Darling

by K. Ancrum

  “They’re family,” Tinkerbelle insisted.

  Peter huffed gently. “Yeah, that, too. No one else but family can be such a hassle.”

  “Ignore him,” Tinkerbelle said. “He loves them. Or, well … as much as he can, I guess.”

  That remark didn’t settle well into the atmosphere between them, and the air seemed a bit colder.

  “So,” Peter said brightly, changing the subject. “Tell us a bit about you?”

  “Well,” Wendy started, “I moved here from Hinsdale, like, four days ago. I’m a senior, but I haven’t started back at school yet.”

  “Why did you move?” Tinkerbelle interrupted.

  Wendy shrugged. She might as well use this to help her prepare for this conversation, because she was sure she’d be having it at school over and over again in a couple of days.

  “My dad got a new job, and my mom wants to adopt a few more kids. They figured that living in the city would be better than having my dad drive all the way out here every day. Also, probably make it a bit easier to showcase that we’re stable enough to take in new children. Plus, they’re looking for older ones because they have lower chances of getting adopted or something. It’s a good time, too, because I’m probably going to college out of state, and they can go back to being parents again instead of being empty nesters in their mid-thirties.”

  Peter and Tinkerbelle spoke at the same time.

  “What kind of kids are they looking for?” Tinkerbelle asked urgently.

  “Your parents are in their thirties?” Peter blurted in disbelief.

  Wendy went with Tinkerbelle’s question first. “They’re looking for someone around twelve to fourteen, probably boys.”

  Tinkerbelle’s face did something unexpected when she received that news, but Wendy didn’t know her well enough to figure out what it meant. Wendy looked up at Peter instead. “Yeah, my mom is, like, thirty-three, and my dad is thirty-eight. She had me young, and they met afterward while she was in graduate school. It’s not a big deal, but I can see why they would want to have more kids after I leave. This way they can do the whole thing over again and actually be able to afford to take them on real vacations this time around.”

  “Hmm,” Peter said.

  “Which,” Wendy continued, “the new kids would also deserve, since I’m sure the foster system isn’t a picnic.”

  “It’s not,” Tinkerbelle said.

  Oh.

  Before Wendy could process her social faux pas, Peter pulled his arms down and whispered, “We need to change train cars.”

  “We’re not even at the next stop,” Tinkerbelle started to complain. “Wilson is only two more—”

  Peter looked over his shoulder quickly and grabbed Tinkerbelle by the back of her collar, pushing her toward the door. “Go. Now,” he said roughly.

  Wendy followed his gaze and landed on a police officer near the back of the train car. He wasn’t facing them, but he was close to the train doors, and if he shifted a bit, they would definitely be within his line of sight. When she turned back around, Peter and Tinkerbelle were nearly through the crowd. At the last second, Tinkerbelle reached a hand out and firmly grabbed Wendy’s, pulling her toward the door.

  “Those doors are for the train conductors only!” Wendy hissed.

  “Just come on,” Tinkerbelle whispered back. “Don’t look down and you won’t fall.”

  “But—”

  “I won’t let you fall,” Tinkerbelle clarified fiercely.

  Peter ducked low and wrenched the door open. The noise from the tracks was deafening as they hurtled through the night. The train car in front of them swayed ominously back and forth. The platform between the two cars was only a half-moon of space, about a foot across. There were no handles to help Wendy keep her balance, just chains that connected the two cars, draped slack. Peter charged forward unflinchingly and yanked open the back of the next train car. He slipped across the space gracefully and made it into the next car without a hitch. Then he stuck his foot in the door to hold it open.

  Tinkerbelle went next, but instead of hopping into the next car, she stretched her feet across both small platforms and held her arms out across them. Then she leaned against the chains and stared back at Wendy expectantly, using her own body as a railing between the cars.

  “You can do this,” she said firmly. The wind whipped her words clean out of her mouth and flung them far beyond Wendy’s ears.

  Wendy took a breath and stepped out of the train car. She grabbed Tinkerbelle’s arm for balance and saw Tinkerbelle clench her teeth. The platforms between cars felt a lot sturdier than she’d imagined, and the swaying that seemed so chaotic on the inside of the train was absorbed by her body now that she was outside. She transferred smoothly between the cars, stumbling into the following car just in time for them to make it to the next stop. Tinkerbelle pushed Wendy forward as she stepped in behind her and closed the train door.

  “Why couldn’t we have just changed train cars when we got to the next stop?” Wendy asked breathlessly.

  “He would have seen us running. There’s just enough time between stops where you can get on the train,” Peter explained. “The distance between one car door and another is farther than you think. If you don’t hurry, they’ll close before you make it.”

  “He wasn’t looking at us yet,” Wendy said, collapsing against the door to catch her breath. There was a small, closed-off seat in the back of the train car by the doors, and Tinkerbelle tossed herself into it, annoyed.

  Peter blocked off the archway to the rest of the car with his lanky body and gave Wendy a dry glance. “I don’t know how much you know about city cops, but they’re nothing like whatever you experienced back in Hinsdale.”

  “What do you mean?” Wendy settled down next to Tinkerbelle, who shifted away toward the window in response.

  Peter thought for a bit before he continued. “You went to school, so this comparison might work for you: You know how individual ships in the British Navy would defect to piracy when they realized that they could? They would have their own pirate flag, but also the union jack. Then, depending on whether the circumstances required, they would raise one flag and lower another?”

  Wendy had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded anyway.

  “They had the ability to reap the benefits of piracy and also had the power to prosecute pirates and enforce British maritime law. So, of course they just went everywhere drunk with power, fucking shit up, and no one could tell them to stop, or had the ability to stop them … because they were who you would go to when you needed to stop pirates.”

  Wendy nodded.

  “It’s like that. But cops.”

  “Uh.”

  “Yeah, it’s not great,” Peter snapped.

  Wendy wasn’t sure what her face was doing, but whatever it was made Tinkerbelle smile.

  “You regret coming out with us yet?” she asked in a suspiciously sweet voice.

  “No,” Wendy said bullishly.

  “Good.” Tinkerbelle’s smile grew wider. “Do you want to hear a story?”

  “A story about what? Cops?” Wendy grimaced. She did not.

  “A story about our Peter and why we have to run when we see police.”

  Wendy looked up at Peter, who shrugged and nodded as if to say, Indulge her.

  “Uh. Okay.” Wendy felt her back pocket to make sure her phone was still there.

  Tinkerbelle scooted closer to Wendy and began, “A while back, closer to when Peter and I first met, we had been hanging out by the train graveyard—the place where the train cars go to sit when the station closes down for the night. We were having a small party. Pried open one of the train’s doors so it was like one big room. Some of the kids from down south had come up to be there. It was a really great night. I don’t know exactly what happened, but somehow the cops knew we were there and decided to come out full force to shut the party down.”

  Tinkerbelle leaned back and kicked her legs up again
st the train car wall.

  “I scampered off, of course. I’m good with hiding and running, but we had some younger boys with us that needed to be watched, protected, and led back home. They were new, you know.”

  “Slightly and Curly,” Peter filled in. “Thirteen and fourteen at the time.”

  “Indeed,” Tinkerbelle said. “Just babies, really. And this wasn’t your everyday raid; the police had the clubs and gear out in full force. No tear gas, but shields and all of that—who knows why they thought they needed it. None of us are ever armed. Also, this night in particular, the detective was out and heading the raid.”

  Peter hummed, eyes twinkling as he listened.

  “Detective Hook himself,” Tinkerbelle said the name proudly, like it meant something.

  “Detective?” Wendy echoed.

  Tinkerbelle nodded. “The worst of the lot of them. Anyway, we needed a distraction to get them away from our boys. Peter, bright as he is, had predicted we might have had trouble. He’d made a few fire starters and tossed them over the top of a few of the train cars to get attention. Then, while they were blazing hot and high, we made a run for it in the dark.

  “Now, I’ve only heard this story secondhand, but from what I know, Detective Hook himself ran Peter and the boys down until the little ones couldn’t run anymore. Then he lined them up against a train car and called for backup.”

  Tinkerbelle looked up at Peter, but he was gazing steadfastly at Wendy. He seemed amused by the way Tinkerbelle was telling the story. But Wendy was not amused; Wendy was horrified.

  “Slightly started crying, so Hook tased him, which infuriated everyone, of course. Then when Hook turned his back for a second, Peter sprinted at him and wrestled him to the ground. He grabbed a rock and knocked the taser out of Hook’s hand and then smashed both of them with the rock until he couldn’t call for backup or use his pistol. Then Peter picked up Slightly, put him on his back, and carried him all the way back home.”

  “Oh my God,” Wendy said.

  “Yeah. A couple of months later, one of the boys saw Detective Hook coming out of a coffee shop. One of his hands was in a splint, but the other one had been amputated. So, chasing us down is now his personal vendetta.”

  Wendy gasped. “Oh my God, that’s fucking crazy.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” Tinkerbelle said coolly, lowering her eyelids. “We just stay out of their way, and they stay out of ours.”

  Wendy didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t.

  Tinkerbelle looked very pleased with herself. Wendy could feel the waves of Tinkerbelle’s satisfaction rolling off her, and it pissed Wendy off.

  Peter, on the other hand, was looking out the window contentedly, like beating someone with a rock until their entire hand had to be cut off was a completely normal and reasonable thing to do. The train rocked suddenly, and Peter caught himself against the side of the door. Wendy’s eyes snapped to his arms. Arms that had carried her safely down the side of her house, had carried Slightly—whoever that was—all the way home after being tased. When she looked up, Peter was watching her.

  “He tased a child, you know,” Peter said quietly. “A little boy who was crying and scared.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, I know, but I said I would never let anybody hurt him.”

  Wendy could hear the unspoken And I would never let anyone hurt you. It was heavy in the air. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She could feel the heat of his big hand through her sweater, like a brand.

  “THIS IS WILSON. TRANSFER TO PURPLE-LINE TRAINS AT WILSON,” the train blared. Then the speaker crackled and the conductor took over. “THIS TRAIN WILL BE STANDING AT WILSON STATION FOR AT LEAST TWENTY MINUTES DUE TO A DISTURBANCE AT THE STATION. ALL PASSENGERS WHO NEED TO TRANSFER MUST EXIT THE TRAIN. THERE ARE SHUTTLES THAT WILL TAKE YOU TO THE NEXT STOP.”

  Wendy looked up, alarmed. “Wh—”

  Tinkerbelle shoved her out of the seat and toward the door. “Don’t worry about it; this happens every so often. Just follow the crowd down the stairs. This is our stop, anyway.”

  Wendy was carried out of the train car and off to the platform by the people pushing behind her. She stumbled down the stairs and into the lobby, where it was immediately clear that something was wrong. At the front of the crowd, the station staff and several officers stood by the Wilson Station doors, shouting at passengers that they couldn’t go onto the platform.

  At the sight of the officers, Peter went ashen. “I’m finding a new way out. Take care of Wendy.” He turned back against the press of the crowd.

  “What?!” Tinkerbelle complained. “You said I wouldn’t have to watch her!” But Peter was too far away to hear.

  Tinkerbelle looked back at Wendy, then tightened her lips in resolve. “Fuck this.” She scampered off after Peter.

  Jesus Christ. Wendy continued making her way to the exit, but only because she had to. The people behind her wouldn’t let her stop and regroup. They rushed her to the front of the lobby and pressed her forcefully out the door and into the street and a world of lights and noise.

  There had to be at least thirty cop cars parked around the Wilson and Broadway intersection, and maybe a hundred police officers in the area. Everyone who had been on the train was shouting about being kicked off and asking about the shuttles they’d been promised. The train staff had bullhorns and were yelling at the riders about what street the shuttles would be picking up passengers. The actual police had the sirens on all their cars going full force. Their lights threw the street into a strobe of blue and red. There were officers at every intersection redirecting traffic and officers randomly demanding that people show identification.

  Wendy pulled out her phone and immediately looked for a ride share, but the price for the area had spiked to nearly $60, and she only had $35 allowance left in her bank account. Her phone battery was also way lower than she felt comfortable with. She had fallen asleep without plugging it in to charge, and now it was at 16 percent. She turned back to the train station.

  “I need to get back on the train platform. I don’t care if I have to wait there for an hour. I just need to get back home,” Wendy said to one of the train workers nearby.

  He shook his head. “No one is getting on the train at this station. What shuttle do you need to be on?”

  Overwhelmed, Wendy couldn’t remember the name of the stop near her house.

  “What neighborhood are you going to?” the train worker asked loudly, clearly losing patience.

  Wendy wracked her brain but kept coming up empty, panic making memory difficult. The train worker grabbed her shoulder firmly, steered her back into the flow of the crowd, and returned to his job of denying people access into the station.

  Wendy followed the crowd for half a block, then ducked into an alley and crouched down to catch her breath. Her phone’s alarm broke her panic attack, reminding her it was time to text Eleanor.

  Wendy: don’t be mad at me but things are going BAD.

  Eleanor: what are you lost or something

  Wendy: lmao I wish!! I’m by the Wilson train stop and there’s like fifty million cops everywhere and Peter and Tinkerbelle are like N O W H E R E to be found and I’m freaking out

  Eleanor: Tinkerbelle???

  Wendy: Peter’s friend, the blond who you don’t think is hot

  Eleanor: that’s a bad name. Do her parents even love her

  Wendy: she has no parents!! Found that out too! But only after I said something weird about my family and why we came here. lmao kill me

  Eleanor: ok coolcoolcoolcool alright you’re by yourself. Well. You do have options.

  Wendy: WHAT ARE THEY

  Eleanor: you could just get back on the train and go home.

  Wendy: train door’s blocked by cops next option

  Eleanor: you could call an Uber. Or hell, I’ll call you an Uber.

  Wendy: the cops are blocking off the whole street and are questioning ppl who try to leave
next option

  Eleanor: you’re not gonna like this BUT you could walk up to an officer and be like … pls take me home

  Wendy: would they even do that?

  Eleanor: probably not, but most city people don’t just t a l k to cops. If you do that, then you’re clearly not from around here, not scared of whatever’s happening and not likely to be a suspect lmao. Just babble about being from the suburbs and being lost.

  Wendy: I don’t want to talk to cops Eleanor! I’m too Black to just saunter up like “hello officers”

  Eleanor: lmao STOP. I know I know. I’m just focused on my best friend making it home safe and sound to her family who loves her so we can have a nice and reasonable parent supervised first meetup. Maybe you’ll get lucky??? Or something???? Please just get this situation sorted

  Wendy: FINE fine yeah, I’ll do it.

  Eleanor: you had Better

  Wendy put her phone back in her pocket and took a deep breath. Then she stood up and looked around for a cop who didn’t look intimidating. There was one across the street that seemed kind of mom-ish. Late fifties, short, and kind of pudgy. She seemed like a good bet. Gambling with the police state, here we come.

  Wendy swung her leg out to start in that direction when a hand covered her mouth and several others pulled her backward. She tried to turn around to figure out who was grabbing her, but before she could, they wrapped a T-shirt over her head and shoved its fabric in her mouth.

  Wendy screamed, but the cloth muffled it. The deafening noise of the police and the crowd drowned out everything else, anyway. The hands held her upper arms in a firm grip, dragging her down the alley and up too many stairs for her to count. Her assailants were silent and seemed organized. She could tell there were more than three of them, and they didn’t seem to need to communicate to get things done. After a disorienting ride in what felt like an elevator and a few stomach-churning jaunts down and up flights of stairs, making sure she couldn’t identify which direction she’d come from, Wendy was pushed down into a hard metal seat. Her arms and legs were tied to the chair firmly before her assailants ripped the T-shirt off her head and pushed it back into her mouth.