“Hello!”
I spun to find KnifeGuy standing over me. I snatched his wrist before he could bury his blade in my chest. I reached for a board to use as a weapon but hesitated. The image of the kid’s head snapping back exploded into my brain, followed by that look on Nurse Baker’s face.
A solid punch from the thug to the side of my head knocked those images right out of my mind. Instead of grabbing the board, I wobbled unsteadily where I crouched, feigning like his punch had hurt me. He took a step closer for a finishing blow. I brought my arm up between his legs. He squeaked like a mouse, gasped for air, and fell over clutching himself.
I vaulted the stack of boards and burst out from the construction area, pounding down the sidewalk as fast as I could.
“There he is!” someone called out, but I was already a block away.
I took the corner so fast that I stumbled into the pedestrian crossing sign and caught myself before I fell to the ground with all the grace of a spastic fish on land. My wounded shoulder took the full force of the impact on the metal pole and pain erupted from my elbow to my neck and down my back. I pushed the pain away and took off again.
I didn’t stop until I was several blocks and numerous turns away. I turned in a circle to get my bearings while rotating my shoulder. A new apartment complex I recognized towered over me. I didn’t know anybody who lived there, though. I didn’t know anybody rich enough.
A man with a long beard sat at a desk on the other side of the lobby watching me through the double glass doors.
Well aware of how I must look wearing a ski mask on a warm spring night, I nodded at him and casually walked off in the general direction of my neighborhood.
2:01 am
I ran down my street with a little less caution than I should have. Ok, a lot less caution. I depended on the dark of night to hide my passing from anybody who happened to look out their window at the wrong time. I didn’t think I had much to worry about. All the windows on my block were dark like usual.
Blood pounded in my ears as my anger rose from somewhere in the pit of my stomach as I slipped over the fence that ringed my yard and hurried to my window. I slid it open and boosted myself inside. My foot caught the alarm clock and I tumbled inside, landing on the floor with a thud. I shot to my feet and snatched up the clock, yanking the cord from the wall. It flew out the window, crashing into the neighbor’s fence. I used the throwing motion to spin and sit heavily on my bed.
My breathing came in shallow gasps. All I could smell was piss like the stink had clung to my mask’s fibers during the brief moments I stood over the man I had saved. I yanked the ski mask off and punched the bed.
“What was that?” I hissed at nobody, then held my breath a moment to make sure nobody in the sleeping house heard.
All was quiet. I stood and paced the five feet of available floor space. “What was that?” I asked my bedroom again.
I wrinkled my nose. All I could smell was that man’s urine. It was like I rolled around in it or something. I yanked off the black sweatshirt and sweatpants. I pulled on a pair of shorts and snatched up the ski mask and left my bedroom, heading straight for the basement stairs.
The eyes in the family pictures hanging on the wall along the hall watched as I passed. I cut across the dark kitchen and through the door heading down to the basement where the partially finished portion of the house served as our laundry room. I tossed the ski mask into the washer, along with other clothes from a mountain of laundry waiting for cleaning and turned the knob to start the wash cycle.
I stepped back, still fuming, and crossed my arms over my chest. The machine took a moment before it decided to fill the tub with water. I growled and opened the lid, dumping a bunch of powdered detergent in with the clothes before slamming the metal lid back down. The clang rang around the empty basement and followed me up the stairs.
There were a lot of emotions to sort through. One of them had me worked up. Maybe all of them.
So what if I didn’t get to kick some punk’s teeth in? I saved that guy’s life. That’s what mattered, right? Sure the punks will probably be out again tomorrow night spreading trouble around the city like jam on toast.
I winced. Great, now I’m starting to think in cheesy comic book lines.
Movement outside caught my eye. I stopped mid-step and stared out the window.
Over the wood fence that separated our yard from the neighbor’s, I saw their bathroom light on. Not like that would be such a big deal, people tend to have bodily functions all times of the day or night, but the unusual thing was the fact that it was open. Normally, the frosted glass prevented anybody from seeing in, but I could see inside perfectly. I stepped closer to the window, confident that my dark room would keep me hidden.
A figure passed across the window and the light went out. I guessed they just needed to air out the bathroom.
The dark figure appeared at the window, however, and pulled itself out the narrow opening.
I frowned, glancing down at the nightstand, forgetting my clock was in a few pieces out in the lawn. I took a step back and launched myself out of the window, executing a perfect tucked roll and bounced to my feet. I crouched low to hide behind the fence and peeked over. I watched the dark figure crossing the lawn.
He didn’t take any precautions to stay hidden. He walked swiftly and confidently.
My first thought had been a burglar, but I recognized him. Our neighbors had a son, Jonas, who was about a year younger than me. We had hung out when we were younger but kind of drifted apart a couple years ago when he scored his first girlfriend and decided that spending all of his time with her was in his best interest. We never managed to get our friendship back on track when they broke up a few weeks later.
I wondered where he was going at that time of night. I thought briefly about following but decided against it. Why should I care about what he was doing? I’m not his babysitter.
Once I realized I could care less where the kid was sneaking off to, I gathered up the pieces of my clock and climbed back into my window. I managed to not fall on my face without the offending electronic to trip me. I dumped the pieces into the trash can and lay down in bed.
I leaned over to grab a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled my cellphone out of the pocket. I set the alarm, hoping it would be enough to wake me, and used its backlight to examine my shoulder wound. Only a faint pale circle remained. I flipped the cell closed and set it on the nightstand.
Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling. The star stickers up there glowed ever so faintly; a leftover remnant of my childhood. I had the same room since we moved in this house when I was five. I remembered being so excited when my parents had bought the stars. I laid on my bed directing Dad where to stick each one. Then, I spent many nights staying awake as long as I could making up my own private constellations in my room.
As I lay there, I focused on the dim outline of my favorite of the constellations. I had named it Fox of the Fire. I even gave it a story like all mythical creatures. The ancient tale—as I saw it—told of a fox who with a temper. Is anger was so fierce that when an eagle swooped down to steal his meal, a plump rabbit he had spent all day chasing, he became so angry he caught fire. He burned out of control.
To prevent the fox from burning the whole world, the ancient gods picked him up and threw him into the sky where he was doomed to burn for a billion years.
What about FireFox? I thought sleepily. No, that one was taken. I think.
My anger cooled. My eyes moved across the ceiling, following the invisible lines of the other constellations. The smell of fresh urine hung in my nose as I fell asleep.
Chapter 6
7:00 a.m.
My cell phone danced on my head.
Beepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeep
“Just five more hours,” I mumbled at it.
Beepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeep
It went on dancing, ignoring my pleas for more sleep.
I untangled an arm from the co
vers and grabbed the cell from the nightstand. I flipped it open with a twitch of my thumb and brought it under the pillow where I had buried my head like an ostrich. I managed to turn the alarm off without dialing 911 and stared at the tiny screen. A little orange envelope with a star on it blinked at the corner of the screen. It took me a few long moments to remember exactly what that meant—a new text.
From: Nathen. 6:47am
Things r gettin all crazy!
I tried to blink away my blurry vision. There’s nothing worse than trying to read poorly grammared texts with sleep-filled eyes. I pushed “reply” and clicked out a reply that took more corrections than should have been necessary. What are you talking about? I sent it and untangled myself from the covers, grabbing a random shirt from the floor.
I stumbled to the kitchen, not quite awake.
Mitchell looked up from his cereal. His eyes traveled down and back up before he shook his head, making a face.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s a good look. What are you going with, middle-aged 80’s cast off?”
Harris peeked around the cereal box he was reading. “I’d say he’s going with just don’t give a sh—”
“HARRIS!” Mom squealed from the other side of the table.
“…eek,” Harris finished. “Sheek. Really mom, you think so little of me?”
I looked down at myself. I had pulled on a faded green t-shirt from St. Patrick’s Day two years ago. It did not go with the bright red basketball shorts I had worn to bed. At all. To top off the look, I wore a pair of calf-length black socks.
I looked at the twin dorks. I would have liked to come back at them with a smart comment, but all witty remarks escaped my sleep-deprived brain.
“Yeah,” Harris said, going back to his cereal box, “it looks as bad as you think.”
“Worse,” Mitchell muttered.
“It’s not like I’m going out in this,” I said lamely. “I just woke up.”
Mitchell looked me up and down again, a bit of milk on his chin. “Thar whelly ish no escush fa thath,” he said.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Mitchell,” Mom said.
I wasn’t in the mood for those two. “I’m going for a shower,” I said, turning to leave.
“Good luck getting the birds out of that nest,” Harris said from behind the cereal box.
“What?” I asked.
Neither sibling bothered to even look at me again. Mom looked up from the orange she was peeling, desperately trying to avoid getting any of the skin under her fingernails. Her eyes flicked to the top of my head and she quickly looked down to continue her work on the stubborn fruit.
I lifted a hand to feel the top of my head. My red hair stuck out everywhere. I growled and stomped from the kitchen. The sound of the T.V. on made me veer off in the direction of the family room. Dad sat on the couch; the morning paper spread out around him.
He looked over the top of his reading glasses at me. “Rough night?”
My heart leaped. “Huh? What do you mean? No….What do you mean?”
His eyes went from my clothes, to my hair, and back to me.
“Oh,” I said. I put on a weak smile. “Yeah, I guess. Aren’t you late for work or something?”
“Na. I’m going to be there late tonight, so I decided they wouldn’t mind too much if I went in a little later this morning.”
“Good for you,” I said, sitting on the far end of the couch. The sports section occupied the middle cushion. “Anything interesting in the world today?” I glanced at the T.V. A reporter stood on the street, talking earnestly to the camera. Her hair looked bleached and her tan sprayed on. I tuned it out.
“A group of campers came across Bigfoot and a couple jackalopes playing Texas Hold ‘Em in Wyoming,” he said without lowering the paper.
“Oh, the usual then?” I deadpanned.
“Yup. None of them had a camera,” he replied.
“The campers, Bigfoot, or the jackalopes?”
“Neither of them,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “A shame, really.”
I watched him carefully. Well, what I could see of him, which meant his hands holding the paper up in front of his face and his khakied legs, one of which bounced unceasingly. I tried to remember the last time I had spent more than a half hour with him. His job kept him busy and it seemed like the longer he worked at Salt Lake Pharmaceuticals, the more hours he had to put into the day just to get ahead.
Salt Lake Pharmaceuticals. The company developed and produced pills for the medical industry. They made everything from ibuprofen to high-end prescription pills. Other pharmaceuticals developed the drugs; Salt Lake Pharmaceuticals made sure the people of the world could take them as directed.
Dad, Jacob Ferguson as the rest of the world knew him, was very proud of the fact that he took a lowly technician job at the company straight out of college with only a bachelor’s degree. He planned to continue his education as he worked to earn a master’s and a little name tag with “pharmacist” on it, but as he made his way off the production floor at Salt Lake Pharmaceuticals and into the front offices, he changed his mind and earned his master’s in business management. He’d been climbing the ladder ever since. Every once and awhile, he would come down to spend time with his family.
My mood soured even further. “I’m gonna shower,” I told the money section between us.
As I turned to get up, I noticed the reporter had returned after a brief commercial break. Her unnaturally white teeth caught my attention like a raccoon tracking a shiny object. I stared at her teeth wondering how she got them so white without high gloss paint.
While she spoke, the camera man panned to her left where there was a lot of police standing around doing a lot of important standing around behind “Police: Do Not Cross” tape. As the camera zoomed in, I saw the focus of everyone’s attention. At the mouth of an alley, a body lay covered with a white sheet. I dropped my eyes to the headline at the bottom of the screen. Body found in downtown Salt Lake City.
“I missed it,” I muttered, forgetting my dad was sitting right there.
“Mhmm,” he grunted from the other side of the paper, apparently no longer in the same room.
I mentally kicked myself. I was out and let those punks upset me to the point that I came home early. I could have caught this. I could have prevented it, I was sure. Salt Lake is a rather big city with lots of ground, but I was certain if I had stayed out, I would have been in the right place at the right time. That’s why I had been given these gifts, right? Why would I have them if not to stop stuff like this from happening?
Then my heart stopped.
“Where’s the remote?” I spun to start digging under the papers.
“Mmm.”
I found it hiding under the news section and clicked the rewind button to make the DVR jump back a few seconds. Right before the cameraman brought the camera back to the reporter, a policeman moved, and I could have sworn I saw...
I paused at the right time and there, sticking out from the white sheet was a pair of sneakers. Red sneakers.
“No,” I whispered.
Dad bent the paper down to look at me. “What?” He followed my gaze to the T.V. “Wow, a murder?” he asked without much interest.
I stood, my eyes still on those pixelated red shoes on the screen. I backed toward the hallway, bumping into the couch.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked.
“No. Yeah, I’m fine. Need to get ready,” I replied. “School.” I turned to rush out of the room and heard the reporter continue talking as Dad unpaused the DVR.
8:21 a.m.
Nathen talked the whole ride to school, going on and on about the murder. I didn’t really listen. I watched the houses outside the car window turn into small businesses and then to school in one big blur. I climbed out of the beat-up old car.
“Hey!” Nathen said.
“What?”
He wa
ved a hand at the open car door.
“Oh.” I went back to close it.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with me. I don’t know why everybody thinks there’s something wrong. Maybe I’m just tired, you know? Kids get tired. School is too early. Maybe I didn’t sleep well last night, okay?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I demanded.
“Nothing, C-Dawg. Let’s go.” He turned back to the school. “Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Clarissa.”
“When are you ever going to give that break?”
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