Free Freefly by Michele Tallarita Page B

in, but I heard you guys talking and came to see who it was.”
    “Is that so?” Thorne says.
    “Yes,” I snarl.
    He bends his elbow to clutch whatever is at his waistband again.  “You’re not trying to hide someone up there, are you?”
    Mom stands from the table.  “Officer, my son is a straight arrow.  He doesn’t hang around with criminals.  He interviewed with GLOBE yesterday.”
    Thorne lets his hand fall from his side and turns to her.  “You don’t say?”
    Mom nods.
    “Well, in that case, I’ll get out of your hair.”  He holds out his hand to me.  His smile is so wide it’s more of a sneer, his teeth pointy, the skin around his eyes crinkling.  Cautiously, I hold out my hand, and he grasps it so hard it’s painful. 
    “Get back to school soon, my boy,” he says.  “I’m sure you’re going places.”
    He releases my hand, and I walk him down the hall to the front door.  He glances up the stairs when we pass them, and I pray to God Sammie doesn’t drop the soap.
    He pulls open the front door, the hinges squealing, then turns back to me.  Behind him, a forceful rain pelts the front yard.  Black cars line the street, raindrops pouring down their windows. 
    “We are all over the place,” he hisses, “and we are watching you.”
    I gulp.
    He shuts the door behind him, and I am forced to have another one of those exhaling moments.  I am alive, Mom is alive, and Sammie is safe.  For now.  Those black cars are all over the street.  How did Sammie manage to get in, without them seeing her?  How will she get out?
    I sprint up the stairs.  The shower is off, but the bathroom door is still closed, the light glowing beneath it.  I run into my room and yank the blind down over the window, to keep Thorne and his men from seeing inside.  I look around for something else to do, but I realize there isn’t anything.  You think you can protect her? Thorne said yesterday.  He’s right.  I am powerless to protect her.
    “What’s the matter?”  Sammie appears in the doorway, her hair wet and tucked into my sweatshirt, which billows around her like a dress.  She looks better:  her skin is pink instead of deathly pale, and her lips are no longer blue. 
    “Sammie, you’re in serious danger,” I say.
    Footfalls sound on the stairs, and my mother calls, “You’d better be in bed!  I’m bringing you some tea!”
    “Hide,” I hiss at Sammie.
    “No problem.”  She sprints toward the window and ducks under the blind, disappearing.  Before I can scream at her to get back inside, Mom appears in the doorway with a steaming mug.
    “What are you doing?” she says.
    I realize I am standing in the middle of the room, muscles tense, mouth wide open in preparation to shout at Sammie. 
    “Why did you close the blinds?”  Mom walks toward the window and yanks the blinds up.  I cringe, waiting for her to screech upon seeing a girl hovering outside, but there is no one.  “Natural light is good for you.  Go on, get into bed.”
    Though my first instinct is to rush to the window and yell at Sammie to get back in, I realize that the sooner I do what Mom says, the sooner she’ll leave.  I scramble to the bed and flop on my back.
    “That’s better,” Mom says, putting the cup of tea in my hands.  “I want you to rest today, Damien.  You really do work yourself too hard.” 
    “Okay, Mom.” 
    “No homework.  I mean it.”
    “You got it.”
    She sighs, then makes for the door.  My muscles clench in preparation to jump out of the bed the second she’s out of sight. 
    Mom turns back.  “That was weird, wasn’t it?”
    “What?” I say, barely containing my anxiety.
    “That police officer.”
    “Very weird.”
    “Are you sure you’re alright?”
    I nod, then, to make her happy, take a sip of tea.  She gives me a small smile, then heads down the stairs.
    I explode out of the bed and run to the window.  I have barely reached it when Sammie zooms back inside,