Gap Year

Wren Bailey

Sirius

Maya Hall

Cinders

Hemlocke

James Mitchell

### Full Chapter

I’m walking towards my locker, the flood of kids spewing from classrooms almost suffocating. I have to shove past one more student to get to it, pulling the door open to reveal a nicely organized, almost completely cleared-out space behind the door. I pull out what remains of my school supplies, sliding them into my bag before standing up on my toes to see above the mass of writhing kids. I swiftly shut my locker with the lock inside as we were instructed to do and proceed down the hall. Slowly. So slowly. One kid’s backpack hits me hard in my forearm, and I hear myself inhaling sharply from the pain but glare at the kid as they keep talking to their friends as though their books hadn’t just dug into my stupid injury.

It’s summer break, officially. As soon as I get home, I can just head up to my room and finish whatever stuff I have to do for my aunts. Walk the dog. Feed the cats. The basics. Maya gets home in time for dinner but Brook often leaves work around ten. I hardly see her anymore, she’s been taking all the day shifts at the ICU lately. Neither of them have pressured me about my gap year decision, about not wanting to try to get into any colleges, about anything concerning my future. And I’m so glad about that. I don’t need another thing on my mind. I’ve got a dog, two cats, a job, and a bunch of other things to worry about for the next year or so, and I don’t want to add something like college acceptances onto it. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it, hoping it’s a text from Maya about dinner or when she’ll come back.

Never mind, that’s one less thing to worry about. I just got fired from my job because they found someone willing to work for cheaper. By seven dollars per hour. But that’s not the point. I’ve gotta relax, have a good time, and. . . maybe diminish some crime in the process.

Not in the way you might think, though. I’m not Spider-Man or Captain America, no superhero. I’m talking about actually doing something, not just trying to convince the person that what they’re doing is wrong, or ratting them out to the police so they take care of them. No. People like the ones I’m talking about here are dangerous to everyone. Not just the people around them but their entire community, the entire society they’re in. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I pull out the key from my pocket and unlock the wooden door to our small two-story house where I’m almost immediately bombarded by a big, furry mass of black fur.

“Sirius! Hey, buddy!” I manage to burst out between mouthfuls of fur and giggles. His big brown eyes shine with excitement and his tail wags as though I left him for a month. He hops down and runs to the back door, his tongue flopping out of his mouth and his tail conjuring up a storm of fluttering papers.

I turn up the stairs and toss my backpack onto my bed, before rushing back down to open the door. He’s not a patient dog, as is evident by the blast he causes when he bursts out of that door into the backyard. I laugh lightly before grabbing the squeaky ball from the toy basket and toss it out into the yard. Even on three legs, he pounds across the ground to catch it before it stops bouncing. He’s such a strange dog, and yet, that’s why Maya got him for Brooke on her birthday, three or four years ago as a puppy.

He powers back into the kitchen, shifting the rugs as he tears around the house, settling to a stop in the living room. I walk back up to my room and settle on the bluish-gray comforter of my bed, my laptop nestled on a pillow. I open a hidden window on a browser and open my folder of notes.

I’ve got to deal with a notoriously dangerous and aggressive criminal tonight. I’m thoroughly not prepared for what has to happen. This particular person is one I have convinced to meet up at a secluded location to keep him away from his well-weaponized home. I’m still not 100% sure he won’t bring some kind of firearm, but I’m sure that our promise will be enough to keep him from attacking me. Of course, I didn’t contact him with my personal contact information, but a hidden email I use for these kinds of things.

The front door slams shut, and my head automatically looks up towards my closed door. I’m completely aware of who it is, but it’s always good to be safe instead of sorry. Especially when you live in a city like mine.

“Wren! Did you let Sirius out?” Maya’s gentle yet stern voice calls from the hall.

“Yeah, I did!” I respond.

I hear Maya’s footsteps advance up the stairs, and shut my laptop seconds before she opens my door. “What do you want for dinner? You just finished high school, so I’ve decided to let you choose!”

I smile. “Maybe that new wrap place? I’ve heard they have a good Caesar salad wrap,” I say, pushing my glasses further on my sloped nose.

“Definitely! I’ll go ahead and order from their site, mkay?” She says, half walking out of my room. “You do know that Cinders is on your sill, right?” Maya says as she retreats back downstairs.

I glance over towards the direction she gestured towards and spot the small, patchy gray kitten gazing serenely out the window. I notice a small ruffle in her back fur, then catch the sliver in which wind is seeping through due to me forgetting to close it all the way, shortly before latching it and picking up the fluffy kit.

I walk downstairs, still clutching Cinders because Maya’s reminding me to change my bandage. I refuse to tell her the true story of how I got the cut beneath, and instead say I fell and sliced it on some glass.

That’s not the real story, of course. I was going after a wanted criminal a few days ago, was doing the normal routine of messing around with hand-to-hand, and they pulled a steak knife from a pocket in their coat and cut me through my sleeve, and my glove, and still left a significant gash in my forearm that still hasn’t even healed over fully.
Brooke cleaned it out and made sure it wasn't infected before putting in about 16 stitches and wrapping it.

I was awake and attentive the entire time.

After I showered, I head to bed and read for a few minutes until Maya comes in to check on me. After she leaves, I finalize my plan and open up the chat with the guy I’m going after tonight on my computer. I type in a quick message telling him I’m coming and close the tab. I hide my computer in my drawer once more and head to my window. Nobody in my family has seemed to notice the new panel in the cabinets beneath keeping it shut without the key, a simple magnet I hide in my pegboard. I pull out the box inside and lift the top off.

There it is.

The suit responsible for the deaths of criminals, not forgiven by any governmental figure anywhere for any reason. I find it stupid. I’m helping them out, in a sense.

I check the time. 9:45 pm, after Maya goes to bed but before Brooke gets back. She never checks on me, knowing Maya has already. I slip the underclothes on over top of my current clothes and tuck the shirt into the pants, socks into the pants, and pants into the boots. I chose the boots I did specifically because they have good traction for climbing and running while also being flexible and comfortable. A belt is latched around my waist and a smaller band for a dagger found in the box beneath the cloak is placed on my thigh. Speaking of, I slide my arms through the sleeves and tie the latches closed in the front. I pull the strange-shaped sheath onto my shoulders and tread silently on the floor to the panel hidden in the side of my closet.

I tap it with the same magnet and hear the mechanism inside click open, and I slide the panel down to reveal the black iron sword I’ve stashed behind it. I carefully slide it into the sheath between my shoulder blades and walk back over to the window without creaking a single plank as I’ve memorized all the loose ones on previous occasions.

The window slides open easily and soundlessly, and I step out onto the roof, shutting the window behind me. I slip into the backyard and through one more hidden panel in the fence and scale the fire escape of the apartment complex in the alley behind our house. It’s a simple climb and I already know which apartments have people living in them that stay up late and could see me.

I’ve reached the top by the time I can see Brooke’s car pulling up in the driveway. I turn back around and inhale the cool night air once more before the mask is over my face and the hood is up on my head and I’m leaping onto the roof of the
building next to this one.

I land hard on the last roof, my leg buckling beneath me, but I save myself with a roll. I stand up, realizing my foot is throbbing from the harsh fall, but I can bear the pain, as long as it doesn’t get worse. My earpiece chimes and a voice reads out the new message. “Where are you?”, it says. I bring my gloved finger up to the button to record a simple message, “Here, you?”

Then I see him.

Down in the alley.

The man I’ve been after for the past few weeks. He looks back down at his phone and types something in. “I’m here, too. I can’t see you,” the comm device whispers.

I stand up sharply, and his head whips up and spots me.

I’m clambering down the ladder to the floor of the alley when he says the code word. “The innocent petals. . .”

“Hide death beneath them.” I finish the sentence. I land on the ground and turn around, peering into the alley.

He’s gone.

Not soon after, something firm is pressed into the back of my head.

“Don’t move.”