Needless to say, in the following days, Keylee wasn't killed.
This didn't stop her from avoiding Dorian Brown as much as she could.
Her intent was the following: Keep her head down for a few weeks. If he looked like he would pursue her for any reason, she would have to leave... again. In the meantime, she would spend as much time as she could in the library. She would use the commons for lunch, and not dawdle in hallways. It was protocol, one that she'd set for herself for a long time... and for the first few days, the labyrinth of tall walls and wooden bookcases provided as suitable refuge. But then, it seemed, Dorian Brown took refuge there, as well.
The first day, he would ambly walk about, browsing the shelves. This didn't concern Keylee. But she still had the aching suspicion he was glaring over at her as much as she was at him. Without any evidence, she lowered her head to her book, where she was curled up in a chair, and continued browsing through the pages as if they actually interested her or soothed her anxiety.
Then following, he appeared again. Still browsing. But this time he was combing his way at a decent rate twoards her cozy chair. She had still yet to catch him looking at her, or any signs that he was actively hunting her the way she thought he might be. So she dismissed it again. But the back of her neck began to ache, in that way that means you've been stressing too much. So she stood abruptly, unable to relax, and stalked towards the center of the library towards where a cluster of tables were.
This, evidently, caught his attention. He looked up, eyes snapping to watch her actions almost instantly. Her bookbag hit the floor and her eyes met solidly with his for the second time that school year. The accusation in her glare was blatant. It was for this reason that his eyes portrayed equal blame, and narrowed in disdain. She froze, unable to move. She knew it. He was on her ass. Did she run? Hide? Kill him?
He turned and continued browsing.
So she sat and continued reading.
On the first Friday of the school year, she sat as far away from Dorian Brown's stalking place as she could, facing where he would be, and tapped her fingers anxiously. There was no way he would not pull a move today, if he was planning on it. Strategically, it would be the best day to take her out. No one would know she was missing until the following Monday. By that point he could fabricate whatever lie he was ordered to about her disappearance. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He sat in front of her abruptly, without a word. His toe collided with hers. His bag slumped against the leg of the desk. For a long moment, Keylee didn't move. She kept her eyes on the page of the book, but their lack of movement told the boy across from her that she was no longer reading. She was waiting. He cleared his throat, and with a slow blink her pupils made the small rotation to view him. He was staring dead at her. Eye contact. Third time. Chills still crept up Keylee's spine. This was it. Fight or flight. One of them would only have to flinch before the other reacted. His hand raced across the table back to her and latched onto her wrist. "I --"
She stood, and ran.
"Damn it!" She could tell by the way both chairs toppled that he was intent on following her. So she took no hesitation in pushing the library doors open and running down the empty hallway. It was wide, open. She'd half-expected there to be a squad of armed men awaiting her. But there wasn't, too her luck. So she kept running. Every ounce of her body was thrown into her flee along the curved hallway until she reached the left wing of the school, and the entrance to the roof.
Behind her, she knew Dorian would be on her heels. She could hear the skids of his feet along the tile. And when she threw herself against the locked roof entrance and broke down the door, she could hear him call to her. It was a simple tactic really. Well thought out: "Keylee, wait!"
Yea, right.
She wrapped her fingers around the cool railing and used it as an axle to rotate around before launching herself up the flight of stairs. The surrounding area was covered in cement and was dark. Perhaps somewhere there would be a light, but enough light shone from the hallway they'd exited. And it flickered when Dorian passed through, and his footsteps could easily be heard echoing as he followed her.
Keylee's heart raced as she then lunged for the door to the outside. It too was locked. And was metal, so it was harder to knock down. She tried again and again, beating upon it, knowing her pursuer was gaining on her. So, with a final lunge, she stroked her shoulder blades back and rammed her shoulder against the door. The metal gave way, and light flared in Keylee's vision.
She stumbled onto the roof - her tennishoes crumbled against the thin layer of loose asphalt beneath her feet. She had to keep going, just enough. As she ran, she tore at her sweater, prying it off until there was nothing on her but her T-Shirt, which she was fine with ripping. She tied the sweater around her waist.
"Keylee, I'm not going to hurt you!"
"Like hell."
She came to a halt at the edge of the roof and turned. This was an overly dramatic, movie-worthy scenario. Dorian's hands were up, as he crawled towards her cautiously, trying to reason with her. "I know what you are. I can help you."
"What I am..." she rolled the term off his tongue. "You act like I'm some animal."
"Well, I'm willing to bet you're not human," he responded, to which she flinched. A look of shock came across his face. "But Keylee--"
"Stop that," she said and took a step on the edge border of the roof, her heels dangling off the edge. "Stop treating me like a kid. You think you can help me?"
He nodded slowly. "I do."
A snarl ripped across her face. "I've been helping myself since I was a little girl, Dorian Brown."
"You don't have to kill yourself," he said, coming closer to her. "It's not better than--"
She laughed - no, she cackled. She tossed her head back and spread her arms, feeling the wind in her face. "Oh, you think I'm going to die? I'm going to jump and hit that cement, probably hit my head. Break a rib, shatter something else important. Snap my neck. But die, right?"
He hesitated, as if unsure. "Uh, yes."
"Well, we'll see, won't we?" She grinned and tipped herself back. Here we go.
"Keylee, wait!"
Too late - she was falling. And at the same time, tearing through her shirt with her shoulderblades, only that they weren't her bone at all. A great wingspan formed and spread just before she was able to hit the cement, and the flexible wings curved to the point that she sky-rocketed upward, just barely able to skim her fingers along the cement before plunging upwards.
The wind ran through her ears at a constant rate. But if she turned her head she could cut through the wooshing and hear Dorian's shout, the cry of shock that she was so used to. His went something along the line of "Christ!" and he took a few steps forward to watch her. He didn't fully believe in angels. No, this was simply her mutation. It was what made her so fast and strong. He'd known she was adept to begin with but didn't know what. Now it was blatantly obvious, and she was gaining height and speed. She didn't like to make a show of her ability. She just... well, flew out of sight.
But not before he was able to retrieve a revolver from under his shirt and belt. He pulled it from behind him and aimed loosely at the wide wingspan (it must've been 8 feet) and fired repeatedly. He emptied the entire barrel without hesitation, and was pleased to see several bullets in the left wing. Then his satisfaction faltered when he heard her cry out, her body spasm in pain, curling up mid-air, and she screamed as she plummeted to the ground at a fearsome rate.
