Getting Home

Getting Home Part 6

"Henry," I said nervously. "About last night when you jumped in. What was that behind—"

He hadn't gotten out of the car.

"Henry?" I went around to the passenger side, suddenly concerned. "Are you okay? Why aren't you—"

He looked terrified. His eyes were wide, almost frantic, his posture stiff as a board.

"It's okay. You can come out. It'll be okay."

He looked up at me, his beautiful dark blue eyes (were they always dark blue?) piercing my soul. This will never work, I thought. Who's going to believe some waify 17 year old girl could protect them?

Yet, incredibly, he instantly calmed down.

And gave me that smile again.

I opened the door for him. He looked around, back at me, still unsure. I nodded at him, and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Although I had no idea how to do that.

"It's okay, come on out," I coaxed.

It seemed to work. He stepped out in one smooth, flowing move—which surprised me. I don't think he had left the Civic the entire time, but he showed no sign of stiffness, or even any effects from his injury. Maybe he got out in the middle of the night?

Yeah, sure. He got out and a bunch of little birdies got in and made a mess of my car.

It was one thing being next to him in the car—but standing next to him brought out a whole new flood of feelings I've never felt before. He was taller than me, but not by a crazy amount; my head would have rested perfectly on his chest, his arms wrapping perfectly around—

I swear to God, Ava, if you don't stop...

"Okay," I said. "Does any of this look familiar to you?"

That look of terror came over his face again... but he pointed a little ways down the sidewalk.

To a darkened alleyway between two buildings.

"There?" I said. "You came out of there?"

He nodded.

"Well, let's go check it out then." I only got a few steps before I realized he wasn't following.

He was backing towards the Civic.

"Henry, it's okay," I said as reassuringly as I could. "I'll be right here with you the whole time."

I held out my hand.

Incredibly, even though he still looked unsure, he came. He gave one last nervous look back at the Civic, then slipped his hand into mine.

I squeezed it tight... And he squeezed right back. I don't know why my heart was beating so crazy; I'd never understood when people talked about being to control smiling at something, because it had never happened to me. But for the first time...

There was no way I could stop.

It felt so right.

The alleyway was long, and surprisingly dark. The two buildings are either side were tall, towering above the narrow alley with their dirty and grimy walls; tarps criss-crossed at random high above between the buildings, making it far darker than it should have been. The cement under our feet was wet and black, shining with slimy reflective-ness from what I didn't even want to guess. Bags of garbage lay against filthy, sludge-covered dumpsters, as well as being randomly scattered about. The smell was like a landfill, urine, rotten milk and meat and god knows what else... combined.

A line of bright new yellow police tape labeled DO NOT CROSS lay crumpled in the muck on the ground.

"Ugh," I said. "It's really gross down here, Henry."

But as we went further in, my disgust began to slowly morph into something different—

Fear.

I squeezed Henry's hand tighter.

There was a sudden noise from behind a dumpster near us, making me jump. My mind flashed back to last night: something had been chasing Henry. Something big, and terrifying.

The pavement on the street proved it.

Henry's hand slipped out of mine as he went towards the dumpster.

"Henry, no," I whispered. "That thing last night, I don't—"

The large garbage bin began to shake as Henry neared it. I came up close behind him, my heart suddenly beating rapidly, scared, bracing myself, when suddenly—

A skinny, mangy dog squeezed out from behind the dumpster.

"Friend," Henry said.

I didn't realize how amped up and tense I had been until I almost collapsed against Henry from relief. Holy cow. It was just a dog. I think it was a yellow Labrador—his fur was so matted and clumped together and filthy from alley waste and trash that I wasn't sure at first. The dog slowly limp-hopped to Henry, gingerly sitting down in front of him. A barely audible whimper came from it.

But it almost looked... happy?

Henry knelt down immediately, stroking its slimy, greasy fur with zero hesitation or disgust for how dirty it was.

Definitely happy.

I suddenly heard something else.

"He's... hurt," Henry said. "Damaged. Why? How do we... fix."

Two men stepped out from the shadows in front of us.

I didn't even realize how much Henry had spoken, the most words in a sentence I'd heard from him since we'd met. The two men wore hoodies, the hoods up over their heads and pulled low over their eyes, shrouding their faces in shadow. Their clothes were dark, their hands hidden from view.

Don't panic.

"Henry, I think we should go," I said, not taking my eyes off them. "Right now."

I grabbed Henry under one arm and tried to raise him. The two men slowly began to walk towards us.

"Henry, please. We need to go now." I managed to yank Henry up, my heart beating wildly again. I've been scared before, of course, but it had never reached this level before.

The level of terror.

DON'T panic.

We turned around.

To see another man in a hoodie blocking the exit of the alley.