Stolen

by Cheree Alsop

  Chapter 3- Kyla

  “You need medication in case of an infection.” I helped Marek toward the little white Neon that sat solitary in the empty parking lot. The streetlight under which I always parked made a lonely circle on the black asphalt. Moths fluttered in vain around the white orb, dashing themselves into the glass and then falling to the ground only to fly back up for another futile attempt to reach the light. I tried not to ask myself why I was helping a wounded stranger into my car, and why I had stitched him up in the first place instead of calling the cops.

  He shivered slightly as the chill of the night air touched his bare chest and back. “What does your dad give the dogs when they get hurt?” he asked, leaning against the car while I fumbled for the keys. I thought he was joking, but when I glanced at him after unlocking the doors, I saw he was serious. “It’s pretty much the same thing humans take, anyway,” he responded. “It’s all the same to me.” I swore I saw the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips. At my puzzled gaze, he turned away and studied the few stars that made it through the polluted city air.

  I thought of the medicine cabinet in the back room and the key my father had given me in case of an emergency. Was it the same medicine humans took? I wasn’t sure, but he needed something. I reasoned it would be better than nothing, probably. I hurried back to the clinic with the excuse of making sure all the doors were locked. When I slid into the driver’s seat, I handed Marek the small supply of pills. I also gave him a blanket from the clinic he could use until I managed to clean the blood from his shirt.

  At his grateful look, I turned away and started the car to hide my embarrassment. “I grabbed what my dad usually gives a big dog after surgery.” He gave a short laugh, then held his side. I frowned. “I could only take a couple or else my father would think one of his employees was either a junkie, or hawking them on the streets.” I shrugged and turned the car onto Main Street. “At least they’ll take the edge off the pain and hopefully keep you from getting an infection. Only use them if it gets too bad.”

  He nodded and glanced out the window at the dark streets walled by apartment buildings and skyscrapers, then quickly turned his attention to the inside of the car. I studied him out of the corner of my eye and wondered if he was afraid to see the shadow of wings on the dark buildings. It was almost curfew. I should have been home a half hour ago.

  A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of the Falconans that monitored the city streets. Half the city lived in fear of their cold, merciless ways, while the other half argued that they were safer with the protection of the winged men, something they pointed out even louder if one of the Falconans were around. But I had never been able to trust the way they looked at people as though willing them to make a mistake so they could be taken away.

  The Falconans were taller than regular humans, with thick muscles, huge wings, and clawed boots that some swore hid real clawed feet. It was difficult to tell a male Falconan from a female due to similar bulk of size and lack of what I considered to be any inkling of maternal instinct. Either gender would just as readily carry away children abusing the curfew or creating trouble in the city.

  They wore armor and carried enough weapons to stock a regular militia, a point which made most parents uneasy when the government introduced the idea of bringing them in as city security in addition to their posts in the military. They were still kept from the schools for now, but the way things looked, lock down after the war was getting more and more intense.

  “This is a nice car,” Marek said tiredly after a moment, breaking through my thoughts. “Is it yours?”

  I shook my head. “It’s my mom’s, but she lets me borrow it on school days. She prefers to drop Dad off at work because it gives them more time together. I like it because I can drive straight to the clinic after school instead of waiting around for the bus. Senior classes tend to get out earlier than the others. I guess because we’re all supposedly making plans for college or something.” I stopped, aware that I was babbling. I glanced at Marek self-consciously.

  He didn’t seem to have noticed. His head rested back on the headrest and his brows were creased as if he concentrated on something. “Must be nice.”

  I tried to remember what I said. Finally, at a loss, I asked, “What must be nice?”

  Marek opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. A glance showed the same guarded expression in his eyes I was getting used to. He finally shrugged. “A mom and dad, that’s all.”

  Caught off guard, I almost laughed, then caught myself. I realized he hadn’t mentioned parents or called them when he was hurt, afraid, and alone. I thought of my own family. They had their rough spots and the family problems that all people living in such close proximity experienced, but in the end, I didn’t know what I would do without them.

  I glanced at Marek again. He had his eyes closed, his hand holding his right side against the bumps and potholes that seemed so numerous now that I was actively trying to avoid them. His face showed pale in the light of the lamps we passed. I eased the car to a stop at a stoplight, noting how the light made dark shadows under his eyes.

  I chided myself for not fearing him, and for going so far as to offer him a place to stay for the night. But my heart turned over at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself. I never could leave a wounded creature alone. It was something my father praised me for, saying with a wink that I had inherited it from him, and something my mother shook her head over with a motherly sigh. I wondered what they would think now.

  “Thank you,” Marek said quietly, his eyes still closed. He sounded so weary, as if tired of life itself.

  “It’s nothing. Anyone would have done it.”

  Marek shook his head slowly against the headrest. “No, they wouldn’t have. I know from personal experience.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. “But you did. You helped even though I scared you. And I’ve brought you more trouble by asking for a place to sleep.” He paused a minute, then closed his eyes again and continued, his voice slower. “I just don’t think I’d get very far like this. Too much is counting on me. I can’t let them down.” His voice trailed away.

  Though I dearly wanted to, I didn’t ask who was waiting for him, or what was counting on him. His breathing grew steady as he slept through the dark streets; I found myself watching the walls for shadowed wings.

  Chapter 4- Marek

  We crossed Kyla’s yard under the protection of a moonless night. A twig cracked nearby. My senses strained and my muscles tensed. I wanted to bolt, to run into the trees and leave everything behind, but I wouldn’t get far in my condition. The crickets and the rush of the wind sounded ominous when usually they were my favorite sounds. I could smell the presence of rabbits amid the tall grass, birds asleep in the trees, and a mouse hiding at the call of an owl in an ancient oak. Numb from exhaustion and pain, I followed Kyla wearily through a forest starkly out of place in the city.

  My legs felt like they were coated in lead. I leaned against a tree for a moment. The bark bit into my shoulder and I welcomed its earthy green wood scent. Kyla glanced back and I straightened. I gritted my teeth and forced one foot in front of the other until we reached a roughly hewn wooden ladder. A shiver ran down my spine. I pulled the blanket closer around my shoulders to keep out the gentle night breeze. Concern touched Kyla’s kind green eyes; I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile before I climbed one slow step at a time to the top.

  I stepped into the dark, dusky confines of a tree house that looked like it had once been well used, but now sat dormant with only the scents of squirrel remaining. I walked through the darkness to a bed made of stout logs and planking. The old blanket that covered it was dusty and had been home to a few mice, but the bed looked like the most comfortable thing in the world at that moment. I sat on the edge and a sigh of relief escaped before I could stop it.

  “Are you alright?” Kyla asked. She squinted in the darkness, trying to make out my form amid the shadows.<
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  “This is perfect. Thank you,” I replied quietly. I didn’t know how to express how much I appreciated what she had done. I hoped I could find a way to repay her. “I’ll sleep for a few hours, then leave. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  She walked through the dark with the steps of someone who had played in the tree house many times and knew the layout even in almost complete darkness. She stopped near the bed, her hand on the old tree around which the house had been built. “You can stay as long as you need to,” she said as though making up her mind. “You’ll be safe here and there’s no reason to rush off hurt and alone. Stay as long as you’d like.”

  I rubbed my eyes against the sudden burn of tears at her unexpected kindness. I wasn’t the crying type by far; the wound must have taken more of a toll on me than I thought. “That means more than you know,” I said quietly, willing my voice to be steady. I leaned back against the wall.

  “I’ll get you some more blankets,” she said quickly. She hurried back down the ladder and I listened to her footsteps cross the long grass to the house beyond. A door slid open, then I was left to the quiet of the forest. I closed my eyes and listened to the night breeze catch against the wood behind my head. It touched the rough fibers as though brushing shoulders with an old friend. Branches swayed and the sound of a million leaves rustling soothed the edges of my frayed nerves. I took a deep breath of clean air and let it out slowly.

  The sliding door opened again and a little dog barked, then it closed and I listened to Kyla’s light footsteps as she made her way back to the ladder. She climbed up slowly and appeared with a flashlight held in her mouth as she heaved a pile of blankets through the hole.

  I rose gingerly and offered her my hand. She hesitated, then took it with a surprised smile. We made the bed silently and she put the pills she had given me in a small cup on the wooden table by one of the windows. I sat back down on the bed and found myself watching her with the dazed detachment of someone too weary for sleep.

  She bustled around the tree house cleaning what cobwebs she could reach with a stick and straightening the two chairs at the table. Strands of her dark blond hair had worked free of her braid and she blew them out of her eyes with an exasperated breath. When there was no more work to be done, she picked up the flashlight she had propped on the table and glanced at me. “I, uh, I guess I’ll be going,” she said uncertainly.

  I gave her a weary smile. “Thank you again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said. She hesitated. “I’ll leave you the flashlight in case you need to get around.” She set it on the table and threw me another smile before hurrying back down the ladder.

  I settled down on the bed and shut my eyes. It took a long time for sleep to steal the tension from my shoulders and slow the torrent of thoughts in my mind.

  Chapter 5- Kyla

  I couldn’t sleep. All night, images of a door knob covered in blood, a rectangle of light, and unreadable golden eyes that turned blue when I looked directly at them crowded the sleep from my mind. He was alone, hurt, and probably more afraid than he dared show to a complete stranger.

  I thought of the bravery Marek had shown when he talked me into stitching his wound, instilling confidence in me when I doubted myself; yet, I remembered how his hand shook when he held out the needle. He was hunted by something and had almost been killed. I don’t know how I would react if I was in the same situation.

  Finally, when the clock on my nightstand showed three fifty-three a.m., I convinced myself that I should get him some food in case he woke up hungry while I was at school. I tiptoed downstairs and opened the refrigerator. As if on cue, Fellow, the black terrier mix Dad had brought home when someone tried to put him to sleep because he had fleas, poked his head around the corner. He always knew when someone was getting food.

  I took out the lunch meat and began to make sandwiches. I finally gave in to his pleading dark eyes. “Oh, alright.” I tossed him a small piece of ham which he caught and gulped down faster than I could blink. “I’m not supposed to give you people food because of your diet, but I think it’s more that the taste is wasted on you!” I whispered. Fellow licked his nose, begging for more.

  I shook my head and shut the fridge, put the sandwiches in a bag, and grabbed one of the sodas set aside for my brother’s lunch. I patted Fellow on the head, then whispered for him to be quiet before I left out the back door across the starlit lawn. I had to smile at the little dog watching me, his head cocked to one side and stubby tail wagging. At least he wasn’t much of a barker.

  I tucked the sandwiches and soda into the pockets of my sweatshirt, put the small flashlight I had been using between my teeth, then climbed quietly up the ladder. A glance showed that Marek was asleep. He had tossed the blanket aside despite the chilly Charlton spring air, and had his knees pulled up with one arm held protectively across his side. I touched his forehead, worried about fever. He felt hot and one of the pills was gone from the cup.

  I set the sandwiches on the small, rickety table. When I turned back, Marek was staring at me. I froze, my heart pounding. His eyes were gold, narrowed, and cautious. I remembered the look from when I first flipped on the light at the clinic. He looked wild again, an untamed animal ready to flee. He didn’t recognize me.

  “Marek, it’s okay. It’s me, Kyla.” My voice shook.

  He rose slowly into a crouch against the wall, his eyes never leaving my face. He put his right hand on the bed to steady himself, then glanced down at it, seeming surprised at the bandages. He looked around, blinking his eyes as if willing them to focus in the dark tree house.

  “Marek, you’re okay. You’ve got a fever. I brought you some food.” The flashlight slipped from my fingers. I fumbled for it. When I brought it back up, Marek stood against the far wall. He held his side and the pain he felt showed on his face.

  “You should lie down,” I said. I took a step closer.

  “Stay back,” Marek growled. His eyes reflected the meager flashlight’s light like a cat’s.

  My heartbeat pounded loud in my ears. “You might tear open your stitches. I don’t think I could sew it again.” I gave him a half smile, hoping he would remember me.

  He lifted his lips in a snarl. Fangs appeared in the starlight. His nose and mouth began to elongate. I stumbled backwards and fell against the wooden ladder. Marek took a step toward me and a growl rumbled from deep in his chest.

  I cowered against the ladder, the flashlight forgotten. Somehow, my pocketknife was in my hand, but it seemed puny against the rumble that surrounded me. I felt hot breath on my neck. “Marek, no!” I cried. I wanted to run, but my legs were frozen in fear. I stayed crouched, my face hidden in my hands.

  I heard Marek step back and forced myself to look up. He was at the wall again with his back to it. He shook his head, his eyes closed. When he opened them, they were blue once more. He slid down the wall to a crouch. I could see fear on his face as he looked around the small tree house. He glanced at the disheveled blanket that had been his bed, then down at the bandage on his side.

  He flexed his hand slowly, straining the bandage across his knuckles. My heart pounded, my breathing loud in the tiny room. I couldn’t move. He looked up, and his eyes meeting mine freed my frozen limbs. I rose and took the two steps around the ladder and onto the first rung.

  “Kyla.”

  I looked at him and tried to fight the tears that filled my eyes. My hands shook.

  Marek looked as though he wanted to come after me, to reassure me, but he held still as if he knew the shiver that ran up my spine. “Kyla, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  I rushed down the ladder and ran toward the house. After pushing the door shut behind me, I ran silently up to my room and huddled under the covers. I pulled my tattered teddy bear against my face and willed in vain for the tears to stop coursing down my cheeks.

  Chapter 6- Marek

  I sat on the bed and buried my face in my hands. The fear of waking in a strange place sti
ll coursed through my veins, making my arms and legs shake with the strength it sapped from my body. I rubbed my eyes, ashamed of the fright I had seen on Kyla’s face. I knew I should leave and let her return to a life with a facade of safety despite the danger I knew existed all around her.

  But I couldn’t leave. I would go despite the pain and weariness that would take me down halfway through the city, giving myself to the menace of the streets in order to protect Kyla’s family from the terror that dogged my steps. I would go to protect her from the nightmares that would torment her dreams after tonight. I would go to keep her beautiful green eyes from filling with the fear I had brought to her.

  But instinct kept me still. I listened to the night outside the tree house. The kiss of the wind through the leaves held a threatening edge as though warning me that the darkness was not to be traveled. The scent of the forest tangled with pollution from the surrounding city, the smell of car tires, the sour musk of dirty alleys, the cheap perfume, cigar, and alcohol scent of the still-open bars frequented more often as employment dwindled, the dark, threatening, fear-tainted scent of the Downs in the dark heart of the city.

  I sat still and hated myself for the touch of fear that edged my senses, fear I had never felt toward the city that was my home. The city had never let me down before, but today had almost been my last. The shadows no longer offered the sanctuary I had naively trusted.