Air Brushed

Chapter 2: The Lucky Few

“HELP!” I waste my precious breath, hoping against all odds that someone would save me. My voice is shrill, distorting the word, but the desperate tone says it all. The chill stings my nose, but I am oblivious to the pain, all of it, the ache in my feet, the throbbing in my head, the pounding in my chest.

Where IS everyone?

Suddenly, a figure rounds the corner and fear shoots through me like a bullet. However, he completely runs past me until reaching the brick wall. The person looks around frantically, as if trying to find a way over it.

I approach relatively slowly, as slowly as someone being chased and possibly approaching one of her pursuers dares to go, “They chasing you too?”

I don’t know what makes me trust him, maybe the fact that he looks so young? Much younger than those other guys anyway. He just looks desperate, the pleading in his manner a shared trait among us.

His attention snaps to me, terror obvious in his eyes.

Screw the phone. For now.

“Give me your foot,” I instruct, not waiting for an answer to my first question.

“What?” the boy grimaces, his dark hair flopping over his eyes, oversized jean jacket making his small frame appear stiff.

“Now is NOT the time for questions,” I nod towards the end of our alleyway, where the two groups have converged. They are only about fifty feet away.

Quickly, I interlock my fingers and bend my knees. It takes only a second for him to understand. The boy’s right foot comes up into my hands and with all of the strength I can muster, I lift him. The tread of his shoe momentarily burns my palms as it leaves, but again I am able to ignore it.

The upward propulsion is just enough for him to successfully pull his weight on top of the wall, bits of broken brick falling and scattering near my feet.

My mom had been right. Four years of cheerleading can be useful for something after all.

Blood roars in my ears as I look up at my new companion.

Would he help me? Or would he keep going and leave me here?

For only a moment he looks conflicted about this same issue, but his hand abruptly extends and I take it. The kid probably weighs no more than me, so we clearly struggle for a few seconds, my feet trying to gain some traction on the vertical barrier.

Pain tears through me as my left knee hits the rough material of the wall and I am dragged upward, the skin continuing to graze along the surface. This is pushed to the back of my mind though, as fear takes over again.

Why are they not here already? Shouldn’t they at least be NEAR the brick wall?

As I work to pull myself up, my ears strain to hear them. At first, there is nothing but the usual New York street noises. No footsteps, no words.

I can’t help but think that maybe they’ve given up-

“How could you not CATCH HIM?” the man with the scratches yells, making me startle. I can distinguish him from the others because of a slight accent and scratchy voice. “He’s only like fucking twelve!”

My leg miraculously comes up onto the brick wall, the rough building material scraping the under side of my thigh. As soon as I have my balance, the boy drops down on the other side, letting me finish hoisting myself up.

“Well SHE’S only a fucking girl!” someone else shouts, their voice louder. “How come you couldn’t catch HER?”

“They’re not worth crossing the boarder,” a third voice chips in as I drop down next to my companion, who is apparently listening too. My heart rate has not slowed down one bit and I can barely hear their heated conversation over the sound of my blood roaring in my ears.

Scratches scoffs, “Alright, YOU’LL be the one to tell Se Gero.”

Se Gero?

Their voices fade and my respiration rate finally begins to even out. I don’t know what keeps both of us glued to the spot, but neither the boy nor I move. Slowly, in between breaths, I address him, “Damn. That was close.”

“Yeah.”

“Think they’ll come back?”

He shakes his head, dark hair sliding down, around his eyes again, “No. They’re pretty straight forward. They’re gone.”

“So it’s safe?”

“I’m not sure,” he whispers, both of us continuing to stare at the wall. “Maybe we should get going- just in case more of them show up.”

“Yeah,” I nod, but then realize I have no clue how to get back. “Erm, do you know where Duke’s is? It’s a… it’s a bar.”

“I know where it is, but I won’t take you there. It’s through Abscido territory.”

Abs-what?

The boy turns toward me, still panting slightly, but it’s not like I was in any better shape, “I know where we can hide out for a little while though.”

“Oh, uh, sounds good,” I try to smile. Should I trust this kid? I mean, he probably just saved my life, but for all I know he’s WITH them. But why? What was the motive? Phone. I can find my phone while we’re walking there. “How far away is this place exactly?”

He points to our left, “One street that way. It’s a garage, you know, for fixing cars and shit.”

It momentarily shocks me that he had cursed so openly, but what had I expected? Manner lessons from the Queen of England?

“Okay, and you’re SURE it’s safe?” I raise an eyebrow, reaching for my purse again.

“Safer than out here,” he gestures around to the short alley, dark, empty, and cold in both temperature and atmosphere. “This is the edge of Trifecta territory.”

Trifecta? What are these names these people keep throwing at me? Gang names?

Then again they could be speaking Russian and I probably wouldn’t know the difference.

“C’mon,” he starts walking, motioning for me to follow. Still digging through my purse, I finally find the device and dial 911, putting it in sleep mode. Technically, nothing had happened yet except a chase and maybe assault. Of course, the same can be charged against me for… for shredding that man’s face.

I wince as the feeling of peeling skin echoes under my fingernails.

I’m not put anything to chance.

I know I should probably call Liam or a cab to take me back to him, but I want to make sure this kid is okay and yeah, I won’t lie, I’m kind of curious. Who are these people? Why are they chasing him?

I can understand why they pursued me, I mean, I had shredded one of their faces.

But why him?

What could a twelve year old do?

Also, I don’t want to stand outside and wait for Liam and or those guys to come back.

“So you’re alright?” I ask as we make our way onto a slightly busier residential street. A few people are sitting on a porch, obviously drinking. I’m not sure if their presence is comforting or simply adding to my wariness of the area.

“I’m fine,” he shrugs, his jean jacket slipping slightly from his small shoulders. “You?”

“A little shaken up,” I admit, bushing some of the grime from scaling the brick wall off of my dress- or trying to. Luckily, Liam’s jacket had only gotten a bit dusty.

“Well, here’s the place- if you wanna call for a ride or something,” he stops, leisurely pulling a door outward. A friendly bell rings and the smell of rubber and iron oxidation invaded my nose as we enter a wide, relatively squat building and I open up my phone again, dialing Liam’s number.

My younger companion disappears behind the counter before I can ask any more questions, but I remain in the waiting area despite the constant buzzing of inquiries in my mind. Even with the circumstances, I doubt the owners of this place would appreciate me snooping around.

As the dial tone continues, I can hear a new voice, an older one, asking something somewhere in a back room. The kid responds promptly, explaining whatever situation we had just escaped.

“Brooklyn? Where are you?” Liam’s frantic voice answers on the second ring.

“So I kind of almost got kidnapped or raped,” I wince as I say it, realization hitting me clearly for the first time. I mean, the possibility had obviously crossed my mind before, but now I wasn’t thinking in the moment. I wasn’t feeling threatened enough to flee for my life. The adrenaline is wearing off and I can now feel the deep set shakiness of trauma.

“Well which one is it? Are you alright? You still didn’t answer my question-”

“I think I’m fine and I’m not sure. These five guys came out of the bar and one of them grabbed me. Either way, I gave them the slip and now I’m in…” I glance at a small stand containing business cards on the counter, “Doublet’s Best Auto Repair.”

“That’s like four blocks away!” he seems shocked. “You’re sure you’re alright? Did you call the police?”

Abruptly, yelling breaks out from the back room.

I figure I have no business meddling, so I don’t listen.

“I’m only winded and no. I have no clue where they went or who they were. I doubt the police can find them anyway,” I shift in the under stuffed, scratchy chair. “They have much more important things to do.”

“Your safety IS important,” Liam insists, his words having the familiar paternal tone. “I’m coming to get you right now.”

“Okay.”

“Wait inside, have 911 ready to dial on the phone,” he instructs and I can hear the sounds of the bar fade as he probably walks outside. He gives a small laugh, “You gave me quite the scare, Brooke. I thought you ran.”

“Ran? From what?”

“From me. I thought you might have had a bad time or I frightened you off.”

“Never,” I smile, looking down into my lap. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Will do.”

I hang up just as the kid and another man walk out into the main room.

“I didn’t let them kill me or anything,” the little boy complains, pouting and hopping up onto the counter near the register.

“Well, I won’t be surprised if Tommo kills you,” the man that joined us retorts. “Really, you’re lucky I haven’t killed you. You know Abscido territory is off limits- Oh. Who are YOU?”

The new guy leans against the counter, watching me with skeptical eyes. He is dark skinned, probably a descendant of the Middle East. Tattoos cover most of his exposed body, save for his face and neck. Stubble caresses his chin and jaw, the edges fading into his uncharacteristically styled hair. He kind of reminds me of a younger version of the men who had chased me, but oddly there is nothing exceptionally threatening about him.

“This is the girl who saved my ass,” the kid tilts his head toward me with a crooked smile.

Our new companion nods slowly, “Thanks for helping Little Man.”

“No problem. He kinda helped me too,” I reply awkwardly, trying not to look at all of his tattoos. I’m not sure if I am impressed or… or something else, but it’s similar to the feeling of attempting to avoid looking at a zit in the middle of someone’s forehead.

“Either way, we owe you one,” he picks up a stack of flyers and begins idly tapping them on the counter to straighten them out. “What’s your name anyway?”

Brooklyn Oswald, but I don’t want to tell him that.

He might look me up or something. He might find out where I live and tell those guys…

I can always make up a name, but I don’t want to lie. What if he finds out I’m lying? Would they hurt me? I don’t see why, but I don’t see why not either.

I shouldn’t tell him Brooklyn or Brooke. My first name is special to me. It was my mother’s name and I don’t want him to have it. Well, I don’t want him to have ANY of my name, but he asked so I have to give him an answer.

My last name would make it either easier or harder to find me.

Lots of people have the last name Oswald, but he would still have part of me that I’m not willing to give up.

So this is how I gave him my name.

A deviation, a loophole, something that I could remember.

“Ozzie.”

For Oswald, but not Oswald.

At first I’m afraid he might question it, like what kind of girl name is that? But he doesn’t. The tattooed guy simply nods, “Alright. Little Man? Have something to say to Ozzie?”

“Thanks for saving my ass,” he mumbles, looking back down at his feet.

This makes me smile, but then I remember I have some questions that I want answered and the expression falters. I clear my throat, feeling for the phone in my purse, just in case, “So why were those guys chasing you?”

The kid gives a small sniff, “I was-”

“That’s not something she needs to know,” the tattooed guy sternly silences him with a harshness that makes my eyebrows knit.

I am first to protest, “But-”

Tattoos cuts me off, “Looks like your ride is here.”

I glimpse out the front windows to find a cab pulling up at the curb. Liam opens the vehicle’s door and waits for me on the sidewalk, expression worried. Glancing between the two behind the counter and my neighbor outside, I hike my purse up higher on my shoulder and leave, the sound of a tingling bell the last thing I hear from that shop.

Liam lets me get in first and gives me a concerned detective’s once over, involving like eight hundred questions. I go through the motions, answering each of them, but I really don’t see the point. We get back to the apartment building promptly and Liam and I say goodnight in the hallway between our rooms.

My knee and left thigh sting from the scrapes I had gotten as I give him back his jacket. Gently, he reminds me that if anything seems suspicious, I should trust my gut and call the police or at least let him know.

And I quote, “It doesn’t matter what time it is, my door will always be open for you, Brooklyn.”

All in all, the night hadn’t ended how I had foreseen it the first time OR the second time.

Who knew just a few hours could be so eventful?

I got to go on a date with the guy I was in love with.

I had a job opportunity.

I almost got kidnapped or raped.

I got to go for a brisk run.

I met a few interesting people.

And yet somehow, there is one detail that skips my mind. A question, really. It never occurs to me to ask why on earth a car repair shop would be open this late at night.

Notes