Laiken

“Stop it!” I scream, struggling out of the arms of the hefty woman. She's red-faced and sweating, her hand clutching a pair of scissors. “Leave me alone!”

Her partner—who is her opposite in every way—wags a bony finger at me. “Quit acting so childish! You're a mess, we only want to clean you up.”

“You want to chop my hair off! I won't let you!” Panic makes me strong, but it's the hot-need to keep my promise that turns my hands into claws. I'll fight until my heart quits.

The women share a look, blocking me against the corner of the bedroom. The scissors glint in the light. “If you don't calm down, I'll cut off more than your hair, girl.”

My eyes flash. “Try it.”

Soft arms snatch at me. I duck, but I end up in the solid grip of the wiry maid. She pins my hands to my hips. “Now just—oof!” Air explodes from her lungs when I get an elbow free and jam it into her belly. “You little... get her, Emma!”

A fist tangles in my hair. Filling my chest, I screech and howl. They're treating me like a wild animal so I embrace it. I channel my inner wolf, my feral spirit, my desire to keep every strand of hair on my head.

Emma shoves me to the smooth floorboards. “Get off of me!” I say, working to escape. The second woman sits on my legs. I'm tough, but I can't beat them both. There are scalding tears in my eyes. “Leave... me... alone!”

“What's going on in here?”

In the doorway stands a boy. I'm not quite sure from where I am on the floor, but he looks my height, his limbs as skinny as mine, his face on the verge between gentle youth and the leaning-out of older teens.

I don't know who he is. But I recognize a kindness in his deep, chocolate-brown eyes that no one has shown me since I arrived. “Help,” I say. “They're trying to cut off all my hair.”

“Nonsense,” Emma huffs. I hear the scissors swish in the air. “It'll just be some trimming. She's got mud and who knows what else in here.”

The boy considers me. “Let her up.”

“Master Dominic...”

He focuses on the maid, his tone a razor blade. “I said get off of her. Now.”

Their weight vanishes. Sucking in oxygen, I scramble to my feet. My eyes dart between all three of them; I'm still ready to fight.

The boy—Dominic?—jerks his head at the door. “Get out of here.” The maids shuffle away like dogs tucking their tails. When they're gone, I breathe easier.

“Thank you,” I say, looking the stranger over with new eyes. I was wrong about his height; I'm a little taller than him. “How old are you?” I ask.

His smile gives him a single dimple. “You don't want to know my name first?”

“They said it. Dominic, right?”

His smile goes wider. It makes him look even younger. “Yes, and you must be Laiken.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Dominic cocks his head, seeming unsure about me. He's wearing a half-sleeved shirt the same off-white color of an eggshell. It makes his hair stark. “I'm twelve.”

“Same.” I'm happy that he's twelve, like me. Makes him feel kindred. I step closer, lifting my hand to my scalp. “It's funny that I'm taller.”

His ears turn red. “Have you never met a guy shorter than you before?”

“You're the first boy I've ever gotten this close to.”

“I'm not a boy,” he says, squinting. “I'll be thirteen next month. How have you never met any others?”

“Just haven't.” Running my hands through my hair, I squeeze it, wrapping it in my fist. The door is open and I'm wondering if I can run and hide somewhere. I don't want the maids to find me again.

He follows my eyes. “If you don't want your hair cut, I'll tell them to leave you alone for good.”

My mouth drops open. “Can you really?”

“Of course. They'll listen to me. My parents own this whole place.”

I harden my grip around my hair so much that my roots tingle. “You're Annie's son,” I whisper. I start backing away.

“Whoa, hey.” Dominic holds up a hand. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not.” My shoulder blades grind against the wallpaper covered in red and black swallows. “Your mom's the reason I'm trapped here!”

He balks, his hand dropping to his side. “Oh.” Whatever he feels contorts his eyebrows, his lips, making him seem older. I remain still, partially hoping he'll leave... and afraid that he will. He's shown me the only kindness since Annie put me in that car.

Dominic lifts his head enough to focus on me. “It's okay for you to hate her. Please don't blame me, though. I didn't have any part in taking you hostage.”

Hostage. The word flips my stomach inside out. I know what it means, and it puts a name to my situation that I'd been incapable of doing myself. Of course, I'm their hostage. They're keeping me here so they can prevent my dad from...how did he put it... vanishing again?

I regret not asking Annie for answers when I had the chance. Eyeing her son, I lick my bottom lip nervously. “Do you... know what my dad did?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, only that my father hates his guts. He's talked about Joseph Greene as long as I can remember.”

“My last name is Laurel,” I mumble defensively. Dad changed his last name? He really had tried his best to hide from these people.

Dominic leans to one side, rocking in place. “I'm sure you miss your family. Maybe you'll get to call them on a cell-phone. I've got one you could use.”

“A what-phone?”

He staggers, like I've slapped him. “How do you not know what a cell-phone is? Everyone knows.”

“I know lots of stuff. Probably all kinds of things you don't.”

His shoulders slide upwards; he's trying not to laugh. “Like what?”

“Well, how about the right way to bait a fish-hook! Or how to tell when it's time to pick a tomato.”

The laughter rumbles out of him. It reminds me of the rain clouds earlier, but... nicer. “Okay. You've got me there. Someday you can show me those things.”

I'm smiling, but I don't know why. It feels good, after everything. “Okay.”

“You should get some sleep,” he says kindly, moving into the hall, half-closing the door. “Goodnight, Laiken. I'll see you tomorrow.”

A pathetic part of me wants him to stay. He stepped in to save me from those cruel women. That kindness is something I'm ready to cling to. But I remind myself I don't know him. I can't ask him to sleep here, watching me all night. How weird that would be.

“Night,” I reply, staring at him until he shuts the door. He's gone, but the air still smells like him; like cloves and old books. Is that how all boys smell?

I'm sure I won't get any sleep. But when I climb beneath the unfamiliar blankets with the lights still on, I pass out. It's so quick I don't have time to think. I don't even dream.

I wake up confused. That isn't my ceiling, what...? I tangle in the blankets and crash to the floor. The pain jolts me into remembering everything: the strangers, my promise to my sister, and Annie.

The door wrenches open. A maid that looks like Emma, but isn't, gawks at me. “What happened?” she asks, edging closer.

My glare stops her in her tracks. “Nothing. Go away.”

She falters, giving me a wary look. “There's no need to be like that. Manners will get you much further under this roof than rudeness.”

“I said get out!”

That time she listens.

No one checks on me until mid-morning. Annie shows up, her face cool as she observes me crouched in the corner. “Get changed, then come eat.”

“I don't want anything from you.”

“No, but you need food and water, regardless of your wants.” She throws open the closet. Inside are tons of clothes on hangers. She holds up a pair of jeans that are crisp, navy blue, and look to be my size.

My heart squeezes. “How long were you preparing for me to come here?”

Annie blinks. I think I caught her off guard. Her recovery back to neutral is immediate. “Be happy there are things for you to wear. Get changed. Go explore. It's not like you're a prisoner.”

“No,” I whisper. “I'm a hostage.”

She throws the jeans at me; I catch them. “Who called you that?”

I jut out my chin. “It doesn't matter.”

Annie moves closer. She's wearing heels again, red ones today. “Was it a maid?” she asks. I say nothing. “Or was it my reckless son?”

I'm exposed under her hard eyes. Her tiny smile fills me with guilt. She knows.

Sighing, she turns away. “There's a bathroom with a shower. Use it.” Then she leaves, the door swinging whisper-shut. I don't hear it click; there's no lock. This fills me with dread—no locks means they're confident I can't escape.

Even if I could, so what? I don't know my way back home. And if I leave, they might do something to Dad. Or Mom... or Kara. Or Dean. Shivering, I glance at the jeans in my hands. They're brand new. I don't know much about fashion, but looking at this place, I guess these pants are expensive.

Kicking the blanket off, I rise. She acted like I haven't explored this room. It was the first thing I'd done after Annie had shoved me inside. It was the rest of the house I hadn't seen; I'd been brought directly here once the helicopter landed.

Then Emma and her friend had arrived with the scissors.

Pushing down a wave of unease from the memory, I enter the bathroom. The walls are some kind of hard ceramic, uniformly flat, consistently white. Nothing like the uneven log walls of my cabin. The shower is different too, but I figure it out quickly. The pelting water steals my soreness away. It's hot enough that it distracts me from my situation.

There are too many different kinds of soaps inside the niches of the shower wall. One is shaped like a pink shell. I've never been to the ocean, so I use that one. It smells like roses, the steam weighs the scent down, and together, they make me dizzy.

Gasping for air, I turn off the spray and climb out. The huge oval mirror on the back of the bathroom door is fogged up. Running my hand down it, I create rows that drip. I see myself in the lines—my skin glows pink.

I feel a little bit better. Just a little.

Dressing in the jeans, I shift my hips back and forth to break them in. The motion reminds me of Dominic; how he fidgeted last night the longer we spoke. I hope I've found an ally in that lean boy. Not a boy, I remind myself, smirking. Or that's what he thinks. My eyes work fine—I know he's a kid like me. That’s why I think I can give him a chance.

There are bras in the closet arranged like fine china on a tiny dresser. I finger the lace of one; heat spreads over my cheeks. Mom has talked to me about starting to wear one of these, but I told her I thought they were dumb. Also, when I tried one out, it dug in weirdly.

I didn't need one while running in the woods. I don't need one now.

Sliding on the plainest looking shirt I can find—a robin's egg blue tee—I spot a parade of sneakers, flats and heels that are just like Annie's. They are all in my size. I ignore them and put on my own dirty shoes.

There are marks on the back of my shirt from my wet hair. Quickly, I stick it into a loose ponytail. When I slide my fingers down to the frayed ends, I think of Kara. That makes my eyes ache. Inhaling, I exit the bedroom.

The long hallways are less scary during the daytime. Tall windows allow vibrant light to spread over the red rugs that run along the floors. I'm not sure why no one is waiting for me. Annie said I'm not a prisoner, but I know better. Even if running is impossible, do they think I won't try? Are they not worried about me at all?

Inching my way to my left, back where I remember we came into the house, I glance at the walls. The paint is a calming fern green with white accents. Bits of red show up in the form of flowers. I want to hate this whole place... but I'm too busy marveling at it.

We had rugs back home. They weren't as soft as the ones under my sneakers. Struck by a desire to feel the texture on my feet, I balance on one leg. Off comes my left shoe...with it goes my sock. Eagerly, I set my toes on the crimson rug.

“Oh,” I say. My toes wriggle with pleasure. Its like rabbit fur but firmer, thicker. Before I think it over, I kick off my other shoe. Smiling in delight, I stroll down the hallway, pretending I'm walking on a path of fresh flowers - or the back of a furry snake - either way, I love it.

“What are you doing?” a feminine voice squeals. A woman in the same stiff gray and tan maid uniform gawks at me; she's standing in an open doorway. In her hands is a pitcher of water.

My sneakers are hooked on my fingers. I show them to her, shrugging. “I'm going to get breakfast. Is this the right way?”

“Put something on your feet!” She's seriously aghast. The color of her whole face matches the rugs.

Judging her distance, then the fact she's burdened by a jug of water, I smile. “No thanks.” My calves tense, sending me sprinting down the hallway. The maid shouts after me, which makes me jog harder. I can't hear her now but I keep going because I adore running.

A corner rises up; I think I can take it without slowing down. But I'm not used to the rugs. When I pivot, my heels glide on the smooth fibers. Without any control I fly around the corner and slam into something hard. My shoes go flying from my grip.

“Ouch!” Dominic hisses, staring up at me. He probably didn't see me until it was too late to dodge. I sure didn't see him. But now I'm straddling his stomach, our faces inches apart. I can taste my own beating heart.

“Sorry!” I say, jumping to my feet. I reach down to help him, but he stays where he is.

“What were you running from?” he asks, pushing himself up to sit.

I don't hear the maid coming. “Nothing. I was just running for fun.”

Dominic narrows his eyes. Smoothly, he stands without my aid. He's wearing khaki pants; he dusts them off, moving his way up, making sure his black and gray shirt is clean. It has two buttons at the top, he's done them both up, but the collar is still loose around his elegant neck. I notice I'm staring just as he notices. “How did you sleep?”

I'm blushing - I blame my idiotic crash landing. “I don't remember that part. But I woke up on the floor.”

He laughs, shaking his head while his easy smile slides into place. It calms me. “Between that and being barefoot in the halls, I take it you really like floors.”

“Have you ever felt this rug?” I ask, pointing down. “It's super soft.”

“I've walked on it in socks,” he says.

“Not the same. Try it out.”

Dominic's mouth curls into a knot. Then he bends down, untying the laces on his glossy brown shoes. His socks the same color as his dark hair—he yanks them off. Moving beside me, he puts his weight on the balls of his feet. “Huh,” he says, toes sinking into the red fibers. “That is nice.”

“Right?” Beaming, I retrieve my shoes from where I dropped them. “Now you get it.”

“I guess.” The pinched-skin above the bridge of his nose makes him seem torn. He glances down the hall, where he was coming from.

“Are you worried someone will yell at you?” I ask, crossing my arms. “A maid snapped at me. But who cares?”

Dominic breathes in slowly. “Father is coming home today. He'd probably hate seeing me like this.”

My arms unfurl. “Why?”

Instead of answering, he crouches so he can put his shoes back on. He knots the laces so tight I hear the material squeak. “I doubt you ate yet. Let's go get something from the kitchen.”

I know he's changed the subject. I'm fine with that.

I only wish I knew why.