Disclaimerrrrr: Yeah.
"There's really no need to clean so much," I hear from beside me.
Nayla ambles to the counter and eyes the bucket at my feet. Her sudden appearance startles me straight upward and clenching the rag in my hands for dear life.
"I didn't know anyone else was here."
Zora's gotten off my back recently, and I guess she's found me so little of a problem that for the past couple nights she's put me on lock-up duty.
Nayla laughs gently, "Every time I see you your brows are furrowed and you're elbows deep in soapy water."
It's obvious she's joking, but I don't laugh with her and instead say: "I'm sorry."
"For taking you're job seriously? That's something to take pride in—"
My head shakes side to side. "Not for that but for the way we met, for the way I treated you when we met."
This (among many other things) had been wiggling in my mind and I've been battling to decide which worry to conquer first. Whether Nayla noticed it or not, I'd been ignoring her. Not my best efforts, seeing as I'd eventually have to ask her a thing or two but that was always the end of our talks. We never seemed to venture farther than how nice the weather was or how the café was doing.
"There's no need for that either," she says after a moment's pause. "One thing you should never apologize for is having feelings."
The light peeking through the windows warms the walls to a pinkish-orange.
—
I punch in the numbers, then stare at the wall as the dial tone drones in my ear. The clock catches my eye, a black cat with bulging eyes and a tail swinging on beat to the tics and tocs.
A sigh is repressed when I hear Martha answer.
"Hello? Nayla?"
"It's Maria. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to make it in time for dinner."
Once the chat is over I go to leave the kitchen, a feeling that I'm being watched pulsating in my toes.
Nayla smiles when I come in. "I'm not keeping you, am I?"
"Not at all. I have nothing to rush off to."
Her forehead creases, "Even on a Friday night? Surely you wouldn't want to spend time with a shriveled old woman when you could—what do the kids do nowadays? Hitting things with clubs?"
I chuckle, "I think you mean 'hitting the clubs'."
"Either way it sounds dangerous," she waves a dismissing hand.
Looking at her wrapped so snug in a knitted blanket, I realize just how aged she is. How small and grey she is compared to when we first met. So strange to have a giant's strength one day and be as tired as a wilting flower the next.
"But I meant it," she says out of the blue. I don't know what she's about to get at, but don't bother to interrupt. "You work hard at the shop even though there's little for you to do, and you always do it."
Our eyes meet and there's an overwhelming sense of grief in hers; I can only imagine what she sees in mine.
"People only work that hard when they're trying to forget something."
For the first time with the first anyone, I think that maybe I should tell. About everything that's been going on, every oddball thing I've witnessed.
"Nayla," I say, almost in a whisper, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
Will I? I should, I know I should. Reluctance pulls at my stomach, almost grinds it to pieces as I sit hoping the words will just fall out already.
"Have you ever…" Go on, tell her. Before you change your mind, before you've missed your chance. "Do you ever…"
My palms sweat and clench the delicate fluff of the seat. I stare into my lap, mind rounding in circles and spinning out of control. The frustration, confusion and loneliness build into a thick stack and shape in my eyes.
It's been a while since I've cried knowingly. Not since the funeral—well, after to be exact.
The sobs stopped soon enough, though. By the time Nayla came back into the room (she had left to phone Martha, telling her I'd fallen asleep watching a movie instead), I was back to normal. Or at least my normal. Which isn't very normal at all.
So that's how I ended up here, bundled on Nayla's couch in the middle of the night. She said that I might as well stay since she'd already told Martha I would. She even insisted I take up a guest room but I was already half asleep and curled into myself.
The exhaustion I felt before has dissipated into a dull liveliness. Awake but not aware.
Out the window shines a pale morning. And inside is a girl going out of her mind.
I lift off the couch to peer down the hallway; Nayla's door is shut and guessing how early it is I don't really expect her to be up any time soon.
There's a notepad and pen somewhere in my coat. Scribble here scribble there, I leave the thank you note on the table and lock the door behind me.
My steps clack against the pavement and I shove my fists in my pockets to avoid the breeze nipping at my fingertips. There's people walking about, more than I expected to see. I guess it's just the night New Dominions are afraid of.
On certain streets, though, there is no one and I find myself going back and forth in lazy zigzags. Eventually I linger along the abandoned ones and dance in my own desolation.
It was the luckiest of all breaks. Or perhaps a simple misfortune—for the girl, anyway.
The wisps finally found her again, just like Master asked them to. It was the crying that had lead them. Clueless and ordered not to return until they had found her, the spirits had no way to do so until they stumbled onto the sobs. Once uncovered they were hard to ignore and boomed over anyone else within hearing range.
The eyeless heads stare from the shadow of a darkened alley. Here they are safest, the darkness will always be home. They ooh and ahh at the girl, more rapt than presents on Christmas Eve.
To them, she glows.
See, the teeny monsters could only view a world in its blankest form, a slate of black and white with little exception. Master had told them to watch the girl when she could not, and now they were glad they did.
The girl is an exception who burns holes into their bare canvas, radiating a haze of yellow on her silhouette. What Master would want with such a pretty thing, they'd rather not ask.
Questioning Master would seep through as doubt, and if Master hated anything more than everything else in the world it's—
"Well, did you find her?"
Speak of the devil.
The assembly of minions communicate as one to relay the message.
"Good."
Along the telepathic wave, they ask what they should do next.
"Do as you are. Watch and nothing more. And if I catch any one of you disobeying…"
Master let her words hang. A threat is a threat by every meaning when it came from Master and the wisps already learned their lesson last time for getting caught by the girl.
"If you can do as asked, I just might think about rewarding you."
With that the string is ripped. And now, with a possibility of a gift dangling from the tips of Master's hands, the wisps could not risk screwing up. They are too busy itching in the wake of some awaited fun.
The yard is a ruckus when I arrive at Martha's. In the open space on the house's side stand some of the kids in a tight circle.
When within hearing range, I ask, "What's going on?"
One of the boys waves his little arm at me, "Look look look!"
"I don't see anything," I say, "except mud."
They are all filthy in fact, each bitty pair of feet coated in dirt and grass stains on some pant legs.
"Inside his hand," instructs another one.
Before doing so I make a mental note to learn everyone's name (why I've waited until now is a thought for another time) and watch the sliver of movement between his fingers.
"A lizard?"
Aya's head shakes, "A newt! We found him over at a muddy spot behind the bushes."
"Ain't he cool?"
"Can we keep 'em?"
"Well, what about his little newt-family?" I say, squatting to eye-level with them.
"Why would he have a family?" Maya frowns.
"Everyone has a family, even him…little Newton the Newt. How do you think you all got here?"
All of them look around at each other, words stuck like peanut butter to their mouths.
Rushing to cover my mistake, I go back to the scaly, four-legged topic at hand: "I'll get him a jar to swim around in for now. But you all should worry about cleaning up before Martha sees."
In one brisk nod, the kids pick themselves up and follow me in. "Can we at least name him something cooler? Newton is stupid."
They leave me alone after I agree, leaping up to the bathroom as I shuffle in and out of cupboards for a jar. Laborious effort is met with silent success and the spectacle of watching a lizard paddle in circle after circle.
"I think Newton fits you pretty well," I mumble to him.
After a while I hear more noise in the yard and leave Newton to splish and splash in his own privacy. I linger by a beam once outside. Blond, black, and orange heads bop with laughter next to dark dreads and scruffy brown.
Tugging at my sleeves, I build up the willingness to join.
Meow.
I could get whiplash from how fast I turn.
Meow.
Am I hearing things?
Again and again I hear Annie's call but don't see even a paw. I end up passing Martha and the guys with a meek wave. It sounds closer, louder now. I find myself shaded over by a tree, and between the crisp leaves above swings a tail.
One. Two. Three! I'm boosted up onto a branch, half on half dangling off. Another meow brings my head to look up four branches away at a stranded feline.
"Now how did you get all the way up there, hmm?"
Huffing and puffing up three, I latch on to the edge of the last branch and push myself on tiptoes over it. I twist my torso accordingly and sit against the trunk.
"So," I say, "come here often?"
Blink blink.
"Wandering off and getting lost is supposed to be my job, you know?"
A fanged yawn.
Her inability to talk back makes the questions roll quicker. "You really are a mystery, aren't you?"
Ears snap into pointed triangles.
"I don't know why I never realized it before, and I can't believe it took me so long. It was the strangest time to be naïve."
Annie wiggles her way up the branch steady and slow, soon making it to my legs and strolls up those too.
I pluck her into the air above my head: "So what are you and the white thing? Ghosts?"
I'd say she's irritated but that would mean she doesn't always look this way.
"You're ghosts, aren't you? If you are a ghost, blink."
Staaaaaare.
When I finally do get her to blink, it brings no ease to my mind. And why would it? Because ghosts are as normal as the sky is blue? Because every problem would go away simply knowing I'm being haunted?
"C'mon," I scoff. "Let's get you down from here."
How long has it been since I've climbed up a tree? My head shakes, a grin coming on my lips, "Too long."
"What were you doing up there?"
One foot touches the ground, and I glance over my shoulder at the twins.
Rua's teeth gleam in a smile, "Ooh, are you building a tree house? Tree houses are cool."
"No," I say, "I'm just part monkey."
He inhales, "No way! That's the coolest thing I've ever heard!"
"She's joking, Rua," his sister giggles.
"Yeah, I was just getting Annie out of the tree," I chuckle. "But that would be cool, wouldn't it?"
I let Annie go scampering ahead of us. "What if we had tails! Do you know how much awesomer we'd be if we had tails?!"
"More awesome," Ruka whispers.
They blow raspberries back and forth. In the midst of the battle I look back to where everyone else is by the wall, light smoke rising from cooking meat on a grill.
"Do you guys know what's going on?"
"We're celebrating!" Ruka says.
"Why?"
"Well," she starts, "because it's almost been six months."
She looks worried all of a sudden. "It's been six months since…"
"Since we kicked bad guy butt!" her brother exclaims.
Oh, that's what they mean. That Signer against Dark Signer thing. "That's as good a reason as any to celebrate."
The mindful expression fades with a nod. I pat both of them on the head before we make it to the rest of the group.
—
"Need some help?" Akiza asks from the doorway.
I take my eyes away from the tinted window of the oven and respond, "Not really."
"Oh," she breathes, a disheartened look to brown eyes growing.
"Uh," my voice shoots out, "I might need help with setting the table, though."
I count off plates and silverware and hand her half. We don't say much to another, just walk the table round and round, letting items clink in our arms. There's more chairs than I'm used to; that's when I realize I didn't grab enough plates.
I split them among us again, but this time Akiza hesitates to grab them. I can feel the crinkle on my head grow, but don't say a thing.
"Is everything okay? I mean, you know, between us?"
I look her in the eye (a big mistake that is!) then go back to setting plates. "Yeah."
"We really don't talk much, so I thought maybe I freaked you out after that conversation we had."
"Course not."
She gives one quick nod. "Okay. Sorry, I just had to—"
"No, don't apologize."
The plates are equal now but what about the forks? And what about glasses? We'll need those too. What cabinet are they in again?
The oven beeps behind us and I grab the tray, almost slam it on the counter in fact.
"I still feel like something's bothering you."
My head shakes, mitt-covered hands holding onto denial. "Nope."
She mumbles something. I don't answer immediately.
"I'm sorry, I'm just not used to…"
I cave in yet it doesn't matter much. I was going to speak my mind to her, and the only ones left to hear my strangled voice are the empty seats at the table.
"I'm just not used to having friends."
"Now."
Hazy-eyed and sweat drenched, I sit up in bed. It must only be early morning at the latest. I scan the room with a hand running through my hair.
Something had woken me up. In my mind, in my heart—something somewhere jolted me awake.
A book lays on the floor face down. Hmm.
Grumpily, I throw the covers back. I almost tip over face first trying to pick the stupid book up.
My head slams back against the pillow but I don't drift back into wonderland easily. Another small check around the room brings me to leave every object unquestioned. I roll over and mush my face deeper into the sheets.
—
There's something warm on my face. It tickles my nose when I breathe.
I pull away just enough to find that my new cuddle buddy is Annie or, in particular, her bony cat butt.
Haha. Feline behind. Almost rhymes.
Ringing. What's ringing? Why? A phone maybe?
The gears in my head grind together. Not a phone, not an alarm. Or maybe it is.
I follow the sound out my window. I rub sleep from my eyes and try to concentrate. Through the ringing comes thumping footsteps. In the streets are flashing cars.
Something is wrong. I kick off the sheets and grab a sweater.
One of the kids got hurt. Now I'm thumping down the stairs, too.
Maybe Martha had some kind of cooking mishap. The door swings on its hinges and I pad through morning dew.
The worry lessens when I spot Martha chatting with an officer and the kids grouped off by the bushes. I stop at the tape bordered around the back of the house and barely hold down a gasp at the damage.
On the very back wall, in five deep, ragged scratches, someone had carved an X.
Wowza has it been forever since I've updated. So sorry about that. Don't think that I haven't been writing though! Part of the reason I don't update as quickly as I'd like to is because I'm writing. I've got too many ideas for this story and I have to write them down somewhere before I forget them so instead of working on the current chapter, I'm writing 3 or 4 pages of something I'm not even sure I'll ever use.
But that's not an excuse for my updating. Feel free to be upset with me, I'm upset with me! Hopefully the next one will be out quicker :( (But at this point I might as well not bother trying to get your hopes up)
TTFN