Fairy Tale

by Veck

The Chase

St. Joseph, Michigan
November 12th, 1999

Lungs burning with every rapid breath, Jonathan hesitantly glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if his chasers were still in pursuit and upon spotting them trailing closely, guessed the distance between the two thugs and him was only a feeble 5 yards. Frantically searching for an idea, he realized that the only method of escape was to buy himself some time.

And what better way to do that, than with a diversion?

Luckily enough for him, an overflowing trash bin was placed a few yards ahead of him. Just as he passed, Jonathan kicked his heel in to the rusted, metal cylinder causing it to topple over, spewing its contents all over the concrete. Almost anticipating the sound, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a large amount of shame in the mess caused just a few yards behind him. Not the best idea to get distracted right now, Jonathan reminded himself, forcing the guilt out of his mind. You can dwell on causing other people extra clean-up work later. Turning down another dismal corner, he continued trekking deeper into the long-abandoned alley. Being first string running back on the middle school's football team, Jonathan was used to long periods of exercise. In spite of this experience, he felt his will to continue running fade little by little with each aching step. Cargo shorts sticking to his sweat slicked legs, Jonathan restlessly gazed ahead of him for any means of escape. Come on, come on! A door or something would be extremely useful...

And a door there was, a broken screen covering it from the elements. Grinding his teeth, Jonathan pushed himself to run faster, breaking into a full-tilt sprint. As he approached the door, Jonathan felt his spirits lifting and a small grin formed upon his lips. Skidding to a complete halt within arm's reach of the door, Jonathan doubled over, hands on his knees. Desperately gasping for the bitter-sweet air, his lungs seemed impossible to satisfy at first, but gradually the burning sensation dissipated. After a few seconds of rest, Jonathan thrust his hand toward the handle of the screen, yanking it open carelessly and letting it slam against the faded brick wall. The cool brass in his fingers, Jonathan turned the knob, lowered his shoulder and drove it forward in one motion.

Not at all budging, the door stood its ground and Jonathan crashed full-tilt into its solid steel. A quiet 'yelp' escaping his lips, the boy reeled backward from the door and instinctively reached for his now throbbing shoulder. For a few seconds Jonathan rubbed the aching muscle, mumbling angrily under his breath. He turned away from the door, letting the screen hang lazily open against the wall, and started jogging at a swift pace.

God, you're such an idiot Jonathan. Why on Earth would a random door out in the middle of nowhere be unlocked just out of convenience? Of course the door would be locked. What other possibility could there have ever been, he asked himself. That perhaps, for once in his life the gods (or God) would smile down upon and grant him just one small bit of good fortune? Doubtful. Even with having no concrete religious beliefs to speak of, the boy sometimes just couldn't help but imagine that the only deity that existed was a hateful one, hidden away in the heavens. Granting terrible luck to the boy at every given opportunity, a wicked smile would stretch wider and wider across its face, every small act of mischievousness filling the being's heart with glee. As if confirming this theory of his, a booming voice could be heard reverberating off of the walls from behind, the sudden noise shaking him from his anger.

“Guess who's back, you little snitch!”

Blood running cold, Jonathan felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound. Adding to the horror, he quickly whirled around another corner and found himself face to face with a red-brick wall. Dead-end, an all too familiar voice solemnly stated from within some part of his mind, bringing with it an almost suffocating sense of self-doubt. Subconsciously backing himself against the wall, he slumped lazily to the ground and buried his face into his hands soaked with perspiration. A shaky, surrendering breath escaped his lips, and he languidly glanced upwards once more at the sky for any signs of mercy. His eyes shot open in shock. In utter disbelief, he briefly considered pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. There, two to three yards off of the ground—perfect jumping height for the 5'8” boy—was a ladder. Presumably used for maintenance of the murky, cheerless building, the ladder led about fifteen stories up to the rooftop.

In a last-ditch effort he once again rose to his feet. Knees bending as far as they would go, Jonathan sprung off of the ground and toward the ladder, desperately reaching for something to grab. Cold steel brushed against his palm and he quickly wrapped his fingers around the rung. The metal groaned and creaked, straining with his weigh, but held strong. Wiping the sweat off of his opposite hand, Jonathan hesitantly reached up and gripped the next step. Meanwhile, several footsteps could be heard from below and the two men appeared around the corner. The shorter of the two, one of the thugs pointed a threatening finger up at Jonathan's climbing form.

“There's the bastard!” The man hissed, a twisted smile curling his lips. “We can get him, Manny, come on!”

The man took an aggressive step forward, but Manny put a long arm in front of him, halting the man. “Tony, leave him for now. We'll get the boy soon enough,” he said in a calm demeanor, his soulless brown eyes inspecting the teen who was now a quarter of the way up the ladder. “But-”

Manny put a hand up to silence him. Nodding his head toward at the alley, he silently turned on his heel, striding back around the corner and Tony, taking one last glance at Jonathan, begrudgingly followed him.

Eventually, the boy pulled himself over on top of the building and collapsed onto the floor. Arms aching, he rolled over on to his sweat soaked back and stared in the grim, gray clouds. Once again, the mocking voice echoed inside of his mind, You've escaped them for now, but what next? Unless you have another plan, all you've managed to do is effectively trap yourself. You need to think of something, Jonathan.

And I will, Jonathan replied mentally, a grimace etched into his features. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, but almost immediately fell back to the floor. After I rest for a second, of course.

---

After a minutes of rest Jonathan rose gradually to his feet, casually brushing some dust off of his shorts. “What's next?” he pondered quietly to himself, treading over to the edge. On another day, Jonathan would've been glad to just silently stand and take in the sights of the beautiful city, but today he had a different idea in mind. And after scanning the cityscape for a moment, the teen's thoughts returned back to the ladder. Maybe I could sneak back down and quietly make my way back into the streets? He briefly considered the idea, and seconds later came up with several situations in which the plan could fail, and just one in which it succeeded. Not liking the odds of it, Jonathan gave up the thought and followed along the outer edge of the roof, fingers softly scratching the back of his neck.

A different view of the cityscape gave him another set of options, one of which, Jonathan realized—was painfully obvious. 'Painfully' being the keyword, not too far away from his current position was a hotel building. On instinct, Jonathan glanced around the roof, looking for any planks of wood or sturdy scraps of metal. There were none. It was as if somebody had come before him and taken any materials of worth, leaving behind only soggy patches of cardboard and crumbled bricks.

“Guess I'll have to wing it, then” Jonathan mumbled to nobody in particular, his heart already beginning to thump against his ribs. Looking down at the ground below, he could almost feel it beckoning to him, wanting him to fall. Jonathan began taking steps backward, his sneakers silent against the rough cement. He didn't fear heights, that was sure. Though the thought of splattering all over the streets wasn't exactly pleasant to him, either. After fifteen steps, Jonathan settled down into a position similar to a 'three-point stance' in Football. With only one chance at this, the teen knew he couldn't hold anything back. He summoned all of his remaining energy, and launched himself toward the edge. Speed building as he drew nearer, Jonathan sprinted, arms swinging wildly at his sides. This was it, he couldn't change his mind now. Now all he could do was leap and hope for the best.

And he did.

Time seemed to slow down. Jonathan felt like the world had abruptly stopped spinning, the winds around him ceasing to blow. Below him, the cars were plodding forward, moving slower than the average human's walking speed. Any passerby-ers stood, almost frozen in time. For a moment, Jonathan could feel his heart's beating reduced to a single every few seconds, and then it sped back up again. His feet met with the solid surface of the hotel, and leaning forward to maintain balance, he kept his feet moving before braking from the forward momentum.

Jonathan doubled over, gasping for air. That could have very well just ended my life, he mused. A slight grin formed on the teen's face, and he couldn't help but silently chuckle at the realization. “I might just make it back tonight.”

He turned his attention to the door nearby, light gleaming off of the shiny, jet black metal. The door opened easily on it's hinges, and didn't make a sound as he closed it lightly behind him. Inside, the long corridor was well-lit but cramped, and with almost no elbow room he walked with his arms glued firmly to his sides. Meanwhile, between the tight walls claustrophobia began to set in, making his personal victory a little less sweet.

“...this isn't where I meant to teleport us...”

Jonathan paused. Curiosity struck him and he turned to what the gold plate attached to it stated clearly in black, printed lettering; Room 67. He cautiously and silently put his ear against the cool wood, listening in for any other signs of conversation.

“You're fine, Selly. Just remember to keep your focus next time, eh?” a male eventually replied in a baritone voice, his tone sounding amused. A light sigh could be heard in response, which sounded like it belonged to a female.

“I know, I know...”

Retreating his ear from the door, Jonathan chuckled lightly to himself and continued on his way toward the end of the hall. Must have just been the television...though the show did sound pretty interesting, honestly. After a few minutes of silently walking through the hall, he reached the metal door of an elevator. To the left of the elevator was a panel with only one button; an arrow pointing down—which he automatically pressed. I'll have to find that program on my TV when I get back to the fosters.

Above the entrance, a series of bulbs could be seen, each one labeled in order from left to right—numbers one through sixteen. The first orb to the left was lit, earning a small groan from Jonathan who impatiently crossed his arms with a huff, his left foot tapping against the ground to some nonexistent rhythm. After about one-hundred and seventeen taps, the two metal panels slid out away from each other and a triad of business men stepped out. They wore seamless Armani suits, tailored fit to a T. Squishing himself against the wall, Jonathan sidled past the group with a hushed 'excuse me' and entered the elevator. He activated the button signifying the lobby, and watched as the two plated slabs glided shut. Taking advantage of the long waiting period, Jonathan silently began plotting his next courses of action.

After I make it to the ground floor, I can book it out of here and immediately make my way toward Williams Street, though where do I go after I get there? Maybe I could make a quick pit stop at the gas station....

Before the door was even fully open, he stepped sideways into the small, quaint lobby. At a desk nearby, a female receptionist peered at him over the top of a magazine, “Oh—my apologies sir, is your room service button out of order?”

Jonathan quickly came up with a lie and replied, “Not at all, Ma'am. Just gonna go for a walk on the beach while my parents sleep.”

“Do you have your card for re-entry?”

Stopping before the exit, Jonathan turned toward the woman and forced a lopsided grin. “Of course! Carrying it in one of my front pockets,” to complete this lie, he softly patted both of his pockets.

The lady returned the smile before turning her attention back to her copy of Cosmopolitan. Once she could no longer see his face, Jonathan let out a quiet sigh of relief. Glad she believed me. Though I doubt I could have gotten into too much trouble, it's not really worth it to risk it.

Reaching for the doorknob, he had barely turned it when the door flung open and knocked him off balance. Staggered, Jonathan had no time to react when a man burst into the lobby and thrust a sharp right hook in his jaw. The initial hit hadn't hurt too much, but his head jerked abruptly to the side and he lost consciousness. As the teen's limp body slumped to the floor, the lady behind the desk began screaming in terror and reached for the nearest phone. Meanwhile, the attacker paid no attention to the witness, walking triumphantly toward Jonathan's unmoving form.

Tony stood victorious over him, a wide grin stretching across his scarred face. “I knew we'd still get ya', rotten punk.”

---

It was hours before Jonathan found himself drifting gradually back into consciousness. Or had it been mere minutes—he couldn't be sure, time seemed to drag on forever in the eerie darkness. In his current state of lethargy, even the most routine activities, such as opening his eyes, felt impossible to accomplish. After a few minutes, he mustered up enough energy to force his eyes open. From what he could tell, he was being carried like a child over somebody's shoulder. He couldn't decide where in St. Joe he was at, though as his eyes adjusted to the light he could begin to make out that it was the taller thug, Manny, holding him. Below them, wooden paneling creaked with every step.

“Ugh—I've always hated this pier, man. Always feels like it could collapse at any moment,” a groan came from somewhere to Jonathan's left.

Manny snorted and glanced at his companion, “Cheer up. We've just gotta dispose of this nuisance, and then we're outta here. Boss says he wants us to head back to the warehouse for our reward.” He adjusted the teen over his shoulder a bit, before letting a heavy sigh slip through his lips. “Now I don't know about you, but after running around St. Joe for the past hour or two, a reward sounds pretty damn nice about now.”

“Damn straight.”

They soon reached the end of the pier, and Manny brought Jonathan off of his shoulder and held the teen in his giant-like hands. Jonathan tried his best to peer into the man's eyes, and for a second he could've sworn he saw a look that kind of seemed...remorseful? Whatever the look had been, it was quickly replaced by their normal soulless look. He lifted Jonathan up above his head, and with relative ease tossed him into the chilly water. Jonathan's vision was quickly filled with hues of blue and green as the water rushed above his head. As much as he wanted to struggle, his body still hadn't fully awoken from the forced slumber and wouldn't respond fast enough. The cold water stung his skin and with every breath he tried to take, his lungs were quickly filled with the icy liquid. Along with the blue and green, a white hue began filling his vision as it became hazy.

This is it, Jonathan thought. Barely twelve years old, and I'm already dead.