Dragonfly Read online

  When the woman emerged, she grabbed her handbag from the small table by the front door and looked around, her lips pursed. They’d left without her. I allowed myself to grin slightly. She quickly checked for the house keys one last time, and then she left as well. They were off now, and I was on. I reminded myself—patience. But I felt the relentless pressure of time passing. I didn’t know exactly when they’d be home, and there was still the other mark to get to. If I didn’t go now, I’d need to wait a whole week, and I was anxious to move on. It was never a good idea to stay in one place, and my time here was already dragging. Looking down at the street, I waited for the father’s Bentley to pull out of the parkade. The white high beams, lighting up the darkened street, indicated his exit. I let my wings carry me across the road, above the dot-like cars, and to their waiting window. They didn’t have the luxury of a balcony, but they didn’t suffer for it.

  Having no balcony, of course, was less convenient for me, since balconies almost always meant unlooked doors. Over the years, though, I’d gotten pretty good at removing window screens and sliding the glass open. I carried the necessary tools with me, shoved into my pockets, although I rarely needed them. I entered the room quietly. As always, I made my way through the apartment, heading for where they hid their cash.

  A slight noise behind me stopped me dead. I turned, startled, and met the very wide, very green, very frightened eyes of the girl. She was sitting on their white leather couch, her feet curled under her, the remote clutched tightly in her fist. Her eyes were darting from my wings to my face to my gloved hands and back to my face again. I knew with complete certainty that I needed to leave, but my body was not responding. “Please, don’t.” Her voice was small, almost a whisper. I could hear fear etched in every syllable. “Please take whatever you want. Don’t hurt me.” I shook my head quickly and, without thinking, pulled off my mask so she could see my face. Leave. Just leave. Again, though, I stayed where I was. I imagined her heart was beating furiously. Like mine. In all the time I’d been making my living from careless, busy, predictable wealth, I’d never been caught. I’d never been confronted. I’d never even thought of deliberately showing my face. And I’d never felt as alive as I did at that moment. I could hear the sound of my heart thundering in my ears, and I wondered vaguely what I would do if she made a dash for the phone. Would I leave? Would I try to explain myself? Would I snatch it from her hand? She didn’t move though. She simply sat, waiting. Waiting for me to tell her what I wanted. Waiting for me to go. Waiting for me to do something. I cleared my throat.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice was strange in my ears. “I’m not going to hurt you...” I shuffled silently through the possible explanations. They all sounded equally bad. Instead, I gestured feebly to the bag at my waist. “It’s how I make a living,” I said, shrugging slightly, uncomfortable. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

  “I told them I wasn’t feeling well.” She sounded a little defensive and, although still fearful, she seemed calmer now. We remained like that for a moment, a strange moment, and then she asked, “Are they real?”

  I knew what she was referring to, and I tried to be believable. “No.” I laughed then, and it was genuine, a release of the anxiety and surprise and fear and excitement caused by my first real contact with an ordinary, stable human being—a female human being. At least the first contact I could remember having. Somebody obviously raised me, and there was always a woman in the fuzzy memories I managed to pull up. Aside from the vague memories though, most of the past was a blank.

  “I made them,” I told her, and I knew I seemed convincing. I’d practiced this, but it was the first time I’d actually gotten to perform. “They’re wire, mostly. And a thin mesh. And I attached them,” I said, gesturing to the straps around my body, “with these. There’s a thin motor under my shirt, running the wings. Remote control.” She nodded, looking fascinated in spite of herself.

  “If you invented that, why would you have to make your living like... this?”

  “It’s more exciting,” I told her, improvising. “And getting something like this patented is more difficult than you’d think.”

  “Mmm.” She shifted her gaze back to my face. “How old are you? Don’t you have parents?”

  “No. Wait, what?”

  “How old...”

  “No, I heard you.” This conversation was throwing me. “Eighteen. I think I’m eighteen.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No.” I knew it was definitely past time to leave. I couldn’t answer any more questions, and she hadn’t called the police yet, so I hadn’t had to make a decision about whether or not I would stop her. “Anyway, I should go,” I said awkwardly, thankfully remembering to take the remote from my belt and clutch it in my hand as I backed away.

  “Goodbye then.” She looked like she might smile. Or cry, maybe. She seemed to be as confused as I felt about our exchange. I pulled on my balaclava and turned quickly. I knew her eyes would be on my retreating figure as I climbed through the open window. I glided out, my wings keeping me aloft. I could hear her returning the screen to its frame as I moved through the sky, back the way I came. I didn’t stop at the rooftop, and I didn’t go to my second mark’s apartment. I returned, instead, to my empty home, her wide eyes still clear in my mind. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. I’d spoken to someone. A girl. And she’d spoken to me. Really looked at me. I wondered, suddenly, if I’d see something about myself in tomorrow’s paper. I supposed it was unlikely, because nobody would believe her anyway, but I wondered just the same. I also wondered why I was considering going back again tomorrow. It was crazy enough that I’d talked to her—but going back was suicide.

  So I didn’t go the next night. Not inside, anyway. Instead, I sat across from her apartment again and watched. I told myself I was simply trying to finish the job. I would find a better time—a safer time. I also told myself I was ensuring that she had kept silent, that nobody there seemed to be acting differently, that no extra precautions were being taken. I spent almost my entire night on the ledge, watching her until my eyes felt dry and my legs cramped. It shouldn’t have been exciting.

  She watched TV. She lay on the couch and looked at her phone, her fingers busy texting or typing. Mundane, ordinary things I’d watched people do all the time. But somehow, everything about her was fascinating. I loved the way her lips turned up into a smile and parted slightly whenever she laughed. What would it be like to make her laugh?

  As the night wore on and the family readied for bed, she stood for a long time at her window and looked out into the night. I knew she couldn’t see me, not really, but I wondered if she could see enough to know I was there, that I was watching her. She had to be looking for me. She was looking in my direction, anyway. I peered at her through the binoculars, and I could see her eyes staring back. I thought they’d been green before, but they were brown now. Almost burgundy. Contacts. Or maybe they were contacts before. She was always changing herself, this girl. I realized, with sudden certainty, that I wanted to talk to her again. I wanted to hear her. I didn’t want to frighten her or answer her questions; I simply wanted to listen to her voice.

  Obviously, I couldn’t. How would I even start?

  Hi. I’m that guy, you know, the one who broke into your house the other day and stood there like an idiot, staring at you.

  Hi, I’ve been watching your house for the last while so I thought I’d introduce myself.

  Hi, I’m...

  None of it made any sense. Sitting here, watching her, wondering if she were watching me, didn’t make sense either. What made sense was to go home and go to sleep. Or to plan my next job. Or to move on—to go somewhere else. But I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wanted to sit here, in the dark, and watch this girl. And I wanted to feel like she was looking at me. Like she could see me.

  Eventually, she turned away from the window, and the light in her room went on; I could see the pale glow through the dr
awn curtains. And then she opened them half way, enough so I could see clearly into her room. She stood at the window again, looking out. She placed her hand on the glass for a moment. What would it be like to be part of that world, at least for a little while? I shouldn’t want it; I shouldn’t want her.

  I packed up the next night. It was definitely time to move on. To go somewhere else, to revisit one of my old haunts in another city, another place. I threw my essential clothes into the small, black duffle bag I carried with me whenever I traveled and I waited until the sky grew dark. I’d come back for the bag after one more flight through the city. Saturday nights were especially risky, as the streets came to life with people and music and light. I wouldn’t be long, though. One last look, and I’d be gone.

  As I landed in the familiar perch across from her place, I thought I could see the glow from the TV. I watched for about half an hour. There was no movement. What would happen if I went over there? If I introduced myself? And why was I so certain I was about to?

  I stood, feeling my wings come to life. They were ready, even if I weren’t. I quickly crossed the distance between us and lingered there, at the window. She was alone on the couch, feet tucked up under her, watching television. I knew I was about to do the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

  Chapter 3

  I knocked. It seemed more polite than letting myself in, although less so than using the front door. She looked up immediately, as if she’d been expecting me. When her eyes met mine, my hand, which seemed to develop a life of its own, waved slightly. I offered a half-smile. Her move. She sat there, still, for a long moment, and then she picked up her cell and dialed two numbers. I could see her finger hovering over the final number as she came over to the window and, quite surprisingly, opened the screen. “My parents are out. My brother’s at a birthday party. You can come in.” Her voice was even. “But I’m keeping my hand on the phone.”

  She moved back to give me room and I wordlessly climbed in. She tilted her head towards the wings again. “Those are amazing. How long did they take you to make?”

  “A long time.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Years. I guess.”

  “I knew you’d come back. I don’t know how, but I did. I knew it.”

  “Why did you let me in?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something about you. And maybe I’m bored. I’ve never seen anything like those things before.”

  Something about me. “Yeah, they’re functional.”

  “Do you wanna take them off?”

  “It’d be complicated to get them back on.” That much was true. Not just complicated, of course –impossible.

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugged and sat on the long couch, crossing her legs in an almost child-like way. As I sat down on the far end, she shifted her body to face me, which made positioning my wings easier. I mirrored her position, allowing my two lower wings to hang off the edge of the seat. “So, you’re here now. Name?”

  “Joshua.”

  “You have a last name, Joshua?”

  “Miller.” It was one of the few things I remembered from before Nik found me.

  “Joshua Miller.” She said my name slowly, thoughtfully. “Alexa Scott. Lexi.”

  I had no idea what to say. I went with “hi.” The edges of her lips twitched.

  “Hi.” She allowed herself a quick smile and then assumed again her serious expression. The eye contact was unnerving but I forced myself to return her gaze. “So, Joshua, tell me something about yourself.”

  “Something about me? Well, I guess you know what I do.”

  “I know one thing you do, anyway. What else?”

  What else? What else was there? I ate alone. I slept alone. “That’s not fair,” I finally said. “I don’t know anything about you.” It wasn’t exactly true. I knew she coloured her hair as often as some people changed shoes. I knew she wore contacts. I knew she was short and small, like her mother, but had her father’s nose, which would have seemed too large for her small, heart shaped face if not for her enormous eyes. I knew her smile seemed to light up an entire room.

  “Something about me? Well, my parents think I applied to a bunch of colleges for next fall, but I didn’t.”

  “You’ve graduated then?” She looked younger than that.

  “A year early,” she said. Early. I’d never even been to high school. “I’m taking the year off right now and I have no idea what I want to do after. My mom thinks I should take dentistry or something. Follow in her footsteps. Hey, your teeth are really straight.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Ever had braces? I had braces when I was a kid.”

  “Nope. These are natural.” At least, as far as I knew. My memories from my childhood were scattered and vague. I couldn’t remember much beyond fragments.

  “Well, I had braces for three years. It was embarrassing. I like my teeth now though, so I guess it was worth it.”

  “Me too.”

  She frowned. “I thought you said you never had braces.”

  “I didn’t. Have braces, I mean. I meant I like your teeth too.” It was an awkward thing to say, but I felt like it was required. And she did have nice teeth.

  “Thanks. My dad wants me to be a vet, like him. I volunteer with him sometimes. He has his own clinic,” she said, picking up our last conversational thread. “But I think he wants me to follow in his footsteps to impress his friends. His daughter, the animal doctor. And I like it, really. But it’s not very—exciting. ” Exciting. There was that word again. “What about you? What did you want to be before you became a thief?” Thief. She made me sound like Aladdin. It was nothing like that. It was much more calculated and careful. And I didn’t know what else I’d wanted to be. Normal maybe.

  “I don’t think I ever gave it much thought,” I told her. “I don’t know if I would be very good at anything else. I’m good at planning. And at being invisible.”

  She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, slanting her gaze towards my four large, translucent wings taking up a fair amount of airspace beside the couch. “You? Invisible?”

  “Not too many people are out, looking up at the sky at night. Not in a city like this. In the country, maybe, with the stars, but then it’s so dark. And here, people are looking at each other—eye-level. And besides, I dress in black. And you can’t really see the wings, you know, when it’s dark out. These things are almost see-through, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I guess, though, if they caught the light, you’d notice them.”

  “Right. But, aside from the street lamp lights or lights from the windows, both of which I’m usually above, there isn’t really anything to highlight them.” She was thinking, I could tell.

  “Who taught you to do that?”

  “I guess I taught it to myself.” It was somewhat true, but not entirely. The woman from my memories and the man with her, I vaguely remembered, had been normal, and I couldn’t recall instruction connected to their faces. I wasn’t entirely certain if they were my parents, but I felt like they must have been. A man and a woman, in a house somewhere rural, with me, as a child. And fields and animals—–maybe a farm. Pieces of memories. I remembered Nik so much better. Nik, who told me the only way I was going to survive was by living unseen, by never staying in one place too long. Nik, who had no wings himself, who taught me how to use my abilities to survive, to be better than all these people who called themselves normal. To use them without their ever knowing about me.

  “So?” she asked. “What do you do? For fun? I mean, besides the whole break-and-enter-thing.”

  “It’s not exactly –” I thought about how I could explain. “It’s not like doing that is exactly—fun.” I hesitated. Maybe it was. Maybe the watching, and the meticulous planning, and the knowing exactly what people were doing and exactly where they would be at exactly what moment was the closest thing I had to a good time. It couldn’t be all I did for fun, though. “Well, I go flying. Obvi
ously. I take the wings up, you know. All the time.”

  “Sure,” she said, and then her eyes lit up, and I knew exactly what she was about to ask. “Do you think you would let someone else try them? Like, if you showed me how, do you think you would ever let me take them out?” I was starting to figure this girl out. She was looking for something. I would disappoint her, I knew. I didn’t even know if I could carry another grown person. I’d tried to lift someone once—Nik. He’d been far too heavy to even get off the ground, but I was younger then—barely twelve, he told me, when I met him, which made me about fourteen when he was gone. I’d been alone for the last four years. But, of course, she wasn’t asking if I could lift her. She was asking if I could lend my wings to her, and that, definitely, wasn’t an option.

  “I designed them to fit my body specifically.” I couldn’t tell if that would satisfy her, so I added, “They’re complicated to operate.”

  “I’m a quick learner. You could teach me. I’d be really careful.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t lend them out to anyone.” There was a truth. “They’re the only pair I have. I don’t know if I’d be able to fix them if anything happened. So they just—I just keep them with me. If I take them out at all, they’re on my body.”

  “Okay.” Defeated. Disappointed. She didn’t meet my eyes.

  “Maybe, though –” I knew I was about to needlessly lie to her, and I let myself do it. Later, I wondered why I’d made the offer but, deep down, I didn’t want her to give up on me. I wanted her to have a reason to see me again. A reason to want me around. “Maybe once we’ve known each other for a while—you know, when I’ve had time to explain how they work—maybe then I’ll let you use them.”

  The grin was back. I asked, “So what do you do? You know. For fun?”

  She cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Lots. I guess I have friends. Call, text, you know.” Not first hand, of course. It was difficult to get on a cell plan when you couldn’t really let anyone see you. And pointless if you didn’t have friends. “And, I hang out with people. Oh!” She sat up, eyes alight. “And I play the guitar. It took me the longest time to convince the folks I was serious about learning. They made me wait until my fifteenth birthday. They gave me my guitar. I started two years ago, and I taught myself.”