The Runaways

Chapter 2: Cat Eyes

I abruptly awoke from my dazed and tired state and was dragged back to reality. I began frantically whipping my head around to find the source of the voice, and eventually my eyes landed on someone on the other side of the car—a boy—but I couldn't make out his features in the dim light. The only thing I was able to see through the darkness were his eyes; they were a piercing green, like a cat's. I could also tell that he was wearing baggy black jeans (they could've been a dark shade of blue, there was no way of knowing), a black hoodie, and clunky black boots.
I answered him with the same question. "Who the hell are you?"
The guy looked like he was about to answer, when suddenly his cat-like eyes travelled down to my leg.
"Dude," He said, surprised. "That's a lot of blood."
I looked at my calf. He was right.
Suddenly I was painfully aware of the gash, and the adrenaline that was previously blinding my nerves from the pain wasn't rushing through me anymore.
I closed my eyes tightly, clenching my teeth in an attempt to stop myself from crying out. Yelchin had cut me deeper than I'd initially thought.
"Hold on," The guy said, standing from the shadows. Through the soft glow of the moonlight, I could see that he was tall, maybe six foot one, his hair black—jet black, in fact—and his skin pale. Like a ghost's.
He walked over to me, the wood of the car creaking under his boots. I shifted uncomfortably, still wary and unsure. I noticed he was carrying a bag on his back, one of those small sports bags with the adjustable strings. He knelt next to my leg and took the bag off, placing it in front of him and opening it. For a moment he seemed to be searching for something. He then pulled out something small and shiny and, flipping something on the bottom of it with his thumb, revealed it to be a swiss army knife.
"Shit!" I yelped, attempting to move away but failing when a searing pain shot through my leg. I let out a pathetic cry of agony and bit the inside of my cheek.
"Relax, relax," The guy started, one hand gesturing for me to calm down and the other setting down the knife. "I'm not gonna hurt you," He said, going back to looking in his bag. This time, he pulled out a small plastic package of disinfectant wipes.
"Y-You," I started, my mouth dry. "You packed disinfectant wipes?"
The guy looked at me curiously and said, "Yeah, so?"
"I don't know, it just seems like a weird thing to carry—gah!" I gasped aloud. The guy had taken a wipe, reached into the rip in my jeans where the gash was, and placed it on the cut without warning.
"Well, seems like it's pretty useful now, doesn't it?" He said matter-of-factly, dabbing around the wound.
I squinted my eyes at him, trying to ignore how much it stung. "How about a warning next time?"
He didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up the swiss army knife again, causing me to flinch. He paused to look at me, and for a moment, I couldn't meet his eyes out of embarrassment. I felt like a big wuss.
"Did someone... do this to you?" He asked hesitantly, gesturing to the gash.
I took a breath, then I asked, "Did you not see me dive into the car?"
The guy shook his head. "No. I was passed out. I've been riding this train for a couple days now."
I stared at him for a moment before answering, "Uh, yeah. The bastard basically chased me onto the train."
"Ah," He said with a nod. "Well, I'm not going to hurt you."
"And why should I trust you? We just met." I stated unsurely, tensing a bit.
"That's true, but then, would I have cleansed your cut if I intended to hurt you?"
"I guess not."
The guy looked at me as if to say, Duh, moron. Then he slowly brought the knife to the cuff of my jeans and tore off a bit of the denim.
"What'd you do that for?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.
"To stop the bleeding," He said, moving his hands to the rip in my jeans where the gash was and tearing it further apart. He then took the scrap piece of denim and carefully wrapped it around the wound, tying a knot on top of my shin to keep it in place.
"It's not much, but it'll do for now." He said.
"Uh, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
The guy began putting his supplies back in his bag when I asked, "What's your name?"
He looked at me for a moment, clearly hesitant. He looked away and finally muttered, "Finnegan. Finnegan Nielson. Finn is fine. You?"
I cleared my throat before saying, "Westin Thompson."
He nodded, then closing up his small bag, he asked, "So what got you chased onto the train?"
I shrugged, trying to shift my body into a more comfortable position, but failing when I felt the now-familiar sting of the gash.
"I stole a few beers from this old man's bar. To top it off, he'd had a thing for my Mom..." My thoughts trailed off as thoughts of my Mom creeped back in. I tried not to feel anything for her, considering she couldn't've given less of a shit about me, but I just couldn't stop myself from worrying. I hoped someone would come and save her—but I also hoped I could forget about her. I felt a bit conflicted.
"And, what, he just happened to snap tonight?" Finn asked with a playful grin, clearly amused. I guess I might've found it funny if I were him, too; maybe even hilarious.
"Something like that, I guess." I mumbled, resting the back of my head on the rusted metal door. "And what about you?" I inquired, turning to look at him. He was now sitting on the other end of the door, half of his body in the shadows again.
"What about me?" He asked, closing and, therefore shielding, his cat-like eyes.
"You said you've been on this train for a few days now. Why?"
"Because..." He started, crossing his arms across his chest and opening his eyes again, looking up at the roof. "I needed an out. I couldn't be in that—that place anymore."
There was a moment of silence, his words seeming to hang in the air as if drifting in the wind. He didn't seem like he'd wanted to answer, like it physically pained him. I kind of knew how that felt, so I guess I sympathized with him.
"Me, too." I said suddenly, nodded in understanding and looking away.
"What?"
"I just... I know what you mean. Needing an out."
"Yeah? So you were secretly hoping to be chased onto a train by a crazy man with a knife?"
I couldn't help but smile, and soon we were both laughing loudly, until eventually our laughs faded into sad smiles.
"I knew that I wanted to get out of Everton. But... I don't know if that was how I imagined it happening. Or how I wanted it to happen."
Finn nodded, scratching the back of his head. "Maybe that was the only way it could've happened."
I could tell he wasn't just talking about me.
"Yeah. Maybe."
It was quiet again, and the only sound that could be heard was the wind whipping through the train car. I turned to look outside. The night sky's many stars twinkled brightly, almost as if they were winking. Many fields of crops and wildflowers zipped past, becoming smaller and smaller until they faded completely. It made me feel kind of giddy and excited, like I was becoming bigger and moving on to something better.
"Hey, Westin," Finn piped suddenly. When I turned to look at him, he was staring right back at me with a curious expression. "Do you know where this train is stopping next?"
It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea where we were actually headed. But as I gave it more thought, I wasn't that concerned, in all honesty. I didn't really care when or where the train stopped, as long as I got to decide when I got off.
"No, I don't." I admitted.
Finn smiled. "Chicago. It's stopping in Chicago."
I raised my eyebrows. "The city, huh?"
"Yeah. That's where I'm getting off."
"Ah. Are you from Illinois originally?"
"Nah."
"Where are you from?"
"Nowhere."
"Then why are you on this train?"
"I told you already, didn't I?"
"Not in detail."
"Why do you need details?"
I thought for a moment before saying, "I'm curious."
"Well, don't be. It's not something worth mentioning."
I knew that was a lie. I didn't ask anything more about it, because I knew I wasn't going to get any answers. I figured I shouldn't pry, though. It was obviously a sensitive topic.
"Anyway," He started, looking away. "I just didn't know if you had a plan or anything. You have anywhere you want to go?"
"Not really," I said. "I guess my first immediate goal was just to get out of that town. I know I want to do something—be something—I just don't know what."
"Yeah. Same here."
"How old are you, by the way?" I asked.
"Eighteen. You?"
"Me, too. I obviously haven't graduated, though."
"You didn't finish your schooling?" He sounded surprised.
"No, but you did, by the sounds of it."
"Yeah," He shrugged. "I mean, it wasn't really my choice, but I finished the twelfth grade two years ago."
My eyes widened a bit at that. He was definitely smart, then.
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"But, then, did you not go to college?"
"No. I was forced to... Actually, it's nothing."
"What?"
"No. Seriously. I'd rather not say."
"Um, alright."
The train hit a rough spot on the tracks, causing us to rattle around in the car. An awkward silence ensued, which was different from the rest of the comfortable moments of silence we'd had. I wanted to ask so much more, but I knew each question would be a dead end. I'd also never been this curious about another person my age before. This was a first for me.
I tried to come up with a conversation starter, but all I could think of was, "So, Chicago, huh?"
"Yeah. I've always liked Chicago."
"I've never been."
"Have you always lived in Eldontown?"
"Everton."
"Whatever it's called."
I chuckled and answered, "My brain might've blocked out any memories of anywhere else, but as far as I know, yes."
"Why would it block out those memories?" He asked genuinely.
"Trauma, probably." I said jokingly, even though it was most definitely the truth. Finn looked taken aback.
We stared at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter again. The feeling of laughing with another person was so foreign, I was almost kind of alarmed by it. I could tell that Finn felt the same way.
"Were you... being serious, though? Are you not able to remember specific moments in your childhood?" Finn asked sincerely.
"Oh. I mean, yeah. Why do you ask?"
Finn looked uncomfortable again, like it was difficult to speak.
"I think I might have moments like that, too. Where there are holes in my memory." He explained. I could tell this was something he didn't often talk about, or more accurately, he didn't have anyone to talk about it with.
"Sometimes I get triggers," I said in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable.
"Triggers?" He asked.
"Yeah, triggers. Specific things: smells, sights, a feeling. They can bring back things I might've forgotten. None of them are good, usually."
When I looked back over to him, he seemed intrigued and stared intently at me while I spoke.
"It's not that uncommon, y'know. You're not the only one out there feeling these things, experiencing these things." I said, trying to reassure him.
He nodded, then he asked, "Can you tell me a memory of yours? One that came back?"
I squinted my eyes at him. "You want me to tell you one of my memories? When I know absolutely jack shit about you?"
Finn shrugged. "Well, yeah."
"This doesn't seem fair."
"Okay, how about this. If you tell me one of your memories, I'll tell you a little bit about who I am."
"You're bargaining with me? Really?" I laughed.
"Yes! I am!" He exclaimed, totally serious.
I looked at him and noticed that his blazing green, cat-like eyes were practically alight.
"Alright, alright," I said, conceding. "But you have to tell me who the hell you are. No going back on that."
He nodded, motioning for me to start.
I took a breath, let it out, then looked up to the roof. "Okay. Well, up until about two weeks ago, I couldn't recall this memory, but then it suddenly came to me. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but it just kinda... did. I was around four or five when it happened, which I know because my Dad was still around. My Mom had gone out to get groceries, I think. She was out for some reason. It was only my Dad and I at home. We were outside, playing catch with a baseball in the front yard, when suddenly we heard this growling noise. It was loud, so we knew it was close, and we quickly realized that there were two stray dogs fighting each other on our street. My Dad took off his baseball glove and set the baseball inside of it, then dropped them both in the grass. He told me to do the same with my glove, and when I did, he motioned for me to follow him over to where the dogs were. I was scared—really scared. The dogs were behind one of the neighbor's cars, rolling under it and then rolling back out to bite and scratch and claw. There was so much blood. I wanted to run, I wanted to go back inside the house and hide under the covers of my bed. But every time I'd wimper, Dad would shush me. So we waited, and we waited, and finally, one of the dogs killed the other. The dog that lived continued to growl for a moment before turning and limping away, and the dog that died lay there still, blood oozing out of its neck and its stomach. I was crying then, and I felt like I could throw up. Then after a moment, my Dad said, 'I know that was hard to watch. I know you didn't want to see that. But there is something I need you to know. Those dogs, they were a lot like the people that you'll face in life. Men, women, it doesn't matter; the world will swallow you whole and spit you back out just as easily, if you let it. But you're different, Westin. I've known from the moment you were born that you're going to be a strong man. And you cannot let anyone do to you what that dog just did to this one, and that is to force you to admit defeat. There will be people who might try to tear you down, or break you apart, but you must not let them, son. Even if those people are me or your Mother. Do you understand?' When I nodded, he gave me a smile and picked me up from the ground, sitting me on his shoulder. Later, I remember that he'd given me ice cream, but that's all I can really recall."
Finn stared at me for a moment, his cat eyes glowing with a mixture of pity and intrigue.
"That's... brutal." He let out.
I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I can't say that it didn't help me in some way, though. I wouldn't be on this train right now if I hadn't remembered some of his advice. But besides that, you made me a promise!" I said, pointing to him.
"Yep," He smiled mischievously. "And I intend to keep it."
A moment passed, and he hadn't said anything.
I spoke up. "So...?
Finn looked at me. "So, what?"
"You promised me some information!" I scoffed.
"Yes, I did! What I didn't say was when I'd give you that information."
I couldn't believe it. The guy had scammed me.
"Unbelievable. You tricked me!" I exclaimed half-jokingly. I was actually kind of annoyed.
Finn shook his head with an amused grin. "Look, I really will tell you."
"Yeah? When? Because, last time I checked, Everton is only four hours away from Chicago. We'll be there before I even wake up." I stated.
"Right, so, don't go to sleep, then."
"What?"
"What I'm saying is, why don't you get off at Chicago with me?"
I stared at him in disbelief. I was totally shocked. "What? Why?"
"Well," He started, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just, it would be nice to have someone with me in the city, that's all."
"You don't have to pity me, you know." I said, assuming he really just felt bad for me after I told him the story, that he just wanted to make me feel a little less embarrassed.
That's when he said, "No, no, that's not it. I don't pity you. I just think that we could benefit from sticking together. We're both clearly smart, and your leg is still in pretty bad shape. I could be a big help with cleaning and bandaging it. Besides, I think... we get along pretty well, don't you?"
I thought about it for a moment. He seemed sincere, but I didn't know how much I could actually trust him, especially with all of the underlying secrets he seemed to be keeping. Then again, he did tend to my gash wound without second thought, which showed that he's kind at heart. Not only that, and it's weird to admit, but I did genuinely like the guy. He was funny, and he was the first person I'd met who was my age and could mentally keep up with me. Plus, I wanted to know who the hell he was.
"Okay. Let's do it."
So I agreed.
"It's a deal." He nodded, sticking out his hand. I reached out, clasped his hand in mind, and shook it.