The Knife Thrower

Chapter 20

The rest of the day went by slowly and normally. No one came in to interrogate us, no one jumped out windows. Mainly because now all the windows are locked with a key. And each teacher I had gave me the evil eye, watching me the whole day. And I was moved to the other side of the room. But they should know, if I really wanted to leave again, none of that would stop me. It would just make it harder and probably more dangerous for me.

The bus did not come this afternoon. Sometimes it doesn't turn up and we have to walk home. Today is one of those day. I walk with Izzy and Jay, wondering about my next move. Izzy is telling us about her school day, but I'm not listening. Up until I hear something interesting that she says.

"I was sitting and talking with Ella and Mary at lunch when I saw Taylor walking across the basketball court. She was eating her cheese sandwich and not watching where she was going. One of the bigger boys in our grade, the bully Nick, went up to her and took the sandwich out of her hands. He held it high in the air and made her jump for it. But she couldn't reach it and then some of his buddies went over and started teasing her."

"What?" I say in alarm, brain trying to remember the start of what Izzy had said. Who could pick on a little girl so sweet and shy?

"She keeps getting bullied at school. It almost happens every day. Sometimes they steal her lunch and eat it, or they trip her in sport class when we run laps. They even once threw her math book into the trash and told the teacher she did it."

My hands clench at my sides, angry thoughts swirling through my head. "Why does she not tell a teacher the truth? Does anyone else know?"

Izzy thinks for a moment. "I don't think anyone else notices it." I force myself to stay calm. Getting angry is not going to help her. But the next time I see Blake I will talk to him about it, see if he knows. I am about to ask Izzy another question but they have already started talking about something else.

I sigh, trying to push the image of little Taylor getting picked on out of my mind. I would hate it if Izzy were the one getting picked on. Or Jay. Though Izzy has good friends and all of Jay's classmates are so innocent.

We reach the house and let ourselves in. Izzy goes back outside to the little mail box to check to see if there is anything for us from the weekly post visit. Though usually there is never anything, or when there is it is business letters for dad or increase of taxes notifications. She walks back in and hands me something.

I turn it over, expecting to see the government sign and my dads name. But there is no government sign and it holds my name. I wonder who this could be from? Or what it's for? My name has been hurriedly scribbled on in black ink.

Confused, I open the envelope and pull out a sheet of recycled paper. I stay where I am and start to read.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Kyra, 05/04/47

I hope this letter finds you well, and I hope that you do not here the news before you read what I have to say. I received word about your parents earlier in the day and wrote this letter as fast as I could. I am very sorry for what you are about to hear.

Early on April 5th, 2247, at 3:17am, your father and mother were killed. The government found out your mother was a spy from an inside source, and they took her under arrest. Your father went after her, looking for her. When they found him they did not know that he was also a spy, but suspected it. Your father would not leave Elizabeth's side, and admitted to also working against the government. Both were put on a brief trial and declared guilty. They were executed shortly after.

I am so very sorry for your loss. I wish you and your family the best. Whether you decide to tell Izzy and Jay what happened, that is up to you, but if you need any help of any kind, please do not hesitate to call on me. Though you have no reason to fear, I hope, for I am sure the government would not come after you. But do not let word spread of why your parents were murdered if you can help it. I found out from an inside source.

Yours sincerely, Ryan Netherton

__________________________________________________________________________________

I stare at the words for a long time, but do not process what they mean. My brain has gone numb and refuses to work. My un-focoused gaze slides from the letter to the wall. My whole body trembles and I sink to the floor, hands still clutching the piece of paper in a death grip. I am vaguely aware that Izzy kneels beside me, trying to take the letter in her small hands. I rip it away from her grasp and pull it into my chest, hugging it close.

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to get angry at the government for taking away my parents. I want to feel pain from losing them. I want to feel sadness, at now being an orphan. I want to feel fear from the thought of the government coming after us too. I want to feel. But I can't.

I am void of emotion, I feel nothing inside me. No grief, no loss, no anger, no vengeance, no sadness. It is not that I won't fell those emotions. It is that I can't. I may have been connected to my parents through relation, through blood, but they are strangers to me. Even if I knew them, I am not sure I would have felt anything. My body tells me I have had enough. Had enough emotion, enough feeling. I cannot feel anything more, for I am so full, that everything has turned into a numbness. An empty, peaceful feeling like I am aware that they should be there, but do not care that they are not. Like I am being attacked, and I know what it should feel like, but I do not feel it.

I know why the emotion I should feel is not there. I know why I don't feel it. I have let it go, am letting it go. The emotions drain out of me, slowly like a trickle but then faster like a stream. It rushes out of me, all the feelings I have locked inside of me these last three days, pour out of my soul like sweat pouring out of my skin. I do not feel those emotions. But I feel emotions of timelessness, of floating in air. Of immense relief, immense peace.

Slowly my grip loosens and my heart beat slows. I place the now-crinkled letter on the floor and smooth it with my fingers. I get up off the floor and gently take the letter with me. I look up to see Izzy sitting on a chair, staring at me in concern and bewilderment. I rub my sore wrists and my sore neck.

I try to give her a smile, to reassure her that everything is fine. She nods at the letter and gestures for me to hand it over. I can't keep this from her. She deserves to know. She reads it quickly, eyes scanning each word. She puts the letter down and looks at me. I expect to see grief. But instead I see guilt. She feels what I feel.

I give her a hug. Not a hug of comfort, but a hug to show I know how she feels and it's okay. There will be someone else out there who knew them better than us, and who will grieve them properly. My parents are gone, and I'm okay with that. We all are.