The Knife Thrower

Chapter 18

I walk for about thirty minutes, boots slapping against the hard concrete and hands tucked into my arm pitts. A shiver races down my spine and my teeth chatter involuntarily. Curse this freezing weather.
Finally I get to the weathered building and push open the door.
"Hey. Just me. Ryan, are you up?" I call out as I lock the door behind me. Ryan gave me a key a few years ago. I shove it back into my pocket and walk down the hallway.
"Ryan?" I hear no reply so I walk through a doorway into the privat corridor that holds his bedroom. His door is shut and I don't see any light shining underneath it. I knock twice, impatiently waiting. Nothing stirs. Sighing, I turn the handle and step into the room.
I look round the dark room now tinted green and make out a single bed, rough wooden table and a closet with no door. I walk over to the bed and poke the mountain of cloth. I wonder if he is under that? I hear a groan from deep beneath the covers and a muffled 'leave me alone.' Yep, he's there.
I walk to the bottom of the bed and grip the covers in my fists. I hate to wake people up from sleeping, but I have no choice. I yank hard, but they give easyly and I fall hard onto my butt, drowning under the moth-eaten sheets. I throw them off me and stand up. I take a step forward towards the now awake figure in the bed but trip over the discarded blankets. I fall forward onto my face with a suprised cry and land next to the bed, nose throbbing. Biting back a curse I shakily get to my feet, cheeks heated from the embarrassment of falling down twice.
Ryan is sitting up on his bed, staring at me groggily. He lights a candle next to his bed and blinks rapidly, rubbing his eyes. His face is covered in stubble and his cheeks are hollow. He looks at me more clearly now and starts laughing. I look down self-consciously, wondering why he is laughing. But then I see it, the rumpled clothes due to my fall and messy hair.
Two people have laughed at me today. I'm not funny and usually don't look funny. So that is a record. Well, one actually would have been a record.
He survey's the room and looks back at me, eyes alight with laughter. He gets off the bed and walks over to the door and I follow him. He walks into his kitchen and puts a kettle on his stove. I sit down on one of the table chairs. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why in the world have you broken into my bedroom at," he glances at his watch, "7:00!?" I bite back a smile at his disbelieving and mock-annoyed face. He gives me a stern stare before relenting.
"Oh come give me a hug." I smile and hug him close, unexpected tears threatening to fall. He is like a father to me.
I pull back and take over making the tea while he takes a seat. I make the tea in silence, thinking over what I am going to say.
"So," he starts once I hand him his cup of tea, "what has happened in the last day that is so important you needed to come this early in the morning." He gives me a joking smile but his face quickly turns serious when I don't tease back. I tell him about everything that happened yesterday, about the metal detectors; my interrogation; climbing out a window; getting my memory back; phoning the air service company, and finally about the rebels meeting. He sits still and listens to what I say, gaze unwavering from mine.
He is quiet for a long time, face grave and serious. He gets up and starts to pace the room, one arm behind his back and the other resting against his chin. I watch him in silence, my own brain thinking over all that has happened. I am only one girl, one person. This war is so much bigger than me, how can I save Izzy and Jay?
I massage my throbbing temples, mind deep in thought. I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump like a startled cat, before remembering where I am and relaxing.
Eventually he speaks. "Okay. What do you need me to do?" There is no teasing in his voice, no judgment. Only respect and sincerity. His green eyes are attentive and trusting, telling me to talk to him. Telling me to trust him.
"I need you to show me how I can get up onto The Divider." I decide to cut straight to the point. He was there, I remember him. So he must know how to get up there.
"No." My heart stops beating for a moment and I look at him surprised.
"What? Why?" His once earnest eyes are now reserved and drawn, his mouth set into a firm line.
"I will not let you go up there again. You will have to find some other way." He says and stands up, again pacing around the room. Seeing him being so stubborn when I am so close, makes my anger flare. I get up too, sending my chair flying and march over to Ryan. He stops and watches me approach. My heart beat beats faster with each step and my hands form into fists at my sides.
"How dare you," I grind out, shoving my finger into his chest, "deny telling me how to get up onto The Divider. Stopping my only chance of getting my family to safety. You want to see them stay here? See them taken as slaves when you could have stopped that?" My voice rises with each word and I am shaking hard now, but not from the cold. He looks at me and gently takes my finger in his hand. My anger dies and I am left feeling helpless and empty. He pulls me close and I fall into him, still shaking.
"Shh. Shh." His soothing voice calms me down. A loose tear escapes my long lashes and falls down my cheek. I blink the rest away, sick of crying. It seams that is all I have done lately. I pull away and sit back down again. He joins me.
"It's just so painful, for it reminds me of that terrible day." He says softly, voice haunted and sad. My heart aches for him. Of coarse he feels bad, he was there. I lay a hand on his arm, trying to be comforting. He sees the apology in my eyes and gives me a small, but forgiving smile. He sighs. "But I will tell you how to get up there."
I am about to say thanks to him when another question demands my attention. "Why were you up there in the first place?" He winces like he is in pain and I hold my breath, wondering if I have asked to much now. He doesn't reply for a long time.
"There is a small summer house up in the forest. I used to own it. You were both staying with me that day and wanted to go out to play. You always went out to play up there and it is always fine. But there were strong winds blowing and I had a bad feeling in my gut, so I followed you. I thought it would be okay, that I could protect you both, but..." His sentence ends in a sob and he puts his head into his hands. Had my dad felt like this when Elijah died? No, probably not.
I lay my hand on his shoulder and squeeze, not sure what the right thing to say is. He lays his big, calloused hands over my own smaller one and gives me a brave, but broken smile. My own tears threaten to fall but I blink them away. Weeping is not going to bring him back.
After ten minuets he composes himself. "Alright. I'll show you on a map." He stands up and gestures for me to follow him. I walk out of the room, leaving the feelings of sadness behind me.