ungrateful for what they had done. Not trusting him didn’t change the fact that he had saved my life. I would worry about trust later.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
He started to leave, understanding that my story would have to wait for another time. It would have to wait for trust. He paused at the door and turned to me again, his face obscured by the darkness again.
“Can you tell me one thing?” he asked.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You are a human, right?” he asked.
I smiled at the question. “We all are, Reaper. I’m just a little more than you are.”
Though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed he liked my answer. He wasn’t annoyed by the fact that I hadn’t answered him with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no;’ he was more curious than ever. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to satisfy his curiosity…not until I knew for certain he wasn’t the enemy.
“Let me know if you need anything…or you find yourself ready to talk. I’m three doors down. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you would like. I would just prefer to know if you’re going to leave us. It’s a security thing. If you do decide to leave, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Also, feel free to wander around the grounds…My house is your house.”
I nodded and didn’t reply. He left, humming an old song that sounded familiar to me, and I was left alone again with the moonlight, my knife and the odd feeling that I had finally escaped my prison cell.
My mind whirled with possibilities as I tried to catch up with the situation. Was he for real? Had I really escaped? Was I free? It had felt as if I would never breathe free air again.
I lay back on the bed, on the side that wasn’t hurt, and stared at the moonlight streaming in through the large window. It was my first real look at the moon since New Orleans. I had missed it. The moon’s light spoke to me softly; it urged me to relax, to welcome its light back into my heart.
I cradled the knife close to my chest, and felt my brain trying to come out of the emotional protection I had forced on to it. I had kept the pain locked away behind a barrier. But not now. Not here. Feeling was dangerous. I couldn’t do it yet. It was too early to allow hope. I would decide what to do tomorrow.
I shut my eyes, deciding the morning would be a better time for decisions.
Chapter 4
When I woke the following morning, the first thing I was aware of was the birds chirping a greeting to the dawn. I listened to the sound of the birds for a long time. It was the best music I had heard in over a month. Even the pain in my shoulder dulled at the soothing sound of their caroling. I felt a small smile form on my lips as I listened. Their song told me it was okay to feel what I was feeling; it was okay to hope that my freedom was real.
Deciding I wanted to see what the birds saw, I pushed away the blankets that had somehow found their way over me as I slept and stood. The knife had fallen to the bed during my time in dream-land. I grabbed it again, unwilling to go far without my only form of protection, and went to the window.
As I looked out, I realized I was on top of a mountain. Large trees decorated the mountain I was on top of; they were the sort of trees I had grown to love on the west coast. Rough underbrush spread out along the hills under the massive trees. The underbrush was untamed and threatened to take over the dirt driveway with its sharp foliage. I sensed it was done on purpose, to hide the path from anyone curious enough to follow it.
I craned my neck, to look straight down, and saw that I was up high, on the second or third level of a very large, brick building. To my left, there was another large structure that looked like a barn. What I saw through the barn’s open doors suggested it had been turned into a garage. Cars were overflowing the large structure; some of the cars were what I would have expected, but others were fancy and way out of my price range. On my
“You’re welcome,” he said.
He started to leave, understanding that my story would have to wait for another time. It would have to wait for trust. He paused at the door and turned to me again, his face obscured by the darkness again.
“Can you tell me one thing?” he asked.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You are a human, right?” he asked.
I smiled at the question. “We all are, Reaper. I’m just a little more than you are.”
Though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed he liked my answer. He wasn’t annoyed by the fact that I hadn’t answered him with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no;’ he was more curious than ever. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to satisfy his curiosity…not until I knew for certain he wasn’t the enemy.
“Let me know if you need anything…or you find yourself ready to talk. I’m three doors down. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you would like. I would just prefer to know if you’re going to leave us. It’s a security thing. If you do decide to leave, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Also, feel free to wander around the grounds…My house is your house.”
I nodded and didn’t reply. He left, humming an old song that sounded familiar to me, and I was left alone again with the moonlight, my knife and the odd feeling that I had finally escaped my prison cell.
My mind whirled with possibilities as I tried to catch up with the situation. Was he for real? Had I really escaped? Was I free? It had felt as if I would never breathe free air again.
I lay back on the bed, on the side that wasn’t hurt, and stared at the moonlight streaming in through the large window. It was my first real look at the moon since New Orleans. I had missed it. The moon’s light spoke to me softly; it urged me to relax, to welcome its light back into my heart.
I cradled the knife close to my chest, and felt my brain trying to come out of the emotional protection I had forced on to it. I had kept the pain locked away behind a barrier. But not now. Not here. Feeling was dangerous. I couldn’t do it yet. It was too early to allow hope. I would decide what to do tomorrow.
I shut my eyes, deciding the morning would be a better time for decisions.
Chapter 4
When I woke the following morning, the first thing I was aware of was the birds chirping a greeting to the dawn. I listened to the sound of the birds for a long time. It was the best music I had heard in over a month. Even the pain in my shoulder dulled at the soothing sound of their caroling. I felt a small smile form on my lips as I listened. Their song told me it was okay to feel what I was feeling; it was okay to hope that my freedom was real.
Deciding I wanted to see what the birds saw, I pushed away the blankets that had somehow found their way over me as I slept and stood. The knife had fallen to the bed during my time in dream-land. I grabbed it again, unwilling to go far without my only form of protection, and went to the window.
As I looked out, I realized I was on top of a mountain. Large trees decorated the mountain I was on top of; they were the sort of trees I had grown to love on the west coast. Rough underbrush spread out along the hills under the massive trees. The underbrush was untamed and threatened to take over the dirt driveway with its sharp foliage. I sensed it was done on purpose, to hide the path from anyone curious enough to follow it.
I craned my neck, to look straight down, and saw that I was up high, on the second or third level of a very large, brick building. To my left, there was another large structure that looked like a barn. What I saw through the barn’s open doors suggested it had been turned into a garage. Cars were overflowing the large structure; some of the cars were what I would have expected, but others were fancy and way out of my price range. On my
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