A Million Hiding Places {Completed}

Chapter One: One year later

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods

And over the walls I have wended;

I have climbed the hills of view

And looked at the world and descended;

I have come by the highway home,

And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,

Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

No longer blown hither and thither;

The last lone aster is gone;

The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;

The heart is still aching to seek,

But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treason

To go with the drift of things,

To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the end

Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost

                                                                         ~~~~~

1 year later:

Harley

It wasn’t much of a shock really. I could see it coming. But when it finally happened, I felt myself let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The apartment was on the ground floor: two bedrooms, one bathroom, small kitchen, large lounge...

The walls were an olive colour, making the dark furniture standout beautifully. I could feel my mouth hanging open and my palms begin to sweat. What do you say to this? How do you react?

“I can’t take this.” I say, feeling my throat go dry. I so badly wanted to say ‘Yes! Yes! I’ll have it! I need it!’ but I couldn’t. It would feel wrong.

Dr. Jackson smiled, shaking his head. “Harley, I know you need this. And the board at the Hospital agreed to give it to you, since Dr. Jenkin’s left it to the hospital in his will.”

I scowled at him, running my hands over the beautifully carved coffee table. “I don’t know...” My voice was timid. I could feel myself withdrawing for the situation; the over-whelming urge to run pushing its way into my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, two little figures ran around the corner and lept at my feet.

I gazed down at them as their hands clamped around my legs, their faces turned up, and smiles playing across them. “Are we staying here, H?” I looked up, watching as my thirteen year old brother, Chris, walked around the corner, his hands in his pockets.

He looked uncomfortable, like everyone was watching him; judging. I frowned, gulping down the bile in my throat. “I don’t know.” I turned to Dr. Jackson, who was silently watching the ordeal play out in front of him. “It’s up to you guys.”