Rachel took the crumbling stone steps, two at a time. Her heavy backpack thudded rhythmically with each bouncing leap as she wondered when the college maintenance crew would deem the steps worthy of repair. The parking lots were crowded as usual, filled with expressionless faces attached to the bodies of the students wandering by. She hoisted the straps of the backpack, shifting the weight from her shoulders to her waist. She would have to figure out another way to lug the pesky books around. Her shoulders were aching, but her feet were stubbornly marching as she headed towards the beat-up, sky-blue Jeep at the end of parking lot L.

It had been a long and difficult day and her feet were hurting as she shuffled forward, absently rubbing one tattooed arm. While the memories of how she’d acquired it and why it was necessary, carried a rather unpleasant mix, the intricate design had always been the envy of those brave enough to ask the origin. A faint smile surfaced as she admired the overlapping designs of dark blue and light gray. The black was the most visible, but to her, she hardly saw it. The swirling floral mass on her bicep was her pride and joy, a scrap of individuality where she needed it most. The smile tugged itself out a few degrees more and her step quickened as her mind moved to more cheerful things.

“Yo, Rock, you comin’ clubbing tonight?”

The sound of the former nickname made her cringe, but Rachel stiffened outwardly, keeping her head held high. There were very few people who knew that particular nickname and even fewer brave enough to use it. Her stomach gurgled and she forced the queasy feeling away, the person who had dubbed her in the first place, was no longer alive to understand the impact it now carried for her. One hand clenched into a fist as she slowly turned on her heel, glare at the ready. “The name’s Rachel Banner, not Rock.” She retrieved her artificial smile for the anticipated argument to come. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause you look an awful lot like her.” The stranger drawled.

Rachel reached backwards for something to hold onto, but her hands met empty air. She didn’t dare trust her own two feet to hold her up as her mind mentally checked off the black leather and gray-and-white feather tucked in the band of the black cowboy hat. A signature trademark. His signature trademark. “Ben?!” Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him while her mind continued to fit together the necessary puzzle pieces. “You’re alive?” The exclamation came out as a question, but her feet were already moving.

His arms opened as she launched herself forward, hugging his neck. “Yup.” He hugged her tight. “Missed ya.”

She pulled away, fingering the soft sleeve of his suede jacket as a new flood of emotion overtook her. “I thought you were dead.” Her expression darkened and she punched his shoulder, half-heartedly. “I really thought you were dead, Ben! How could you-”

He shrugged with his shoulders, but his eyes offered the apology. “Guess I don’t die that easily then.”

“Liar.” She whispered, grabbing him back in a hug. His arms were strong and comforting around her as the stress of the day slowly rolled off her shoulders. This was the man that literally pulled her out from the bowels of the streets, brushing off the gutter muck to set her back on the track of a decent life. “Mark put a bullet in your head.” She tried to keep her voice even as her mind replayed the event.

“Skull’s too thick for bullets.”

“I saw him shoot you.”

He patted her back. “And I’m sorry you did, baby girl.”

She sniffled, trying to force the tears away. “That’s all you have to say? An apology? I thought you were dead, Ben. Dead! As in gone, never coming back and here you are and I’m all-” She hiccupped. “and I’m all just…” A laugh sputtered through.

“Normal with it.” He filled in. “I know.” He sighed. “And really, I’m sorry. I wish there was a way to take back what I saw you go through.”

Rachel shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.” Ben corrected. “There’s always more going on in my crazy realm of things than I can ever hope for you to understand, but sometimes the things that do happen, I don’t have any control over them.” He sighed. “Though you should stop blaming yourself…Mark was in on it, I couldn’t say a word.”

One hand clenched into a fist. “He was in on it?”

“Now, Rock…Rachel.” He quickly corrected. “Sometimes the decisions made up there are a little different from the realities down here. If I didn’t have his help, I would be dead.”

“So you say.” She gently disengaged from him and stood at arm’s length, swabbing at the gigantic tears streaking down her face. Fighting them was useless, so she simply let them fall. “So you all say. You’re always sticking up for him. I hate him! He caused all of this in the first place.”

“And because of him, I saved your life. End of ripping apart Mark.” Ben fixed her with a look. “I mean it Rachel. Someday I’ll explain.”

“When?” Rachel snapped. “When he finally gives you permission? When you finally work up the nerve? Good grief, Ben! When will you finally treat me like a grown-up? You know, someone who deserves to know what’s really going on around her, rather than having people she hardly knows make decisions for her, based on their interpretation of her well-being?”

His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “Probably when you’re finally twenty-one, kid.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and continued out to the parking lot with her. “Seriously, the invitation was real. There’s a party at Zaft’s tonight, you coming?”

“I can’t. Homework.” She readjusted the backpack once more, the idea was awfully tempting. Too tempting. The sharp corner of her backpack jolted her to the present. “You know, you could offer to carry this.”

“And ruin your exercise?” He teased, but took it from her anyway, slinging it easily over one shoulder. “What’d you drive here with?”

She rolled her shoulders with a sigh of relief. “Oof. Thanks. I drove my Jeep. Duh. Same as always.”

He snorted. “That pile of junk? What’s wrong with your bike?”

She glared at him.

“Oh right. Your mama still squawking at you?”

“She doesn’t squawk….she just sort of…squeaks.” Rachel jammed her hands in her jeans pockets, searching for her keys.

“Do your homework tomorrow.” Ben suggested. “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you…and I’ve seen you moping around campus.”

A blush touched her cheeks. “I can’t. Mom’s gonna pitch a fit and I really can’t…don’t…I don’t need that right now. I’m serious, Ben.”

He sighed in mock sadness. “You’re the first gang chick I know of, who puts her skeptical, suspicious mother first…along with her homework. Cute, Rock.”

“Give it back.” Rachel snapped, reaching for her backpack while sorting through her keys with the other hand. “Unlike you, some of the rest of us actually want to go through school and learn something. And I’m not a gang chick!”

“Okay…so you’re not a gang chick. The homework thing though, Rock, that’s an insult to my intelligence.” The drawl had returned. “I went through school just fine, I just didn’t see the point in graduating.”

“Which has left a blemish on what I’m sure was a positively sparkling record before, am I correct?” She asked, sarcastically. “Gimme my backpack.”

“It’s a couple ounces shy of sixty pounds.” He shot back. “As if. You’re just a skinny as the last time I saw you. Doesn’t your mother make you eat your vegetables? And if you’re trying to snap your spine in half, I think it’s working.” He frowned. “You know if you snap your spinal cord you’re going to be-”

“Stop changing the subject, Ben. I’m not going to snap or break anything! Besides…it’s just a couple more weeks until finals anyway.” Her hand dropped as she stopped, deliberately to look at him. Her mind had sparked into motion again, slowly connecting the dots to the real reason he’d revealed his existence to her. “Why are you here?”

“What?” He stopped as well, his expression innocent.

“Why are you here, Ben?” She repeated each word, slowly. “I sort of guessed that maybe you were still alive. I mean, I hoped anyway, so you obviously haven’t come here to shock the daylights out of me. The only time you’re this helpful, is when you’re running errands for the great big mystery organization and they hand you a slip of paper that says, innocent, clueless person required! Ugh, what do you want from me this time?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” He held up his hands, seemingly horrified. “Really, Rock.”

“Rachel.” She growled. “My name is Rachel. I’m not a gang chick anymore. I’m not a gang anything!”

An eyebrow perked upwards, his expression innocent. “Really? So all that black leather and wearing those skinny shirts to show off of your Mark of Denson is just all for show? Nice one, kid.”

“Okay then.” She lifted her chin. “What did Mark send you for?”

Ben’s answer was to dump her backpack on the ground. “Mark didn’t send me, But if that’s the way you’re going to take this, then-”

“Then quit the playacting!” She forced the words through her teeth, before grabbing the backpack and stalking towards her Jeep. “This is a horrible way to start the weekend.”

“Look, Rachel.” He hurried after her, grabbing the driver’s door before she could slam it in his face. “I’m sorry, okay? Again. Look, I know this is a bad time and I know you really ought to be in on some of the things that go on around here. Not all, but some…”His voice trailed off. “Can I get a ride?”

Rachel closed her eyes for a minute, then tugged on the door handle. He let go. “Sure.” He’d been more than a good friend when there had been no one else caring to stay involved in her ruined life. She owed him that much, at the very least. She opened her eyes, flicking the door locks open. “Where to?”

He eased himself into the passenger seat, wearily casting a look behind and around them before speaking. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Suit yourself.” She turned the key in the ignition and rolled out of the parking lot.

They had only reached the highway, when Ben finally broke the awkward silence. “You wanted to know what was going on…right?” His question was veiled and guarded at the real reason beneath them.

Rachel felt her breath stop as her body went through the motions of shock and then sudden revival. Her guesses had been way off. Her mouth went dry at the implied meaning behind the master question. “Mark sent you to brief me.”

“No.” Ben’s voice was gentle. “I volunteered. He said it was time to cash in…you owe a lot, Rachel. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Goosebumps began to run their course over her arms. Rachel gripped the steering wheel. She had known the day would arrive, it was simply her naive thinking to pretend it would never come.

Over an hour later, Rachel stood on the front porch of her house, wishing she’d never said yes. When Ben had finally volunteered to let her in on what had been going on, she finally understood the desperate wish of regret. She really wished he hadn’t. But in his own way, it had been partially to teach her a lesson. His apologetic look to her shocked outbursts had been all the tolerance he’d allowed. Mostly, he’d talked and she listened.

“I didn’t want to know.” She muttered, fumbling with the house key, backpack precariously balanced on her left shoulder. “Why’d he have to tell me? Why’d he have to tell me anyway? Just because I said yes-”

The door opened for her, and Rachel automatically skipped a step backwards, teetering on the edge of the front step. “Mom!” She blinked, grabbing the rail and righting herself. “Something the matter?” She cautiously stepped into the house, setting her backpack on the wooden bench in the entryway. “You look…weird. What happened? Did something happen?” The words tumbled from her mouth as she tried to piece together any possible clues from the blank face before her. The expression was one she remembered and the possible interpretations coming to mind, weren’t options Rachel wanted to think about.

But the mouth opened and a single sentence came out. “You’re late.” Her mother said quietly. Dark eyes skittered over her face quickly and then to the tattoo on her left bicep. A barely imperceptible twitch winked beneath her right eyelid. “Been busy?”

“Yeah.” Rachel rolled her neck to the side. “I have a lot of stuff to do since finals are at the end of this month. I was with Monica at her study group, she was helping me with…stuff. It’s a lot of work.”

“Work that includes skipping school? Exactly what kind of work do you think I wouldn’t find out-”

Rachel felt her face heat. “Mom…oh mom, no! I’m not…how could you…I’m not…” She sputtered for a moment, as an awkward silence hung in the air. “I was just…late today, that’s all. I had study group. And I’ve missed school because…” The sentence trailed off as her mind blanked. There wasn’t any way to actually explain her current tardiness was on account of a debriefing for a particular event too complicated to even begin to relate.

“Because?” Her mother repeated, voice becoming shrill. “Because of what, Rachel? Another one of those outlandish excuses you dredge up from the most cluttered drawer in your mind to throw at me? I’ve put up with enough things from you to last a lifetime. Maybe even more. This was your last chance!”

“Was?” Rachel cocked her head to the side. “Mom, I thought it still is…what are you talking about? I didn’t mean to be late on purpose. I just...really couldn't help it today.”

“You never do mean to do anything do you? Not to be late, not to say the wrong thing, get mixed up with the wrong people and the-”

“Mom!”

Her pale white chin pointed higher. “Not anymore it isn’t.” The front door was roughly yanked shut and the chain locked into place, before Mrs. Calhoun turned to face her daughter. “Well, at least more in a sense, not here.” She amended. “Missing school doesn’t seem to be a problem for you, so a simple temporary change of address shouldn’t be that difficult either.” She started down the hall, trailing a wake of expensive perfume from her Armani suit.

“Temporary change of address?” Rachel hurried after her. “Mom, what are you talking about? Are you kicking me out?”

The accusing dark eyes leveled straight at her. “Kicking you out would entail changing all the locks on the doors and the windows and installing a brand-new security system. No, Rachel, I am not kicking you out, however, you have fallen into a rut…again…and I’ve already arranged a change for you.”

“Which is…?”

“You’re going to stay with your Uncle Thom in Waynesburg.”

“U-uncle Thom?” Rachel felt the tension drain from her. “That’s fine…actually. I mean, I haven’t seen him in awhile, it’ll be great to…catch up and stuff.” Rachel swallowed, following her to the kitchen. “When?”

“Today.” Mrs. Calhoun’s upper half disappeared into the kitchen cupboard. “I’ve already packed your things.”

“Today?” The panic began to return. “Today as in now?”

“Yes…is there something wrong with that?” The shuffling in the cupboard paused.

Rachel twisted her hands together. “Actually, mother, yes, I have a few things I need to take care of and I can’t leave them-”

“Good. I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. Your flight leaves at four, so eat your lunch and brush your teeth. There should be enough time to take a shower too, if you’d like, I’ve already packed a bag for you.”

“Y-you packed a bag? You actually went through my stuff to pack a bag? Mom!” Rachel struggled to resist the urge to kick something, namely the kitchen stool just a few feet away. “Mom, I can’t leave now, I have stuff to do-important stuff.”

“The ticket is on the table, near your plate.” Mrs. Calhoun continued, the rummaging sounds resuming as she took a dusty china cup out, setting it carefully on the counter. “It’s a bit cold though, you might want to reheat it in the microwave. It was steaming hot when I finished it-”

“You actually cooked?” Rachel interrupted.

Her mother sighed. “Very well, when Ariel finished.” She amended, referring to their cook. “She set it in a plate and I put the plate on the table. Happy?”

“I…that’s not what I meant it…okay, fine!” Rachel threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll go, but guess what? I’m not flying!” She threw the words over her shoulder, angling towards the dining room, pausing only to grab the plate of mac and cheese.

Her comfort food, yes, but also a bribe. The plane ticket taunted her from its position beside the fork. She hesitated for a moment, then set the plate down, turning to go.

“Where are you going?” Her mother’s voice raised a few notches.

“To Unk’s.” Rachel headed for the coat closet and fished out her thick, heavy leather coat. The one she used to wear when riding her beloved motorcycle. “I hope the ticket’s refundable, because I’m not flying. No way am I going to go up in the air where there could be crazy people trying to kill me.” Or crazy people trying to stop me, so they kill you instead. She stifled the shudder. At least if she was on the ground, traveling, she wouldn’t be an easy target.

“People wouldn’t be trying to kill you if you hadn’t gotten mixed up with them in the first place! How are you going to get to Thom’s? Your Jeep can barely make it to school and back.”

“How observant of you to notice, Mother.” Rachel struggled into the coat. It was heavier than she remembered. “Maybe if you didn’t sell my bike, you could know that I’d be fine on my own…I’m hitchhiking. Don’t go all panicky and everything, either. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“You can’t do that.” There was almost a plea in the way she said the words, but it was quickly canceled out by the rapid twisting of her red fingernails.

“Unless you arrest me and literally strap me down in the back of something to drive all the way from West Virginia to Tennessee, then yeah, I can do that.” Rachel turned on her heel, pausing in the entry way to grab her cellphone and wallet from the small pocket of her backpack. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Quit worrying. I can take care of myself-you know that.”

“You’re not what I’m worried about.” The dark eyes flashed angrily, in tandem with the scowl.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Of course, I’m sorry. I meant to say, I’ll be sure to stay out of trouble and if I’m arrested I won’t give my legal name, so the family name will stay all nice and smooth and shiny!” With those last words, she yanked open the chain on the door and exited the house, taking the steps two at a time.

Mrs. Calhoun hurried after her. “If you think you’re just going to-”

“Save it for when I get back mom.” Rachel snapped. “Because if you really did care at all for me, you’d have a decent way of showing it! Not trying to scrub me out like I’m some black spot on the perfect white linens of your life!”

The afternoon sun offered a breath of warmth and Rachel shoved her hands deep into the coat pockets. Whatever was being said in her wake, she could no longer hear as she turned the corner, blocking out the angry shouting.

“When crazy people go insane.” She murmured. “Does it mean they’re entirely mad?” She walked slowly at first, picking up the pace as the night began to form in the darkening sky. Her destination wasn’t far, but taking a roundabout route to it eliminated possible shadows following her and allowing the necessary time to plan out a hitchhiking course of action. Rachel grimaced. She wasn’t going to stand on a highway corner thumbing it to West Virginia, at least not with the kind of friends she could now collect favors from. The garage she was looking for belonged to a spiffy little two-fer home, with pink petunias neatly lining the driveway, newly blacktopped.

Swallowing hard, she walked up to the door and knocked. The hulking fellow that opened it visibly started. “Rock?” He exclaimed, in a stage-whisper. “What the-what are you doing here?” He hurriedly stepped out on the porch, yanking the door shut behind him. “You really shouldn’t be here.” Panic had overtaken him as he darted a nervous glance around her. “I mean…you shouldn’t be here unless you’ve been cleared and you haven’t, ‘cause if you had, they should’ve called me and told me and-”

“I have as much right to be here as any one of us. Hi Justin.” She said wearily. “And all I’m wanting is a ride…please?”

“A ride?” He scoffed. “We’re not a taxi service.”

“I’ll pay all the speeding tickets.” She gauged his reaction. “Promise.”

“Where are you headed?”

She shrugged. “My uncle. Waynesburg. Not that far, I don’t think.”

“You’ve never even driven there have you?” He countered. “Isn’t that out of state? You shouldn’t be going out of state. It ain’t safe.”

“Isn’t safe.” She corrected, automatically. “Listen, that’s my problem, okay? I need to be mobile and I need to get there fast.”

There was a moment of silence and then he stepped off the porch and headed for the garage. “Fine. Let it be said I tried to change your mind. What do you do, fill it with rocks and stuff your stubbornness in tha’ little crooks n’ crannies? Never mind, you can take Robbie’s bike. It’s the only thing that’ll suit your build anyway. What happened to your own bike?”

“Really?” A small bubble of hope welled up within her chest. “My mother got hold of mine, that’s what. I’ll get a new one soon…I think. Wait a minute…are you volunteering Robbie’s so I don’t put any speeding tickets on your perfect record?”

He cringed. “Robbie doesn’t care if he gets another one.”

She choked out a laugh. “Right. I thought it was the driver that got the ticket and the bike just got a citation.”

He half-shrugged, pausing with the key half-way through the garage door lock. “You running again, kid?” The door opened.

Rachel took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I don’t know yet.” She looked away. “But I’ll make sure the bike’s fine.”

“I’m not worried about the bike.” Robbie’s voice cut in as he edged out from the shadows, his slender frame swathed in black and dark brown, barely visible in the solar lights glowing along the garage pathway. “You okay, Rock?”

“Getting smothered by that question.” She tried to smile. "Yeah, sure, I’m fine. See? Now can I borrow your bike or what?”

“I’ll give you a ride.” Robbie brushed past, heading for the bike and grabbing the helmet from the workbench. “Get back in there before they miss you, Justin. Just tell ‘em I left.”

Justin barely nodded, turning quickly to head back to the house. “Lock the door behind you, ya hear?”

Robbie grunted. Rachel hurried forward, taking the proffered helmet. “Robbie, you don’t have to do this. I’ll bring the bike back, I promise. You know I’m a good rider.”

“Sure I do. Ben will have my hide if I don’t. Besides, kid, you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone assume I can’t look out for myself?”

“Maybe because you make it so believable.” Robbie countered. “Helmet on?”

“Duh.” Her voice was muffled.

“Good girl. Hold on tight.”

© 2009 Sara Harricharan