Backstab

Chapter 5: Underworld Dreams

Oo0oO

Darkness consumed me the moment I entered the gap, and I felt it rush over me with a wave of cold, musty air. Unlike the shadows of the city above, this darkness managed to feel heavier somehow, and I got the instinctive feeling that something was going to jump out and attack me. Swinging my arms out in front of me, I took a tentative step forward, my eyes struggling to adapt to the dramatic change in lighting.

Behind me, I heard the dull clatter of rocks skidding across the ground, before something warm hit me from behind.

"Sorry," I heard SweetPea exclaim hurriedly, her voice tinged with the slightest trace of fear. That was the problem with humans and darkness. The suffocating of our most valuable sense tended to heighten our imaginations, our minds altering reality into some horrid, twisted version of the truth. It was in this way that shrubs became snakes, that slopes became small cliffs, and anything living became an instant threat.

"Don't worry, it's just me," I responded comfortingly, for my own benefit as much as hers. Somewhere behind me, I heard her sigh in relief.

"Where are we?" SweetPea quickly changed the topic, not wanting to admit her own fear.

I opened my mouth to respond, only to be cut off by an intense flash of light, which rapidly filled the cave in an attempt to blind us. Wincing, I turned away, struggling to clear my vision as spots danced in front of my eyes. When I finally managed, I found myself greeted by a strange sight.

We were standing in a kind of dirt depression underneath the building, which appeared to have been dug out by hand some time ago. In this way, the depression didn't give off the feeling of a ditch as much as it did a small room, complete with four 'walls' built from the brick and wood supports of the building above it. Further adding to the homey feeling of the hollow were various the supplies scattered throughout the area, including a pile of old sheets, several stacks of canned food, and a tattered dog bed that had seen better days. It was on this dog bed that the figure sat, patiently waiting for us to finish our self-guided tour. Having lost his cloak of shadow, we saw for the first time our mysterious escort.

He was a boy of about our age, with tousled light-brown hair and skin to match. His eyes were dark, curious, and seemed to shift in and out of focus as if their owner was in a constant daydream. His clothes were simple and nondescript, giving the boy an overall feel of plainness. Yet at the same time there was something about him that seemed vaguely familiar, though try as I might I couldn't seem to place it. By the SweetPea was eyeing him, I could tell she could see it too.

Throughout our examination the boy remained perfectly silent, though I saw him glance over us much in the same way we did him. For some reason, I found it slightly unnerving.

"Why?" SweetPea was the first to speak up, her voice ringing with forced hostility. "Why did you help us?"

He looked at her curiously, apparently seeing through her veil of anger. "You seemed like you could use some assistance, so I gave you some," he replied simply, giving a practiced shrug.

"That's not a good enough reason, "I pressed, narrowing my eyes. "No one just takes two runaways off the streets without asking questions first."

The boy blinked. "Do you really want me to ask questions?" he raised an eyebrow, amusement finding its way into his tone.

SweetPea and I exchanged a glance.

He smirked slightly as if to prove his point. "I thought not. But to get back to your previous statement, there wasn't really a lot of time to stand back and assess the situation." He continued, choosing his words carefully. "The way I see it, I was given the choice to leave you out there to fend for yourselves, or take a risk and offer my assistance. While I admit my decision may not have been the most obvious of choices, I don't regret it. Plus, you two wouldn't have lasted long out there on your own." He finished with a flat expression, careful to avoid putting emotion into any part of the story.

In spite of herself, I saw a look of irritation flash across SweetPea's face, undoubtedly fueled by a mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and incredibility. "How would you know?" she snapped at him, struggling to keep her emotions under control. "We were doing just fine without you!"

"Depends on your definition of 'fine'," he said in an even tone. "For the last few hours every cop within 100 miles of here has been talking about two girls who escaped from the mental house a little ways out of town. I don't know the details of the situation, but apparently they're being accused of some pretty serious stuff." He looked back and forth between us, gauging our reaction.

Despite my best efforts, I felt myself involuntarily wince. Here before me was a complete stranger, a boy of about our age remaining perfectly calm despite having just accused me and SweetPea of murder, among a number of other heinous crimes. Crimes which, under normal circumstances, would send most sensible people fleeing in terror simply at the mention of them. And yet, knowing full well of what we were being suspected of, this boy was willing to take us into his home without a second thought. Based on this insight, I decided that this boy had to be either completely out of his mind or . . . no, I was pretty sure he was out of his mind.

And yet, the arguments he brought up were undeniably true. If he hadn't shown up when he did, I could almost guarantee that SweetPea and I would no longer still have the freedom we had so long aspired for. If the situation was truly as bad as he made it sound, it would have been a miracle if we had made it through the night.

Exhaling, I cautiously broke the silence. "Look… um…"

"Tyler," he prompted, turning to give me his full attention.

"Tyler. Look, I apologize if we got off on the wrong foot, but me and my friend have been through a lot lately . . . most of which we aren't exactly comfortable sharing." I paused, noting SweetPea shoot me a warning glance. "But despite what it may seem, we really do appreciate your help. As I'm sure you can tell, we really needed it."

I glanced up at him from under my eyelashes, watching a range of emotions flick across his boyish face. As expected, curiosity dominated his features, along with a touch of smugness. And sympathy.

Clearly made uncomfortable by his silence, SweetPea cleared her throat. "And . . . I'm sorry as well," she said slowly, her face tinged slightly red.

Looking back and forth between us, the boy nodded slowly. "It's alright. And I suppose I haven't been the most gracious of hosts either," he admitted, running a hand through his hair with a chuckle. Turning to his right, he grabbed two cans of food from a stack, tossing one to both SweetPea and I.

"Here, I think we'll all be a bit less grumpy once we eat." He said, looking pointedly at SweetPea. "As I said before, I'm Tyler, Tyler Summers. And you are…"

"Babydoll," I said, throwing a glance at SweetPea to emphasize that I wanted her to use her stage name as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her nod.

"And I'm SweetPea," she finished, focusing her attention on Tyler.

Strangely, he did not seem the least surprised by our names, only giving a quick nod. "Babydoll and SweetPea," he glanced at each of us in turn, "it's nice to meet you."

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The rest of the evening passed with little worth noting, despite the strange circumstances under which we found ourselves. After formal introductions we had immediately dug into our meal (which consisted of beans and old water), SweetPea and I doing our best to try not to stuff our faces in front of our host. Instead, we engaged in a bit of small talk, each party asking generic life questions. While I had expected some hesitation from all around, a fact I found concerning was that Tyler seemed almost as hesitant to open up as we were.

Sure, he was amiable enough about his current life and living condition, but the moment we asked about his past he had begun to falter. Though I was pretty confident that he wasn't lying to us, I noticed how he was careful to keep his answers vague and undetailed. For example, when we asked about his parents he stated that he "was no longer in the position to contact either of them". While I believe he expected us to interpret that as meaning 'dead' or 'no longer wanting to contact him' something about the way he phrased it concerned me. However, it was hard to tell if SweetPea had reached a similar train of thought.

On the other hand, he was careful to avoid asking us questions about our past, knowing that even the most innocent of questions could probe some memory we had sought to push away. For that I was thankful beyond words.

After about an hour overall conversation began to die down, and I felt the atmosphere growing slightly awkward in the proceeding silence. I'm sure Tyler felt it too, for it was not long after that he called it a day.

"It's getting late," he had pointed out, making a show of cleaning up his cans and repositioning himself on the dog bed. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, or leave as soon as you wish. If you do plan on leaving though I suggest going at the crack of dawn. That way you can put as much distance between yourself and this city as possible." Here he yawned, stretching out his arms. "Until then, goodnight."

Again he shifted his position on the bed, beginning to pull a few blankets together in a makeshift bed. After slight hesitation, SweetPea and I did the same elsewhere in the hollow. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but we both knew had badly we needed the sleep. Ever hospitable, Tyler waited for us to finish before he flicked off our lantern light with a sharp click.

Once again surrounded by darkness, I felt around until my hand snatched a small blanket, and I buried myself under it, suddenly cold. Weary with aches and anticipation, I drifted off.

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A/N: Thanks to all you readers! Please comment and review!