expansion | on hold

03

he always knows the right thing to say.

the next house he visits, on the third night, is a small apartment on the sixth floor. the balcony drops onto hard asphalt, with nothing to break the fall in between.

the front door clicks open; it isn't locked. the hinges are rusty and a loud creak sounds through the moonlit house. he shuts the door behind him. the house is small, but cozy. the walls are pale blue, peeling in the corners, the carpet is fraying and rough. the doors are painted a garish orange, but they're washed out by the night.

he looks down. standing a few feet away from him is a boy; he can't be older than eight, and he's small, red-haired and clutching a worn-out stuffed cat.

'are you my daddy?' the boy asks, his voice lilting, strange, high pitched.

no.

the boy pouts and clutches his cat.

do you know where mommy is?
i don't.
she went out yesterday and hasn't come back yet. there's no food, and i'm hungry.
i'm sorry. i don't know where she is.
oh.

silence. he thinks. a crooked smile grows on his face.

tell me, do you want to fly?
like peter pan? in the movies?
yes, just like in the movies.

the balcony door beckons. it's narrow, half open, and the torn green curtains stick flat against the screen door.

are you peter pan?
i'm not. but i can teach you to fly, if you'd like.

the boy drops his cat, excitement crossing his face. he's beaming, bobbing up and down.

if you fly away, you'll never be hungry again. and you'll find your mommy.
really? are you kidding, mister?
no, sweetheart. i'm not kidding.
my name's charlie.
charlie.
will i grow wings?
no, you won't. you'll fly with pixie dust.

he's smiling now. gently. he means the boy no harm, only wants to help him, take him away from here. he takes a step towards the boy, who doesn't move.

he makes himself taller. i mean you no harm. i mean you no harm.

well? aren't you going to teach me to fly?
i will. patience, boy.

he takes the boy's hand, leads him to the balcony. pushes away the grimy curtain. leads the boy outside. the railing is lower than usual; the boy runs up to it, bending his waist over.

arms out, charlie. lean on the railing.
like this?
just like that. you're doing perfect.

the boy tips his nose into the chill air. his skin is turning pink. he leans even further, straining to balance on his toes-

almost there, charlie.

the boy's hands, white and birdlike, shiver and pass over the railing. both of them feel a little frisson of excitement sprinting through their bones.

it isn't working!
lean a little more, then. just a little-

a distant thud from below.

-more.