Hide (Sequel to RUN)

Chapter 11

I'd actually been excited when I came up with the cover story. It'd been another chance to be normal. Now I was hyperventilating in my backyard.

"I'm a ticking time bomb," I whispered.

The confirming factor: I was still speaking in my accent.

~~~~~~~~

I jumped off my regular old bicycle while it was still moving and ran into Tristan's backyard. The forest that surrounded the back of my house thins considerably when it reaches Tristan's, but there's enough in it to hide our underground hut.

That is where I'm running to now. I'm running to my brother's arms.

I don't need any whispers to tell me to run this time.

"Tristan?" I called.

"Your accent is Scottish!" he called back, pushing up the trapdoor that led to our base. I growled, spinning in a circle.

"Why can't I calm down?!" I screeched. Tristan waved at me, and I ran down after him into what we called the rabbit hole.

We had dug this hole ourselves as we were growing up. No one else knew about it. We'd both made sure of that. All of the supplies we needed had been smuggled through the forest. It had taken us almost two years to complete. Now it was our little cave.

I jumped off the ladder halfway down and onto my pile of blankets and pillows. Tristan was already curled up in his. (For all of you who are wondering, I am a...well, how do I put this...a virgin...maybe? Okay, I haven't had consensual sex. I'm a sort of virgin. And you're gross for thinking that.)

"So what's made you go Scottish?"

"Cover story gone wrong," I moaned, rolling onto my back.

"Is that Russian?"

"You're kidding me."

"Not even a little."

"Ok. I better get on with it then. I'm having a sleepover."

"You went Russian over a sleepover. Lekia, you've had a sleepover before."

"Not with seven other girls who want me to share my feelings," I rolled back over onto my stomach to glare at him. "It's a disaster."

"You know that there are a lot of guys who would kill to be down here with you. Especially as a Russian." I didn't hesitate to chuck one of the pillows at his head.

"Shut up," I muttered darkly. "I'm having a crisis."

"So how is it a cover story gone wrong?"

"I visited a shrink earlier, went to a gas station to get groceries as an excuse for the lost time, and made a story where it made sense to have five bags of chips. Sleepover."

"A shrink?"

"I was threatened with a taser, there was no choice."

"How'd the actual meeting go?" I turned back over onto my back.

"I didn't talk until after the end of it." I remembered the way I'd felt something snap inside of me. How I fell to the floor and lost control. I was vulnerable.

"What'd you talk about? Did it help any?" I think I snorted.

"It ended with me on the floor dry-sobbing. 'Cause I can't cry." I rolled back onto my stomach. "Why can't I cry, Tristan?" The despair seemed to catch me by the ankles and drag me down into its dark depths, it came so suddenly.

I wasn't normal. How could I ever be normal. I was trained to be the exact opposite of normal.

Tristan got up from his pile and came over to mine. His arms wrapped around my trembling torso, and I leaned into his warmth.

"Why can't I cry?" I asked again.

"It probably has something to do with Darl and that abusive training of his," Tristan whispered softly, beginning to stroke the back of my head. I stuck my face into his shoulder, taking in his smell. To me, it was the equivalent of working out.

"It's not abusive," I protested weakly. "Why does everyone think that?"

"Lekia," Tristan pushed me away from him to look me in the eyes, "who else does what you do?"

"I don't know," I admitted, confused. "I would bet there are more than just me though. There's got to be more people who want to be well trained at an early age." Tristan sighed.

"Yeah. Those people are called assassins and are usually trained illegally."

"So I'm an assassin now?"

"No. I said the other people were assassins. Listen to what I'm saying," he teased. "But seriously, Lekia. What Darl does to you isn't normal. That's why him and my dad aren't friends anymore. Don't you remember that day Darl brought you to my house and forced my dad to interrogate you?" I nodded. I did remember. I just hadn't realized at the time that I was at Tristan's house. At the time, I'd been focused on making the known unknown. It wasn't until after I'd examined the memories that I'd realized that I'd been at Tristan's.

He'd interrogated me at the police station that day. No one had seen me, and the cameras had been disabled. I'd had a blindfold and a hood on as well. Then he'd taken me through the station as a prisoner, thrown me into the back of his truck, chained me, and taken me to Tristan's. Mr. Santer had been confused at first, not really understanding why Dad was bringing a prisoner to his house. But then he'd realized it was me. He'd even tried to talk me out of it. "Your name is Lekia, isn't it?" he'd whispered. He'd practically begged me to say something. Anything. He hadn't wanted to interrogate me.

But I was stubborn.

"Darl threatened my dad's career, Sis. Blackmail. What else does that tell you about him?"

"He was just trying to train me authentically," I whispered, not meeting him in the eyes.

"And now you can't cry." I thought about getting up and storming up the ladder. I thought about getting angry and mad and ruining a good memory. Those thoughts were trumped by the despair that was still cinch in my heart.

"No, I can't," I agreed, snuggling back into his shoulder. "But that's why I have my big brother."

"You have me so you can cry?"

"I have you to get the urge to cry out," I explained. Tristan pulled me tighter, holding the back of my head.

We sat like that for a while. Until, "You went to Middle Eastern when you asked why you couldn't cry. You feeling better?" Tristan knew me way too well. I only went into different accents accidentally when I didn't have control over my feelings, and even then it only happens when those feelings are extreme. I don't even know I'm doing it half the time. All of the main feelings have their own accent (Don't ask how that came about. I really don't know.). Nervous was a haphazard combination of the accents. But Middle Eastern was reserved for sad and sad alone for some reason.

I nodded into Tristan's chest again, tightening my arms around him at the same time.

"Do you need me to track down this shrink?" his voice resonated in his chest. "I'll give her a beat-down for making you dry sob." I managed to smile through the mysterious despair.

"No," I got out despite the smile. "She was just trying to help."

"Still..." Tristan murmured. He kissed the top of my head. Like in the fairy tales, the spell seemed to break. The despair shattered into a million pieces, replaced by contentedness and an urge to sleep. And that's exactly what I did.