Page 18 of Goose's Wren

Chapter 5

Wren

We pull up to the oldtrailer and everything in me tightens.Even in the dark, it looks worse than it did just a few hours ago.Like the night just makes all the broken edges sharper.

The porch is half-collapsed, the sidings peeled back in spots, and the roof sags like it’s given up the fight.

There’s no light coming from the windows, not that I expected any.We didn’t have electricity.We didn’t even rent the place.It was abandoned.

He cuts the engine and I take my helmet off, suddenly aware of how quiet it is.The crickets have even gone still, like they don’t want to breathe too loud in this place.Behind me, Sprocket and Gear do the same, their twin engines winding down in sync.

Goose doesn’t say a word, but I feel his eyes on me.I hate it.Hate that he’s seeing this.This rotted little shell of a life I was surviving in.I wrap my arms around myself, shifting awkwardly.

The twins don’t ask for permission, they just head toward the door like they’ve done this a hundred times before, checking corners, clearing a space.

I hear the creak of the door, the dull thud of footsteps inside, and then Gear calls out a moment later, “Clear!”

Goose is at my side instantly, holding out a heavy-duty flashlight.“Take your time.”

I nod once, keeping my eyes down as I take it from him.“Thanks.”

The door groans when I push it open, and the smell hits me first.Damp wood, stale smoke, and something metallic beneath it all.

I sweep the light across the living room, there’s clothes thrown over broken furniture.A cracked mirror with blood dried at the corner.A spoon and lighter still sitting on the table like Tim might be back at any second to pick up where he left off.

I walk straight to the back, to the bedroom where I’d carved out the only corner of peace I could find.

I reach under the blanket on the mattress and tug free the small duffel I’d kept hidden under the bed.The zipper is worn, but it still works.I check to make sure all of my notebooks are still there.I press my hand to the top one, just to be sure.

Next I grab what little clothing I own.A few shirts, jeans, underwear, one hoodie I’d kept hidden in the closet behind a busted vent where Tim never bothered to look.I shove it all into the bag, not caring how wrinkled or mixed-up it is.

That’s it.That’s my whole life.It fits in one bag.

I take a breath as I straighten, the flashlight beam falling across the edge of the mattress.There’s a small stain on the floor.Faint.Old.But I remember how it got there.I turn away before the memory can swallow me.

When I step back into the doorway, Goose is standing at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed, eyes locked on the door like he’s expecting a war to walk out.

Instead, it’s just me.

And I swear, the second he sees the bag in my hand and the weariness on my face, something in his expression softens.

I walk down the steps slowly, the bag slung over my shoulder, notebooks pressed close to my chest.He doesn’t ask questions.Doesn’t say a word.

He just motions towards the bikes.The twins are already sitting on theirs and next to Goose’s bike, is my own.

They must have found it behind the trailer and brought it around.I certainly don’t want to leave it behind.Tim would probably sell it.

Walking over, I put my helmet on head and tighten the strap of my bag so it doesn’t fall off while riding down the road.

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