Page 39 of The Shadow Prince's Ruin
The wheels squeak, and the air fills with the odor of burnt rubber, but I slow down enough to make the turn without rolling and drive through the deserted parking lot. A broken tent, that’s likely no longer occupied, leans against an old van, but the surroundings of the bar could be the set for the next post-apocalyptic movie.
I know it’s futile at this point, but I refuse to park out in the open and drive behind the building to the faint roar of police sirens in the distance.
Our only hope is that Sylvan’s friend is actually a squatter in this abandoned bar and that’s why my sweet, if deluded, boy believes we will be saved here.
As soon as we burst out of the car, Sylvan grabs his bag from the back seat. It’s ridiculous, but I’d rather waste a few seconds on taking the massive one too instead of using the time to argue with him. It’s so heavy it might be useful as a shield or weapon, if push comes to shove.
We stop in front of a tall wooden door covered in metal studs, which makes it look strangely medieval and out of place in this back alley. The carving at the top is in some language I don’t know, but if Sylvan’s friend is into this whole pretend-to-be-elves game, he might just help us.
I pull on the handle, but the door won’t budge, so I knock on it with my fist, desperate to find out how doomed we are.
Sylvan runs his fingers over the wood and nail studs. “Wait. I’ve got it… I think… I’ll open it.”
But the police sirens are getting louder. We don’t have time for whatever he’s doing.
“We need to go. Come on,” I say, pulling on his arm as my gaze darts around the industrial buildings around us. “If we don’t switch cars, we’ll be sitting ducks!”
But Sylvan pushes at me, his face scrunched with anger, as if he genuinely doesn’t understand our situation. “No! We need to go through here!”
Dowe now?
I don’t think so. But I take two steps back, and then bulldoze through the door. A part of it breaks as I stumble into dusty silence.
My arm hurts from the force, but nothing is more painful than the sight of the empty back room, which hasn’t seen a person in months. Boxes covered in dust, a few broken bottles on the floor, spiderwebs in every corner, and when I flip the light switch, I notice there’s no light bulb in the only lamp.
I failed. Myself. And Sylvan too, by following him on this wild goose chase based only on his sweet but clouded mind.
I’m going to die today, because I willnotgo back in the can! If the cops start shooting, and they fucking will, I’ll cover Sylvan, so at least he’ll know I meant it when I said I care. Maybe he will miss me when I’m gone.
Still, I pull on Sylvan’s hand, because there might be a safe place to hide inside. “If they spot you, raise your hands, and slowly go down to the ground,” I instruct him despite the bile rising in my throat, because I was the one who pulled him into this. I barged into his life, made him cover for me, and even drew him into my family’s clutches, which left him with an injury.
“No!” Sylvan digs in his heels and pulls me back toward the door like some stubborn mule. “I need to open the door correctly.”
I meet his determined blue eyes. What do I have to lose at this point? The sirens are ever louder, and I slowly turn numb to what’s to come.
I won’t be able to run any farther.
“Do you really like me?” I ask, following his lead, back outside. If I am to die because I went to Boston at a pretty boy’s request, at least I want to know this much.
Sylvan pulls the door closed in front of us, and his fingers are back on the studs in the wood. His expression is unreadable, but oh so serene in the light of the neon at the end of the alleyway.
“I do. It frightens me how much.”
I can barely hear him over the sound of the sirens but my heart sinks when a car stops close by with a screech of tires. I swallowwhen a colorful glow pulsates around us, letting me know we've been caught.
Sylvan turns to the door, and when he presses on one of the nails, it gives in under his touch, like it’s a button. He then presses another, and another, seemingly at random. One at the bottom, one by the handle.
He huffs, gets to his toes, attempting to reach the top of the door. “Lift please?”
“Get out with your hands up,” shouts a cop from the other side of the bar as blue and red keeps coloring everything beyond the shadow of the building.
Sadness drizzles into my heart, but I do as Sylvan says and bury my face in the delicious valley of his spine as I raise him off the ground. He smells like dew first thing in the morning, and I hope the mystical river I dreamt of last time I was dying will this time carry me someplace good.
“I had fun with you,” I tell Sylvan as more police cars arrive, and the request for me to give myself up is repeated.
Maybe I should listen? But what would be the point of that?
Sylvan presses the metal stud as soon as he can reach it, and something… clicks. He pushes the door open, and when I put him down, he tugs me inside and locks us in.
