The Destiny Detour

Disappearances

Drake

Drake tossed his pillow over his head. It wasn't working. His body was not going to let him go back to sleep until he checked on Rosaliy. His reflexes cared not for the nosy woman in the nearby house who could hear the creak of his door through walls and would come to spy on him. Nor did his overactive mind care there was nothing that could have silently crept its way into a walled outpost, past his door, and into Rosaliy's locked room without causing a real alert. No, despite logic, his body still sent out those high alert middle-of-the night warnings that could only be quelled by verifying the situation was under control. For the ninety-nine times nothing was wrong, there was always the one time something was wrong.

He flipped off his covers and slipped out of the bed, grabbing the shirt tossed over the back of a nearby chair. He ignored the boots. There was a stone walkway running along the front of the rooms, and bare feet would be quieter.

"You're really going to make me peer in a girl's window in the dead middle of the night, aren't you?" he grumbled to himself.

The question was quickly answered by his fingers. They slid his lock aside while he cringed at the sound of the soft click.

Silent steps brought him to Rosaliy's door. He hesitated. He hated this. It felt too much like doing the wrong thing under orders. But checking up on her had been his choice, and his intentions were good, so that made no sense. Maybe his conscience was broken. Brittle from disuse, it had finally snapped after years of strain.

He could just see inside Rosaliy's room through a tiny sliver where the curtains did not quite meet. Unfortunately, the bright moonlight was against him, and he had to cup his hands around his eyes and press his face to the window because just looking in had not been sufficiently awkward. The room was small, and the bed right next to the window looked rumpled and empty.

He cast a glance over his shoulder and tapped faintly at the window with his fingertips. This was ridiculous. She was in there. Nothing moved in the room, and Drake's need to take action kicked in. He pulled a long piece of metal from his pocket that he should not be carrying. Why would law-abiding citizens need to pick locks? He had finally found a situation.

Unfortunately, lock-picking was a skill that stayed sharp with practice. He was not sharp, but he was sufficiently motivated. He jiggled the metal prongs until the lock clicked open. He pushed the door open, wincing at its long, low creak. He was a little proud of himself for not noticing before that Rosaliy's door creaked. Perhaps that was a sign he was not constantly thinking like a criminal. Chronically, maybe, but not constantly, and that was a baby step in the right direction.

"Says the man breaking into a woman's room in the middle of the night," he muttered under his breath.

He looked in. The bed was really empty. Rosaliy's bag, cloak, and boots were still in the room. He was at a loss to explain how when a light flared from the opening door of the house. Drake flew out Rosaliy's door, pulled it closed, and slipped the metal pins back into his pocket, all before he realized what he was doing. Criminal behavior was hard to shake.

"What's going on?" rang out Arin's sleepy voice.

"Everything's fine," countered Drake instinctively.

Everything was not fine. Drake had a few seconds to think while Arin slipped on boots and came to investigate.

If Rosaliy was the next victim of this rash of disappearances, Drake needed to get to Kianne and find out what was going on. The less this couple knew, the better. He would make up an excuse and sneak out as soon as they were asleep.

There was a clatter at Rosaliy's door, and it opened. She poked out her head.

Relief poured over Drake's tense, tired body. "I thought I heard a noise," he called to Arin, "but everything's fine." He directed the next question much more quietly in Rosaliy's direction. "Is everything fine?"