VENQUARIS: The Promontory

Chapter 1: Nathaniel

The boy's footsteps thumping around the wooden ground, matched with the sound of drums echoing in his head, later on changed to the sound of someone knocking softly on wood. The little boy in the dream plodded along, and suddenly, his steps became soft raps on wood, becoming louder and louder by the minute, until the boy slowly dissolved into memory and Nathaniel opened his eyes.

The knocking was real, coming from the door of the one-room apartment he has been staying at for a few months now. He closed his eyes once more, wishing the reality to be a part of another dream.

The knocks were as soft as ever, but the volume seemed to rise up as time passed and as he remained lying motionless on the bare mattress. A thin sheet covered the lower half of his body. It was January, and his room was chilly at dawn, but Nathaniel felt as warm and cozy as ever. He laid there for a few minutes more, hoping that the landlady outside his door would abandon the infernal knocking, because it was only six thirty in the morning, but he soon caved in. Nathaniel draped his arm over the edge of the bed, and it came up with a wrinkled shirt he halfheartedly put on.

He stood up from the bed fully clothed in a white open-collared sweatshirt and jeans and opened the door expecting to see the sour face of his landlady, a small woman in her late sixties who got her exercise by nagging her tenants every morning for rent.

Sombody else stood outside, patiently waiting for him.

Nathaniel knew that the knocks were too soft to be from the landlady, who always sounded like she was slamming her whole head at the door to wake everyone up. The face that greeted him was small and a little round, sitting atop a soft body covered in an oversized pink jacket that simply said Boracay and gray sweatpants. Her hair was cropped short, close to her skull, but it only highlighted the soft features of her face. Her skin gleamed in the soft sunlight of the early morning sun.

"Hi, I'm Anna," she said uncertainly, shuffling her feet. "I'm, uh, I'm here to collect the rent."

Nathaniel eyed her impassively, thinking about all the places in his room, all the cracks, hidden surfaces, and little pockets where he may have hidden a little bit of cash over the course of the past few months. He probably has a little more than the exact amount, but if he gave everything to the girl, he wouldn't be able to eat tomorrow.

The girl stared back expectantly.

"I don't have anything," Nathaniel muttered.

"What?"

He decided to change the subject. "How's your grandmother?"

The girl blinked. "My what?"

"The landlady, Mrs. Kumiya. How is she?"

The girl raised her eyebrows in amusement. "She's my aunt. She's fine; she just thought it'd be good for me to make the rounds for today. See, I'm on vacation."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She produced a torn little piece of paper from the huge kangaroo pocket of her jacket and shoved it to Nathaniel's face. "213, see? Your apartment. It's here on my list of houses to visit."

"I can see that," he said, stepping sideways to avoid her hand and the paper. "But I already paid Mrs. Kumiya yesterday."

"Yesterday? Really?" Her thin brows quivered a little, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head.

"Really," he repeated reassuringly, trying to look as convincing as possible.

Anna continued studying him for what felt like hours. Finally, her features softened once more, and she gave him a brilliant smile. "Okay. I'll ask Auntie to check the names after I finish my rounds. Then I'll come back."

He smiled. The smile he gave her is a little tight, but the girl didn't notice. "Okay. I'll wait for you."

The moment Nathaniel closed the door, his body moved into action immediately, almost subconsciously. He went over the tiny flat quickly, pulling stashed cash from cracks and hidden places. Cursing, he pulled out a backpack from the empty dresser that came with the small room and crammed a couple of packs of crackers and a bottle of water. He waded through the discarded clothes on his floor until he found his sneakers. He slipped them on and took his time carefully tying a double ribbon.

Nathaniel grabbed a couple of shirts on the floor and stashed them inside the bag, which was already pre-packed with emergency supplies—flashlight, a first-aid kit, a comforter. Then he ran to the tiny bathroom and locked the door behind him. He climbed atop the sink, praying for it to hold his weight as he unlatched the small window high up the wall. He jumped down, throwing his bag outside, and clambered up the sink again, ready to escape.

He pushed out his head first, wriggling slowly until an arm is freed. He pushed the wall with the free arm as he slowly wriggled his body again, shutting the rampant thoughts on his brain telling him that he should move faster, that he won't be able to escape, that they'll catch him. He finally freed his other arm and with one last push, tumbled through the window hands first. He awkwardly rolled to his feet, arms stinging. He stood up, stumbling a little, and picks up his bag while dusting it off.

It felt heavier in Nathaniel's hands when he was free.

***