Chapter Twelve

The kiss grew to the point where it could've turned into a lot more, but that wasn't why I was here. And anyways, I don't think I could do that without regretting it later. She was different than other girls. I almost wanted to say she was special, but that would've been corny even for me. Truth is, the washing machine made a loud dinging noise when it finished, and that's what broke us apart, both blushing and looking at anything except each other.

She tossed the shirt—looking significantly blood-free—into the dryer, and led us back upstairs, while I spent time marveling again at the size of the house. I hadn't bothered to ask, mostly because I couldn't, but I wondered what her father and mother did that they had to be away all the time. Must be a pretty solid job if they could afford a place like this.

Zelda pointed out the TV to me, and went off to make lunch, saying I was free to walk around if I wanted.

That left me where I stood now, staring again at that picture. Did she know how bad this man was? Did she still know where he lived? Was he still in touch with her? I felt my eyes water up, and I wondered if I had a concussion or something. I started to feel light-headed, but I didn't think my nose had bled that much. Head wounds always bled a lot, sure, but still.

I decided to let it go, for now, and wandered over to the couch. I found the remote and started flipping channels, but I wasn't really looking for anything particular. After a while (the old eight-hundred channels and nothing to watch syndrome) I found a semi-entertaining reality show and watched it, only half paying attention.

Today was Sunday, and we had school Monday—Spring Break was still weeks away—but I didn't know how long Zelda's parents would be gone. I guess I had to run back to my house Monday after school to pick up some clothes if I was going to be crashing here for a while. I guess I should really just make tracks back home now, but a couple of things stopped me from pounding pavement.

First of all I needed to find out just how much Zelda remembered about my father—if she knew where he lived now. I still wasn't sure what finding him would do; maybe I just needed a sense of closure, who knows? Second and slightly less important, I was kind of worried about my health. I had been feeling light-headed and my whole body's been gimmicky and unreliable at best. And then, of course, there was Zelda herself.

Maybe I just wanted to make sure she was safe, knowing she'd be all alone in this big, lonely house. Maybe it was more of me being afraid to be alone. Maybe she filled something that had been left hallow for the longest time. I don't know what it was exactly, but I just felt better being around her. Better than I've felt in a long time.

I thought back to the odd way I felt whenever she stepped into the room. Sweaty palms, heart racing, almost the same reaction as when I got scared, but it was a different kind of scared with her, and even I knew that.


I could smell something burning.

It wasn't food or anything, it just smelled like natural wood burning. It was a sweet, smoky smell that could lull you into peaceful dreaming. Warmth fluctuated around me, wrapping me in a cocoon as sleepiness wove me a soft pillow.

Then I heard Zelda scream and my eyes shot open, pulse pounding instantly upon seeing my surroundings.

Fire.

Everywhere, there was fire. The house was burning. I leapt up and took off in the direction of the scream. The weakened frame of the house bended and bowed as the fire ate away at it. How long had it been burning? How much longer would it stay in one piece? I burst into what I instinctively knew was the kitchen and searched desperately for her.

"Zelda!" I called out, getting a lungful of smoke in return. "Zelda, where are you?" I heard her scream again and moved towards the sound; she was close now. I went into a room connected to the kitchen, kicking in the door in my way.

The sight before me was nearly enough to freeze me in my tracks.

He loomed over her, holding a knife, laughing. She screamed in terror again. "Link, save me!"

"Zelda, no!" I rushed towards her, broken from my trance, but it was too late. He brought the knife down, planting it firmly in her heart, and I felt mine throb in response. I clutched my chest. "Zelda!" I screamed, but I could no longer hear my voice.

The man turned around, grinning wickedly. "You've failed her again." An image of my mother's body flashed in my mind. I tried to scream again, to at least curse him for all that he's stolen from me, but I couldn't even take another breath.

I fell to my knees, Zelda's blood pooling around us.

No!

Darkness swallowed my vision and the floor rushed towards me.


"Link!" Zelda's voice cut through the darkness, jarring me awake. I jumped up violently, blood rushing to my head in response. "Calm down! You're okay!" After the spots cleared from my vision I looked around, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

The house wasn't on fire; I was still by the couch, the TV playing in the background. Zelda stood a couple of steps away from me, uninjured and with a concerned frown on her face.

Was it a dream?

"What happened?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

"I think you were having a nightmare," she said, still looking worried. "You were tossing and muttering."

I looked away, and noticed the stack of sandwiches on a plate nearby. That's right, I had been watching TV while she made lunch. It was just a bad dream, nothing more. "I'm sorry if I scared you," I muttered, plopping back down on the couch.

"It's fine," she answered, although she didn't sound totally convinced. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved," I answered, reaching for a sandwich. "Thanks."

She leaned back against the arm of the couch and watched me scarf down a couple before speaking up again. "What was your dream about?"

I brushed the crumbs from my hand and shrugged. "I can't really remember, honestly." I looked towards her to see her face scrunched up in an unreadable, thoughtful manner.

"Link do you think I'm stupid?" she finally asked after a moment.

"What?" I responded, surprised by the question. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Because it's painfully obvious that there's something else going on here," she deadpanned, not beating around the bush at all.

I swallowed anxiously. "I just…" I trailed off, not certain of what to say. I tried to get close to her with the sole purpose of finding my father again, but I didn't really consider her feelings. Of course, I didn't just want to use her; I really did like her, hell, I even thought of her as a friend. I assumed for so long she had to at least be my half-sister that I never could've thought of her as anything else.

No, that's not true.

In the beginning, before I saw the photo… what was my reason then? Why did I help her? Hell, I started going to school just to see her. My stomach did that odd flip again, and this time when I looked at her, I felt something change within me.

"Zelda, I really do like you," I whispered. It was time to come clean, otherwise I would just be wronging her. "But then I saw that picture, and I lost sight of that."

She didn't bother asking when I had seen the picture, but it wasn't very hard to figure out. "Why does that photo bother you so much?" she asked in a gentle tone, not accusingly or angrily.

"That man," I started, but then hesitated. How did I explain everything that had happened? "I think—no, I know he's my father." I had to give this girl credit, she didn't even flinch. In fact, she sat perfectly still, not allowing any emotion to cross her face. It was something I liked about her; she made up her mind about something after thinking it through and then stuck to it. It was a trait I was thankful for more now than ever before.

Finally she said, "You thought he was my father when you saw it." I nodded, feeling a healthy dose of shame for keeping it all from her for so long.

"How well did you know him?" I asked, figuring all cards were on the table now.

Zelda let out a sigh and her features relaxed. She seemed almost relieved. "Not very well," she admitted. "I was still fairly young when she re-married, and he didn't stay around long."

"Do you know why she divorced him?" I asked. Her face scrunched up in response. "Um, sorry, not to be nosey, but—."

"Oh, it's fine," she quickly reassured. "I just wish I knew what he was to you."

My face tightened into a grim mask, unseeing as I thought back to the days I lived a miserable life with him. "He was my father, but only because his damned DNA happens to be inside of me. He's crazy, I know that now, but I didn't know it when I was younger. He beat my mother and me, actually I think he did it because of me," I explained, wincing at all the painful memories bubbling to the surface after years of repression. "I hate him, but I need to find him again.

"When I found you," I explained, relaxing a bit as I thought of the first time I saw her. "I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time—like a hole inside of me was being filled slowly. I didn't know what to do though, because I'd never…" I paused, trying to edit my feelings out. If I kept up the mushy talk my face was going to burn off. "Well, long story short, when I saw that picture I thought you'd lead me to him, and I…"

"Used me?" she filled in. I winced, but nodded.

"There really isn't a nice way to put it," I said in apology. "But please, you have to believe that wasn't my reason in the beginning." For the first time in a long time, maybe since I'd left my father behind, I felt pathetic. Teachers, kids, plenty of people really, had called me a loser in the past, but this was the first time I ever felt truly deserving of the title. This girl—this beautiful woman—let me in her life, trusting me, and I squandered it. Gods I haven't hated myself this much since I lived with my father either.

Now she couldn't totally keep the emotion from her eyes. "I want to believe you, I really do, but," she paused. "I need time to think about this. I still owe you a favor though." She stood up and walked out of the room, returning a minute later with a piece of paper. She offered me the paper, and I took it, looking at it confusedly.

"What's this?"

"His address," she answered solemnly. I stared at the numbers and words, not really making sense of them. I finally had it: my ticket to finding him.

"How do I thank you for this?" I whispered, looking up at her gratefully.

"Leave," she answered, once again showing no emotion. She turned and once more left the room, and I heard her quietly make her way up the stairs. It didn't hit me until after I collected my clothes and started making my way back to the apartment.

I really screwed up this time.