Shifters

Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Ryker

I keep my head down, my hood up, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. The sidewalks on this side of town are mostly deserted anyway, but I can’t risk the chance of being recognized. I have too much to lose, too much at stake. 

Three lives. 

I take the folded map out of my back pocket and look it over. The building I’m looking for should be right in front of me. The Vitamin Shop. At least, what used to be The Vitamin Shop. Now it’s just a vacant building with the health food sign half lit above it, blinking in the dull street lamps:  “he Vtmin Sho.”  It looks completely deserted, but I have to try. Something inside me perks up as I push open the glass door and a little tinkle issues inside. 

“Hello?” I ask, keeping my hood up as I approach a little desk in the center of the store. There are no shelves, no furniture, and no one in sight. Everything inside me is screaming to make a run for it, to dash back into the night and make it home before curfew. The vans patrol this time of night, looking for teenage runaways to test. See if their DNA is clean. I know mine would show up dirty. 

Suddenly I smell rust and sweat on the air, and I know I’m not alone. 

“You looking for something, young man?” A deep voice asks, and I turn to my left. There’s a doorway where the wall just was, rapidly blinking lights issuing from behind it. But it’s the man standing in the door jamb, his arms crossed against his chest, that makes my breath stop short. He’s tall and well built for an older man, his peppered black hair and light eyes matching the color of his suite. 

“Yes,” I breathe, and take a step toward him. But suddenly the stranger narrows his eyes, a wide hand flying out in front of him. I feel my lips go slack, my limbs numb. He’s got me. 

“Not so fast,” he says, his gray eyes shining with mirth. Like this is fun. I’m suddenly doubting my decision to come here tonight, alone. “We don’t just accept anyone here,” he continues, taking a small step backward into the flashing lights behind him. I try to shake my head, to bring him back, but I can’t seem to move. This man is my only chance and he’s leaving, I can feel it. 

“If you don’t have anything to offer me, then I have no room for you,” he says, and I feel his grip tighten on me even though his hand is nowhere near me. Then, his fingers flick up toward the ceiling, and I try not to flinch as my navy blue hood flops backward. He studies my bright golden eyes, considering me. Then his face darkens. “And I can tell that you, son, have nothing of value.” Suddenly, two figures appear next to him, small and thin. Girls. No more than twelve, each wearing a silver jumpsuit. A little pang runs through me as I look into their faces, their perfect light eyes, and remember why I’m here. They look a lot like her. 

“Escort him out,” the man in the suite demands, and releases his hold on me. I tumble to my knees, rubbing my eyes and gasping for air. Then, I feel two pairs of tiny, but incredibly strong, hands grip my arms. The girls heave me to the front of he Vtmin Sho, and hurl me onto the curb. I wince when I land on my hands and knees, gravel biting into my palms like shards of grainy glass. Shit. I can already feel bruises forming where the Shifter girls had lifted me up and thrown me like a plastic bag in the wind. That easy. 

Well, there goes another one. 

I make it back home before 10pm, which is when curfew for the state of Florida starts. All people between the ages of thirteen and nineteen have to be off the streets and inside during the darkest hours of the night. That’s when the patrol vans pop up most, in random neighborhoods and parking lots, combing through the palm-bordered streets to find runaways. Runaways almost always have dirty genes, Shifter genes. My genes. I heave a deep sigh as I walk up the drive of 1550, my shoes crunching over blanched white shells. I slip my house key from my shoe and open the peeling front door. 

A pair of glowing yellow eyes greets me. 

“Ryker!” I hear my sister whisper, and then her little arms are around my waist. I hug her back, her pale hair visible even in the pitch black living room. My sister never has the lights on in the house, she can see without them. 

“You get enough sleep today, Fenn?” I ask her, and she nods. Fenn rarely sleeps at night, choosing to nap on and off during the day instead. At first it freaked me out a little, but after twelve years of watching her routine, you get used to it. I remember when I was five years old and I saw my baby sister for the first time, her tiny pale hand wrapping around my finger. And those sun-yellow eyes. Finally, someone as different as me, I’d thought. 

And I knew, even as a kid, that I’d do anything for her. 

“Mom asleep?” I ask her, and she nods up at me. She looks behind us and into the back bedroom, where our mother snores softly in front of a blinking TV screen. Our mom sleeps a lot, actually. Day and night. After our father left she derailed a little, went off the deep end and started wearing various bathrobes and brushing her hair once a week. It was hard to watch, but I grew accustomed to the hollowness I felt when I saw that flickering TV light. Like my mom, it never quite knew if it wanted to be on or off. 

“You okay if I get some rest?” I ask my sister, and she nods. I give her one last squeeze, and then watch as she disappears around the corner and into her room. I hear the click of a door and know she’s in for the night, doing whatever it is Fenn does while the rest of the world sleeps. I sigh. Slowly, I drag my tired body across the living room and down the hall, toward the farthest room in the house. My room. I shut the door behind me and flip on my light. Four bright orange walls greet me, the little conch shell paint trim giving the room an extra beachy feel. Oh yeah, so me. 

I rip off my dirty sweatshirt and walk to my bathroom. Looking in the mirror lately is like looking into one of those old viewfinder games, the ones where you click down the lever and get a different image every time. I never know which Ryker I’m going to see. Today I see hopeless Ryker, the one with the dull golden eyes and purple shadows beneath them. His hair is dark brown and matted, his bare chest scraped and bruised from a week of relentless hunting. Questioning. Longing for answers that will never come. 

This is the saddest I’ve ever seen myself. 

I suddenly get this tight feeling in my chest, like everything in me has been squeezed into the tiny space behind my sternum. My eyes burn and my nose flares, and I just completely lose it for a second. All the anger, fear, frustration…it all rumbles out in a low growl, and then my fist it flying at the bathroom mirror, cracking it in a thousand places. The face of that pepper gray man flashes against my hand and in my mind. I want to hurt him. I want to really, really hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt me by rejecting me after all I did to find him. Turning me and my sister down with a flick of his wrist. 

I stop when the mirror turns red.