A Borrower's Anthology

Pain, Nightmare, Rage

Secrets come undone as the party of four doubles in size.

...

The wall clock echoed through the wooden buffer between where it was mounted by nail and through to where the borrowers' den resided. Its constant rhythm was a tempo marker for Nick as he patted a hand against his thigh. When he tried to make it musical, its loudness didn't make him so tense. However, the ticking clock blended into footsteps that caused Nick to pause when they approached. The only difference was they lightened the closer they grew. Michelle was behind him.

"They want to have a meeting," she said, her tone hard for him to read. All he knew was she sounded as uncomfortable as meeting his eyes seemed to be for her. Her braids were loose and her hands weren't visible, hidden in her jacket pockets. "All of us."

Nicholas frowned. He leaned forward and clenched his arms. "Is something up?"

Though he already had a feeling he knew. But what way could his family and hers have found out about their current rendezvous? All borrowers were attentive yet they weren't omnipotent. They didn't have eyes everywhere, otherwise they would have long seen Michelle and Nick's mistake when they'd gone grabbing coins that one afternoon. If they'd known, why wouldn't they have said anything until now?

Michelle's grimace only confirmed his suspicions as her brows drew together in the center of her forehead. "They said it's important," she muttered.

Nick followed with some reluctance, and the clock became that much louder, even as they distanced from it. Neither of them spoke, yet what would either of them have been able to say to each other? Should they have been formulating some sort of lie to give to her parents and his guardians? Or maybe he was being paranoid. The fact that Michelle hadn't detailed anything left him tentatively hopeful.

All pretense of optimism, however, disintegrated in their living room. In much of the same arrangement as the Henderson's, the room had a few pincushions without the pins to serve as couches and a frayed piece of felt to make a rug. The pins of those cushions had been stacked in a thimble about as tall as the shortest member in their family, his aunt. Their weapon basket in case the others were damaged or abandoned. Though the pincushions had no pins, they were not all empty. Seated in them was his aunt Marie, uncle Abraham and Michelle's parents, Ronald and Sarah, all of which turned to their approach with varying expressions. Concern was the first he noticed on his guardians, horror on Sarah's; the final he settled on was Ronald, whose glare struck him across the face.

A curt hand wave gestured to the empty seats nearest the entrance, the command not even needing words. Nicholas sucked his teeth quietly.

Oh boy, here we go.

He didn't keep the elder waiting, and nor did Michelle. Shoulder to shoulder, they bunched themselves together on the smallest seat. He didn't look at her, and she didn't glance to him, but he knew neither of them wanted to be the first--much less feed each other to the wolves. No one had ever really complained about the leadership role that Michelle's father had assumed overtime. Nick wondered if the uncontested champion leader would remain unchallenged for very long with the way Michelle bristled.

Saving them both the trouble, Ronald spoke first with all the poise of a predator talking to the prey he'd cornered against the wall. "How long?"

"Dad, it's not--"

His glare pinned her instead of Nick. "Don't you start that with me again, Michelle Clara Knight." Her father leaned onto his knees, hands clasped now. If Nicholas looked closely, he might have thought the man was keeping himself from trembling. His voice was just above a whisper, "How long have they known?"