"Kristen Part 3" by Samantha E Fortie

I manage to buy another pair of sunglasses, without question, and a raised eyebrow. Not too much out of place in Hot Topic.

            John and Gwen aren’t home, when I walk in the door. Amy is at preschool. I notice a baby picture sitting on the mantle above the little used fireplace. It’s not Amy, it’s a little boy smiling at the camera, not even aware of what a camera is. Is this or was their son? Where is he now? Am I some replacement son? Maybe you know why I they brought in to this home.

***

            Click, someone is home. Gwen almost hits the ceiling, when she spots me sitting in the armchair that faces the door.

            “Wh-What are you doing, home this early?” Gwen’s hands open and close, and she keeps shifting her feet.

            “I needed to.” My new sunglasses slide down my nose. A quick push with my finger and they’re back where they should be.

            Gwen squints, her eyebrows wrinkle up and then she shakes herself. “Are you hungry?”

            “Starving,” having missed lunch.

            In the kitchen a platter of sandwiches appears in front of me, atop the lightly stained table.

            “Eat as much as you like,”

            Which I do. She takes a single sandwich, puts it down, and does not eat it. Instead watches me as I empty the rest of the platter of its contents.

            “Are you still hungry?” She asks.

            “No,” I get up to leave. Then I stop, Gwen’s expression matches Amy’s at the end of our tea party.

            “I know.”

***

            I’m on the white shag carpet. A deck of cards are before me in solitaire formation. The knowledge of knowing that I am going to win, without cheating, isn’t helping me. What does Gwen know? I didn’t ask, I left the kitchen, not even looking back. I place the king of hearts on top the corresponding queen, done I win. A swift shuffle of the cards and I begin again. My parents or my wings? More than anything I hope she knows something about them. If it’s my wings, it could get dangerous.

            Amy walks in on what she calls her tippy toes. Her attempt at not being seen is cute. I look at her and she squeezes her eyes shut.

            “My eyes are closed you can’t see me,” she says.

            “I don’t think so,” I walk up to her and she squeezes her eyes tighter. I tickle her and laughter from both of us, explodes like fireworks.

            Amy’s face turns red and I stop. “Can I have some time alone?” I ask.

            She nods, but before she does, she kisses me on the cheek.

***

            Morning arrives with Gwen holding a tray. “Morning, Amolas thought you would like breakfast in bed.”

            Its Saturday, if there had been school; I would have been ‘absent’

            “Amolas?”

            I look at her “Thanks,”

            “If you’re still hungry, there’s more in the kitchen.” She walks out before I can say a word.

            I cannot make sense of her actions. What the hell does she know? I need to get her alone and find out.

***

            Complaints of a stomach and head ache combo let me stay home. Gwen calls in sick as I expect. John brings Amy to preschool.

            The blue and white pajamas that Gwen and Amy bought me, are a little big, and allow me to relax my wings a bit, not too much as I lay on the couch, watching random music videos on VH1 and CMT. So I like a little country music. I bet you do too. If you don’t you’re missing out. We all have our secrets, I guess.

            Gwen sits by my bare feet, I should clip my toenails again.

            “How are you sweetie?” Gwen asks, I feel like Amy’s age when she does that.

            “Okay,” not a bad groan, I should get extra crackers with my soup or something. I flip for VH1 to CMT and back again. Its either this or SpongeBob, cut me some slack. I lay still and close my eyes, even though Gwen cannot see them. I slow my breathing and wait.

            “Amolas, are you asleep?”

            Well, I couldn’t answer if I was asleep. I fake a snore that would have won some acting award. She strokes my hair and begins to sing a lullaby I don’t recognize, maybe she wrote it. If I remember right, she was part of a band when she was younger. It’s all I can do not to fall asleep. Gwen takes my sunglasses off, they click as she places them on the cherry wood coffee table.

            You can probably imagine the panic that I’m feeling. I am holding my wings as tight as possible against my back. If she knows too much, I may have to leave. Find my parents and see Kristen…on my own.

            I should ask Gwen, what she knows, instead of what I am doing. I face the inside of the sea green couch, letting my back face out towards the TV which Gwen has now shut off.

            This may be the most risky thing I’ve done in my life. No one has seen my wings, but my parents, ever. You probably think I am stupid, but I’m going to do this my way. There is a small chance she knows already.

            Gwen walks back into the living room; her attempt at tiptoeing has already failed. A delicate hand touches my back, with care that I have only felt a few times from my own mother. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to show another person my wings, funny, I have always thought that it would be Kristen first.

            With a turn that must of sacred Gwen, her hand left my back so fast, it was as if it was never there. A soft gasp escapes from between her lips, when she looks into my eyes, unhindered by my shades.

            There are many emotions reflected in her eyes. Shock is one, fear is small, but still there. The most dominant is care and maybe love.

            “Are you okay? “ I ask.

            “No wonder you wear those things all the time.”

***

            At this moment I fear for anyone who knows me. You could also be in danger. Those seniors, who say my eyes, have vanished. School is silent, I see girls red faced and puffy eyed, as I walk down the hall.

            The school has an assembly, the seats are uncomfortable and no one is truly paying attention, to busy text messaging there buddy two seats down, or making paper airplanes to send messages to each other. The principal steps up to the podium, everyone finally quiets down, some even put their phones away. He is grim faced; he has a voice that could make a birth sound like a death, as he addresses us. “You may have heard that these four young men have disappeared, but let me assure you, they will be found!” He slams his fist on the podium, I suppose for emphasis. First my parents and now them.

***

            John is hardly ever home now. The house is hushed, even Amy isn’t her usual cheery self. Gwen will most likely be next, she adores my wings and even wanted to see me fly. I refused, I’ve only tried once. Also what would happen if I was spotted?

            In the living room, Gwen is sitting on the sea green couch, with strands of Amy’s hair entwined in her fingers. I think it’s called braiding. The TV is the only thing making sound in the house I sit beside Gwen. Amy pats my shoe, attempting not to squirm as her wild hair gets tamed. “Amolas don’t worry,” She says.

            I want to laugh. “Gwen, everyone who knows anything about me that they shouldn’t, disappear. I should leave before anyone gets hurt.”

            Gwen’s eyes are wide and Amy is squeezing my shoe. I don’t think she even realizes it.

            “What would you do?” She says.

            Gwen’s eyes keep shifting around, focusing on a different object: a picture, the TV, out the window, then back at me.

            “Fend for myself. Hide in the woods, practice flying.”

            Amy hiccups, and looks at me, her mouth shaped in the ‘o’ of surprise.

            Gwen wraps an elastic at the bottom of Amy’s braid. “Sweetheart, go play upstairs.”

            “No,” Amy’s faces is scrunched up and is beginning to turn pink around her petite ears. I half expect Amy to yell, but her face is still as she picks up Amy.

            “I don’t want Amolas to leave.” is all I understand, before she is crying too hard into Gwen’s shoulder.

            Bonk, bonk. Someone is actually using the doorknocker. Gwen shifts Amy into her right arm and opened the door with her left hand. I stand beside her, a stoic faced man, with a  moustache as thick as an unused piece of chalk, stares at us from the front stoop.

            “Mrs. Ellenwood?” That’s there last name in case you weren’t paying attention.

            “Yes?”

            “John has been shot.”