“Well, for one, we know Paylon is heading deeper into the forest so that’s where the Hounds will be going,” Alexander says, trying to explain his idea. He should know best since he’s been working with the patrol for over nearly two years. “That means we should turn right and head deeper toward that part of the woods,” he starts rambling as if trying to convince himself.
Alexander sees the confusion on my face and pushes, “Adaline trust me I know what I’m doing. We need to get started now because we will be walking all day to get enough distance between us.”
I reluctantly obey since I don’t have any better ideas. He folds his jacket, shoves it into his bag, and slings it over his shoulder. Then, he hands me one of the water bottles and says, “Besides, it will be a way for us to catch up.” He helps me up and we start heading in the opposite direction of Paylon and Chadian.
“Start from the beginning,” Alexander says, cueing me to update him on where I’ve been the last seven years.
“The beginning would probably be the night I was taken,” I say and let out a heavy breath. I never stop thinking of that night. I glance at Alexander out of the corner of my eye. In my gut I know I can trust him and he really is here to help me, but I don’t really know him. I haven’t seen him in years, am I supposed to just act like that time apart never happened?
“You don’t have to tell me,” Alexander starts to object, seeing my hesitation to talk with him.
“It was November 12th, 5012,” I interrupt him. “I was nine years old.” I know he is practically a stranger to me now, but I do want to walk through that night out loud again. My mother never wanted to talk about it. I start to explain the night to Alexander and as I do I feel myself relive it all over again.
My heavy eyelids fall open and I gaze over the worn wooden walls of my bedroom. A wet and moldy smell fills the heavy air. My eyes are straining to make out much else in the room. It must be 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning. I prop myself up on my elbow and can make out a very dim glowing light creeping under my door. My mother must be up with Titus again.
I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and carefully place them on the icy floor. I walk over to the door and the wooden floor creaks beneath my feet. I pull open my door and the dim yellow light from the fireplace pours in. I look out into the kitchen, and once my eyes adjust to the dim light I see my mother is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs rocking my younger brother Titus in her arms.
“Adaline you should be asleep,” my mother says, not looking up from Titus. This has become routine for us. Almost every night for the past few weeks I’ll wake up and come out to find my mother with Titus.
I don’t respond to her. Instead, I just walk over and sit in the chair across from her. I lay my head on the table and trace its wooden swirls with my finger while flattening out the wrinkles in my thin nightgown with my other hand.
“Is father home yet?” I ask her in a soft voice.
“Adaline, it’s been three months. Your father isn’t coming home,” my mother says with no emotion in her voice. She tucks her beautiful long brown hair behind her ear and turns to face me.
“Sometimes I think that’s what you do in the middle of the night. You just sit up and wait for him,” I pause and a wall of silence settles between us. I add, “I wait up for him too.”
“Well you shouldn’t,” she says shortly. “Trust me, Adaline, I’m not waiting for him.” I look into her empty blue eyes, and I can see the lies swimming in them. My mother stands and walks into her room to lay Titus back in the nest of blankets on her bed. She comes back out and pulls me into a tight hug.
Together we walk back into my room, and I crawl under the heavy blankets. My mother kisses my forehead and says, “We’re okay without him.” I watch as she leaves and closes the door behind her. I reach over and pull open the drawer of my nightstand. I take out an old picture of my father, Titus, and I.
“I miss you,” I say in a hushed voice, thinking somehow he’d be able to hear me.
I remember when we took this picture like it was yesterday. It’s the last moment I spent with my father. We were celebrating his birthday. Well, all of our birthday’s really. Titus, my father, and I all had birthdays throughout July. My mother said she wanted to take our picture so she had my father and I sit on the couch and he held Titus in his arms. He made some joke about how old he was getting, and my mother captured the picture with us both in mid-laugh, but only half of my father got captured in the picture. My eyes scan the photograph, looking in my father’s face for some explanation to his disappearance, but the answers aren’t captured here. I place it on top of my nightstand and roll over on my side.
Slowly, I start to feel myself drift back to sleep until I hear a loud bang on the front door. A second later I hear the door being smashed down and booming voices fill the house. “This is the Garth Patrol. You are under arrest for failure to maintain your payments to the King.” Suddenly
