Young Writers Society

Please help me. It needs a lot of work.

-Sea-

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The boy smiled in agreement and turned to retrieve his coat. I need to follow him. I told myself. He knows something very important, something that can help me. His back was turned to me as he slipped on his coat and stepped out into the cold without another word. He paused for a moment, observing the swirling river of people, waiting for a chance to join the flow. Only then did I rise from my hiding spot to pursue. I walked briskly to the front of the store and reached the door just in time to see Mr. Hunt step out into the crowd. Forcing the door open, I slipped outside and was immediately blasted with a gust of chilling wind. I looked to my right and saw the boy’s jet hair thrashing about wildly as if it were an underwater plant moving with the current. I tried to keep my eyes trained on the figure that moved with such speed and agility through the crowd, but he kept bobbing under and above the surface of the human river. As quickly as possible, I darted through gaps in the crowd, struggling to keep the boy in sight. Several people shoved me backwards, but I had no room to fall. Impatient cries slapped me from all directions as I managed to get into someone else’s way, but their exact words were blown away before I could hear them. Suddenly, the boy turned the corner into an alley just a few yards ahead of me. I quickened my pace so as not to lose him. Trying to attract as little attention to myself as possible while maintaining an acceptable speed, I pushed my way through the crowd.

At last, I broke through the swarm and dove into the alley. The boy had disappeared. Hating myself for not following more closely, I walked, crestfallen, through the alley, dragging the toe of my shoes with each step. Mindlessly, I ran my finger along the side of the building on my right, letting it slide along the rough surface, feeling every ridge, bump, and crevice. My finger dropped when I came across a wide recess in the wall as there was nothing left to support it. A strong hand gripped my arm and yanked me into the space with such force that I lost my balance and hit the back of my head on the back wall. I gasped in surprise and agony. Closing my eyes to muffle the dull throb in my head, I tried to bring my hands up defensively. Before I had time to react, my arms had been pushed back to my sides. I opened my eyes just in time to see Mr. Hunt pin me up against the wall with his forearm across my chest.

“I’m going to ask you some very simple questions, and you are going to answer me honestly and quickly. Nod if you understand,” he hissed, his face so close to mine that his puffs of white breath swirled in my face. I desperately wanted to respond, but found myself immobile with the fear and panic that had suddenly been added to the rest of my nerves from the day. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the boy, so I stared nervously to the side. Finally, I managed to bow my head in the slightest form of a nod.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Vyla,” I mumbled. “Vyla Shaw.”

“Very good, Vyla. Now, tell me. Why were you following me?”

Now what? What was I supposed to tell him if I didn’t even really know the answer myself. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Answers. It seemed as though that’s what we both wanted, but neither of us had found anything. I couldn’t tell him the truth. That would make him even more mistrusting of me than he already was. At a loss for words, I bit my lip and stared at the ground.

“Well?” the boy sighed impatiently, pressing me a little harder against the bricks. When I remained silent, he added: “Miss Shaw, if you insist on refusing to answer, at least show me the common courtesy of looking me in the eye when I speak to you.”

Hesitantly, I lifted my eyes to meet his and immediately felt weak. All my sense of power was drained from me at a horrifying speed. His eyes contained such an air of authority that I couldn’t look away, and a sickening feeling of helplessness gripped me. His eyes were the boldest and most electric shade of blue I had ever seen. In fact, if I hadn’t looked closely I would have assumed that they were artificial. The rest of his thin features were softly angled, his forehead covered by a long curtain of bangs that hung just below his brow line. With such pitch hair, his fair skin appeared extremely pale.

I swallowed hard and locked my gaze on his eyes. For a short moment, a strange glint of friendly lightheartedness flashed through them, as if he had been living his entire life in some obscure joke that only he understood. Suddenly, I felt an urge to trust him and tell him everything. Still, I paused before speaking.

“That fire. The one you and the shopkeeper were talking about. That - that was my house. When I overheard your conversation, I thought maybe you could explain-”

I faltered at the sudden murderous look in his eyes. In one swift movement, the boy had pulled a dagger from his jacket and pressed the tip of the blade under my jaw.

“Right. You just happened to overhear, and just happened to be a poor, helpless victim of the burning,” he spat, pushing so hard against my chest that I could barely breathe. “Who are you? A cop? Or maybe you’re with the government. If you’re fishing for information, I swear I’m going to kill you.” His eyes widened a little, and I could feel the knife gradually slide lightly down my throat without nicking my skin and stopping at my collar.

“What’s this?” he muttered, tapping the gold chain around my neck a few times with the flat of the blade. I trembled uncontrollably as he slid the dagger under the chain and lifted it upwards until the pendant emerged from the top of my shirt.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded in a whispered yell.

“My – my mother told me to keep it if anything ever happened,” I stuttered in reply.

For what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, he glowered at me, studying my eyes. Then, sighing heavily, he lowered his arm from my chest and reached down to his ankle, pulling out a small slip of paper from a pocket on the inside of his pant leg. Pressing the paper into my hand, he said in a hushed, commanding tone: “Wait about five minutes then go to the address on the paper. You’re looking for Eli Hunt.”

I curled my fingers around the paper and tucked it into my jacket pocket absent-mindedly. The boy drew a silky-white handkerchief from his coat and handed it to me.

“Here,” he said, a little less harshly. “Get all that soot off your face. You don’t want to draw any attention. And keep that pendant hidden.”

Unable to take my eyes off of him, I stuffed the chain back into my shirt and started to wipe at my cheeks. When he turned as if to leave, I blurted: “What if I get lost?”

He looked back over his shoulder quizzically, brushing his hair out of his face and said, “Whatever happens, don’t ask for directions. I’ll find you eventually. I’m good at that.”

I bit my lip and hung awkwardly in silence then quietly inquired, “What’s your name?”

The boy furrowed his eyebrows into a frown, but smiled at the same time. “For now,” he said, “you may call me Mr. Hunt.”

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