Pieces of Autumn

by Mara Black

  "You don't," he said. "I'm not going to make any effort to win you over." He turned, starting to walk away. "If you think that's suspicious, feel free to keep going it alone."

  He had a pretty good point.

  I went after him.

  "So, what's your destination?" he asked me, when I caught up.

  I shrugged. "Anywhere but here."

  Laughing, he gestured towards an abandoned church across the street. "This is a good place to spend the night. We watch over each other here. I don't know where you're from, but things here are a little bit better than they are in most places. We haven't lost our sense of right and wrong."

  "That's good to hear." I bit my lip, debating asking him the question that still bothered me. "Where's the city from here?"

  He glanced at me. "Which city?"

  Well, that wasn't a good sign.

  "Doesn't matter," I said. "Any city. I want to get as far away from all of them as possible."

  Grinning again, he yanked open the heavy door of the church. "The cities are all up north. Closest one is fifty miles. Head south, and you'll get where you're going."

  "Thank you," I said, stepping inside.

  It did seem to be a sort of sanctuary. Blankets and sleeping bags were rolled out under the pews, with some people huddled around camping stoves, talking quietly and heating up canned food. None of them looked up as I passed.

  "Rest your feet," the man said, gesturing to one of the pews. "I'll let the boss know you're here."

  Some awareness tingled in the back of my mind. "There's a boss?"

  "Well, yeah. Somebody's gotta run this place." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Relax. He'll be happy to see you."

  Heart thumping, I sat down just long enough for him to disappear. Then, I jumped to my feet, hurrying to the front doors and pushing.

  They wouldn't budge.

  "Hey," I said, turning to the closest refugee huddled on the floor. He didn't look up. "Hey!" I hissed, more urgently this time. "How do we get out of here?"

  His eyes were dim and hollow, when he finally looked up at me.

  "We don't," he said.

  My mind raced, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why we'd all be trapped in here. There had to be one. It was safer this way. The boss was just looking out for everyone.

  Idiot. You walked right into a trap. Tate was right about you, you're as stupid as they come.

  Desperately, I hurried down a side hallway and started looking for other exits. The old fire-marshal-mandated signs were long burnt out, but still in place - I followed one pathway, only to find that it pointed to a door that had been thoroughly barricaded with boards and nails.

  "Where are you going?"

  I jumped. The man from the street stood behind me, smiling.

  "Just exploring," I said, trying for a casual tone and failing miserably.

  "Well, the boss wants to meet you," he said, his hand shooting out and grabbing my wrist. I yanked back, trying to free myself, but it was useless. "He's even happier than I thought. I'll get a nice bounty for you."

  This was what I got, for trusting. I'd left Tate and now I was going to die.

  And that was what I deserved, wasn't it?

  The man was shoving a bag over my head, and I coughed and squirmed, stumbling as he shoved me forward and threw me into a chair. I felt ropes winding around my arms and legs. Cutting into my skin.

  Another man spoke.

  "Well, well, well."

  The sound of his voice. The acrid smell of chewing tobacco.

  Birdy.

  "Hello, darlin," he said, whipping the hood from my face. I squinted at the dim fluorescent bulb that swung from the middle of the ceiling. "We meet again."

  "Pleasure's all mine," I whispered.

  He grinned, showing off his mouthful of rotted teeth. I cringed away from the sight, from the smell, but there was nowhere for me to go.

  "Not for long, I promise you," he said. "Where, oh where, have you been hiding from me? I have to hand it to you - you've done really, really well. I'm impressed. You haven't needed any real help from anybody. That's usually how I track people. But going to Stoker was a mistake." He grinned wider, playing with the point of his knife. "Running away from your new master was an even bigger mistake."

  "He's not my master," I spat.

  "That's not what I heard." Birdy shrugged. "But, you know how gossip is." Idly, he twirled a key-ring on his finger. "So what did the Viper do, that made you think I was a better option? I'm dying to know."

  "You know him?" I breathed.

  "Know him," Birdy echoed, rolling his eyes. "Do I know him, she asks. Yes, honeybunch, we go way back. As a matter of fact, he sold you out."

  My blood turned to ice.

  "You're lying." I glared at him, daring him to answer.

  "Wish I was," he said. "I was almost stupid enough to pay him up front, you know that? Oh well, the end result's the same. We were supposed to make the exchange tomorrow. But as you can see, all roads lead to me."

  My heart throbbed traitorously in my chest. Of everything I'd suffered, nothing hurt worse than the thought of Tate's betrayal.

  "No," I heard myself say. "No. You're lying. He's not like you."

  Birdy laughed, long and loud.

  "Sweetheart, deep down inside, everybody's like me. They just hide it a little better."

  The bag went back over my head, and I kicked and screamed to no avail. Come on, just kill me. Just get it over with.

  But I knew he wouldn't. It wasn't fun for him, unless he could prolong my suffering. Heighten the anticipation. He'd waited a long time for this, and he wasn't going to rush it.

  I was being lifted, carried, and no amount of clawing and thrashing made a difference. I was being thrown. Confined. The hum of an engine filled my ears.

  The trunk of a car.

  Would he kill me like this? Drive me into a lake and watch me sink, bound and blind and unable to do anything but helplessly accept my fate?

  No. That wasn't like him. He'd want to see it happen.

  He needed to witness the fear in my eyes.

  For years, Birdy had been a bogeyman in my mind. Memories growing more vivid and more dramatic with time, based on nothing but terror-soaked memories. He was everything I hated and feared. Whenever there was some part of Tate that I didn't understand, I tried to fill it in with horror and madness. Because that was what I knew. I had no concept of how a man could be both ruthless, and gentle. A killer, and a savior.

  Now that I could compare the two, side by side, I saw my mistake.

  But you were right all along. Tate...

  Tears were streaming from my eyes, soaking the bag. My fear of Tate's betrayal was the whole basis for running away. It was believable. It was so believable that I let it direct my actions, right into this fatal mistake. But when it came down to it, I didn't want to believe.

  I couldn't believe. The part of my mind that had always connected with his, the little thread that tied us together - it couldn't accept what Birdy told me. There was so much darkness in Tate, so many motivations that I didn't understand. But an intention to harm me, betray me...no.

  Tate. God damn it, I'm so sorry.

  He was the one who owed me an apology. All the same, my whole body throbbed with remorse. I had misjudged him.

  Or maybe this was all a pretty lie, just something to make me feel better in the last few hours of my life. Maybe he really was as vicious as I feared. Maybe he wasn't a man who occasionally wore the mask of a monster. Maybe it was the other way around.

  The sound of engine cut off, and my heart threatened to burst out of my chest. I felt the sudden rush of fresh air when the trunk opened, and it would have been a relief, if it hadn't meant I was one step closer to my death.

  I was pulled out and carried once again, down, I thought, far down, somewhere with air that was still and stagnant. I couldn't really smell it, but I could feel it on my skin.

  Birdy's voice cut through
the silence.

  "Your precious Tate's not gonna find you here," he said.

  But I thought...

  He was just fucking with my mind. He'd say anything he thought would get a reaction.

  The bag was ripped away, again, and I blinked furiously. The smell hit me before my eyes could adjust. Dank and dusty. Polluted. Vaguely familiar.

  Flickering fluorescents glimmered against the tile walls.

  A subway.

  Two men held me back, on either side. It seemed like overkill. Each one of them was twice my size, and ten times as strong. I twisted my neck to get a glimpse of Birdy, grinning and chewing his wad of tobacco a few feet away.

  "We going on a trip?" I glared at him with every ounce of the anger and defiance I felt. I didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, but I refused to bow down to it. I wouldn't go quietly.

  He laughed. "Don't worry, we got all kinds of fun planned for you."

  Somewhere close by, on another track, I heard the unmistakable squealing of an approaching train. I frowned.

  I'd heard rumors of those places, in the heart of big cities, where trains still ran. Evidently, this was one of them. I found myself wondering who was bankrolling it, and why. There had to be some sinister purpose.

  There always was.

  I let myself wonder. I thought about everything but my reality, everything but the man standing a few feet away, who wanted nothing more than my blood. My heart pounded so hard that it ached, fit to leap from my chest.

  Maybe he would spare me. Maybe, through his own twisted sense of self-gratification, he'd let me live. Maybe he just wanted to frighten me, to see me suffer even more. I could survive that. I could survive, and break free, and go back...

  Back to Tate.

  That, I realized, was my only plan. To return to him. I had nowhere else to go.

  I might not be able to trust him, but I certainly couldn't trust anyone else.

  My mind searched desperately for one final reprieve. A sign that he'd spare me, for long enough to make an escape.

  He's not like Tate. He would never give you a chance.

  I wanted to howl, to keen and gnash my teeth and throw myself at the floor. I wouldn't accept death. I wouldn't. Deep in my mind, I tried to tug on the invisible thread that connected me to my master.

  In the back of my mind, something bristled at my voluntary use of the word. Master. He wasn't my master. Nobody was. Yet somehow, without me realizing it, he'd taken on that role in the part of my brain that only knew emotions and fears. There was no reasoning with it. No explaining. I thought of Tate, and that part of me purred. Master.

  It didn't matter now. The connection between us was nothing more than a figment of my imagination, a justification for his behavior. Something to make me feel better. Safer.

  But I tugged on it, nonetheless. I tugged and I tugged. There was nothing else for me to do.

  Birdy was speaking.

  "I knew your daddy for a long time, before I killed him. Did you know that?" He spat a long stream of disgusting brown liquid onto the concrete floor. "We did business together. I was small-time, back then. Loaning him a little bit here, a little bit there, just to help him get through the week. Seemed like there was never quite enough. At first, he was paying back just enough to keep me from sniffing around. I got to be a little friendly with him. It's good to have their trust, you know?"

  He paused for a moment, smiling at me.

  "He told me all about that train set you wanted. The big, fancy one in the toy store window. You were just a little tyke at the time, but I thought it was awful cute. Seemed unfair that you couldn't have it, just because your daddy was a broke deadbeat.

  "So, I bought it for you."

  My stomach twisted. I remembered that Christmas, the best one we'd had in a while. Mom had gently explained to me that it was a hard year for everyone, including Santa, so I shouldn't expect anything big. But then, under the tree, there was the train set. Gleaming and beautiful and perfect.

  Later that night, I remembered Mom and Dad fighting. But I never understood the substance of it.

  Now, I knew.

  It was done. Birdy had managed to poison every part of my life, even the time before I met him. There was no escaping from his foul influence, no matter what I did. I would die knowing that he was really the one who owned me. Not Tate.

  "That's a nice story," I told him, forcing myself not to cry. The tears leaked out anyway, and I choked, helplessly.

  "It's as true as they come," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  He looked around the platform, as if drinking it in.

  "Seemed appropriate," he said. "Poetic, even, to end it all here. Considering you like trains so much. And it's got such a nice feeling to it. The train tracks, the damsel in distress. Don't you think?"

  Horror washed over me, as I understood exactly what he meant to do.

  "No," I heard myself shout. I was struggling again, but the men held me still. "No!"

  "Yes, yes, yes," said Birdy, spitting again, and coming towards me. He clasped both hands firmly around my waist, lifting me off the ground, curling both of his arms around my body so that my struggles were in vain. The other men let go of me as he carried me towards the tracks. "This is goodbye, honeybunch. I'm genuinely sorry it had to end like this."

  He hurled me over the edge of the platform.

  I heard the sickening crunch before I actually felt my leg snap, the sudden pressure, the searing pain that rocketed through my body. I cried out, and it echoed through the station, mingling with the sound of Birdy's laughter.

  My head was swimming. But I knew enough to keep still. As bad as this was, as much as it hurt, it could have been much worse.

  I forced myself to calm down, gritting my teeth, thinking beyond the pain. I kept my body still. But slowly, ever so slowly, I turned my head to see where I'd landed.

  The third rail was inches from my face.

  Between me and the platform, hundreds of volts of electricity on bare metal. If I could jump over it, getting to safety would be trivial. But with a broken leg, and five armed men waiting for me to die on the platform...

  I wouldn't accept this. I couldn't.

  With a groan, I managed to drag myself partially upright, away from the deadly rail. My leg screamed in protest, but I had to look. I had to see how bad it was.

  Oh, God. It was twisted at a disgusting angle, jagged bone protruding from my shin. A rush of lightheadedness almost knocked me over, but I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  A huge rat was running across the rail that stood between me and the rest of my life, stopping to stare at me, curiously, his nose twitching. Huge, helpless sobs wracked through my chest.

  "Come on, girly-girl," Birdy called out, vicious laughter in his voice. "Why don't you climb back up here?"

  A chorus of hoots and hollers from his lackeys.

  "Fuck you!" I spat, even as the tears rolled down my face.

  It couldn't end like this. Not after everything I'd endured.

  My whole life I'd fought against this, refusing to ever lie down and let myself feel helpless. I had always known that someday, Birdy and his men would find me. It would be foolish to think otherwise. But I had told myself I wouldn't go down without a fight.

  I sold myself to Stoker. I tried to play the role of Tate's obedient slave. But always, always, because I knew it would keep me safe. I went in with my eyes open. Never once did I lose myself. Not really.

  Right now, I hated the girl who was sitting, helpless, on the subway tracks. I hated her weakness. I hated her stupid broken leg. I hated her crying. I hated that she couldn't stop thinking about the cruel, indifferent man who held her captive.

  Would Tate ever wonder what happened to me? Would he care?

  Why did I care?

  Because he's the only other fucking human being you've seen in the last three months, except for...

  A distant whine, whistle, a metallic mechanical shriek. I knew it
was coming, but my heart stopped for a moment anyway, my stomach lurching.

  "You hear that, girly-girl?" Birdy was probably grinning. I wouldn't look up. "You know what that sound means?"

  I heard nothing but harsh breathing, and then I realized it was mine.

  "SPLAT!" Birdy shouted, and the men broke out into cheers and laughter.

  Desperately, I started dragging myself forward. Agony jolted through my leg with every movement, but I had to do something. I couldn't just sit here and die.

  A moment later, I turned to look. I had to.

  I had to face it.

  The headlights were coming. Closer, and closer. Ever closer.

  A rush of nausea took over, and I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch the train bear down on me, no matter how brave I'd prided myself on being.

  I turned away.

  And that's when I saw him.

  Running down the center of the tracks, every footfall sending gravel scattering across the rails, mice and pigeons making panicked sounds and fleeing from him in every direction.

  The headlights illuminated his face. As if there was any doubt who it could be.

  My heart pumped traitorously fast, and I didn't dare look back at the train. I slumped forward, wanting to shout his name but afraid to let Birdy and his men know that someone was coming.

  Tate.

  There was a horrible, grinding shriek as the train began to slow. This wasn't a planned stop. Birdy knew that, which is why they'd brought me here. But the conductor must have seen one of us. Tate, most likely. The train wouldn't stop in time, not even close, but maybe it bought us another few moments.

  Us. He came for me.

  Very suddenly, he was skidding to a stop just a few feet away. He grabbed me so violently that it knocked the breath from my lungs, throwing me to safety before jumping up after. My leg was on fire and I wanted to scream, couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, and then shots rang out and I finally screamed and kept screaming. My ears were ringing and I heard nothing, nothing at all, but I saw the dark spray of arterial blood and bodies falling all around me. I saw Birdy running, fleeing up the steps and Tate running after him and firing and firing and missing and shouting something I couldn't hear. I cried out after him not to leave me, please, not to leave me alone here.