Would you call it a family?

Time to Go

When I arise from bed I'm only greeted by the harsh reality that is my family's death. I contemplate on whether or not to open the bedroom door, to see what could possibly be outside of it, but I'm nervous. I don't even know where I am.

Initially I decide on opening it, but first I draw in a deep breath. I push the door open. I find myself praying Root will be out here, and my eyes inspect the room, for signs of her- her, or anybody else that doesn't want me dead.

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder, my heart racing anxiously. Relieved to see that it's just Shaw, I sigh. "Where am I?" I demand. She promptly ignores me. "Harold!" She yells, although refusing to break eye contact with me. "She's awake," Shaw continues as a short man wearing glasses with dark hair and a limp walks into the room. He's holding the leash of a huge Belgian Malinois, looking fierce. Something about him immediately seems trustworthy, though. "Thank you, Miss Shaw. Now if you'll excuse us I'd like to have a quick word with Miss Edwards here."

Shaw turns away from me. Without another word she disappears from the room. Once she's gone I immediately turn to the man. "Where am I?" I ask desperately. "Not to worry; you're still in New York. This is what we use as a safe house." "And who are you?" "My name is Harold." He extends a hand, which I shake awkwardly, although grateful that he's being so polite. "And it appears that you've alreuady met Miss Shaw." I nod, thinking carefully. "What about that other woman? The one that was here last night? Root?" "Miss Groves was here last night?" I don't answer, realizing that he wasn't asking me; He's talking more to himself.

And as if on cue she walks into the room. "Hey, Danni. I see you've met Harold."

I can't help but smile when I see Root. She brings a comfortable vibe to the tenseness that puts me at ease. She smiles back, and for a minute I think maybe she's happy to see me too... That's doubtful.

"Miss Groves, what business here would you have been actualizing last night?" Harold inquires, sounding a bit annoyed. Root studies me, eyes never leaving my face when she answers Harold. "I was just following orders." She gives him a slight smirk, and then actually wraps an arm around my waist. "Anyway, we have business to take care of."

Root leads me towards the door, down the stairs, and then outside. I feel a bit uneasy about leaving Harold there. Because of the fact that I don't know what's going on and he could've given me a couple of answers.

Root's arm doesn't leave me once. I find myself surprised at how much I'm enjoying the physical contact between us.

We've ended up in a parking lot and walk around, seemingly pointless. "Are we lost?" I ask sheepishly. Root smiles. "We won't be." Although what she means is unclear, I don't say anything more. I watch as she takes out a cell phone- not a normal one, at that- from her jacket pocket. A moment passes and she smiles again, grabbing my hand.

"This way," Root says, and leads the two of us until we stop at a parked motorcycle. She hands me a helmet, adjusts her own, and then gets on the bike. "Get on," she commands, and I note she's not as direct or harsh with her orders as I'd imagine.

My mind then flickers back to years ago, an image of walking through the mall with my seventeen year old cousin, Amber. I am nine years old. We walk past several different stores, shops, until my eyes finally settle on a bike being displayed in the middle of the mall. My eyes instantly light up. I pull Amber towards it, playfully begging her to let me ride it. But her eyes fill with concern and a hint of annoyance. "It's a dangerous bike," she warns. "You'd get hurt. I want you to promise never to try it." I tilt my head, and although I don't understand her completely I smile and nod. "Promise," I say as I cross my heart and then hold up my hands. Amber smiles. "Good then. Now let's go see that movie."

"Danica?" Root looks up at me from the bike. "Please hurry." The last thing I want is to upset her, so I quickly put the helmet on and awkwardly take a seat behind her on the motorcycle. It feels unsteady and shaky, and I instinctively wrap my arms around Root, clinging tightly to her body as the engine roars, filling my ears with uncomfortable noise. "Hold on tight," Root says just as the bike begins moving.