Little Thief

Little Thief

Note – The name Seva is pronounced  'So-ave-ah'

      Big wet snowflakes hit the windshield of Seva’s car. She shivered and huddled deeper into a blanket, jamming her hands even further up the sleeves of her coat in an attempt to keep them warm. There was hardly any gas left in the tank, and Seva couldn’t afford to waste it by running the heater. She looked across the parking lot at the lights of the grocery store, glowing like beacons through the snowstorm. The last employees were finally straggling out the door, closing up for the night. No one bothered to stop and see why she was sitting there, which suited her just fine.

         Seva waited until the last car drove away, then she got out of her car and hurried to the back of the store. The green dumpster loomed like a monster. A snow coated, heaven sent monster. Dragging an old barrel over, she climbed up, and threw back the dumpster lid. The lid banged as it fell. Something black shot out from beneath the dumpster. The creature knocked against the barrel, which sent Seva sprawling. She hit the snow-covered pavement with a muffled “oof.” Gingerly, Seva got up, dusting snow off her arms and chest. She peered into the darkness, but couldn’t see the critter. “Probably a rat.” She shuddered, “A really, really big rat."
    Seva climbed back up, and dug through the thrown away food. She picked out several items, stuffed them into a bag she pulled out of her pocket, and then meticulously covered any sign of her trespass. She didn’t worry about covering her footprints because the falling snow had already begun to fill them in. Satisfied, Seva turned around, and screamed. A black lump of fur had crawled halfway inside her bag. The head emerged, revealing the jelly donut smeared face of a dog.

      “Only a dog,” Seva sighed, but then her anger kicked in as she realized he was eating all her food. “Get away from my food, you thief! Go on, shoo!”  The dog backed away. He was long bodied and short-legged, and he looked rather pathetic, shivering as snow melted onto his fur. Snowflakes clung to his long ears, and even longer snout. He whined, and wagged his tail.

     “Sorry, little thief,” Seva said. “I can’t help you. I can barely help myself.” She headed back to her car, the brown mutt trotting in her wake. When she opened her car door and got inside the dog lifted one paw out of the snow. He shook even more violently, and gazed at her with adoring, imploring eyes. Seva heaved a sigh, and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine,” she said, “Get in here.”

 The dog leapt in without a moment’s hesitation. He crossed to the passenger’s side and shook the snow off his coat. Seva pulled some food out of the bag and ate a meager meal. The dog watched her every move. She tossed him a hunk of bread. When he caught it she noticed that he was wearing a collar and tags. Seva packed up the food and tossed the bag in the backseat. It landed with a soft thud on top of the other bags and boxes stacked there. She reached across and scratched the dog’s chin, then picked up his tags and leaned in closer.

“Rolf,” she read. She looked at the dog and he waved his tail. An address and phone number were also listed on his tag. Seva recognized the street name. It was in the high-end neighborhood on the other side of town.

“Well, Rolf, aren’t you a lucky duck. What I wouldn’t give to live where you do.” Her head fell against the window as she thought about the apartment where she used to live. It seemed so long ago, seemed as if she had been homeless for years, not months. She thought about the job she used to have, the money in her pocket, in her bank account. She missed that life. The one she deserved. She looked at Rolf again, imagining him running happily through his swanky home.

   “I can’t believe I’m jealous of a dog.”

Rolf woofed, and put his paws on her knee, stretching as far as he could to lick her face. Seva pushed him away, but he just hopped onto her lap and curled into a ball. She rubbed his ears, wrinkling her nose as the smell of wet dog pervaded the car.  Thinking about unpleasant things reminded her of her ex-boyfriend. She had lost her job, her home, and her boyfriend all in the same month. Her boyfriend had refused to let her stay in his apartment after their break up, even though he knew she couldn’t afford a place of her own. Seva had begged him to reconsider, and she thought he had agreed, but then one day she came home after a long day of job-hunting to find her stuff out in the hall, and new locks on the door. She had been living in her car ever since.

Seva ran her finger around Rolf’s collar. “How’d you get way out here, little guy? I bet your owners miss you. They’re probably worried sick. I don’t have a phone, but…” she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, debating. Rolf sat up, and as if he understood her words, put his front paws on the steering wheel and barked. “It’s snowing pretty hard, maybe we should wait until morning.”

            Seva put the dog back on the passenger’s seat. She took off her wet coat and gloves, pulled on a few extra layers of socks and shirts, then reclined her seat and piled on blankets. Rolf jumped over the console and curled up on her stomach, warm and comforting. Seva closed her eyes and sighed.

* * *

            “Ransom,” Seva said. “I could demand a ransom in exchange for your safe return.”

            Rolf cocked his head, first one way and then the other.

            “Yeah, I do sound just like that guy from Oliver & Company. Except he had a kitten.”

            Rolf snorted as if he disapproved of being compared to a cat.

            “You’re absolutely right, dogs are cooler. I bet your rich owners will give me a reward for bringing you back anyway. I could definitely use some cash.”

            Seva pulled up the curb outside Rolf’s house, and whistled. The rambling house was gorgeous,
with a rustic, cabin like appearance. Pine trees covered in snow lined one side of the yard. Tasteful Christmas decorations were on the front porch, with candles glowing in each window, and a wreath on the door. Seva felt as if she had driven into another world. She remembered the tiny tree she had bought last Christmas, and how proud she had been to bring it home.

            Rolf pawed at the window and barked, interrupting her reverie. “You know where you are, don’t you boy?” Seva said as she picked him up, and carried him, wiggling and squirming, to the porch. When she rang the doorbell, a stubble-cheeked man with bed head, still in his pajamas, answered. At the sight of Rolf he practically leapt out the door, and plucked the ecstatic dog from Seva’s arms.

            “Rolf, you little devil, where have you been?” the man said in a British accent. “Love,” the man shouted over his shoulder, “come quick, Rolf is back!”

            “David,” a woman’s voice called, “did you say
something?”

            Rolf whined, and struggled in his arms. With a grin David set him down, and the dog ran down the hall. David followed him, leaving Seva alone out on the porch. She watched them turn a corner and disappear, completely stunned. What was she supposed to do now? A startling mix of emotions swirled inside her. She was happy, and satisfied that she had brought Rolf home, but annoyed, and angry that his owners were so rude. She felt awkward and a little bit invisible. Of course, she expected Rolf’s owners to be excited to see him, but really, couldn’t this David fellow have been a little nicer? Your precious pooch wouldn’t have made it home without my help, she thought bitterly.

“Rolf! Oh, Rolf, I’m so glad to see you,” a woman’s voice exclaimed from somewhere in the house. Seva smiled at the joy in her tone, despite her annoyance. She reached out and closed the door, then walked back to her car. Entitled rich jerk face, she silently shouted at the rude British man. Just as she reached her car she heard someone yell, “Wait! Please, wait!”

 Seva turned, and saw a woman on the porch, hurriedly tugging on a boot, her bathrobe hitched up to her knees. When the woman raced down the front steps, red hair streaming, the robe flapped open, revealing her plaid green pajamas. Seva froze. She felt the world shift into slow motion, yet the woman approached fast, faster then anyone should have been able to run in the snow. Before she could step away from her vehicle the woman was sliding to a stop in front of her.

            “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “My husband can be such a doofus. I’m so glad I caught you, I didn’t want you to leave without this.” She extended an envelope. “Thank you for returning Rolf to us.”

            “Oh,” Seva said, surprised, though she had hoped for this exact thing. “I didn’t know about the reward. I just found Rolf outside a grocery store last night. He was hiding under a dumpster. I kept him overnight, because of the storm and-“ she realized she was babbling and closed her mouth.

            “Thank you for taking such good care of him.” The woman shocked Seva even further by hugging her. When she pulled away, she extended the envelope again.

             “Keep it,” Seva heard herself saying. “It was, well…it was really nice to have Rolf’s company last night.”

            The woman smiled, and for the first time, glanced at Seva’s car. Her smile faltered, and Seva’s heart plummeted. She didn’t want to see the look of pity, or scorn that would follow. Quickly, she reached out and seized the envelope. “You know what, I will take it. Thank you, it’s always nice to have a little extra for Christmas.” She smiled, as if the money really would go toward Christmas gifts, and not keeping Seva afloat for a few more days. The woman seemed concerned, or perhaps, confused this sudden change of heart. “I have to go now,” Seva said with false cheer, “Merry Christmas!”

            Seva tried to slam her car door, but the woman reached out and held it fast. Utterly humiliated, Seva stared at her lap. She wished the ground would open and swallow her.

            “Would you like to have breakfast with us? I made pancakes.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

            “Do what?”

            “Invite me in, feed me, because…because,” Seva motioned to the backseat of her obviously lived in car, and didn’t finish.

             “You were kind to Rolf when he needed a friend. I’m just trying to extend the same kindness to you.”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Come in and have some pancakes. What would it hurt?”

My pride, Seva thought, but her mouth watered just thinking about pancakes. Even the thought of sitting around the table with these rich snobs, feeling their pitying gazes, didn’t diminish the vision of pancakes dripping with syrup playing in her mind. “Are you sure?”

“We would absolutely love for you to join us.”

Seva got out of the car.

“I’m Sarah.”

“Seva.”

“What a lovely name.” Sarah looped her arm through Seva’s as if they were best friends, leading her back up the driveway to the porch, where David and Rolf waited.

 “David, this is Seva. She’s going to have breakfast with us.”

“Brilliant,” he said. Rolf barked, and pranced around their legs.

David shook Seva’s hand. “I’m so, so, sorry for leaving you out here. I can be such a socially impaired potato.”

 Seva couldn’t help laughing at this unexpected remark.

“He’s a bit odd, this one,” Sarah said, resting a hand on his arm.

“Speaking of potatoes,” David said, “I do believe we have some hash-mash waiting for us in the kitchen.”

“He means hash browns.”

“Hash browns, hash-mash, what’s the difference?” David said steering them inside. The smell of maple syrup, and fresh pancakes greeted Seva as she stepped into the house. The pleasing smells seemed to warm her very soul.

“Seva, we have a proposition for you.”

Seva looked up from contemplating the last bite of pancake on her plate. Despite her misgivings she felt very much at home here, which didn’t make any sense at all. It was freaking her out a little. She kept waiting for the uncomfortable, humiliating, other shoe to drop. Now, Sarah’s words were setting off all kinds of alarms in her head. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“More like a job offer really.”

“What?” she yelped, glancing between David and Sarah. 

 “How would you like to be Rolf’s dog walker?” David said.

“Rolf’s dog walker?” She echoed, dropping the fork in her hand.

“He is alone all day, cooped up in the house. You could come walk him once or twice a day during the week. We’d pay you, of course.”

“You just met me five seconds ago. You literally know nothing about me except that I live in my car, and I eat like a horse.”

David snorted a laugh, but tried to cover it with a cough.

“Rolf likes you,” Sarah said. “That’s good enough for us.”

“And, if you were interested,” David said, “I’m sure more people in the neighborhood would want you to walk their dogs as well. You could have quite a lot of business.”

 “Dog walking. I…I don’t know, I mean… it’s dog walking!”

“You don’t like dogs? Or walking?” David guessed.

“No, actually, it sounds great,” Seva said, astonished. “But I can’t start my own business.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I don’t know how.”

“We’ll help you,” Sarah offered.

“Why would you do something like that for me?”

 “Someone once took a chance on us,” David said. “And without their help we would’ve failed spectacularly.”

“Also,” Sarah said. “We could offer you a place to stay if you’re interested. Just until you can find something else.”

Seva’s jaw dropped. “But I’m a perfect stranger.”

 Sarah smiled, and looked at David, who smiled encouragement. “Actually,” she said, “I think you feel more like…well, this might sound weird, but, like family.” “

David nodded in agreement.

A lump formed in Seva’s throat. “I don’t understand any of this, but I feel the same way. I thought I was losing it.”

“If you are losing it, then we all must be,” David laughed. “Maybe it’s just a little Christmas magic.”

Rolf scratched at Seva’s shoe and she knelt down to ruffle his fur. “Hey, little thief. Did you choose that dumpster on purpose?”

Rolf just yipped, and wagged his tail.

Old Dog, Good Dog

Old Dog, Good Dog

The vet says, “She’s as tough as nails,

She’ll hide her pain.”

“You have to tell her when to stop.”

But how do you say no,

To the pad of eager paws at the jangle of keys?

Waving tail, clouded eyes, hopeful gaze.

Puppy-like zest encased in frail, arthritic body.

How do you say no to an old dog, a good dog?

She hates to be left behind,

stands at the door and barks,

Or at the bottom of the stairs,

head cocked, eyes aglow, waiting.

For me to have a change of heart,

a guilty conscience, or a sudden burst of strength.

She knows I will return, but still 

she hates the parting.

I hate it too; wish I could taker her with me

Everywhere – The grocery store, the library,

the bank, to work and back.

At night I contemplate an elevator

as she watches me climb the stairs,

her old bones too weary to make the trek.

I wish I could carry her around with me always.

Wish that she could grow just old enough, but not too old.

Never too old.

She follows me, my shadow,

or her eyes do, tracking my progress,

From kitchen to computer, and back again.

Alert for a deviation, a change in my route,

ever keen for the next adventure.

Though her eyes are blue with cataracts, her hearing dim,

She knows what I plan, sometimes before I do.

A walk in the park, a trip to the barn,

a car ride with no firm destination in mind.

 “I may be old,” she seems to say, “but I’m not dead.”

“Yes,” I agree. “And I’d like you to stay that way.

Not dead, I mean.”

She scoffs, “Let me decide.”

Walks to the door, head high, though slightly tilted.

Car keys jangle.

Doors open to scents, wind, possibilities.

 At my side, an old dog, a good dog,

steps out into the golden light.

She feels me hesitate, 

Turns to me with a knowing look-

“Life goes on, until it doesn’t.”

I smile, and follow.

The old dog has taught me well.

I Promise

Image found on www.truereality.org

There was a touch on his cheek, his forehead.

He woke instantly, rigid, throwing himself away from the fleeting touch. His back slammed against a wall. The girl that had touched him still knelt over the spot where he had been laying, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

 “I’m sorry,” her voice was husky, like she had just woken up. “I was just checking for a fever.”

            Raking his eyes up and down, he inspected every inch of her, checking and double-checking. She had no fangs protruding from her mouth, no scales where skin should be. He focused on her hands. They were simple human hands, no hooked claws growing from her fingers. The girl was human. He slumped, his head rocking back against the wall and tried to calm his chaotic breathing. When he closed his eyes he saw a scaled hand reaching toward him, felt a hooked talon whisper across his throat. He gasped, and snapped his eyes open.  

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, shifting onto her backside and scooting back a few feet. Her voice was unexpectedly low, and still a bit husky. With the increased space between them he felt a little better. He gazed at his new surroundings, glancing back at the girl occasionally. They were in some kind of small shuttle, clearly old or wrecked because it was rusty in places and coated with dust in others. Two seats in the front of the shuttle faced out the large windshield, the control panel beneath it. The small, circular cockpit was only dimly by the frail light that leaked through the dirt caked windshield. He was lying on the floor in the back of the cockpit, on a pile of ratty blankets.

He looked back at the girl and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mouth and tongue worked as his brain struggled to remember how to speak. Something snapped in his system, pulses connecting and thrumming, but all that left his mouth was a dry cough. His mouth was parched, his throat raw from endless screaming.

            Seeing his struggle, the girl jumped to her feet. He cringed, shrinking away from the sudden movement. He watched her scramble across the room and dig through a shabby, tattered bag. She emerged with a beat up plastic bottle in her hand. Crouching a good distance away, she tossed the bottle to him. He made no move to catch it, and it hit the metal floor with a solid thump. Keeping his eyes on the girl, he reached down and twisted off the cap. He gulped the stale, but refreshing water.

            “Not too much,” cautioned the girl. “It might make you sick.”

            He forced himself to stop after only a few swallows.

            She nodded. “My name is Midnight.”

The name was fitting, what with her dark chocolate brown eyes and jet-black hair, chopped short and sticking up in unruly spikes.

            “I’m…” his voice was ragged and hoarse, a frog-like croak. He swallowed, and paused to think. Hard. It had been several years since he had any use for his real name. “I’m Em-Emer…Emery. I think,” he said at last. His stomach growled and the unexpected noise startled Emery so much he jumped, banging his head against the wall with a sharp crack.

“Easy,” Midnight murmured. “It’s just your stomach.”

Emery felt his cheeks blooming red, and he ducked his head, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I know,” he whispered, ashamed.

Midnight didn’t comment, just got up again to rummage in the bag. She returned with a half a loaf of hacked apart bread. She held out a chunk to him. Emery reached for it, hunger driving away his fear. Their hands touched and Emery jerked as if he had been burned, yanking his hand away. Midnight picked the bread off the floor, studying him with an expression he couldn’t read. She held it out, but Emery didn’t move, terrified he might touch her again. Midnight sighed, set the bread on the floor, and backed away. When she had put as much distance between them as the small cockpit would allow, she stopped and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Emery’s hand snaked out and snatched the bread.

He nibbled on it hesitantly. It tasted akin to sawdust, and was dry as desert sand, but it was food. He coughed, and almost choked as he swallowed the first bite.

“Just take it easy, okay?” Midnight said. “You were pretty sick. Tiger should be back soon, and we’ll make you some soup.”

Emery’s whole body tensed. “Tiger?”

“He’s out hunting now.” Midnight must’ve noticed his panicked expression, because she added, “He’s a friend, Emery. No worries.”

Midnight’s presence felt colossal in the small space. Emery had no idea how he would deal with two of them. He shifted, and his body twanged with pain, from his toes to his head. Clearly, even if he wanted to leave, he was in no shape to do so. “Was I, um…out for a long time?”

“Just since last night. You had a bad fever, and I was up most of the night trying to bring it down.” She punctuated this with a long yawn.

“Sorry,” Emery mumbled.

“Not your fault,” Midnight replied, unconcerned.

For the first time Emery realized he was wearing clothes. Like, actual pants, and a soft, though well worn shirt. They were as far removed from the odd fabric scraps and sacks the Master had thrown at him as this shuttle was from his old metal cage. Emery had wound the scraps around his body to hide his nakedness, and used them as blankets to ward of the chill, though they did little good. For some reason Emery felt better when his bruises and wounds were covered, though there was no one to see them but himself and the Master. Plucking at the shirt, he asked, “Where-“

 A door opened, illuminating the tiny room with brilliant light. A tall form stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun, face hidden in shadow. Emery jumped at the suddenness of the person’s appearance, then winced, his eyes burning. The bright light stabbed at his eyes, unfamiliar and cruel. He squelched himself as small as possible, jamming his body into the corner, his head bowed.

“Tiger,” Midnight reprimanded. “Stop looming, you’re scaring him.”

“Sor-ree,” Tiger said, drawing out the word in a lilting, almost musical way. “I caught us some fat birdies. Should be good for the boy’s stomach.”

Tiger’s speech continued its lyrical pattern, and Emery realized it was the way the boy’s voice sounded, though his first word had obviously been exaggerated. Emery tilted his chin up, just a little, so he could peer at them through his fingers.

 Midnight snorted. “Who are you calling a boy? Last time I checked you were one yourself.”

“Come on, Midnight,” Tiger complained, stepping inside. “Can’t a dude get some respect around here?” He kicked the door closed with his heel, and Emery jolted again when it slammed shut.

“Perhaps, if you stopped acting like such a dope,” Midnight replied.

Tiger rolled his eyes, and tossed her the bag he had hitched across his shoulder. “Here, cook us some grub.”

Midnight caught it easily, and immediately tossed it back, eyebrows raised so high Emery thought they might leap right off her face. “Did you really think that was going to work?”

“Nope,” Tiger said, deftly catching the bag as it sailed toward him. “But it was worth a shot.” With that remark, he turned to Emery, giving him a teasing wink before he moved to help Midnight.

Emery stared, dumbfounded. Tiger was nothing like serious, quiet, Midnight, and he had no idea how to react to the boy’s larger then life presence. He watched their interaction, fascinated, until Midnight and Tiger began plucking and gutting the birds. The sight made Emery nauseous, reminding too much of things that had recently been done to him. He rolled toward the wall, covering his ears and his eyes with his arms. How did I get here? Emery wondered. Who are these two? And where did they come from? His battered body throbbed, and he soon fell asleep with the questions circling endlessly in his head.

“Emery. Em-mer-ee.”

He heard the voice calling, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut.

Who is Emery?

 With a start he remembered that he was Emery. Still, he kept his eyes shut tight. Emery knew this was stupid. The Master would only get angry, and beat him for it. How does the Master know my name? Confused, he cracked his eyes open. A shadowy form leaned over him.

“Emery, wake up.”

With a scream, Emery shot straight up, crashing into the person above him, knocking her backwards. Hot liquid splashed everywhere as she fell. Some of it landed on Emery and he howled, scooting away. He curled up, panting like a frightened dog.

“Holy! Midnight, are you okay?” Tiger hurried to help her up.

“Fine,” Midnight garbled, holding her nose. “It was my own fault. Here,” she thrust the now empty container she was holding at Tiger. “You feed him.”

Midnight went outside, still holding her nose, while Tiger refilled the container, a gallon jug that had been cut in half, with soup. “Emery,” he said, “I have soup for you.” He waited, obviously afraid to approach.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know. She’ll be fine, she’s tough.”

Emery managed to get himself upright. Tiger apparently took this as a sign of permission, and he walked forward until Emery held up a hand to stop him from getting to close. Somehow Tiger managed to dribble a few mouthfuls of soup down his throat. The spoon had to make a long journey to reach Emery’s mouth and much of the broth was sacrificed to the floor. Completely drained, Emery collapsed. 

He woke later to the murmur of low voices. He lay still, listening.  

“Do you think,” Midnight hesitated, as if the words she needed to say left an unpleasant taste. “Do you think he’s looking for us?” she emphasized ‘he’ as if it should be capitalized.

“Maybe,” Tiger said.

 “He knows that we’re here, Tiger.”

“We don’t know that for sure-“

“That guard bot saw us! If He didn’t know before, He does now!”

Tiger didn’t respond for a long time. Finally he said, “I know we have to leave, but I figure we’ve got some time. The lizard’s got acres of land to search.”

Midnight made a disgruntled noise.

“This isn’t exactly our home planet,” Tiger said. “Two, now three, human’s traveling unprotected? That’s like walking around with a sign on our backs that says ‘free meat.’”

“I know, but-”

“Where should we go, huh? And more importantly, how are we going to get there safely?”

Midnight sighed, resigned. “I don’t know, but we can’t stay here, Tiger.”

“We’ll figure something out, okay? Besides, Emery’s in no shape to travel. I’m not carrying his sorry ass again.”

So that’s how I got here, Emery thought. He detected no hint of malice in Tiger’s words, only weariness, so he didn’t take the slight personally. He opened his eyes and stared at the two of them sitting in the pilot seats, faces illuminated from the faint glow of the sun through the windshield.

“Like it really pained you, Superman,” Midnight snorted, but though her tone was teasing, her gaze remained downcast, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“Trust me, Midnight.” Tiger leaned across and touched her hand, his manner serious, his voice losing its musical notes. “We are not going back there. I won’t let it happen.”

Emery inhaled sharply, and their heads swiveled toward him.

“Emery, my man,” Tiger said, jovial again. “How you feeling’?”

 Pushing himself up on one elbow, Emery stared at them with wide eyes. “You were his…experiments too. Weren’t you?”

The smile melted from Tiger’s face, his mouth forming a straight, tight line. Midnight abruptly got up and stormed outside, the door snapping behind her with finality. Tiger stared after her, his expression pained.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister.” He ran a hand through his messy, sandy brown hair. “She doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Sister? Emery thought, surprised. With his bright green eyes and light hair, and his personality that radiated good nature, Tiger was the complete opposite of Midnight’s darkness. Though they looked nothing alike, Emery realized he could see similarities. Despite Tiger’s cheerful exterior, Emery was certain that he was far from docile, just like Midnight had a hard edge hidden beneath her quiet surface.

Emery’s brow furrowed. “How did I get here? Did you rescue me?”

“Not exactly,” Tiger said, getting up out of his seat. He started to pace up and down the room. “He, I mean, the…the…” Tiger stammered, paused, then apparently assuming Emery knew whom ‘he’ referred too, went on. “He assumed you were finished and it was time for a new pet to experiment on.”

 “What do you mean?”

Tiger shrugged. “He threw you out with the trash. Thought you were a goner, I guess.”

Emery’s chest constricted. He felt winded, as if someone had punched him in the gut. With dawning horror, he realized he was wounded. Hurt that the Master could dismiss him so easily. It was as if, after years spent in a cage, tortured and tormented, he expected the Master to have some kind of affection for him. Somewhere deep inside he really expected the Master to care. After all, wasn’t he the Master’s special pet?

Emery leaned over and threw up.

Tiger yelped, jumping out of the way, though he hadn’t been that close to begin with.

“Sorry,” Emery rasped.

“S’okay. Are you…um…finished barfing?”

“I think so.”

“You should probably move.”

Emery closed his eyes, and shuddered. His body ached, but he tried to dredge up the energy to do as Tiger suggested.

“Dude, do I have to carry you? Again?”

“No!” Emery scrambled up. He crawled across the cold metal floor on his hands and knees. Flopping down in a new corner, he glared accusingly at Tiger.

“Relax, man. I know how it is.”

Emery stared at him blankly until Tiger stepped closer and lifted his shirt, revealing scars crisscrossing over his stomach, up his chest, then disappearing around his sides, where, Emery was sure, they continued over his back. Emery knew the Master’s handiwork when he saw it. Tiger dropped his shirt, and shrugged like it was nothing, but he refused to meet Emery’s eyes.

Swallowing, Emery asked, “Did any of his experiments work?”

Tiger shrugged noncommittally. “How ‘bout you?”

Emery snorted in a way that vaguely resembled amusement. “Obviously not, since he trashed me.”

“You sound like you’re sorry he dumped you. Should I have left you in that trash heap?”

Flinching, Emery dropped his eyes, rubbing a thumb over his dry lips. “No. Sorry. I’m grateful, I just…I…He…”
            “Yeah, I know,” Tiger agreed. “He’s a real piece of shit. Fucks up your mind until you can’t even trust yourself anymore.”

“What did he do to you?”

Tiger grunted. “He infused me with all sorts of shit, trying to make me stronger, faster…whatever his sick mind could think of.”

Emery’s eyes slid shut. He saw the Master- lizard-like with his scaly olive green skin, and sharp, pointed muzzle full of teeth. His eyes were golden, and hard, no hint of compassion in their depths. The Master raised his hands, and harsh, unforgiving light glinted off his razor like talons. He thrust those hands at Emery, grasping, grabbing. With a small squeak of terror, Emery opened his eyes. Tiger was watching him, concern knitting his brow.

Emery changed the subject. “How did you escape?”

“The lizard made a mistake. One of his experiments almost finished Midnight, and he left her on the floor, half dead. He had stopped using me for experiments for a while, preferring my services as a regular slave instead. I was pretty healthy at the time, and completely pissed that he killed my sister. When he ordered me to drag her out to the trash, I did it, but I busted up his guard bot on the way out, ripped off my electronic collar, and took off carrying Midnight.”

“So the super speed and strength experiment worked, then?”

Tiger grinned, a lopsided, mangled sort of grin that was somehow as pleasant as a normal smile. “It did, I just didn’t let the lizard know it until it was too late.”

“But didn’t he come after you? Especially when he found out it worked?”

 “Sure, but he didn’t think to look here.”

“Where is here?” Suddenly Emery recalled Midnight’s comment that the Master would be looking for them. Nervous energy gathered in his gut.

“The lizard’s backyard.”

Emery’s eyes felt as if they might swallow his face. His breath caught. He tried to get up, but his weak legs betrayed him, bringing him down on his backside with a thump.

Tiger squatted low, holding out a calming hand. He grinned, a cunning, toothless grin and cocked one eyebrow. “Don’t pee yourself, man. We aren’t that close to the mansion. We’ve been living under the lizard’s nose for a while now. What better place to hide?”

“What?” Emery gasped.

“I mean if you had escaped slaves, would you expect them to hang around?”

Emery thought about it. “No. I guess not.”

“Exactly.”

Relaxing a little, Emery asked, “But how do you survive?”

Tiger shrugged. “You do what you need too. You’ll learn that fast enough.”

“How did the two of you get here?”

“Same as you,” Tiger shrugged. “Slave ship.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Our family sold us,” Tiger snapped.

Emery recoiled from the bite in his tone, instantly sorry he had asked. He offered his own story as if it were a consolation prize. “I was snatched from the street on my way home from school.”

“Bastards,” Tiger swore.

“Why do you think he does it?”

“He’s a psycho, Emery.”

“But he has to have a reason.”

“Really?” Tiger barked, but softened when he saw the distress this answer caused Emery. “Probably some attempt to make us super soldiers. Taking over our planet by using our own kind to do it would be just up their alley.”

Emery made a small, sad noise deep in his throat.

Tiger rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Get some sleep, Emery.” Though his tone remained kind, it distinctly stated that the conversation was finished, at least for now. Emery sighed, and curled up into a ball, hiding his head beneath his arm.

* * *

 “This is a shuttle, right?”

“A round of applause for captain obvious,” Tiger replied, clapping over dramatically.

Emery rolled his eyes at the ancient joke. “Does it fly?”

“Do you think we’d still be here if it did?”

“Why is it here?”

“Abandoned, or wrecked probably,” Midnight answered. “It’s way up in the mountain, so the…”
            “The lizard,” Tiger supplied.

“Probably doesn’t even know it’s here,” Midnight went on as if she hadn’t hesitated, and Tiger hadn’t interrupted.

“Are there parts missing?”

“How should I know, man? I’m not a mechanic.” Tiger shot Midnight a ‘can you believe this guy,’ look. He was smirking though, so Emery knew he was amused, not annoyed. Midnight didn’t bother to answer either question.

The word ‘mechanic’ struck something in Emery. “No,” he agreed, eyes squinted, distant. His head tilted to the side. “But…I think I am.”

“What?” Tiger and Midnight chorused together, colliding as they scrambled from the pilot’s seats. Emery watched their struggle from his place at the rear of the shuttle. Tiger tripped over Midnight’s leg and hit the ground, his hands slapping against the metal grating. Midnight used him as a bridge, stepping on his back to reach Emery.

“Oof,” Tiger groaned, reaching out to grab her ankle. She went down in a heap, limbs akimbo.

“Tiger, this is no time for your stupid games,” Midnight complained, but she was laughing.

“You started it,” Tiger said, smiling sweetly.

Emery felt his own lips twitch in response. He held a hand up to his mouth, feeling the upward curve of his lips. He had not had anything to smile about for a very, very long time and the realization that he still could was shocking.

“Look,” Tiger quipped, feigned awe dripping from his tone. “The stone-faced boy has learned a new expression.”

Blushing Emery, stared at his feet. His smile stretched wider. For the first time since his rescue, Emery felt human again. Though he had been with Midnight and Tiger for only a few days, it felt like a lifetime.

“Let’s get back to the point,” Midnight said. “You’re a mechanic?”

“I think that’s what I was studying in school.”

Tiger and Midnight shared a look.

“Do you think you can get this thing running?” Midnight asked.

Emery shrugged. “I don’t even know if I’m right about being a mechanic.”

“Well,” Tiger drawled. “Let’s take you for a little test run and find out.”

Emery stared into the bowels of the shuttle. A zip of electricity raced up his spine. “I know this,” he said, astounded. Excitement rocketed in his chest. “Tiger, I recognize this stuff!”

“Good,” Tiger said, “because it all looks like alien tech to me.”

Midnight whacked him on the shoulder. “It is alien tech, you dolt.”

“How do you know?”

Midnight opened her mouth to retort, and then shut it.

“Actually, most planets use the same tech,” Emery explained, then blinked in surprise at his own words. He found more facts and data whizzing around inside his brain. It was like he had unlocked a huge, forgotten slice of his psyche. Emery leaned further into the hatch. His arms, not yet up to the task of supporting him, gave out, and he nearly fell inside. Tiger caught him by the hem of his shirt, hauling him back.

“Careful,” he warned, letting go as Emery settled back on his feet.

Emery was so ecstatic he barely registered that Tiger had touched him.
            “Can you fix it?” Midnight asked.

“Not sure yet.” Emery’s head was buried inside the ship again, echoing his voice back to him strangely. “But it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Well,” Tiger said. “Aren’t we just the luckiest slaves around?” and he slapped Emery on the shoulder. Emery winced, but a huge, dopey grin was plastered to his face.

* * *

From high up on the mountain the sprawling mansion looked tiny, insignificant. Emery felt his stomach lurch, remembering what it was like inside. “He probably has another kid in there already.”

 “Someday,” Midnight said, “someone will come and put a stop to it. But it can’t be us, Emery. It just can’t.” She walked off, shouldering a bag full of items stolen from the Master’s dump heap. She stepped into the woods, heading back toward the shuttle, still parked where it had landed who knew how long ago, but now cleaned of debris, and hopefully ready to fly.

“I don’t like it either,” Tiger said, “but Midnight’s right. We can’t stop him.”

“We can’t just let him get away with it.”

“What hope do three unarmed, fucked up human kids, have against him, and his cohorts, Emery? ”

“We’ve got you.”

Tiger’s expression was pained. “I…it’s not enough.”

Emery shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. He flung them away angrily, and aimed a hostile glare at Tiger. “How can you just walk away? Knowing what he’s doing to them?” When Tiger didn’t respond, Emery wiped his nose and added, “That kid was me just a few days ago.”

Kicking at a rock, Tiger swore long and lustily. “Shit, Emery. I know, all right? Tell me you have a plan, okay? Tell me you have a plan, and we’ll go in and give him hell.”

Emery had no plan, but Tiger’s eyebrow waited, cocked and pointed, for his answer. He shook his head, defeated.

“Then we’re beat, man.”

Emery stared, his focus so intent the mansion swam before his eyes. “I’m going back.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Emery.”

“No.”

Tiger shuffled closer, crouching behind Emery. He was so close Emery could feel his warmth, feel Tiger’s breath tickling his neck. He shivered.

“We saved you. Isn’t that worth something to you?”

Emery whirled on Tiger so fast the other boy didn’t have time to move away. They were nearly nose-to-nose, but despite the panic that clawed up his throat, Emery refused to move. “I can’t just leave him.”

Tiger sighed, tipping his head back. “Or her,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, or her,” Tiger repeated. When he faced Emery again his eyes were suspiciously shiny. “It could be a her. Another,” his voice cracked, grew husky. He cleared his throat. “Another Midnight.”

             Emery realized that in the mansion inside their heads each of them pictured another Tiger, another Midnight, and another Emery, trapped inside a metal cage, a terrified kid alone in the dark. Each haunting shriek echoed by the memory of their own frightened screams. Tiger hid his pain under a mask of merriment, while Midnight’s was buried under a ruse of callousness. Emery could not hide his agony, his anger at the world. It leaked out of him, an uncontrollable flow. He knew he was being selfish, insensitive.

            “Sorry, Tiger. I know you…” Emery stopped. There didn’t seem to be anything to add.

Tiger stood up, and held out his hand to Emery. Swallowing, he put his hand in Tiger’s, allowing Tiger to pull him to his feet. When Tiger tried to release his hand, Emery clung to him, suddenly as afraid to let go, as he had been to touch him. He needed Tiger to make him leave, to help him take the first step.

Tiger turned too look at him, puzzled, slightly annoyed. He shook his hand again, trying to shake Emery’s hold.

“Please,” Emery begged, though he felt a hot blush creeping up his neck. Tiger’s eyebrows rose.

“I just…I can’t, I need…I need…help,” Emery tripped over his words, trying to make Tiger understand. It wasn’t just about leaving the unnamed kids inside the mansion, about letting the Master get away with his crimes. It was leaving everything Emery had been here, everything he had become, behind when he did.

 “Fine,” Tiger growled. “But if you tell anyone we held hands, I’ll flatten you.”

Something bubbled inside Emery’s chest, welling deep, and traveling up until it spilled out his mouth. Laughter poured out of him, in joyous, startling waves. “Who would I tell?” Emery gasped. “Midnight? I doubt she’d find it titillating.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tiger said, but he was smiling now too.

Emery followed Tiger, their clasped hands somehow making it easier to fight down the mixed emotions fighting for supremacy inside him. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he tugged Tiger’s arm, forcing him to stop.

“Tiger,” he whispered.

 “Yeah?”

“Promise me we’ll come back and stop him someday. Promise me we’ll stop the whole fucking slave trade.”

Tiger turned to face Emery just as Midnight emerged on the trail next to them. Emery startled at her sudden appearance, gripping Tiger’s hand tighter. She took in their clasped hands wordlessly. Tiger did not let go, didn’t even flinch at her catching them in such an embarrassing position. The siblings shared a meaningful look, loaded with silent questions. Midnight stepped closer, taking each of them by the hand, closing the circle. The corners of her mouth tipped up in a faint smile.

Tiger looked at Emery, his eyes full. “I promise.”

~John Green

"You- you alone will have the stars as no one else has them…in one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night…You-only you- will have stars that can laugh." ~Antoine De Saint-Exupery

"I am and always will be the optimist. The hoper of far-flung hopes, the dreamer of improbable dreams." ~Doctor Who