By the time I arrive in Chicago, I know Zella is alive and well again. She’ll be searching for me, but she won’t find anything. I know how to cover my tracks. I find myself on the sidewalk at the bottom of Sears Tower. It’s good to know where I am. They call Chicago the Windy City but down here, where everyone is surrounded by cement and steel, there is no wind at all. The clouds lightened as it grew closer to morning. The roads will be clogged with cars and it will be even busier than it already is.
I pulled my hair back into a low bun at the base of my neck and covered my hair with a cheap baseball cap. I keep my head low as I followed the crowds of people. I knew where I needed to go and how to get there. I just need to take my time and be careful. I saw a beautiful park in the city which made me stop.
Children were playing on the playground and I could hear their squeals of enjoyment as they swung higher and higher on the swings. A pair of twins with blonde hair in pigtails climbed on the small rock wall. Their parents watched from the benches as they sipped Starbucks coffees, which I could see the steam rise from. They kept glances at their watches, probably worried about being late to work. I wondered why their parents had taken them to the park this early in the morning. Children were children though. The trees were full of lush emerald leaves and now I could hear the wind ruffle them. I faintly remember this place, just a flash of a memory. Mom used to take me here all the time. Oh, Mom…
I crossed five lane roads and high bridges. I took a risk and hitched a ride on the subway, even though I felt extremely uncomfortable in such a confined placed monitored fairly closely with lots of civilians. I put on big sunglasses and hid my face from the view of video cameras. A few times I thought I sensed Zella close by, but the feeling faded away. At the station, I see a wanted poster with an old school picture of me on it. I tore it down in disgust, crumpling it and throwing it in a trash bin nearby.
“Humans,” I muttered, a sick feeling pitted in my stomach. I shifted my backpack uncomfortably and leave the tunnel, again blending into a big crowd of people rushing to their jobs. I walked a few more blocks and stop. I stood in front of an old but fancy apartment building. At the door, I push button number eight and wait.
I may be too late. She may be at work. She may have moved away and given up on me. She may have died and I had no idea. The thoughts kept getting darker.
The speaker starts crackling and a voice emerges from the white noise. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” I declare and that’s all I say.
The speaker goes dead and I started to fear rejection, but the voice came back. “It’s not safe for you to be here, Aimee.”
I laughed. “It’s not safe for me anywhere.” I heard a chuckle and the door swings open. I climbed up the stairs and apartment eight greeted me with an open door. Once inside, the door closed and the deadbolt was quickly locked again.
Nowhere is safe, ever. Not from the angels, not from the humans.
Gray eyes flashed from the shadows and stepped forward. I smiled and ran into their awaiting arms. “Grandmother,” I whisper. She hugged me back and I inhaled her scent; roses and lavender.
She gasped and stepped back to look at me. “Aimee, my child, you’re hurt. Into the bathroom, now!”
I smiled and followed her orders. She has always been like this, ever since I can remember. The head doctor, being her, at the hospital gives out hundreds of orders on a daily basis but I really think it’s more her personality instead. To other people, she may seem cold but I know her. She’s a very loving person, and she worries a lot. I’ve probably given her quite a few heart attacks since I left.
In the bathroom, Grandmother grabbed her huge first aid kit. I sat on the counter like a good patient waiting to be inspected. A quick glance in the mirror reveals that my neck and my jaw have scratches. I took off my sweater to inspect further damage. I had deeper cuts on my back and on my shins. Grandmother disinfected a pair of tweezers and began picking glass out of all the cuts. I could see her try not to notice all of the new scars that covered my body, but her sharp eyes noticed everything. The swollen, pink, shiny flesh stood out against my tan. It was time consuming, but she was patient and her hands never shook. It’s amazing how I had never felt all of these until just now. They started to sting and burn like hell. We were both silent as she worked. I took this chance to study her face. She looked… Tired. Were those new wrinkles? However, her gray eyes were just as sharp as ever. They were focused and bright. Her silver hair was pulled into a messy bun on the nape of her neck, strands slipping out of the hair tie. She probably had a late night at the hospital. She hastily brushed the pieces away from her face and went back to work. She steps away and sets down the tweezers, grabbing some white cotton balls and rubbing alcohol. I rolled up my jeans as far as I could and she shook her head at all of those scratches. I grip the counter as the real torture begins.
Holy hell, alcohol burns. I tried not to grip the counter too hard and break it but I hear a groaning noise start. I took my hands away and clasp them fiercely in my lap. The scar that covered my entire palm showed and I saw Grandmother try not to glance at it. Grandmother made quick work of this, thankfully. She stepped away when she was happy with her work and I put my shirt back on, pulling off my sock to show her my foot. She prodded it with her fingers and rotated my ankle, declaring that it wasn’t broken, only bruised.
“What would you do without me?” She sighed, disinfecting her tweezers and putting away her first aid kit. “You really should get stitches for a few of those.”
“I would have to find a new doctor.” I teased, good naturedly.
She slapped one of the cuts and I wince.
“Je t’aime, Grandmother. You know I do.” She’s the only person I have left now, since Mom died.
“I know. There, now get off the counter. I’ll make you breakfast and you can tell me how you’ve been.” I followed her out into the kitchen, a small but cozy area. The cabinets were made out of a light colored wood. The morning light cascaded down through the crack in her curtains, making the kitchen even warmer. I took a seat at the dining table, which was in view of the kitchen, and watched her make a few strips of bacon and an omelette. She pulled out freshly made bread out of the oven. The French do love their bread.
“It’s been the same. I hide, and when I’m found, I run. Sometimes I have to do little… Um, jobs that force me to come out of hiding.”
Her eyes sharpen as she glances away from the stove to look at me. She pointed her spatula at me for effect. “I know, Aimee, I’ve heard.” Her accent came back a little when she was angry.
Ah, yes. The news. I quite frequently make the headlines. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you have a few good reasons. You can’t just go about doing things like that.” She paused to flip the omelette. “Is it tiring?”
“Yeah, of course, but it’s exciting. I can’t imagine life any other way.”
“I have enough to worry about already without you going around like you’re the next James Bond with a license to kill.” She lectured, returning to full Grandmother mode. “Who knew being a grandmother would be so difficult? Oh, I went to France a few weeks ago. I had to check on the house and tidy it. I got you a birthday present while I was in Horsarrieu.”
“Hmm, I missed my birthday.”
“Dear Lord, girl, how do you forget your own birthday?”
“My age and my birthday are the last things I think about when I’m out there. I’m busy and in a constant state of crisis. I can’t believe I’m already twenty. It seems like yesterday that I was sixteen and... And Mom died.”
Grandmother was quiet for a short time, thinking. This was a hard topic for both of us. She cut the bread and handed slices to me. “Well, what brings you to Chicago?”
I munched on the warm bread before answering. “Zella found me while I was in Ann Arbor. We had a little misunderstanding and I ran over here. I was thinking about visiting you anyways.”
“Good heavens. What were you doing there? It’s not safe to be around all of that radiation.”
I ignored her remark about it not being safe. “It’s a good place to hide. Grandmother, did you know what they did with all of the bodies of the humans that were killed?”
“Well, I’m sure they’re buried with their families in cemeteries and...”
“Grandmother, they are all still there. It’s bad enough that humans abandoned their homes, but I can’t believe this. Their corpses still remain where they were when the blast hit. Entire schools of dead children hiding under desks, families huddled together in basements...”
“Enough, Aimee. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“It makes me nauseous. Why do they all choose to be ignorant and forget?”
It was a rhetorical question so Grandmother didn’t answer. Instead she murmured, “Zella will be furious.”
“I know. Isn’t she always?” I smiled.
“This isn’t a thing to joke about. I’m surprised they haven’t killed you yet.” She busied herself with taking the food out of the pan and onto a plate, which she set down in front of me with a fork.
“They need me. They won’t kill me.”
“Tell me then, how long will they put up with your antics before they decide they won’t need you anymore? Four years is a long time, even for the ancient and immortal. You’re lucky that some of them are extremely patient and think you’re valuable. You need to remember that not all of them share that opinion. They would kill you in a heartbeat. You can’t depend on your father, he has never been a part of your life and I doubt he is the one preventing your death sentence.”
“I don’t know, Grandma, I don’t know.” I said after weighing her words. She was right, even though I would never admit it to her. She was always logical, tidy and blunt. She didn’t say anything and neither did I, taking this chance to eat. It was delicious and I hadn’t had food like this in a long time. I glanced up at the clock on the wall, eyes widening when I realized I had been here for a few hours already. It’s time to go.
“Grandmother, I have to go. I’ve been here too long. It’s dangerous for you.”
“Wait, let me get you your present.” She disappeared into her bedroom and brought back a small box.
I opened it and smiled. Inside was a silver cross hanging on a delicate chain. The cross is a beautiful piece of art; thin wires of gold twist around it like vines and hold sapphires, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds in place. I picked it up and it caught the light, sparkling like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It was absolutely gorgeous. On the back, a few French words are engraved. I can translate it thanks to my father and my pure French human background. I still asked Grandmother to translate it anyways.
Her eyes light up and she smiled. “It means faith is stronger than stone.”
I put it on and admire it, then tucked it into my shirt. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.”
“Time to go, child. But where are you headed?”
“Wherever the war takes me.” I said with a sad smile. I hug her and tug on a loose piece of her hair like I used to do when I was a toddler. She swatted at me and then, I’m gone.