Pieces of Autumn (18 page)

I wanted to laugh angrily, shake my fist at the sky, find some way to let Tate know he was wrong. So, so wrong. I was no one's property. I was a survivor. He thought he was so much better than the rest of us, locking himself away and tending to his little victory garden while the world burned. But there was nothing special about him. He wasn't a survivor - he was still living the horror of his past, quietly, day after day.

Stop it. Don't feel bad for him. He made his choice.

But so had I.
 

If I judged him for what he'd done, I was no better than he was. Telling me I deserved what happened, because I was so desperate.

It was tempting to believe there was something inherently bad about him, that he'd been born with a sadistic streak - after all, how else could someone end up twisted like that? From what Joshua told me, I knew I had only seen the barest hint of what Tate was truly capable of. He himself seemed to believe that he was a monster, far beyond empathy. When I tried to reach out to him, he snarled like a wounded animal. Deep down inside, I knew. He wasn't born this way.

Any person in the world, pushed far enough, was capable of unthinkable cruelty. I knew that - had known it for a long time, but seeing it in action was something different.
 

By dusk, I'd walked far enough that I'd reached the outskirts of a town. It wasn't one I knew, but I thought it must be close to the city.
 

Of course, I had no way of knowing. I could be miles and miles away from where I'd started. In fact, I had no way of knowing I hadn't been deposited on a plane when I was unconscious. I just assumed that I'd been driven here, that Tate lived within a reasonable distance of Stoker. But why would he, if he hated them so much?

Where the hell was I?

The town became slightly more crowded, more dirty. I managed to catch a much-needed drink of water running off an old rain pipe. It tasted rusty, but fresh enough. I couldn't afford to use any of the bottled stuff before I absolutely had to. Dodging through the alleyways and shadows, I kept my head down, hoping no one here was a spy for Stoker. Or Birdy.

I just had to get out of this place. I had to get far away, walking day and night until I was past the reach of everyone who wanted me dead.
 

And Tate.

I still wasn't sure if he belonged in that category or not, and I wasn't going to find out.

The giddiness had started to fade. A sick sense of doubt was tugging at the back of my mind, fueled by misplaced empathy and feverish memories.
 

Even if he was capable of tender feelings, that didn't mean he was a good man. It didn't mean I should risk my safety, my life, out of a sense of obligation.
 

I had no reason to fear Stoker. I'd eluded Birdy for this long, and I could keep doing it for as long as I wanted.
 

I just had to keep walking.

There were eyes on me. I could feel them, watching, wondering. Hopefully not recognizing. Hopefully just idle curiosity, or trying to evaluate me, see if I was worth trying to rob. I silently cursed myself for not changing into something more tattered. In one of the dresses Tate had given me, navy blue and stopping just at the knee, I stood out like a sore thumb. It was dirty and slightly worn from my hike, but not enough to avoid drawing attention.

I would have been better off wearing that stupid sheet.

Compelled to keep moving, keep walking, I kept my eyes on the pavement in front of me and refused to look up. Until I saw a pair of boots there.

My heart stopped. But they weren't that kind of boots. They were older, worn, and...not moving out of the way.

I looked up, to see a big brute of a man in a tattered coat and absurd winter hat that was nearly fraying off of his head. It was far too warm for any of that, but I knew he was wearing it so it wouldn't be stolen.

He favored me with a mostly-toothless grin.

"In a hurry to get somewhere?"

I tried to sidestep, ignoring him, but he moved his body back into my pathway. Heart pounding, I stepped back and looked up at him again.

"Yes," I said. "So I'd appreciate it if you let me pass."

The road was narrow at this point, almost no more than an alley. There was no one else around us - not that it would have mattered. Who would bother to help me?

I had my letter opener in my hand, clutched tight. His eyes immediately went to my closed fist.

"What's that you've got, there?" He lashed out and grabbed my wrist, twisting my arm so violently that I cried out. I had no choice but to drop the letter opener, or risk a broken arm.
 

"Can't have that," he wheezed, shaking me slightly. "You got any other weapons you plan to stab me with, before we get to the romance?"

God, please, no. Not like this.

He was dragging me towards an overflowing dumpster, something to partially shield his actions from any passersby. As if it would matter. Producing a knife, much longer than my makeshift weapon, he grinned again, pressing at to my throat.

"You another one of Stoker's runaways? You got that look." With filthy fingers, he grabbed the strap of my dress and pulled it down, just enough to expose the brand. "Ah, just like I thought. Well, then, you'll enjoy this."

"Fuck you." I spat in his face, to which he simply laughed.
 

"Come on, pretty baby," he sneered. "Give me what you got, and maybe that's all I'll take from you."

Cold fear gripped my heart, and I longed for Tate.

Stop it.
 

He would never let this happen. I had a vision of Tate's boot stomping this scumbag's head into the curb, and I couldn't hold back a vicious grin.

"Good," the man said, leaning in close. He smelled foul, even to someone who'd grown accustomed to the odors of street life. "I see we're finally on the same page."

Suddenly, before I had a chance to react, his eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards. Body flailing, he fell over to the side, a sudden rush of blood darkening his many layers of clothing.

There was a man standing behind him, with sandy-blond hair and a tight smile. He was holding my discarded letter opener.

"Thank you," I said, quietly.

"Don't need to thank me," he said, wiping the letter opener clean on a pile of rags near the dumpster. "I provide a valuable service around here, and I'm happy to do it pro bono. You need a place to stay the night?"

Warning bells went off in my head, but he'd already seen me. He could overpower me at any moment, if he wanted to.

"Maybe," I said. "But how do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," he said. "I'm not going to make any effort to win you over." He turned, starting to walk away. "If you think that's suspicious, feel free to keep going it alone."

He had a pretty good point.

I went after him.

"So, what's your destination?" he asked me, when I caught up.

I shrugged. "Anywhere but here."

Laughing, he gestured towards an abandoned church across the street. "This is a good place to spend the night. We watch over each other here. I don't know where you're from, but things here are a little bit better than they are in most places. We haven't lost our sense of right and wrong."

"That's good to hear." I bit my lip, debating asking him the question that still bothered me. "Where's the city from here?"

He glanced at me. "Which city?"

Well, that wasn't a good sign.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "Any city. I want to get as far away from all of them as possible."

Grinning again, he yanked open the heavy door of the church. "The cities are all up north. Closest one is fifty miles. Head south, and you'll get where you're going."

"Thank you," I said, stepping inside.
 

It did seem to be a sort of sanctuary. Blankets and sleeping bags were rolled out under the pews, with some people huddled around camping stoves, talking quietly and heating up canned food. None of them looked up as I passed.

"Rest your feet," the man said, gesturing to one of the pews. "I'll let the boss know you're here."

Some awareness tingled in the back of my mind. "There's a boss?"

"Well, yeah. Somebody's gotta run this place." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Relax. He'll be happy to see you."

Heart thumping, I sat down just long enough for him to disappear. Then, I jumped to my feet, hurrying to the front doors and pushing.
 

They wouldn't budge.

"Hey," I said, turning to the closest refugee huddled on the floor. He didn't look up. "Hey!" I hissed, more urgently this time. "How do we get out of here?"

His eyes were dim and hollow, when he finally looked up at me.

"We don't," he said.

My mind raced, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why we'd all be trapped in here. There had to be one. It was safer this way. The boss was just looking out for everyone.

Idiot. You walked right into a trap. Tate was right about you, you're as stupid as they come.

Desperately, I hurried down a side hallway and started looking for other exits. The old fire-marshal-mandated signs were long burnt out, but still in place - I followed one pathway, only to find that it pointed to a door that had been thoroughly barricaded with boards and nails.
 

"Where are you going?"

I jumped. The man from the street stood behind me, smiling.

"Just exploring," I said, trying for a casual tone and failing miserably.

"Well, the boss wants to meet you," he said, his hand shooting out and grabbing my wrist. I yanked back, trying to free myself, but it was useless. "He's even happier than I thought. I'll get a nice bounty for you."

This was what I got, for trusting. I'd left Tate and now I was going to die.

And that was what I deserved, wasn't it?
 

The man was shoving a bag over my head, and I coughed and squirmed, stumbling as he shoved me forward and threw me into a chair. I felt ropes winding around my arms and legs. Cutting into my skin.

Another man spoke.

"Well, well, well."

The sound of his voice. The acrid smell of chewing tobacco.

Birdy.

"Hello, darlin," he said, whipping the hood from my face. I squinted at the dim fluorescent bulb that swung from the middle of the ceiling. "We meet again."

"Pleasure's all mine," I whispered.

He grinned, showing off his mouthful of rotted teeth. I cringed away from the sight, from the smell, but there was nowhere for me to go.

"Not for long, I promise you," he said. "Where, oh where, have you been hiding from me? I have to hand it to you - you've done really, really well. I'm impressed. You haven't needed any real help from anybody. That's usually how I track people. But going to Stoker was a mistake." He grinned wider, playing with the point of his knife. "Running away from your new master was an even bigger mistake."

"He's not my master," I spat.

"That's not what I heard." Birdy shrugged. "But, you know how gossip is." Idly, he twirled a key-ring on his finger. "So what did the Viper do, that made you think I was a better option? I'm
dying
to know."

"You know him?" I breathed.

"
Know
him," Birdy echoed, rolling his eyes. "Do I know him, she asks. Yes, honeybunch, we go way back. As a matter of fact, he sold you out."

My blood turned to ice.

"You're lying." I glared at him, daring him to answer.

"Wish I was," he said. "I was almost stupid enough to pay him up front, you know that? Oh well, the end result's the same. We were supposed to make the exchange tomorrow. But as you can see, all roads lead to me."

My heart throbbed traitorously in my chest. Of everything I'd suffered, nothing hurt worse than the thought of Tate's betrayal.
 

"No," I heard myself say. "No. You're lying. He's not like you."

Birdy laughed, long and loud.

"Sweetheart, deep down inside, everybody's like me. They just hide it a little better."

The bag went back over my head, and I kicked and screamed to no avail.
Come on, just kill me. Just get it over with.

But I knew he wouldn't. It wasn't fun for him, unless he could prolong my suffering. Heighten the anticipation. He'd waited a long time for this, and he wasn't going to rush it.

I was being lifted, carried, and no amount of clawing and thrashing made a difference. I was being thrown. Confined. The hum of an engine filled my ears.

The trunk of a car.
 

Would he kill me like this? Drive me into a lake and watch me sink, bound and blind and unable to do anything but helplessly accept my fate?

No. That wasn't like him. He'd want to see it happen.

He needed to witness the fear in my eyes.

For years, Birdy had been a bogeyman in my mind. Memories growing more vivid and more dramatic with time, based on nothing but terror-soaked memories. He was everything I hated and feared. Whenever there was some part of Tate that I didn't understand, I tried to fill it in with horror and madness. Because that was what I knew. I had no concept of how a man could be both ruthless, and gentle. A killer, and a savior.
 

Now that I could compare the two, side by side, I saw my mistake.

But you were right all along. Tate...

Tears were streaming from my eyes, soaking the bag. My fear of Tate's betrayal was the whole basis for running away. It was believable. It was so believable that I let it direct my actions, right into this fatal mistake. But when it came down to it, I didn't want to believe.

I couldn't believe. The part of my mind that had always connected with his, the little thread that tied us together - it couldn't accept what Birdy told me. There was so much darkness in Tate, so many motivations that I didn't understand. But an intention to harm me, betray me...no.

Tate. God damn it, I'm so sorry.

He was the one who owed
me
an apology. All the same, my whole body throbbed with remorse. I had misjudged him.