“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.” -John Pierpont Morgan
[ C H A P T E R T E N ]
_________________
After a brief flight, Tempest and I touch down in my backyard. I fold my (now invisible) wings in against my spine and wince. They’re still a little sore from being smashed in a net. Tempest looks to be in similar pain.
“What now?” she asks.
I tenderly poke my face wound and find that it is almost entirely healed. “We can’t stay long. This is probably the first place they’ll look for us.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Then why the heck are we here?”
“I have to talk to my mother before we go,” I reply. “Also, we should probably stock up on supplies. Would you mind getting some gear from the treehouse?”
“Aye aye,” she declares, mock saluting me before flapping up into my tree.
I roll my eyes and open the sliding glass door, crossing the threshold into my home for what might be the last time. “Mom!” I holler. “I’m back!”
My mother rushes out of the adjoining room and scoops me up into a giant bear hug. “I was so worried about you!” she exclaims, squeezing me tighter.
“Uh, Mom? You’re crushing me.”
“Sorry,” she mutters, setting me down. “How did your rescue mission go? You look exhausted.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, it took a lot out of me. We’re both fine, though.”
“That’s great!” she beams. “How are your other injuries healing?”
I gingerly peel the gauze off my forearm and suck in a breath of astonishment. The gash has already mended itself into a thin line. My shoulder is also feeling significantly better, but I don’t dare remove those bandages. “I feel right as rain,” I report, “but I have to tell you something important…”
“Well, what is it?” she asks, perplexed.
I take a deep breath to steel myself for what I’m about to say. “I have to leave, Mom.”
“What do you mean?” she demands. There is a spark of panic in her eyes: the fear of losing one’s child.
“I have to run away,” I explain. “Fly away, to be exact. Those monsters are already searching for me. Every second I stay here puts you in danger.”
“No, I won’t allow it!”
“I’m going whether you like it or not, Mom.”
“I said no! I forbid you!”
I fight to suppress a snort. My mother has never successfully “forbidden” me from doing anything. “Mom, I know you’re the one who is supposed to protect me, but now I have to protect myself. And if I don’t leave, both of us are going to wind up dead. You have to trust me on this.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it after digesting what I’ve just said. “Can’t you stay with a relative?” she queries, finally seeing reason.
I shake my head no. “I don’t want anyone else to be a target.”
My mother’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Wait here for a minute,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch with interest as she disappears up the stairs. What is she doing? I think to myself. Maybe she has something she wants to give me before our departure, though I have not a clue what that might be. While I wait, I pick my favorite white jacket up off the couch and slide it on.
“Ash!”
I turn around and see Tempest waltzing through the entrance with a dark green backpack slung over her shoulder. “You only grabbed one bag?” I ask, wondering how a single pack could sustain the two of us.
“I’m going to make another trip,” she remarks, “but there’s a helluva lot of stuff in here. Let’s see… for starters, there are several shirts, pants, gloves, and socks of varying lengths to contend for fluctuations in the weather. I also decided to wear one of your spare jackets to save space. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Please continue.”
“Um… I stuck a map in there in case we get lost. There’s a Swiss Army knife and a first aid kit, too. And look at this!” She shrugs off the bag and points at the dark blue roll strapped to the bottom. “There’s even a place for carrying a sleeping bag! I really can’t believe you had all this crap just sitting in a treehouse.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Well, you know… I go camping sometimes.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” she replies. “You had a freaking tent in there! I’d bring it along, but it would be too much to carry.”
At that moment, my mother descends the stairs holding a camo-colored backpack. It too has a sleeping bag, though this one is attached to the top. “Your father left this for you before he… died,” she clarifies, handing it over to me. “He said it was for emergencies. I didn’t know what he meant, so I never gave it to you. Actually, I thought he was out of his mind.”
I heft the bag over my shoulder, adjusting to its weight. “What’s in here, bricks?”
“It’s not that heavy,” she laughs. “Right now it’s holding a water canister, a survival knife, a slingshot, a lighter, duct tape… That kind of stuff is from your dad. I added a bottle of aspirin, shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, feminine products, and a few different outfits.”
I stifle a giggle. “Feminine products?”
“You'll thank me later.”
I am truly grateful for my superhuman strength. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to carry such a burdensome load. “Did you pack any food?” I ask, already starting for the kitchen.
“No, I wanted you to choose your own stuff.”
Tempest and I raid the cabinets, shoving as many granola bars and Pop-Tarts as we can into our bags. I make sure to grab some fruits, such as oranges and bananas. We’ll be able to stock up on food later, but I don’t know how long we’ll be flying for. Come to think of it, I really have no idea where we’ll be going.
“Oh, one more thing!” Mom announces. “Your father left you six hundred dollars in cash. It’s in the pocket inside of your bag.”
“Holy crap!” I shout, dropping an apple on the floor. “Six hundred bucks?! Are you freaking kidding me?!”
“I know it won’t last you very long, but-”
“What are you talking about?” I exclaim. “We don’t have to pay for transportation or anything like that. We have wings, remember? That kind of money could last us months!”
“Oh… okay,” she mumbles. “Just spend it wisely and you’ll be fine, then.”
I snatch my iPod Touch and earbuds from the counter – along with a wall charger, which I put in my pack – and jam it into my jeans pocket. Flying for hours in an expansive sea of blue nothingness is bound to get old after a while.
Tempest pulls two black scarves and two pairs of sunglasses from her backpack. “For protection from the wind,” she says, tossing me one of each.
I wrap the scarf around my neck and balance the glasses on my nose. “How do I look?” I ask, striking a pose and holding my hand out like a diva.
“Simply fabulous, darling,” Tempest quips in a mock English accent.
My mother can’t help cracking a smile. “You look like a supermodel,” she says, capturing me in another hug.
“I’ll miss you, Mom,” I choke, blinking back tears.
“Be careful, baby.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I pull out of her embrace and get back to business. “We have to go now, so you’ll have to take care of the body.”
“The b- Oh, you mean that winged thing!” she stammers, the color suddenly draining from her face. “What do you mean, ‘take care of it?’”
“I mean, go dump it in the river or something. Cut it into pieces and scatter them around the woods. Whatever you do, make sure the wings are hidden.”
“I don’t think I should…”
“You’ll be fine,” I interrupt. “His buddies know he’s dead, so no one will bother to look for him. I just don’t want the authorities stumbling across him by accident. I know it’s disgusting, but it needs to be disposed of by tomorrow morning. Are we clear?”
She nods curtly, but says nothing.
“Good. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. It could be years. But I swear that I will come back. Don’t waste your time crying over me, understand?”
My mother nods again and swallows the lump in her throat. “I’ll have to report you missing after twenty-four hours, otherwise the police will suspect I’m behind your disappearance. I suggest you dye your hair ASAP,” she tells us. “There’s a nice little salon across town that doesn’t get a lot of business, so you won’t run into many people.”
“Got it.” I kiss my mom on the cheek and notice that she too is holding back tears. “After that, we’re heading out. Tell the cops that you overheard me talking with Tempest about running away. That way there won't be a huge manhunt.” Not wanting to draw out this agony any further, I spin on my heel and march out the door with Tempest at my side.
“Good luck!” Mom hollers after us.
I look back over my shoulder and wave goodbye. Then I spread my wings and, with a few mighty flaps, launch myself into the evening sky. I lose my balance and falter for a moment, thrown off by the massive load on my back; but I pull my scarf up over my nose and manage to fall back into a natural rhythm.
Tempest pulls up beside me, her feathers barely brushing mine. "How are we going to do this thing?” she yells over the howl of the wind.
“The cops will assume that we’re running away on foot," I reply. "Regardless, people will think we’re still in the state. Meanwhile we’ll be soaring over Ohio.”
“But there's nothing to do in Ohio, other than gaze at corn,” Tempest complains.
“Hey! I grew up there, and I'll have you know that it's a beautiful state,” I scold. "Besides, I bet Kentucky gets stereotyped worse than Ohio."
"Calm down; I was just kidding you." After a short pause, she adds, Maybe we'll find some actual people.
“I'll have you know that Ohio has the seventh highest population out of the fifty states,” I retort, folding my arms.
Tempest looks at me, confusion written all over her face. “What did I say?”
I shoot her a sidelong glance, but I don’t press the issue. Maybe I just misheard her.
Tempest and I pour on the gas and speed over town, scanning the ground for any signs of the salon. Eventually, Tempest points out a run-down building that matches Mom’s description. We slow down and glide around it in circles, descending onto the roof like buzzards. I stuff a wad of cash into my pocket and instruct Tempest to leave our packs on the roof so we don’t look like runaways. Then we hop down into a small alley below and hide our wings, walking out onto the sidewalk and entering through the front door.
A tiny bell tinkles, announcing our arrival. Right on cue, a rotund woman emerges from around the corner. Her curly scarlet hair looks like something out of an 80’s movie. “Welcome to Ultra Cuts! My name is Jennifer. What can I do for you girls?”
Tempest and I exchange incredulous looks, but I step up and take the initiative. “Yes, we’d like to, um, get our hair cut. And dyed.”
“Temporary or permanent?”
“Uh… demi-permanent,” I mumble. “That lasts a while, right?”
Jennifer flicks her obnoxious hair over her shoulder and chuckles. “Don’t you worry; it should last at least a month. Now, shall we get started?”
Tempest frowns. “Shouldn’t we pay first?”
“You can pay after we work our magic,” Jennifer replies with a wink. Her sparkly blue eye shadow is more than a little distracting. “Satisfaction guaranteed, honey.” She grabs a startled Tempest by the arm and leads her around the corner with a skip in her step.
I rest my palm against my forehead in disbelief. I think I can figure out why this place is having trouble with customer loyalty.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I glance up and spot a hairdresser who has a slightly less dramatic appearance. Her raven black hair is cut in a sleek inverted bob. Light reflects off a silver strand of hair tinsel she has attached to her head. “Yes?”
“My name is Rachel,” she smiles, “and I’ll be the one doing your hair today.”
Rachel leads me to a cushy chair with a black wash basin attached to the back. I stretch out and let my lengthy hair hang over the edge. As she scrubs my scalp with shampoo that smells of coconuts, she asks me generic questions, to which I respond with generic - albeit fake - answers.
“What’s your name?”
“Aubrey.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“What school do you go to?”
“East Terrace High.”
“What grade are you in?”
“I’m a sophomore.”
And so on and so forth. Though she will likely recognize me when I’m reported missing on the news, false information will at least buy me a little time.
Rachel directs me to a comfy salon chair and pumps a pedal with her foot, raising me into the air. “Do you have any specific haircut in mind?” she inquires.
I have to think about this for a moment. I always did like my hair long, even when it obstructed my view while flying. Now, however, I have to think about practicality. “Well, it needs to be really short. I don’t want it getting in my eyes...”
Rachel nods, creating a mental checklist of my requests in her head. She also notes my hesitation. “Do you want to flip through a magazine?” she offers. “It might help you get a better idea of what exactly it is that you want.”
I graciously accept the thick booklet and flip indiscriminately past photos of movie stars and supermodels. Such petty trends don’t interest me. My attention is eventually captured by an image of a girl with steely eyes similar to mine. Platinum blonde hair falls a few inches below her chin and frames her face; her bangs are swept to the side, partially veiling one eye. The haircut is both practical and fierce.
“Is that the one you want?” Rachel asks, peering over my shoulder.
A smile spreads across my face. “Yeah. But the bangs need to be a little shorter.”
“No problem. Would you like your hair to be that color as well?”
“Yes, please!”
For the next hour or so, I doze in my chair as Rachel paints my head and wraps it in foil. I try to stay alert to some degree while the dye dries – I wouldn’t want to nod off in a salon – but sleep is slowly creeping up on me. The past few hours have been a living hell and my body is begging me for some well-deserved rest. I allow my eyes to drift shut, but I dig my nails into my arm whenever I feel my mind beginning to wander off.
After the strips are finally peeled from my hair, Rachel goes right for the scissors. Snip snip! I wince as my blonde locks drift to the floor. I’ll miss them dearly. I close my eyes again and refuse to watch the last remnants of my old life slipping away.
“And… done!” Rachel combs over my scalp a few more times and steps away, prompting me to look at myself in the mirror.
When I work up the courage to peek, I can’t stop my hands from flying to my hair. I hardly recognize myself! My fingers trail through the beautiful flaxen strands, assuring me that it truly is there. And my eyes… this color really brings out the blue in them rather than the gray. I feel so light, so airy, so… free!
Right on cue, Tempest emerges from around the corner. Her ebony-dyed hair has been layered scarily short in the back, but in the front it nearly falls to her shoulders, rescinding to the length of the back at a sharp angle. A black and white striped feather has been pinned to the side of her head. The drastic new look really makes her facial features pop, especially her emerald eyes. I am utterly speechless.
“Wow, Ash,” Tempest gasps, “your hair looks fantastic.”
I am finally able to find my tongue. “It’s nothing compared to yours!” I stammer. “You look like a… a pixie!”
A wide grin finds its way onto her face. “You really think so?”
I leap to my feet, eager to escape the confines of the chair. “Of course! The feather’s a nice touch, too.”
She laughs at this, gliding to my side. I notice that her hair, like mine, smells of coconuts. “I just couldn’t resist.”
Jennifer’s arrival is announced by a flash of crimson. She strides over to her desk and types something on her computer. “Two haircuts and dye plus the feather comes to… one hundred and fifty dollars!”
My delight is wiped away in one fell swoop. “Wait, what?!”
Jennifer makes a beckoning gesture, waggling her glittery blue fingernails. “Pay up, dear.”
I feel a little sick to my stomach. I’m not entirely comfortable with forking over a hundred bucks at this point. It’s only been a few hours since we got the money, after all. “Um… I have to use the restroom real quick,” I blurt. “Can I pay you in a minute?”
“Sure, whatever,” Jennifer sighs, waving me off.
I grab Tempest’s arm and drag her to the back of the salon, ducking behind a wall. “What are we going to do?” I hiss.
“What do you mean?” she queries. “We have the cash. Let’s just pay the lady and get out of town.”
“It’s not only that,” I explain, “they’ve seen our faces. They’ll be able to tell the cops about our haircuts and this will all have been for nothing.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do about that?”
“I don’t know!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “All I know is that I’m not spending a hundred fifty bucks on a wasted effort.”
The two of us lapse into silence, trying to invent some sort of plan before the stylists get suspicious. Tempest’s face is screwed up in thought; I am twirling a strand of hair between my fingers. An idea comes to me first.
“Tempest,” I gasp, “you read minds, right?”
“No,” she scowls. “I read auras. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. The point is that you can get into peoples’ heads.”
Tempest shoots me another look but doesn’t bother to correct me. “I think I know where this is going…”
“Do you think you can you make those people forget they ever saw us?”
She lowers her head into her hands and groans. “I don’t know; I’ve never really tried,” she murmurs. “I can see emotions and personalities. Sometimes I get snippets of thoughts. And when I touch someone, I get waves of information. But screwing around inside the human brain… that’s all kinds of impossible.”
“What about that time you read my mind?” I remind her.
Tempest meets my eyes and blinks once. “That was a fluke.”
“It happened once!” I assert. “I’m sure it could happen again.”
“Even if it did, that’s one thing. Altering the thought is something else,” she says.
“What if you touched the person?”
“No.”
“Come on, Tempest!” I beg. “You at least have to try!”
Tempest makes no comment. She slowly straightens her spine and begins walking to the front of the store. I bite my lip and scramble after her.
“Are you gonna do it?” I ask, nudging her arm.
Tempest stops and whirls around, staring me down. There is a determined glint in her eye that I haven’t seen since our dodgeball match. “Give me two bills,” she demands.
I am slightly confused, but I reach into my pocket and pull out two fives. She snatches them from my grasp and marches right up to the front desk. Rachel is nowhere in sight, but Jennifer is expectantly drilling the countertop with her shiny nails. I swallow and cross my fingers, praying that everything will work out. Our escape is hinging on it.
“Sorry about that,” Tempest drawls. Her syllables sound like they’ve been dipped in chocolate. “How much did you say our total was again?”
“One hundred and fifty dollars,” Jennifer replies softly, already falling for Tempest’s innocent act.
“Right, right,” she remarks, batting her eyelashes and producing the money. “How could I have forgotten? Anyhow, you can keep the change. You did such a nice job, and this place is in dire need of new décor. Wouldn’t you say?” She presses the bills into Jennifer’s waiting palm.
“Oh, thank you!” she says, casting her eyes downward to examine the cash. “Hey, wait a min-”
Tempest brushes Jennifer’s skin with her thumb, probably trying to see into the inner-workings of her mind. “These are two one hundred dollar bills,” she explains in a soothing voice, as if she were speaking to a child. “They should more than cover our expenses.”
“This isn’t two hundred dollars!” she utters, incredulous. “This is only ten!”
A bead of sweat forms on Tempest’s forehead. “Jennifer, look at me.”
Her angry gaze is torn from the cash and fixes on Tempest’s face. “I don’t know what bullshit you’re trying to pull here missy, but you’d better knock it off.”
“Oh, no,” I mutter, pursing my lips. We might be in even more trouble now.
Tempest isn’t giving up yet, though she drops her angelic pretense. The stylist steps back, intimidated by the menacing stare, but Tempest doesn’t release her hand. “I am giving you two hundred dollars,” she growls.
Jennifer’s eyes start clouding over. “This isn’t-”
“I am giving you two hundred dollars,” Tempest repeats, this time with more force.
“…You’re right. I must have been mistaken.”
“You are grateful for our generosity.”
“I am.”
“You have no idea who we are. You don’t remember what we looked like before our haircuts. In fact, you aren’t quite sure what we look like now.”
Jennifer blinks slowly, her shoulders slumping forward. “Who are you?”
“We are no one. We were never here.”
“These are not the droids you are looking for,” I snicker, quoting Star Wars.
Tempest and Jennifer are jolted out of their trance. “Ha ha, very funny,” Tempest says drily, but I don’t miss the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Even so, her eyes are flat and tired. Jennifer just looks confused.
I am starting to feel relief when I hear the distinct clicking of high heels advancing from behind. “Hell,” I whisper. “You forgot to brainwash Rachel!”
“I didn’t forget,” she sighs, turning around to face Rachel. “She just wasn’t here yet.”
“Am I missing something?” Rachel inquires, directing an odd look at my friend.
Tempest wastes no time in placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m going to get right to the point,” she pants. “You don’t remember us. You never did my friend’s hair. If you come across us again, you won’t recognize us.”
“Uh, excuse me?”
Her voice hardens. “We. Were. Never. Here.”
Rachel’s body stiffens; her eyes darken like someone turned off the lights in her brain. “You were never here,” she mutters. “I don’t know you.”
“Good girl.” Tempest pats her arm and leaves her standing in place like a steamed vegetable.
I am already heading for the exit. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine.”
Tempest and I flap up to the roof and slip on our packs. My load is even more burdensome now. I need sleep, but night is rapidly approaching and we need to get the heck out of Kentucky.
I glance over at my companion. Her wings are drooping under the weight of her gear. I doubt if she can even get off the ground in her current state.
“Tempest, if you’re tired we can leave tomorrow,” I concede, realizing that health is more important than haste.
She shakes her head and squares her shoulders. “No. If we stay too long, they’ll find us.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I beat my wings and shove off into the twilight.
==========
The picture is of Aislinn's new haircut. I couldn't find an image that represented Tempest well enough, but you should be able to imagine what she looks like. Think "black inverted bob" if you're having trouble. ;)
P.S. I now have over one hundred fans. Thank you! It really does mean a lot. c: