I was at the dinning floor when I realized I wasn’t so hungry anymore. Should I mention it to anyone? Before I could decide, I was blabbing to Chauncey, telling him there was an accident with the sheets where I tripped (which is kind of true) and hit the table, where the mirror slid off and cracked. Though he didn’t seem so surprised, he still asked if I were hurt. I told him I just slightly cut myself. Without another question, he patched me up himself, careful not to cause any pain, and said he’d clean up the mess himself.
“Please don’t tell my parents. I don’t want them to fuss about it. Just an accident,” I pleaded.
He pursed his lips, pondering over the request. “Alright. It’ll just be our secret.” We both smiled.
I could always count on Chauncey.
He told me that I should still eat, but when I refused, he said I should hang around the building. So as he went up to my apartment, I grabbed some sneakers and went outside.
Hey, I don’t always do what I’m asked. I’m a teenager. Get over it.
It was summer here in Northburrow City. The sun was warm, and I even could feel it on my back. For a second it felt good. Like I there wasn’t anything there.
Sure I got some weird stares. But when those passersby got a look at my robe cress, they knew better. It read “Evertt Estate” (EE) on the patch right above my right breast pocket. I doubt there’s anyone in Northburrow City who doesn’t know the Everett’s, let alone their name on at least every street corner. The central park was commissioned by the Everett family—my family—two summers ago. They said it was for those who were looking for a clean escape from city life. In reality, I pitched a request to my parents for a park. Just ‘cause. There’s even a statue dedicated to my mom and dad. Sometimes, like today, I’ll pass by it. It seems oddly egotistic to have a statue of people that you already know are beyond rich and famous. Then again, who wouldn’t want one?
My family goes back years, all the way when this city was just the Northburrow colony. The Everett’s settled here and soon took business to new heights, keeping up with industry. They blossomed a city through their riches and generosity, becoming the flourishing metropolis it is today. We still reside in the skyscraper mansion that the Everett’s built years ago. Though it’s old and the structure is outdated, we still like to jazz it up with up-to-date tech inside. My parents keep up with their looks, too. In fact, they’re away on a mission’s trip to Africa to help drill efficient water wells. They’ll be back my midnight, tonight.
And then there’s stupid, rich kid me. Kind of hard to live up to a family expectation when you can’t even keep your own room clean.
After a day’s worth in the strip district, I head home with bags full of organic fruits, foreign candies, and some custom made jewelry. My curfew unfortunately is 5:00pm. Then again, I’m really not allowed to go down to the strip district considering it’s on the poor, slum side of town. Luckily I didn’t encounter any problems, as usual. Other than some lingering stares again. I’m starting to think of myself as a regular, if you ask me.
“You have a real talent for following orders, Miss Everett.” Chauncey greets me at the entrance. He seems well tested, his eyes narrowing. He knew where I was, nonetheless, which is probably why I got the whole day to myself. If I were gone a second after curfew, I’d be screwed.
“Always for you, Chaun,” I tease, tossing a fresh, red candy apple to him.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not in my bedroom, that is. I curled up on the sofa, flipping through channels on my 90 inch plasma above the electric fire, its low kindle radiating a comforting warmth. I glanced at the clock. 1:00am. Even with the volume set low, my mind couldn’t drift to sleep. I was too focused on my back. Strangely, it wasn’t hurting. Usually the pain comes early morning, then resides the rest of the day until night, when, bam, nothing. Sometimes I would trace my finger delicately over the scars, wondering if it were still there. I felt it. The tip of my nail would unconsciously dance along the crevasse, sending shivers down my spine.
Somehow the news was on the television. Something caught my attention and I turned it up…
“Again, we’re looking at what seems to be another robbery within four blocks of the last one. There have been six so far in the last month, each leaving the same pattern, suggesting this is the work of the same gang.”
Gang. It’s weird to hear a reporter say something like that among her professional demeanor. She is clearly from the higher end of the city, and looking at her in the Strip at night just is an ironic statement. She does not want to be there.
The screen shifts over to a man in a tight suit sitting at an anchor seat. “…Thanks, Sharon. We’ll keep you updated on that story as it develops. So far there hasn’t been any luck with catching the criminals. If you have suspicions of strange behavior, please report it to the NCPD. In other news…”
A big flash of lightening startled me. I instantly jolted awake, turning around to see the downpour on the glass panels surrounding the floor, shielding me from outside. The thunder rumbled the whole building soon after. 2 seconds between the flash and sound. Less than half a mile from here, I calculated. Thunderstorms didn’t get me worked up, but ever since my “nightmare” things like that have gotten me really jumpy.
Another flash. BOOM! And the lights are out. Even the fire gave away, and I instantly felt the cool air blast me. I hit the power button on the remote repeatedly, stupidly thinking that the TV would work, even though I knew it wouldn’t. I threw the thing down on the cough and huffed. It takes a serious storm to knock out our electricity.
Didn’t Chauncey mention a powerbox on the floor above?
I know I said I lived in the penthouse, but in reality there’s technically a floor above mine. I mean, it’s the farthest thing from a stable level. I haven’t been up there myself, but glancing from my patio from time to time, I could tell that it wasn’t even painted. The windows were blown out, and most of the walls are concrete. From time to time I got wafts of its grimy smell. There’s nothing up there except a hollow space. I can’t remember the last time someone paid a visit.
Maybe it’s time I change that.
I stalked over to my private elevator (does this thing even go up to that floor?) and stood there, literally wondering for 5 minutes who could be stalling it when I remembered the damn power was out. Being a teenager, I started to give up on my adventure when I realized something called stairs existed. It took me a little to figure out where they were located. I banged the door open a little too hard. The sound resonated eerily in its empty, concrete chute. The lights were out in here too. Oddly enough, there were stairs that went up, so I started to climb.
   I started to panic when, after only two flight of stairs, there was a concrete slab wall. Though it didn’t look new, the bricks gave me the illusion of a dead end. Maybe they sealed off the top floor after all. I turned away to descend and give up once again when a slight breeze pulled my attention. You couldn’t hear anything in here, not even the raging storm outside. Yet, I could hear an air current, smell the mustiness of a bare room I knew existed. I felt around in the dark, looking for nothing in particular, when I felt it. An elevator button. And it only went up.
Turns out, that “concrete wall” separated into a narrow, old style elevator shalt that probably went out of safety standards over 50 years ago. I could hear it creaking as it came to a shaky halt, the door cracking open with dust and old, dim lightbulbs flickered on. Considering its age, with the rusty iron gates that open after the doors and the tainted gold handrails that are bolted to them, this thing shouldn’t be working. Or, it has its own power line generator that is still, somehow, functioning differently from the rest of the building. I should probably get into that.
  So either I could go in and find out that it really went out of safety over 50 years ago and plummet to my death to wherever it opened (because elevators don’t just go up on the 201st floor) or go in and discover a floor that hasn’t been touched in over half a century and then probably get stuck there anyway. Either way, I was definitely going in.
There were three buttons, two of which actually worked. One went up, the one I was so eager to press. The other went to this staircase I just exited. (The stairs themselves didn’t go any higher. If you wanted the top floor and roof, this secret elevator was the only way to it.) This button was slightly less rusted out than the last one below it. That button, which was horribly ripped out of the panel, had the down arrow button, but it only went to one floor below. Mine. Leading me to believe that later, whoever kept this whole mystery floor and elevator a secret, didn’t mean for anyone to find it so easily. That’s why the stairs go up, but only to have you fall for a fake concrete wall (like someone, ahem, nearly did).
I pushed the top button, the iron gates sealed. Instantly the whole shaft jerked. I fell back, holding onto the handle tightly, almost regretting this whole idea. Almost.
Finally, after only a few seconds, the lift stopped. The gates reopened and revealed my suspicions. A whole floor, empty, musty, and abandoned sat on top of the richest estate in all of Northburrow City. I was right about the windows being blown out, and the sting of rain hit me as I stepped out of the elevator. I wrapped my robe around me tighter. Unlike the lower levels’ glass panel walls, however, majority of this structure is still concrete. 1920s style dim furniture were scattered, broken legs here and there as well as torn cushions. Considering the size of the level and the little amount of debris here, someone left in a hurry and didn’t intent to come back.
It was eerie, strangely quiet even though the storm was right outside. The occasional flash of lightening made me jump as I crept down the open space. It was dark and damp, and the only source of light was the moon, its rays coming down through a glass skylight above. Real penthouse material, I thought to myself. Eventually I found myself on the other side of the area. This looks like a really cool bat cave, only not a cave, just a penthouse. Speaking of which…
I ran back to the elevator and realized that the panel there (and yes, there was one—I wasn’t going to be stuck up here after all!) had another button that said “roof”.
I was about to hit it when something dawned on me. Something shattered, just a few floors below me. How I heard it, I have no idea, but the sound of a woman screaming just them was unmistakable.
Especially if that scream was my mother’s.
I was on my parents’ floor in a heartbeat, just two below my own. That’s when I knew something was wrong. Their thousand dollar couch was turned over, phones ripped from the wall, TV smashed against the tile. It was really quiet. And just a moment ago I thought I heard all this commotion, even if I wasn’t on this floor. But as soon as I got there, there wasn’t a sound.
Their bedroom door was ajar. Should I go to Chauncey first? But I was here, now. If he were to come, it would be too late.
I may already be too late.
I stalked to their room. I could hear my own heart beating loudly in my ears, like a drummer gone mad. I pushed the door, its hinges creaking, when I stopped halfway. The moon illuminated their red carpet.
My parents’ carpet was white.
I swung open the door and stopped.
There were my parents. They were in bed. It was so quiet they could be sleeping.
Only they couldn’t be sleeping. They were in bed, half handing off the side, their faces pale, eyes wide open. There was too much red I didn’t recognize. It was on their bodies, their stomach, necks, and arms. I saw that red before. The same one this morning. On my hands.
It was blood.
And the only person breathing in that room was me.
  My throat seized up and I started to choke. My legs bucked, and not even my hands could hang onto the door handle to stabilize me. Something of a strangled cry and muffle emitted from my gags. They were dead. My parents are dead!
Then there was movement behind me. Not my own.
And the thing that killed them was still here.
He was approaching me, fast, with a black silhouette scarier than anything I could remember. I stumbled to my feet and ran for the elevator, but he was so close. I stared helplessly back as my hands slammed repeatedly on the buttons. Open, damnit, please open! Come on! Please! I knew I was crying, shaking so badly, wanting to close my eyes but still finding myself unwilling.
When he was a foot from me, an unmistakable glint of silver in hand, I lashed out with everything I had. It surprised me how hard I must have hit him because the next second he stumbled back, grunting out in—pain?—as I darted for the stairs.
Of all moments in my life for something so terrible to happen, this was the worse. The familiar pain between my shoulder blades shot back up, this time unlike any before, and I completely fell to the ground, clutching my shoulders in agony. But I was running, I had to keep running.
This time I was rushing up all the way to the secret elevator. The pain was so immense that my vision became as white as the hot flashes. It felt like I was being whipped with a barbed wire. Once I was in the shaft, I was slamming the buttons even harder, praying that this would be my savior. But my legs gave way.
I could hear my assailant coming, pounding the wall, as if I were hidden behind it. He would figure it out. I crawled out of the elevator when the gates opened.
Then I was gone. Curled up, digging my nails into my back and drawing blood. Biting my lips so hard I tasted it. Screaming so loud it drained out everything. I remember the pain. The freezing air. The darkness the engulfed me.  
 
Then I woke up. In bed. At home.
And I remembered everything.
 

Chauncey was in my room before I came to realize it. What woke me was the fact that I was lying face up this time. And there was something like stones pressing against my back. I sat up so fast that a wave of nausea come over me. As did Chauncey. Seeing him here instantly settled my mind, as if his presence made the world seem…lighter.

“Lie back down, Kass. You need rest. Please, relax.” His tone was gentle, as always, but it was shaky, worried. For the first time, he sounded genuinely trembled.

And he called me Kass. He never uses my first name. Never. It was always “Miss Everett” in the serious, butler voice of his. But he’s always playful about it. But when he says my first name, it’s supposed to comfort me in the worst case scenario. It’s also to tell me something is horribly wrong, and he knows it.

“Chauncey,” I croak, my voice hoarse and heavy. It hurts to speak.

“Not now,” he whispers. Though he’s pretty old, he manages to shove me back down on the bed. He puts his cold hand to my head.

“Burning,” I hear him murmur. Does he think I’m sick?

“Chauncey,” I repeat. I push his hand away, propping myself on my elbows, and look at him dead in the eye.

There are times when you pretend to be nice when you don’t want to, act like you’re in control of yourself when you’re really not. You play through the whole thing when everyone knows what the center business is. I can’t stand to do this crap right now. So I get down to it.

“They are dead.” I don’t hesitate between any of the words. It comes out, so clear, so smooth, like a casual greeting. It wasn’t even a question. Dead. They’re dead. Dead. I’m worried I didn’t even understand the impact of my own words.

Chauncey took his eyes away, but even so I saw the slight glimpse of conformation in them.

My head tilts back onto the pillow. I breathe out. My eyes gaze up, like how my parents did, and they were staring at the ceiling, like I am now. That’s what they saw. Some white, pretty pattered plaster.


I spent 3 days in my room, curled up in a ball in the corner, thinking that by making myself small it would also make my problems smaller. But they didn’t shrink. They were looming over my shoulder. Not all of them quite as literal, but still.

She needs to eat something, a maid whispers. She’s old, I assume by the sound of her voice. She’ll get so sick that an ambulance will come and take here. Then what’s stopping her mind from giving in?

She needs time, Chauncey declares. Their voices are so hushed that you wouldn’t even know it was a conversation.

There’s already the fiasco with the press. They all know about it. Billionaire Everett’s murdered in sleep. The orphan billionaire child. I mean, what do you expect will happen now?

I don’t know.

They didn’t even catch the man. What do you make of that? It’s all over the news, a physco running loose in Northburrow City, who managed to break into one of the most heavily secured and greatest institutes of the century and murder—

This isn’t the place of a 15 year old to worry about.

Chauncey’s footsteps died away. along the narrow corridor.

That was it. “Orphan billionaire child.” Orphan. Both of my parents. Gone. And all that’s left is me. Thinking of it like that, I don’t know if there’s a “me” even left.

I could come to terms with it. I mean, I mentally could not. Was I in shock? It was like I felt…nothing. And it hurt even more that I couldn’t find something wrong with that.

It didn’t even dawn on me that the closest narrow corridor was three floors below my bedroom.

Maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe I’m going insane. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Maybe I’m not.

I’m good.

My windows were still drawn shut. My room was musty and in need of some dusting. It didn’t take the window to tell me it was nighttime. Somehow, my mind focused a lot better when it was, and a surge of alertness came over me. I dragged myself to the mirror. I felt dead inside. I looked dead, too. My eyes were sunken, dark and heavy. Even the irises were a dark yellow shade. The hair that used to be naturally curly and dirty blond now reverted to total straightened brown. I looked drained of blood. (Couldn’t help but think that the only ones really drained of blood were my parents.) I looked thin. Older. Like I had seen things in life I shouldn’t have. And I did.

I turned to check my scars like I do almost twice a day now. Lately, they’ve become irritated and red, swollen to two huge lumps. It felt like something was growing inside my shoulder blades.

But I’m mad, remember?

I left my room. Drifted to the stairs. Found myself in the rusted elevator again. Not even thinking as my hand drifted to the roof button.

And I stood there. On the roof. My feet braced on the edge with nothing between me and the open air. And I stood there. And I stood there.

And I stood there.

It was a new moon night. The city lights were brighter than anything, even the stars. Obviously. And I could hear everything. Not just the typical car horns and loud swearing and cabs swerving to not miss a light. But I mean I could sense everything. Even from over 200 stories above.

Hey, get back over—

--give it to me, and I’ll pay tomorrow

Shut up!

BANG. BANG.

It would look so good on

Jack? Jack? Where

Meow

Give me the dang cash

Move it!

My shoulders were bear, my tank top only covering small bits of skin. My eyes closed.

I staggered back from the edge and safely onto roof, feeling the pain again as it shook my whole body into a spas-attack. Violent shutters rocked my down my spine like my shoulders were expanding. It was brief yet so strong that I passed out instantly.

Then I felt…free. I woke. Thing wing was blowing hard, yet I didn’t feel it. it ruffled the soft fabric encompassing me. But this…material wasn’t like fabric. It was unlike anything I ever felt. And when I tugged on it, it hurt. Bad. Like I was pinching my skin.

And my back, well there something good and something bad.

The good was that the pain was entirely gone, and I never felt better than I do right now.

And the bad…there was something coming out of it. Something coming out of me. Big. Two really, really, enormously big things. Two really, really, enormously big things that connected to the really soft stuff wrapped around me.

I got to my feet, instantly feeling the weight of two worlds on me. More precisely, between my shoulder blades, actually. They fluttered. Reacted. Like how I move my hands and legs and every other appendage that was me. These things stretched out on either side of my arms nearly fifteen feet. And that’s when I realized they were made of bone. My bones. And feathers.

I had wings.

I reached back to feel where the feathers met my flesh. It was weird—soft then smooth. Then my wings—a beautiful blend of browns, golds, and whites as fierce as a hawk’s—shuttered when my fingers came in contact, and I instantly drew away.

Okay. So I was half—bird.

I didn’t know if I was going to laugh or scream. Or both. Probably both.

So here’s the biggest question: can I fly?

Let’s test that. Recently, I’ve been quite the daredevil, especially at night. So why not give it ago? The worse that can happen is—what was I saying?

My whole body acted without my mind’s consent. I was being thrown over the side of the building. The air whooshed by in a blaze, and though I should be scared to death, nothing felt so right at that moment. Then my wings jutted open and I swooped back. The ground stopped increasing.

And I was gliding.

I couldn’t help but let out a “WHOOOOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!” as I soared over buildings and streets. This felt like the most natural thing in the entire world. Which is saying something because I just got wings, like, ten seconds ago? Something just clicked. And it was this.

I push my wings—love saying that!—down and it brought my whole body up about fifteen feet. It didn’t take too much effort, but after a few bats, I had to cool down and just float, breezing past buildings, following streets that zigzagged between skyscrapers, all while being at least 300 feet above. I could see everything, oblivious to the idea that someone could see me. But how could they? I was flying so incredibly fast I must have been a blur to those below.

Ready for some more action?

I flung my body forward so that I immediately met air resistance, then I shot straight up into the air, vertically climbing so high that the air started to thin. That didn’t even faze me, though, as me wings grew tiresome from pushing me higher and higher, reaching for the stars. From the corner of my eye, the city seemed like a speck of light.

Then I stopped moving all together.

My eyes closed as gravity did the work. I fell backwards, head pointing strait down, wings tucked, cool air stinging my face. Keep going, I told myself. My heart was pulsing so fast now. I was less than 30 feet from the ground when I spread my wings. I hit sudden air and shot straight forward again.

Yeah, it was a bit—no, definitely more than a bit—risky, and I was definitely caught by some kid, but who really cares!

That’s when I heard it—shouts echoing from an alley. It belonged to a woman, who sounded panicked, threatened, and helpless. I hung a left and her pleas increased in sound. There were several men also, shoving against her, laughing in response to her desperate cries. She was being mugged. I finally found the alley where the commotion was coming from. Despite my super-enhanced hearing, I was nonetheless shocked that I could find something this far away. It was at the end of the city, over the boarder of the strip. Hardly any lights were functioning here, and with all the trash and graffiti on the sidewalk and walls, it wouldn’t be hard to murder someone and get away with it.

I touched down surprisingly gently on the roof of a three story building. Below me was the scene I had overheard unfolding. Normally it would have been too dark to really see anything from up here, but my eyes shot off a yellow glow that allowed me to observe every silhouette. Four guys, one lady. And me—the bird freak crouching on the edge above.

“I gave you my bag, you creep. Now get off,” the woman in distress huffed. The words that floated from her mouth were edged with a choke, strangling her cries furthermore.

“You can shut up now,” the man holding her throat said. I saw the glint of something silver being whipped out—a small knife was pressed against her cheeks. He circled the blade over her lips, down her veins of her neck, and lingering just above her chest. I could feel his smirk over the cackles of him and his gang. “Pretty lady,” he murmured, inching her mouth closer to her skin.

I had just about enough disgust of watching this. My feet threw myself forward, wings outspread, landing softly with knees bent on the solid, wet pavement, the feathers of my wings gently grazing the ground. My sudden appearance definitely got their attention. Then, with some strange, out of nowhere boldness, I (basically) growled, “You know, you should try to make it a fair fight.”

I’m guessing it was too dark to see my wings. They kept their eyes on the shadow of my body, snickering at the sound of my childish, girl voice, probably thinking I was a tiny thing who was a little too proud to intervene. They had no idea what was in store for them.

Thankfully, the chucklehead released his grip on the lady. Unthankfully, she didn’t move. Get out of here! I wanted to shout. But then I realized I was blocking the only exit out. And maybe—if she is smart enough to realize—I was a bigger threat. The gag leader then began sized up on me. “Shouldn’t be picking up fights with us, kiddo. Bring back up next time.”

“I meant if you got a couple more guys then the fight would be even,” I spat. Everyone was laughing so hard with their heads thrown back, except one. He stepped closer, a dim glow finally falling on me, and his smile faded.

“What the F—“

I made one sudden, impossibly swift movement, and he was cringing on the ground, blood gushing from his nose. The others were quick to pick up on it and began their advance from three different angles around me. One lunged for a kick to my abdomen, but my wings intercepted it and flung him back ten feet. The whip of a knife a trigger of a gun set pulled my attention to the last two, flanking me on both sides. With a series of kicks, wing punches, and actual punches, the two were on the ground as well, unconscious. The ring leader finally got up, blood still pouring from his nose.

“Ready for round two?” I snickered.

He threw the dagger at me, and I tilted my head, narrowly avoiding my ear getting scraped off. He then pulled out his gun from his back. It clicked, then a crack crack crack echoed off the walls. The bullets came wheezing towards me, but things seemed to slow down then. I dodged and redirected myself. He let off some more rounds, firing everywhere. And I missed every single one. He kept pulling the trigger, but the sound of nothing coming out made his face drop. Then I was right up in front of him. I grabbed the collars of his greasy shirt and shot straight up into the air, twenty feet above the ground.

And that’s when he realized I had the feathers.

In a horrorid scramble that there suddenly no more ground under his feet, he choked out (his breath just straight up bad) feebly, “What the hell are you?”

So here’s the part where I’m supposed to say something really cool, like “you’re worst nightmare” or maybe along the lines of “this city’s hero”. But before anything left me lips, the sound of police sirens wailing snatched my attention. The lady must have already called the police.

So the thing I ended saying was, “Bend your knees.” His face registered confusion but at that moment I let his shirt slip through my fingers. He shouted, only for a second, and then the smack, of his shoes coming into contact with the ground. He was writhing in pain, with probably a broken leg or two. I shot up slightly higher and landed on the roof again with a dull thud. Police officers came scrambling out of their flashing cars, guns raised. Miranda rights were being read off, blah blah blah.

I did the little fist air pump before jumping high and letting my wings take me up. I had taken out four grown men, probably who had a record of violent behavior, rapes, mugging, and the whole 9-yards. Me, little Kass Everett. Not even allowed to drive. I had just saved this woman and probably a bunch of people who would have followed under victim after this, completely unaware by the police. Yeah, the lady is going to be giving her statement, all the while the men giving a similar story about a girl with wings. Then I might have something to worry about. But for the moment, I felt like I was on fire.

I took in the night air, the feeling of actual pride bubbling in my stomach. This was going to be so much fun.