[3 years later.]
[8th relocation of the island known as Preole Grye.]
[9th year of the Great Sacrificial Era.]
[North Precinct, right after Silvester School ended for the day, and the children left after a fun game of Grounders. . .]
"Emory, do you mind if–"
"Yeah, I'll walk with you today. And tomorrow. And after that. For good."
Emory's classmate, Simonis, was regrettably unfamiliar with sarcasm. She only smiled, wondering if this was what it felt like to "love" someone.
Emory inched away from the lovestruck girl but took her hand out of habit. They had held hands every day since kindergarten. "You've been winning Grounders a lot." He started to envy her luck.
It all started three years ago, when Simonis beat all odds and won her first ever game of Grounders. That day also cemented their friendship.
Emory spent quite a bit of time thinking to himself. He realized that having friends wasn't for efficiency, but for the relationship itself, for having someone he could trust.
Laughably, the girl he befriended was the least efficient one he knew: slow, constantly murmuring, and unable to express her feelings.
Maybe it wasn't all too bad, as Emory developed a keen sense of study because of her. He knew what Simonis wanted even before she mumbled it, solely based on her expressions.
Simonis smiled brightly, her blonde hair and blue eyes akin to lustrous sunlight. "I guess I have. With each new game, Grounders has been getting more and more fun."
Emory nodded. "Of course, nothing comes remotely close." He tried thinking of an activity that would give him the joy that Grounders did.
Eating a scrumptious cake? No. Going on walks with his father, Charles? Close, but still no. Seeing Simonis every weekday? Of course not, Emory didn't even like her that much. . .
He stared at the blue-eyed girl.
"Simonis—"
"Ahhh!" Interrupted by a shriek, Emory turned his head to where Simonis's shaking arm pointed. "Yucky! Yucky! Yuck, yuck!" Simonis staggered back, rambling as she clutched her blouse and bag. "Who killed it?!"
Emory switched from watching the screaming young lady to gazing at the sight beside them. It was a dead squirrel, dark tire marks separating its head and body.
"Did it get run over by a carriage?" Emory asked, not expecting a reply from Simonis.
Suddenly, his eyes swirled—interest took over.
What really killed this animal? What was it currently feeling? Had its soul—if it even had one—left its body? If so, where did it go? What would happen if he decided to touch it?
Emory bent down and extended a finger. Squish. He mushed the dead squirrel's exposed insides. "Awesome. . ."
"E–Emory! What are you doing?" Simonis held back disbelief and disgust. "It. . . It's dead!"
The pair were currently on Lingard Street, where most bakeries and other eateries were located. Emory took off his black backpack and placed it on the red-brick sidewalk.
"Don't worry, it's already dead, so it can't feel pain. . . right?"
Simonis covered both her eyes but sneakily shifted a finger away so she could see the boy.
Squatted and sleeves pulled back, fascination covered Emory's face. With all five fingers, the young lad went to work on the dead squirrel. "Can this body be put back together?"
They both gasped, one in fear, the other in excitement. "Can it be brought back to life?" Emory asked.
Few passersby approached the children—to Emory's luck, and to Simonis's disdain. He glanced up at her, wondering if she also wanted to touch it. Probably not.
"Simonis, you can go home."
"H–Huh?"
Emory didn't bother looking back. "I'm gonna try to put this back together, so you can leave by yourself. You don't really like this stuff."
He hit the nail on the head. Simonis's mumbling grew louder. "Make your choice quick," he urged.
"I–I'll stay!" She valiantly stepped beside him and knelt. "I'll stay beside you, so we can go home together." Before Emory could say anything, she said, "I'm not going to touch it! I–I'll. . . I'll just watch."
"Alright." He shrugged. "Let's go somewhere people can't see us." He worried that civilians might accidentally see children messing around with bloody animals.
"Uh, are you sure? Isn't it better to stay here, where there are more people?" Simonis nervously asked.
Emory ignored her question and picked up both parts of the dead squirrel, the tips of his fingers covered in red.
"Let's go."
". . . Okay."
Luckily, there was a secluded corner close by. Emory ran his hand along the walls and tried to find a light-switch.
"It's too dark," Simonis noted, standing inches away from him.
"There should be a light somewhere." His main fear was that a rodent would take their finding while they looked for lighting. Emory made sure to leave the dead squirrel guarded behind his backpack.
Click!
Flicker!
"This is much better," he said. Simonis looked like she disagreed, but oh well. Emory felt her breath on his neck and shuddered. "Simonis, do you have to be this close?"
She struggled not to hold him. "Yes. W–What if someone bad comes? I want to be close to you."
"Fine." The boy went back to the dead squirrel. "It's not smelly, so it couldn't have been dead for long." He leaned in. "Maybe if I push it hard enough, it could go back?"
It seemed Simonis wasn't favoring that plan. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"I–I don't think you can just put a dead animal back together," she puzzled. "The same way, you know, bringing it back to life."
"You never know until you try," Emory grinned.
He saw her cheeks go red and wondered if she was sick or constipated. He didn't consider asking; for some reason, Simonis got really embarrassed when he questioned if she needed to poop.
As he continued to mix and forcefully shove the dead squirrel back together, a footstep echoed near them. Simonis was the first to jolt. She clutched Emory's shoulder and leaned in tight. They were glued together.
Despite not showing it, Emory turned apprehensive. "Who's there?" he called out. No response.
Simonis's raspy voice whispered in his ear, "Don't call out to them. . . Just wait until they leave."
Emory complied with her logical reasoning.
For the next few minutes, only the pair's uneasy breathing was heard. The foreign presence left, but neither Emory nor Simonis pulled away from each other.
"Can we go home?" she asked.
"Yeah," Emory said. Who knew what would have happened if the stranger had actually found them.
. . . .
"Bye, Simonis." He waved at her.
Simonis did the same. "See you later, Emory." She waddled into her home, the memory of their closeness vividly etched in her mind. She blushed. He smelled nice.
. . . .
"Welcome back, Emory," Charles greeted his son. "Uh. . . What's the matter?" Charles noticed the dark expression on the boy.
Emory removed his backpack and hung it up. He took off his shoes, neatly arranged them next to his father's, and hugged him. "I'm sorry."
Charles stepped back. "What for?" He returned the boy's hug.
Emory didn't answer. He spent the next hour beside Charles. Luckily, he didn't get questioned either. He was blessed with such an understanding father.
Woop! Woop! Woop!
Unfortunately, they were stopped by a raging siren. Another monster spotting. This was Emory's sixth spotting ever. Because of that, he'd gotten accustomed to where to go and what to do.
Charles lifted the long and heavy floorboard and they prepared to enter the basement.
"Run, little one." A voice slithered in his ear. It was a voice he'd never heard before. Emory looked to his father to see if he heard it too.
"Emory, let's go," Charles urged amidst the gnawing alarm.
"Yes, you heard me. I am real. I am your savior. And only you can hear me."
Emory paused. His head hurt. What was going on?
"Pap–" His mouth snapped shut.
"I'll make this quick. Listen, the monster is powerful and heading to your area. Your little girlfriend's house is the first target."
Little girlfriend? Emory thought. Who are you? What are you doing to me?
"Emory!" Charles raised his voice. "We need to go!"
"She's going to die. A gruesome death, really. And you know who she's going to scream for? Take a guess, haha."
Simonis was in danger.
Confliction.
Should he stay with his father, where safety was almost guaranteed, or trust this mysterious voice that could be lying?
It was a simple decision.
"Get down the stairs!" Charles yelled.
But Emory didn't go. He couldn't. His body turned in the direction of the door. "I need to go, Papa!"
"Go? Where? What!" Charles reached to grab Emory's shoulder but failed. Emory was already at the door. "Emory Vaughan, where are you going?! Stop!"
"I'm going to go save her!" Emory cried. "I need to save her. Simonis can't die!" If Simonis died, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. She was almost as important to him as Charles, though he didn't like to show it.
"Emory!" Charles's voice faded as Emory ran the streets.
"Don't come after me, Papa. Please," Emory prayed.
Step. Step. Step.
"Found you."