Page 25 of Stolen Harmony
“Extortion is when I charge you rent for it. This is charity. Don't ruin the moment.”
The so-called Yamaha looked like it had lived three different lives and lost badly at all of them. Rust along the tank, leather seat split wide, handlebar wrapped in duct tape. Butwhen Fred handed me the keys, there was a gleam in his eye that dared me to say no.
“You sure this thing runs?” I asked, turning the key over in my hand.
“She'll run,” he said, puffing on his cigarette like it was gospel. “She just likes to be asked nicely. Unlike you.”
I checked the gas gauge—half full, which was better than I'd expected. “This have enough gas to get me around town?”
“Tank's got plenty. I filled her up last week.” Fred flicked ash onto the pavement. “Should last you a few days if you're not planning any cross-country adventures.”
The engine roared to life under me a moment later, coughing smoke before settling into a growl. The vibration bled through my bones and rattled my teeth, and for the first time in days I felt a jolt of something close to alive.
“Hold on,” Fred said, disappearing into the shop. He emerged with a helmet still in its plastic wrapping. “Brand new. Can't have you cracking your skull on my watch—bad for business.”
“I can't afford?—“
“It's included in the rental,” he said, cutting me off. “Consider it insurance. Mine, not yours.”
I pulled on the helmet after tearing away the plastic, the padding fresh and clean against my head, and kicked the bike into gear.
“Thanks, Fred,” I called over the engine noise. “I owe you.”
“Just bring her back in one piece,” he shouted back, already turning toward the shop. “And try not to wrap yourself around a tree.”
Harbor's End spread out around me as I navigated the narrow streets, all brick buildings and weather-beaten signs advertising businesses that had probably been here since before I was born. The morning was gray and overcast, threateningrain that would make the roads slick and dangerous. Perfect weather for making bad decisions.
I took the road that led toward the cliffs, opening up the throttle as the buildings fell away behind me. The bike responded eagerly, engine whining as we climbed the winding road that hugged the coastline. On my left, the ocean stretched to the horizon, dark water meeting darker sky in a line that looked like the edge of the world. On my right, scrub grass and stunted trees bent by years of salt wind.
The cold air felt sharp but not sharp enough to clear the fog that had taken up permanent residence in my head. I gripped the handlebars tighter, leaning into the curves. The speedometer crept higher, and I let it, chasing the illusion that I could outrun my own thoughts.
That's when I saw the movement in the road ahead.
Small and pale, almost blending into the gray asphalt. At first, I thought it was debris, maybe a plastic bag caught by the wind. Then it moved again, and I realized it was alive. A kitten, no more than a few months old, frozen in the middle of the road with huge green eyes that reflected the bike's headlight.
Instinct took over before conscious thought could interfere. I yanked the handlebars hard to the right, feeling the back tire slide as I fought to maintain control. The bike wobbled dangerously, threatening to highside and send me skidding across the asphalt. My chest slammed into the handlebars hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, and for a moment I thought we were going down.
But the tires found purchase again, and I managed to keep us upright, pulling over to the shoulder with my heart hammering against my ribs. I sat there for a moment, engine idling, trying to process what had just happened. Ten seconds earlier, I'd been pushing sixty on a road that wasn't designed for it. Now I was parked on the shoulder, shaking from adrenalineand the realization of how close I'd come to ending up as roadkill myself.
The kitten was still there, crouched in the exact spot where I'd nearly run it over. It was small and obviously feral, all ribs and matted fur.
I pulled off my helmet and walked back to where it sat, moving slowly so I wouldn't spook it. It watched me approach with the wary intelligence of an animal that had learned not to trust easily, but she didn't run.
“You're either brave or stupid,” I said, crouching down a few feet away. My voice sounded strange in the quiet air, rougher than I'd expected. “Can't decide which.”
It mewed once, a tiny sound that barely carried over the wind. Up close, I could see how thin it was, how the cold had settled into its bones. Its fur was gray and white, marked with patches of dirt and what looked like old motor oil.
I reached out slowly, expecting it to bolt. Instead, it sniffed my fingers and then butted its head against my palm, purring with the desperate intensity of something that had been alone too long. The sound vibrated through my hand and up my arm, settling somewhere in my chest that I'd thought was permanently numb.
“Guess you're mine now,” I said, though it sounded more like a challenge than a promise.
I checked and found out that it was a female cat.
Scooping her up carefully, I felt how light she was, how her heart raced against my palm like a trapped bird. She didn't fight—didn't even mewl—just curled tighter, her spine a trembling wire under dirty fur. Up close, the damage was visible: her right ear was nicked, and the pads of her paws were scraped raw, as if she'd been running over asphalt for days.
I tucked her inside my leather jacket, zipping it up enough to keep her secure but loose enough that she could breathe. Herwarmth seeped through the fabric, tiny claws gripping my t-shirt as she buried herself deeper, hidden from the world.
I leaned back against the nearest lamppost, pulled out my phone, and searched for the nearest vet. There were only two clinics in town, and only one was open past five.Harbor’s End Veterinary Care, half a mile away. No reviews, but in a place this small, word of mouth was all anyone needed.
