Torn

Part of what I hope will eventually become a book.

She was gone. I remember that night. Soldiers rushing in, wearing all black. The sound of breaking glass. A cold breeze chilling me to the bone. The smell of gas being poured all over the floor. A girl’s scream. Yelling. The rush of my heart pounding a mile a minute. A voice. “Leave the boy.” Silence. A single match being struck, dropping as if in slow motion. Then nothing.

* * * * * * * * *

The open market was as busy as usual, the hot afternoon sun seeming almost suffocating, and buyers and sellers were short tempered, irritable. Thus, the entrance of the boy went almost unnoticed. He darted out of a nearby alley, glancing over his shoulder before he became invisible, just another face in the crowd. Watching casually from the shade across the street, the girl smirked, twitching her fingers in signal and followed, weaving in and out of the crowd with ease. The boy glanced around nervously. He felt oppressed, as if the very walls were closing in around him. His heart raced and he slipped back into another alley, away from the hordes of people.

Moments later, a small group slipped in, one by one. He was gone. “Dangit, Curtis,” the girl muttered under her breath. She glanced up, analyzing probable routes of escape.The window ledge...drainpipes...up to the roof...she thought, her eyes rapidly memorizing every detail. She exchanged a glance with another next to her, both reaching the same conclusion. Their gazes, cool and calculating, returned to the roof for one last glance before the group left, filtering out as they’d entered. Curtis watched from the dumpster and grinned. They, at least, always looked up. Silently climbing out, he took the route they’d seen, landing on the roof with minimal sound and straightened, running and leaping to the next and so on until he reached the third to last, gripping the edge of the roof and swinging over, and releasing his hold before he crashed into the wall. He fell to the ground, landing on his feet and stood slowly, striding into a small trinket shop, the usual tourist trap. A large, bulky man leaned back in a chair behind the counter, apparently asleep, although Curtis knew better-the man was watching his every move. His heart jumped to his throat. Would he recognize him? No, he thought, he could trust his disguise. Walking around the store slowly, he let his eyes wander. His gaze locked onto one piece, riveted, but the moment he reached for it, the man was in front of Curtis, eyeing him with a distrustful glance. A ghost of a smile touched Curtis’ face as he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Can I help you?” the man asked pleasantly. Curtis drew a deep breath.

“I hope so.” He gestured towards the piece and the man’s eyes followed him like a hawk, “Do you have this in black?” The man’s eyes gleamed with recognition.

“We’re all out. I do have it in red, though. Are you okay with that?” I nodded thoughtfully.

“Actually, I think I’d rather wait. Will you get more soon?” He nodded.

“Come back tomorrow at one.”

Curtis thanked him and left, returning to the street and slipping easily into the flow of people. The flow of people that was rapidly constricting. And carrying him towards a plaza. Curtis swerved around, but couldn’t avoid the press of people. He forced himself to relax and become part of the crowd. As they approached the courtyard, he saw what it was.

Up on a makeshift podium in the plaza was a man, heavily surrounded by security. A fake smile plastered on his face, he was the incarnation of arrogance. Politicians. Curtis scoffed out loud. Several of the crowd around him looked at him, clearly offended. He met their gaze coldly until they looked away. The man called for the crowd’s attention. “Good evening! As you may have noticed, I have a bit more muscle with me than usual.” The crowd chuckled, looking at the guards behind him. Curtis rolled his eyes. The politician silenced the crowd with a raise of his hands. “It has come to our attention that you-all of you-may be in grave danger.” A ripple went through the crowd. He raised his hands again and a chill went through Curtis’ body. He backed up ever so slightly, running into the person behind him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Last night, one of you reported seeing the terrorist leader, Curtis Forrest. The source has requested anonymity for his safety.” The crowd burst with accusations and panic. “But not to worry! Your generous governor, Gregory Harris, is sending troops to protect you and your families as we speak. He will not get away from us again.” The crowd roared their approval. Crap, crap, crappity crap. Curtis’ eyes darted around, searching for an exit, but couldn’t find any.

“Lastly, we ask you-all of you-to keep a careful watch. If you see anything at all suspicious, please, tell us. As we work together, we can defeat this great evil among us.” The crowd cheered again and began to disperse. As discreetly as possible, Curtis slipped into a nearby alley, immediately seeking refuge above. He lay quietly on the roof, watching as the sun went down and everything, once again, was still.

That was way too close.

******************

Fire. It was all around him. He looked around wildly. Screams filled the air-one of them, his own. Curtis awoke abruptly, his heart pounding and breathing heavily. He hunched over, face in his hands, and tried to slow his breathing. It was just a dream. He slowly lowered his hands, wearily opening his eyes and sighed. It was still a dark, midnight black around him. He’d learned to fear the dark--it brought dreams, and dreams were dangerous. Looking at his hands again, he hesitated. Should I? he wondered. Putting aside his worries, he smiled as a small flame lit up in his hand, casting a warm, flickering light all around him and bathing him in heat. He’d always found comfort in fire, which was why these nightmares seemed so strange to him. He looked around him again, startling as he saw a pair of glowing eyes, watching him. Peering more carefully, he chuckled. It’s just a cat, he thought. It regarded him thoughtfully and strode off into the dark night. Curtis stood, brushing himself off, and stretched. There was no way he was getting back to sleep at this point, anyway. Casually jumping down to a lower level of the roof, he worked his way back to the now abandoned market in search of food.