Then
A tiny girl sat quite fidgety on the steps of their family home, watching with clear apprehension at the young man who stood near the entryway. It was clear to those who bothered to catch his eye that the young man did not belong there despite the air of death and loss that dripped from him. But he wasn't here for them. He was here for two things and two things only; the man whose picture sat adorned in morning by the fireplace and the little girl who had turned her attention from him to her dress.
She looked just like her mother, as though a picture from years past had peeled itself off the page and was walking about. Her dark hair was yanked up into a pony tail, a white bow perched onto her tiny head. The young child had taken to standing, a restless hand pulling angrily at white pantyhose. He found himself smiling as her mother curtly reprimanded the action, the child's face contorting in that rather rebellious way all young children seem to have. Once her mother's back was turned, the child spitefully kicked her tiny black paten shoes off and threw them up the stairs. His smile grew. Just like her mother indeed.
Squatting to reach her level, the stranger carefully beckoned the child over with a finger. Those eyes he'd seen in a different face fluttered with hesitant recognition. She remembers him now, he thinks, as she pads her way across the family room and towards the entryway. That little, frilly red dress was caked with mud at the hem, something that, he assumed, went unknown to her mother.
She stayed a few feet back, tiny hands clasped behind her back and torso bent forward in carful curiosity. "You're not supposed to be here. Mommy doesn't like it when daddy's friends come inside the house," she announced, looking genuinely concerned for his wellbeing against the threat of her mother's wrath.
With a chuckle, the stranger pulled a small box from his jacket pocket. "Don't worry. I promise I will not stay very long, little one," he smiled, gesturing to her clasped hands with the box, "But I have come to say goodbye to your mother and give you a gift," he explained, gently pressing the box into her tiny hands.
Those bright eyes lit up, looking more orange than the electric brown he thought them to be. Apprehension slipped into his stomach as he watched her examine the gift. Those of her kind usually did not make it to adulthood, some not even into their teens. He wondered if this girl would.
"Now don't go telling your mother I have given you that," he warns, winking when she opens the box and grins, "You know how she feels about chocolate."
The child giggled, previous hesitation and fear gone from her features. "Mommy won't get mad if I share," she assures, putting the box under her arm and reaching forward in that way all children do when they desire to be picked up.
The stranger breathed a laughed, obliging by placing the squirmy child on his hip. "You remember me then," he stated, walking further into the family room and away from the slight breeze that blew from the cracked windows.
It was nearing the dead of winter, that time when the humans celebrated Christmas, but the child he held was beginning to sweat in spite of this. The dread he'd felt earlier only intensified. She was sick and now that he was holding her, the evidence of that was clearer. Her breathing was shallow, slower than most children her age, and there were dark circles under her eyes. To most, she seems to have some variation of the flu but to the stranger? He felt it could very well be much, much worse.
"Oh yes, but daddy said you had to go away for a while so I wasn't sure at first," the young child explained, her tiny fingers threading themselves absently into his long hair, "Daddy lies sometimes though. Says I have to keep secrets for a game but I know that is a lie. Grownups say that when they want the kids to keep quiet. I'm smart, so I know that."
All of this was explained very quickly as she tied the ends of his hair into knots, something he would have to deal with later. At six years old, it seems the child was too smart for her own good. Something that caused him to smile in amusement and swallow back his growing apprehension. This could be a problem.
"But I promise not to tell because you are nice and daddy said you were not a bad person...," she paused, seeming to ponder something important, and then frowned, "are you a bad person," she asks, tilting her head at an angle in curiosity. She didn't seem afraid. Only curious. It seemed the child wasn't afraid of anything, really. Another thing that could also pose as a problem.
The stranger raised his eyebrows and laughed. "What do you think, little one" he asked, curious to see what the young child thought of him. This was the first time she'd spoken to him during one of his visits, normally just content on watching. Sometimes from the top of the stairs or from behind a partially closed doorway, other times from her father's arms or behind her mother's legs. It was endearing to see she'd mastered her fear but worrying as well.
"You made it," a voice observed and had he been human, it might have startled him.
The stranger looked up, a grief stricken woman, who in no way resembled the child in his arms, standing in front of him. She was adorned in black, a custom of the humans he didn't quite understand but respected, and clutching at a foundation stained tissue. Her skin was chalk white and her dirty blond hair pinned up in a way that looked almost painful. She screamed bitter anger and mindless grief, something he knew all too well. The stranger feared this, all of this, but he was too selfish to prevent it. And the woman knew that. But from the look on her placid face, that blame seemed to be cast elsewhere. In a place he knew could very well get her killed.
"Savannah," he greeted, empathy for her loss evident in his tone. She closed up then, the act so abrupt you could see it. Her face hardened and she straightened, arms crossing themselves over her chest.
"This is your fault," she claimed, her voice terse and harsh.
The stranger adjusted the child at his hip, nodding in agreement. "I am to blame, yes, but you do not. Do you, Savannah," he questioned in a way that was not a question at all but a statement.
Holding up the act one moment longer, the woman wilted. Her hard façade melting like the chocolate in her daughter's fingers. "No, I don't, but I should," her dead, ash brown eyes fell to the child, "I understand your reasons and had I known what it is I know now, I would have sought you out sooner," she admitted, finding his gaze once again.
It was that blatant empathy and unwavering loyalty the stranger found so surprising about the humans. By all accounts, he did not deserve this woman's grace or mercy but she gave it freely. And, in that way, he found humans to be tragically beautiful.
"And for that, I am grateful," he said, unable to meet her gaze and instead letting his eyes fall to the child. A sticky cough rattled in her chest. The stranger winced.
"You must leave here," he began, looking towards the portrait of his dear friend resting on top the mantel piece. He feared that picture would be joined by this woman he'd grown to care for if she did not heed his warning. "You must leave," he repeated, finding her gaze, "This place is not a safe place any longer and I fear we've grown too comfortable. Time is moving too quickly and she is getting older," he informed as the child let loose another croupy cough. Alarmed guilt was suddenly blooming on the woman's face, her eyes purposely avoiding his own. Anger pricked his chest.
"She's sick," the woman explained though the statement was needless. Anyone sane could see the child was unwell. "We were planning to move once she began fading, it's this cold you see, but after Johnathan...," she broke off, swallowing and turning away.
The stranger's anger lessened. He wondered-not for the first time nor the last-if he should have involved the aid of theses humans. They were good people at heart, willing to help him though hardly knowing him, and he gave them nothing but death in return. But the alternative was something the stranger knew he would not be able to do. He couldn't walk away. So, handing off the child to the woman, he placed the burden of death back onto her shoulders.
"Go south, change your names and contact no one from this life," he instructed, the undertone of a warning evident. There would be no risks when it came to the child's life
"I will do everything in my power to erase your existence from this place. But Savannah...," he paused, making sure his point was not taken lightly. "You must trust no one and tell her nothing of this life. Nothing. The less she knows the easier it will be to hide her, do you understand," he asked, stare unwavering.
Nodding, the woman placed the child on the ground. "I understand. Her ignorance is best. But how will you find us and when, if I may," she pried, her hand absently smoothing down the child's hair in what could be describes as nothing less but a mothers touch.
The stranger gathered himself up for departure. "I'll find you when it's safe, in the meantime I'll send my son to watch over her. If something happens, Savannah, if she's found, say nothing of me. Allow what happens to happen. Do nothing to resist and you should be kept safe. I promise," he assured, hoping privately that he could keep that promise. The woman had shown she was capable of handling the life that accompanied his kind but she was only a mortal. Fragile and reckless. Weak and ultimately bound for failure. But he had faith. Humans were also astoundingly resilient.
"I seem to recall you giving a similar promise to my husband," the woman claimed, her dull brown eyes sparking a light with renewed anger. "Do not promise me things you cannot keep," she said as he opened the front door.
The stranger glanced at her from over his shoulder, the shame of what he'd caused heavy on his heart. He shouldn't have involved them but he had and there was no changing that now. He glanced down at the child who was now watching him with a look of understanding no child that age should have. "Give her the name Mercy...Mercy Grace and I'll know how to find you," he murmured giving a gentle smile and wave. "Goodbye little one. I'll see you soon," he promised, nodding a goodbye to the woman before stepping out onto the porch.
As he exited, the woman leaned against the opened door and sighed. "That child is an individual. Once she's grown, I am almost sure I cannot keep her at home. I will do all I can, but she-but Mercy-will be a wander, a drifter," she cracked a soft smile, "A trait from her father, no doubt."
The stranger returned her sad smile, watching the retreating figure of the child as she ran back into the house. The woman was right. "I will see you soon, Savannah and tell her...," he paused, as an unexpected and unwelcome feeling of grief choking him. "Tell her nothing of me. She will forget this life if you do not renew her mind. I'll come back when I can ensure the child's safety. Until then, Savannah, I wish you well. I can never repay back this kindness."
And with those words and not a look back, the stranger stepped off the porch and into a waiting car. As he slid into the back seat, he would miss the pale, little hand of the newly named Mercy Grace waving at the unmarked vehicle from the kitchen window. He didn't know it now, but this would be the last time the stranger would see Savannah and the child for a very long, long time.
~
Now
It was unbearably hot within the confines of history class, Professor Alexander-as he insisted on being addressed-droning on and on about the American Revolution. It was a lecture I had heard countless times before. In fact it was the very same lecture I heard last year when being forced to take American History. At least then Sam was sitting next to me. Now, the way Professor Alexander had it, I was separated on my own little desk island away from the groups of various students. The Professor thought I'd 'focus better' away from my peers.
Sighing, I tapped my pencil on the desk and turned to stare out the window. Snow had littered the ground two nights before thanks to the storm, covering most everything in a muddy sort of sludge. It might have been pretty Sunday morning, but now it was sprinkled with footprints and tire tracks from lawn equipment. Not exactly a Kodak moment.
A boy from year nine hopped in a sludge puddle and soak himself as well as the girl he was with, their squeals echoing up to the third floor. I wondered what it was like to willingly soak yourself with freezing, dirty, water. Mom would have killed me if I walked in like that.
In my hands, my cell vibrated three times and then three more times when I ignored it. The groan of annoyance was almost impossible to hold back as I squeezed the plastic square, making its surface slick with my damp perspiration. Speaking of my mother....
This was the tenth time she'd texted me since leaving for work this morning. I'd woken up to her figure hovering over my sleeping one with the question of how I was feeling spilling past her lips. This was rather odd behavior seeing as my Mom and I barley spoke and when we did it was never about now I was feeling or anything really on my wellbeing.
Last time we'd had a conversation it was about the type of bread I'd gotten from the store which had been apparently the wrong kind. I had just barely gotten the answer out before she was sprinting off again, a miniature whirlwind of pressed pants and an ironed blouse. Mom worked in a therapy office inside a hospital. I'd only ever been by once. She didn't like me visiting her at work...or well, anytime, really.
The phone buzzed again against my palms and I glanced down watching the words-How about I pick up some Asian food and we have a girls night in-scroll across the screen.
A girl's night in. Since when, on this forsaken planet, have I ever had a 'girls night in' with my mother.
Frowning, I drug my hand through my damp, recently washed hair and tried to make some sense of what I was reading. Eating Asian food with your mother might be completely normal for anyone else's family, but with mine it was the equivalent to asking me if I wanted to bond over a case of beer and then run naked through a park.
Mom and I have never had a 'girl's night'. And to be honest, I've never wanted to have fun bonding time with my mother. Last time we had done anything together was to visit dad's grave. It was a three day trip away and all we did was place daisies on the head stone. It was his birthday and mom wanted me to see where I had grown up at least once. At the time, I was in the sixth grade and quite popular among my peers so going to see some grave in a town I didn't remember instead of attending a class birthday party was the very last thing I wanted to do. Our 'girl's night' consisted of my stoic, emotionless mother hardly speaking unless it was to ask where I wanted to eat out. It was the worst trip of my life and I'd rather cut off a limb then repeat it.
It was decided I would not answer, partly because I had no idea how to answer and partly due to the fact The Professor was making his rounds. And with the knowledge that he already didn't like me as it is, thought it best not to give him another reason to make History class my living nightmare. Slipping my phone into my oversized purse I dropped my chin on my upturned palm, neglecting the vocabulary sheet passed back to me, and zeroed in on the familiar figure I saw strolling across the grassy field just below my window.
Sam.
He was dressed in jeans and the cotton jacket I had gotten him for Christmas, easily making his way across the commons. What was he doing? Sammy Opal was the LAST person I'd expect to be skipping class. He's the guy you see in all the post-apocalyptic movies teaching the younger kids in a makeshift version of school about the time before the world ended and algebra. Not the type of guy who regularly skipped class. Especially not if it didn't include me.
I leaned forward, my breath fogging up the glass, and watched as he made it all the way to the track that ran the length of the football field before another figure appeared. I blinked. It was Peter Grayson, Alyssa Barns' boyfriend. Since when did Sam buddy up to him?
Don't get me wrong, Peter Grayson, a wicked smart swimmer who just so happen to also be a wonderful photographer, was actually a really sweet guy. His girlfriend, Alyssa, who just so happened to be a former friend of mine, was kind as well-I mean sorta. Kind to everyone but me, really.
To make a long, boring story short, she thought I complained too much about my life and "accidentally" let that spill to one of her not so nice friends and well, you know high school. Kids will make stories out of nothing for pure amusement and suddenly everyone has their own formed opinion of you. Unfortunately for me, it was a bad one. It's safe to assume Alyssa and I aren't friends but I'd gotten over my wounds a long time ago. Now she was just annoying. But I liked Peter pretty well. Still, it was quite odd for Sam to be meeting him in the snow on the track during class time.
As I watched, their conversation turned sour. Now it seemed they were arguing, Peter making wide gestures and Sam shaking his head as though disagreeing with was he was saying. Peter pointed towards himself, gesturing at his tatted up arm in a panicky fashion. They were far away but it didn't seem to be gushing blood or anything. Maybe he got Alyssa's name tattooed on his arm and now realized he hates her like everyone else does.
Sam reached out a hand, as if to console him, but Peter jerked back and threw his hands up. He looked panicked and almost...terrified. Did something happen? As I leaned pointlessly more forward, my forehead now smudging the glass, I watched as Peter started yelling until his face grew a bright red. I thought maybe Sam would start too but it began to rain. Annoyingly, It was simply too warm for snow but cold enough that the 'rain' was more like a sludgy disaster.
Glancing at the sky, Peter backed up a step and shook his head. Sam seemed to try and stop him but Peter stabbed a finger at him, poking is chest with every word. Dang it, what I wouldn't give for the ability to read lips.
"Miss Grace."
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"I do hope there is something that pertains to our lesson outside that window. Would you like to share it with the class?"
Glancing up, I was met with the pleasant sight of The Professor, his constant scowling face trained on me and my hands still pressed up against the glass. Twenty pairs of eyes were also glancing at me and I felt my face grow hot. "Well," he pressed, folding his polyester clad arms.
I offered a small, apologetic, smile. "Sorry Mr-I mean Professor Alexander. It's raining and I think I left my sun roof open, can I be excused and go and close it," I asked, pulling that excuse right out of my butt for the world to see. Did I have a car with a sunroof? Ha, no. Did I even have a car with me today? No, Sam drove me to school, but it would be a cold day in hell before I sat through twenty five more minutes in this infernal pit waiting to see what was up with Sam and Peter.
Professor Alexander seemed a bit skeptical but gave me a pass anyway, grumbling something about the miracle it was that I was even passing his class. Nice to see his faith in me still remained strong. I grabbed my bag, wasting little time, and plucked the pass from his fingertips. The record for making myself scarce was suddenly set anew as I scurried out the door before he could ask why I was taking all my stuff. Witty excuses were sadly few and lacking.
It was cooler in the hallway, the lack of body heat apparent as I made my way past rows of rusting lockers. The last time those babies were used must have been sometime in the late 1980's. Now we just lugged our books around or requested an online version. Really, this whole building was falling apart and in desperate need of a revamp. If you listen closely, you can still hear the shuffle of parachute pants and the hissing of hair spray and Def Leppard within the groans of the foundation.
I'd been going here since middle school, when our elementary moved over to this building which housed grades 6th through 12th. I didn't remember too much about my old home, bits and pieces really; my dad yelling at the television during football season, the warm glow of Christmas lights, the sound of my mom humming when she cooked in our great big yellow kitchen.
Mom said our house had been tiny but in my memories everything was huge. Mostly my memories were of here, and the time spent with Sam and others, like Alyssa before she decided I wasn't worth her time.
Once we hit seventh grade, Alyssa had it in her mind to become a part of the 'in' crowd. I wasn't too keen on joining her, seeing as people like that found it hard to accept someone like me, but I supported her decision. It wasn't until she let those people lead her to believe I was holding her back that we stopped being friends. A couple of nasty rumors and acidic words later and we were nothing but strangers. We used to be best friends, her, Sam, and me, but now we settled for acquaintances. All the same, I guess. We didn't have much in common anyway.
Re-shouldering my fraying bag, I turned the corner and whipped out my phone. Finding Sam now was going to be impossible since he wasn't on the field when I glanced out the window before narrowly making my escape out of class. Looks like I'll have to settle for calling him instead, which knowing Sam, was probably just about as effective as hoping to catch him by chance in the hall. He had a phone but the boy was not really tech savvy in any sense of the word. Texting was a relatively new thing to him and I had spent hours on the couch showing him the ins and outs of the practice. It was a bit of a lost cause. He still had trouble finding the internet.
Turning down the front hall, dingy, limp grey light streaming through the glass doors and onto the scuffed tile floor, I had only just scrolled onto the name 'Sammy-Lammy' when a wall of a flannel and cedar smelling body spray smacked me in the face.
"Whoa," I exclaimed, scrambling back. I might have fallen if not for the two large and rather warm hands grasping my shoulders to steady me.
"Mercy," chuckled a voice I knew very well.
I grinned, the surprise flitting across my face dissolving as I looked up. Well speak of the devil. "There you are," I exclaimed, stepping out of his light grip and slipping my phone back into my pocket.
Sam was soaked. That feathery blond hair now dark and plastered against his forehead, navy blue flannel shirt sticking to his front and jacket weighing down his arms. Once light and faded, his jeans were now heavy with water and hanging low on his waist. Puddles lined a trail behind him and towards the doors. Water was pooling at his feet and drenching the tile. He looked completely ridiculous.
"Here I am," he answered, spreading his arms out and sending a spits of water against the ground. "What are you doing, Mercy Grace, out of class," he asked, rising a pale brow. His tone was reprimanding but the soft grin playing at his lips told me it didn't really matter what I was doing.
I gestured at his appearance. "I could ask you the same thing, Poseidon. Why were you and Peter fighting in the rain?"
At this, Sam's easy grin slipped and caution bloomed behind those crystal blue eyes. "How did you know I was talking with Peter," he wondered, as though we were shooting the breeze.
A good trait Sam had; being really bad at pretending something wasn't bothering him. I almost felt bad for him, watching his face become something less playful and more constipated. It was my turn to raise an amused brow.
"Because the window in my American History class overlooks the commons. Are you and Peter both pinning for Alyssa, Sam? Will you dual for her love," I teased, nudging him with my hand against a soaked shoulder. The water was warm from his skin and I wiped my hand on my jeans.
Sam gave me an absolutely disgusted look, his nose scrunching and lip curling as if the very idea made him want to vomit. "No, of course not. Peter and I were just talking," he oh so helpfully clarified, ringing out the end of his shirt with his hands. It did little to improve his condition.
Rolling my eyes, I gave him a look. "Just talking, then. In the rain. Just talking very loudly," I paused, and raised a brow, "in the rain."
He nodded, either missing my sarcasm or electing to ignore it. "Yes, that is what I just said."
Alright. I see. "Ookay, Sam," I sighed, re-shouldering my bag and scowling at him.
This wasn't the first time he was annoyingly tight lipped, nor did I have any doubt it would be the last. Sam didn't like sharing information, even if it was stupid stuff like having an argument with someone. Getting him to open up about anything was like pulling teeth. Even for knowing him as long as I had. Some days Sam was an open book, easy to read, and I knew him as simply as if we were the same person. But on other days....on other days Sam was just a stranger.
"Well," I began, glancing at the clock on the wall, "Since sixth hour has about ten minutes left. What say we get you dry and grab some pizza," I offered, gesturing to his appearance.
Sam seemed to pounder this, his hand gently tapping his thigh in something of a nervous tick. I couldn't see why, he and I skipped plenty of times and spent time in detention together like it was some after school hangout. Maybe his nerves were from the whole Peter thing. Sam didn't like fighting, that I knew. He was mostly passive and would go up and out of his way to avoid conflict. The only time he was ever really cross with me was when I crashed my mother's car into a tree because I was fiddling with the radio. I was fine, but Sam made it a huge ordeal along with my mother who grounded me for months afterwards. She may not have cared about much but she had cared about that. You total a car once and suddenly everyone has something to say.
"What are you doing tonight," he asked, blurted really, scratching at his leg. If it wasn't covered by jeans, I'm pretty sure he'd be bleeding.
"What am I doing tonight," I echoed, staring, "Um, probably nothing. You could come over tonight, if you wanted," I offered, frowning.
What was up with him? He was acting like this yesterday too, when we were at the store. Glued to his phone for the entire day, which was odd seeing as he hardly knew how to work it. Texting someone, I had guessed due to the fact he left the house as soon as we got back from the store with some bull excuse. He was jumpy, more so then usual, and it was stressing me out.
At my offer, Sam shook his head and glanced up at the clock. "I can't. I'm going out of town to visit some family with my mother. There is supposed to be storms tonight so I was making sure you weren't going to be out in that," he quickly revealed, the tapping at his thigh growing louder.
I blinked. Out of town? Tonight? And he was just telling me this now? Not that I minded him going out of town, of course. I didn't need him around twenty four seven, but did it not occur to him to, I don't know, giving me a heads up or something? A little, Hey, I won't be here this day because bla, bla, bla. Are we just not sharing things now?
"Oh," I said, my frown deepening, "Um, okay. How long are you going to be gone? And I'll probably just stay in if it's supposed to storm," I assured, giving him a quizzical look. He wasn't looking at me but instead just over the top of my head. Gosh he was acting really odd, even for him.
The bell rang then, both Sam and I jumping at its scream. Doors banged open and the hall quickly filled with chatter and laughter, bodies filing out and knocking my shoulders. Sam looked panicked.
"Just a couple of days, pizza sounds good, let's go," he said in practically one breath, his damp hand grabbing my own and dragging me quite roughly through the mass of students.
"Sam," I exclaimed in surprise, making quick apologies to the people we all but pushed over. What the hell is wrong with him? I tried twisting my hand free but his grip was iron.
"I'll drive," he clipped and pushing me out of the front doors quicker than the protest hovering at the edge of my lips. It was still drizzling, but not enough to need an umbrella.
Sam released my hand and I scowled at him, opening and closing my fist while watching as he thundered across the parking lot. Damn, what has gotten into this boy? He was hitting the brink of the insanity cliff he already teetered on and, suddenly, I didn't feel like pizza anymore.
"You coming," he called, pausing at a blue fusion to wave me over.
I almost said no, mostly just to spite him, but my stomach made an awfully horrible growl and decided for me. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," I huffed, shouldering my bag and quickly hurried across the parking lot before the attendant saw and questioned us.
He was acting weird and if this was what I was going to have to deal with all during lunch? Well then this better be the best pizza I've ever had in my damn life and Sam better pay.
~
Luck:
It was an accident he found her. In fact, he knew it was. The terrified and shivering boy in front of him proved that. God, the kid couldn't have been a hundred years old, standing in jeans, a faded band shirt, and absolutely soaking wet.
"Alright, just calm down," he tried, gesturing to the couch and offering the kid what he hoped was a convincing smile. Children weren't his favorite thing.
The boy sat, his coffee colored hands curled into fists that shook. Geeze. He really didn't want the boy to sit down on the painfully expensive couch-he was dripping with water-but he also didn't want the boy to pass out. That would just be annoying. And he hated annoying.
"So," he began, sitting across from him on a less expensive but expensive none the less chair, "Tell me again, what you say you saw," he asked, using the air of caution. The young ones were always unpredictable and he really didn't want to have to kill the boy.
The kid sat forward, his startlingly golden colored eyes flashing. "Not what I saw, you idiot, what I did," he snapped, those fists balling up on top of his knees.
Electing to ignore the jab, he nodded slowly, and waved a hand to continue. This seemed like the routine visitation. A kid comes in, claiming he saw something or someone, and wanted him to track down whatever it was and fix it. Technically, he was supposed to be off the grid, but the bills weren't going to pay for themselves. And when you are working with someone who is estranged from his family, whose family does indeed have more than enough money to fund their little get away if his friend would just let them, it was pretty tight.
The kid continued, swallowing. "I'm telling you Luca-,"
"Luck, if you please," he corrected, taking satisfaction of the kids annoyance in being interrupted. How'd he think Luck felt when that stupid kid comes banging on his door, blustering about and pushing his way into the apartment without being invited in? Luck had been expecting a female friend but what he got instead was this dumb ass kid.
"Look," the kid bit off, ringing his shirt with his hands. Luck winced when water hit the hardwood. "I had no idea, man, I had no idea he was protecting her. I thought it was just some stupid ass girl, but then I noticed. I noticed who it was and then my friend confirmed it," the boy continued, his breathing speeding up, "Everyone knows he's looking for her but, you know, I try to stay out of palace politics but I didn't know-you just got believe me I didn't know," he said, not breaking off in a rambling.
Luck had stopped listening, a trill of hope pricking his chest. The boy was right. Everyone knew what the estranged prince was after-what now Luck was after. It was a pretty huge scandal, especially the repercussions. They had only just stopped sending people to convince him to come back. Now maybe they could. Luck was never asked to return, to leave this hopeless venture. Mostly because they knew where Luck's loyalties lied. Not with the king and queen but to his son. I mean, the guy did happen to save his life and really, he was Luck's only friend. Not that he cared about that or anything. Luck didn't need friends. Luck didn't need anyone.
The boy was still rambling when Luck stood up to pace. This was perfect-no better, this was his ticket to stop running around like an idiot. Luck didn't really mind moving around chasing whispers, sometimes catching the occasional job here and there, but he was tired. It had been years, years, since she suddenly disappeared. At least eleven. Twelve at the end of this month.
They had placed her with a family, in hopes of giving her a new life and protecting her from those who might not be as keen on what this would all mean. But then one day she fell off the map. Disappeared. A couple weeks before her sixth birthday. Luck had never seen someone loose it like his friend had. It took a long time for his friend to be his friend again. And even now. Even now he was different. Impulsive. Reckless. Luck's annoyance was growing with each new mess he had to clean up and smooth over.
"Luck? Luck, are you listening?"
Startled, which was something that didn't happen too often, Luck jumped and spun on a heel. He'd almost forgotten the boy was there, still sopping wet, ruining his expensive furniture and floors. "Are you sure," he demanded, now standing over the boy, "Are you sure it's her? Did you-dammit boy, quite ringing out your clothes all over my hardwood floors-do you know how much that costs," he snapped when the kid squeezed dirty water from his jeans.
The boy wasn't really listening. Instead he nodded vehemently, standing up so abruptly he almost knocked his head into Luck's chin. "Yes. It's her, I'm sure of it. Her eyes. They masked her sent with something, I don't know, it makes it hard to pick up anything when she's around. But it's her. Her names changed though," the boy continued, enthusiasm lighting up his golden eyes.
This didn't really surprise Luck much. He figured if she wasn't dead, the people who took her would make sure to change the specifics. He hoped, quietly to himself, that the family they placed her with was still alive. They had yet to hear from them as well.
"Where," Luck demanded, flipping out his cell.
The boy swallowed and reached for the pen on the coffee table, fishing a crumbled receipt out of his pocket. "Here," he said, scribbling out an address with names. The receipt was damp and gross. "That's where she is. I don't know who has her under their care, I just moved in, but that's where she is. I came as soon as I found out," he assured Luck, glancing at the door.
Thanking him, Luck sent the kid on his way. He didn't care if the boy knew, nor did he really care if he didn't. He was just glad to finally have a solid, and promising lead. Something told him to wait on calling him. Wait to make sure. Wait until he had the girl sitting in front of him, alive and real, before revealing. Just to make sure his friend didn't do anything reckless or crazy. But then again, he didn't want to be responsible for messing it up, and it had been so long since they had any real lead. He deserved to at least know. Sighing, Luck dialed his friend's number, an involuntary grin spreading across his lips.
"I'm busy, what do you want," growled a voice at the other end.
Luck's smiled grew. "Guess what I found."
~
Wow, okay, yeah. It's been forever. So, after I posted the first time, my mom came to me to tell me we were moving. I was pretty mad, I'm not a huge fan of change, but I accepted it after a while. Moving was crazy. The people buying our house kept backing out and then wanting back in. I'm telling you, those people were freaks. Mean too. But whatever, we finally negotiated and now I'm in a new house after months of freaking torture. My grandmother's wifi (we were staying with her until we found a house) was awful so I wasn't on the internet too often. So that's the reason why I stopped updating when I said I was going to start again, lol. Also, I got accepted to collage! Whoooo! Terrifying anxiety, but I'm excited. Anyway, thank you billions for all your messages and concern's. They really make me happy.
Also, I'm putting up the original version of RDR and I'm editing my other stories but will put them up too. I don't think I'm going to be drastically changing them like this one.
Here are my social media's if you want to follow. I'm telling you, you guys have to bug me to update on time. Bug me until I hate you, do it (If you want haha). I don't check wattpad everyday so if you have questions or you just want to talk I check these more >
Tumblr: re-madebyhumans (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/re-madebyhumans)
Snapchat: sushdontspeak
Instagram: castiel_is_my_homedog (https://instagram.com/castiel_is_my_homedog/)
Twitter: @Cateybrooks
Kik: remadebyhumans
Sorry for any mistakes! Lots of love and thanks again dears for sticking with me. It just truly means so much to me. Really it does. I'm so glad to be writing again. I can hardly stand it. Thanks.