Le Petit Souris’s blog

Poplar Bluff, Missouri

Two Hours, Thirty-nine minutes south of St. Louis (by car).

Chase eyed the welcome sign at the edge of the city.  Poplar Bluff.  "Gateway To The Ozarks".  

It wasn't a small town, though it was hardly big by New York and Boston standards.  He hiked up his backpack on his shoulder.  Still.  It might be better to go around.  It'd been close down in New Orleans.  He'd only just dodged the police there.

He shied away from the memory, giving an unconscious roll of his free shoulder.  Accidentally throwing yourself into a building was hell on the muscles.

But the fastest way to St. Louis was to follow this highway.  And in St. Louis, he might be able to hitch a ride and put a little more distance between himself and the Feds that'd almost managed to nab him in his sleep.  Thank goodness for nightmares.

He stood still for another minute, wind--natural wind, not his own pulling at him from all directions--blew the enlongating locks of brown down and around his face while he chewed his lip.  He couldn't just keep dodging every city he came to.  The Feds down south had gotten lucky, but in most cities, kids tended to blend together.  Nobody would be able to pick him out unless they were consciously looking for him.  Chase took a deep breath, pushing the hair out of his face and started walking again.  Maybe he could get a ride north from somewhere in town.

Sundown found him downtown with no ride, no money, and a vague idea of a place he could spend the night.  His eyes scanned the people outside the library, slowly sweeping over them for anyone who might be watching him just a little too closely.  There wasn't anyone.

He headed down the steps, quiet except for the tap of his sneakers on the pavement, and headed off in the direction of his safe house.

Chase ended up in a section of the town that most people avoided.  The people who used to live here had seen better times and foreclosures were rampant.  He wandered the abandoned street slowly, listening, his eyes boring into the shadows to see if anyone was lurking there.  

He'd picked out the house he wanted at the library.  It was the most recently vacated, which meant that the homeless and squatters might not have had time to move in yet.  He found the address on the curb and looked up at the darkened two-story house.  The roof leaked, the stone path leading to the front door was cracked and breaking, but aside from that, it seemed secure.  Windows and doors were still intact and there was minimal physical damage to the outside.  Chase glanced around.  Three houses with easy view of this one still sported lights in the windows, there were more further down, but he doubted they could see him.  All shades were drawn.  

The dark-haired boy crept closer to the house and into the shadows cast by the streetlight.  He peered up at the lock on the window there and scowled.  Old fashioned.  It was one of those ones at the top of the window that you turned to lock under a clasp.  No real easy way for a person like him to open it without busting the window.  He could pick the lock on the front or back door, but that would take time... more time than he really wanted to be sitting out in the open.  It was a new skill he'd picked up during his stay out in Memphis and had been practicing since, but still hadn't gotten the hang of.

He looked around wearily.  It wasn't like he had much of a choice.

The runaway headed around to the back door, staying in shadow for as long as possible.  At the edge of the shadows, he closed his eyes and just listened for a minute.

Voices.  Quite a few voices.  Coming from one of the other abandoned houses.  He opened his eyes and chewed his lip as he considered.  Better to know.

He adjusted his backpack, then slipped silently out of the yard and through several others.  Over a privacy fence and he found himself ducked low behind some bushes in a brightly lit yard.

"...invading our country!  Putting us out of our hard-earned jobs!  Putting us out on the street!"  The shouting man was wearing a nice suit, preaching to a bunch of men in jeans and t-shirts and trucker hats.  There were a few teens and early twenty-something's hanging about, nodding in agreement.

Chase chewed his lip.  As horrible as the thought was, he hoped they were talking about immigrants because at least that left him out of harm's way.  

The man wiped his brow with a handkerchief and in the light, it shone.  Clipped to his tie was a silver cross, holding the offending red necktie in place.

Chase ground his teeth and focused to keep himself calm.  He was in the bible belt, it was only to be expected.

"One of every four CEOs nowadays are in position because of these so-called Gifts!  They hire their own, fire those of us who are just normal, everyday people!  They FORGET," the man yelled, raising his voice several octaves until it grated against Chase's eardrums, "that they were once NORMAL.  That THEY are not products of God's EVOLVED LOVE, but NO!  They are harbringer's of destruction!  VESSELS of the Evil One!  They are merely TOOLS of the restless evil stirring in the world."

Chase slunk back farther, feeling sick.  He'd heard this speech before.  Believed it once.  Spent months praying, wishing, hoping for forgiveness for something he couldn't begin to understand.  He'd knelt in pews till his knees were more bruise than knee, said Hail Mary's until his lips were chapped and his voice was no more than a breath of air... And still, there was the wind.  There were things flying around him like some demented poltergeist... and there was the wet blanket... 

He shoved the thoughts away, the anger and the fear that were bubbling up inside of him.  And with it the wind and the tenseness in the air around him.

"...children that must be BATHED of their Sin!"

The wind blasted at the backs of the small congregation and empty beer and soda cans took flight.

Chase blanched as everyone in the yard turned.  He didn't pause, he didn't think, he just let his body react.  He was back over the privacy fence like a squirrel up a tree and he sprinted as fast as he could away.

He could hear a few thuds behind him, people who'd jumped the fence, but didn't look back.  Looking back slowed you down.  He ducked between two of the abandoned houses and out into the road, jumping bushes and stumbling upon landing.  He rolled to his feet and headed for the shadowy depths of two more houses.  

He ran into a wall of men, two of whom grabbed his arms and a third hit him across the jaw.  Stars jumped into his vision and if the men hadn't been holding him, he would have fallen.  The wind around all of them picked up, a hose and sandbox took to the air.

The preacher stepped over to him.  "No need to be afraid, my son, we're here to help you."  He reached over, drawing the sign of the cross on Chase's forehead even as Chase feebly tried to jerk his head away.

"Don't need your help," he said, trying to focus his eyes on the man.

"That's the demon in you speaking, boy, but we can draw it out.  We draw the evil from the innocent with the help of the innocent."

Chase didn't like the sounds of that and pulled at his arms, the bucket and shovel from the sandbox hurling themselves at the men holding him.  "Let go!"

The preacher stepped aside to reveal a pale-faced teen that Chase had seen at the impromptu sermon, a silver crucifix dangling around his neck.

Chase struggled harder as the preacher laid a hand on the other teen's shoulder.  "Will it out of him, Oliver.  Concentrate on God's plan."

Chase didn't see it coming until it was right there.  Oliver looked into his eyes and then there was excruciating pain and he choked a little.  What little hold he'd had on his powers evaporated and he screamed as the men holding him, the preacher, and the other boy flew away from him.  He collapsed onto his knees and looked down to see a large gash in his t-shirt and dark liquid pooling against it, leaking out of his chest.

"Do you feel it?  The demon leaving you?"  The preacher had struggled to sit up and was gazing at him with glazed, maniacal zest.

Chase pushed a hand hard against his chest, the anger bubbling in him even as his head swam.  "Feel this," he whispered, turning his bloody hand toward the man.  The wind that circled him like a tigress about her cub lashed out, sending the man flying another twenty feet and crashing into a broken-down shed.  

The dark-haired boy stumbled onto his feet and his head swam.  He fell against the building, leaving a bloody hand-print as he stumbled away.  He had to go somewhere... anywhere to stop the bleeding.  He didn't know a lot about doctor-stuff, but the wound didn't feel deep, not that he thought he wouldn't bleed out, but Oliver didn't have the strength to gut someone efficiently.  

He woke up in the dark, hours later, laying on the hard earth with the smell of dirt all around him.  His t-shirt was wadded up in a ball, belted awkwardly to his chest, tight enough to constrict his movement.  He tentatively touched the top edge of the shirt.  It was almost dry.  That was a good sign, it meant he wasn't full-out bleeding anymore.  He didn't move for a long moment, his eyes adjusting to the dimness.  There was a line of light coming from under a door.  He was in a tool shed.  Made sense, really.  He'd stumbled into the first place that wasn't a house and wasn't locked.  The bugs worried him a bit. Some bugs really liked blood, and he sure had enough to attract some.  

Chase stifled a small cry as he sat up, throwing a hand against his chest.  He probably just tore the stupid wound open again. 

Stupid town.  Stupid bible belt.  Stupid, stupid people.  

He felt the anger bubbling as the spades and weed-whackers wobbled on the wall.  He took a deep breath to calm himself.  No use in killing himself after he'd gone through all that trouble to live through the night.  He winced as he climbed to his feet, carefully unstrapping the shirt from his torso.  He was a mess of blood, stinking of it and sweat.  He needed to get cleaned up so he could see just how bad it was.  He frowned at the fresh trickling of blood, knowing he'd torn it open.    He wanted out of this place.  Now.