Fear Itself

Just before leaving, Dean told me that perhaps it was best for us to lay low for the next day. Unless we lived in the tunnels, it was probably best not to be caught entering them. The militia was sure to be on the prowl for the next 24 hours, and it was for the best if none of us wanted to be caught and convicted of robbing the League’s best military supply warehouse. After Avery took me home, I stayed there. It was the first day in awhile I spent my father’s work-time alone, playing with my cat or books. It wasn’t until about noon that I remembered I had promised Alex I would check for my mother’s Bible. I could have sworn I had seen one in her box before, but that would mean returning to my attic. My father wasn’t due home until at least six, and that offered me plenty of time.

I rushed barefoot back into the hallway. I stood in front of the staircase, just under the pull. I reached from the thin, white rope and tugged, watching the ladder spill out before me. I remembered just how long it had been since I decided to prowl around the attic. Excited with the prospect of venturing there again, I hurried up the ladder and inside the dark, musty space. Still sitting in the light was the box of my mother’s things, untouched and untampered. I kneeled before it, watching dust fly around the ruffled hem of my ivory, chiffon smock dress. I felt the sunlight on my skin, no longer fazed by the sensation and the warmth now that I held felt it in the open air. My hands traced the edges of the box once more, looking within it’s contents. I moved the photo albums from the top, now left with the familiar clutter of objects that seemingly had nothing to do with each other.

Among the random assortment was just what I was looking for. The Bible sat atop of mass of objects, what I thought was probably the overturned inkwell and the jar of dried up rose petals. I took the book in my hands, examining the worn, leather cover for just a moment before brushing the dust off. The thing hadn’t been opened in years, perhaps over a decade. Father always said that religion was nothing more than myths and lies, just a bunch of rubbish. I never understood why my mother would have kept one. I opened to a random page and felt the thin, smooth pages under my fingertips. I didn’t read the words, didn’t really have an interest in doing so, but I was curious to see what it looked like. Each page had multiple columns of tiny text, each paragraph accompanied with numbers. I didn’t know what that meant, but I wasn’t concerned. I flipped to the first page, and on the inside cover was scrawled in very poor penmanship, “Property of Lawrence Jameson.”

“Interesting,” I mused quietly to myself, running my fingers over the letters. It was dried up and faded, obviously very old. Well, mission accomplished. I found the Bible, and I would bring it to Alex the next time I visited the base… probably the next day. Maybe. Dean said to give it a day or two, and it wasn’t like the militia was going to be prowling through the sewers. Satisfied with the outcome of my endeavor, I slid back down the ladder and closed the attic door. Just like that, it vanished, almost like it didn’t exist. I’m sure my father would have preferred that. Not that he knew of my trifling through the attic. It was for the best that he never discovered it either.

I tucked the musty old thing in my backpack, which I hid in the back of my closet beside a shoebox full of things I had collected throughout my travels in West London. Nothing in there was important, really. It was mostly junk: a few coins I picked up off the ground, a used paper cup, some shell casings I found on a corner… a crumpled receipt I saw on the floor of the market. I reasoned that if I ever wanted to, I could still back out of all this. I knew in the back of my mind that staying inside was probably in my best interests and that it was safer here than outside, where I had already skirted death and irreversible damage more times than I could count.

When I felt like that, I looked in the box. I looked at the crumpled up receipt, and I thought of my first day out with Avery, when we stole the only pair of shoes I owned. When I saw the shell casings, I thought of learning how to shoot a gun in the gardens. The spare change made me think of Alex, sitting bored at the counter of Liberty Markets (regardless of whether or not I had actually encountered this), hoping to get his hands on new books with his meager paycheck. The paper cup made me think of Dean and all the ridiculous things he made me try: the alcohol and that awful, bitter thing he called coffee. I knew I couldn’t go back.

I searched through the box, smiling fondly at the seemingly useless junk I had piled within it, wanting to laugh. Laughter was soon forgotten when I heard the front door open and close. That was wrong, I told myself, because when I looked at the clock it was only three.

“Father?” I called out, just to make sure. Surely enough, he answered me.

“Hello, Thalia,” my father greeted me with stress and frustration radiating in his voice. Rising from my knees, I pulled the sheer curtains in front of my closet shut and softly headed downstairs to the kitchen, where my father usually entered first, especially when he was angry.

“What’s wrong?” I inquired with a small frown.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, then brushed his hair back. “Some hooligans thought it would be a good idea to rob the military supply warehouse.”

Oh no.

“They stole 5,000 military-grade weapons,” he continued.

No, no, no, no, no.

“They launched a grenade.”

I was going to be grounded for life.

“And the only reason I’m home early is because nobody can find the criminals. Government officials have been dismissed for the day,” he concluded, and a wave of relief washed over me. His eyes fixed on me, suddenly narrowed in confusion. “Tali,” he said. “Are you alright? You’re white as a ghost, pumpkin.”

“Good!” I exclaimed hurriedly. “Peachy, in fact.” I giggled. “Hmmm, yeah, I just, you know, wear myself out. I’ve been chasing Ralph around all day and the like. You know me. Can’t ever stop!” I rambled with a grin, hoping he wouldn’t noticed that my grin was crooked and that my entire body froze up like a block of ice.

My father gave me a bemused look, clearly realizing something was strange but probably not questioning it. After all, I had always been a bit of a rambler, not to mention, I had a penchant for garrulous enthusiasm that not one person in my life could deny. A grin and some small talk managed to get me through the rest of the evening and into bed. I found myself sleepless, but not because of my incessant inner-monologuing this time. Tonight, what woke me was a tiny, relentless tapping on my window pane.

“Hush, Ralph,” I mumbled and rolled over, incidentally right onto the cat, who awoke with a startled yowl. Then, I realized that Ralph was not tapping at the window. Ralph hopped up onto my window sill, pawing at the window, hissing. “What are you doing?” I grumbled sleepily as I lifted my head from the pillow. I slipped my legs out of my sheets and let my fink sink into the carpet as I strode toward the window and rubbed my eyes. When my vision cleared, I saw a bird perched in the tree branch nearby with a rolled up slip of paper secured to it’s leg. It fluttered forward and tapped the glass again. Ralph hissed, so I shoved him off the sill. “Calm down,” I scolded.

I unlocked the window and pushed it upon. Almost immediately, the bird fluttered in and perched on one of the bed posts. It stared at me. It turned it’s head. It blinked, but it made no sound. Hesitantly, I reached for the rolled up piece of paper, and I opened it. It was no bigger than index card. It was decorated with sloppy but legible handwriting:

‘Hi, Tali. Hope this isn’t too unexpected. Did anyone tell you the Brotherhood had messenger birds? It’s pretty handy. Anyway, just writing to let you know Dean says you should be safe to travel tomorrow. Apparently, the League has called off the searches. I’m sure you know. Your father must have told you. How are you? Did you make it back home alright yesterday? Hope everything’s well. Yours truly, Alex. P.S. To reply, just attach your note back on the bird’s leg. It will come back to me. If you want to send it back without replying (though I hope that you will), rub the bird’s chest.’

I couldn’t help but smile as I read, and excitement pushed me to my nearby desk. I removed a single piece of line paper, tearing along the rules and margins to match the size of Alex’s note. Hurriedly yet neat, I scrawled my reply:

‘Dearest Alex: Good to hear from you. I’ve never received a letter before, nor have I gotten to send one, so you must imagine how exciting this is for me. I didn’t know if homing pigeons still existed; it’s also rather exciting to discover that. Who dropped it off here? Never mind, that’s not important. My father did tell me. He wasn’t happy. Luckily, I managed to avoid the conversation. I’m fine, and the trip home was fine as well. Avery makes sure nothing happens to me. I’ll be sure to return to the base tomorrow. I’ve got a surprise for you. Hope everything’s well on your end too. Love, Tali.’

I rolled it up and attached it to the pigeon’s leg, using the same fasten it arrived with. As soon as it was secured, the bird flew out the window and off into the night. I wondered if Alex would read my note and smile the way I did. I hope he would, anyway.