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Chapter Two

Dad sounded hurt, and I wasn’t ready to jump into a situation without being armed, at least a bit. I grabbed a couple of things before I left, and threw them into my emptied backpack, the normal contents of pencils and folders falling onto my bedroom floor. I grabbed some snacks, first aid supplies, an old t-shirt, my dad’s inhaler, and some water. My mind was racing. I hesitated to grab what I did next: a knife.

My aunt secretly taught me some self-defense with a knife. She was worried about me moving to the busy city, as I was going from a rural area into a very hectic situation. So she taught me how to fight, and how to use a knife to do so. My parents didn’t even know that she trained me in this, and I can only imagine my dad’s alarm at finding out that his own sister taught me a dangerous trade.

I grabbed the knife from my bedroom, stored far under my bed. I didn’t know what situation I was running into, so I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Wish me luck, Fancy!” I said as I rushed out the door, locked it, and headed off to the park.

Boy, did I run fast. I think I ran as fast as my mind was racing.

‘What if dad’s really hurt? Who is this friend of his? What if dad’s…dead?’

I stopped myself at that last thought. ‘Dad is not dead,’ I told myself. I just needed to get to the park, and fast. The run was about a mile, and I got to the park in about ten minutes, running in-between pedestrians and cutting across traffic as quickly and safely as I could. I spotted my dad sitting on a park bench, his ‘old friend’ next to him. I approached bravely.

“D-dad?” He was bleeding a bit from his head, and he looked meekly towards me.

“So you’re Bryan?” the man next to my dad said, standing up. He was tall, wearing a long, black overcoat, even though it was still summer. His hair was pitch black and a bit longer, just about touching his shoulders. And his eyes were a brilliant blue. He smelled like cigarettes and death.

“Y-y-yes. Who are y-y-you? Wh-what did you d-d—“ Cut off again.

“My name is Caesar, but I prefer to go by Blade. Your dad is fine,” he seethed, looking to my dad. My aunt’s knife was in my pocket, ready to throw out if needed.

“But we aren’t here to talk about your dad; we’re here to talk about you.”