Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The Leap
“Sorry. Do I know you?” I ask while studying Leon’s face.
His sunny smile shines through his short, dark beard as he reaches into his denim jacket, pulling out a rolled-up newspaper and pen while maintaining eye contact. “No. Just being friendly. Don’t mind me.”
I expect him to get up and grab a table, but he stays seated.
He flicks through the pages of his paper atop the counter and leans into a crossword as he rhythmically taps his pen against the button of his jacket.
No one ever sits at the counter with their drink!
It’s not standard bar etiquette. They usually leave to find their own space, but he stays here, within my space.
Joey truly was the linchpin of this community.
He had built it long before I arrived, and it is failing to survive his absence.
There’s no singing, talking, or dancing, and those who remain stare into their drinks, hating life as much as me.
There is little to do with the lack of customers, and the clock’s hands drag painfully, skulking around the perimeter.
Even Cecelia is losing steam as she pulls around a bar-stool, settling in behind the counter, making it clear she has finished for the day.
But it isn’t a problem as I busy myself—anything to stop my mind from drifting.
Without focus, I float into clouds of visions and voices, the sounds of laughter tainted with the sting of my screams echoing between them all, like a poorly played violin and trombone.
The instruments don’t pair well as they play in the backing track of my mind.
The ominous smog highlights the horror of that day, and I can still feel us clutching onto each other as we’re being pulled apart, the burn of my fingertips as I scrabbled at the floor.
But for the life of me, I can’t remember how he held me only moments earlier, the heat of his touch as he whispered in my ear that he loved me.
Cecelia snaps me from the moment, gesturing to prepare for closing as patrons slowly exit the bar, but Leon remains at the bar, sipping the last of his whisky.
He spins his baseball cap around, tilting its peak down.
When he stands, he waves goodbye with his rolled-up newspaper, making him the last customer to leave.
“Cecelia, the guy that just left… Do you know him?”
“What? The guy sat at the counter? No, I thought you knew him? He’s been in the last two nights, asking for you.”
This only heightens my curiosity. Am I paranoid, or does he have an agenda? He asks about me. No perving. No flirting. No prying. Just sitting there, scribbling into his crossword.
I barely remember the drive to the apartment as I wrestle between the stranger’s purpose and the chronicles of Joey and me. But my body surrenders as I crawl beneath my bed, gripping my knife, where, hopefully, my dreams will relieve my painful thoughts.
I run down the avenues of my mind, the open doors to memories that disorient me as they scream their tales, but this one grabs my attention as my nostrils catch the scent of the moment, luring me in like a cartoon character smelling a delicious pie.
The sweet aroma of strawberry bubble gum draws me to Joey’s side while we stand at the bar, and he drops the pack of sweets, only to stand back up with his hair falling into his face.
My middle finger reaches, sweeping it back as I stroke the edge of his ear.
His eyes flutter closed, and he looks away before reopening them, only for his hand to discreetly sweep into mine, the calluses of his palms tickling as his fingers comb between mine.
When he turns back to me, I can’t help but mirror his impish smile as the warmth builds between our grip, and I—
“Lee. Hey, Lee!”
I snap out of it, and my heart sinks to find my palm empty, and Joey no longer by my side. With a clenched jaw, I search for the voice that dared to bring me back to Earth. That fucking Leon!
In a dragging, monotonous tone, I ask, “What do you want?”
“You okay there, kid?” he asks, pulling up a seat at the counter with a press of his brows.
Since Hector walked out with the men, the bar has turned quiet, but this is haunting—potentially the emptiest I’ve ever seen it.
Working a weeknight is a solo venture, and with no more than twenty guys at the bar, my mind has been very free to drift, so Leon’s not been the first to holler me out of my head today.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. Well, whenever you’re ready, one last whisky sour, please?”
It stings as I chew the split of my lip, but I like the hurt while I idly prepare Leon’s drink, watching him in the mirror. He doesn’t pull out his paper and pen this time. He watches me, but his stare never wanders to my exposed legs or my chest, like with the other men.
“One last whisky sour?” I ask.
“Yes, I’ve got plans, so I’ll be leaving shortly.”
“Are you from outside the city?” I slide his tumbler across the counter.
He looks down before picking at his oil-stained calluses. “Well, you could say that. Me and my friends are … drifters, I suppose.” He coolly sips his whisky. “Listen, I’m kinda on the clock. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I roll my eyes as he leans onto the counter and expect curious prying into my recent trauma, but he whispers, “Hypothetically, if you could leave this place, this city, right now … would you?”
I look around nervously, wondering why he would ask such a thing. “Krick has sent you?!”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s not like that. Krick is a serious asshole. There are people who want you safe. They want you away from him.” He leans in further and whispers slowly, “What I am saying is … if you could leave … right now … would you go?” His narrow glare pierces from below his cap.
I think about it. Would I stay? Continue my plan until I get to Eden?
Hope my fathers are working hard enough in the background that my life won’t come to that?
In less than one year, I’ll receive my Unity Index.
Or do I go—leave, get out of here, try to find whatever is left of my family, join whatever revolution efforts are out there, and contribute that way?
“It’s not safe here. You can stay here, surviving, or you can come with me and start living.”
The words wake me, as if I have been asleep this whole time, stuck in a lower level of consciousness. With all the open questions and lack of answers, I expect my mind to calculate my reply more, but it doesn’t. The words fall from my down-turned mouth freely.
“… Absolutely.”
My gaze connects with his as my shoulders collapse.
No matter how much I want to finish things, my mind and body are no longer willing to continue.
Leon offers a small smile, reaching into the hoodie beneath his denim jacket and placing what appears to be another black hoodie on the counter.
His face straightens as he leans in again.
“Everlee Clade. This is an extraction effort. In the next fifteen minutes, I will get you out of this city and to a safe location. All I require of you is your trust.”
His words echo in my ears as I wait for him to reveal that this is all a joke.
“Do you trust me?” he asks again.
My palms grow clammy as the internal battle of questions begins. Is this Joey’s plan? He may have organised it before now. Is he waiting for me outside these walls? Or maybe it’s his brothers?
My voice trembles. “Are you one of Joey’s brothers?”
He shakes his head, disappointed to tell me no. “I am not.”
“Did he send for you?”
“My employer is anonymous. I don’t know them.”
I hesitate, but my curiosity has sparked, since he knows my full name. It has to be Joey! “So, I need to trust you? But … I don’t know you. Tell me something about you. Something true!”
He sits back, readjusting his cap as he glances at the bar’s cameras.
“My name is Leon Faulkner. I am a motorcycle fanatic. I can play music, mostly the guitar, although it’s been a while.
I was part of the resistance in the Mutiny War, along with two guys outside this wall.
And them? Well, they’re like my brothers. ”
I startle at the mention of the Mutiny War.
This has always been described as a civil war, because any other term is an admittance of its true nature: a rebellion.
To mutter this term is an act of rebellion itself.
Leon must have only been a teenager during the Mutiny War, and a kid during the World War.
Looking at me, he leans in again. “But most importantly, I’m a big brother. My little sister worked at a bar like this. I want to help you get out of here.”
He seems sincere; the undeterred eye contact shows no signs of lying. I trust him—or maybe I trust him just enough to agree.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, planting my palms on the counter with the cogs turning, clearing the cobwebs from my mind.
“The river.” He smirks. “We’ve got to jump clear of the wall. No hesitation. I will keep hold of you the whole time. We’ll submerge for a couple of minutes while we pass by the perimeter watchtowers, until we drift out of sight. My friends are a mile downriver, waiting to pull us out.”
“But the fence? You can climb that iron fence?”
He gives a little laugh. “The fence will not be an issue. So, what do you say? Are you ready to go?”
I’ve looked into that river many times before, never considering it as an escape route.
My heart pumps, and feeling the blood rush to my limbs, I shake my arms loose as I look around the bar, seeing who could bear witness.
Who would be bold enough to stop me from leaving?
Their miserable heads droop over their glasses.
They might not notice me gone until they come up for another drink. It couldn’t be more perfect.
The corner of my mouth lifts as I pull the hoodie from the counter. “Ready when you are.”
He brandishes his toothy smile and stands, pulling a small tin from his pocket. “I’m going for a smoke. Put the hoodie on. Join me when you’re ready.” He drums his fingers against the tobacco tin while casually walking away.
After all the memories, all the love, I expected to feel more anchored to this city, but nothing remains to hold me back. There’s no one left to say goodbye to, as my fingers purposefully slide along the counter’s cold, silky stone surface near where Joey and I once stood.
My reflection catches my attention in the mirror, where pain is so visible on my face, but maybe I’m not as broken as I first thought.
My vision refocuses on the liquor bottles along the wall.
Leon is standing on the terrace with the rosy glow of his cigarette in the darkness, when an idea ignites in my mind.
I pull the hoodie over my head and lift two bottles from the wall, pressing my thumbs over their lids while I tip them upside down, letting the whisky trickle along the counter.
I look down and head out, trailing a stream of whisky in my wake.
My focus fixes on Leon, and with every step towards him, a weight lifts, giving a subtle spring to my step.
His cheeks hollow as he takes a drag. “Going out with a bang?”
He exhales a pillar of smoke from the corner of his smile, and I shake the last contents from the bottles before resting them on a table.
“Yeah. My last fuck-you. Up and over, then?” I say, rubbing my liquor-soaked hands on my shorts.
He smirks at me with his cigarette resting between his lips and pulls a switchblade from his jeans pocket.
With a flick of his wrist, it opens, and he points it towards the fence, swiping swiftly against the iron, slicing through a black zip tie wrapped around the bars.
With a gentle push, the section of fence tips away slowly, tumbling through the air and disappearing into the river below, its audible splash swallowed below the rumble of water.
I don’t know how or when he did this, but I am impressed.
“For you…” He pulls the shortened cigarette from his lip and offers it to me.
I pinch it from his fingers, turn back, and flick it onto the liquor trail. Blue flames dance along the stream, leading back to the counter. I spot the surveillance camera and lift my middle finger towards it, holding it there as my final farewell to Krick.
Chairs scrape across the floor in alarm inside the bar, where the fire must’ve reached. It’s time to go.
Leon twists his fitted cap backwards before stepping onto the short brick wall where the fence once stood, and he turns, waiting for me to join him.
I step up. The sound of the obsidian current twisting and rolling below is louder than ever, but the jump is not daunting.
With a clear twenty-foot drop between me and my exit, I take a deep breath when Leon’s palm appears, and I rest mine—and my trust—in his hands.
“Don’t let go,” I say.
“I promise,” he says, and our fingers interlock. “On three, jump away from the wall, okay?”
Scrambling comes from behind—glass smashing, shouting. But I don’t look back.
“One.”
I run my index finger along the inside of my thumb, letting Joey’s ring rotate beneath it.
“Two.”
I inhale through my nose, pursing the exhale.
“Three.”
We leap.