Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  I bow my head. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long couple of days.”

  She flashes her blue eyes at me. Dark. Like an untroubled storm happily traveling along, throwing spikes of lightning at passersby. “Every day is the same. Cain’t be longer or shorter.” She holds up her fingers, flashing ten twice and then four. “Twentee-four hours.”

  I chuckle. This kid. I help her unwind and fasten the aid to her hip. “You’re absolutely right.”

  She pulls something out of the bottom of the case, staring at it, tipping at an angle. It’s a photo. I know what it is before she turns it to me. “This is you.”

  I nod. “Yes. That is me.”

  She points at her father. “This is Deddy. Deddy hurts people. Deddy’s done hurt to No-rah. A lot of hurt.” She blows her hair from her face. Just like every King here, she has a case full of bad memories. Old injuries. Ghosts that chase her.

  He did a lot of hurt. Taking the photo from her, I examine it. It was supposed to be our ticket to leaving him behind. She never thought he would just abandon the case. She always gave him just a little too much credit. Which he took and blew up.

  I place the photo face down in the case, then stack other things on top of it. It doesn’t matter now. “I think your father has a sickness. He can’t stop hurting people, even people he’s supposed to care about.”

  She nods solemnly. “No-rah has one, too.”

  I tilt my head. “She does?”

  Kricket looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Yeah. She cain’t stop pro-tacting people.” She holds her arms up in a cross over her face. It’s a horrible and awakening image.

  Kids have this funny way of cutting through all the bullshit. They’re light through the cracks. “Gosh, you’re so right, Kricket.” I offer my hand and pull her up. “But she needs to understand she doesn’t need to do that anymore.”

  I pull on one of Kin’s old coats. Kite flew away with mine. It was the last thing I saw, her huddled down inside it like it was armor as she escaped on the subway.

  I feel tightened and strengthened by this realization. If she’s trying to protect me from her father, then there’s a chance I can change her mind. Together, we’re stronger. My face slips for a moment, but I force it back up. I thought she knew that already.

  Kricket’s small pale hand in mine, we wait by the door. There’s a man smoking and leaning against it, and the little girl’s breathing is getting louder and wheezier as the smoke wafts through the gapped boards.

  He leans back as a train stops, people boarding and disembarking. I wait for him to move, but he seems content to just smoke and people watch. I roll my eyes.

  The platform is empty except for this one round man.

  I do something I’ve never done before.

  I shove on the door, sending the man stumbling forward, his cigarette bouncing onto the tracks. He pines after it like it’s a hundred-dollar bill, then stares wide-eyed at Kricket and me emerging from the wall. I shake my head, and Kricket coughs.

  She glares at him as we board the next train. “Ya shouldn’t smoke!”

  His red face wobbles with shock as he fumbles with his lighter.

  I laugh.

  42

  KITE

  There’s a square of light in the wall. It must be a window. I lift my hand to touch it. Drifting. Drifting. Drifting. There are things I should be doing, but I can’t remember.

  A shadow pulls across the window, and I tense. Beeping increases. More shadows, more hands on my body. Adjusting, checking.

  They keep telling me I’m safe.

  They keep telling me he can’t hurt me anymore.

  I grasp the words, but they slip through my fingers.

  “Nora…” A man’s voice penetrates the fuzz of drugs. “We’re going to start weaning you off the pain relief. There’s someone here who needs to talk to you. He says it’s urgent.”

  I nod. I’m floating on a sea of jello. I’m floating down, down, down until suddenly the sky cracks and I’m falling through. Pain erupts over every inch of my body. My eyes focus, hard and chiseled.

  The man comes into focus. “Miss Deere.”

  I nod, reaching for a glass of water. The grasping of it feels like a victory.

  “I need to ask you some questions.” Pen poised over paper.

  A statement. Details are given. I am thanked and assured. “The case is open and shut,” he says. Open and shut. It sounds more violent than intended. Like a door slammed. A book snapped closed.

  The nurse comes in to adjust my pillow. Her eyes are dark and purplish underneath. “You should go home,” I say. “You look tired.”

  She smiles proudly. “You did very well, my dear.”

  The square of light turns dark, and I am alone again.

  I reach for Hiro. I catch the cuff of his trousers just as he jumps from the windowsill, but I can’t hold on.

  43

  HIRO

  Fear that started as a trickle has now turned to a flood. Kricket and I search the usual places. I check alleyways, behind dumpsters, and we enter every store we think she might go into. Nothing. Empty hands.

  We even creep up to her old brownstone, though I can’t imagine why she would be here. The smell of fresh paint moves through the alley. The new apartment building looking close to finished. A flash of Kin scolding me for saving that woman from the fire plays like a strange movie over the charred bricks. I peer through the front window. It appears empty. Lifeless. I press my face to the glass, and Kricket pulls on my arm anxiously. She doesn’t want to be caught here.

  I don’t blame her.

  My anxiety is starting to stretch to the sky, dragging holes through the gray blue. Where are you?

  The cold is closing in. The one day of reprieve has disappeared and, in its place, is a biting, snapping wind, sharp as crocodile teeth. Dangerous. Picking up a paper, I scan the weather section while the vendor gives me dagger eyes. They’re predicting another snowstorm. Kricket’s breathing sounds like a loose fan belt, and I hug her close to keep her warm. I need to get her home before she develops pneumonia. We head down to the subway as the sun starts to disappear. The days are getting shorter. I bite my lip, praying Kite is in the tunnel.

  I picture the reunion. I have so many things to say. The first being that no matter what she says, no matter what she decides, I still love her.

  Kricket stumbles, her movements becoming uncoordinated with tiredness. I scoop her up, holding her against my chest as we board the train. The subway rumbles and bumps. “Be home,” I whisper under my breath. “Please, be home.”

  With hope and a sleeping child in my arms, I knock on the King’s door with my elbow. It opens to a familiar face.

  Krow’s expression is dire as he mutters, “She’s not here.”

  I stalk in. Kricket shakes a little and I lay her down on the bed, covering her with extra blankets. Kelpie sneaks over to snuggle at her feet.

  I know something’s wrong. But I also know Kite’s first priority would always be her sister. So, I do what I must to make sure Kricket is safe, warm, and well. Even as every fiber of me stretches to the outside, searching for the other half of my heart.

  “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” Krow’s voice is angry. Splashed with a small speckle of sympathy. I stare at the glass doors. The outside world is barely visible, swirling with white. They shudder violently with the wind. They warn me not to go through. Like sentinels with crossed spears. I put my hand on the door; it burns my palms for how cold it is. It’s worse than the storm that killed Kamo.

  “She’s out there. I have to find her.” I can’t think. I can’t be. If I can’t see her face. Touch her skin.

  Krow throws a hand on my shoulder to yank me backward. “You can’t go out there. You’ll die. You’ll die like Kamo. Like Kipper. Like K…”

  “But how can I stay and do nothing when she could be…?” I feel choked and desperate. The air thinning. The panic rising. “What the hell happened?” I a
sk no one. “How did it all go so wrong?”

  Krow stands between me and the door, rigid and uncomfortable, but completely determined. “I ain’t gonna hug you or nothin’, but I will stop you from going out there and getting yourself killed.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stare at the painted ceiling. So much effort put into an underground space. So much time making something beautiful that no one ever looks at. “I need to find her. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s…” I start.

  Krow turns me rather forcefully, then propels me back down the stairs. “You’ll have to wait til’ the storm is over.”

  “I can’t…” I could fight him. Two thirds of me wants to shove him aside and run. But he’s right. I’d die.

  He keeps pushing me down. Back to the tunnel. Back to a home that doesn’t feel like a home anymore. Not without Kite. “You don’t have a choice,” he says sharply to the back of my head.

  No. It seems like I never really do.

  44

  KITE

  Snow batters the window. It’s almost impossible to tell if it’s night or day like the clouds are sitting comfortably on the sidewalk. My head is clearing. With that comes memories of what I did. Of what I said to Hiro. He must be so angry with me. So hurt. And Frankie…

  My fists tighten, and I sit up. I need to get back to her. She might think I’ve abandoned her. I would never…

  My thoughts hit and miss. Arrows thrown off course by a clip of the elbow. My head aches. I swing my legs around to try to get off the bed. But several wires and tubes are still attached to me, and machines come crashing down with spectacular noise. A nurse rushes in to force me easily back into bed. “What are you doing, miss?”

  “I need to leave,” I say, searching the room. “Where’s my coat?”

  A man enters the room. His eyes sad and pitying. He takes a sharp breath in at the sight of me, and he unbuttons his jacket. “Nora,” he says in a sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry. Everyone is sorry.

  My voice shakes. “I want my coat.”

  Mr. Inkham turns to the nurse. “Nurse, where is Miss Deere’s coat?”

  The nurse opens a closet in the corner of the room and pulls out Hiro’s coat, handing it to the lawyer. “It was the only clothing she had that wasn’t stained with blood.” He holds it up and I reach for it, too many tears in my eyes. They can’t decide which one will fall first. I snatch it to my chest. Breathing in the smell of the only man I truly feel safe with. Why hasn’t he found me?

  I start to put my arms through, getting tangled and frustrated. “Nora, you can’t leave yet. The doctor says you’re too unwell to travel.”

  I huff. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. “Mr. Inkham, why are you here?”

  “I have wonderful news,” he announces, flipping his briefcase onto the hospital tray table. I arch an eyebrow, and he blushes. “I mean I have important news for you.” I hold out my hand, indicating for him to go on. “Your father’s incarceration changes the structure of your mother’s will, the living allowance, and the timeline for your inheritance.”

  Doubtful, careful. Hope is dangerous. “In what way?” When I shift my head, pain spikes through my neck and spine.

  “The living allowance, the house, it all goes to you and your sister Frances.” He says this with such optimism and animation. I wish I could share it, but it’s too much to believe. I can’t trust it.

  “You mean in trust until my father is released.” My voice is flat. Unmarked.

  Mr. Inkham shakes his head as he approaches me. His eyes wash over my bruised and broken body. My split and bulging lip. He doesn’t even know how torn apart I am on the inside. The barrenness that spreads like a dust storm from my womb to my heart. He chances a touch of my hand. I don’t have the energy to remove it. “No. It will be permanent. Your father’s arrest meant all rights transfer to you temporarily, but once he is found guilty and is sentenced, the transfer will be permanent.”

  There’s the catch. It was waiting just above our heads, ready to snag me. “So, it is temporary.” This isn’t a triumphant victory. I don’t revel in being right, but this is the way things are. It’s what I would expect.

  Mr. Inkham’s eyes break in the corners like they’re brittle and painted, and I see what he sees. A defeated, helpless, hopeless girl. But I’ve learned through the crack of a baton to the sting of a palm to my face that things don’t work out for people like me. “Nora, he is guilty. He won’t get out of prison for a very long time. The police witnessed your… assault.”

  Always a break in the sentence. Like they need a moment to catch their breath. People don’t want to believe these things happen. It’s why they can so easily turn away.

  “Your housemaid’s testimony is solid, and it points to a long history of abuse. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m telling you the truth. I would never give you false hope. This is happening.”

  Trumpets raise. Mouths purse ready to blow. But I’m unsure. Unsure. Unsure.

  Believe him. Let the music roar. Let it rattle your lungs and blast the windows.

  “I can go home?” I whisper. Not sure if I want to. Not sure if I can clean away the nightmares that live in every corner of that place.

  His expression is like coming to rest. A calming heart. “If you want to, yes, you can go home.”

  If I want to.

  Those words are powerful. But they lose just a little of their potency without two people here to hear them with me.

  45

  HIRO

  The cold and cabin fever is getting the better of everyone. The smell isn’t too good, either.

  I hear a scuffle in the corner and the card table shoots up in the air, landing on its side, cards scatter everywhere. “You cheated,” Keg shouts, pointing at a new kid we haven’t even named yet. He looms over the scrap of a boy, whose brown curls are tied back in a ponytail. He grins, showing rotten teeth and freckles the size of food stamps. I storm over and grab Keg’s collar. He’s getting big, and it’s a struggle to hold him back.

  Krow comes to my aid, standing between the two of them. He slaps the new kid’s head and curses. “For Pete’s sake, you’re only playing for buttons. What the hell does it matter?” he snaps angrily.

  Keg straightens, the violence rippling out of his body, and I let him go. “It’s da principal.”

  This makes the new kid snicker, which is a mistake. Keg lunges at him, trying to scratch the giant freckles from the kid’s face. He lands a swipe, but doesn’t do too much damage. I try to concentrate on what’s in front of me, not on the ghost that waits for me outside. Colored tail and wind-full. Kite. But it’s pointless. She’s a whisper in my ear. A gentle hand on my shoulder. She is everywhere and nowhere, and it’s killing me second by second.

  “What’s your name kid?” I ask, offering a hand. He takes it gingerly. The general and warranted distrust of a street kid shining through.

  “Um…” He’s reluctant. They always are.

  Rubbing my chin, I squint at him. “Doesn’t matter anyway. If you’re staying with us, you can pick a new name.”

  Keg snorts. “How about Krook!”

  I shoot Keg a look, then bend down. The kid can’t be more than about twelve. But he’s cocky. Keg’s about three times his size, yet he was ready to face him. “You look like a…” The way he smiles like he’s got a trick or two up his sleeve. “How about Krafty?”

  The kid’s chest swells with pride. And so does mine for a short, closed-up moment. Like a magician’s box has been opened and closed before I could see what was inside. I’ve always loved this part, but it loses something. “Krafty suits me to a tee,” he says in an older, deeper voice than I would’ve expected.

  I gaze around the room. It’s getting cramped in here. More come in from the cold this time of year, and the stink of too many boys in too-close quarters sits like smog above us. “I’m going to check the papers. See how long they think this blizzard’s going to last for.” Kelpie
and Kricket are playing in the back. I point my finger over the whole room. “You all look like you need some fresh air.” I wave my hand in front of my nose. “You all smell like it, too!” They give blunt laughs.

  I jerk my head in Kricket’s direction, and Krow nods. He’ll look after her until I get back.

  And if the snow has eased, I can get back to searching for Kite.

  The guy at this newsstand is one of the few men who treats me like everyone else. As in, he treats everyone with the same growling irritation. I put my hand on the neatly folded stack of newspapers, and he grunts at me. “Oi, you touch, you buy!” Swiping the paper up, I flick him a coin. He grunts, tucks the coin into a zipped bag, and goes back to his magazine.

  The snowstorm is the top story. Worst storm to hit city in over a decade. I roll my eyes. Everything’s always the worst something in a decade. I scroll down. It says the storm front will hopefully pass over by tomorrow.

  My eyes roll over black letters. Adds for department store sales, something about Walt Disney, and then…

  My hands scrunch until it looks like I’m holding two paper fans. The small headline on the skinny side, where they put local crimes and murders, reads:

  Lawyer Arrested for Attempted Murder of Daughter. No bail. Several people, including police, witnessed the violent beating of a young woman by the accused, Christopher Deere, in the alley behind his residence. Court date yet to be set. Rumors he will defend himself. Condition of victim, unknown.

  How can the worst thing to ever happen take up so little space? One small column, one inch of text.

  I tear the paper apart. Ripping it down the middle like I can change the words. Rearrange them into something less horrifying. It drops from my hands, and people immediately walk over it. Covering it with wet, muddy boot prints, sending it coasting across the tiled floor in shredded pieces.