the driveway and saw Brandy’s dad enter through to the kitchen. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw Brandy break down into tears and hug him. Definitely my queue to leave.

  But where could I go?

  I had to find somewhere I could sleep tonight. I felt like a runaway, with fifty dollars and nowhere to go. I pulled the dog blanket tighter around me as the cold began to creep in and started walking to the main part of town.

  I checked my phone in case I’d gotten a message but there was nothing.

  What now? I texted my unknown messenger.

  No answer.

  The dull orange of the streetlights gave all of the b
uildings a hazy, sinister glow which only grew worse the closer I got to downtown. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, all I knew was that if I stopped walking I would freeze. In this cold I was feeling desperate. I passed a dumpster and peered inside, but the smell alone told me not to consider climbing in. Black sludge that had likely once been food coated everything, including my hands where they had touched the edges. I wiped them off with the corner of the blanket as best as I could.

  I was seriously considering going back to the house for sale and breaking in when I saw a huge green metal bin at the back of a row of stores. It was roofed with six slots big enough for me to climb through. White spray painted letters on the front read CARDBOARD ONLY. Inside were flattened boxes from various businesses. It was half full, and clean except for the parts of the bin where paint had chipped off and the metal beneath was rusty. I hoisted myself inside and was surprised by how soft it was. Within a few minutes, and a couple layers of cardboard on top of me, I was no longer shivering.

  After holding them back all day, tears finally sprang from my eyes as the horror of everything that had happened came crashing down like a physical weight. I wanted to go home and sleep in my own bed instead of inside a recycling bin. I wanted none of this to have happened. I wanted so badly for this all to be nothing but my mom's paranoid thoughts. Most of all, I wanted her to be alive.

  I cried until I was absolutely worn out, then I slept.

  But not for long.

  I awoke screaming, my back one fiery mass of pain. I reached my hand over my shoulder and it returned covered in blood. My first thought was that I had been stabbed or shot. I tried to climb out of the container but another spasm took me back down, retching. I wrapped my arms around myself as bones crunched and flesh tore with white hot agony. I was dying, my body splitting itself in half. I lost consciousness in a pool of my own blood.

  Chapter 3

  I awoke to morning light lancing through one of the disposal holes in the bin. When I tried to lift my face I found it adhered to a flat of cardboard. I peeled myself off, finding what remained behind to be brown and tacky. I had to pull gross cardboard off the rest of my body as well. When I grabbed one piece to throw it off of me I froze, feeling it like I would an extra arm attached to my body. My fingers traced across feathers covered in dried blood.