Chapter 58 - Joyous Mess

Weeks later...

Edward looks over his shoulder. Still, he does.

That night at the inn, that woman, he tells himself it was just a coincidence. He knows it. Not a horrible trick being played on him, nor his delusions.

But that was the biggest sign if he ever had one. He left the farm, never looking back.

It's different now. The stress of finding and keeping food is less. This time, he rolls into small town after small town. He fills up a new backpack he finds in a thrift shop—wads of bills from his pay in a plastic bag. He doesn't know what else to do with all the money he got from the farm, but it pays for food along the way. Money makes for less stress. He hates to admit, currency equals ease of life, something he's learned to accept the hard way. The Boss proved that hard work allows for living quietly.

He now hikes, but with everything he needs on his back. He took that ferry back to Maine with a ticket this time. He rode at the very top with the wind at his back. If he could live in the ocean, he would. Grow gills and exist peacefully with creatures.

He's a creature. But when he walks by strangers on trails, they don't see how he's made up inside. A nod from people passing by, a curious smile or wave from children if they tag along, that's what he gets.

These days he takes in the atmosphere; he enjoys his surroundings. The constant frantic search for his next meal isn't a worry. When he walks, he's watching the leaves sway in trees. He's watching the birds fly from branch to branch quietly. Weeks after leaving the farm, he's present … in the moment. He camps out in new places and falls fast asleep, only to wake with new strengths.

He wonders how long he'll feel this way. He tries not to think of it, nor that plastic bag with cash running low. He opens his tin water bottle, and that's also low. His stomach knots. Nowhere to get water. It takes a long time for him to cave in.

When he's broken into a cabin, he's feeling all sorts of things. Nerves. His stomach hurts. This feels wrong. He fills his bottle with tap water from the sink. Right by it is a basket of fruit. His hands shake. This is the first time in almost two years he helps himself from someone else's house that isn't Boss's.

He leaves the fruit untouched and moves on. Not unless his life is wasting away will he succumb to taking again.

He thinks about this as he turns a bend. A child. His high-pitched, small, yet big voice echoes through the trees. Edward puts on his shield, the one he wears when people are around. He braces himself. But as he gets close, he sees the boy is young. Too young. Young enough where he shouldn't be alone. His clothes say much; a sweater and tiny boots under soft pants with superhero prints on them. The knees are filthy, so are his hands. A branch in a fist pokes at worms dug up by roots of a tree.

Edward slows. He looks around. No one else, but this boy engrossed in what he's doing.

"Hello," he says. Edward turns to him a bit taken. He wasn't sure he was visible where he stood. He doesn't answer, but the boy does wave. After a moment, he turns back to his messy task.

"I have worm'th," he says. Edward blinks, frozen where he stands. "I have more at home," he adds, as the stick pokes, pokes, pokes. "They don't have eyes … or feet. But if they get hurt, they grow a tail. I've done it to see, but only one time." He says in clear words like it's a bad thing, and he promises he won't do it again.

Edward barely nods. He grips his backpack at his shoulders, wanting to keep walking but torn now that he's in this predicament.

A child alone.

The short human looks up again, bright blue eyes toward his own. Then they widen.

"A dee-oh!" he shouts and points over Edward's shoulder. They look toward the deep, dense woods, and sure enough, a deer stands still. Ears perked. But the antlers are large. Edward instantly knows. He quickly sifts through his knowledge of what season it is, and the circumstance, but mostly the consequence.

Mating season.

His stomach drops to his toes when this boy does the unthinkable and makes a run toward it.

Short, agile legs get far if they move fast enough. In a beat of a second, Edward is running after him. His voice stuck to the back of his throat. So is his terror; hands reaching out to grab that small sweater, the hat attached, whichever.

A finger grazes it. A thumb. Legs pumping, heart hammering, Edward snatches him up.

The boy is airborne with the yank. The deer is stock still, far, but maybe not far enough. Edward sighs heavily with relief. He pins the toddler against his chest and walks them both back to the trail where this all began.

Edward is shaken. The boy? A giggling, joyous mess.

Someone calls from far away. Frantically. A woman.

Her hair long and dark in a braid, her skin golden. She's jogging from here to there, her head whipping from left to right. Edward can guess who she's looking for.

The boy lifts his arms, still in Edward's grasp, and squeals happily. She's found him. He slithers out of his grasp and runs again. This time, the correct way. It takes a second for her to spot him, he's so small.

Edward takes heavy breaths, wipes the sweat off his brow, and steps slightly out of view. He waits for this to blow over. Soon enough, he'll be back on track and on his way.

But a feeling, this odd one in his middle, stays with him for days.

….