The Magpie's Death

Ellie (1)

The high-pitched, almost bloodcurdling scream broke through the Magpie's haze. His heavy eyelids lifted and his senses immediately took in his surroundings. It was the fifth time that day he'd come close to sleep. Like the four times before it, the sounds or movements of a toddler tore him away.

This one was the worst. Squirrel's head dropped to the kitchen island. They were no longer surprised but still plenty annoyed. Glancing their way, the Magpie saw something else on that pretty, porcelain face. A sunken brow, a pouting lower lip – there was worry and a hint of sadness mixing with the frustration. Squirrel had never been a fan of children. They were needy, fragile creatures, not particularly useful, and always had a funny smell. But even his 'children are a hassle' friend couldn't help growing attached to this new girl.

With a slow shake of his head, the Magpie headed into the bedroom and sat gently on the edge of the bed.

"Ellie," he whispered, leaning down close enough for her to hear him over her own cries. Hopefully enough to break through whatever terror was happening in her mind, but not enough to wake her.

Her eyelashes quivered and her eyes darted back and forth beneath her eyelids. The piercing sounds faded to whimpers and her breathing began to steady. Gradually shifting himself onto the bed, the Magpie laid beside her and stroked her wavy hair. It was sweaty, her body reacting to the fear and panic from her nightmares. His thick but nimble fingers moved through twists and knots as he made soft, soothing sounds. Soft and soothing for him, anyway. None of this was familiar, or even comfortable. He knew parents did these kinds of things, made these kinds of sounds and gestures, but he'd never experienced them. Still, he couldn't leave her to scream, so here he was, doing something he hadn't imagined possible before.

Thankfully, this nightmare didn't linger and quiet returned to the loft. As gradually as before, the Magpie slid himself off the bed. With silent steps, he left the bedroom to join Squirrel in the kitchen.

"Well, Dad? Did you sing your daughter a little lullaby so she could sleep?" It was meant as a joke, but their tone wasn't playful and they continued to wear the same worried expression as before. "Poor baby." With a quick sigh, they stretched and turned to face him. "Guess this won't be as easy as we hoped."

He grunted his agreement. Everything between the moment he entered that shithole apartment and now had been a blur. It took Squirrel less than an hour to develop a plan and in less than two days, the Magpie and River Waters had new identities as stepfather and daughter, Sam and Ellie Miller. He had frowned at the mundane names. Not because of the choices, but because he didn't like names in general. Names came with identities, which came with relationships. Both came with mess. Both were easily broken and lost. But real people had names. His friend assured him these were the best options. The most common and least obvious based on birth year and place. Squirrel was a genius, so he didn't argue. It was just one more fake role to play, one more fake life to live.

An algorithm chose the best places to hide out. They settled on Mirror Falls, a tiny, tourist village in the northeast wilderness of Upstate New York. There was nothing special about it. A hardly noticeable dot on a map covered with similar dots. It was small enough to be insignificant, but had enough long-term visitors and seasonal residents that he wouldn't stand out. Everyone needed an escape sometimes. Mirror Falls became home to those people when the weather warmed. After some research and a few calls, Squirrel found a quaint bed and breakfast a few blocks from town willing to offer an extended stay.

The plan was straightforward, organized, and calculated to the smallest detail. Simple. Or it should have been. But as they quickly discovered, anything involving a traumatized three-year-old was far from simple.

"At least she seems to recognize her new name," Squirrel interjected into the quiet, trying to find the positive in a sea of negatives.

"Though she didn't seem to respond very often to her actual name." Scratching at his scruff, the Magpie wondered what would cause that, then shook the thought away. He was certain he didn't want to know. "But she knows 'Ellie' has something to do with her."