by Cheree Alsop
Marek sat back on his heels and studied me. “Are you sure you’re alright? They didn’t hurt you?”
I shook my head and stood, wobbling slightly on legs that felt like they were suddenly made of jelly. Marek rose quickly and steadied me. “Whoa now. Take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”
He glanced back and I followed his gaze to where the men were helping each other out of the alley. “They won’t be back,” he said in a satisfied tone. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was my knife. “You must have dropped this the other night.” He set it in my hand. “You could have used it.” He reached down and picked up my backpack.
I tried to smile. “I could have pretended to use it, but probably wouldn’t have gotten far.” I turned and we walked slowly out of the alley. The sudden sunlight after the darkness of the alleyway felt like heaven on my face and calmed my nerves.
“You’d have given them a reason not to mess with you. That’s all they needed,” Marek replied seriously.
“Well, you gave them a reason not to mess with anyone, anywhere. The world just got a bit safer,” I replied.
“Then it’s been a life worth living,” Marek replied with a grin. He set my backpack down by the car and grimaced.
My eyes widened. “Your stitches! You shouldn’t have- let me see your side.”
Marek opened his mouth to protest, but at the look in my eyes, he carefully lifted up his shirt. Blood showed through the bandages. Marek touched the cloth, then gritted his teeth.
I fumbled for the car keys in the side pocket of my backpack. I opened the door for Marek and he lowered himself slowly onto the front seat. I hurried to the other side. “You really need to go to a hospital,” I said worriedly.
Marek rested his head against the headrest much the way he had on our first day. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” I stared at him for a moment before starting up the car. “You’ve probably torn out all of your stitches because you were trying to save me.” My voice caught, but I didn’t let the tears come.
“It was a worthy cause,” he replied. I glanced over and saw the teasing smile on his face though his eyes were shut.
I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “How did you find me, anyway?” I asked after a moment of driving.
“Scent,” he replied. He opened his eyes and glanced at me. “Everything gives off a unique smell, even cars have their own individual scent. I followed yours to the school, then tracked where you usually walk.”
The thought was embarrassing. “You tracked my smell?”
A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Definitely one of the better scents I’ve followed.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I, uh-”
Marek cut me off, suddenly apologetic. “You’ve been through a lot. I shouldn’t give you a hard time.” He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Besides, I don’t have the energy to argue.” He closed his eyes again.
I pulled up to the clinic a few minutes later. Marek walked with me to the door. A glance inside showed a full waiting room. “Let’s go around back. If you’ve torn the stitches, the bleeding might be worse than we think.”
Marek followed me around the side of the building, then stopped me before I could open the other door. “I think I’ll wait out here.”
Surprised, I glanced through the window he was looking at, then stared. A Falconan, armed with their normal artillery of hand guns and knives, stood at the front desk questioning Dad. I had seen Falconans before, but usually from a distance. This one towered over Dad who was six feet tall. The Falconan had long black hair and sharp black eyes that saw everything.
He was constantly looking around, checking out anything in his sight. He wore the standard black pants, grey shirt, and black military vest complete with a Falconan badge. The vest looped in the back like a harness and straps ran up his black wings to secure a very deadly looking set of blades at his wing joints. I realized that had probably been what injured Marek in the first place.
The people and animals in the waiting room seemed wary, quiet, and unsure as to why a Falconan was questioning their vet. Dad, on the other hand, looked as cool and calm as always. He answered the questions in his normal short, precise way. Though I couldn’t hear what was said, the Falconan seemed satisfied. He gave a short nod, then turned and walked out of the clinic. He had to hold his wings tight to his back in order to get through the door. Those in the waiting room gave him a wide berth; even Yapper, Mrs. Finch’s miniature poodle, kept quiet until he was gone.
“It’s clear,” I breathed to Marek before pushing open the door. Dad saw us and nodded amiably. He mouthed ‘in a minute’, before turning to help Roger complete the intake for old Ms. Pembleton’s new kitten, one of a hundred new kittens she had brought in over the years to get fixed and get its shots. As an elderly widow, she viewed her many cats as family and took better care of them than some mothers did their own children. Ms. Pembleton waved at me and I waved back distractedly.
I took Marek into the tiny break room in the back. It had once been a storage closet, but when Dad expanded the clinic, there suddenly appeared a table, three lawn chairs, and a tiny refrigerator that barely fit three cans of soda comfortably. Marek sat down almost immediately. I was about to check his wound again when Dad walked in. Marek grew still.
“Strange afternoon,” Dad said as he pulled up a chair. He nodded at Marek. “Good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Marek replied. He glanced at me.
“So, um, Dad,” I said as nonchalantly as possible. “We saw a Falconan at the desk.
Dad nodded. “Yeah, he scared the patients walking in here without warning. They don’t need that.”
“What did he want?” I pressed. Marek threw me a look of caution.
Dad rubbed his eyes tiredly, then glanced at Marek. “Someone like you, actually, except that he had golden eyes. At least, that’s how the Falconan described him; just under six feet, black hair, athletic build, and with golden eyes.”
“What did you tell him?” I could see Marek’s hands clenched into fists under the table, his knuckles white. He looked past me at the wall as if he could see the Falconan through it.
Dad chuckled. “I told him that if I saw someone with golden eyes, I’d remember, and I hadn’t, so I didn’t.” He thought back. “He didn’t seem to like my response, but I didn’t like him coming into my clinic unannounced. Aren’t there supposed to be laws against that? Something about privacy?”
Marek shook his head. “It’s a public place. The laws only apply to homes unless the government sends them after you.” Dad and I stared at him. Marek realized what he had just said and stood up as smoothly as possible. “Well, Kyla, I’ll see you in a while. Thanks for showing me your dad’s clinic. Goodbye, Mr. March.”
“Goodbye, Marek. We look forward to having you over tonight,” Dad replied.
Marek nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He turned and left through the door.
Dad stared after him, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said after a moment. “I really like him. None of the bravado most boys his age put off.” He smiled at me. “The Briggsby’s schnauzer is having puppies, and I could use some help.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but realized that if I left now, he would know I was going with Marek. We couldn’t afford to have him become concerned, especially after the Falconan’s visit. Maybe the schnauzer’s delivery would be a short one.
After work, I climbed quickly up the ladder, my pockets stuffed full of supplies. Shotzy’s delivery had taken longer than I hoped, and I had no idea what state I would find Marek in after the fight, or even if he made it back without the Falconans finding him.
It was dark inside the tree house and my eyes took longer than I had patience for to adjust to the dim light. I couldn’t see Marek on the bed. “Marek?” I wanted to kick myself for sounding so timid, but he didn’t respond. “Marek?” I said louder,
stepping off the ladder.
I could make out a form lying on the blanket. I knelt next to him, my heart pounding for the third time that day. He lay on his good side facing me, his eyes closed. His unruly hair hung in front of his eyes. I hesitated, then brushed it back slowly. His forehead was damp with sweat. “Please wake up,” I whispered.
Marek opened his eyes slowly. He looked disoriented and shied from my touch, then he stared at my face and I watched awareness dawn in his eyes. He began to sit up, but I kept him down with a hand on his shoulder. “Stay still; let me check your side.” I couldn’t hide the relief in my voice that he was awake and that he remembered me. I pulled his shirt up gently, then shook my head when I saw the bandage soaked red with blood.
“That bad, huh?” Marek leaned on one elbow to see, then let himself back down. “I feel lightheaded. I’ve never slept deep enough for someone to walk up on me.”
“You’ve lost a lot of blood over the past three days. You should have gone to the hospital.” I tried to keep the worry out of my voice as I cut through the bandages. He was definitely groggy, and had walked here from the clinic in this shape.
“If I wanted to be found by the Falconans,” he said, gritting his teeth on the last word as I worked the caked bandages loose. “I would have gone to the hospital. That’s the first place they’d look, followed by the regular clinics, then the vets.”
“Which is why they were talking to my dad today.” My heart eased a little. I didn’t know what I would do if I had brought danger to my family. It helped to know the Falconan’s appearance was just part of a routine sweep. At least, I hoped it was.
Marek gasped when I pulled off the last bandage. Blood oozed between torn stitches at the edge of the gash closest to his stomach. A couple more had ripped through the middle, adding to the pooling blood. “You’ve torn through some of the stitches. They need to be fixed or it won’t heal properly.”
Marek glanced down at the wound and blood, then looked away as though he wished he hadn’t. “I’ve got to tell you, Kyla, I don’t think I can take more stitching right now.” He said it with a weary laugh, but I could tell it wasn’t a joke. The skin around the wound was red and raw, hot to the touch. Marek’s face was as pale as it had been when I first saw him. I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that he had survived so much and then gone through this for me.
I took off the gloves I was using and fumbled through the contents of my pockets. At the bottom of one, I pulled out the strips of butterfly bandages that my father used for shallow cuts or to reinforce stitching. “I’ll try these. The main stitches are still in place, and these will help to hold it shut and stop the bleeding.” Marek nodded without a word. I noticed that though both fists were clenched, he kept them well away from his mouth. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
I cleaned the wound with wet wipes, bathed the area with rubbing alcohol, then attached the butterfly bandages. Marek didn’t make a sound, for which I felt guiltily grateful. If he had, I would have given up and gotten my father, unable to put him through more pain.
When I was done, Marek stood up slowly so I could bind the wound. He weaved slightly and I held his arm, afraid he would collapse. He hadn’t spoken since I began to tend the injury. He didn’t seem to have the energy to now, so I started in surprise when he said, “How much time until your family watches the movie?” His voice was quiet, tired. I finished the wrapping and he sat carefully on the edge of the bed holding his side.
“Soon,” I replied, glancing at my watch. I sat down next to him. “But you don’t have to go. You need to sleep and rest.”
“I’d like to go,” he replied. He was quiet for a moment, then said a bit louder as if it was important to him, “If it’s okay with you.”
My heart caught. I was at a loss for words and stumbled over my thoughts. “Marek, I owe you my life. I don’t know what those guys would have done, but I can imagine.” The memory I had kept pushed deep inside while I was at the clinic surfaced in full force and I started to shake. “You saved me from them and hurt yourself further.”
I couldn’t stop trembling. Tears rolled down my cheeks at the terror of that moment, the touch of the skinny man’s hand on my arm, the gloom of the alleyway, the sound of footsteps behind me. I shook my head, suddenly afraid of the darkness in the tree house.
Marek’s arms encircled me. I buried my head against his chest and cried. I had never been so frightened before, and had never realized how truly defenseless I was in a situation like that. Marek didn’t say anything. He held me as I cried, my tears soaking his blood-stained shirt. He arms held me securely. He was safe, familiar, and trustworthy. My tears slowed and sobs eased. I could feel him breathing and heard his heartbeat. I was safe.
I took a calming breath, then sat back, wiping my face with my sleeve. I was embarrassed by the outburst of emotion. The event had frightened me more than I realized. “I’m sorry,” I apologized, avoiding his eyes. “It just scared me pretty bad.”
Marek nodded. “I’ve been pretty scared myself. Sometimes I just want to shift into a wolf, run away, and never look back.” He looked out the window at the sun setting behind the trees.
“Why don’t you?” I asked quietly.
Marek’s brow creased and he ran the fingers of his left hand along the bandages on the right. “There’s too much depending on me staying, too much to take care of.” He glanced at me. “You don’t understand now, but tomorrow you will. Or at least, I hope you will.”
I looked down at the wound now covered by his shirt. “Are you sure you can go tomorrow? Are you strong enough?”
He gave me a half-smile. “I don’t have much of a choice. I’m needed there.” He stood slowly, his footing unsteady. “We’d better get down soon or I won’t make it past the ladder.”
I nodded and led the way. I wanted to argue with him, to make him stay and sleep to regain his strength, but there was something in his eyes when he spoke of where he needed to be. He truly had to leave, and nothing could stop him. Whatever it was, it had helped him survive this far. I shook my head. He had too much on his shoulders for someone our age. He needed a break, and I suddenly understood that was what tonight was.
He followed me slowly down the ladder. I heard his breath catch at each step. When we reached the bottom, he followed me across the lawn to the garage where I ruffled through the Salvation Army bag for another shirt. I threw the old one back into the box, hoping no one would recognize Marek’s clothing as Dad’s old castaways.
Kip jumped up from the couch when we walked through the front door. “Marek, great! Let’s choose a movie!”
Marek followed him to the closet where we kept the DVDs. The instant we set foot in the house, any sign of his pain or discomfort vanished. His strength amazed me. “Any requests?” he asked over his shoulder. At the sound of his voice, Fellow ran into the room, pranced at Marek’s feet for a second, then sat down attentively waiting for attention.
Mom came in a few seconds later. “Anything but Indiana Jones or Star Wars. As Kyla said, I think we’ve seen one of them every month for the past fourteen years.”
“Oh, Mom,” Kip grumbled. Then he grinned. “As I recall, you think Obi Wan is handsome.”
I laughed when Mom shrugged and said, “Well, Star Wars isn’t all bad.”
“Oh, really,” Dad replied, walking through the living room door with a bowl of popcorn and a plate of Mom’s cookies.
This time, Mom laughed. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t have a thing for Princess Leah.”
“Okay,” Dad replied. He sat the food on the coffee table and then made himself comfortable in his favorite corner of the couch. Mom settled in next to him and gave him a poke in the ribs.
Kip turn around, a DVD in hand and a pleased expression on his face. “We’ve decided on a movie,” he announced. He held it up with a flourish so everyone could see. “Die Hard.”
Marek grinned. “It’s got everything you need for a well-rounded movie
night.”
“Oh, really,” I replied. “What’s that?” I enjoyed the way his smile softened the edge of his jaw and the constant searching of his eyes. Standing by Kip, he looked like just another teenager, albeit a very handsome, confident, heart-stealing one. I kicked myself mentally.
“Action, adventure, romance, gunfights, blood, more gunfights,” he answered.
“Where’s the romance?” I teased.
Marek’s blue eyes twinkled when he winked at me. “It’s all about a man saving his estranged wife from a band of terrorists. That’s pretty romantic, if you ask me.”
Mom laughed. “I’ve never thought of Die Hard as romantic, but John McClane’s pretty cute.”
“Oh, really,” Dad teased. She poked him in the ribs again to silence him while Kip got the movie started.
I settled next to Mom and offered for us to squish together so Marek could fit, but he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve always liked the floor.” He eased down so that he lay sideways at our feet on the thick beige carpet. Mom handed him several pillows for his head. Fellow settled in next to him. His tail wagged when Marek petted his head.
Marek was pale, but if he was in pain, he hid it well. The only sign he gave of the rough past couple of days was the quantity of water he drank. I refilled his cup four times on the pretense of adding ice to my own. I knew his thirst was from the loss of blood. He tried to stay alert, but he looked tired, extremely tired. I thought back to how he saved me in the alley, then shook my head, shying away from the memories even as the remembered terror made a lump in my throat.
I watched the movie, but my mind wasn’t on it. I found myself studying the back of Marek’s head. His wavy black hair hung unkempt to just above his shoulders, as if he hadn’t had time to cut it for a while. I wondered about being part wolf, how it must feel when someone is chasing you, having to constantly look over your shoulder. Most of all, I tried to figure out what it was he had to go back to so urgently that he could only allow himself this brief rest, not even long enough to heal.