Page 2 of Lost and Bound

The thirty years since the others first came out has brought out the ugliest side of humanity, that’s for sure.

The recent drop in community faith comes from the new totalitarian style of governance being introduced. In short, it means we, the people, are navigating around two very dangerous beasts—the others, and the very people who should protect us, our government. Which makes what we do so important.

The small community center that Mr. Kenney set up offers assistance to anyone, and he is proof that there are still good people in the world. Like the sign on the door says, “Everyone is welcome.” Never once have I seen him turn someone away, irrespective of their age, gender, religion, hair color, or speculation on their purity. Without him, I would have lost hope years ago.

“Where would you like me to put these boxes?” I ask, swinging around to hold the door open for him to pass through.

His arms are fuller than mine, and I’m lucky I have youth on my side. His gray hair blows in the wind as he rushes past, the double stack of boxes tilting dangerously.

“We can put everything on this bench. After I’ve locked up and called to let everyone know our deliveries will be delayed, I’ll take the produce down. You can sort it in the morning.”

I put my box on the stainless steel sink, right next to where he already has my bag and a container of food waiting. “I’ll be okay, I promise. And everyone else will be fine too.”

He shakes his head. “I wish I had your faith, Maya.”

His words are interrupted by the sound of sirens, and we turn to the screen showing us the feed from the front door, catching an enforcer van speeding past.

Mr. Kenney reaches over and gives me a quick hug before walking off toward the back door, talking as he goes. “I packed up some of the leftovers from lunch. I’ll freeze the rest tonight.”

“At least let me pay,” I suggest quickly.

The put-on scowl I get over the top of his bifocals lets me know how offended he is at my offer.

I roll my eyes at his antics. “You know I appreciate everything you do, so don’t be offended when I offer you a few measly dollars.”

“You work your butt off for those few measly dollars. If I have food left over and choose to give it to you, I’ll do just that. Or are you going to deny an old man, because that’s awfully harsh, Maya,” he grumbles, though a smile lights up his eyes playfully.

“Me, harsh? Now who’s being rude?” I tease back, accepting the bag of food. We walk toward the front door, both grinning like clowns, enjoying the smallest reprieve from reality. “But see, all’s fair when caring for people, so expect a batch of your favorite cookies in the morning.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’ve got enough on your plate.” He’s instantly more somber than he was a second ago, but I ignore the concern in his voice, or I’ll break down.

“I’m making them,” I say determinedly. “And I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Which, according to Maya, generally means sunup.” He smiles again, letting me deal how I do. He waits while I pack my bag and food into the basket on the front of my bike and put my helmet on.

I hop onto my bike, but before I ride off, I reassure him. “You know I’ll be okay, right?”

“Me not worrying is like you not helping. Stay inside tonight.”

I don’t need to turn around; I can feel him watching me all the way down the alley. Mr. Kenney is clearly not the only person anxious about tonight’s full moon. Even though twilight is hours away, the streets are full of people making their way home. It won’t be long before the city is locked down for the night.

Considering there hasn’t been an attack on our city since forever, the only reason for the undercurrent of panic is the number of enforcers patrolling the streets.

Once upon a time, there were rallies where dissidents spoke up in protest of the heavy-handed tactics of the government and its enforcers. Not anymore.

By the time I’m unlocking the door, the faith Mr. Kenney spoke about is wavering. The latest increase in power the enforcers have been given only makes me more skeptical of the government’s intentions. Without question, and from the start, they could have handled the fact there’s actual supernatural beings in our world differently. I know I’m not the only person who thinks that way, since my parents shared my views—or maybe I shared theirs.

Opening the door, I sing out, “Hello, I’m home. I’ve got dinner too.”

Calling out to them is a habit. One I can’t stop, not that I try to. To stop calling out is to admit my parents are gone. And fuck that, I can still feel their energy around me.

I see fragments of my parents everywhere. Locking the front door reminds me of the day Dad taught me to use a drill. I swear the memory is so visceral; I hear his encouragement and laughter even now. They live on in my memories. I only hope those memories are portable because as much as I love this house, I can’t stay here without them anymore, hence the big move tomorrow.

I miss my parents like crazy, but this house was built for a family. It feels wrong to be here, but it’s hard to actually accept I’m leaving too. Time and time again, my parents, in their own way, instilled the belief that home isn’t a place, it’s a person. Staring at the surrounding boxes, I hope like hell they’re right.

On the kitchen table sits a small pile of keepsakes, ones I can’t put in a box. I’ve tried, and it never sits well with me. Invariably, the small things I can’t pack away end up spread on the table exactly like they are now.

Touching a finger over the white raven feather I found across my pillow on my fifteenth birthday, I can still hear my father’s voice swearing he hadn’t put it there. Even after years of stroking it every day, the feather is as perfect as it was when I found it. Next to the feather is the tiny watercolor painting my mom randomly left for me one afternoon. Supposedly, she was struck by inspiration, and clearly that’s true because my mom typically painted wildflowers, not keys, but the colors and paint strokes were keeping in her style. Not that it mattered, what was more important was that she painted it for me.