Get Lost

by Xavier Neal

  “Is that why you don’t have any friends here?”

  Offended, I snap. “I do too have friends here.” In the face of his cynical look, I cave. “Fine. I guess I don’t.” My lips press together with a bit of frustration. “I learned that it’s easier to say nothing than to have say goodbye over and over again.”

  “You don’t think it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” The cliché rolls off his tongue in a cryptic manner.

  I quickly snap. “You know who said that? Someone who has truly never been in love or had friends worth keeping, for that matter.” Realizing how hateful I must sound, I lean over, tip his hat off his head, and slip it onto mine. “Hey! I, um, got you something.”

  “What is it?” Justin pulls his body up as I slide a book out of my bag.

  “It’s an old piano book from the 1940s.” I proudly smile as I pull my knees up to my chest, slightly giddy. “I remember you complimenting my drawing the other day, so when I came across this at Marty’s, I knew you just had to have it. I was searching for some photos from vintage magazines when I discovered this wedged between a couple of old Vogues. Is it any good?”

  Justin’s face does not look like the one I recognize. His eyebrows dart down, almost as if it pains him to turn the pages. Where his usual cocky grin is painted, there is a painful expression, which makes me nervous. “Do you not like it? I mean, I can take it back if you want. I mean I just…”

  “No.” Justin cuts me off, his hands leisurely turning the pages. “It’s amazing. Probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  I scoot closer excitedly, turning a few pages and smiling widely. “Look on this page. It’s even addressed to some guy named Justin.”

  I lean against him, allowing his arm to slip around my shoulder as we read the entry together.

  To my beloved son Justin. May music always be the guide in your life that it is in mine.

  To my surprise, Justin lets out a sniffle, shuts the book, and sits up straight. “Hey, um, did you finish the painting?”

  Curious as to why our closeness had to end, I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. I’m going to give it a quick look once my parents leave. You want to come over and pick it up?”

  Justin begins gathering all the picnic items and placing them in the basket. “Sure. When?”

  “About an hour? I have to wait for my parents to leave. They’ve got this party thing they’re going to, and they’re going to be gone all night.” My voice bravely opens the door for the chance for him to suggest that we hang out at my place by ourselves.

  “Yeah, I can meet you there then.” His answer isn’t quite as romantic or heartfelt as I was hoping. “Would you like me to drive you home?”

  “No. I’ll walk.” I stand up and toss my backpack on my shoulder. Lingering for a minute, I stare innocently, desperate for more attention and affection but being disappointed. I clear my throat. “See you later, I guess.”

  “Bye.” His slight wave is followed by the clinking of glasses.

  After a brisk walk home with plenty of time to relish in the closeness between Justin and me, I arrive at our building and use the back entrance, which leads straight up to the penthouse.

  Walking in, I hum happily as I see my mother, dressed in one of her famous cocktail dresses, going through a stack of mail. She greets me sweetly without looking up. “Hello, darling.”

  “Hello.”

  My father rushes out of their corner bedroom, doing his best to fix his twisted purple tie.

  “Fix this, Faith.” My father whines, pointing at the disaster he’s managed to create.

  Meeting him in front of the entertainment center directly next to their bedroom, she shakes her head slowly.“Calm down, Tim. You always get like this when we go to dinner at the mayor’s.”

  “Maybe because it’s the mayor’s!” He snips, his brushy eyebrows lowering, while his slender shoulders droop. Noticing me, he quickly puts on a small, crooked smile, “Good afternoon, princess.”

  “Hi, Dad.” After I wave, I head down the small hall past the half bath, my father’s extra office space, and directly into my bedroom, which is almost the same size as my parents’.

  After dropping my bag, I stroll back into the living room to my mother, who’s ironing out wrinkles from Dad’s black dress shirt. While watching my mother, he asks me, “How was school?”

  “It was school.” I head toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before going to the studio. “And how was the gallery?”

  “Busy.” He tries to loosen the tie, while my mother quickly retightens it.

  “Your grandparents sent you a birthday card,” my mother exclaims. “It’s on the kitchen bar.”

  Spotting it, I stare at it, confused. “But my birthday isn’t for like a couple of months.”

  “Just open it.” My father encourages after being swatted on the hand once more for trying to touch his tie.

  I do as he requests and open the artsy birthday card with a classic piece embedded on the front. With a halfhearted smile, I open it up, revealing an airplane ticket. Quickly, I ask, “What’s this?”

  “A plane ticket.” My father finally caves. “They want you to visit on your birthday. Isn’t that great?”

  “I guess.” I stare at the ticket suspiciously. “But, I’ll still be in school.”

  Dad proudly argues. “Already arranged for you to be out that whole week.”

  After staring at the plane ticket for the first flight out in the morning, I glance up as Mom clears her throat, obviously for my attention.

  “Pumpkin, do you have plans tonight?” My mother glances over her shoulder before pulling up her falling maroon, tube-top dress. “You know, maybe a movie with some friends? A party? Maybe even a date?”

  “No dating.” My father quickly interjects before checking his pockets for his wallet and keys.

  “Oh, hush.” Mom grabs her clutch. “She’s got to date some time, Tim. She can’t date her art.”

  “Why not? I did.” He winks at me before stroking his goatee. “And look where it got me.”

  “Barely.” She points her purse at him. With a roll of her eyes, she smiles at me. “Peyton, is there anybody that you’re even interested in?”

  Not really ready to reveal Justin quite yet, partially because I’m not sure how long he’s going to be in the picture or what he really wants from me, for that matter, I shrug and take a sip of my water. “No.”

  A soft grin comes across her face. “Then, whose hat are you wearing?”

  Cautiously, I raise my free hand and touch the brim of the fedora. Embarrassed, I blush and sigh. “A friend’s.”

  “Like a special friend?” My dad pauses all movements. I hum again. “A friend.”

  “Like a share homework friend or like a kiss on the couch friend?”

  “Tim!” My mother pops him on the arm. “Let’s go.”

  “A friend, huh? He better stay that way.” Dad quickly points at me before following my mother over to the door. “A non-kissing friend.”

  Smirking, I shake my head. “Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night,” They call back in unison before leaving.

  Amazed that Justin let me leave with his hat, I slide it off and stare at it longingly. Maybe all he wants is this painting, or maybe he really finds me worth being around, but either way, it feels good to have a little amount of attention coming my way.

  I quickly rush to my room, slip out of my uniform and into a pair of old paint sweats and a tank, and make sure to grab my phone in case he decides to call before he comes.

  Once my parents are gone, I find my way back to the corner of the second floor where my father usually spends time working on new techniques and ideas. Sliding a loose wall panel to the side, I slip out the painting and place it on the easel to admire my handiwork.

  Hearing the sound of footsteps, I grin proudly. “Pretty good, huh?”

  An unfamiliar voice sighs. “Amazing.”


  Quickly, I turn around and see an unknown face grinning at me moments before the familiar figures cloaked in black from head to toe drop from the ceiling with ropes in their hands. Before I have a moment to move an inch, the figures have me wrapped in the ropes, restraining my movements.

  As I open my mouth to scream, the stranger points, and a piece of gray duct tape flies over my mouth. Instantly, he shakes his light brown, mop-top hair. “Can’t have that.”

  My eyes follow as another random figure, dressed like the rest, grabs my painting and strolls over to the open window, where he walks out. Gasping under the tape, I look back at the leader, who can be no older than me, when I realize he resembles Peter, except with brown hair, brown eyes, and a less charming demeanor. “This is a terrible way for us to meet.” He shakes his head slowly, pacing back and forth in front of me, as another character drops out the window, this time with some of the art supplies I used. “I mean, here you are, all wrapped up with nowhere to go, probably terrified of who I am and what I’m going to do to you. Let me be the first to say I’m sorry things have to go this way. My name’s Alex.”

  His right hand gives me a slight wave, and I notice an eye tattoo on his wrist that has five little X marks inside of it.

  “And you must be Peyton Darling.” The way he says my name is soft and exciting to him. “I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. I mean, when Peter said he had found you, I figured he was on another one of his wild goose chases, but now that I see you for myself, I believe it. Peyton Darling…I never thought I’d actually be in your presence one day, but here I am.” Alex moves forward and leans in so his lips are merely centimeters from mine. “Did I mention you are much more attractive than Peter mentioned?”

  Suddenly, the figures on both sides of me disappear into the thick, gray smoke I’ve come to appreciate. Alex quickly looks over his shoulder to see Justin standing there with a less than pleased look on his face.

  Alex grumps. “Nice of you to join us.”

  “Nice to be invited.” The words growl out of his mouth before he looks to me. “Babe, are you okay?”

  I nod slowly until Alex places an arm around my shoulder. “Babe? When did you get that close?” Looking back and forth between us for a moment, he heckles. “That’s rich. What’s your precious Peter think of that?” Annoyed, Justin pulls a dagger from underneath his black sport coat and prepares to toss it. In defense, Alex begins bobbing his head behind me from shoulder to shoulder, making it nearly impossible for him to toss it without harming me.

  “Oh no.” He taunts like an obnoxious, small child. “What are you going to do? Take your shot and risk your precious Peyton here, or let me go?”

  “Let her go.” He pierces Alex with only his eyes this time. “Let her go, and I’ll let you live this time.”

  A devious laugh escapes from Alex before he begins walking backward, dragging me with him. “Or, I’ll let you live this time.”

  Suddenly, through the window, from the door behind Justin, and down from the ceiling comes a swarm of our favorite all black covered friends. Doing my best to wiggle free while being dragged, I hear Justin call out for me. “Peyton!”

  My eyes watch as Justin pulls another dagger from his back pocket and immediately lunges in my direction. Effortlessly, the dagger slices through a pair of attackers on each side before arching down to annihilate another set. He continues his rescue attempt but gets caught off guard when he’s suddenly surrounded next to the very pillar where I was trapped only moments ago. With a balled up fist, he tosses a left punch and right hook and shoves his leg full force into one of their abdomens. While this only knocks the characters back momentarily, it gives him the chance to slide his daggers along their sides, which is when the thick, gray smoke appears again as they disappear.

  A bit winded from dragging me, Alex is forced to stop and pant. “You’re heavy.” A beat passes before he sighs. “I really hate him.” From under the muffled tape, I try to respond. Nonchalantly, Alex rips it off and asks, “What?”

  “I said I’m sure he feels the same way.” I huff out before a dagger flies between our faces and out the window. My head turns back in Justin’s direction to see him coming toward us at full speed.

  “Yeah, I have to go,” Alex whispers, stepping away from me and to the window. “You! Get the girl. You, fend him off.”

  I watch as Alex climbs out the window, leaving me leaned up against a pillar like some sort of broken toy. Before I know it, seven more black figures slip in through the window and bum rush Justin, who has finally reached me.

  He ducks as one of the figures tosses a punch, but unexpectedly, a foot lands in his ribs. On his way down, Justin attempts to take another slice at a couple of the figures but misses. Once Justin hits the ground, four of the attackers begin rapidly kicking him from head to toe.

  To my surprise, once again, I am being dragged toward the open window. “Help!”

  Somehow, Justin rolls over in the beating to see my feet halfway out, which spurs him to grab one of the feet, pull it down in his place, and scurry in my direction. Realizing he’s escaped, they follow after him.

  “Duck!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. Tossing my body backward, I watch the weapon fly in the air like a boomerang, slicing through their faces as if they were pieces of fresh baked birthday cake.

  They disappear, and my eyes shut in fear of the pain I’m about to feel from hitting my head as I fall. With my eyes clutching tight for dear life, I wait for the impact, confused and even more terrified that I haven’t felt it yet. Slowly, my eyes flutter open to see Justin’s face smiling down at me as his hands slide from underneath me.

  After taking in his small smirk, the worst thing I’ve ever seen happens. One of the two characters left tosses its weapon, which tears a giant cut across Justin’s back. He falls to his knees before he grabs the dagger off the floor, throwing it like an arrow directly into the attacker’s heart. The last character takes one final step before realizing that its leader has left. Upset, the figure makes a leap for the widow when Justin removes what I can only imagine is the last of his toys from his inner pocket and jabs it in the calf. Falling to the floor, the figure lands beside Justin, who immediately jabs the knife into its heart, causing the character to endure the fate of all the others.

  Free at last of all assailants, he limps closer to me, helps stand me up, and slides the knife down the rope, freeing me from the prison I hope I never have to experience again. My arms fly around his neck, and I squeeze tightly.

  As tears begin to fall, my body shakes in his grip, while he rubs my back with two hands. “Shh…shh. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” Pulling away from him, I stare into his deep blue eyes. “I promise. You’re safe now.”

  I become seized with panic. “They almost kidnapped me! They almost killed you! They could’ve killed me! What do they want, Justin? Why are they after me? I can’t believe they broke into my house! And they stole the painting, so now I’ll never get the answers I want. I—”

  “Peyton,” his soft yet hurt voice whimpers. “It’s okay right now. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “No,” my hands slide down his chest, which is when I remember that he wasn’t as fortunate as I was, “but you are! Oh god, do I need to get you to the hospital? Do I need to call an ambulance? A doctor? Your parents…”

  His hand casually lands in mine as he shakes his head slowly. “Hey, calm down. I’ll be okay.”

  “But you’re bleeding.”

  “I can take care of that.” Justin slips out of his jacket, pulls off his tie, and unbuttons his white dress up shirt. After pulling it off, he takes a small vial from his pocket and turns his back to me. Handing me the container, he instructs, “Sprinkle a little of that on it for me.”

  “But…”

  “Please.”

  I quickly twist the lid off the clear cylinder that contains a thick, yellow sparkling powder, the kind that reminds me of the glitter I’ve found hidden in the back of the art
room, and sprinkle it across the deep gash. The cut slowly begins to heal itself, as if he’s being stitched back together by a doctor, which pushes me back in shock.

  “How did…how did…how did…what did…what is…I don’t…”

  A small shiver runs through his body as he turns around, revealing abs that are as sculpted as his face. “You’re not supposed to understand, but if you want to, and you want those answers, I think now is the time to take you to them.” Justin picks up his attire, slips the dress shirt back on, and asks, “Am I right?” Slowly I nod, and he says, “I need you to get dressed. Think you can do that?”

  “But what if they’re upstairs waiting for me? Waiting in my room to…”

  “Peyton,” he interrupts once more, this time placing his free hand on my shoulder, “take a deep breath.” After I do as he instructs, he insists, “They’re not waiting for you, but I’ll wait upstairs while you change. I don’t want anything else to happen to you.”

  “Okay.” My voice whimpers. Quickly, I ask, “What about you? Your shirt is ripped. Your jacket is bloody, not to mention the fact that you…”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got spare clothes in the car. Let’s just get you dressed.” He wraps one arm around my waist.

  My confusion refuses to abate. “Where exactly are we going?”

  He smiles. “A party.”

  Not sure whether to be more annoyed or angry, I grump. “A party? My life is nearly robbed from me, and you want to take me to a party?”

  Justin chuckles. “It’s not just any party, Peyton.”

  Snapping my face to his, I ask, “Then, what exactly is it?”

  “The kind of party that can save your life.” The answer sends a chill down my spine.

  Chapter Four

  Strolling out of my bedroom in a long jean skirt and long sleeved black shirt, I see Justin, still cloaked in the dirty, ripped shirt, on my couch with his jacket balled up next to him.

  “That’s it?” Justin asks, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s what you wanna wear to the party?”