by Kristie Cook
Horrified, I make my way over. Three men lie lifeless on the floor. I’ve never seen them before. They have on dark suits and ties. A trail of bloody tears has run down their faces. Each of them had torn their shirts open, exposing large blue and green bruises on their chests. I lean in closer and see several bloody self-inflicted gashes. It’s as if they were trying to rip their hearts out.
“What did you do?” My voice is filled with so much anguish, I barely recognize it. Before Miku has a chance to reply, Rio comes towards us shouting, “We have to go! They’re coming.”
No sooner had he gotten the words out than a group of men comes barreling down the stairs wearing suits and carrying guns. They begin shooting.
“Emmy, let’s go!” She doesn’t wait for me to move. She grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway towards the exit. I fall in step with her for fear that if I don’t she’ll hurt me like she did the men on the floor. I knew it was her. She was the one singing. She had killed three people without putting a hand on them. And now I’m being dragged down the school hallway by a murderer and her brother. But I figure I’m better off with them than the “Wall Street” mafia back there, right?
The wonder twins and I dodge into the stairwell. Bullets whiz over our heads. The singer pulls the fire alarm. Kids quickly flood the stairwell. The PA system comes on. I can’t hear what the principal is saying as the brother and sister team and I run at breakneck speed past the student body and out the door. Once outside, a red sports car comes towards us at top speed, jumps the curb and stops just short of hitting us. The door flings open. The driver, whose face I can’t see, says, “Get in.”
They try to get me inside the car but I fight them off, kicking and screaming. I’d rather die here than get in this stranger’s car and end up bruised and broken in some dark alley.
“Get off me!” I shout back.
Had it not been New York City, the sight of a group of teenagers fighting would have been disturbing. But seeing as how the city is always full of strange characters and even stranger happenings, not one person even stopped. Although, there were a few who looked on as they walked by but dismissed it as juvenile horseplay.
Rio somehow gets both my arms behind my back and holds them there. I struggle, but it does no good. His grip is too tight.
“I got her. You clean up,” Rio instructs his sister.
“I cleaned up last time,” Miku replies.
“So you should be familiar with the process,” he retorts. She stares back at him coldly.
Rio lets his guard down for a half a second. That’s all I need. I shoot off down the street. They grabbed a hold of my shirt from behind. I scarcely manage to slip out of it. I thank myself for layering this morning because I didn’t trust the weather to stay this warm throughout the day. I’m half way down the block. My muscles beg me to stop or even slow down, but I don’t give in.
What’s going on? The question bounces inside my pounding head with every labored breath I take. Don’t stop to analyze, I reason with myself. Just get some distance.
I spot a cop car halfway down the block; seeing an end to their pain in sight, my muscles fully cooperate. I’m now running at top speed, mere yards away from help, when she appears before me, stopping me dead in my tracks.
She looks to be about my age, maybe a year or so older? She stands at a statuesque five feet nine inches. Her beauty defies logic. No one that stunning can be real. Even if she wasn’t blocking me, I would have had no choice but to stop and marvel at the sheer radiance of her face. Her skin looks as if it had been carved out of the night sky: smooth, black, glowing. Her eyes are the color of gleaming pennies; her full lips spread across her face and form a spectacular smile.
Her hair reaches past her shoulder and down to her lower back in thick curls with streaks of copper matching her eyes. She wears black leather pants that hug every flawless curve and a matching fitted black leather vest. I gasp at the impossible perfection before me.
I want frantically to reach out and touch her for two reasons. First, to make sure she is real, and second, I long to put my hands on something so flawless. But I can’t reach out and touch her. That’s not to say that she isn’t real. She’s real, as is the silver handgun she’s pointing at me.
I hear a car pull up, but I can’t tear myself away from the girl in front of me. “Get in,” she orders. She doesn’t need the gun. I know from the chill going down my spine that she is dead serious, and disobeying isn’t in my immediate best interest. I tear myself away from her face and see the same red car, its door open. I get into the car.
Once inside, the car zooms up Broadway going at nearly twice the speed limit. The twins are seated next to me. I want to ask where they are taking me, but I’m afraid the minute I open my mouth, I’ll cry. I refuse to give my conquerors the satisfaction of seeing me weep. Instead, I look out the window at the crowds of New Yorkers passing by. As usual they are all in a hurry to get where they need to be or leave where they’ve just been.
They remind me of my mom. She’s always racing home to make me dinner. But neither of us are good cooks, so we always end up ordering out. I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. I had been in such a rush this morning, I didn’t say good bye. I didn’t even say goodbye to Ms. Charlotte, my cat. She waits for me on the windowsill at exactly 3:30 p.m. everyday. I don’t know how she knows it’s time, but I swear she does. She’ll be waiting today …
I try to swallow but can’t. A big lump forms in my throat. Tears stream down my face. Then I remember the emergency card the man in the closet gave me. I had told him that I would help find this boy and tell him to run. It made no sense to me, but it had mattered to the man, and I should have done it. Oh well. I’m sure this boy is safer than me, wherever he is.
I surreptitiously remove the crumpled, blood-stained paper from my pocket. I can’t make out the home number or address of the boy the closet man had failed to reach. But there, printed clearly underneath light splotches of blood, it reads:
“Emerson H. Baxter.”
***
I was wrong about the alley. We pull into a quiet, charming, tree-lined street somewhere on the Upper East Side. Everything about the neighborhood says “old money lives here,” from the rows of five story brick townhouses to the pristine community garden. When we get to the townhouse at the end of the block, the car pulls into the driveway. The twins get out of the car and hold the door open for me. I know I should try to run, but I’m sure my limbs won’t comply. I slowly get out of the car.
I see the driver for the first time. He’s black and slightly taller than Rio, but his muscular body makes him a hundred times more intimating. He’s wearing a black hoodie and a platinum twisted chain. I can’t make out his eyes under his Gucci shades. The twins motion to me to go into the house. Sensing I’m about to object, Rio sighs impatiently, and Miku takes my hand and walks me through the frosted glass door.
The house is breathtaking. From the high-dimension ceiling to the smooth wheat-colored finished floor, there isn’t one square inch that’s not appealing to the eye. The house has a historic feel, but the dÉcor is modern with sleek, clean lines. The browns and reds that highlight the dÉcor make the space warm and cozy. The paintings are mostly Monet. Some I recognized but two I have never seen before. The bay window looks out onto the Park.
Rio and the driver come in behind us and close the door. I’m feeling lightheaded and find it hard to focus. Miku looks at me, smiles brightly and says, “I’ll get you a soda,” as if this were any other day and I’m a good friend who happened to come by. Rio goes into another room and comes back with a small trash can and places it at my feet. “Don’t bother,” he says to Miku. Just then a wave of nausea hits me. I double over and vomit. I miss the can completely.
Miku goes away and comes back with a wet towel. She bends down and pats my face. “I want to go home. You can’t keep me here. Please,” I beg her. She walks me over to the plush sofa and sits me down.
She turns to
Rio. “How is she?”
“Tired. Shocked.” I hate being talked about like I’m not in the room.
“Why are you asking him? I’m right here.”
She pays me no mind. “She should sleep,” she says to the driver.
Is she kidding me? I’ve just been in a shoot out. I’ve seen a man bleeding to death and I’m being kidnapped. How does she think I could possibly sleep?
“Tell me what’s going on. Who are you? Why did you force me into your car and who was shooting at us?” The more questions I ask the more hysterical I become.
“I want to go home,” I shout at the top of my lungs. The driver comes up to me and takes his shades off to reveal soft, warm, hazel eyes. He places a hand on my shoulders. He looks into my eyes and speaks with a soft velvet voice oozing charm. “You would like to go to sleep,” he says simply. After he said that, nothing mattered more than the desire to close my eyelids. I’ve fought off sleep before, but this isn’t like that. There’s no fight. I want nothing more than to give into darkness. The last thing I see before I drift off is the girl who held me at gun point coming towards me.
***
“She’s got to be a part of this whole thing. Why else would Lucy send half a dozen Runners after her?”
“She looked genuinely surprised when they came. This girl has no idea what’s going on.”
“That doesn’t make sense. The council would never expose a human to that kind of danger.”
“I’m telling you she knows nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter if Emerson knows something or not. If Lucy thinks she’s involved, she’s dead.”
As I listen to the conversation taking place in the living room, I keep my eyes closed. They had carried me into one of the bedrooms when I fell asleep. This is all a dream. This is what I get for falling asleep watching the SyFy Channel. But even as I’m saying it to myself, I know it’s a lie. This is real. And this Lucy person sent a bunch of guys to kill me. What did they call them—“Runners”? What have I done to this Lucy to make her want me dead? I’m gonna lay still and keep my eyes closed. This nightmare has to end.
“Is she awake?” I think Miku is speaking. Rio answers.
“She is, but she’s trying to wish this whole thing away.”
“We don’t have time for this.” I recognize the voice of the girl who pointed the gun at me.
She sounds irritated and on edge. I open my eyes and scan the room looking for a phone. There isn’t one. I snort at the absurdity of my situation. What would I say to the cops if there had been a phone? “Hi, my name is Emerson Baxter and I’m being kidnapped and held hostage inside, what looks to be, the centerfold of Architectural Digest.”
Someone knocks on the door of the room. Miku’s voice calls out to me sweetly behind the door, “Emmy, it’s time to get up.” She opens the door and comes over with a tray of food. She sits beside me. On the tray is a small bowl of broth with pieces of a few white squares and a handful of green onions. “It’s miso soup. It’s good. My mom used to make it. Oh, and a turkey sandwich. I got Jay to make it for you. He’s a culinary genius, but he’s a little stingy with his talent.”
“Who’s Jay?” I question.
“The driver.”
“He should have his license revoked.”
“He did.” She laughs and hands me the tray.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Rio says you are.”
“How does he know what I feel?”
“It’s a long story. First food then Q&A, okay?”
I was ready to argue, but the aroma of the soup hit my nose and my stomach growled. I take one spoonful of the soup intending to stop there, but it is so good I end up drinking the whole thing.
Miku studies me. “Now, try the sandwich.”
“No, I’m fine. Really.” She looks pleadingly at me.
I’m such a pushover. I take a bite of the sandwich. It’s the best thing I have ever put in my mouth. It has some kind of spread that gives the turkey a kick. There’s also a light sweetness to it but I can’t figure out from what. I look at Miku in awe.
“I know. It’s amazing huh? You should try his parmesan potato bread. It’s his specialty. But he really has to like you to make it.”
I gobbled it up in four quick bites.
I am making a pig of myself, but Miku doesn’t seem to mind. She hands me a can of soda. I drink it down and wipe my mouth with the napkin she had thoughtfully placed beside the tray. I thank her. She smiles and motions for me to follow her. I take a deep breath and walk after her out of the bedroom, into the living room.
I must have been asleep for hours, judging by the dark sky. The living room is lit softly by track lights. Someone has cleaned the spot where I’d thrown up; the sour smell is gone. The house now smells of green tea and jasmine. There’s no one in sight.
“Everyone’s waiting outside,” Miku informs me as she leads the way. We walk up a few flights and through a black gated door onto the roof. Standing there beside Rio is the driver, Jay, and the gun girl.
It seems impossible but she is somehow even more striking than she was when I first saw her. She walks up to me. Her voice is official and impatient. “I’m Ameana. And this is Jayden.” She motions towards the driver. He says, “It’s cool, call me Jay.”
Ameana continues without the slightest concern as to whether I respond or not. “You have something in your possession that is vital to me and many others. We need you to hand it over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer. She looks at the others, then back at me. “You have no idea what I want from you?” she asks again. I try to keep my voice from trembling.
“N-n-no,” I say weakly. She turns to Rio. He replies, “She’s telling the truth. The Runners haven’t told her anything. She has no idea what’s going on.”
I don’t know where the anger came from. All I know is that I had had enough of this sci-fi bull. I direct my comment to Ameana. “Look, warrior princess, I don’t know what you are talking about, okay? I was just trying to help some guy I found in the hallway and then all hell broke loose! If you plan on killing me before this Lucy person, then fine, do it. If not, I have to get home.”
“How do you know Lucy? Has she come to see you?” Ameana turns to Rio.
He answers her unspoken question. “She has one. I would know if she didn’t.”
“One what?” I ask.
“How do you know about Lucy?” Ameana demands again.
Hoping that if I give her some answers she’ll give me some, I reply, “I overheard you guys talking. So, who is she? Why is she out to kill me?” I look into their faces and see something in them I didn’t see when bullets rang out over our heads—fear.
“Is she some kind of super bad girl? I mean how many guns can a girl carry?” All my attempts to lighten the mood fail. “Please, tell me what’s going on. I may be able to help. But you guys have to talk to me,” I plead. They confer silently with each other.
Before anyone can speak, a boy pops out of thin air. Seriously. He came out of nowhere. Startled, I jump back, lose my balance and fall head first down the side of the five story building. I don’t even have time to register that I should scream. I try to prepare myself for the pain. My head will hit the ground first, so maybe death will come swiftly. Please, please come swiftly.
There is no pain. I feel no pain. Yes! Somehow I must have been knocked unconscious so quickly, the pain never had time to register. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.
Then I hear Rio’s voice. “Emmy, open your eyes” I do. I am lying safely on the floor of the roof. I look up at the faces staring back at me; Rio, Jayden, Ameana, Miku and the new pop-up guy. He looks like a J Crew model. He’s wearing a designer military-style jacket, a royal blue stretch pullover that brings out his eyes, and white cargo pants.
Well, if I am dreaming, at least I’m dreaming about pretty people. Everyone on this roof is hot. Well, aside from regular looking old me. Pop-up guy says t
o me, “I’m Reason. But you can call me Reese.” He extends his hand. I go to shake it when I see something big and dark like a shadow hovering above. I look up at Reese and gasp. Protruding out of his shoulders blades, are wings! Honest to goodness wings! Huge, disturbing, flapping-inthe-wind wings!
He sees the freaked out look on my face and then it registers with him. “Oh, sorry, I always forget.” Suddenly the wings disappear.
“Am I dead?” I choke. I look over at Miku.
She answers coyly, “No, but we are.” In the hallway shootout earlier I had thought this is as confused as I can get. I was so wrong.
Reese kneels down on one knee and takes my hand. “I’m sorry to startle you. It’s rude and very ‘un-angel-like.’ I get on Jay for gliding rudely, and here I am doing the exact same thing.” He helps me up.
I whisper something about it being okay. But I don’t think he buys it.
Ameana stares out into the dark night. The worry in her voice is obvious. “I thought he’d be back tonight.…”
“You know Marcus; he won’t come back until he’s found out something. In the meantime, check on Emmy for me,” Miku says.
Ameana looks at me as if she is scanning me, as if she can see inside my body. “She’ll live,” she says dismissively—wait, can she?
Miku takes my hand. “Good, let’s all go back downstairs and talk. I’m guessing you have questions.” Um, one or two.
We all take a seat in the spotless kitchen. It has everything a cook could want, from the top of the line sub-zero refrigerator to the stainless steel eight-burner stove. It looks like no one has ever used it. If they did use it, they were obsessed about cleanliness. To stop myself from hurling all my questions out at them, I occupy myself by counting the tiny flicks of gold embedded in the black marble countertop.
“We don’t have time to play twenty questions. We only have time for one. So make it good,” Ameana instructed.
“What? I can only ask one question? Are you serious?” She looks at me and glares. “Fine” I paused. There is so much I don’t know. I have no idea where to even start. I think for a moment and ask the most important question.
