The body hadn’t been covered in a blanket yet. I could see the wounds on his shoulders, and two more next to his heart. His face was pale, his eyes slightly open; they were dark and hollow. His feet were shoeless, just like mine, and he had been stripped from the waist up. I didn’t know for how long this man had been there, lying alone on the street, but there wasn’t a prayer strong enough that could resuscitate him, so I guess it didn’t matter much if it had been two hours or two minutes since he had died.

  He didn’t look like my dad, not even a little, but I couldn’t stop seeing his face in this man’s. I closed my fists so tight my hands went numb -because maybe he was someone’s father, and maybe that someone was still expecting him home, sunken in dim candle lights praying for his safety. And here he was, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Cold and alone.

  Suddenly I had the urge to cover him, for the night was freezing cold, and even when I knew he couldn’t feel anything anymore, it hurt me seeing him like that. But I had nothing with me, nothing but the old coat.

  You need it more. I thought and fought the urge to give it to him. I cleaned my nose with my sleeve and breathed in deep.

  “I hope you fought back,” I whispered to him. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you, and that I have to leave you like this. But I can ring the bell and help them find you faster.”

  I whispered to him and slowly walked away.

  Several bells had been placed every ten blocks or so all along Aurora, some attached to the walls of the highest buildings (all of them three stories high or so), others had special columns made for them. But with no exceptions, all of them were always illuminated by gas lamps (fenced by small cages so they would be harder to break), and they were all surrounded by white, so they would be easier to find in the night, if you happened to be lost in a place you weren’t very familiar with.

  It only took me about three minutes to find one. This one happened to be placed at the corner of a bank. The building was new, its bricks freshly painted, and yet someone had already scribbled on it with red paint. Sometimes it was amazing, how fast things could get ruined by someone with too much free time on their hands. I sighed, and before I pulled from the rope to make the bell ring, I lifted a piece of charcoal that lay on the floor, and wrote the name of the street where the body was (I made sure to remember every letter and number and their order), right there on the assigned space for the bell on the wall.

  It was a custom, that late at night instead of ringing the bell and waiting on the spot, you wrote the address you wanted the police to go to and then go somewhere safe (the bell had a system built on, so it kept ringing for a while), so you wouldn’t have to wait in the dark.

  Still, some criminals liked to wait nearby the bells in the hopes of cutting any attempts to ask for help. In fact, most of the words on this wall were already smeared, rendering them unreadable. They were a few days old though, so it probably didn’t matter anymore. This night, I couldn’t see anyone around, I had to act fast before that changed.

  So I pulled the string and quickly walked away. In the Tree District, where I lived, whenever anyone needed to ring the bell at night, we first would go looking for help from the neighbors, so no one had to go alone. But even then, it was always dangerous. That’s why, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn’t scared, my slow walking turned into running quite fast.

  *

  All the way to the Rigel’s house I kept hearing muffled laughter, and far away screaming, and I wondered if it was all in my head. If it was the fear toying with me.

  I also kept hearing footsteps behind me, but every time I turned, there was no one. It scared me, until I realized they weren’t footsteps at all. It was the beating of my own heart. Calm down. I told myself a hundred times, but my pulse never eased.

  Every time I reached a new corner, I thought someone or something would be waiting for me on the other side. It felt as if I was playing hide and seek, except this time it wasn’t fun at all.

  I wished at least a store or two would still be open, I missed the lights of the candles behind the windows of the breweries or bakeries. But everyone closed their business around nine at night. After that, you were only asking for problems. And the business that were still open, wouldn’t have their lights on, or signs on their doors, or people with good intentions guarding them. Those were the places I needed to avoid the most. If I were to see anyone out in the streets, I would hide and the best I could.

  You managed to hurt Helena. Everyone else should be easier to handle. There’s no one as strong as her.

  I thought, trying to provide myself with some comfort, but even if I could win against anyone right now, I didn’t want to fight again. Just the thought of it made me sick, and tired.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But if someone dangerous finds you, you’ll fight. I thought, and I remembered the dead man on the street. You can’t end like that. I gulped and tried to compose myself.

  And I started to wonder, if I had heard him being attacked, would I’ve done something? Or would I’ve kept walking?

  I didn’t know.

  I truly didn’t.

  *

  The Rigel’s home stood tall in the middle of a long block of houses, exactly in the middle. It was surrounded by big, lustrous mansions made of white bricks and white marble, all adorned with tall windows and beautifully detailed gas lamps that actually worked, unlike the ones at many other districts. And this house, it looked just like the others, with the exception that I knew the people who were sleeping inside. And I knew their longing, and their despair.

  I bet they missed her more than I could imagine.

  The rumors about Emilia were many, but not all of them were true. And I was lucky because I knew what had been her reality, or at least part of it.

  The Rigels had adopted her about ten years ago, when she was only four and their mother was still alive. Truth is, she couldn’t be luckier, because as far as I knew no one had wanted her, not until them. She never got to know who her parents were, or what had happened to them, but a loving family found her, and they made her feel part of it, every day. Same blood or not.

  I could see their love for her every time they were together. I was sure, they were a true family, whether some of the people in Aurora accepted it or not. And that’s why I knew how they must be feeling, and I wished for her to be there in her room. I wished that I had seen wrong, and for the first time since I got my memories back, I wished I had imagined everything. I wished I had been the only one that was taken. But I could feel it, even from out here, the sorrow, and the quietness of a pain that is carried inside, but yet big enough, dark enough, that everyone else can feel it too.

  Would my own home feel like this? I hoped not, but I knew better. So I sent my love to my parents, hoping they would feel it, even when they were far away in a part of Aurora that was so much different from this.

  “I’ll be with you soon,” I whispered, and hoped for them to hear me. And who knows, maybe they could.

  With closed fists, I ventured to take the first steps towards a door I’ve crossed before, but the feeling I had at that moment was entirely new, and unknown.

  I never really planned to knock, I thought it would make me feel weird or awkward, to wait there for some footsteps, or the sound of rotating keys. But what else was there to do? Kick down the door? Sneak through a window?

  Whatever I decided, I had to do it quickly. Before any policemen were to see me, I had avoided them easily so far (I had only encountered two), by hiding behind bushes and fences, but I couldn’t risk to stay outdoors any longer.

  And then it occurred to me that knocking would the worst idea, because the door itself was well illuminated, and also because the last thing I wanted was for an adult to answer said door, so I looked around and when I saw no one patrolling the streets, I started looking for a way in.

  Needless to say, every single window was perfectly closed. I guessed that was the time to test this new ability that I had. I could feel a slight vibration coming from the glass, and the metals from the window frames, even from the walls and from a few inside objects I couldn’t see from the outside.

  But I was scared of what I could do. What if I ended up breaking the entire window? Or all of them? So once more, I checked behind my back, wrapped my hand on my coat sleeve to muffle the sound, and softly punched a hole in the glass, just to test it. It felt like breaking through air.

  There had been no resistance at all, and even as I had tried to be extremely careful, I had shattered a whole panel. The sound of the shards breaking was loud enough to make me want to run away and hide, for I feared the entire block had heard what I had just done, and yet there was no yelling, no alarms being rung. You barely made any noise, it’s all in your head. I thought.

  I waited there for a few more seconds just in case, then I squeezed myself through the gap and entered an empty, dark room. My naked feet crushed the already broken glass against the carpet, but I felt nothing. There was no blood beneath me. A sigh of relief left my mouth as I looked around.

  I had visited Emilia’s house before, but never in its entirety, and I didn’t know where I was, or where I needed to go. I decided to walk to the door at my left, which I hoped would lead me to the open hallway right in front of the main door.

  Lucky for me it did, and I finally entered a familiar hall. A few gas lamps lit the wide open space, the white walls reflecting the light back, making the place look a little eerie. There were several doors all around me, small plants and tables decorating every space in between, and there it was, the big staircase standing in the middle, it was covered in a light blue carpet and the railing was painted gold. I was yet to figure out if it was real gold or not, but it had to be, no paint could look that real.

  I knew where Emilia’s room was, and the kitchen and the gardens, but that was about it, and so I was lost again, until I saw dim light coming from under a closed door a few steps away from me.

  With my ear against the door, I tried to figure out who was inside, or if it the room was occupied at all. I could hear a light fire crackling, but nothing else. I had the choice to keep looking around, but I wasn’t sure what to do until I forced myself to open the door slightly, just enough to take a peek.

  Weirdly, I was hoping for Demian to be the one inside the room, maybe because out of Emilia’s entire family, he was the one I talked the most with, kind of. The Rigels were always busy, always out, and it was rare when I had the chance to chat with any of them, hence why I never really had the opportunity (or so I told myself) to ask Demian for his help with my plan to become a thief.

  But it wasn’t him at the other side of the door, but Gareth, the middle sibling. Light was shining in front of him. He was sitting on a big couch by the fireplace, his left side facing me. He was holding an open book in his hands, and yet his mind seemed to be somewhere else, as he was looking at the coffee table in front of him. Everything was quiet, so much I could hear the air leaving his lungs once he noticed me.

  Now it was too late to change my mind.