I will not panic. I will not panic.
I told myself this as I sat on a toilet seat in the bathroom, rocking back in forth with my head rested in my hands. I didn’t understand why Kinsey would just leave me, but at the same time I understood perfectly. Kinsey had always been there for me, but when it came to guys it was a no brainer who she would rather choose. I’m her goody-goody cousin after all who isn’t that in to taking risks and Kinsey had always been in to breaking all the rules. She’s the free-spirit in the family and the one who just wants to live her life fearlessly.
I walked out of the stall and checked to make sure I didn’t look like a train-wreck in the mirror. My cheeks were a little flushed from where my hands were, but that was it. I took a few deep breaths and then walked out the door…and right into Seth.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why did you leave?” Seth asked, using himself as a wall to keep me from running away again.
“Go away!” I yelled.
Before he could respond, I shoved him away from me and then took off running. I almost tripped over a stairwell in the ground. Because it looked like there wasn’t much light (thus making it easier for me to hide from Seth), I carefully took the steps downward. I was wondering why there weren’t as many people down there when I saw a neon sign glowing on the wall. Make your bets. Earn your cash. Confused by what the sign meant, I stopped a random guy who was walking past me to ask him.
“Excuse me, but what is this place?” I asked, and he chuckled.
“It’s a way for the homeless to make a little money. You see, you make a bet on who’s going to win and if you’re right, you walk away with a certain amount of cash. I don’t think you qualify to make a bet though, little girl. This place is only for those who don’t have money,” he said.
“Oh. Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking about making a bet. I’m just trying to avoid someone. Thanks for the info though. I really appreciate it.”
The guy gave me a weird look before walking away up the stairs. I watched him disappear before beginning to look around. The few people who were down there looked as if they hadn’t changed their clothes in months…or showered for that matter either. Instead of being disgusted, though, as I knew Kinsey would be, I felt bad for them. I found myself wishing I had enough cash in my wallet to pay for all of them.
I was turning a corner when I rammed right into a guy who looked to be around my age with unruly, dark curly hair and an extremely tired look on his face. He was wearing slightly baggy jeans and a worn-out, black hoodie and was just…standing there. When I looked closer at him I could see the deep, dark circles under his eyes. Out of all the people I had seen down there, he was by far the worst one.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I asked, placing a hand on his arm instinctively.
“Yeah…I’m just…tired. I haven’t slept in days. I have to earn some money…I can’t make it without some. Do I…do I know you?” he answered sluggishly.
“No, you don’t know me, but I really think you should get some sleep. Do your parents know where you are?”
“My parents? No, my parents are gone. Everyone is gone, but don’t…don’t tell anyone okay? I know people in foster care. It’s not good and I don’t want to go there. I can make it on my own. I know I can.”
I looked around, debating on what I should do. I knew one thing was for sure though: I was not just going to leave him here. However, could I really go against his wishes and get him sent to foster care? The answer was no. So that meant there was only one other thing I could do.
“Okay, I’m not just going to leave you here so come with me. You can stay at my house for a while until we figure out what’s going on, okay? My parents won’t mind. Just…follow me.”
I took his hand and began leading him out of the arcade as I dialed my dad so he could come pick us up. I knew he’d be the most understanding in this situation and wouldn’t yell at me for leaving the house. Sure enough, he told me he’d be there in a flash without asking any questions.
As I waited outside the building, I sat the guy down on the ground and he immediately fell over. I watched him lay on the cold, stone ground for a moment before seating myself down next to him and putting his head in my lap. I wasn’t trying to be affectionate at all. I just wanted him to be comfortable.
My dad pulled up ten minutes later and helped me get him situated in the car.
“What’s his name?” my dad asked me once we were on our way back home.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll know more tomorrow when I try to figure things out, but can he stay until he’s better and we know what to do with him? I mean, look at him: he’s not well. I just cleaned the theater room. He could stay in there.”
“That’s fine sweetheart. I trust you. I just want you to keep in mind that he may not turn out to be who you think he is now. Guys will do anything these days—” I cut him off then.
“Dad, I know and if that’s the case then I’m sorry I dragged you into this, but right now he just needs a place to stay for the night. If that’s not the case, though, can we help him? You should have seen the other people in the room I found him in. They could really use some help, Dad.”
“I promise you that we’ll do everything we can to help him.”
That was all that was said on that topic for the rest of the ride home. I woke the guy up as we were pulling into the driveway so I could take him to his room for the night and helped him out of the car.
“I’ll be in the lab with your mother if you need anything,” my dad assured me and I nodded as I helped the stranger inside to the nearest door.
“This may feel a little weird, but just hold onto me and it will be over before you know it,” I told the stranger once we reached the door.
“Wait; what? What are we doing?” he asked sleepily, opening his eyes.
“My house isn’t like ordinary houses. It doesn’t have a normal door system. You have to teleport places here, but don’t freak out, okay? Nothing unusual is going to happen to you or anything. You’re just going to have to trust me,” I explained.
He looked at me with half-lidded eyes before responding.
“I trust you,” he said and I smiled.
“Thank you. Now hold onto me.”
Since he was taller than me, he had to squat down a bit in order to wrap his arms tightly around my waist, but he didn’t seem to mind. I opened the door and we stepped through. I’d been through it many times so the drop in my stomach didn’t bother me anymore, but I could tell it surprised him a bit because his grasp tightened around me. He didn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because then we were standing in the theater room and everything was normal again.
“This will be your room for the night. I know it’s rather spacious for just one person, but all our guest rooms are taken up for the night so it will have to do. Um…the remote for the screen is on the table over there, but be careful because it’s really loud. I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry about food or anything like that. I’ll bring it to you when I wake up. I know the whole teleporting thing takes a little getting used to,” I said after helping him onto one of the couches and putting a warm blanket on him.
“Thanks,” he said before falling asleep again.
I smiled at him before dimming the lights and heading to my room.
It felt good to help someone. So good in fact, that I wasn’t even mad at Kinsey when I heard her sneaking back into my room way later that night.
“I am so sorry I left you tonight, Jenni!” she whispered as she climbed into bed beside me.
“It’s fine, Kinsey. I’m not mad. I had fun actually. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Even though my eyes were closed, I could tell that she had a puzzled look on her face. She was probably expecting me to blow up at her, but I wasn’t going to. I was too busy thinking about the things that I would have to get done tomorrow. I was determined to help this boy.
And indeed I would.
They’re put in different rooms when they arrive at headquarters.
Interrogation rooms. Great. Colin can only imagine the panic attack Emmalee must be having. This has to be the worst recruit mission he’s ever been on. It’s never been this difficult before.
Perhaps it’s time for him to retire.
Colin chuckles at this thought. Retire? Hardly. The Agency will work him for all he’s worth, until his death if he isn’t more careful.
“Colin,” Harlem says as he enters the room.
He takes a seat at the steel table across from Colin, and Colin shakes his head.
“You’re wasting time being angry with me,” Harlem says. “We both know this is standard protocol considering what happened. And it wasn’t my fault.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure it’s your job to make sure I don’t go on a mission blind.”
“You didn’t. You had just as much sight as we did on the subject.”
“Right.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Unless it’s in your job description.”
Harlem sighs. Colin crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair.
“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?” Colin says.
“We’ll start with your statement. What happened?”
Colin tells the story, starting with the night he crashed Emmalee’s escape flight to Brazil and ending with them boarding the plane back to headquarters.
“And where was Lydia when you were taken by Emmalee’s father?” Harlem asks.
“According to her, she was saving the world. Which I presume to mean on some sort of side mission meant to earn her a promotion.”
Harlem wrinkles his brow in concern, and rubs a hand over his aging face.
“Promotion,” Harlem says, chuckling and shaking his head. “Lydia was dismissed from the Agency six months ago. She was accused of performing rouge operations using agency assets. We haven’t been able to track her since. And now you’re telling me she was there, using agency assets, with you?”
“Fuck!” Colin shouts, pounding his fists on the table in front of him. “She did it again!”
Lydia had set him up.
This Heart
This heart is made of gold,
a shiny strong stone
worth more than rubies and silver
and bronze
First-place, first-rate
winner in life.
This heart is made of sugar,
sticky and sweet,
melted with heat,
combines well with others,
makes even the bitter a tasty treat.
Easily sprinkled all over the world,
and only gets sweeter as you add more.
This heart of gold may be built to last,
while this heart of sugar can be reduced fast.
But if you ask me
which one I would choose
I’d rather have sugar
than stone.
She smelled like smoke.
But not any kind that could be inhaled willingly from pipes or rolled up sheets of paper. It was the kind that came from barbecue pits and campfires. Her mascara was streaking down her cheeks like demonic claw marks, and her dark hair was a wild mess of curls tied back and slung over her shoulder. She was wearing a long, red, sleeveless blouse, and black, shiny leggings pasted to her legs.
She wasn’t wearing shoes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
He thought about asking where she came from, what she was doing here on his porch at four o’clock in the morning, or perhaps even her name, but he didn’t. He simply rubbed his eyes, and opened the door a little wider to let her in, as if strange girls showed up on his doorstep all the time.
“Water?” he asked her, though he was already walking toward the kitchen to get a glass for himself.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, following him. He handed her a water. “You’re very kind.”
He didn’t say anything. He drank his water, and put his glass in the sink.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just…” she said, and then she started crying.
He stayed awkwardly rooted in place, watching her cry. Comforting girls while they cried had never been a strength of his. He never knew the right things to say or how to say them. And he was much too grossed out by bodily fluids to offer up his shoulder. He didn’t even know this girl. Who knew what diseases she could be carrying?
“I’m so sorry,” she said, sniffling.
She finished her water, and held out her glass. He took it, and immediately washed it, scrubbing vigorously. Then, so she wouldn’t think he was rude, he washed his glass too. When he was finished, he noticed she had left the kitchen. Panicked, he rushed to his bedroom where she was curled up atop his bed, clutching a pillow the way one might clutch a small child.
He considered asking her to leave or to please refrain from crying on his sheets, but he supposed it was already too late for that. So instead, he sighed as he grabbed a blanket from the bed, and prepared to sleep on the couch.
“Please stay with me,” she said as he was walking out the door.
He paused, considering the implications of staying in his bed with a stranger. A crying stranger. She looked harmless enough, but how did he know? Still, it was his bed, and since she was asking him to stay it would probably be rude of him to ignore her.
He made sure a whole foot of space was between them when he got into bed, giving her a majority of the covers, but taking the blanket for himself. He could hear her crying beside him while he stared up at the ceiling and wondered how he ended up in this situation. He’d never had a girl in his bedroom before. Girls often exhausted him with all their emotions and endless chatter about meaningless subjects. And they seemed to always want to be touching.
Sure enough, after a few moments of ceaseless crying, the girl rolled over and curled herself against his side, hugging his bicep like she’d been hugging the pillow. He froze, debating whether he should roll over and shrug her off or leave the room entirely. He didn’t know her. She was crying. This wasn’t happening.
But it was.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so cold, and I don’t want to be alone. It’s better when I’m not alone.”
He didn’t respond, and after several agonizing minutes he could tell she had fallen asleep. Her breathing slowed, and her grip on him relaxed. Knowing she was asleep relaxed him, and soon enough he was asleep as well.
In the morning, she was gone.
The car has been parked outside her house since Tuesday.
As far as she can tell, it doesn’t belong to anyone. She hasn’t seen anyone come in or out of it since it randomly appeared on the curbside outside her red-brick house. The lights had woken her, shining directly through her bedroom window, flickering once, twice, just like her late husband, Frank, used to when he would pick her up past curfew. By the time she had gotten to the window to see what was going on, the car lights had turned off, and the mysterious owner had already disappeared. If the car is still there by tomorrow evening, she’ll have to call her son, Eddie, who works for the police department. He’ll know what to do about the car.
It isn’t a bad car. Frank used to have one just like it. They had their first kiss in that old car. She remembers her thighs sticking to the new-leather seats, and the plush dice swinging from the rearview mirror as he made a turn.
“My sweet, sweet Christina,” Frank had told her, his eyes as grey as a storm cloud when he looked at her.
Her hair had been short then, and very blonde. Her skin had been smooth and her lips painted a perpetual shade of red. When was the last time her lips and hair had color? She can’t remember. Now, her hair as grey as her husband’s eyes falls in thin, wispy strands along her spine, her skin no longer smooth, and her lips no longer painted with color. Though with Frank gone and buried, there isn’t anyone to impress.
She falls asleep that night, and dreams of the car, of her short, blonde hair, red lips, tight dress, her husband before they said their vows, when it was just his hands on her waist as they kissed in the backseat of his black Cadillac. Their breath fogged up the glass, and the car would become their own little world where nothing else mattered or existed. Their heaven.
The strange car is still there when she wakes in the morning, the windows fogged from the humidity of the night. Who does it belong to? Why is it there, taunting her?
She calls Eddie.
“Mom?” Eddie says. “Are you okay?”
“Hello? Eddie? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you mother. Are you okay?”
“Yes, dear, I’m fine. There’s just this car that’s bothering me.”
“What car?”
“It looks just like your father’s, and it’s just sitting here in front of the house. It’s been here since Tuesday, and I don’t know who it belongs to.”
“Mom, today is Tuesday.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe it was Thursday. I can’t be sure.”
“So, there’s been a car parked in front of your house since Thursday?”
“Yes, and I don’t know who it belongs to.”
“Right. Okay, Mom. I’ll try to stop by around lunch time, and I’ll run the plates for you, okay?”
“Yes, thank you Eddie.”
“Of course, Mom.”
After they say goodbye, she makes herself a cup of tea. She wonders whether she should make Eddie something to eat for lunch. She used to make Frank something to eat when he would come home for lunch, still dressed in his police uniform. She smiles at the memory, and sets aside a plate of leftovers for her son.
Eddie comes by just after two. She hears his car pull into the driveway, and she goes to stand by the door to wait for him. She watches as he walks to the sidewalk, gazes at the car, and scratches his head.
Then, he walks up to her door, gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, and says, “When did the car leave?”
“What? The car didn’t leave, Eddie. You were just looking at it!”
He turns around, and looks at the car again. Then, he turns back to her and sighs, running a hand through his thinning blonde hair, his father’s grey eyes expressing his concern.
“Mom, there’s no car.”
“Eddie, this is not time for your games. I know I’m getting old, but I know a car when I see one, and that car has been there far too long. I want it gone.”
“Mom, I’m being serious. There’s no car parked in front of your house.”
She sighs, and swats Eddie’s chest.
“Just check the plates, will you? I’m going to heat up your lunch.”
Eddie sighs, runs his hands through his hair again, shakes his head, and agrees.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll be right back.”
She heats up his plate in the microwave, and sets his plate at the table.
“Well?” she asks when he takes his seat.
“It’s taken care of, Mom. Thank you for lunch,” he says without looking at her.
He finishes his plate quickly, thanks her again for lunch, and gives her a kiss goodbye after promising the car will be gone tomorrow morning. She watches him leave in his patrol car, the black Cadillac still parked on her curbside.
She remembers the man she sold her husband’s car to after he passed. She remembers the way his eyes lit up like Christmas when she handed him the keys. He called the car a classic, and himself a collector. Did he bring it back? Change his mind? Perhaps she should have asked Eddie about it. Another time, she thinks.
A wave of exhaustion hits her. She’ll go to bed early tonight, and hopefully the car will be gone when she wakes. She gets ready for bed, and as she closes her eyes and drifts away, she dreams.
She dreams of Frank coming to scoop her out of her bed. He carries her to the car parked outside their red-brick house, and places her in the passenger seat before taking the driver’s seat.
“My sweet, sweet Christina,” he tells her, “I’ve missed you.”
He starts the car, and together they drive away into the night.
For some reason, Emmalee expected they’d be going back to New York.
So when the plane lands on unfamiliar territory, Emmalee’s nervousness increases.
“Where are we going?” she asks Colin.
He still hasn’t guaranteed her safety. He spend the entire plane ride looking just as nervous as she felt, gripping the armrest and clenching his jaw tightly.
“Work,” Colin says.
“Work?”
He doesn’t answer. He simply ushers her into the black car that is waiting outside the plane. The drive is silent. Emmalee tries to gauge their location from the view outside, but it’s too dark to see anything. She sighs and rests her head against the seat. She’s ready for all this uncertainty to be in her control again. She wants her life back. Is that really too much to ask for? She’s spent all this time without any trouble, and now…
The car lurches to a stop, and the car doors are yanked open as a bag is thrown over Emmalee’s head. She opens her mouth to scream when she hears Colin sigh beside her.
“Is this really necessary? You’re going to scare the newbie. I haven’t prepped her for this,” Colin says. “Stay calm, Emmalee. This is just standard protocol.”
Emmalee takes deep breaths to steady herself as her hands are handcuffed and she is pulled from the car, and carried into another one. She can’t see anything. The bag is pressing close to her face, too close, making it hard to breathe. She tries to wriggle her hands in the cuffs, but they don’t budge. She sinks into her new seat, and tries not to cry.
“What’s going on?” Emmalee asks.
“We’re being taken to headquarters. Everything is fine,” Colin answers.
He sounds close, and that comforts her slightly. But what if Colin is wrong? What if these aren’t the people he thinks they are? What if this is another trick of her father’s?
Emmalee doesn’t think she can wait to find out.
But she doesn’t have a choice.
Every mile further another part of me slips away.
She said she was sorry with mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. Swore it didn’t mean anything as the water from the shower was still going, his clothes still lying on the floor by our bed…did she really expect me to stay?
I grabbed my keys, and decided to drive.
***
When I was a little boy and my parents would fight, my mother would take me for a drive.
I remember the streetlights illuminating her tears in flashes, the music turned all the way up, and the wind from the open sunroof cool and comforting.
As soon as I got my first car, driving became my escape too.
***
It might actually be a good thing that I found out when I did.
I was going to propose to her next week. I thought I was ready for better or for worse, but this is the worst. And even if she spent the rest of her life begging for me back on her knees, she couldn’t make me stay.
Funny how quickly everything can change.
***
The city disappears in my rearview, but I’m not stopping any time soon.
I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’ll be driving all night.
The plane drops so suddenly, Colin barely has time to react before the pilot regains control and they’re flying up and safely again.
“Sorry about that,” the pilot says over the speakers.
Colin recognizes the voice, and grits his teeth. Lydia is piloting the plane? Since when? He gets up and storms into the pulpit. Lydia turns around and grins at him.
“Miss me?” she asks.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m your pilot this evening. It’s my promotion.”
“Promotion for what? Disappearing?”
She shrugs.
“You call it disappearing. I call it being a hero and doing my job. We can’t see eye-to-eye on everything, I suppose,” she says.
“Right. And what job was that?”
“Oh, Colin. You know better than to ask me questions with classified answers.”
Colin rolls his eyes. “Just try not to kill us, okay?”
“I can’t make any promises.”
She winks at him, and Colin turns around and goes back to his seat.
“Is something wrong?” Emmalee asks.
“You could say that.”
“Are we going to be okay? Are we safe?”
Colin doesn’t answer.
He hasn’t quite figured that answer out himself.
A fictional interpretation of a song by Bill Withers
A bad day is not a bad life.
I keep trying to convince myself of this, but it’s getting harder. This morning has not been going at all as planned. My alarm didn’t go off, so I woke up too late, and I had to stay up past three am trying to piece together the finishing touches of my presentation which I am now struggling to carry while walking in heels much too high for my feet and a dress much too stiff to move in.
A bad day is not a bad life.
Why oh why did I insist on doing everything myself?
***
I value my independence.
Perhaps too much. I always have. My mother worked endless shifts at the hospital to pay off the gambling debt my unemployed father never ceased to incur. I learned from an early age how to take care of myself.
I never learned how to depend on others, so I don’t.
But sometimes, I could really use someone to lean on.
***
A bad day is not a bad life.
But now I’m falling flat on my face. My dress rips and the skin on my knees is bleeding. The pieces of my presentation scatter around me, nearly becoming trampled by the hoard of fellow students who giggle as they pass by.
“Sucks to be you,” someone says.
I’m too busy trying not to cry to respond.
I slowly pick myself up, gather the pieces of my presentation, put them back in order. I can’t do anything about my dress, but I’ll manage. I wipe the blood from my knees and begin walking, slower this time, to my classroom.
When I reach the stairs, I look up and sigh. I consider briefly not going to class today. I can afford the failing grade. Or perhaps I can make it up. My professor loves me. Surely…
“Hey, I got your text. I’m here to help,” my best friend, Johanna says.
She grabs my presentation from my hands.
“My text?” I ask because I don’t remember asking her for help.
“Yeah, you woke up late, and you’ve been stressing about this presentation for weeks. I figured you could use some help.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“No problem. What happened to your knees?”
“I fell.”
“Oh my. Okay, well, lean on me, and let’s get up these stairs.”
And together, we bear the load.