SAVE POINT 16

Loading Who Knocked on The Trapdoor...59%...

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Rosabella

The trapdoor creaks open as Goran uses one hand to push it upward while one hand clutches tensely at the knife he holds, pointing to the opening—

I peer upward, straining my neck to see into the increasing light—

Rainer?

Relief courses through my body at the man's familiar square jaw and the ends of his brown hair, falling down into the opening as he looks in.

"Don't!" I shout at Goran, "He's a friend!"

"No one is a friend out here, Rosie," Goran hisses through clenched teeth.

And the blade slashes towards the freckled man's face.

This can't be happening—

Rainer is a good person—

I lunge towards the rope ladder, and, before I've fully comprehended what I'm doing, I grab the rough material and shake it, so Goran swings...

His knife blade misses Rainer by an inch—

And the warrior holds a meaty fist, expertly out through the trapdoor opening as Goran sways back towards him.

And he punches him straight in the jaw.

...And it's almost slow motion.

As Goran's hands lose their grip on the rope.

As he falls backwards.

His eyes wide.

His black hair fluttering in the air current from above.

Like the climax of a terrible movie I hadn't wanted my life to be.

And Goran hits the concrete floor of the bunker with a sickening thud.

Even if he's not my Dad, I rush to him, my hands prodding at his limp form, staring into his closed eyes—

Panic races through my limbs—down to my fingers!

What have I done?

"He's not dead," Rainer calls from above. I hear the rope ladder squeak and complain under his heavy form as he eases down.

"You hope," I retort back, anxiously staring at Goran's face.

"I know," he insists, "No offense, but I've been doing this for a lot longer than you, tyke." The slightest grin slides over his face, "...Thank you, by the way." The last part is slightly grumbled under his breath.

Oh...he meant for swinging the rope ladder...for saving his life?

I can't think with my hands on Goran's rigid shoulders...watching his pale face...

"Call us even," I say distractedly, remembering when the burly man had saved me from the Darken. But my throat is raw and dry. It feels like I can barely breathe.

I'm shaking. I've just realized I'm shaking.

I look down at my trembling hands, turning over my palms slowly as I realize it.

Wavering.

Am I shaking to see Goran in such a state?

...Or shaking because of what I've learned about him???

"He wasn't your father, kid," Callen, shimmies down the rope after Rainer easily, relying mostly on a quick swing to leap agilely to the ground. He offers a hand, trying to place it reassuringly on my shoulder, "I don't know if you remember but—"

"I remember." I say it sourly, staring at the man lying unconscious at our feet.

And I don't shrug off Callen's hand, resting there, heavy, on my shoulder. Even though I want to. Because, for a minute, it feels like I need someone in my corner. ...And even someone I don't know is better than no one at all...

My mind feels numb.

...Do I really remember that Goran's not my Dad?

There's a mesh of memories and voices in my head—all swirling together in an overwhelming symphony of clashing cymbals.

—Like, even if I strain to hear them, I'll only burn my eardrums even further or lose myself completely in the pulsing, deafening noise...

My heart aches.

God, I am so tired.

Maybe I should just jump back in that bed in the corner, pull the covers way up over my head and let my exhausted eyes close—hoping that, when they open, I'll be back in the real world.

...The normal world.

New York.

My...almost life. ...But without the man, pale-white and unconscious, near my feet? Where would I live? Who would I talk to? Who would I be? An orphan? Who would make me cereal dinners or talk to me about school? Who would be there when I needed them?

I was only doing all of this to get him back—and, now, I know he's not my Dad...

Does that make him a bad person? ...Why are the Game Wardens calling him a traitor and a murderer? What did he do?

I have no answers.

For any of it.

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I swallow several times, trying to pretend I'm not processing all this as Callen stares, concerned into my face.

"Rosie?"

"Don't call me that," I snap.

So quickly that it's nearly jolting.

Rosie.

Goran calls me 'Rosie', but in my dreams—err, memories?—my Dad, Ford, calls me 'Rosabella'. I strain, trying to remember the last time in my life I'd heard my father call me by my full name in real life. ...But I can't remember.

"I must have been really young," I muse, whispering to myself. My eyes dart up to Callen's, recognizing patient gentleness there. "I was really young when my father died, wasn't I?" I ask him.

My tongue chokes up a bit on the word 'father', but I swallow it.

I have to hold my own here.

I am bigger than this. I have to be bigger than this. I don't have anyone to lean on anymore.

It's just me.

Just myself.

"You were barely three when Goran stole you away. We'll need to talk further about it, but know this: your real father was an amazing person," Callen nods grandly, his chin lowering in respect; I can see it, there, glowing in his eyes, "I know this is a confusing moment, but, well, you're strong, kid. You'll get through it."

He says it kindly, not harshly. And, somehow, seeing his eyes shining like that, I know he believes it. He sees my strength—unlike Goran. He doesn't see a little, helpless girl or someone to save. He sees...me.

And it, unexpectantly, warms something in me—warms me towards him.

And I wonder if I've misjudged this band of misfit Game Wardens.

Maybe they weren't telling me the truth because they were hiding something. ...Maybe they weren't telling me the truth because they didn't think I was ready for it yet...

"Any food in here? I'm 100% starved," Rainer states, raking a troubled hand through his long hair.

Callen stifles a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the hulky man, but Dormouse, fresh from hoping off the rope ladder, looks downright mortified. "Rainer, you're being a little insensitive," he preaches, with a glance between me and Callen, relating to a moment that has now completely dissipated.

I open my mouth to tell him it's okay.

To lie and tell him that a thousand million emotions are not currently crashing over my head and spine with the force of a tsunami, but Joy's sharp voice interrupts from above.

"Would you knotheads hurry up? ...Unless you want the entire Darken army on our asses in three minutes..."

Per usual, she doesn't sound thrilled, and her sarcastic snort somehow catches, echoing in my ears.

And Rainer's face blurs as he brings my birthday cake up, near my elbow, laughing.

His voice is so loud as he says something to Dormouse, but I can't make out the words as his voice distorts. And Dormouses's wide eyes grow bigger...

And the world...blurry.

My eyes flash to the man near my boots as laughs and voices slur, hounding my ears in the background—Goran.

The man who had impersonated my father.

For years.

The man who had lied to my face about my entire childhood—there, passed out on the concrete at my feet.

A pain stabs at my stomach suddenly.

Grief?

Hate?

Distress?

It feels like I can't breathe—weight burrowing into my chest cavity like fingers with long nails rip at the flesh there—

I have to get out of here—

I—

I gasp for air.

I bolt for the rope ladder, nearly tripping in my haste.

I barely feel the harsh fabric on my palms as I climb.

—Barely hear the confused complaints of the people below as I rise. ...Their questions...

All I see is the square of light above me.

Freedom.

Like the one hole in a ceiling of thick ice. ...And I'm a tiny seal who's been holding my breath for too long—

My one chance to breathe—

I burst out of the hole, shoving past the punk-haired girl whose mouth falls open...

"Callen!" she protests, "Callen, do something. She's freaking the fuck out—"

I heave over my knees, hyperventilating as the tendrils of the willow tree towering over me rain down and tickle my cheeks where tears already are.

I'm barely aware of movement behind me.

Scuffling.

Callen shouldering up from the trapdoor.

My cheeks are wet now. I try to wipe the tears away, but my spasming breaths won't calm.

This is all too much.

This world had been too much, and, now, I find out Dad has been lying to me.

Not my dad.

He's not my dad.

He's not my fucking dad!

...so, if he's not my dad, what does that make me? Who am I? And what else did he lie about?

My head spins.

I hear footprints crunch in the grass, approaching—then, paused as Joy interrupts in a livid whisper, "Callen, seriously, she's losing it. You have to make her another deal—"

"There will be no more deals, Joy," the gray-haired man's tone is stern, but, when I turn and tearily look up, his face is only filled with kindness and pity. Frustrated with showing any sort of weakness in front of them, I swipe at my tears—wetness on my fingertips and backs of my hands—but more quickly take their place.

I have to keep it together.

I have to keep it together.

"Rosabella," Callen starts, his eyes briming with concern, "Would you like to go home? I know this has to be a lot for you. If you want us to take you home, we'll take you home now—"

"No, we absolutely will not!" Joy interrupts irately, her eyes flashing and her mouth twisting in utter disgust.

"Callen, you know what you're doing? She's the only one who can fix our world." I turn further to see Rainer who stands, wide-legged, next to the trapdoor. His long hair blows back from his hulky chest in the wind as he holds my cake protectively in front of him. His eyes are dark and serious, as are Dormouse's behind him; the nerdy kid clutches an armload of food cans and boxes—seeming to have brought up all the food he could carry which... honestly, wasn't much...

All three of them look like they're holding their breath or on the edge of a cliff as Callen's eyes meet mine again.

"We'll find another way," the man tells Rainer. "Rosabella," he repeats, his eyes level and serious, "Do you want to go back home to New York? I can send you there. You can't take Goran with you. He has to pay for what he's done, but you are free to go. I want you to know that. You can go back there, freely, if you wish it. We are not holding you prisoner here in any way."

I swallow.

And they're all looking at me. ...Joy glaring at both Callen and me as though she very much disagrees with the last statement.

And, suddenly, there's nothing I want to do more than lace my favorite pair of fuzzy, baggy sweatpants around my waist, slip on my slippers and sink into the oblivion that is the coach back home and a familiar TV show.

Forever.

I could do that forever.

To numb this.

To numb my pain.

To never have to deal with these fantasy weirdos or this game world ever again.

And forget.

That I'm somehow tied into this mess.

Yes, I want that.

To bury my head forever in the city where everyone else is burying their head for some reason or another.

Away from these people.

Away from Goran.

Away from Dragons.

And Darken.

...Like this was all a bad dream.

I nod quickly.

I've never nodded quicker.

"Yes," I tell him, "I want to go home."

The group looks devastated—like this is a funeral. Their funeral.

But Callen nods grimly, "Okay then. I'll take you home."

And my heart beats wildly in my chest with hope—that I can escape all this pain stabbing my heart.

But it seems too easy.

...It seems far too easy, right?