Chapter 11 Who are you?

I stared at the man who lay unconscious before me and I didn't know what to do. I was desperate to run away from those guys but I doubted if I could go far before they caught up with me. They were bigger, stronger and faster than me. IL

I crouched on the floor, my chest heaving so hard from exhaustion. Their footsteps were heavy and crunching against the ground, getting closer with every passing second. I looked back behind me, thinking about just bolting into the night. I wanted to run. I wanted to be anywhere but here, huddled next to a bleeding man I didn't even know.

But I knew I wouldn't make it far. If I moved now, the sound would give me away, and they would catch me before I even reached anywhere.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, looking at the man slumped on the ground. I couldn't just leave him to be found by people who clearly wanted him dead. I sat down right there in the dirt beside his body, trying to make myself as small as possible.

"I think we've lost him," one of them hissed. It sounded frustrated, sharp with anger.

"No, we can’t have," a second man snapped back. "Let’s look for him. He may be near, hiding in this tall grass."

"You think we wouldn't have seen him if he was?" the first one argued. "The trail ends here. Maybe he doubled back to the main road while we were messing."

They went back and forth like that for a minute, their voices hushed and tense. My heart was beating so loud in my ears I was sure it was drowning out their words, but then I heard the sound of their boots moving away. They argued a bit more as they walked, their voices fading into the distance and it was finally quiet again.

I didn't waste any time. I grabbed the man by his shoulders and started to pull. He was heavy, a solid weight that made my muscles burn, but I managed to drag him over to a low stone wall nearby.

I grunted as I propped him up against the cool rock so he could sit upright. Just past the wall, the moon was reflecting off a small, still lake. I scrambled over to the water's edge, dipped my hands into the freezing cold, and ran back to splash it directly onto his face.

The man’s eyes snapped open. He gasped, coughing as the water hit him, and his hand flew up to grab my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone who looked half-dead.

"Help," he whispered. It was a dry, desperate sound.

He didn't say anything else, but he started pointing with a shaking finger toward a specific path that cut through the trees. I nodded, not really knowing what else to do, and helped him stand up. He leaned heavily on me, his blood soaking into my shirt, but we started walking in the direction he wanted.

The path eventually opened up to a large Catholic church. It looked old and massive against the night sky. As soon as we came into view, the heavy front doors swung open and an elderly man in a white robe. He was the Pope of this parish. He came running toward us. He didn't look scared or confused; he looked like he’d been expecting a guest.

"Help me carry him in!" the Pope shouted to me.

I caught the man’s other side and we hauled him through the entrance. I was completely baffled.

How did a man who looked like he’d been in a street fight have a connection to a church like this? I wanted to ask, but as soon as we got inside, I was pushed out of the way. Sisters in grey habits appeared from the hallway, their faces grim and focused. They started moving around with basins of water and bandages, their attention entirely on the wounded man.

I stood by a stone pillar for a while, watching the chaos. No one looked at me. No one thanked me. I was just a kid standing in a big, silent building while they worked to save a stranger. Eventually, I realized there was nothing left for me to do, so I turned around and walked out the door.

I had to go back home. It was too late and I didn't even know where to go. By the time I started heading home, the sky was that deep, ink-black color that meant it was much later than I wanted to admit. My mind was spinning with everything that had happened.

When I finally reached the front gate and walked into the house, father was already there. He was standing in the hallway, his arms crossed, waiting for me.

"It's late," he said. He didn't sound angry, just worried in that way that makes you feel guilty.

"I’m sorry, Father," I said, looking down at my shoes so he wouldn't see how wide my eyes were. "I took my time at the library and I just wasn't conscious of the time. I got caught up in a book and didn't realize how dark it had gotten."

It was the same lie I’d told a hundred times before. He seemed to believe me, but he stepped closer and took my hand in his. He looked deep into my eyes, his face softening.

"Is anything stressing you lately, Lucian?" he asked gently.

I felt a pang of fear, thinking he might see the blood on my clothes or the panic in my expression. I immediately put on an act. I forced a big smile onto my face and stepped forward to give him a hug, burying my face against his shoulder so he couldn't see my eyes. "I'm fine, Dad. Just tired. School is a lot right now."

He patted my back and let out a sigh. "Well, I’ve already prepared dinner. Let’s eat."

We sat down at the dining table. It was quiet, the only sound being the scrape of our forks against the plates. I couldn't eat much. My stomach was in knots, and every time the house creake. My heartbeat was still fast, a dull thudding in the back of my head.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the front door.

I bolted upright, my heart nearly stopping. My first thought was that the men from the alley had followed me home. I didn't wait for my father to move; I rushed to the door, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle. I took a breath, steeled myself, and pulled it open.

Standing on the porch was a girl. She was petite and had blonde hair that fell around her shoulders in messy waves. As I looked at her, I felt a jolt of pure shock go through my body. She looked exactly like me. If I had been born a girl, I would have been her. The resemblance was so perfect it was terrifying. The picture has not done judgement to her.

Even though I already knew deep down who she was, I still found the breath to ask the question.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

The girl looked at me, her blue eyes, like mine, shining with a mix of

exhaustion and relief.

"I'm Lucy," she said softly. "Luciana."

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