Jalen waited, but the knife never slashed his neck open; in fact, he couldn't even feel the metal against his neck. He opened his eyes to find the place empty. He looked around, and the men were no longer there.
"What the?"
What the bloody hell was going on?
Was he dreaming? Was he already dead?
The money he had stolen still lay where he had thrown it. It was clear evidence that he hadn't been dreaming. He had actually been on the brink of death. Jalen looked up to the sky as if it could explain what the hell was going on.
"Have I lost my mind? What…oh heavens."
He'd prided himself on seeing weird things growing up in the streets, but this was beyond anything else.
He grabbed the money and ran out of there as though his feet were on fire. His mind couldn't comprehend how they'd just disappeared.
Had the heavens truly helped him? That was impossible, right?
The thought shook him to the core. Maybe they'd decided not to hurt him and had quietly left. They couldn't have disappeared into thin air. His head hurt thinking about it.
He decided not to dwell on it. He would think about it, maybe a week from now. Now he needed to focus on something important—his family, especially his mother.
°°°
It took him nearly an hour to sneak back into town unseen. Not many noticed a skinny young man running errands—especially not someone like Jalen Wilde, who'd learnt to blend into shadows like a survival instinct. He kept his head low as he reached a small shop, sliding the required coins across the counter.
"For your mother again?" The old apothecary, popularly known in the town, asked, his voice softening.
Jalen only nodded.
"She's lucky to have a son like you."
Lucky?
The word hit him strangely, sticking somewhere between guilt and pride. Some days were so tough that he thought of leaving it all behind. Lucky wasn't how he'd describe any of this. But he forced a smile, took the wrapped medicine, and bought some bread from another stall before heading home.
"Home" was a misused word for the small hut they lived in. It sat near the edges of town, the kind of place people forgot—or Jalen wished to forget. The wood sagged, the roof leaked, and there wasn't enough space to fit them all. It was hell during winter, when the cold seeped through every hole and crack. Despite this, it was the only place Jalen's family had.
As he approached, he heard his sisters' laughter. It was young and the only light in this dark place. He exhaled slowly, trying to ease a fraction of the tension he felt before entering.
Inside, his four sisters sat around the small table—really just a crate with a cloth thrown over it—sorting wild berries into chipped bowls.
Lily, the oldest at sixteen, glanced up first. "You're late," she said, but her relieved eyes betrayed her worry. He tossed the bread to her and sat down on the ground since there were not enough chairs.
Meredith, fourteen, noticed the bloody material around his right arm. "Jalen…what happened to you?"
It was only then that Lily and the twins, Elena and Elise, both ten, noticed that he looked like he'd been through hell and back.
"You're hurt!" Elise exclaimed, rushing towards him.
"Jalen… Did you end up in a fight again?" Lily, who tended to act like she was older, asked,
"Define 'again'," he said, pulling a crooked grin.
Lily rolled her eyes. "That means yes. Why do you always do that?"
Jalen ignored her. He never told them of the things he did to keep them from the streets. He would do anything to keep them away from the darkness in the world. Anything!
Jalen set the medicine down and knelt in front of the twins. "I'm alright. I'm barely hurt. You should see the other guys; they literally disappeared into thin air."
They giggled, somehow amused by this. Meredith approached, removing the material and looking at the wound. It still hurt, but Jalen didn't want them to see him in pain.
Luckily, there was still some warm water, and so Meredith washed Jalen's wound before applying healing balm to it. Soon, the wound was wrapped in a clean piece of cloth.
Jalen smiled at her, thanking her, "Thank you, Edith." Edith was a nickname he'd given to her. She was the most compassionate among his sisters.
But then Jalen looked past them, and the small smile on his face disappeared.
On the makeshift bed in the corner lay their mother, Judith Wilde. The once-strong woman had been reduced to nothing by the man she had loved deeply despite his flaws.
She lay curled beneath a thin blanket, face pale and drawn. Her breathing was shallow, each exhale sounding like more effort than her body could afford. After the birth of the twins, she had never been the same. It had been a painful birth, and when her husband had left, she had been exposed to hard labour, which had worsened her case.
She opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps. "Jalen," she whispered.
He hurried to her side. "Ma. I got the medicine. You'll feel better once you take it."
She tried to sit up, and he supported her gently. She smiled, weak but very warm with the love she felt for him. "You always take care of us."
"Someone has to."
Her smile flickered at the bitterness in his tone, but she didn't argue. They both knew the truth. Her husband had walked out eight years ago and never looked back.
Everything Jalen had learnt—working, bargaining, fighting—he'd learnt alone, because he had to, and at a very young age.
He helped her drink the medicine, then coaxed her to eat a bit of bread.
When she drifted off to sleep, Jalen stepped back and rubbed a hand over his face.
He couldn't keep doing this.
He couldn't keep dying for scraps.
And his sisters…heavens, they deserved more than this shack full of fear.
And he'd do anything to get them out of here.
Even if it meant selling his soul to the devil.