CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma trudged along a dirt road, her worn sneakers kicking up small clouds of dust with each weary step.
The long day – the freight car hopping, the hours spent collecting discarded bottles, the nervous glances over her shoulder – had tired her.
But she wasn’t alone on this empty stretch of road; the life-sized figure of Loyalynne drifted beside her, its porcelain face turned toward the dying light.
“You need to move faster,” Loyalynne said, her glass-blue eyes fixed on the horizon. “We need to be far from town before full dark.”
Emma swallowed a retort, tasting dust and thirst. Her legs ached from the day’s efforts.
“I’m trying,” she finally replied, adjusting the small backpack that contained everything she now owned. “Not all of us are made of porcelain and magic.”
Loyalynne’s head turned with that unsettling fluidity, the movement too smooth to be human. “Your sarcasm doesn’t help either of us.”
Emma looked away from her companion, focusing instead on the road stretching across the Missouri countryside.
She’d spent less than five hours in the town of Piltdown—a blur of careful scavenging while memorizing escape routes. What was left of her money jingled in her pocket—a mere $7.35.
Her hand rose unconsciously to her hair, feeling the uneven strands that she’d cut with cheap scissors that were designed for a child.
The drugstore dye had transformed her chestnut locks to deep black.
The bathroom at the gas station where she’d done the transformation still haunted her – the flickering fluorescent light, the way her hands had trembled as she’d combed through the remains of her hair.
Staring into the mirror she noted that her eyes were still green.
Just like hers… she thought, but Emma couldn’t remember the name she was reaching for.
“Stop touching your hair,” Loyalynne said sharply. “You’ll draw attention to yourself.”
“There’s no one here,” Emma protested, gesturing to the empty road stretching in both directions. Fields of harvested corn created a maze of stubble on either side, occasional farmhouses punctuating the landscape like islands in a sea of agriculture.
The thrift store clothes she’d bought felt foreign against her skin – a faded blue hoodie two sizes too large, jeans that sagged at her hips, and a plain gray t-shirt with someone else’s memories washed into the fabric.
She’d changed in the same gas station bathroom, stuffing her old clothes into a dumpster behind the building.
“Someone is always watching,” Loyalynne insisted. “Always. That’s why we keep moving.”
A truck rumbled past, headlights briefly illuminating both travelers – though the driver would have seen only a thin woman walking alone at dusk. Emma hunched as it passed, turning her face away.
“You should have listened to me about the money,” Loyalynne said once the truck had disappeared around a bend. “Panhandling would have brought in more than those bottles.”
Emma shook her head firmly. “I won’t beg. Not from strangers.”
“Pride is a luxury for people with options,” Loyalynne replied, her voice carrying that dry-leaf quality that always sent shivers down Emma’s spine. “And you’re running out of those.”
The argument was one they’d had throughout the day.
At the edge of town, Loyalynne had pointed to a busy intersection where Emma could have stood with a cardboard sign, but Emma had refused.
Something in her rebelled at the idea, though she couldn’t articulate why.
Instead, she’d spent hours scouring public spaces for recyclables, avoiding eye contact, becoming as invisible as possible.
“Where are we even going?” she asked, changing the subject. “You keep saying we need to run, but you never say where to.”
Loyalynne’s glass eyes caught the fading light, reflecting it back with an unsettling gleam. “Away. That’s all that matters. Away from those phantoms who tried to confuse you.”
“You mean the people who called me Piper?” Emma asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
“They weren’t people,” Loyalynne corrected sharply. “They were manifestations. Tricks of the light and mind. They wanted you to believe you were someone else – someone with that other name. Someone with a family and friends and a whole history that never existed.”
Emma kicked at a stone in her path, sending it skittering ahead. “But if they’re not real, why do we have to run from them? Phantoms can’t hurt me.”
“They can if you believe them,” Loyalynne replied. “They can make you forget who you really are. They can make you give in to a life that was never yours.”
The light continued to drain from the sky, stars appearing overhead like distant pinpricks in black velvet. Emma’s stomach growled. She still had an apple and a package of crackers in her backpack, but she was saving those for later.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Emma muttered. “None of it does.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you,” Loyalynne said. “You just need to trust me. I’m the only one who can see the truth clearly.”
Emma shuddered. Sometimes, in moments like this, she questioned everything – her decision to run, her trust in Loyalynne, even her own identity.
“Where are we going to sleep tonight?” Emma asked, practical concerns overwhelming any others as darkness continued to settle around them. “I can’t walk all night.”
Loyalynne’s painted lips curved into what might have been a smile on a human face. “I know what I’m doing, Emma. You need to stop questioning every step of the journey.”
“I’m tired,” Emma said, her voice cracking. “I’m hungry and I’m tired and I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”
“You can because you must,” Loyalynne replied, her tone softening slightly. “Just a little farther. Trust me – I have a plan.”
Emma fell silent, conserving her energy for walking.
The stars multiplied overhead as night claimed the landscape.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, the sound lonely and haunting in the growing dark.
She kept putting one foot in front of the other, guided by the strange companion that only she could see, running from phantoms that might not exist, toward a destination unknown.
An abandoned homestead began to emerge from the darkness.
First, Emma spotted the leaning fence posts, bone-white in the moonlight, then the hulking shadow of the main house with its sagging roof and empty window frames.
A barn stood off to one side, partially collapsed, silvered by years of exposure.
Crickets fell silent as they approached, as if the very ground beneath the old property had forgotten how to sustain life.
Emma stopped at the edge of what had once been a front yard, her exhaustion momentarily overshadowed by apprehension.
“This is where we’re staying?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Loyalynne moved ahead of her. “It’s perfect. No one comes here anymore.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Look at it,” Loyalynne said, gesturing with one porcelain hand. “Nature is reclaiming it. Humans are predictable – they avoid places that remind them of their own impermanence.”
Emma swallowed hard and followed her strange companion up what remained of a gravel path.
Weeds pushed through the stones, grabbing at her ankles.
The front porch creaked ominously as she stepped onto it, the wood soft with rot in places.
The door hung askew on a single hinge, opening into darkness so complete it seemed solid.
“I can’t see anything,” Emma protested.
“Your eyes will adjust,” Loyalynne replied, her own glass eyes having no such limitation. “There’s moonlight coming through the windows.”
As Emma’s eyes adjusted, she saw that a couch with its stuffing spilling out like intestines dominated one wall. An ancient television set with a shattered screen stood in the corner. Picture frames hung crookedly, their photos long faded or removed.
“Someone used to live here,” Emma murmured. “A family, maybe.”
“Everyone leaves eventually,” Loyalynne said, her voice echoing strangely in the empty space. “One way or another.”
They moved deeper into the house, the floorboards protesting beneath Emma’s weight though Loyalynne seemed to float above them, leaving no trace.
The kitchen held the skeletal remains of appliances, cabinet doors hanging open like gaping mouths.
A dining room featured a table collapsed on one side, chairs scattered as if the occupants had left in a hurry.
“Upstairs,” Loyalynne directed, already moving toward a staircase that looked far from stable.
“Is that safe?” Emma asked.
“Safer than sleeping down here where anyone passing by might spot movement through the windows.”
Emma tested the first step with her foot, wincing at the groan of wood. She ascended slowly, testing each step before committing her weight to it. The staircase opened onto a narrow hallway with three doors. Loyalynne led her to the second one.
Inside was what had once been a bedroom. A metal-framed bed still stood against one wall, its mattress stained but surprisingly intact. A dresser missing most of its drawers and a chair with only three legs completed the furnishings.
“This will do,” Loyalynne said.
Emma approached the mattress cautiously, half-expecting to find it occupied by rodents or insects. She prodded it, but nothing scattered away. The springs creaked as she sat on the edge, but it held her weight.
“I guess it’s better than the ground or the floor,” she conceded, setting her backpack beside her.
Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her of how little she’d eaten that day. She dug into her backpack and pulled out the apple and crackers she’d been saving. The apple was slightly bruised from being carried all day, but she bit into it anyway, savoring the sweet-tart juice.
“Where are we going tomorrow?” she asked between bites, breaking the crackers into smaller pieces to make them last longer.
Loyalynne stood by the window, looking out at the night. “West. We need to keep moving west.”
“But why west? What’s west?”
“Distance,” Loyalynne replied. “The farther we get from where those phantoms found you, the safer you’ll be.”
Emma chewed slowly, considering this. “How far do we have to go before we can stop running?”
“You ask too many questions,” Loyalynne said, turning from the window. “Questions you don’t need answers to.”
“I think I do need answers,” Emma said, a thread of defiance in her voice. “I’m the one walking for miles. I’m the one going hungry. I’m the one sleeping in abandoned houses. I deserve to know why.”
“You know why,” Loyalynne’s voice hardened. “To keep you safe from those who would make you forget who you really are. Those who would call you by the fake name Piper and claim to be your family.”
“But why would anyone do that? What would they gain?”
“Control,” Loyalynne said simply. “They want to control you, use your abilities for their own purposes.”
Emma finished her apple, core and all, too hungry to waste any part of it. The crackers followed quickly, leaving her still hungry but at least not lightheaded anymore. She brushed crumbs from her hands and stretched out on the mattress.
“I‘m so tired of running,” she whispered, staring up at the water-stained ceiling.
“Rest now,” Loyalynne said, her voice softening slightly. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”
Emma closed her eyes, her body surrendering to exhaustion even as her mind continued to race with questions. The darkness behind her eyelids deepened, pulling her toward sleep.
Then she heard it – the voice that had been haunting her since she first fled, coming to her in moments of wakefulness and dreams. A man’s voice, gentle yet urgent.
“Piper, where are you? Your sister needs you. I need you. Please come home.”
The voice seemed to fill the room, though Emma knew it existed only in her mind. It carried such longing, such genuine concern, that something inside her chest ached in response. Her lips parted, nearly forming words – “I’m here“ or “Who are you?” or even just “Help me.”
But before she could make a sound, Loyalynne was beside her, porcelain hand cold against Emma’s forehead.
“It’s a phantom,” Loyalynne hissed. “Don’t answer. It’s trying to find you, to lure you back.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut tighter, tears leaking from the corners. “But he sounds so real, so worried.”
“That’s how they deceive you,” Loyalynne whispered. “With false concern, with manufactured love.”
Emma curled onto her side, making herself as small as possible on the stained mattress.
“That’s right,” Loyalynne soothed. “Ignore the voice. It will fade.”
And eventually it did. The voice receded like a tide pulling back from shore, leaving Emma in the silence of the abandoned house. Her exhaustion finally overcame her troubled thoughts, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.