The Life I'm Running From

21\ The Shadows Can't Protect Me Now

Black: the colour of the shadows I live in.

I don't remember where I heard that quote. Whether it was from a cryptic god or clever giant, the words rang true as I zipped up my black hoodie. My hair was tied back, and I had slipped an extra knife—not celestial bronze, but a real mortal-wounding throwing knife—in my boot. The plan was to be inconspicuous. Of course, walking down the street at midnight in all black wasn't exactly inconspicuous. I just hoped the wrong people wouldn't take notice.

Danny was working the late shift tonight, so our apartment was silent except for the dull echoes my boots left on the floor. I checked my watch. 11:30pm. Google Maps said the meeting place took a fifteen minute drive, but I figured I could take a more direct path on foot. If I left now, I should make it.

The window in our living room was framed by blinds—blinds which I rudely ripped down. After unlocking it, I used the muscle I had to push it open. It moved with the heaviness of something that was rarely forced to open. Once it had been pushed open a sufficient space for me to slide through, I popped out the screen. The easy part was done.

Using the wall as a brace, I stepped up into a crouch on the window ledge. The sounds of the city flew through the air, including beeping cars and screeching tires. I sucked in a breath. Far beneath me was the alleyway that ran beside my apartment building, empty except for a stray cat darting behind a garbage can.

I glanced back inside my living room. The screen was lying on its side, the blinds nearby in a heap. Hopefully I beat Danny home. If I didn't, she might end up calling the cops for burglary.

You might ask why I was leaving this way. Surely the door seemed more practical than the window, seven stories from the ground. But I knew my neighbours. It was Friday night, around Christmas, so almost certainly they had been out drinking and partying. And nothing would draw their suspicion more than a teenager sneaking around dressed in all black.

I looked back out the window. Just as I had seen the day before, there was a small ledge a few feet beneath where I was crouched. I gripped the windowsill beside my feet. Here goes nothing. With a small spring, I swung my legs down to reach the ledge. One found surface. The other floundered in the air as I used my arm strength to keep myself up.

Finally, I got both of my feet on solid surface. Being as careful as possible, I closed my window and started to make my way across the ledge. My hands grabbed where they could—bricks jutting out, holes in the wall, and metal cables. I tried to not look down. As a daughter of Poseidon—and someone who had been through a rough fall recently—heights were not my best friend. And I knew Spider-Man wouldn't be saving me today.

The ledge I was shimmying across ended, but like I had planned, there was the fire escape staircase not too far away. Leaning my weight against the wall, my cheek right against the dirty brick, I reached out with one hand to grasp the railing. As soon as I knew I was secure, I jumped over, my feet clanging against the metal and my arms sliding loosely around the railing. An apartment nearby turned on a light.

I cursed under my breath, quickly vaulting myself over the railing and onto the staircase. I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be as quiet as possible. So by the time they opened their curtains, I was far below in the darkness. Shadows were my friend tonight.

New York had always been home to me. Never a specific part—Long Island Sound, Manhattan, or Queens. Just the general, large city encompassing it all. That's what I'd call home. Even Virginia, which was where I had been born and raised, didn't quite feel as homely as the New York streets did.

But the streets I walked now were not my New York streets. They were empty and dark, the occasional figure enclosed in shadow walking past. I guess I was one of those shadow people tonight.