Love Under Glasse

by Kristina Meister

  Silent and shielded from his view by the tangled branches, Riley took his picture. A grimy hand was gripping the wall for support as he appeared to have trouble breathing. Her boots had steel toes—she’d probably broken a few of his ribs. He’d be in the hospital by nightfall if he had any sense of self-preservation. Like a drunken man, covered in dirt and blood, he teetered off in the direction of the tracks. A few moments later, Riley heard a car door slam and tires tear down a gravel road.

  “You there?”

  “Yeah. The fucker just tucked and ducked.”

  Her father breathed a sigh of relief. “You gotta get out of there.”

  “I know. I will,” Riley said, but she was already hesitating.

  “Riley,” he warned.

  “I’ve got it, Dad! I promise. I’m okay now. Thank you.”

  He grumbled incoherently, but didn’t bother to argue. Once she made her mind up, it was difficult to change, and aiming for two corrections in one conversation was ambitious.

  “Call me when you’re finished.”

  Tapping the red button, Riley began to photograph the entire scene. Outside and inside the house, she patrolled. Recovering the knife, she captured the blood stains on it, on the floor. While she was documenting the bedstead, her mind constructing one repugnant scenario after another, the sledgehammer caught her eye.

  Time to tear it all down.

  Riley flexed her hands around the handle, hefting it up to shoulder height. Anger might be blind and deaf, but goddamn, it was strong. One swing put the ten-pound head through the wall. Another took out a block of bricks. Dirt flew, filling the air like smoke. Wood splintered in sickening sounds. Riley attacked the steel bed frame, broke the edge off the sink, pummeled the stone and mortar until she could no longer feel her fingers. The air she gulped itched at her lungs until she spit what tasted like lyme. Exhausted to her core, she dropped the hammer and looked around.

  The dust settled and though she’d used every ounce of strength, the horrible place was still standing.

  Her shoulders sagged. She let go of the sledgehammer. Force wasn’t going to be enough, as satisfying as it was. Then again, she’d never been the type to win a fight with brute strength alone.

  Her eyes fell on a series of long, sturdy lengths of steel pipe. One of them had been attached to wood planks at either end with some plumbing fixtures, though it had yet to be wedged into service.

  A smile tugged her face.

  Fifteen minutes later, Aella was backed up to the front door, a rope threaded around the trailer hitch her dad had so judiciously installed. The other end was tied to two of these makeshift supports, which appeared to be bracing the entire structure upright. Her father’s Harley could tow a three-hundred-pound trailer.

  The dragon ought to be more than capable.

  Riley put on her helmet and brought Aella to life. It shot forward to a loud crack. Before the steel pipes had even stopped keening, the roof shifted. In an avalanche of noise, the whole structure caved in, taking the remaining external walls with it. Riley let out a whoop, her fist in the air as the chimney came tumbling down in her rearview.

  At the intersection with the main road, Riley stopped to tie El’s blood-soaked handkerchief around her wrist. A mushroom cloud of debris filled the sky, some ten or twelve feet higher than the tallest tree. Birds had scattered and were swooping around it in circles.

  Riley grinned. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff.”

  That ought to teach at least one pig a lesson.

  El ran blindly, his outraged scream echoing all around her. Tearing through the brambles and overgrown brush, she misjudged her footing in the dark. The injured leg went out from beneath her. He bellowed at her back and a rush of air from his outstretched arm brushed her face as she tumbled into the small ravine. Finding his shape against the moon and stars, El knew that the universe was with her. While he prowled the edge, looking for a safe way down, she was already off and under cover. Her legs scraped branches, her hands warded off limbs. She aimed for the patch of pale gravel reflecting the moonlight and the loud clattering of a passing freight train.

  Breath caught in her searing lungs, El could hear him cutting through the dark in a string of swear words and snapping twigs. He was gaining on her. She pushed harder, tugging free of the tree line in a stagger, only to realize that the train had narrowed her escape to two possible paths, both completely obvious to her pursuer.

  El looked right and then left, Charleston was left, but if the man couldn’t find her, he’d go back to the tent which had to be somewhere that direction. In a snap decision, El ran to the right, the train cars speeding by her. A movement caught her eye just ahead. The man was emerging from the trees.

  She lurched to a halt, her knee sending a sharp pain all the way to her hip. Spotting her, the man squared off, a malevolent grin in place.

  “Where you going, huh?” he shouted over the cacophony.

  El’s thoughts scattered in fear as she watched the blood drip from his arm. His hands were covered in it and that . . . was because of her. She felt a surge of confidence and anger, and looked on the passing train completely differently.

  In a single stride, she’d spun around. Her stumble turned to a swift hop and skip as she came level with the slow-moving cargo car. Metal rigging gleamed and flashed. Knowing it was dangerous did nothing to stop her, because if she stayed where she was, the end was a certainty.

  El threw out a hand and stuck. The train jerked her along, forcing her into a run, though her knee would not bend. With a savage shriek, she swung her other arm around and latched on. Feet dragging in the gravel, she wrapped her arms through the bars in a death grip.

  Despite her attacker’s heat, he could not keep up, and his labored breathing and heavy footfalls fell farther and farther away.

  Tears streaming down her face, El could not see to find footing on the side of the car. Her arms were growing tired, and only the physics of her elbow joints were keeping her on the train at all. Clinging and kicking at air, she shoved her face into her sleeves and finally cleared her vision.

  To her left were a series of large hitches, joining metal chassis together in a creaking tangle of metal just large enough for her to sit on safely. It took six tries to swing her good leg over to it. The pack dragged at her shoulders, but El managed to take hold of a split in the facing on the outside of the railcar. With the last of her strength and adrenaline, El pulled herself aboard and wedged her body into position.

  The world became a smear of navy and hunter green as she allowed herself to weep. Her hands shook terribly, her skin went ice cold and full-body tremors set in until the only way to stay straddling the rigging, was to wrap herself up in a loose chain. She locked her eyes on the rust-colored metal, the scent of grease and dynamic brakes oddly comforting.

  El was safe on this giant squeaking machine. All she had to do was hold on. It didn’t matter where it took her, because the plan was the same no matter where she ended up. She was escaping. She was defending herself. She had a right to this path.

  Eventually, the shivering stopped, and her heart became sluggish. Her mind was a blank. She looked around at her perch and found that it was larger than she’d thought, but when she tried to scoot along the metal grating to settle in more comfortably, not a single muscle in her body would take on the burden. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but there was no choice. She had to move to be safe.

  The effort of dragging herself to the platform at the end of the car took an eternity and put her close to passing out. Her right pant leg was scarlet with blood and the leg already swelling, she was covered from head to toe in brush and fine limestone dust. Thankfully though, the pack containing her life and most of her supplies was still strapped to her back. From what she could see, all the items in the outer pockets were still in place. She’d lost the tent, the sleeping bag and the bedroll, but those were a fine sacrifice to her safety. What couldn’t be replaced was Tizóna.

  As soon as she t
hought it, her heart ached anew. She’d sworn to keep it safe. The knife had done its job, and for that, she’d abandoned it in that terrible place where it would probably be used against the next girl.

  It was like walking away from Riley all over again. Ashamed, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Not to God, but to the Universe at large—a little poem of faith that things would align to protect everyone she cared about and undo those who would harm them. She prayed the knife would find its way back to someone who would know it on sight and gain strength from it.

  The vibration of the car, the constant rhythm of the rails lulled her. Her lids drooped. She dozed, rousing only when the sound shifted so drastically that something instinctual tugged her back to reality. The train was high off the ground, her feet dangling over a precipitous drop. Between the beams of the trestle bridge, El could see the river far below, glinting with pale fire. The view over the valley was astonishing. It was the highest El could ever remember being without a pane of glass between herself and certain death.

  From normal girl to death-defying daredevil.

  All at once, she could see him standing over her again, licking his chapped lips in anticipation as he reached to unbuckle her pack and strip her of her life. The shine on the water became the glint of the flashlight on Tizóna. She’d stabbed a man.

  She was a violent offender too.

  Heart pounding, she shook her head fiercely and pushed her fingers into her eyes until the memory was beaten back. She would not give him that place in her mind! He had no right to stay there! His power ended the moment she was free!

  “You’re safe now. You made yourself safe.”

  If El had been the child her mother wanted to create, she would probably have cowered. She would have frozen. She would have let his lust determine her future, because obedience would have been so much a part of her. But she wasn’t that child and her mother didn’t want her. She was her own person, and that person was prepared to fight.

  That person was strong enough.

  She leaned back against the car, suddenly so calm and centered that every misgiving and worry faded away. When her ride began to slow and the tracks divided again and again, El knew they had to be nearing the end of the line. Trains were slotted side by side and a few cranes laced the sky, prepared to shift cargo as soon as their operators clocked in. She freed herself from her position with some difficulty, finally falling from the giant hitch in a bedraggled pile. Every muscle hurt as she got to her feet and walking was more difficult than she’d ever known it could be. In a small shed, she found cover, finally freeing herself from the backpack.

  Her leg was stuck to the inside of her jeans. If she wanted to treat it, she’d have to cut them off, it seemed. She needed a bathroom with a sink and fresh running water, but the likelihood that any business would let her walk in looking like this was slim. She’d have to just make do, something she was getting very good at.

  “Uh . . . Hello? You can’t be in there. This is private property.”

  El’s heart dropped into the dirt yet again. The voice was coming from beside the door, the speaker just out of sight. Fear, frustration, and fatigue finally took their toll. The very thought of moving again, of being forced to run, sent a shockwave through her. Sobs welled up from within and unleashed a tide of fresh tears.

  A face peeked around the edge of the doorway, eyes cast at the ground. It was a young man, probably a little older than El, with a buzzcut and hazel eyes. His expression was blank, and as he stood there looking at her boots, she could see him rocking slightly in place.

  “Are you okay, because there’s all kinds of blood on you. I can call you an ambulance. I have a radio.”

  El’s nerves began to recover. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem to want to hurt her, and even though he had every right to tell her to get out, he wasn’t pushing.

  She cleared her throat, but somehow still sounded like she had bronchitis. “I . . . I fell and cut my knee. I can walk, I just need minute to get sorted.”

  “My boss is going to be coming by here soon on his rounds,” he warned. “He doesn’t like when hobos come in. He has them arrested. Yes, he does. He says this is private property and even if you’re leaving, it’s trespassing. If he finds you here, he’s going to be mad at you, but also me. I’m not supposed to let people come in.”

  So she was trespassing too. The list of criminal complaints was growing, shoving her further and further away from any kind of average existence. It was almost difficult to care anymore or bother with rules, and maybe Riley would tell her that bad rules did more harm than good, but El did care. Everyone, everywhere, just wanted to live their lives and be accepted. Laws were the way society accepted people. If she couldn’t exist without breaking the law, then it meant the world really didn’t have a place for her.

  El struggled up, leaning against the paneling. The young man’s gaze remained affixed to the gravel, and though he wore a smile, it was somewhat practiced and masklike. She slung the pack over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. You only have to show me the way. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “I can do that.” Without warning, he spun on his heel and cut off through the rail yard in a straight line. “You came in on the freight from New York. You must have, because you weren’t here an hour ago and that’s the only train that comes in right now. I know. I have all the schedules memorized, and we get updates all the time.”

  Hobbling after him, El could barely keep up. “Yes. I caught the train in West Virginia, I think.”

  “It’s right on the line,” he confirmed with a nod. “Well, I hope you were aiming for Ohio, because you’re in Ohio. This is Cincinnati. You know that, right? Is that where you wanted to go?”

  Cincinnati! Somehow, El had gotten farther west than she’d realized, but so much the better. If she could find a bus station, she could be back on schedule in no time.

  “That’s perfect actually. I was hoping to make it to a Greyhound station.”

  “We have those here. Yeah. I can tell you how to use the buses. I know all the lines by heart too. I can get anywhere on the bus. I even know the timetables. I’m not allowed to drive, because I’m not good at that kind of stuff, because I can’t do lots of things at once, but I can definitely do buses. You just get on and off them. The only bad thing about buses is that they’re always late and that’s annoying. Why have a schedule if you don’t obey it?”

  Understanding dawned for El and her nervousness ebbed. All his body language and the lack of eye contact made sense and no longer spoke of threat. In fact, she felt safer than she had in the last four days. “I hate that too. They should just say that it comes every ten minutes or so and leave it at that, right?”

  He smiled at the dirt, his pace slowing a bit. “My name is Bash. Well, no, it’s not my name. It’s a nickname, you know? Well, I guess it’s kind of a nickname. People think I’m shy. I’m not shy, I’m not really, but people say that, so they call me Bashful, but I’m not shy.”

  Despite her situation, El smiled. “So you shortened it. Makes sense.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. It makes me sound mean. Like I break things. Like they call a group of rhinos a crash. Like a bash of me’s. I’m not mean, though. I’m nice, but I do sometimes get angry. Even then though, I try not to break stuff.”

  “Everyone gets angry and frustrated.”

  “Yeah. Do you have a name? Of course you have a name. Everyone has a name, but what’s yours?”

  “Call me Snow. It’s a nickname too.”

  He glanced at her. “How come? Do you just like winter, or something? I don’t like winter.”

  “My real name means snow. Snow’s just easier.”

  Nodding, he stepped across some tracks and over the rigging of a parked train. He waited on the other side with his back turned as she clambered over them in an ungainly tumble.

  “Are you homeless?” he asked suddenly. “Is that why you were riding the trains?”

  “Yea
h.” El swung her bad leg over a car hitch with a wince. “I ran away from home.”

  “How come?”

  El’s body refused to budge. She tried again, but it was no good. She needed to rest. “I’m sorry. I need to stop for a minute. I guess I’m just worse off than I thought.”

  “That’s okay. I can wait. I’m not supposed to check in yet. Sorry, I don’t mean to ask things like that if it bothers you. I’m bad with people.” He sat down beside her, poking his toes into the loose stones and shoving them around. “It’s okay to tell me if I mess up. I don’t mind. Everyone else tells me.”

  That was something she knew well, that feeling of always getting it wrong no matter what she did, that embarrassment that no one seemed to notice, that helplessness when everyone around her took the liberty of advising her whether she liked it or not. It was disgusting. It felt horrible.

  “No, Bash, I think you’re doing really well. You’re being really nice to me, when you didn’t have to be. Thank you for that.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked why you ran away. My mom says that I ask too many questions and it makes people uncomfortable, and my boss says that if I wasn’t a retard, he would have fired me.”

  El’s mouth fell open. “That’s a horrible thing for him to say! I hate that word!”

  “I mean, yeah, I hate it too obviously. But I don’t get lots of things, because I’m not normal, I guess.”

  Forgetting the pain in her leg, El stomped her foot. “Who decides what is normal? If you decided that you were the normal one, then everybody else would look different.”

  “They’d look really weird,” Bash admitted with a smirk. “Because why do they say things like How are you? If they’re not going to wait to find out? I like asking questions and getting answers for them, because why else would I ask if I didn’t want to know! I don’t ask anything unless I want to know.”

  “Exactly!” El took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not normal either, so you don’t have to worry about that stuff with me. I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. You’re just fine how you are. So you can just be yourself, okay, and I won’t be upset.”