Fury

by Fisher Amelie

  Somehow I knew that light would soon be cresting the bay, so I swam back and dressed in my room.

  Get to Finley. Get to Finley.

  I sprang out of my room, not caring if it woke Father. He’d only think I left earlier than him, which I did often in my eagerness to see Fin. I shot across the beach and up the trail through the canopy of trees. I bounded up the staircase, and scaled the narrow wraparound porch until I came upon Finley’s room. I tapped on her window.

  A groggy Finley came up to it and shoved it open.

  “What are—” she began to say, but I cut off her words with a kiss.

  I kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. I kissed her everywhere there was skin to kiss with her hanging out of the window, a giggle sounded stuck in her throat.

  “Finally,” I breathed against her ear. I hugged her, fighting a burning sensation in my throat and eyes. “Finally,” I said again, my heart beginning to beat steadily once more.

  “Finley,” I told her, my voice breaking. I cleared my throat. “Finley, you fix me.”

  “We fix each other,” she told me with a rough voice, pulling back and smiling at me, her eyes puffy with sleep.

  “Fin, before the sun rises completely, will you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, Ethan. Anything.”

  I pulled my hair from its tie. “I need you to cut my hair.”

  Her eyes popped wide along with her mouth. “No,” she said. “I won’t do that.”

  I shook my head, the memory of the men’s blood rinsing copper red from my hair onto the rocks of the waterfall. “No, it has it to be done. Either you do it or I will.”

  “But why?” she asked, a hitch in her voice.

  She ran both her hands throughout its length, making my heart ache.

  “Because I-I need it to be gone. It’s a reminder of awful things,” I told her, not needing to embellish any further. She was so accepting of me. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out and she detests you for it? I shook my head of the inconceivable idea.

  She nodded her answer.

  “Thank you, Fin.”

  She stood to get whatever she needed, and I slid down the side of the house. I looked out onto the dark horizon, breathing in the salt air, desperate for the stability of the tide. I listened carefully and was rewarded with the steady waves.

  Suddenly Fin was there, climbing out the window barefoot, as usual, and sporting a T-shirt and cutoffs, her hair wavy and down around her shoulders.

  “My God.” The exclamation left my chest of its own accord. “Is it possible you’ve ever been more beautiful? Every time I see you, I can’t help but think the same thing, but I think this time is quite possibly the most beautiful I’ve ever remembered.”

  She smiled shyly, making me all the more enchanted with her. She slid a small wood stool toward me, set it behind my back, and sat. I saw her knees at my shoulders so I bent my arms slightly to hold her ankles as she worked. Her skin was soothing, warm, and alive. She ran her hands through the mass for a very long time as we looked out onto the moonlit bay. My chest ached as she did it, negating the effects of her skin, but I didn’t say anything. This was a pain I couldn’t share with her, refused to overwhelm her with. It was a cumbersome weight meant only to be carried by its inventor.

  When she was done, she combed it several times then tied it in a band at the back of my head.

  “Here goes nothin’,” she told the wind. She took a pair of scissors and deftly removed my hair just above the band. “Oh my God,” she whispered when she was done.

  I turned her direction, my head already feeling so different, so light. It was such a foreign sensation, so alien and yet it felt so right. I needed an immediate change, to separate myself from that Ethan.

  She handed me my hair and I took it in my hands, not sure what I was supposed to do with it. I laid it on the deck beside us wishing never to look at it again.

  Finley took the sharp scissors and began cutting at my remaining hair. I had no idea what she was doing, nor did I ask. She rotated around me, making sure it was even, then sat back down and when she did, my hands found her ankles again. Not long after, I heard the click and buzz of a pair of shears. Every moment it took to cut my hair was gladly received, as it meant her gorgeous hands were on me at all times.

  When she was done, the crack of the buzzing shears stopped, only the quiet waves and Finley’s and my breathing could be heard. She swiped at my neck with her slender hands, removing the excess hair stuck there. She blew across the back of my neck, sending a shiver throughout my body.

  She’d made me forget my night. Just like that. Finley was the calm after the storm.

  She reached down near her feet and brought up a mirror, placing it in front of my face for me. I hardly recognized myself. I grabbed it from her and held it up.

  “I, uh, gave you an undercut,” she said, shifting around, sitting on her calves, and using her hand to flip the top half around. “I kept the top a little long so you could style it easily.” She paused, dropping her hands to the deck. “Do you, uh, like it?”

  I set the mirror on the wood below. I lifted her on top of my lap and wrapped my arms around her waist.

  “It’s amazing. Thank you so much, Fin.”

  “You’re welcome, love,” she said, kissing the top of my cut hair. She ran her fingers through the new length over and over and over. We sat in silence and waited for the sun to rise and as it did, my heart sank back into my chest.

  A new day.

  I would take the guilt of that night and carefully scar it over. I would always know it was there. I couldn’t help but notice its thick, abrasive mark, but the wound would no longer open, no longer bleed. I made sure of that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Finley

  I held Ethan’s hair in my hands, tucking it into an envelope to donate later. I didn’t know why he had me cut it, but I knew it had to be done. I recognized he needed it as some form of therapy. I accepted it as it was because I owed Ethan that in equal exchange. He had secrets he wouldn’t confide, I knew at least that, but I would wait for him to spill them when he was ready or when he wanted me to know.

  I stepped back out of my window and joined Ethan again. The sun had almost completely risen, the morning that serene and brief limbo between light and dark, a cross between suffering and relief, strangely. The only hope was in the awareness that light would indefinitely arrive to wash out the pained darkness. But in the interim, there was peace in that murky shine and we soaked in that place, that place without hope or fear.

  Ethan

  I worked that entire day alongside Fin on edge, despite the mask I wore, in full anticipation that the bought police would come tearing up the shell drive looking for me, but they didn’t. In fact, the four men who’d died at my hand and the two who’d died indirectly never even made the news.

  I had two theories on that.

  They had yet to be discovered.

  or

  They had been discovered by Khanh and he’d gotten rid of the bodies himself. He would still attempt his fishing expedition without the help of his bought police.

  For now.

  But I won’t be falling for it, I’d thought. No, my days of retrieving little girls without the help of legitimate law are over. Six men died because of me, because of my eagerness to save those helpless girls.

  But that’s exactly the point, wasn’t it? They’re helpless girls. Those girls still need someone. They still need rescuing. They’re so hard to find right now. Granted, it’s your fault they’re so difficult to track down, but what’s done is done.

  I fought with myself over the next four days. One minute determined to go back and the next condemning even the thought.

  But each day that passed and there was no word from anyone about the deaths, the side of me that condemned the idea of stealing more girls quieted until it was muted.

  The fifth night I paddled the boat to the cove’s shore and hid it in the bushes. It
was strange to feel the wind at the back of my neck, my hair gone now, my old life abandoned the second I’d made the decision to keep looking for girls. All except Finley, my lovely Finley. She was my permanent fixture.

  I almost tripped over my own feet when a thought came rushing toward my mind.

  And what if you’re shot down by these men? You would devastate Finley. And even if you didn’t die, could you risk killing any more men? Even if they deserve death? How could you face her knowing you’d willingly sought out trouble, willingly risked killing someone again?

  I shook my head of the thoughts. “No, no. She will never find out. I wouldn’t pour this on her.”

  But can you live with yourself knowing you were keeping secrets?

  “Yes,” I argued with myself, “I can do this. I can hide this one thing. I can handle it.”

  When I reached the bikes, I walked one halfway down the long drive before starting it up. I kept my hood down and reveled in my newfound purpose.

  I was going to save children and earn Finley Dyer both at the same time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Ethan

  The night seemed eerily still, as if the city knew to stay in, could sense my mission and those who hunted me. Khanh, the man who ran the trafficking rings in northeast Vietnam, wanted me. Me, an American boy from Montana. Me, half Echo Tribe. Me, taught by Akule Moonsong. Me, my father’s son. Me. Only half without Finley Dyer.

  I pulled my black hood farther over my face and stayed near the buildings. I knew enough at that point not to expect solicitors to approach me. No, they knew who to look for. They’d gunned down a woman right in front of my eyes in the middle of a busy day on an equally busy street in Hanoi. They wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to me.

  So instead of exposing myself to becoming a potential target, I kept myself hidden, walking a fine line between the light from the moon and the shade of the buildings. I had every intention of exploring every alley I could.

  They were like rats, the men in the trafficking cells. They sank into their dark, disgusting hiding spots. They chose the most bleak, soiled, offensive areas they could, as if they were frightened of the light, as if they were frightened of anything clean. As if they were afraid of what the exposure might do. As if the very idea of the moonlight was a risk they weren’t willing to take, afraid they’d be gobbled up by the devil himself if their toes so much as traced that very visible line.

  The line between heaven and hell.

  A line I walked myself.

  Careful, or you’ll tip to the wrong side.

  I captured the fear that thought brought me and shoved it away from me as quickly as possible. I imagined it shattered into a million pieces as it hit cobblestone and that those pieces grew legs like insects then crawled into the tight, dark spaces out of my sight. Out of my mind.

  I came upon my first alley and edged the building nearest me, staying to the shadows. I glanced down and noticed a straight, smooth wall, void of any side entrances. I kept walking until I reached the next alley and did the same, yielding identical results. It wasn’t until the fifth alley did I notice a door in the center of the building left of the alley. My gut instinct told me everything I needed to know.

  It was the only door in the alley, ideal for privacy. The piles of trash usually piled high at the sides of the buildings were scarce, which would have been something they would have preferred so their customer base wasn’t too revolted by their surroundings, as if they had the right to care. I scaled the wall toward the door. I could hear men’s voices inside. They were arguing in Vietnamese, making me wish I could speak the language. They were yelling at each other, anxiety and anger prevalent in their tones, but there was an additional edge to their shouts I recognized. They were afraid.

  As you should be, I thought.

  I looked up. The alley was narrow enough I could push myself between the walls and scale up to the second-story window. It was an easy enough task, only ten to twelve feet above street level. When I got closer, I leaned my shoulder into the building housing the men and braced myself with a booted foot on the other wall.

  Breathe.

  Carefully, oh so carefully, I peered into the window, my heart pounding in my chest. The room was empty. I shifted so my left hand and that same booted foot held my weight, leaning my free knee under the sill so I could lift the window.

  Breathe.

  Quickly, I lifted myself, my fingers gripping the thin outside frame, then threw my feet inside, followed by the rest of me. I did this as quietly as possible, standing to my full height and unzipping my hoodie. I crossed my arms and palmed my knives, sliding them silently from their sheaths.

  Breathe.

  I noiselessly crossed the room and leaned my ear against the door but couldn’t hear anything over the din of the men arguing below.

  Breathe.

  I cut across to the other side of the door and palmed the doorknob, turning the handle, and cracking the door.

  Breathe.

  When no one reacted, I pulled it open just enough to peer through.

  Breathe.

  There was no one there. Not in the halls, at least.

  Breathe.

  I listened for any distinguishing sounds, men walking up stairs or in the rooms, but I heard nothing. A moment’s pause and I pulled the door open completely. I shoved myself back a bit, prepared for someone to invade the room but none came.

  Breathe.

  The hall was indeed deserted as I emerged a few steps from the door.

  Breathe.

  There were two doors besides the one I’d exited. I started at the one at the end, bending my ear but hearing nothing. I slid the knob, giving it a small nudge so it would fall open. There was no one there.

  Breathe.

  I bent my ear toward the second one and again heard nothing. I opened the door as I had the other and just like the other, it was empty.

  Breathe.

  Damn, I thought, it was all for nothing. I turned to flee when my eye caught the edge of a staircase leading to a third floor.

  Breathe.

  I had two choices. Leave. Or stay. What the hell is the point of you risking breaking in here if you don’t check all possibilities? I stayed.

  Breathe.

  I headed toward the third floor as prudently as possible given that the stairs were wood. Every time one would creak, I’d still, my heart jumping into my throat and wait for the men to come barrelling up after me. But, it seemed, they were too busy arguing, which way was the best way to catch me or avoid me to notice I was already above their heads.

  Breathe.

  The third floor wasn’t so much another level as a barren attic but in the back, tucked into a corner, was a room with a closed door that appeared recently constructed.

  Breathe.

  I twisted my way across the wood floor staying mindful of any sudden movements that could make a sound but also moving as efficiently as possible.

  Breathe.

  I listened against the door for any sounds but none came.

  Breathe.

  I slowly opened it, not sure what to expect.

  Breathe.

  Inside was a young girl, a very young girl. Her body trembled in automatic fear of me and my heart sank at the sight of her. She was newly abducted, I could tell. The other girls never shook the way this girl shook. They were accustomed to their horrors and had shed their despair along with their hope. But this young girl, she wore her trepidation with such distressed anguish I almost cried for her there on the spot.

  I removed my hood and held my hands up in the air. I fixed my expression into something I tried to pass as composed, though I wasn’t sure how well I’d done, since I was still reeling from the obvious dread rolling off her in panicked waves.

  I shook my head back and forth and placed a finger over my lips to quiet her. She’d begun to whimper. As soon as I did this, she obeyed.

  “Do you speak English?” I whispered. “Nod your head.�
��

  She nodded yes.

  “I’m going to take you away from here,” I told her. She shook her head vigorously. “Why not?” I asked her.

  “They kill me,” she answered. “If I leave, they kill me.”

  “No harm will come to you. Do you hear me? They will not touch a hair on your head as long as I am alive,” I promised.

  Her eyes blew wide.

  “We have to hurry, though. Can you climb onto my back?”

  She scurried over to my side and I bent down for her. She climbed on quickly and wrapped her baby arms around my neck as tightly as she could. I wrapped my arms underneath her legs and hurried back across the floor to the top of the staircase.

  I leaned over. I could still hear the men yelling at one another. The girl was trembling but she held on with determination, making me proud of her.

  Breathe.

  I escaped down the stairs, crossed the hallway, and into the room I’d come through from the alley.

  Breathe.

  I set her down and signaled to her that I needed to crawl out of the window, brace myself, and that I needed her to climb onto my back again. She agreed.

  Breathe.

  Once through the window, I held myself up for her, my arms trembling from the effort. Nimbly, she obeyed me without hesitation.

  Breathe.

  We dangled fifteen feet above the concrete ground and although she shuddered with obvious fear, she held on.

  Breathe.

  I scaled the walls back down, careful not to shift so radically she fell.

  Breathe.