King & Queen of Shadows

Chapter 2

The next day, I find myself pacing in my room. I'm not leaving New York, I'm not even moving away from this room. Not unless I get to say goodbye to Jamila, but I don't want to do that either.

Mom's been nagging at me, telling me that I shouldn't say goodbye. She doesn't give me a reason though, something she usually does. I know my parents aren't big Jamila fans, but the least they could let me do is say goodbye to my best friend before they drag me to this hick of a town.

I call Jamila's cell, but she doesn't answer. I send her a text messaging simply saying that I want her to call me once she read it. I give her landline a ring as well, but the voice in the receiver tells me that I've either dialed the wrong number, or the person I'm trying to phone is no longer connected to this line. I'm lost at what to do in this perplex situation. Jamila always picks up her phone, and what's up with her home phone? There's no way I've dialed wrong, I've known her landline and cell number by heart for ages.

It's like she just disappeared off the face of the Earth in the past couple of hours since I last saw her.

"It's Saturday; she has to be at home," I mutter to myself. If I move fast enough I can catch the subway to her house and walk the block to her cond.

But what if there isn't anyone there?

"Well I'll have to look and see. It's better to check then to say I didn't try at all." I said out loud to my own internal thought.

I change into the only pair of jeans I haven't packed. I hurry to the living room to get my shoes, when I hear the scuffling sound of something moving in the other room, I stop moving.

To my surprise it's Dad.

His eyes look as if they've been staring at his laptop for hours. His glasses were on, meaning I can't tell his eye color. Even though I know it's dark brown, like mine, I can't quite tell with the gleam of the living room lights glazing his lenses. They appear ghostly white against the reflection.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow, why did he care? He never seems to care. It's like ever since I turned twelve he stopped caring, stopping talking to me as if I'm his daughter and more like I'm an unwanted bill needing to be paid.

"Just going to the library," I lie without looking at him. He isn't like Mom, Mom I can lie to with a straight face. But with him I have to look away, it's just too hard to lie when it's to him, like he doesn't deserve to be deceived like that.

"No, you're not," he says flatly. "You can't go to Jamila's house. I'm sorry but I won't allow it. I let it slide in the past but," he pauses, "I can't keep lying for you."

What?! How does he even know I hang out with Jamila? And what does he mean he's "been letting it slid in the past"? How long has he known?

"What are you talking about?" I play out my dumbfound look naturally, because I'm legitimately puzzled on how he'd know and why he hadn't snitched and informed mom about it.

"I know you're still hanging out with Jamila, it's pretty obvious that you are. You do a rather sloppy job at hiding it from us-at least that's how it looks from my end. I guess I'm the only one who notices it well enough."

I stop from lacing up my shoes, "W-"

He doesn't let me even finish forming the words out of my mouth, "Your Mother doesn't know since I've been covering it up for a while now, but I'm positive she doesn't want you to see her, not with us leaving tonight. I get that you guys are great friends, but maybe not saying a goodbye would be the best for you two."

"You guys don't know her," I snap. "And I already told you," I glance away, "I'm going to the library."

"It's eight in the morning," he sighs, "libraries don't open until noon on weekends."

"We're probably talking about two different libraries," I scuffle sharply.

He lowers his glasses and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, "Which one are you going to then?" He knows I'm not sure at what I'm talking about. That I've never really been to a real library in a very long time and all he was doing now was checking if he's right.

"It's near-"

"Amina," he stops me by saying my name somberly. "I don't like you lying to me. I've been in New York much long than you have, you can't lie to me about things like this," he states. "I'd rather you tell me the truth. I might have let you go then."

My eyes widen, "Really?"

"Yes really," he says in a tiresome voice, letting out a sigh, "I'll let you go now, but we're leaving tonight, and if you're not back before noon, I'll make sure to-"

"No need to add a threat," I grin, "thank you, thank you, thank you," I repeat over and over again. The thought of hugging him crosses my mind, but I decline it. The Hasan family aren't huggers, why make the moment awkward with a hug?

"Remember, before noon," he reminds me.

"I won't forget," I sing.

The sun isn't out for the first time in weeks. I like the fact that I don't have to squint when I look up at Jamila's building when I finally get there. I check the time on my phone and see that I still have a good amount of time left.

I go three buttons down and try to find her last name, but I don't see it. "Santos," I hum under my breath. But it's not there anymore. "That's weird."

A fresh strip of white paper covers where her name once was, but that can't be. I was only here yesterday, they couldn't have moved ...without telling me? Never.

I spot Ms. Hanson's name and press hers instead. Jamila's next door neighbor was a nice older woman around her 50's who always enjoyed our company whenever we stopped by. It's the best way to get up to her level, and maybe I might stop by to say goodbye.

"Hello?" her old raspy voice calls out.

"It's Amina," I answer.

"Oh, come up," and she buzzes me in.

After visiting Ms. Hanson for a short bittersweet farewell, I make my way to E15 with the five missing. The greenish yellow walls that remind me of the sickly color of dried up plants when you stopped water them out of careless reasons.

I breathe in slowly several inhales and exhales, but even that gets me shaken up. What if she's not there? What if she got kidnapped? That's crazy, I tell myself, why would she get kidnapped? Why wouldn't she be home? It's almost nine in the morning, where else could she be?

I knock only once and the door flies opens. She's not kidnapped, I think as it crakes.

"Hello?" says a complete stranger.

My heart plummets to my feet. It is overtaken with fear as I look into the eyes of someone I don't recognize. Who is she and why is she here? Though she has very strange hair like Jamila does, she isn't her. She'd never dye her hair the deadly gray like this twenty something year old woman has.

Where was Jamila?