Blackbird by Anna Carey Read Free Book Online Page A

You only notice the fire escape, the landing ten feet under you, the roof that could be reached with a ladder.
    The dream felt so real. You can still hear the cracking of branches as the animal came at you. It was massive, its agile body darting through the trees. What was it? Where were you? And who was the boy with the tattoo? Even as you try to remember him, his image is already fading, slipping back into the unknown with everything else.
    You pull the notebook from your pack and copy down the details—the skull tattoo, a scar that ran along the bottom of his back, just above his belt. His knife blade was bent. You write down anything you can remember about the forest. The air was heavy, the trees lush and tropical, as if it was another world away. It seems impossible, and yet as you write down the final detail— some kind of wild animal attacked me —you reach up for your scar, running down the length of it.
    When you’re done you set the notebook next to the rest of your things, but you’re still not any closer to knowing whether or not the dream was real. You lean back against the bed but your body hurts. Your arm bleeds, the scab pulling against the skin, catching on the rough, pilled blanket. The muscles on your shoulder and side are tender to the touch. At some point you scraped the knuckles on your left hand. They burn when you make a fist.
    You spot the receipt with Ben’s number, tucked inside the notebook’s front. You think of his hand on your wrist, how his face changed when he saw the gash, wincing as if it were his arm that had been cut. How earnest he had seemed writing that number on the receipt, pressing it to your palm, telling you to call if you needed anything. You’re notsure if you want to see him, or if you just want someone here, if it’s the loneliness that’s wearing on you. You pick up the phone, dialing before there’s time for more questions.

    When Ben walks into the diner he smiles—this easy, everyday smile—and it makes you think of that word carefree , and what it really means. You are trying so hard to be normal. You’ve ordered a milkshake. Sitting in the booth, smiling back at him, you can feel the muscles in your face, how strange and stiff your skin is.
    He chose the place—House of Pies—just a few blocks from the motel. It’s mostly empty, but there’s a guy in a sequined jacket and tie a few booths over. You’ve chosen the table in the back, against the wall, near an emergency exit. You feel better when you can see the entire room.
    As Ben comes toward you his expression changes, his brows drawing together, his mouth set in a hard line. “Why are you wearing those glasses? What’s with the hair?”
    He slides into the booth and you can’t help but be offended, your hands swiping at your bangs, adjusting the glasses so they sit straight on your nose. You’ve looked in the mirror so many times but now you feel like you missed something.
    “I always wear these, just not the other day,” you say.
    Ben tilts his head, squints. “It doesn’t have anything to do with that picture of you on the news?”
    You watch him, waiting, realizing. He knows. Your eyes go to the door, out the front windows, scanning the street. You slide out of the booth, take two steps, but he reaches out for you, his hand resting on your arm. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he says. “I’m not stupid.”
    “If you know . . . why are you here?”
    “Because you called me. It sounded like you needed help.”
    “I think I said ‘Want to meet up?’ What about that sounded like I needed help?”
    Ben scans the empty booths beside you. You sit down, his hand still on your arm. He’s lowered his voice and he’s leaning in, his face right in front of yours. “So that’s why you needed a ride? To rob that place?”
    “I know how it looks,” you say. “And I know how this probably sounds to you, but someone set me up. That person I called from your phone—they told me to meet them