One In A Million

Chapter 5

"Jay? Jay!" someone yell whispered. "Wake up, Jayde. Can you hear me? Jesus, can you hear me?"

"Mmmmwhaaa," I moaned, still dizzy.

I opened my eyes and saw Johnson.

Johnson! Jubilation raced through my body and surprised me even more than Lance's unplanned meet and greet. My excitement gave him a momentary glow of yellows and oranges.

"Johnson," I muttered, blinking.

"Jayde Crass," he said in a serious tone, but his face showed his relief.

I relaxed my body into the floor as relief coursed through me. I was relieved because one, Lance was gone. That last second had actually made me a little afraid... And two, because Johnson actually came back for me, and as much as I would have liked to pretend I hadn't feared his abandonment, I had.

"Hey, stranger," I joked, but I noticed the atmosphere change because of the realness of that small sentence.

Apparently, Johnson did, too, because he frowned and looked away.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"I think so," I told him, cautious again.

"I'm sorry. I thought.. That they had already dealt with him... He wasn't supposed to..." He seemed to be struggling with the words. His face looked pained.

He was still kneeling beside me, so I reached up, slowly, hesitantly, and laid my hand upon his cheek until he looked at me.

"Go ahead," I said softy.

He held my hand in between his two and sighed, slowly inhaling and exhaling. He cleared his throat.

"The Ravens were supposed to take him... Away."

I tried to compose an answer that wouldn't cause him to go on edge and leave me again, but I had so many questions already.

"The Ravens?" I asked, working to sound nonchalant. "The Ravens... Okay, right, of course," I said as I watched him. Thankfully, he chuckled softly.

"Jay," he whispered, ruffling my hair. "I need to you listen to me, okay? I'm gonna explain.. Everything, but you have to hear me out. Promise?" He stood and walked to my window and stared out ominously.

"Promise," I said.

"The Ravens," he began. "They're these super old, traditional, wise, and powerful people. A Tribe, almost. A Tribe who saves lives sometimes-- whenever they choose to make exceptions. Sometimes for people who don't deserve them. Exceptions like me. It was 1776. Battles small and large were happening everywhere. I was eighteen and my father was one of the soldiers fighting for our country, so our family, in order to avoid being apart, traveled with him-- from afar, of course. Obviously he wasn't high up in the war because we would've all died really quick from starvation or something, but men were still being slaughtered left and right. My mother tried her best to sew clothes, nurse them, and provide any clean water she could find, but I imagine it was hard being a nurse for them and a mother for us. Our enemies were known for capturing men, and sometimes their families-- to weaken our ranks. You see, more often that not, groups won wealth and land by fighting this way. That's one of the variables as to why so many soldiers' bodies were unaccounted for in history books. The soldiers would surrender themselves for their families' lives. Anyways, that's why we moved around so much. The dangers of being captured were just as probable as being accidentally shot down. That's what happened to my little sister," he stopped.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not wanting him to stop.

He cleared his throat again. "She was four, but I barely remember her now." He glanced at me, still lying on the floor.