by Simone Pond
“Seems some of the neighborhood hooligans used it for a hoop rolling contest. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, no!” they declare in unison.
It takes every bit of composure to not roll my eyes. “I’m sure they’ll capture the culprits and lock them in the slammer.”
By now, they’ve realized that I’m toying with them, and they turn away disgusted. Upon leaving the kitchen, I promptly bump into someone, causing their drink to spatter all over my dreadful blouse.
“Perfect,” I murmur.
“What are you doing here?” The cold tone sends a shiver down my spine, and I look up to see Noah Brenson’s hazel eyes glaring down his perfectly straight nose.
I smile, refusing to let the pompous high-brow ruffle my facade. “Thought I’d partake in some proper spirits and engaging conversation. Unfortunately, this party is lacking both.”
He surveys the room, probably to make sure none of his friends notice he’s talking to the likes of me. Someone presses against my back, and my cheek smashes into his sturdy shoulder. I want to pull away, but we’re crammed together like sardines. I honestly detest high-school parties.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says in an austere voice.
“That just might be the understatement of the year, Long-Timer.”
He’s about to say something, but Knack comes to my rescue, prying me away. “I got the code. Let’s skedaddle.”
As I’m walking out the front door, I glance over my shoulder. Parker is whispering in Noah’s ear, no doubt giving him a hard time for talking to me. When we get outside, I yank out my combs and shake my head, freeing my hair. I’m thoroughly over being refined for the night.
By the time Knack and I reach the woods, I’ve simmered down from my skirmish with Noah. We got what we came for—a new speakeasy code.
“So where’s the location?” I ask.
“Down the tracks and over the bridge. Got a good feeling about this one.”
“You say that about all the codes. Yet, still no information on Achilles.”
Knack smiles optimistically. “Yet … you haven’t found him yet.”
“You know what I think, Knack?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re entirely too optimistic.”
He waves me off.
We walk down the hill, ending up at the train tracks. The same line my father works on. The one that goes all the way down to Savannah. I’ve never been that far south. I’ve never even left Richmond’s town grid. Passports are far too costly. I could always go the illegal route, leaving without a passport, but that’s way too risky for someone with an impending DOD assignment.
“We’re not leaving the grid are we?” I say feigning a steady demeanor.
“You seem a bit nervous, Kalli.” Knack’s not buying my act.
“I’m absolutely fine. I’d like to mentally prepare myself is all.”
“It’s on the other side of the bridge. Don’t worry, it’s within our grid limits.”
“Will we get home before curfew?”
“I’m not a complete moron,” Knack assures me.
“No, you just don’t apply yourself.”
He laughs at my barb and continues walking. I don’t want to think about what could go wrong, so I stay focused on the tracks below my feet. A cool breeze whips around me, cutting right through the wet spot on my blouse from Noah’s spilled drink. Every time the trees sway, the tissue thin material ripples, making me wish I had a jacket. The farther we walk, the more nervous I become. But it’s not until we approach the bridge and I hear the roar of the rushing water below that I become thoroughly disenchanted.
“Um … Knack … That’s a lot of water down there,” I stammer.
“You are nervous!”
“It’s the whole water thing. Not a fan, remember?”
“Afraid a sea creature will get you?”
“Not remotely funny, you imp. You know I can’t swim.”
“The goal is to get across the bridge, not fall in the water.”
Knack leans down, resting his hands on the tracks to check for vibrations. “All clear. You ready to cross?”
Frozen in fear, I can’t seem to lift my blasted boots from the wooden planks. Knack attempts to nudge me along, but I’m not budging. Suddenly a beam of light glares from behind us. Though I should be worried about cars heading in our direction, I’m grateful for the delay. At this point, I’d rather be hauled away by the authorities than cross the bridge.
“That’s Noah Brenson’s car,” Knack whispers.
The ground seems to sink out from under. “Who’d you say you got that code from?”
“Parker Bishop.”
I stop and sigh loudly. Sure, he’s only trying to help, and bless him for it, but sometimes I wonder about Knack’s level of discernment. “Never trust a Long-Timer. Especially those two.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Knack mumbles.
And though my blood turns to sludge, and I’m fighting to take in a full breath, I pat Knack on the shoulder and smile like it’s no big deal. But it’s pretty clear, those bastards have steered us right into a trap. Parker stumbles out of the car and toddles over to Knack and me. His jacket is unbuttoned and his shirt un-tucked. The boy is completely wallpapered. Parker sways before us, the sharp scent of liquor stinging my nose. I glance over his shoulder to Noah reluctantly making his way over.
“Fine evening, Kalliste,” Parker slurs my name like it’s a curse word.
I fold my arms across the wet spot on my blouse and lift my chin. He doesn’t scare me. In fact, he’s down right annoying. “I’m getting the notion you’re smitten with me, Parker Bishop. Following me all over town today. Like a bear chasing honey.”
Parker sneers and steps closer, huffing his sour whiskey breath all over me. “Shut up, Fly!” He shoves me toward the bridge—the one direction I’m trying to avoid.
Knack backs away, edging toward the trees. He knows he doesn’t have a horse in this race. I nod to him, giving him the okay to take off without me. His eyes almost whimper, but I nod again, encouraging him to get lost. These boys might be pains in my ass, but they won’t physically harm me.
“I’ll get some help, Kalli!” Knack takes off into the woods.
“I’m fine. Just get on home!” I yell.
Though my heart is chugging like a locomotive, I position myself in front of Parker and hold a confident stance.
He sways from side to side. “Nice friend you got there, leaving you all alone to fend for yourself.”
“I’m hoping I don’t have to do any fending. Seeing that you’re a proper gentlemen and all.” I glance over to Noah, who looks about as comfortable as a squirrel caught in a snare.
“What’d you know about gentlemen?” Parker spits at my boots.
“I think you might’ve had too much to drink. Why don’t you have your friend over there take you on home?”
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” Parker shouts with spittle on his lips.
“I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m just making a suggestion. Noah, can you kindly see to your friend?”
Noah walks over with caution as though Parker is some kind of ticking bomb about to explode. Before he can reach us, Parker shoves me good and hard. I land on the tracks with a thump. I stay down for a moment, just long enough to feel the rails vibrating.
I quickly jump up, glaring squarely at Parker. “The train’s coming.”
“Whaddya gonna do ‘bout it?”
“Just a reminder—I’m not afraid of you.”
He brandishes a pistol and aims it at my forehead. “What about now?”
Now I’m terrified. I back away, stumbling on the tracks as I try to keep my footing. Noah runs over, yelling something, but the whistle of the train is so loud I can only see his mouth moving. Parker rears around and pushes Noah. While they’re yelling at each other, I run onto the bridge, leaping along the wide planks in the direction of the train. I want to turn back,
but Parker is aiming that gun. A shot rings out, ripping across the night sky, causing me to miss one of the planks. I lose my balance and stumble onto the rails. The train draws closer, smoke billowing in the air, and the whistle screeching. Parker starts to fire off his pistol again, but Noah tackles him and they roll down the embankment. I get up but it’s too late to go back; I won’t make it in time. I only have one option. Jump.
Noah sees what I’m about to do and yells from the embankment, “Don’t—you can’t swim!”
But it’s either jump or get crushed by the train. Holding my breath, I fling myself over the side and plummet through the air. After what seems like an eternity, I crash into the cold water and sink into darkness. Visions of my life flash before me. Mostly images of my once happy family. Playing poker at the kitchen table. Sitting around the radio and listening to stories. These are the memories I choose to hold close. The ones that have kept me going these last few years. As I hold my breath, the pressure in my chest becomes too much. I can’t hold the air another second. I let go, watching bubbles rise up above me. As I’m drifting into the abyss, something grabs me and drags my body through the water. Is it the river pulling me to my grave? Is it Knack coming back for me? The momentum slows, and my head bobs on the surface as water splashes all around me. Someone is hauling me out of the water onto the muddy riverbank.
“Breathe!” shouts a familiar voice.
I choke and cough, gasping for air. “Knack?”
“Your lame friend ran off.”
Leaning over my soaking wet, limp body is Noah Brenson. Water drips from the dark curls hanging over his forehead.
“How’d you know I couldn’t swim?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“I remember when you fell into the pool at my brother Julian’s birthday party and your brother had to jump in to save you.”
I have a vague memory of that day. I was seven or eight years old. Achilles let me tag along to his friend Julian’s birthday party. I had almost forgotten Noah had an older brother. He was murdered a couple years back in some off-grid scandal that nobody talks about.
“Did we used to be friends?” I don’t know why this question comes out at a time like this. I blame it on almost drowning.
Noah stands and helps me up. “Come on, we should get you home.”
As we walk up the hill, I cough repeatedly, still in shock. The air feels twenty degrees colder, and my dreadful blouse is now completely transparent. I cover my chest with my arms and trail behind, keeping a safe distance between us.
“You have great taste in friends,” I shout.
“Parker can be an idiot,” he agrees, waiting by a tree for me to catch up.
“I can’t believe he had a gun. I know he loathes me, but shooting me seems a bit excessive.”
Noah laughs. “He was too drunk to hit a building.”
I stand next to him, forgetting the condition of my blouse. “You really should keep better company,” I say.
Noah glances at my chest, then quickly looks away. “What do you know about it?”
“I’m confused, if I’m just a Fly to you Long-Timers, why bother saving my life?”
He continues trekking up the hill. “Nobody told you to jump. There was enough room for you and the train.”
“I didn’t want to chance it.”
When we reach his car, he opens the passenger door and steps off to the side like a gentleman.
“You’re offering a ride to a Fly?” I try to sound mirthful, but it comes out more vitriolic.
“I can’t let you walk home like that.” He motions to my blouse while staring at the ground.
I fold my arms over my chest again and stand rooted, vacillating on what to do. Walking home in drenched clothes and a see-through blouse seems like a horrible idea, but so does driving with Noah Brenson in cramped silence. Parker is passed out near some bushes. “What about your chum over there?”
“He can sleep it off. You coming?” he asks.
“I’m not at all pleased with the outcome of this night,” I tell him as I slouch into his car.
Driving home, I watch Noah play with his infamous gold pocket watch, clicking it open and closed. He notices me staring and slips it into his vest pocket.
“You owe me a new bag,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“Somewhere between dodging bullets and jumping into the river, I lost my bag.”
“I told you not to jump.”
Frustration heats my face. I’m tempted to open the car door at the next stop sign and walk the rest of the way, but I’m shivering to death.
After what feels like an hour, Noah pulls up to my house. The lights are out, and the place looks lonely and desolate.
“Sorry about tonight,” he mumbles.
The half-hearted apology fires up my insides to a new degree. I clench my fists to keep my composure, and I can’t get out of the car fast enough. Standing on the curb, I peer into the car at the attractive Long-Timer who just saved my life.
“You owe me a bag.” I shut the door and bolt to my house before he has a chance to say anything.
5
The next morning, I wake up still shivering from the night before. I can’t seem to get the chill out of my bones. And it’s not just from diving into a river. I’m floored that Parker Bishop came after me with a firearm while Noah stood by and watched. If Achilles were around those brutes wouldn’t dare bully me.
The house is quiet, not like the Saturdays of the past when my family would laugh over breakfast, arguing over who had the best plan for the day. My father’s chair is empty, which means he’s working an extra shift at the rails. Another weekend alone. I make a pot of steaming hot coffee, hoping to warm the chill out of my body. As the coffee percolates, I notice a cream-colored envelope on the counter with my name written in calligraphy. I flip it around to see the red seal of Savannah is on the back. Instead of bothering with a letter opener, I use the closest knife to split open the wax seal. The signature at the bottom reads Achilles, and I drop to the kitchen floor. This is the proof I’ve been seeking for the last three years. Achilles is alive. I hold the piece of cream paper against my bent knees to keep it from shaking in my trembling fingers. The beautiful hand-written words blur on the page, and I have to take deep breaths to calm myself. I want to savor each word and every letter.
Dear Kalliste,
I’m sure this letter comes as quite a shock. It’s been three years. And I miss you every single day, dear sister. Since mother’s death, things have become exceedingly complicated. I’ve found myself in a compromising position, unable ever to return to our grid.
I never planned to forward any communication to you, but when I heard rumors of your impending DOD being in jeopardy, I was compelled to write. I implore you to stop searching for me, as this will have an impact on your DOD assignment when you graduate. My lot is a hopeless one, but you still have a chance for a long and prosperous life. Don’t waste any more of your precious time hunting for me.
I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself and Father. I’d do anything to return, but that is an impossible dream. It’s time for you to let go and move on.
Your brother,
Achilles
The letter slips from my fingers and drifts to the floor. Let go and move on? He expects me to stop searching now that I have proof of his life? I don’t give a damn about my impending DOD assignment. Not if Achilles is alive and wishes he could return home but can’t because he’s in some sort of trouble. I re-read the letter a few more times, committing the words to memory. He mentions being in a compromising position and unable to get back home. What if I could help him? I take the envelope and rejoin the broken wax seal. Savannah. I fold the letter and put it into my pocket next to my last two silver coins. Now that my father has enough medicine for the next few weeks, the only thing that matters is Achilles is alive, living somewhere in Savannah, and he’s in trouble. I need to get off-grid.
I pick up the p
hone to call Knack. “I need a passport.”
“Kalli?”
“You mean other girls call on you, Knack?” I tease.
“You’re not my only friend,” he says.
“Can you help me?”
“Slow down. Some of us just woke up.”
“I don’t have time to slow down!”
“Are you miffed about last night?”
“Forget about last night. I have a strong lead on my brother and need to get off-grid ASAP. Do you know where I can get a passport?”
I pace from room to room, getting tangled in the phone cord as I wait for Knack to respond.
“Yeah, I know of a place. But it’s not safe to go there alone. Give me an hour and I’ll go with you.”
“Sure, sure. What’s the address?”
“You’re not going to wait, are you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re acting foolish. You’re likely to get yourself killed before you get an early DOD assignment.”
“I don’t care. I only care about finding my brother. Are you going to help, or do I have to figure this out on my own?”
Knack reluctantly spews off an address. The location is on the shadier far side of town; a neighborhood trolleys don’t frequent. I put on my boots and run out the front door, grabbing my bicycle.
Clouds have moved in. The threat of rain hangs overhead like a gray tarp across the sky. I pedal faster. I’d like to get to the location before it starts pouring. The farther away I ride from the quaint homes in my neighborhood, the smaller and shoddier the houses get. Random car parts and pieces of junk scatter across the unkempt yards. Knack wasn’t exaggerating. Most places appear abandoned, their front doors missing and old quilts hanging from the broken windows. Half-crumbling chimneys sit precariously on the dilapidated rooftops. Anyone living in these houses can’t be doing well. I suddenly have a new appreciation for my Short-Timer status. Things could always be worse, like in the Low-Bottom part of town.
Coming upon a battered mailbox, I slow down to read the address sloppily painted on the side. This is the place. I pedal down the long dirt driveway and lean my bicycle against an oak tree. The house is a rickety old wooden thing with rust-colored paint peeling off, cardboard for windows and piles of broken furniture strewn across the yard and front porch. I brace myself as I walk up the steps, making sure not to land on any rotting wood. As I reach the door, the first drops of rain hit. I made it in time.
