The Line

Lights everywhere

In actuality, the girl's face was rather average: wide and round, it was, complete with healthily-spaced brown eyes and a dimpled chin. Her hands were pudgy, too, and when she spoke, she never spoke loud. To top it all off, she had a wary, weary look--a look made out of a will's ashes.

She's shy, Juan realized. It was obvious in the way she twisted her hands and intertwined her fingers. In the way she shifted her weight and bit her lip. In the palpable reluctance when she'd turned away from the forcefield.

Flynn didn't seem to care, though. He circled her with fast, muted footfalls, like a predator appraising his prey. He said, "You have your memories. You remember?"

The girl nodded.

"How much do you remember?" His voice discreetly rose.

A shrug.

Flynn paced quicker. "I want you to think hard, okay? What do you know about the court?"

She whispered, "They told me they were sending me to the Line." It sounded like a question.

"Speak up, dammit!" Flynn's tone almost made Juan shudder. "Speak up!"

The girl twisted her hands even faster, and she might have been chewing the inside of her cheek. "I--"

"You know something! I know you do! They wouldn't send you to me if you didn't!" Flynn's words were erratic, wet sparks.

"I don't--"

"Yes, you do! I want you to think! Think!"

A rusty gear stirred inside Juan when he saw her back into the forcefield, cornered by an advancing Flynn.

Voices overlapped.

"Flynn!"

"You know something, you must know something!"

"I-- I--"

"Flynn!"

"Tell me!"

Rain pattered down from the sky.

And, as if by some unspoken accord, the voices quieted. There were halting breaths on everyone's part, but they were too quick and shallow to calm any of their hearts. Juan expected cries of shock or disgust from the girl--instead she silently near-smiled, running her fingers over her rain-wet cheeks, opening her mouth wide, swallowing the green stuff.

Completely soaked by the thick downpour, Flynn cursed. "'All clear today' must have only meant no storms. Obviously. Obviously. Leave it to the Weather Man to speak in code!"

"My name--it's Angelle," the girl murmured next.

If the rain hadn't been tapering off into sporadic, semi-solid squirts, or if he hadn't been (quite rudely) staring at her, Juan wouldn't have heard her at all.

"I'm Juan," was his reply.

Had all this truly happened? It felt so strange. And even more wrong. Glancing at Flynn, he saw a pale face and a thin smile, eyes that were bright but not aflame. He didn't see the red-faced young man with bared teeth and a whip for a voice--really, glancing at Flynn now, it was hard to believe that young man even existed.