Enigma

Confrontation

 The gates are rusted shut, warning me of certain danger. A blood-red tint seeps through cracks in its hinges. I leap towards it anyway. A fruit box, just centimeters away from my fatigued, running body is just tall enough to climb up. I jump over the gate, not knowing what is on the other side. I land, my bones absorbing all impact pressure. I jolt my head back. I hear nothing except for the intense thrashes of my heart. I find myself in the only part of the city that I didn't know. Storage containers are everywhere. I hear the rattling of the gate. They're coming. I run, just as I had mere seconds ago. A storage container, sitting above another catches my eye. As quiet as I can be, I scale up the first container, and into the opening of the second one.

I lay here, on the cold, metal floor, listening to the shaking of the gate. It is dark in the container. I can't see much, and I hope that it is not being occupied by anything else. I reach into my pockets for my flashlight. It's gone. I feel a hole in my decrepit cardigan. I need a new one. Tomorrow, if I'm not caught, I'll venture onto St. Catherine street, and go to one of the boutiques. I grab for my purse, which had fallen off of my shoulder when I had gotten into the container. The boxes of hair dye are still intact. I plan to dye my hair tomorrow, so no one will notice me. I haven't gone to St. Catherine since last year, when I was nearly caught, just as I am now. But, my situation now is not because of stealing. No, I have found myself a competitor. They must have found me through my operations. Probably from the City Council Operation. I was sloppy then. I was too greedy. I had given too much of my time to the exposing of Georges Beauchamp, and had not covered my tracks well enough. This person has been watching for a while now. I have noticed them every few days on my systems, yet I haven't had the heart to kick them. I am interested.

I hear the clanking of the hinges of the container below. There is no hope. They've found me. I reach inside my purse for the knife. It was the one my mother used to kill my father. She had killed him with the love of life as her weapon. She could no longer live with a corrupted man that treated her as a sheep. It resulted in her death, though. She was beautiful, with her brunette curls chopped into pieces along with her corpse. It was art made by the most intricate, skilled artist; a killer. One hired by the government to exterminate. She did what was right, but my father, the wretched man that he was lived beyond his death.

I hear the clanking stop, only to start back up again, but this time, closer to me. They're scaling the container. I have mixed feelings: one side of my body thinks that I'm as good as dead, the other: intrigued. I see a head pop up through the opening. They're holding something. I stagger back and hit the frigid side of the container. I hold the knife, and point it out at the figure. They come closer, and speak.

"I won't hurt you. You can trust me if you want. Just please, put the knife down.", the figure's voice says. I question the person,

"But, but, you have a weapon. I won't put mine down unless you do.". I look closer, squinting my eyes. They're wearing a hoodie. I continue, "And take off your hood.". They obey. They get closer, and grab a flashlight from their pocket. They put it on the ground, illuminating the container. They pull of their hood, revealing a late-teenage, possibly 20-something year old boy, probably not that much older than myself. He wears glasses and has dark brown, almost black hair, with a subtle jawbone. From sort of crouching height, he seems quite short. He notices my staring. He picks up the hand that was behind his hoodie. It was the one that was holding something. From his hand he reaches out for mine, bearing a single blood-red rose. I am dumbfounded. I, flattered, yet still confused, accept the rose and in turn surrender the knife to the floor. He starts,

"I've been watching you, yet I still haven't figured out your name. I am A. My parents named me something else, a name which I dislike a lot. And you?". I hesitated. He would be able to figure out everything about me if I told him. He would be able to use that against me. But, somehow, I feel that I trust him. I start,

"I-I-I'm Bryn.". He pauses. He's thinking. He gasps and speaks,

"Bryn. As in Bryn Poe, daughter of Maddox and Acacia Poe?". He knows. I'm screwed. I defend myself,

"Not anymore. They're not a part of me. Their sheets were soaked with corruption. And Maddox? Don't get me started. It's good that he is dead. They're not my parents, nor were they ever.". His eyes widen. I've just confirmed everything. His jaw drops, as if to say an, "Oh..my..god.." expression.

I hear the clanking of the container. A's not moving. Somebody else is here. I speak, furiously, yet quietly,

"Who else did you follow me here with?! Who?!". He looks behind him, shaken. His eyes fill with fear. At this moment I realise, he didn't bring anyone else. Somebody's been listening. I put the rose into my purse, and pick up the knife from its resting place. Over the course of my getting ready, A has shifted to a position of disembarkment. Once I am ready, he turns his head.

"Come on, Bryn, I'm going to get you out of here.". He reaches out his hand towards my empty one. It invites my presence. I embrace his empty hand, and together, we jump. We are now at the head of the bottom container. The bottom container's door is open, and it hadn't been before. A beam of light shines through the crack in the door. We run. We run as fast as we can, for we do not know who may be in that bottom container. I can feel the beats of A's heart through his warm, welcoming hand. Ahead, there is another gate. We turn our heads at the same time, as if to say, "jump", and we do just that. Our hands parted for a few seconds, and when we both got to the other side, we joined them once again.

We landed in the outskirts of the city. We run a bit more, reaching Notre Dame Street. A stops and turns around. I turn, just after him. There's nobody. He looks at me, smiling. He peeps up,

"We lost them. Now, Bryn, it would be my pleasure to walk you home.". It was a gracious offer, and I almost said "yes", but I remembered that I didn't have a home. I hid on the streets at night, and during the day, I disguised myself in public. Somberly, I decline,

"I... I don't have a home.". He doesn't seem fazed. He starts again,

"Well then, you can stay with me." He points to the apartments at the left.

"I ca-", He cuts me off, saying,

"I insist.". I can feel my cheeks starting to blush. In normal days, I would have thought for hours and be dubious, but today, something made me think, "yes". He walks over to a step of stairs, and continues,

"My apartment is here.". I walk over, my head down, trying to conceal my blushed cheeks. I climb the stairs, and he opens the door. Inside is an old, wooden room filled with many doors and two elevators. We walk over to the closest elevator, and get in. The elevator compartment is tiny, with it's red, cushioned walls and gold side-bars reaching out. A clicks the highest number, Twenty-three. The ride takes mere seconds, contrasting to what I thought might be a long ride in a rickety, old elevator. When it stops, the doors shutter open, and A puts out his hand for mine, taking me into a baby-blue toned hallway. I turn my head to look down the hall, only to realise that it stops just a few meters away. A blue-black door, stationed directly in front of us invites us in. A walks up to it, and takes an old, blackish colored key from his pocket, and opens the door. The knob makes a bit of a grinding noise, only to open up into a pitch-black room.