Fallen (5 page)

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said,
with sincerity
, apparently now having overcome his shock at whatever unknown realization he’d arrived at a moment ago.

“Where did you come from anyways? One second you were not there and the next…” I recognized my voice was calming now along with my emotional state.

He seemed to have difficulty answering, opening and closing his mouth several times. Finally, he responded, his voice almost teasing and that slim smirk returning to lurk beneath the surface. “It looked like you needed my help.”

“I didn’t,” I replied, putting my hands on my hips in visible protest.

“How did I kno
w you were going to say that?” h
e teased, allowing that smile to breach the surface, lighting his face with such beauty it caught my breath.

Something happened in him then. It was subtle but I noticed it anyways. He relaxed. His muscles eased up, his expression loosened. It was as if he’d just now encountered a very old friend and fell
into
the same welcomed, tolerant pace at which that friendship had existed.

“You didn’t answer my question. Where did you come from?”

He considered how to answer for a moment and then replied coyly, “That doesn’t matter. What does, is that you are safe…Right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Look,” I said clenching my teeth against my irritation. “I don’t need your help. Okay?”

His eyebrow went up further with a disagreeing stare. “Well…I would say that everything points to the contrary.”

In reaction to that bold understatement, I felt my lips purse in aggravation. To avoid showing that he’d made an observation far too close to the truth, I turned my attention to my bike. It was still leaning against the hedge, making a clear indentation in the once solid wall of green foliage. I reached down and took hold of the handlebars and then leaned back so that my body weight could be used as a pivot to lift the enormous machine back up. It was heavy, despite the adrenaline still pumping through me
,
and
after several struggling heaves
it hadn’t moved at all. I could sense he was still behind me, watching.

Catching my breath, I
warned
, “If you laugh, I am going to…”
H
e cleared his throat
and I stopped myself
. I couldn’t be sure but I think he was trying to cover his chuckle.

I could feel him beside me then. The skin on my arm closest to him tingled – not like with creepy guy earlier today – but in a nice way. I had to fight the unexplainable force inside me that wanted to lean toward him, and knowing it just made me angrier. Never in my life had I felt this way about anyone – much less a stranger. Typically, I tried to avoid boys,
always
knowing that I would be moving on soon
,
and starting anything would be ridiculous and futile. But, here I was drawn to this stranger. It made no sense.

“Still don’t need my help, eh?” he muttered, glancing at me with a playful grin.

“No, I do not,” I replied resolutely, despite the obvious contradiction of that statement
,
as he moved my bike to stand right-side up for me.

Then, i
t occurred to me that he was not drawing in any heavy
breath
s
at the exertion of
what he had just done
. Not a single grunt
,
or even a minor muscle tremor
,
was released. His body didn’t seem opposed to lifting a weight far more than his own. In fact, he did it effortlessly, as if he were pulling out a chair.

When he turned to face me, he must have caught sight of my shock. “Something on your mind?” he asked casually, smirking
once
again.

“That bike is over five hundred pounds,” I pointed out, insinuating.

“And?”

“And you had no trouble moving it.”

He chuckled lightly, still easily holding my bike upright for me by the handlebars. “Just be thankful you have me here to help you.”

I laughed sarcastically. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you.”

This time it was his lips that pinched in protest
,
and for a moment
,
I wondered what response he was holding back.

I slid
into
the seat and refocused my glare on my bike, thankful there was no body damage. Then I turned the key. It spurted, hiccupped, and, after a few seconds of honest effort, died.

I looked up at him in frustration and motioned
toward
it. “Great…”

He then had the audacity to
sneer
at me as he
reached across, grazing my arm -
simultaneously sending a shock wave through my body - and swiftly turned the key. The engine rumbled to life.

I glanced up at him, appreciative and amazed. Those feelings were immediately subdued when I heard his English accent shout over the rumble.

“Maybe it was reacting to your attitude.”

Appalled at his nerve, I felt my jaw hit the inside of my helmet as it fell open. Before I could even draw a breath, he spoke again. “Looks like my work here is done. Good night and be safe.” He then added an afterthought – something I am sure was meant to irk me. “I don’t want to have to save you again before daybreak.”

With that, he turned
and strolled casually
toward
the street, rounding the hedge’s corner and disappearing from sight.

I frowned at him even though I knew he couldn’t see it. I rode down to the
edge of the property
and paused, glancing in the direction he’d gone.

I expected to see him
sauntering
in all his
conceit
toward
the street corner
,
but I was stumped.

There was no sign of him.

I stared blankly
at the empty sidewalk
, a single thought frozen in my mind.

T
he
irritating, attractive
boy who
had
saved my life
had just
completely
vanished
.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of clanging in the kitchen.
Not bothering to move,
I laid in bed wondering if the
noise
might be coming from
my
next door
neighbor
. Then
something ceramic, or maybe glass,
broke and I knew the
reverberation
was much too close to be mistaken for
any place
other than my house.

Ezra had arrived.

I
slipped
out of bed and went in search of
my boots, the sturdy on
es with metal tips in the toes. I had them both on and was
finishing
lacing the second one when
another loud crash came from the kitchen.

“Yu’ll be
the one
cleanin’
that up. N
ot me,” sa
id a rumbling Irishman’s voice
.

I froze.
The voice was male, which Ezra was not.
A strange man was
in my home…and
apparently
he wasn’t alone.

While fear would have been an appropriate reaction that emotion was virtually unknown to me –
I’d only
sensed it
for
the
very
first time
in my life
with the creepy guy in The Square the day before. I was more intrigued than anything.

A few thoughts hit me at once
then
, in a swarm, but I was able to distinguish them. First, why would anyone break
into
a dilapidated house that clearly would not hold any valuable possessions? Second, why would they be so loud about it? And third, why would they start in the kitchen
and care ab
out cleaning up the mess they left there
?

Another higher pitched male
voice followed mimicking the Irishman
but in a mumble.

I grabbed a broomstick left from the previous inhabitants in the upstairs hallway and slipped down the stairs, careful to avoid the steps that creaked. At the end, I peaked around the corner and down the hallway where I could see
two men moving swiftly passed the doorway carrying cartons of eggs and milk.

Not something one wo
uld find
a
trespasser doing, I figured, s
o I rounded the corner and headed
down the hall
.

A scream made me
come to a complete stop
as I passed through the
kitchen
door.

“She’s up!” said the owner of the scream, a man with bright orange hair, square-rimmed glasses
perched on
a long and narrow nose, and wearing a tie-
d
y
ed
tank top. His bones popped out in places where I didn’t even know people had bones
,
and patches of tendons were the closes
t
thing he had to muscle.

One glimpse at him told me I didn’t have much to worry about
in
defending myself.

Of course, his broad, toothy smile might have been a hint too.

He moved across the kitchen with a feminine swagger, wrenched the broom from my hands, and ushered me to a seat at the table.

If I’d ever experienced a dream before, I would have surely thought this was one and I was sleepwalking. Did a complete
stranger just sit me down at a
breakfast table
that had not been there the night before when I’d gone to sleep
?

He
did
,
and shortly after
,
he
shoved a plate full of stark white pancakes at me.

“I made these
especially
for you,” he said, smiling proudly. “Cottage cheese
flapjacks
. Healthy, tasty,
bone-building!” He thumped his chest mightily
and
then rubbed where he’d made contact.

A meaty man three times the size of the little one stom
ped across the kitchen and slid
fried eggs and bacon
toward
me. My stomach grumbled
as the mouth-watering aroma
of the second plate
reached me. But
t
he skinny man
instantly
protested. “She is not going to eat
that bacteria-infested carcass.
”

I glanced down at the plate, noting that it too was new.
In fact, quite a few things were new. The stainless ste
el pans on the stove which the large man was using had not been in the house before this morning. I was certain of it, having done a thorough inventory of the previous owner’s
possessions left behind
.
Appliances
were
now
arranged along
the counters and
small, flowering plants lined the windowsill
. There were paintings, drawings, and artful photography thoughtfully mounted to nearly every wall within sight. Even rugs had been placed at the door to the backyard and beneath the kitchen sink.

I stood up, watching them.
They
didn’t notice. It seemed they were too busy bickering while continuing to make breakfast
.
T
he beefy
man
ad
ded more bacon to the frying pan
and the thin one returned to flipping his
pancakes
, each insulting the other under their breath
. I backed out of the kitchen and headed down the hall, feeling very much like I was the butt of some surprise joke.

I passed the small room off to the right of the kitchen first and noticed it now had a desk, lamp, and mismatched office chairs.
Several boxes, with what looked like framed diplomas sticking out, were strewn across the floor and
on top of
anything with a horizontal surface.

The parlor had now been decorated too. Cushy, forest green couches lined each side of a thick, wooden coffee table. A plant stood in the corner, looking like it had always been there. The mantel over the fireplace was cluttered with candles and vases. Even the poker that I’d left covered in cobwebs stood like
a
new, shining, gold rod propped next to the fireplace screen.

I did recognize that their additions made the house more like an actual home, but
I’d
seen
enough
by then.
Heading back to the kitchen, I stopped at the doorway and demanded,
“WHO are you people?”

“Now t
hat should have been the first order
of
business, shouldn’t it have been?”
said someone from behind me.

I spun around to find a stout, swarthy woman with a mug of coffee and a broad smile. Dreadlocks hung down over her shoulders,
lying
against a dress swirling with colors and intertwined
with the wooden bracelets stac
ked up both of her th
ick arms. Incidentally, s
he only added to the surreal situation.

She
held out her hand
,
and
as I shook it, she explained.
“
I’m
Ezra Wood. Cottage cheese flapjacks, here, can be called Felix Pluck. And there,” she nodded
toward
the giant man who’d returned to the stove, “is Rufus O’Malley…We’re your new roommates.”

I glanced between the three of them realizing they couldn’t possibly be from the same family. Ezra was dark-skinned, rotund, with prominent
, full
facial features
. Felix could have passed for a scarecrow and was
far
shorter than the other two. Rufus stood like a tree trunk: tall, thick, and carved with tattoos and scars.
Yet, he had a depth to him
.
The manner in which he carried himself and his facial expressions
told me that
al
though he could certainly do a lot of damage it was not in his nature.

All this sunk in
while
her final word
registered with me
.

“Roommates?
” I said,
snapping my
head back in her direction. “
Aunt Teresa
only mentioned you
.”

“
She has a tendency to ignore details
,” Ezra
replied
nonchalantly
, standing to pour herself
another cup of coffee
.
She was unapologetic
,
but it didn’t bother me. She clearly
k
new my aunt well.
“We moved in
early this morning
.”

“I’ve noticed,” I replied, my voice sounding defensive
though I didn’t mean for it to. It was a reaction to my mood.

“Thought we’d wake ya with all the racket,” said Rufus over his shoulder.
“Felix dropped his side o’ the couch three times.”

“
I told you and you already know it anyways
…” Felix whined. “I have bad knees.” He then turned to address me. “I am sorry if I woke you.”

“
I’m a deep sleeper.”

I
watched Ezra retu
rn to the table and
then
muttered “r
oommates”
to myself, allowing the idea to
settle
.

I’d never had roommates
before
.
And I preferred it
that
way.
My lifestyle seemed to open up doors
,
dangerous
ones,
for others around me.
It
hadn’t
take
n
long for me to recognize that i
t was safest – for them, for
Aunt Teresa
, and for me
- to keep everyone at a distance and so I had for a very long time.