I give up first, huffing a breath. “Can I…” I trail off, gesturing at the couch.
Its ears flatten.
“Oookay, cat. Never mind,” I say, rolling my eyes.
I’ve already checked under and between the cushions and pillows, anyway. I know the bracelet isn’t there. At least it wasn’t sentimental, so I can always replace it, assuming I end upnotbroke at some point in the future.
I sigh in defeat. The cat settles itself into a fluffy cat loaf, looking appropriately smug with the fact that it’s in charge.
“You don’t even live here.”
A bigger tail flick, then it closes its eyes.
“Ithink it matters, you ungrateful beast,” I mutter.
The cat slits its green eyes open and I back away. I’ve learned that look the hard way. It means go away, before the claws come out.
Why couldn’t the neighborhood cat be cuddly? Or even just mildly friendly? Every so often I try to pet it, and while sometimes it allows a couple gentle pats, most often it bats me away with a screech and then proceeds to either hiss at or ignore me for the next two days.
Once it even pooped in my shoe. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I almost gag just thinking about it.
And yet, for some reason, I continue to let the damn thing in and feed it. Regardless of how grouchy it is, I’m glad for the company. Many days, the cat is the only living being I talk to.
I flick the light on and plop down in a chair at my rickety kitchen table—instead of on the cat-owned couch—to do some more research. I found a moderate amount of stardust on my last outing, but not enough to make Ole Buddy Big Guy happy. Then again, there will never be enough to make that awful man happy. My gut clenches with a toxic cocktail of regret, anxiety, and shame when I think about the predicament my current life and financial situation is in.
I’ve only been sitting here for a half hour, updating myself on the various meteorite tracking sites, when I feel it. A strong enough pull that it can’t be ignored.
I slam the laptop closed, and the cat cracks its eyes open to glare at me again. I snag my leather jacket and slip my feet into black riding boots.
“You staying? I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”
The cat stands and stretches with a yawn, then hops off the couch and meanders over to the door.
“Take your time, not like I’m in a rush or anything,” I grumble, rubbing the aching pull in my chest.
I fill my pockets with necessities, grab my go-bag, then open the door to a wall of afternoon heat. The cat winds between my legs, rubbing its chin on my boot before it darts out ahead of me. I stare as its fluffy tail disappears down the stairs.
Was that affection?
I don’t understand cats.
A few minutes later, I’m straddling my bike and it roars to life with a rumbling vibration between my legs. I don’t know where I’m going, but the pull of the fallen star is unrelenting, strong enough that I don’t need any research first. I follow it as best I can, getting a general sense of the direction I need to go andwinding my way out of the neighborhood, out of Chicago, away from the water.
All I know is I’m heading west.
I open the throttle once I’m outside the city, the steady purr of the engine lulls the constant anxiety that lives under my skin. Acting on the star-chaser urges by following the pull inside me has dulled the ache in my chest. It’s placated for now, so I can relax a fraction. I love the feeling of flying free, shooting away from my life and out into the wild world.
I just wish it was reality instead of an illusion.
Perhaps it could be a reality someday. If I work hard enough, find enough stardust to earn more money, I might be able to escape. My overlord mob boss would never let me go willingly, but if I can save up enough, I might be able to get out of Chicago without him noticing until it’s too late. I could find a new place to settle down. Start over where I’ll be free, maybe even happy.
The hair on the back of my arms starts to prickle, snapping me out of my silly daydreams. Someone’s following me again. Is it the Boss Man? Is that what’s been going on? Does he somehow know my dream of disappearing, so he’s been tailing me?
Can’t say I blame him, if so. He’s certainly not an idiot, but his goons normally are. When he’s put a tail on me in the past, it has not been subtle, and I’ve been able to shake it easily.
This time, I’m out on the wide open road with fields all around me. I don’t see anyone in my mirrors, so I risk a glance behind. There might be another motorcycle a ways back, but it’s hard to tell. I pass a few cars, and a few pass me while I drive through the afternoon and into the evening, crossing the invisible border from Illinois into Iowa. The sensation hasn’t let up, and as the sky darkens, a single light shines behind me, confirming there’s another biker on the road.
It’s probably a coincidence and I’m being paranoid. This is the most direct highway west, and it makes sense I wouldn’t be the only driver on it.
