Stealing Away

by Harley Fox

  “Pick one.”

  Persephone turns her head to look at me, her eyes dropping down to the two offerings. She doesn’t say anything, but I see her eyes linger on the book.

  “Thought so,” I say, and I place the book down next to her on the bed. Before leaving I debate grabbing the plate of congealed food as well, but decide against it.

  When I get back to the common area Edward’s on his cell phone near the other end, speaking in hushed tones. He doesn’t look happy. Rebekka’s shuffling cards and she looks up as I enter.

  “Everything all right?” I ask her.

  “He’s calling our contact,” she says just before Edward hangs up the phone and comes back to join her. He sees the two of us looking at him.

  “What?”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says, a bit too sharply. “Everything’s fine. You gonna deal, or what?”

  I take up residence in my chair and continue reading, my thoughts interrupted every now and again by Persephone, poking her head into my brain like a friendly reminder that she exists. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me unable to stop thinking about her. She’s definitely hot, but it’s more than that. How stubborn she is? How she never seems to give up? I don’t know. But there’s something.

  At one point Rebekka checks the time on her phone and gets up to take Persephone to the bathroom. I tense when this happens, and can tell that everybody else does too. I think we’re all expecting Rebekka to shout out, for more crates to come tumbling, crashing down. And I pray that this doesn’t happen, because Edward is not the kind of person to forgive somebody more than once. But luckily nothing happens, and Rebekka comes back unscathed.

  The afternoon slowly bleeds into evening. When I get tired of reading I go to my corner to work out. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, crunches. That finished I go to take a quick shower and change into some jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. I volunteer to fix dinner and make sure there’s enough for Persephone too, even if she won’t deign to eat our food. It’s beef stew, and before I announce that it’s ready I serve out a portion for Persephone and put it off to the side. The others come in to get their food. They note the extra plate but don’t say anything.

  The three of them go sit at the table to eat, but instead of joining them I say I’m going to give Persephone her food first. I take my own with me, though. What are you doing? She’s leaving soon. But I don’t have an answer to that. I snake through the corridors and when I get to Persephone’s corner I stop. She’s still on the bed, but she’s got the book on Greece open in front of her, and she’s absolutely engrossed. Beside her is the plate of cold spaghetti Bolognese.

  “Ahem.”

  Persephone starts, almost dropping the book. She looks up at me and a red blush creeps up her neck to her cheeks.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” I say. I walk forward and hand the bowl of beef stew to her, which she takes. “Here, this should be better. This kind of stuff isn’t the best when it’s cold.”

  I pick up the plate of spaghetti and put it down on the desk.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  She doesn’t say anything, so I sit. The mattress of the cot sinks beneath my weight. I start to tuck into my food while Persephone lets hers sit. The book remains open on her lap, but she isn’t looking at it anymore.

  I eat a couple of spoonfuls of stew, blowing on them first. I chew in silence, swallow, repeat. Persephone doesn’t say anything. And neither do I. She’s staring ahead again now, ignoring me. She still doesn’t eat her stew … but she doesn’t put it down, either.

  “So you’re liking the book?” I ask, indicating the one on her lap. She doesn’t say anything. “I’ve gone through that one a few times. We have more history books here, if you’re interested. But the one on Greece is my favorite.” She stays silent as I blow on another spoonful and pop it in my mouth. “Honestly, I’ve always wanted to go to Greece. I know a lot of people talk about Italy or France, but for me, Greece is where it’s at. The history, you know?” I look at her, but she’s still staring ahead, so I return to my food. “The culture there sounds amazing. The food, the landscape. Just everything. I’ve always wanted to go, but … you know.”

  Another mouthful. I chew it in silence and swallow.

  “This type of life doesn’t really allow for a whole lot of free time.” I see her eyes move down in my direction, even though her head stays where it is. “You’d think it’s glamorous, right? Like in the movies. But nope … I mean, maybe the jobs themselves. But there’s hardly any risk. We pay off the guards, we go in at night. Sometimes rig the security, but mostly the guards just do that. It’s just in, do the job, out. And the rest of the time …” I shrug, eating another mouthful of stew. “The rest of the time it’s actually just boring.”

  “How—” Persephone clears her throat, swallows. “How long have you been doing it?”

  I chew, thinking. Swallow. “About two years. It’s the same with Rebekka. She and I joined up around the same time, her a bit later than me. Julian’s been with us for a year and a half. Edward’s the boss. In case you couldn’t tell.” I raise my eyebrows and give her a smile, but she doesn’t return it. “He’s been doing this for fifteen years. Lot of turnaround, but he’s stuck with it. Honestly, though, Julian’s the most valuable one of us here. He’s the real brains. Rebekka and me, we’re just muscle.”

  “What makes Julian the brains?”

  “He’s the one who makes the replicas. That’s actually what’s in most of these crates.” I knock on the one we’re leaning our backs against. “Originals, replicas, the many, many practice copies he’s made. Tools, raw materials. All sealed up and bound, in case somebody comes snooping.”

  “Replicas?”

  “Yeah. Of the artifacts.” Persephone picks up her spoon and brings some of the stew up into her mouth. I smile and keep talking. “You see, what we do. It’s not quite stealing. You steal money from a bank, that means you just take it and that’s it. But we have replicas of each of the things we take. Take the original, replace it with the replica. So come the next day, nobody knows. Julian, he’s been doing this kind of work for years. Well, not this work exactly, but he knows what he’s doing. Honestly, some of these replicas … we have to keep them and the originals away from each other, in case we mix them up. Some of them, can’t even tell them apart.”

  Persephone chews her food, thinking, and I take the opportunity to scoop another spoonful into my mouth too. Finally she swallows.

  “It’s wrong.”

  I raise my eyebrows and swallow my own mouthful.

  “What?”

  “What you’re doing. It’s wrong.”

  “Ah, no.” She eats another mouthful. “See, most people think it’s wrong, but it’s actually not. It’s … it’s appreciation. It’s bringing the original of something to somebody who will actually appreciate it.”

  “The people appreciate it.”

  But I shake my head. “No they don’t. The people who go to museums, spend their afternoon there or whatever, they wouldn’t know if something is the original or a cast if they weren’t told otherwise. Most people are fine just seeing a copy of the original.”

  Now it’s Persephone’s turn to shake her head.

  “No, you’re wrong,” she says through a mouthful of food. “You have to give people more credit. They appreciate an actual original work just as much, or more, than any replica.”

  “Then why do people buy music, huh?” She furrows her brow. “Why do more people buy music than go to concerts? Or watch a movie over and over instead of going out to the theater? They’ll … bury their noses in books at school instead of actually going out and doing something. Or they’ll text their friends, or watch their lives pass by on Facebook, instead of actually going out and spending time with them.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m … I’m wrong?”

  Persephone nods, defiant, and I can’t help but grin. How can I
prove this to her? I look around the warehouse, but there’s nothing here. Unless …

  “Okay. I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Her eyebrows fly up. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. But … I have to trust you.”

  Persephone sits up in her seat.

  “You can trust me.”

  “You can’t try to run away again. Because if you do …” I lower my voice, “then Edward is going to kill you. Do you understand me? You saw his gun, right?” She nods. “He won’t hesitate to use that if you run and he catches you. And more than that, he’ll probably try to kill me too for letting you go. Okay? Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you understand?” I raise my eyebrows and Persephone nods. She isn’t smiling now. She’s looking me right in the eyes.

  “Yes. I understand.”

  I hold her gaze for a long moment and then nod.

  “Okay.”

  Putting our bowls on the desk and removing the book from her lap, I take the handcuff keys out of my pocket and unlock the ones on her wrists. As I do my fingers brush against her hands, and even though I don’t say anything I feel my heart skip a beat in my chest. Then I unlock the ones on her ankles, carefully lowering them and the chain down to the floor so they don’t make a sound.

  “You’ve got to follow me closely,” I tell her in a whisper. “We can’t make any noise. All right?”

  She nods, and we both get up off the cot.

  I lead the way, keeping Persephone in my sights the whole time, as we snake our way through the labyrinthine corridors of wooden crates. We both keep the scuffing of our feet on the concrete to a minimum, and move around to the side wall where the bottom of the stairs leading up to the catwalk await.

  “Okay?” I whisper, and Persephone nods. We go up the metal stairs, moving lithely, making as little noise as possible. As we get higher I can see some of the wooden crate tops. Most of them are covered in a thick layer of dust. Julian’s old replica attempts. The top of the common area starts to open up, but by that point we’re past the overhead lights and high enough that there’s no reason for anyone to look up and see us.

  We get to the walkway at the top and move quietly down it. Near to the far wall is the large A/C unit, noisier now that we’re closer to it. But beyond it is the door. I turn and point it out to Persephone, and she nods. We walk along the metal pathway to the door, opening it up so both of us can step out.

  Persephone and I are on a balcony of sorts, a platform on which you can oversee operations happening below. I let the door shut behind us and it blocks out the noise of the A/C, dipping us in silence. It’s dark out, the vast desert stretching out in front of us like an ocean of sand. But that’s not what I brought Persephone up here to see.

  I hear her gasp as I look up as well. If below us is an ocean of sand, then above us is an ocean of stars. Bright, beautiful, an infinite sea of lights, forming clusters, constellations, the entire Milky Way.

  “Oh my God,” I hear her say in a breath, and I can’t help but smile.

  “This is where I go if I want to escape,” I tell her, my breath visible in the cool air. “And this is what I mean. For some people, just seeing a picture of the night sky is good enough. A replica. But only a few are actually able to appreciate the real thing. To be stopped in awe at the absolute beauty that this world can create.”

  “It’s breathtaking,” Persephone says. Her neck is craned up as she looks around, taking it all in. But then I see her start to shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she says. But she’s shaking.

  “Yes, you are.”

  And before she can protest, I reach down and strip the sweater off my body, bringing it up over my head. I feel my T-shirt lift up with it, and when my head is clear of the fabric I look to see Persephone staring at my body. But she quickly looks back up at the sky when it’s off. I smile, turn the sweater the right way, and hand it to her.

  “Here,” I say. She takes it, giving me an apologetic smile, and slips her arms into it. But the thing is large, comfortable, and she gets comically tangled in it.

  “Uh, I think I’m stuck,” she says, and I have to laugh.

  “Here, let me help,” I say, reaching forward and helping straighten the fabric so she can get her head out. She brings her hands up and they land on mine, her fingers curling around, holding onto me for support. Again, my heart skips a beat, and when her head finally pops out she smiles at me—the first time she’s smiled since I met her yesterday.

  “Thanks,” she says. Her hair’s staticky and a mess, and her fingers are still curled around my hands.

  “No problem,” I say. She’s looking into my eyes, and I’m looking down into hers. All of a sudden it’s like the reason we came out here doesn’t matter anymore. The stars in the sky could all explode right now, and I wouldn’t notice a thing.

  She’s moving closer to me. Or am I moving closer to her? Her eyes are locked onto mine. Her lips look so inviting. My heart is beating like mad. She’s so close, all I need to do is lean forward, close my eyes, and—

  The door bangs open and Persephone lets out a yelp, letting go of my hands. I turn and see Rebekka standing in the doorway. It takes me a moment to come back to reality, and when I do I see that she actually looks embarrassed to be out here with us.

  “Marc,” she says, almost avoiding my gaze. “Um, Edward’s calling a meeting.”

  “Oh,” I say. And then, “Okay.” I turn to Persephone. “Um, come on. Let’s go back in.”

  “Yeah,” she says, nodding. “Right.”

  The three of us go in, closing the door behind us. Along the catwalk, down the stairs, to Persephone’s corner where I cuff her back up.

  “Oh,” she says, stripping the sweater off and handing it to me. “Here.”

  I give her a strange smile. “Right. Can’t forget that.”

  Rebekka is still with us, waiting awkwardly at the entrance. When Persephone’s all bound up I raise a hand in farewell and join Rebekka as we make our way through the corridors. I pull my sweater back on.

  “She shouldn’t have been up there with you,” she says in a low voice as I adjust the sweater on my body.

  “What? I know. I was just showing her something.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Nothing happened.”

  But then we walk into the common area where Julian and Edward stand waiting. Edward looks angry.

  “Finally,” he says to me by way of greeting. We all gather together. “I talked to our contact. She’s not coming tonight.”

  “What?” Julian and Rebekka ask at the same time. I stay silent, taking this information in.

  “Why not?”

  “Apparently some dude with a hard-on for your little sliz,” he looks at me, “reported her as a missing person when she didn’t come in for work today, so now our contact has to wait till the heat dies down before coming out to meet us.”

  I feel a pang of jealousy at the mention of this dude and his relationship with Persephone, but try to ignore it.

  “So what does that mean?” I ask Edward. He turns to me.

  “What it means is that we wait here till we hear more.”

  “What?” Julian asks. “What about the next job?”

  “We won’t have a next job until we finish this one. And we can’t finish this one if we have no contact. So we wait. All right?” None of us say anything. “Dismissed.”

  The three of us start to leave, my mind trying to assimilate this new information while trying to process what almost happened between Persephone and me.

  “Marc.”

  Edward’s voice makes me turn around. Rebekka and Julian have gone, leaving Edward and me alone. He steps up close to me.

  “You think you two are invisible?” he asks me. “Up on the catwalk like that? What did I tell you about keeping it in your pants?”

  I start to answer, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

  “
No, no. Don’t say anything.” He lowers his hand. His eyes burn into mine. “Don’t fuck this up, Casanova. Because if you ruin this for any of us, then I’m gonna have to look for a new set of muscles soon. Understand me?”

  And without waiting for a response, he turns and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

  Persephone

  My eyes slowly blink open.

  At first, the wooden wall I stare at under the glaring overhead lights seems unfamiliar, and a wave of panic floods adrenaline into my veins. But then I remember: the museum, being kidnapped, Marc, and the rest. The desert, those rehydrated camping meals, and being with Marc up on the balcony outside. How close he was…

  I realize my heart is beating fast and don’t know if it’s from the adrenaline or something else.

  Come on, Persephone, get ahold of yourself. This guy is bad.

  Right. I start to move and am immediately reminded that I have handcuffs binding my wrists and ankles together. Fucking Edward, with his patriarchal rules and paranoia. God, why does he seem so familiar, though? Keeping my hands together, I push myself up to sitting, the blanket sliding off of me. I slept in my clothes last night. Of course, I don’t have any other clothes here. My bladder sings to me but Edward said I can only go to the bathroom at specific times of the day. Fucking asshole.

  So I sit and wait. Some minutes pass by—I don’t know how many—before I hear the scuffing of shoes on the concrete floor and Rebekka shows up.

  “Good, you’re up,” she says. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  I nod, and she fishes the keys out of her pocket.

  “Don’t try anything funny,” she warns as she bends down to undo the handcuffs. I don’t, and soon enough they’re off of me. It feels better already. When I stand up, it’s like freedom.

  “Come on.”

  She takes me through the labyrinthine paths to the bathroom and I go in, pulling down my pants and feeling relief almost immediately. I pump out some hand sanitizer and wipe the pungent solution over my hands before unlocking the door and stepping out.