The Ace of Spades

Chapter 10

     Even though he reddens as he talks, and stares when he glances, the boy has a backbone similar to a railroad spike, yet he finds himself in an unbarred prison. Pain holding no cure, he unfurls upon the mattress, eyes so guarded meet mine so heavy. There is a plea within them, something sacrificial and dark. So quickly is the shift when Mary pats his hair, that one could have easily missed it by doing something as simple as blinking. Nimble fingered, small handed, halo headed: it is Mary who eases the crease in his brow. A captivated audience, Kaiden and I, a silent agreement made as we hold our breath.

     It is through the set of his shoulders that I can see Little Mary building a bridge which Kaiden has yet to burn.

    However, melancholy and beautiful this moment was, it must end as Stix keels over to heave.

     Seconds is how long it takes for Kaiden to shutter, emotions, however fleeting gone, from his eyes--high shouldered, and jaw clenched he reels on me.

     "Can you help him? Can you help him!"

     "I-I don't- I don't know! How would I know? You haven't even told me what's wrong? I don't even know where I am!"

     Reverberating around the baron room, our sound bounces from wall to wall, and I resist the urge to flinch. Like a cactus without needles, he softens, sparking hope somewhere deep within me, that I can not acknowledge. However, this boy with shadowed eyes quenches any thirst of curiosity within me; I would rather be a waterless flower than attempt to unravel his demons.

     Grunting out a response, he mutters, "You're outside of Eldham so whatever baggage you have you're still a distance away from it. And-- ummm..."

     There are so many questions in his eyes as he looks upon the prone boy, who just barely nods.

     "It's his feet."

     "How did his fee-"

     Left alone with the bricks on the walls, is my gasp. Like an emergent butterfly from its cocoon his feet have split their skin. No longer is he the boy who found me, his exterior having been washed away by tears; still pressing against him as if to absorb him is Mary.

     She blankets his head and murmurs, "Don't look."

     Age is but a number, a liar, a variable; Mary a mother at five.

     "How--"

     Strangled, keening, a sound escapes Kaiden, "Burns. There burns."