Pairs

Fourteen

The knowledge of loving Atticus was powerful,  but not as strong as the power of knowing that my family was murdered along with my mysterious brother.  I needed answers,  and The Rarama didn't have them. I waited till Atticus was asleep, then I packed my bag.  Just a few pairs of clothes and snacks for the road.  I would be back in a day or two. 

The problem was finding out how to escape. I crept out silently, half expecting Atticus to launch up any second. When I closed the door to the apartment, I let out a sigh of relief.

"Problems in Paradise?" A voice asked.  I whirled around,  only to see Carmen. 

"Jesus,  do you just camp out outside our unit until morning?" I asked,  annoyed.

"For your information, I left my apartment key here this morning. I need it to get in.  But that's not important,  what's important is the explanation you're going to give me as to why you're all packed up. " I didn't like that smirk.  I didn't like her blonde hair or her long eyelashes. I didn't like any of it. 

"Oh... is the little bird trying to fly away?" Carmen asked. I realized then that if I was the bird, Carmen was the cat with its big hungry grin.

"And what if I am?"

"You're going to need help. "

I looked at her with shock.  What?

"Follow me, " She said,  then walked. I followed.
______________________________________

I was driving down the road. I was kind of shocked that I succeeded to get out, even more so that it was by help of Carmen. 

"If you get caught by Atticus, I had nothing to do with it, " was all she had said before throwing me the keys.  I could already feel the separation aching in my brand, like a dull throb. I knew the longer we were apart, the more it would hurt.

I could see the city lights ahead. I'd been driving for seven hours straight, and I felt sore. I needed to talk to my Aunt.  Traffic was as horrifying as ever though, so it took hours to get to her loft in Manhattan. When I parked,  I quickly pulled on my hoodie, hiding my face for watchful eyes, and then stepped out, locking the car. When I knocked on her door inside,  it seemed to take hours for her to answer. 

She opened the door in all her craziness. Frizzy brown hair in a bun, pink glasses shoved up her nose and her pen straight figure adorned by a grey, cotton maxi dress.

"Ivory?" She asked,  shocked, her big brown eyes wide,  her mouth agape. 

"Hi Auntie."

Before I knew it,  I was in her familiar arms.  She squeezed me tight, and I sighed. I had missed this. She was the only mom I had ever known,  and I missed her so much.

"Come in,  Sweetie. You look hungry, " She said,  dragging me in.  Aunt Clara was a pet artist. She'd do portraits of cats, dogs, bunnies, birds. She even did a gold fish one time. She laid out some snacks,  cucumber sandwiches and green tea. I took some happily,  not realizing how hungry I was until now. 

"Where have you been? I've called so many times,  a coworker said you ran off with some mystery man, " She asked, eyes wide with worry.

"It's not important, but I'm ok. I Just... I need to know more about my parents' death."

I saw her shift uncomfortably, her eyes looking away. I knew she never liked discussing it,  that the loss was one hard to bare.

"It wasn't a car accident,  was it?"

She visibly tensed, her shoulders tightening in distress.

"Who told you that, Ivory? Who told you that vicious lie?" She asked,  anger lightening her eyes in a way I rarely ever saw as a child. I jerked back,  shocked. 

"It's not a lie, Aunt Clara. If it were, you wouldn't be so angry," I said slowly, setting down my tea. She froze, then settled against the couch.

"Fine. You want to know the truth? You're parents were criminals, Ivory. They were dangerous, and they hurt people. A lot of people. Blew up buildings, kidnapped, and stole. The police tried to take them alive, but...." She was lying. I knew it. The way she looked slightly away from my eyes.

"And what about Blake?"

Something changed when I said his name, something in her eyes shifted. Shock, fear, determination.

"I Don't know anyone by that name," She stated cooly. I felt my impatience rising. I did not risk all of this for nothing,  and that, accompanied with the throbbing pain in my brand, was making me more and more snippy.

"Yes, you do. He was my brother, so why isn't he buried with mom and dad? What are you hiding?" I snapped, standing up roughly enough to make the couch jerk back.

"Enough, Ivory. You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm leaving," I hissed. "I'll find my answers some where else."

I turned for the door,  but was stopped. 

"Fine,  Ivory,  you want answers? Here it is.  Your parents were bad people, that killed citizens of this country. They were terrorists, Ivory,  and when they got themselves shot, I was left to care for you."

"And My brother?"

She laughed,  not the warm sound that I grew up with, but something angrier. 

"He was already 6 when it happened. The government was worried that he would follow in your parents footsteps, so they took him. He's probably in some detention center in Washington."

I gasped, my heart clutching in hope.

"He's alive?"

"Maybe."

And with that, a knock sounded at the door. 

"Finally, " Aunt Clara breathed. "They are here."