Into the Blue Beam

TWO

Keefe waited on Amy's porch patiently. He hadn't expected a tearful hugfest or anything, so it came as no surprise when Amy shut the door in his face.

Still. It was kinda rude.

When nothing happened, he knocked for the third time. "Helloooooo? Amy—or whatever your name is now? It's Keefe! Keefe Sencen! Sophie's friend. The elf."

He figured he'd given her enough information to come to the conclusion he was hoping she would, so he shut up. Sophie's name rang in his ears, in harmony with the sour panic and frustration he sensed from behind the door. Meeting Ivy had helped him face his decision and what that meant for him and Sophie—but it'd only been three days since he'd escaped the Neverseen, and his mind hadn't exactly been on his old life.

It was things like that, habitually thinking of everything before the past week as his "old life," that made him so... sad. For an Empath, that was a lousy word for what he really felt, but then again, he'd always been better at interpreting other people's emotions over his own.

Regardless of how he felt, he had to move on—and his plan wouldn't work if Amy didn't help him.

"Seriously, Amy, let me in. If you don't, I will find a way. Breaking into places I'm not supposed to be comes with having psycho parents, you know."

"That's a stupid conclusion," came her muttered reply as she cracked the door open and slipped out. Keefe got a glimpse of hardwood floors and granite countertops before the view was cut off.

He turned his gaze to the young human slouching before him. "Hi, Amy. Or is that what you want to be called?"

"I don't really care what you call me, so long as you do it with 'goodbye' attached to the end of it," she snapped.

"That's quippy—I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, well, I'm proud of me too. Apparently you're already rubbing off on me, and you just got here."

Keefe smiled as innocently as he could manage. "Does that mean I can stay?"

"Actually, it means you need to go."

"Amy—" He grabbed the door as she opened it, holding it in place. She turned, and he waited until she met his eyes. "Please. I need your help."

"I can't, Keefe."

He crossed his arms. "Why not?"

Her forest-green eyes narrowed and narrowed, until finally she huffed. "Okay! But there are rules!" she added, before he could cheer. "Rule Number One: You have to tell me why you're here."

"You don't know?" The question popped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and Amy's brows drew in even more than they already were.

"Should I?"

Keefe shrugged. He didn't know why Sophie wouldn't tell Amy—especially since he thought he'd made it pretty clear where he would be hiding. It wasn't like sharing that information would automatically ensure his friends would find him, so he'd done it. To make it as easy as possible on Sophie, even though he was asking something incredibly difficult.

Or, rather, he thought it would be difficult. But if Sophie didn't care enough to let Amy know about everything, then maybe she was already moving on—which was what he wanted, but still. It wasn't supposed to be easy.

"I'll let that go for now," Amy amended when he didn't elaborate. "Rule Number Two: You sleep in the garage." She pointed to the right side of the house, where there was a big white door looming in stark contrast to the brick wall.

Keefe wrinkled his nose. "I think I'd rather dorm with Tammy Boy. Bet there'd be less shadows. No offense."

"None taken," said Amy. "Now go."

"What? I still have to sleep in the dungeon?!"

"It's not a dungeon, it's a home for cars."

"So now you're comparing me to a death machine."

"Maybe that's because you'll be the reason for my demise when my parents find out about this and kill me!" she shot back.

"They're not going to find out! Seriously, I'll make sure of that. I need you right now, Amy, but I would never put you or your family in danger."

"Good." After a moment of silence, she waved her hand in the get-on-with-it gesture. "So... are you going to abide by Rule Number One? Why are you here, Keefe?"

He plastered his most convincing smirk on his face. "See, the thing is, Foster Number Three—I don't play by the rules. Too bad you already agreed to let me stay."

"You are so annoying!" Amy screeched, but Keefe was already jogging for the white door. He slid it up with all its clank-clank-CLANNNNNNNNK-iness and scurried into the darkest corner between a shoe rack of random knick knacks and a freezer. He jerked his hoodie over his head and set it on the ground, then sat and swung his backpack in front of him.

Keefe took a deep breath, twiddling a small brown band in his hand. It wasn't like he was being difficult on purpose—he'd have to tell Amy about the plan eventually. But right now he needed to make sure he was ready to go through with it, ready to risk his life.

Because that was what this was. Risking his life. All because he did have a psycho mom. And the day he couldn't protect his friends, the day she laid a hand on one of them, especially Sophie... He wasn't sure he'd have the energy to resist her anymore. And then what? He'd become a bad guy.

Evil isn't a statistic, Terik—it's a choice!

The words, uttered from his own mouth only four days ago, rang in his ears.

It was a choice.

But if he let his mom win, it would be a choice also. And he couldn't live with the consequences of that one.

That's the thing—I can't LIVE if she wins, he thought. He just... couldn't.

So in a way, he was protecting himself. Being selfish, like he'd always been. If she won and he was around...

Keefe blinked to drag himself out of his mind. "She won't win," he murmured. "Sophie's strong enough. They're all strong enough."

Without him. He was too broken for them to fix, no matter how much they told him they could. It would be so much easier this way.

Which meant waiting. He only had a couple days before he needed to leave, so his goal was to convince Amy his plan was a good one. From her emotions tonight—he was proud how underwhelmed he was; but then again, she'd only been one person—that wouldn't be super hard, as long as he played his cards right.

He flipped the band around his finger one last time before slipping it on his thumb and peering into the backpack. By the end of these two days, he wouldn't need any of this anymore.

If the plan worked.

If he didn't die.

If, if, if.

There would always be ifs in life—but that couldn't stop anyone from making decisions.

"I'm doing it," he announced to no one in particular.

Like there was any doubt.

But still.

He was doing it.

All he could do was hope it didn't fail.