A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 4: Pixie

"Hi there," says the man at the front desk. He can't be older than forty. "Welcome to the County Motel. My name's Dave. Would ya like a room?" His accent sounds cowboy-ish, but that isn't why it annoys me. It's his chipper attitude that brings an internal groan.

I almost died today. If it weren't for the Chimæra in my pocket, I most certainly would have. I'm filthy, tired, and frankly, don't give enough of a damn about this guy's cheerfulness, but of course, I won't show it—respect and all that.

It's only because I know he's trying his best to be a polite businessman that I force myself to withhold my reaction and smile instead. "Yes, please, one night."

"That'll be $25." I pull out the debit card from my wallet. I've never had a job before; this is money my parents gave me for my college tuition. I feel bad about using it here, but under the circumstances, I don't have much of a choice. "Here's your room key," he says. "There's coffee and tea provided. Breakfast first thing in the morning; 6:30 sharp. Enjoy your stay."

He smiles and I return the gesture despite my exhaustion. "Thanks."

***

Room 4. How convenient. I swipe the card, enter, then lock the door behind me. There's a double bed, a standard television set mounted to the wall, a coffee pot, and a kettle on the cabinet below. Furthest from the door is a bathroom equipped with clean towels and fresh soap.

I'm not much of a coffee person; I prefer tea. I'll make some after a shower.

Removing my dirty pink blouse and filthy jeans, I turn on the water. It's lukewarm and won't stay hot enough, but I stay under it 'till my feet begin to ache.

I dry myself off with the towel when I'm done and wrap it around my weight, unable to keep from looking at my reflection in the mirror. There's still a red mark round my neck; the water hasn't done anything to fade it. Worst of all, I still feel its hold on me, like the lack of air in my system is still so terribly new. I trace the mark, lightly graze the redness with a gentle touch of my finger.

I'm bound to experience more pain if I help the Loric; I know this. I could turn back now, live my normal life, and not worry about being hurt again. I could let the Garde handle this; I know they win in the end regardless of if they have my help or not. I don't have to get involved—and part of me wants to rush to my bag, shove everything I brought inside and run home as fast as I can. Leave the lost bunny, lion, cricket, or whatever, and flee to where it's safe.

But I don't. Something stops me.

This isn't just another story. This is real. These are real lives. Henri, Eight, Sarah, Mark. Bertrand, Fleur, Olivia, Adelina, Crayton, Five. Everyone in New York... I can't just let them die. I could never live with myself if I stayed back and watched from the sidelines, knowing I had the chance to prevent it. No way in hell I'll ever let that happen. If there's even a slim chance of saving any of them, I need to try. I'll regret it otherwise.

I turn on the television after changing into a fresh set of clothes and pouring myself a cup of steaming tea, switch channels until I find the news, and slink in beside the shapeshifting bunny on the bed. I like this form a lot better, I find.

There're images of the burnt house in Paradise swapping smoothly one after another. It looks so much worse than when I last saw it livestreamed; almost all of it is charred. Then it flickers, changing colour to show footage of a video on repeat with no audio; it's of the boy jumping through the second-floor window. Even though the camera's shaky, it's easy to see what just happened—or what looked like just happened. He flew out! A jump like that isn't possible!

"The video was taken on a cell phone by a Paradise resident, a student of Paradise High," the reporter says. "The boy you see in the footage is known as John Smith. He's new into town and recently registered to the same school. Not much is known about him. Let's check in with our top tier journalist. Howard Baines, do you have any insight for us?"

"No, unfortunately," he says, all detective-like. "We have no new information on the boy. All we know is what's been stated so far: newly admitted fifteen-year-old, new resident of Paradise, Ohio, rescued Sarah Hart from the Mark James house party, and refused to be interviewed at the scene. But don't worry. My investigation is ongoing. I will find the truth." I mute the volume, letting the lady's mouth move in response without any sound coming through.

I remember that reporter: the persistent one. He spooked John Smith in the first novel when he approached alien boy about what happened. He said he "always finds the truth, no matter what." I'd be scared too if someone said that to me and I was trying to stay hidden.

I decide not to think about it—after all, John should never hear of him again—and turn to the bunny. "So... you're a Chimæra," I say, rather intrigued or afraid; frankly, I'm not sure what to think. It looks up at me. "And you're from Lorien?"

Its tail bobbles then. "Do you have a name?"

It sits up, looking excited now, but I have no idea why. It'd be so much easier if John were here. He could use animal telepathy to help me understand. "Can I give you a name?" I try, and it hops closer, putting its front paws on my chest. I smile. Alien or not, it's still cute. "Ok, um, first things first, are you a girl or a boy?"

It flops over, looking like it wants a belly rub, and I oblige. "Girl huh? Ok. I'll call you..." And while I take a moment to think, I find her looking at me expectantly, her emerald eyes staring into my brown ones, upside down, with eager attentiveness. "Pixie," I decide, smiling whilst feeling the soft touch of her fur. "I'll call you Pixie."

She bounds forward and licks my nose. I smile, chuckle, laugh even before easing down beside her, and keeping an arm around my new companion, I turn my attention back to the TV, unmute the volume, and lay my head tiredly beside Pixie's.

"Tomorrow we have a big day, Pixie," I say with a yawn, half testing the name on my tongue. "We need to find John. He's somewhere nearby. Do you think... we can find him in time?" She sidles in close to me as my eyes start to close, the exhaustion at last kicking in. I hope that means yes.