Shark of Spades

The Past Converges

"All right," I said, finally setting aside my empty plate and pushing the similarly almost-empty bowl towards Jack to finish. I met the Kid's eyes for the first time since I'd started eating. "What do you want?"

He frowned as though miffed that I'd only started paying attention to him now. "You don't sound friendly at all."

My expression didn't change, but I could tell Jack was holding in a smirk. Ignoring him, I replied, "That's because you're not paying me to. Now,  why are you here?"

He reluctantly gave up the higher ground that he  imagined himself to have and started to talk, as though he'd been holding his breath all this time. "I've been searching for you for over  two years. You've got no idea how hard that was, as you were always moving around. I would track you to one city only to catch a rumor of  your name, but only your legacy remained. Then I lost your trail completely."

"Then how are you here now?" I asked, my hand tightening around my gun. "How did you find me?"

He  paused, as though confused himself. "I didn't. Find you, that is." He nodded towards Jack, who was just finishing off the last of the pasta.  "I heard about a great card player in the area, and I decided to check  it out. That's how I ended up in today's game."

I doubted his story for multiple reasons, one of which revolving around the fact that Jack  rarely played and usually only dealt, but I decided to press him harder. "Why are you looking for me?"

"Because I was friends with your brother."

Jack's attention had suddenly been peaked, and I recognized the danger of the situation if someone like Jack knew too much information about me. I  stood up and walked towards the door. "Follow me."

He did, scrambling ungracefully after me out and door and onto the street.

"You're  his sister, right?" the guy asked, but I was trying to remember if I'd ever seen him. My parents had sent me to the camps meant for girls when I  was eight, the legal requirement. I'd run away as soon as I could, when I was fourteen. I made my way back home, making sure to come when I knew they wouldn't be home, and I'd hid in my brother's room until he had gotten back from school. Then he'd found me and freaked out a little bit before he promised me that he'd help hide and protect me. Another great idea, only that one ended with a hole in his forehead.

Every now and then, I'd hide under the bed or in the closet if a friend stopped by  unexpectedly or without notice. The guy standing before me sounded a little familiar. Maybe he'd been from one of those times; I didn't know. It didn't matter. "How did you even find out about me?"

The guy -  because he wasn't just a kid anymore - met my eyes with an intensity that I hadn't predicted of him. "He asked me if I could keep a secret. That was two weeks before he was killed." I expected him to try to beat  around the bush, but he was surprisingly direct. "He told me that he was hiding his sister from the government camps and that his parents didn't  know. He made me promise that if something happened to him, that I needed to find her and hide her until she turned eighteen. That's you, isn't it? You're her?"

I didn't answer him, but he picked up on my  thoughts anyway. "When I went to his house - your house - to see him, he was bleeding out on the floor. I searched the house, calling for you to come out even though I didn't know your name." He looked down before  meeting my eyes. "I still don't know your name."

It was obviously a question, but I ignored it and turned away. I needed to make him leave, to doubt what he thought he knew and go back to wherever he came from. "I killed him and ran."

"No you didn't," he denied easily, and I found myself frustrated. He doesn't even know me!

Still, I kept trying. "Yes, I did. I hated him."

"Stop lying," he said, sounding a little angry but not doubtful at all. "You guys were really close. I already know that. And I know that you didn't  kill him, and he wouldn't blame you for running. Neither do I."

I turned to face him. "I'm not lying. You are. I'm not some dead guy's sister. I'm not anyone's sister, because I'm not a girl. Get that into your head already."

He took one step towards me, and we stared each other down. "Do you want me to confirm that?" he asked, his eyes purposeful and not joking at  all.

Crap! I can't let him do that! So I pulled out my gun and shot him in the arm and turned to go back in the house.

"Wait!" he yelled, but I didn't. I went in the house, simply calling back, "I have dishes to wash."

I  locked the door behind me and went into the kitchen. Jack, who had heard the gunshot, looked up at me and grinned. "Have a nice chat?"

I nodded. "We sure did."

"Did you know him?"

"Nope."

Three minutes passed before there was another knock on the door. I restrained myself from swearing and interesting Jack further but couldn't stop a  brief trace of anger from flying across my face. I went to the door and opened it to find - no surprise - the guy from earlier, now bleeding from his arm although he was applying pressure.

"What do you want now?" I asked indifferently, just wanting him to disappear, but I found myself hesitating to kill a friend of my brother's.

"I'm obviously here for you."

"Go away and stay away."

"If you didn't want me to come back, then you should have shot me in the leg."

"Good point. Thanks for the suggestion." I pulled out my gun and shot him in the right leg, proceeding to him swearing continuously for half a minute. "If that's all that it takes, I would have done that earlier.  Goodbye now."

I closed the door yet again and went back to the kitchen, where Jack was full out grinning.

"What? Miss the first time?" he asked.

"Nope. Someone else this time."

"I feel sorry for that salesman," he said, but both of us knew that there was no salesman.

"He  shouldn't have tried to sell me hair care products and trigger my inner insecurities about my attractiveness," I replied deadpan. "I'm going to  sleep."

I went to my room, not really exhausted or worn out or  emotionally stressed but merely a touch off, in some way. I thought of my brother and how close we'd been, how he'd taken me in and risked  himself to help me, how he'd listened to me and not just quoted government pamphlets at me. He'd cared about what I'd thought and what I'd said. Now, nobody did.

Well, nobody except seemingly the guy that I'd shot twice. But he probably wouldn't be caring about my brother and I for very much longer.