Starfall

Chapter 13 - Elyse

The trek up the rest of the way is surprisingly tiring. But once Peter's tall, slender house comes into view, my organs practically flip inside-out in pure anxiety.

Kamal must sense this, because he slips his hand in mine and squeezes. "It'll all work out," he says carefully, even though he sounds like he doesn't quite believe it himself.

The neighborhood is filled to the brim with towering, bent, crooked houses. There's barely any room to walk. Even though I can barely see the brightening sky at this point, I spot his house immediately. My gaze traces the blue paint that peels at the edges and the two spruces that guard the front door. I can't seem to look away.

"What's our story, again?" Kamal says in a hush as we approach the house.

I pull in a long breath. "We're recently married. We're running from Rose, and we're hoping to find solace in his Doxemity teachings. If he brings up the Isthmus, we can inquire. If not, it's up to us to subtly mention it, and make it seem like it's his idea to give us the charts." I shake my head. "That is, if he even has them."

"What if he doesn't trust us?"

I glance at him. "I might have a solution to that."

He doesn't need anything else—he just nods and looks ahead.

I take my hand out of his and check my pocket, making sure the necklace is still inside. When my fingers touch the cold metal of the chain, a small breath of relief escapes my lips.

The front door comes closer with every step. A part of me screams at my legs to stop moving, to turn around and run in the other direction.

But no. I can't run now. Not when we've come this far.

Within moments we're standing on a welcome mat decorated with hand-embroidered flowers, surrounded by the dark green glow of spruce trees. My pulse is uneven and panicked. Kamal waits for me to knock, but when he sees me frozen in place, he does it for me.

One, two, three times his knuckles hit the door. My ribs rattle uneasily each time.

We wait. My nose is infested with nervous, runny snot from the cold, so I have to keep sniffing. We keep waiting. Kamal knocks again.

One two three. Four five six seven.

There are footsteps from inside the house. They sound rushed. I hear the creak of stairs beneath the weight of aged joints.

From behind the door, there's the muffled rattle of locks being unlatched. The locks keep unlocking, one after the other. I can almost hear Kamal think, How many locks does this guy have?

The doorknob turns. I watch the bottom of the door as it comes to a slow open. But it doesn't open any further than a narrow crack.

"Yes?" someone rasps from inside. I look up to see a man peering out at us from the crack. He's got bags under his sunken eyes and a wrinkle-ridden forehead, and the fingers that hold open the door are thin and bony.

It's him.

My lips crack open, and unspoken words remain lodged in my throat, unable to hit the air.

Kamal speaks for me. "Good morning, sir. We're, uh, looking for Peter?"

His eyebrows lower as his gaze moves slowly from me to Kamal. He shakes his head and swallows hard. "I already told the agency to leave me alone," he grumbles, turning away and moving to close the door.

"Wait," I croak, stepping forward. He stops. I watch his eyes for any flash of recognition when I say in the best British accent I can conjure, "We need your help."