Creative Writing: A Safe House

The safe house that Cain had picked out had been built in the early 50's. Originally a small jailhouse, it had been abandoned in 1975 when the King commissioned for the Wayland Penitentiary to be built. The jailhouse, while small, had been built over a series of evacuation tunnels dug deep underground. They weren't used by anyone other than the Knights and the Red Hoods—the King had condemned it with the closing of the jailhouse, deeming the tunnels unsafe for use.

The Guardians knew of the tunnels, of course, but they had never raided them or the jailhouse, unlike some of the other known safe houses. Rook said it was because the King was a superstitious fool; he thought the tunnels were haunted—which I'm almost certain they were, considering

the amount of pure weird that goes on down there.

There was a rumor that forty-three people had died when one of the side tunnels collapsed, buried underneath a ton of rubble and two hundred feet of solid earth. Even if it was a rumor, though, there had to be some truth to it.

I remember one time I had been down there by myself, waiting for Cain to show up—it had been some time after the massacre, and we'd gotten separated in all the confusion—when I heard this long, drawn out scream. It had echoed throughout the corridor, bouncing off the tunnel walls. For hours I had listened to it, and no matter where I went, it had followed me. Never getting to close, but never falling behind.

It had stopped as soon as I had found Cain, the younger boy pressed up against the tunnel wall, covered in blood and curled up in a tiny ball. He had had his hands clasped over his ears, and he was muttered to himself, whispering Rook's motto over and over, "We fight, we die. We fight, we die. We fight, we die." I remember wondering whether it was the guilt or the screaming that had him like that, and I also remember not really wanting an answer.

It had been chilling experience to say the nonetheless, but not enough to make us stop meeting up there.

I hooked my fingers on the window sill, heaving myself upward and through. The glass had been broken a long time ago—probably by some hooligan Red Hood wannabes—and my sneakers crunched against the glittering shards on the jailhouse floor. A rock, the culprit of the breaking, sat innocently on a nearby table as a keepsake.

Behind me, Jordan slid ungracefully through the window, almost face-planting onto the glass covered cement. His blanket-turned-cloak drifted to the floor, no longer needed. When he righted himself, he grimaced, hobbling over to the desk, leaning on it as he picked a shard of glass from his foot. When he was done, he reached into his back pocket, retrieving the red armband and tying it around his bicep.

"Welcome to the jailhouse," I said, sweeping my arm in the direction of the main room.

It consisted of the table holding the rock; an open doorway leading to the cells; an old, metal table with a scattering of paper on the surface; a rickety, wooden chair behind the desk; and a weird, black and white abstract painting that looked vaguely like a face.

"Seems pleasant," Jordan responded, though he didn't sound sincere.

"Tell me you're not one of the superstitious weirdos."

Jordan scratched the tip of his nose, smearing the charcoal. "You don't have to be superstitious to know that this place is just on the side of fucked up, Romulus. You've heard about those experiments, right?"

"Stay up here, then, if you're scared."

I walked to the hallway that led to the cells, grinning when I heard Jordan's muffled footsteps follow behind me.

"There are some shoes you can borrow in cell three."

While he was occupied finding a pair of shoes that fit, I busied myself with finding the right brick to push. There was the one with the crack in it, but was it three to the left or three to the right? Or was it diagonal?

It was up, actually.

Stepping back, I watched as the wall swung open like a door, revealing a lighted path that sloped downward. A gust of cold air blew out, making me shiver. As goosebumps spread up my arm, I wished that I hadn't had to throw my jacket away. It was the nicest one I had.

Maybe, once all this was over, I could go back and get it.

"You ready to go?"

Jordan exhaled slowly, hand coming up to push through dark hair. "Why don't you too just meet up here? It's easier, isn't it?"

"Easier, but not as fun."

"Right."

I moved forward, entering the tunnel. Almost immediately I felt like something was watching me—which wasn't the most pleasant of feelings, mind you—and the torches lining the tunnel flickered. The only sound was the scraping of the door as it closed, sealing us into the "tomb." Jordan, macho Red Hood that he was, followed close behind me, his breath coming out loud and uneven.

Funny what the tunnels could do to people.

Broke some. Sheltered others. Scared the living daylights out of certain ones.

Ever since the night of the massacre, the tunnels seemed so much easier to navigate. The whispers of the long dead were no longer hindering, but useful on certain occasions with their, "go left" and "stop now." I had never heard another scream, though when I happened upon the cave in, I'd heard crying. It had sounded like a child, but that hadn't been something that had dwelt on.

I turned left at a crossroads, dragging a hand along the tunnel's wall. The dirt was damp to the touch; the wooden beams that held the ceiling up cool and rough, still decades away from rotting. I passed my hand through a torches' flame, grimacing as the sudden warmth hit my freezing fingertips. Bringing them up to my lips, I pressed the worst of the burn into my mouth, saliva soothing the wound as it healed.

Restoration was certainly a handy ability to have.

"What can you do?" I asked suddenly, breaking the still silence.

"You're going to laugh."

Interested, I glanced back at him. "Yeah?"

"I... I can..." he shook his head, groaning. "I can see the future, alright?"

That was certainly ironic.

"Oh, so your the psychic Rook's been ranting about. The one who 'exceeds expectations,' the one who 'sees and knows all' the one who 'is my most valuable soldier.' You know, if I didn't know about his knact for convincing women to sleep with him, I'd say he was in love with you. Hell, he still might be. He's always had this obsession with his partners having power."

Jordan looked a little ill. "There are some things I don't need to know about Rook."

"Until you see Rook and three girls dancing around a room naked..."

"You can't be serious."

I winced. "Unfortunately I'm not."

"Three?"

"There may have been four. I dunno. Do you count Medusa as one or two people?"

Jordan blanched. "He slept with Medusa?"

"Danced naked with her, at least."

I could still see it.

The green scales that were scattered across her body. The inky hair of one head and dyed brown of the other. The forked tongues; the multicolored eyes, slitted like a reptiles; even

the—

I shuddered, forcing the image from my mind.

"That's..."

"Horrifying? Fucked up?"

He nodded, expression strained. "I knew Rook was a little... out there, but... Medusa?"

"Yeah. It was... Oh, gods, we need a subject change." I scratched at my ear, the burn on my finger completely gone. "So, before we delved into that shit storm, you were telling me about being able to see the future?"

"I was hoping you'd forget."

I looked at him darkly. "I wish I could, Jordan. I wish I could. Now, spill your guts or I'll spill them for you."

Jordan took a deep breath, and when he exhaled a cloud of white came with it. "Yeah, I can see the future. But it doesn't... It's not often. Well, it's... Hard to explain, actually."

"Try."

"Sometimes, when I touch people or things I get this picture or this feeling. Like, um... Like this morning. The guards came to get me and bring me onto the stage and I saw blue. I saw it, and I felt... Good? Happy? Hopeful? But I didn't know what it meant. I mean, sometimes it's clearer but other times..."

"Just blue, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I'm assuming that was supposed to be my jacket?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

He nodded.

We turned another corner, finding Cain lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. When he saw us, he stood up quickly, vivid blue eyes scanning us up and down, searching for injuries—well, not so much on me. I did the same with him, finding one black eye, a cut lip, and a rip in his t-shirt. There was no blood that I could see, but it didn't stop me from quickening my pace.

"Who did that?"

Cain smiled brightly. "My sister."

"Oh, well..." I shrugged. "Fuck her and all that shit."

Cain turned his gaze to Jordan, holding out a hand. "I'm glad you made it out alright. Sorry for leaving you with Romy."

"It's alright I... learned a few things."

I snickered, earning an exasperated look from Cain.

"You told him about the Medusa story, didn't you?"

"It just came up."

"Sure it did."

I brushed a hand through my hair, smoothing down the bits that stuck up. "We should leave. Rook's gonna want a report soon."

"After what you told me, I'm not too sure I can look him in the face."

Grinning, I smacked Jordan's back. "Consider it payback for what you did in the alleyway."

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about it?"

"Not talk about what?" Cain asked, curious.

"Nothing," I said, probably a tad bit too fast. "Mind your business, bitch."

Cain merely looked at me, affronted.

Huffing, I spun around, heading down one of the tunnels.

It would take a couple of hours before we would be able to reach Rook, and I still wasn't entirely sure what I was going to say. We had broken protocal by saving Jordan—though, I suppose we didn't violate orders, and Rook did have a particular liking for the man—which usually led to a day spent cleaning out Rook's stable. Which meant having to spend time with that demon of a horse, Kodiak.

And by the gods did I hate that horse.