I brush my hair back as I use the back of my hands to wipe away the sweat from my forehead. Why, of all days, did the door have to get stuck today? I grab the next rung of the ladder and lift myself up, missing the days when I could scurry up a ladder like a rat up a drainpipe. Of course, it wasn't all that long ago before it happened, but it sure feels like it. Probably because I've become used to it, it's something I don't even have to think about anymore, but just adjust myself to as I go.
I gasp as my leg goes stiff, grimacing as I suck in a slow breath through my nose. I squint up, counting the rungs ahead of me before grunting as I pull myself up, one rung at a time, imagining myself weightless despite the useless weight dangling under me. At the last rung I heft myself up, quickly scurrying over the ledge. I sigh heavily as I lay on my front before pushing off the ground and unhooking my cane from my back. It isn't much, made of a bunch of discarded wood pieces duct-taped together painted black with different little flowers simply painted, those a child draws with a circle in the middle and three to six petals around it.
I find the rusted grate, crooked and out of shape, digging my fingertips into the small, patterned holes. I set the thin sheet of metal on the floor and slide my legs down into the square-shaped hole, lowering myself slowly so I have time to grab the first, slim hole in the cement that makes an inward ladder. For a moment, as it happens at times when I'm climbing, I consider dropping down, down, down without stopping, with nothing but darkness and silence surrounding me, with no end, no imagination of what's to come since there would be nothing to come. I blink, allowing life to settle back onto my shoulders as I continue down the narrow, uneven tunnel-of-sorts. I drop down about twenty feet later, knees to the floor along with my hands. I dig my nails into the floor at a crack and pull up the wooden door replacing what was previously a cement ceiling.
I drop down into my bedroom after peeling away the poster that was covering the hole, running my fingers over the edges as I paste it back in place. I head towards my kitchen, suddenly craving a sandwich, only to freeze in the living room as I catch sight of him. He stares back.
"What are you doing here?" I snap.
"Harlot..." He starts before I interrupt.
"Three months. You disappeared three months ago and now you've broken into my home?" I take three steps towards him, keeping my legs stiff and straight, not wanting him to notice my limp.
Of course, he does.
"What's wrong with your leg?" He asks, eyes searching it intently, a concerned look to accompany it.
"Why are you here?" I grit out, ignoring his concern.
"I need your help." He walks over, placing his hands on either side of my arms and gently tries to guide me over to a chair.
I push his arms from me and raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue.
"It's my brother." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "He's in trouble."
"And how can I help? And why break into my home rather than come to me?"
"Because very few know about us, so your place is safe, making it a good place to hide my brother away. I also heard you were out of town?" He raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. "If you had spent more time around here, you would know that rumor is always going around."
"Hmm." He looks at me for a few moments. "Allow me to introduce you," He swings an arm around and I turn a bit to view the boys behind me. "Nimrod and Nemo." I nod at them before turning back to him. Before anyone can say anything, there's a knock at the door.
I move to go answer, but he stops me, shaking his head at me as the boys go instead. I scowl at him, but, by the look he gives me, he's not entirely sure who it is. The door opens and there's some muttering and scuffling before it closes again and the footsteps near.
"Harry," he calls be by my nickname before the newcomers. "Meet my brother, Zeke, who I hope you will allow to be your house guest for the foreseeable future."
I turn to him, looking him dead in the eye. "James, darling, none of the future is foreseeable."
