Two Truths and a Liar

XXV • Magic

Leon

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On the second of December, snow fell in turrets past the fogged paned glass of Deadwood church of Christ. 

I could have imagined myself anywhere but here. Not long before,  the thought of this cavernous building never crossed my mind except to block a little of the sky as I passed along the sidewalks below. Never thinking I'd be inside, unable to leave. Unable to step foot outside in the daylight without being found.

But there was a kind of safety in its walls, the reassuring sound of children's voices chattering after sunday school somewhere far under the creaking floorboards of the attic. Distant, like a life I couldn't go back to. 

I pressed my palm against the cool glass and sighed. 

You can't go back, Leon.

I was on the news. We watched screens reflected in glass doors and windows from the janitor, long after the place was dark and closed and the buzz of chatter and singing of hymns was replaced by the stereo blare of the tv in the break room. I was a runaway, or kidnapped. The story changed day to day, voices talking over filmed video of search parties. My own face staring back at me, dead looking, but much cleaner. My portrait found its place among many others, titles  "Missing in Deadwood". News stories slashed across the screen. Those who could be matched with the unidentifiable bodies, and those who had disappeared altogether. Some stuck out to me. Connor West and Clarissa Bleakly, the most, who were found together. Harley D'arco, never found. Myself the same. Lost among so many other names. Other lives. Lives that were over, because of me.

"You ready?"

I turned, forcing a smile and a shrug, tucking my hands into my jean pockets as I faced the pair silhouetted in arched doorway light. Jenna, hair pulled back into a taut braid as violently as the burning look in her cool, collected gaze. Harley stood next to her, icy blue half closed underneath tousled hair, blanketed in shadow and leaning on one foot as if he were eager to leave. We'd taken the clothes Jenna had, spares from lost and found bins and men's clothing from someone she hadn't named, and quickly shut us down when we asked. 

They didn't trust me. Especially not Harley. To Jenna, I was a tool. Something she could use for her own good, a dangerous thing only of any worth if I could be manipulated into what was needed. My curse. My burden. 

Her weapon. 

I was fighting to gain Harley's trust, but he didn't seem to want a friend. He needed one, but wouldn't allow himself that vulnerability. Especially not for me. 

"I think so," 

"Let's go then."

Harley turned, and Jenna motioned for me to follow. Footsteps clicked damply against the twisting halls, shattering in echoes down the silent stairways and open rooms of wood and marble. My eyes followed the floor, teeth finding their way around my bottom lip. Rolling it in and out, loosely, then almost hard enough to break skin. I hadn't watched my surroundings until I found myself stumbling into Harley, the nauseating clash of my chin against his skull colliding against my senses. He rubbed the back of his head and furrowed his brows at me, and I mumbled an embarrassed apology. 

We'd made it to a side door, bolted with a heavy lock and a rusted set of hinges. Jenna retrieved her keys, and after a struggle with the lock we spilled into the blinding world outside. Flurries of white struck my face, stinging with cold and sending a tingling sensation down my hands. I breathed in the chill air, and looked around. The first time seeing the world outside for three weeks. And the first time feeling free for months.