by Kristen Pike
“I think he’s thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing.” Jace answered, hoping he was saying the right thing.
Rowan turned her eyes from him, but not before he saw the shimmer of a tear slip from her eye. “Rowan.” Jace sighed, concerned.
Rowan stood, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“
Jace stood behind her as she began to walk off, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. He pulled her to him, her small body feeling fragile and slim pressed against his, the top of her head resting just under his nose. Rowan was rigid, her body tense and stiff.
“You don’t ever have to be sorry. Not to me.” Jace told her, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as if his life depended on it. I might die if I have to let her go, Jace thought, closing his eyes as Rowan relaxed against him, letting herself be held.
A cricket sounded near them, a break in the silence that had overtaken the world, reminding him that they weren’t the only beings in existence. Rowan pulled away from him, as if startled.
“Thank you.” She said hastily, her eyes downcast as if in shame. She hurried off, fleeing back into the cabin the group and them had been staying in the past couple days. Jace felt cold in her absence, staring off after her and relishing the fact that after all these years, he had finally held her. He knew what her body felt like against his, and it was better than he had ever imagined.
SIX
FIVE MONTHS AGO-MARCH
The night was blinding. Stars winked down at him, mocking his predicament. Galamee sneered back at them as he slunk through the darkened alleyways like a rat. His heart pounded as he strained his ears to listen to the darkness around him, his eyes darting around him though it was near impossible to see anything. His breath puffed out in short gasps as he hid against a wall, tucking himself beside a large pile of garbage. Someone one just happening down the alley would barely notice him, he blended so well with the discarded trash giving off a foul smell.
A footstep echoed at the front of the alley and Galamee shrunk in on himself, his foot making a too loud swishing sound as he adjusted his position, he cringed back lower, desperately trying to conceal himself. He was scared, petrified, so filled with terror that his body shook, his heart ripping itself through his chest bones. Sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging into his eyes as he blinked rapidly, trying to slow his breathing.
“Are you down there Galamee?” A gruff voice called down the alley, mocking him same as the stars. Galamee stopped breathing as heavy footsteps drew closer to his position. “You can’t hide forever! Jameson will find you one way or another, you owe him a lot of money, and he intends to make you pay it!” The voice rang out, cold and clear through the night like a birds whistle but with tenfold the malice and Galamee knew that voice would not hesitate to break a few bones if it were to find him perched where he was.
Galamee sucked in a sharp breath as he heard the man swinging a large stick at similar piles of trash along the alleyway, trying to flush out Galamee’s hiding place. Galamee squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away the all-consuming fear that was gripping his body, wishing away the debts he owed Jameson, wishing away the man with the stick, terrified of the swishing that loomed closer and closer still.
“GALAMEE!” The voice shouted, frightening a few birds and they took off from the roof of a building, scattering a few brown leaves to the ground. Galamee remained where he was, rooted to the spot with terror though his limbs ached to move, to stretch, but he was to coward to run and knew even if he did the voice would catch him, would break him, and would kill him.
The swishing stopped and once again Galamee was thrust into silence as the footsteps retreated, off to search another alley, anther pile of trash, not Galamee’s pile of trash. Galamee smirked in the darkness, maybe he would get away with swindling Jameson out of thousands of coins after all. He would just needed to get out of town for a while. Miranda would not be happy about that.
Galamee let out a groan of pain as he stood up, his bones creaking at the strain. His eyes glinted under the moonlight mischievously, proud of himself for pulling one over on Jameson. Galamee’s short chubby legs carried him down the alley, and across streets. Miranda would be furious at him when he got home.
Galamee was out of breath when he reached the rundown home he shared with his fiancée Miranda, his lungs burning as they tried to suck in the cool night air. Galamee soothed down his rumpled shirt and vest over his rotund stomach, pushing his greasy hair back from his face.
He opened the door; more silence greeted him, like an old friend, wrapping him in an embrace. “Miranda?” he questioned the house, a small candle flickered in the kitchen, casting menacing shadows along the walls. “Miranda?” he called a little louder, stepping into the dirty house, and closing the door, it felt like he was being eaten by a beast.
“Damnit.” He cursed, Miranda had asked him to pick up some food, they had barely anything in their cupboards, but he had been sidetracked by a game of cards, betting the money she had given him for food, and loosing it all, and then some. Now he was here empty-handed. Galamee eyed their empty cupboards a single jar of preserved fruit standing like a lone soldier among the dust. He was half-tempted to go back out the way he came, it would save him a headache from Miranda’s nagging at least.
He had eaten at the card games, served by a pretty young waitress and he had tipped her well for the stew she had brought him, hoping if he threw enough money at her… well, if Jameson hadn’t demanded the debt he had incurred through months of gambling, he would be with the waitress tonight instead of this hell hole that he called a home. Miranda would just have to settle for the old fruit, he certainly was not going back out tonight.
Galamee made his way into the bedroom, stripping off his soiled clothes and letting them fall to a heap in the middle of the floor. “Miranda, I need you to wash my clothes tomorrow!” he shouted gruffly to the silent house. Where the hell was that woman? “MIRANDA!” he shouted, and was answered with a small thump from the second bedroom.
Galamee’s face twisted in anger, who was she to keep him waiting? She should have been out there as soon as he came home to comfort him after the night he’d had. Galamee finished dressing in a pair of itchy pants and a cream-colored shirt. He made his way to the second bedroom, meant to be converted to a nursery whenever Miranda decided she wanted to have a squalling child. Personally, he didn’t care for children, but if it made her happy, he was a generous man… and she would do all the work anyways.
Galamee pushed open the door to the second bedroom, moonlight spilling through the one small window. The room was empty, had always been empty, except for a new addition of a body shaped lump laying on the floor against the far wall under the window. “Miranda?” Galamee questioned. Stepping into the room, he walked hesitantly over to the lump. He knelt down next to the body, feeling for a pulse. He felt oddly detached as his fingertips brushed a faint
Buh…
Buh…
Buh…
Beneath him Miranda made a chocking sound and Galamee rolled her over onto her back, a warm liquid sloshing over his fingertips. Galamee gasped, scooting backwards on his hands and knees, away from her, his eyes wide with terror.
“Ga-ga-mee” Miranda gasped, her fingers reaching out for comfort from him, but he only stared at her body, at the dagger protruding from her chest, leaking her life’s blood onto the hard floor. Miranda began to cry, soft tears rolling down her cheeks. “Galmeeeeee,” Miranda slurred, her body starting to tremble, “peeeassssss, hee-help mee.” She whispered, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.
Galamee stared at the thick piece of paper under the dagger, PAY UP, written in scraggly writing across the surface, a smear of blood in the corner.
PAY UP, flashing over and over in his mind.
PAY UP, written across Miranda’s body.
PAY UP.
PAY UP.
“Peeaasssssss…” Miranda gasped, her fingers outstretched. Galamee scooted
further away from her, backing into a wall as though her condition were contagious.
“Miranda…” Galamee shook his head, coming to a stand. She was already dying, there was nothing he could do for her, and she loved him, she would want him to be safe, she would not want him to suffer the same fate she had.
“Nooo, Galmee don’t peeass…” She begged. Please leave, don’t die. He twisted her words in his head, justifying leaving her there, bleeding out on the floor.
“I love you to, Miranda.” Galamee said monotonously, backing away from her as though she were a rabid animal.
“Noo, noo, peease, noo-“ Galamee shut the door on her, turning and fleeing the house, not bothering to shut the front door after himself.
PAY UP followed him through the night like his shadow, hurrying down back alleys and cutting across lawns, trying to escape those very words.
PAY UP, paid for with Miranda’s life. Miranda won’t die, she’s strong. I’ll just leave for a bit, get enough money to pay back Jameson, and then I’ll come back and we will get married.
Galamee ran for as long as he could, through the village and into the woods until at last he collapsed into the ground, a stick digging into his side, his lungs on fire, panting, and sweat dripping down his body.
Galamee heard a twig snap and jerked his head up, peering around the clusters of trees. In the distance he could see a campfire, figures huddled around it. He wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying or what they looked like, one figure had branched off from the rest, walking slowly in his direction. Galamee scuttled behind a thick tree, but still his body was not fully covered from view, he hoped it was dark enough that the figure would not notice him.
“Rowan! Hey, Rowan, wait.” A male voice said and he heard fast footsteps approaching the lone walker. “Are you okay? You seemed kind of distant at supper.” The male voice said.
“I’m fine Jace, it’s just those rumors today, it’s just so hard for me to believe that about him. I know you didn’t know him, but he was everything to me, I can’t imagine him doing anything like that, he-“ The girl broke off abruptly, Galamee careened his neck to look around the tree at the pair, who stood about 15 feet away, their silhouettes illuminated by the moon.
“I know it’s hard. I am so sorry you have to go through this. I – I wish I could take this pain away from you…” the boy, (Jace?) said.
“I wouldn’t want you to hurt like I do.” Rowan replied, looking at the ground, she lifted her head slightly to look at him. The boy reached out and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away a tear.
“I don’t want you to hurt ever.” Jace replied and Galamee found himself rolling his eyes.
“But I do.” Rowan said with a shrug. “I just hope they’re not true. I just want Elias back.” Rowan said softly, pricking a memory in Galamee’s head. That’s who their discussing, the fugitive Elias? I bet the King would pay someone good money for whoever caught and turned him in, then I could pay back Jameson and marry… PAY UP…
“I just want you to know, Rowan, no matter what, I will always be here for you.” Jace said as Galamee scooted away slowly back the way he had come, a plan forming in his head.
Rowan looked down at the ground, a look of guilt crossing her face and she took a step away from him. “Thank you…” She replied tightly, her voice strained as if she were in pain.
“I mean it Rowan,” Jace said, closing the short distance between them and reaching out, pulling her toward him softly. The girl looked as if she were about to protest but allowed herself to be cradled in his arms, standing on the tips of her toes as if she might flee at any moment.
Galamee stood up, grabbing a clump of dirt off the ground and rubbing it across his face and clothes.
“There’s- I want to tell you something, Rowan.” The boy said, pulling away, looking longingly into her eyes.
“Yes?” Rowan questioned concerned.
“I-“ Jace began, but Galamee started running towards them, crashing through the forest.
“HELP!” He screamed, his voice cracking as he tried to sound fearful. “PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP!” The boy and girl jumped, turning toward him astonished, the girl took a step toward him, but he had already ran up to them, pointing behind him from the way he’d run, “there’s a robber, he took everything I had! He had a knife, I think, I think, oh it was so horrible!” Galamee sobbed, burying his face into his hands. “Please, I have nowhere to go, do you live nearby? I’ve lost my home and my family, I have nothing!” Well at least that much was true.
“We- huh, we don’t live nearby.” The girl said, “were traveling, I’m sorry,”
“Could I-would it be alright if I traveled with you, for a while?” Galamee did his best to look sheepish, his gaze flickering over the boys shoulder to where the rest of the group was jogging near them, drawn by Galamee’s cries.
“I- I don’t know…” the girl said, looking at the boy.
“Please, I have nowhere to go.” Galamee pleaded, sincere desperation leaking into his voice.
Galamee could see it in her face that she was going to concede. “Well, I guess one more won’t do any harm.” Rowan said cautiously.
“Thank you! Thank you! I swear you won’t even notice me, thank you!” Galamee gushed, his pride slipping further and further away. He might be laying it on thick, but the payday at the end of this escapade would more than buy him it back for him.
“My name is Rowan, and this is Jace. That over there is Pickard,” Rowan gestured to a man who wobbled slightly on his feet, “this is Dr. Vordis, and Mills, and back there is Barton, beside him is Jonquil. Here’s Chev,” Rowan pointed to each member in turn and Galamee wondered how many of them were there to turn in Elias too.
“Really thank you all, I can’t say how much I appreciate this.” Galamee said again.
“Of course.” Rowan said softly. “Anything we can do to help.” She smiled at him. “Our camp is this way.” She said, gesturing beyond her, then she turned with the rest of her group and headed back to the flame.
Galamee looked behind him, the words PAY UP flashed through the trees and Galamee could not hide his smirk as he followed Rowan back to her camp.
SEVEN
FOUR MONTHS AGO- APRIL
Tomman sat perfectly still. He tried not to breath, he tried not to blink. His father raged around him, throwing dishes and they exploded with a clash against the wall, each one making Tomman flinch. He knew he would have to clean the mess up later, for now he sat perfectly still, like a piece of furniture, invisible, a wall decoration, unnoticeable. Tomman watched his father from the crack in the closet his father had shoved him in earlier.
“Trying to swindle me! I DON’T WORK FOR FREE!” His father yelled, another plate against the wall. His father spit on the floor, another mess Tomman would have to clean, and took a long swig of a golden brown liquid in a fancy looking bottle. His father started flicking through a stack of papers on the table, flinging the ones he did not need to the floor where they settled softly, like a feather.
Another mess I will have to clean. Tomman thought, flinching again as a cup became the latest victim of his father’s wrath.
“AHA!” His father shouted to no one, maybe himself, the air, the floor, the wall, certainly not Tomman. “Thinks he can swindle me, I’ll show him…” His father paused his rant to take another swig of the drink, placing the bottle down on the marble counter with a loud thunk, swishing liquid down the side. He smoothed his silky gray hair back from his face, making sure no hair was out of place, running his hands down his clothes. His father, the perfect businessman, not the man he was at home.
Tomman could not stop the small flicker of hope that burned in his chest; his father rearranging his appearance meant he was leaving. His father’s gaze flicked up toward the closet Tomman was in, he snarled, then turned abruptly and left the house, letting the glass door close gently behind him. Tomman breathed a sigh of relief, his body relaxing. He slowly peeled himself off t
he small stool, creaking open the closet door he exited his prison. Tomman hated the closet, sometimes his father would lock him in there for days at a time without food or water, just so he didn’t have to look at his face. His father hated his face, said it reminded him to much of Tomman’s mothers.
Even though his father wasn’t here he creeped around silently, afraid to disturb anything. Tomman slinked into the kitchen feeling like an intruder. He opened a cupboard, finding a loaf of bread. One slice, he won’t notice one slice. Tomman said, his mouth watering for the taste of food, his stomach cramped, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over a day. Tomman touched the loaf of bread, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He felt like a thief. A no good dirty thief out to steal everything from his father. He HAD stolen everything from his father. Tomman cringed back from the bread, silent tears trekking their way down his face as he closed the cupboard, he was so hungry but it was wrong to steal, and he had already stolen so much.
Like his mother’s life.
And his father reminded him daily.
Tomman wiped the back of his eyes with his slim bony fingers, crawling away from the kitchen. He looked at the mess on the floor, the shattered glass strewn about the wooden floor, broken pieces lying in a heap, discarded, forgotten, nothing more than shards of pain waiting to cause damage to the next foot or finger that were exposed to it, waiting to hurt someone, to damage them, to make them bleed. Just like Tomman. That is what Tomman does; he steals from people. His father. He kills people. His mother.
Tomman wiped his tears away again, after all, he didn’t deserve to cry, he didn’t get to miss a mother he had never known, he didn’t get to mourn for the woman who had died giving birth to him.
Feeling guilty Tomman crept down the hall toward her room, a shrine his father had built to remember her, to heartbroken over her loss to throw any of her things away after she had passed. Tomman was forbidden from entering of course, but sometimes, late at night, when Tomman was locked in his closet, he could hear his father in the room, crying.
