Jordyn

I rock back and forth, swinging my legs along with the motion. The wind cradles me and pushes my hair around my face. With my eyes closed, it feels like I'm flying. The gentle music of windchimes and the delicious smell of chocolate fills the air around me. I take a slow, deep breath.

Where ever I was before this is irrelevant.

I'm home, now. I belong here, not there.

I open my eyes and take in the world surrounding me.

I'm sitting on a porch swing. My legs can't touch the light wood of the porch under me, but they still rock back and forth. Around the porch lies a sea of wildflowers in more colors than I can count. The flowers are no bigger than my palm, and they bend double in the wind. A handful of metal windchimes hang from the edge of the porch, dancing like ballerinas.

I'm alone, but voices from inside drift out of the screen door. They lilt with the sound of the deep south, and it takes me too long to realize who they remind me of.

Samson.

"Jordyn!" a feminine voice calls from inside. "He should be here soon. I hope you're excited."

I'm not sure what I should be excited about, but the emotion inflates my chest with joy.

"I am!" I yell back, but the voice expelled from my lungs doesn't sound familiar. It's that of a little girl, not a seventeen year old.

The rumble of a truck floats in from down the road and a face appears in the screen of the door.

"That sound be him," the short woman says as she steps out onto the porch. She has long brown hair braided over her shoulder, soft blue eyes, and a patch of freckles across her nose. She wears a black outfit and is barefoot. The kitchen towel draped over her forearm tops off the leisure nature of her posture.

A man comes out behind her, much taller than she is. He's graying and older than she, and his eyes are much more serious.

"They're late," he mumbles, placing a hand on his wife's hip.

"Oh, he's safe with Thomas," she says, swatting away his worry with her hand. "He's just letting him practice shooting. Nothin' wrong with that."

A smile breaks out on her face, and I look out into the yard again. A silver truck rolls over the horizon and pulls up the gravel path to the house. The passenger door opens first, and I find myself jumping off the swing and jogging to the steps.

My excitement reaches a new high as the first person gets out of the truck and races around to the front. He hesitates there for a moment, seeming to take the three of us in. His messy brown hair frames a flushed, wind burnt face with two deep-set, dark blue eyes. They meet mine, and a sloth smile spreads across his face.

"Jordy!" he yells, breaking into a run.

My heart skips a beat, and I spread my arms open to catch him in a hug.

"Sammy," I whisper into his neck. The emotion coursing through me is a mixture of relief, happiness, and sadness. It feels like he's been gone for years, like I lost him only to find him again.

"I missed you," he says as he pulls away and looks at me. He's taller than me, but much younger than I remember him being. I smile at him, my face flushed from the emotion of the moment.

"I missed you, too."

The woman scoops him up in a tight hug, lifts him off the ground, and twirls him around the porch.

"Mom!" he grunts as he tries to squirm away from her. "Let me down."

"You've been gone for three days, Samson Barker. You let me love you for a second," she says, snuggling her face into his neck.

A strange, unfamiliar emotion rises up in my stomach. Envy? Why am I envious?

I look away at the sound of the truck door slamming again. A hand appears on my shoulder, and I glance back at Sam's father. He smiles at me and pushes past to meet the red-haired man on the steps of the porch. They shake hands and share friendly smiles.

"How's everything in the city, Thomas?" Sam's father asks in hushed tones. The man, Thomas, sighs and shakes his head.

"Not so good. I really could use your help, Robert. Are you sure you don't want to move? We have plenty of room."

Robert glances back at his family and shakes his head.

"I have to protect them, Thomas. I don't need to remind you of the cost of working against Murano. You might have moved on, but if I lost them..." His voice fades off as he stares at Sam and his wife. I look down at the ground. "I can't. We will stay right here. We're safe."

"Okay," Thomas says. "I hope you'll change your mind one day. In the meantime, though, thank you for giving Jordyn a break from the city. She needs to get away from it all every now and again."

I look up as Robert chuckles.

"She's an angel, Tom. She's welcome to stay as long as she wants. Leila enjoys having a little girl around as well. Gives her a break from all the testosterone, she says."

They laugh together, and Thomas looks up at me. He catches my eyes and smiles. I smile back and walk over to wrap my arms around his legs. He pats my back, and when I pull away, he kneels down and hugs me against his chest. I breathe in the smell of smoke and oil on his black jacket, snuggling my face into the coarse, uneven fabric.

"I missed you, Daddy," I whisper.

"I missed you, too, baby. I'm sorry I was gone so long this time."

I pull away and wiggle my nose against his.

"It's okay. I know how busy you are."

He smiles and leans his forehead against mine.

"You're so understanding. Thank you, sweetheart."

"I get that from Mommy," I say with a laugh, but the emotion that fills his eyes is anything but happiness.

A long moment passes between us before Sam's mom claps her hands together.

"Alright, you two," she says, sweeping over to grab us both by the shoulders. "I made a fresh batch of my famous brownies just for you. They're still warm from the oven. Let's go eat them before the moment is lost."

She smiles at us and then turns to lead Sam inside. I look at my father. He nods, and then I turn and jog up the steps into the house.

The moment the door slams behind me, though, the world shifts.

Instead of being surrounded by the woodland scents and bright natural sunlight, I'm standing in the center of a darkened room. The only light comes from a screen mounted on the wall in front of me. There are no windows, and the ceiling over my head vibrates with commotion above.

I glance down at myself. Seconds ago, I was a child, and now, although still young, I'm older. No less than eleven. I've grown taller, more feminine. My hair is longer and hangs loose around my shoulders. I wear the same white outfit with my name printed on the left breast in black letters.

"We are going to take a break from our regular reports this evening to give you an insider look at what officials are calling one of the worst tragedies of the year."

Tears well up in my eyes, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. The reporter on the screen straightens her stack of paper, and a video appears behind her, framed in bright white. It's a house--or what's left of one. The blackened remains still burn, but the skeleton of the house that remains standing just smokes instead.

A soft sob comes from somewhere behind me, but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen.

"The house you see behind me was the residence of the famous professor Robert Barker and his wife Leila. The flames were reported to have started at sunrise this morning. First responders arrived on scene too late, and they were unable to save the structure from collapsing.

"The bodies of Professor Barker and his wife have been recovered, but we are unsure of the location of their eleven year-old son, Samson."

The video switches to a family photograph of Sam's family--three beautiful, smiling faces in front of the white house.

"If you have any information regarding the location of this child, please report it to the local authorities as soon as possible. President Murano visited the scene and has confirmed that this is the work of rebels led by ex-presidential candidate Thomas Bailey, whose whereabouts are still unknown. Samson Barker could be in serious danger. "

The reporter looks offscreen and nods before resuming her speech.

"Be on constant watch, citizens, and remember that the president is always on your side. In weather reports tonight--"

The woman goes silent, and I glance over my shoulder.

My father sits on the couch with the remote in his hand. His face is solemn, sad almost. He runs a shaking hand across the stubble on his cheek and meets my eyes. I open my mouth but decide not to mention the tears I see welling up in his eyes.

Robert was one of his best friends, as was Leila. The impact of losing them must hurt him worse than it burns my stomach. My breath seems lodged in my lungs, begging for release but unable to budge. I look away from him as a tear slides down my face.

A dark shadow sits in an armchair on the other side of the room. The person is hunched up, their face buried between their knees. I walk over to them and slip into the tiny space between their body and the arm of the chair.

The person glances up at me, and I smile gently at him.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," I whisper as I wrap my arm around his shoulders. He lets out a strangled sob and snuggles into my shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't say anything. Instead, Sam just cries while I rock him back and forth. Dad looks back at us.

"I can't believe she blamed me," he says, causing Sam to look up. Dad's chin falls onto his chest. "How could I have possibly killed my best friend?!"

Sam swallows hard.

"I know it wasn't you, Thomas," he mutters, mouth full of tears.

Dad shakes his head and looks back up at the muted television screen.

"Do you know who it was, Samson?" Dad asks, voice low.

I look over at the boy shaking in my arms. He nods but can't seem to find the words to answer. Dad speaks for him.

"It was President Murano," he whispers. "She has to be stopped. You both understand that, right?"

Sam and I look at each other. I wipe a tear from the end of his nose.

"We understand, Dad," I reply, not looking away from the ocean in Sam's eyes. "We will help you stop her."

Sam clenches his eyes closed, and his forehead falls into mine. The smell of him assaults my senses. It's a mixture of chocolate, sandalwood, and smoke. His heart races through the tiny contact between our foreheads. I close my eyes and sink into his presence and all the comforts it carries with it.

Cold washes through the room, and I jerk away from Sam as a wrenching pain tears through my arm. My eyes shoot open, and reality comes crashing down around me.

I'm lying spread eagle staring at a concrete ceiling overhead. I gasp for breath and attempt to roll over, but pain erupts across my body.

Those were memories. I'm back in the shed. Kaia's corpse lies beside me in a pool of our combined blood. I lower my head back onto the ground, closing my eyes as exhaustion takes over and I fall into a empty sleep.