Shadowed

III. The Girl with the Knife

We traipse out of the alleyways and back onto the sidewalk. It's not far to Maya's normal abode, and I've pretty much got a mental map of this city imprinted on the back of my consciousness. I've spent countless nights wandering it, finding passages, places to crash for the night, places that aren't safe for people like me, places I can get a meal or some spare cash from kind strangers. 

So, I find myself following Abby in a haze, imagining a million different situations where I encounter the person who knew my name. I don't want to let myself dream too much, because dreaming has never ended well. But the optimist in me can't help but to hope for a friendly type of person who knows exactly what happened to me and what I need to do about it.

The skeptic is sure there's no way a harsh, sinister voice like the one I heard could have come from somebody with good intentions.

Either way, my stomach is churning at the thought of it. After so many years of being in the dark about what happened to me, I thought I was content with not knowing. That I had accepted it, my own kind of tortured existence. 

I know now that I never did. And I don't think I ever can. Could anyone? Is there anyone strong enough to banish that nagging need completely, whatever it may be? 

"Rowan," Abby hisses, and I blink several times. I'm so used to spacing out as a coping mechanism. It makes it much easier for people to forget you're there if you're not there, not really.

"What is it?" I ask, seeing that we've arrived at the crumbling building Maya usually sleeps behind. Boards nailed over faded stained glass windows and tattered green awnings hint at a once-vibrant restaurant, where people laughed and drank cheap cocktails and enjoyed living, even if just for one night. I can almost feel the ghosts in the air.

"I'm kind of nervous," Abby says, and there's a crease between her eyebrows and she chews on her lower lip anxiously.

"Why?" I say. It comes out sounding way more perplexed than I'd intended, but I hadn't pegged Abby as the type to be scared of much, especially not about what might have happened to Maya this morning.

She flushes and looks down, scuffing the heels of her threadbare shoes into the concrete. 

"I don't know," Abby says, backtracking a little at my response. "But Maya's not really the type to let people know what she's doing at all times. Don't you think she's not going to like us checking in on her? I mean, she's pretty secretive, and- and like, moody, and stuff," she trails off, her hands fidgeting. Her cheeks are tinged slightly pink.

Abby's scared of Maya, I realize.

"This was your idea in the first place," I remind her gently. I can't really blame her, though- Maya's pretty intimidating, even to someone as experienced as me. She knows everyone and everything, and she's afraid of nothing. I know she's got a good heart, but she's one of the toughest people I've ever seen. It's hard not to be at least a little scared of her.

Abby nods, but still looks hesitant to go around to the back.

"Come on," I say, trying to sound convincing. "Maya knows us. I'm sure she won't mind us looking out for her. Besides, we don't even know that she's here."

"All right," Abby relents, and her tone is anxious, but she follows me along the side of the derelict building.

When we reach the back of the wall, I start to say something, but Abby puts a finger to my lips.

"Do you hear that?" she whispers, and we fall silent. I can make out a couple of voices, but they're not distinct.

All of a sudden, someone shouts, and I jump, startled. It was a guy's voice, I can tell, but I couldn't make out what he said.