"Trust is the mother of deceit."
Prologue
Little Molly Mayes wasn't usually the one to not listen to her mama. She was a good girl, always doing her homework and taking Betsy, her little pug, outside for a walk whenever she could. She always ate her vegetables with no complaint, and kept her room spotless.
But when school was cancelled because of the fresh snow, how could Molly resist? Her mother said no when she asked to play outside, saying that it was dangerous to walk out there with a blizzard warning. But Molly didn't want to obey this time. She spent too many winters looking longingly at the dazzling snow. It made the forest behind her home so pretty, she just had to experience it first hand! Besides, Molly knew the insides and outsides of the forest. She knew every path, and every shortcut. After all, her parents did work as rangers. She's practically been hiking since she was three! And Betsy was with her too, dressed up in the little dog booties and fleece coat she got for Christmas. She was a small dog, but Betsy had a mean bite whenever someone threatened Molly.
Molly was used to walking through the forest. But something about the way it was in winter stole her breath. The trees were dressed in white, and glistening icicles hung from their branches like diamond earrings. As she trudged through the three inches of snow, she was surprised to feel how light snow was. It was as if Molly was walking through cold clouds. She couldn't understand why her mother vehemently refused to let her walk through the forest at this time of the year. The snow made the dull forest into an enchanting world.
The sounds of Betsy barking jolted Molly from her thoughts. She looked down to see the pug snarling at a couple of frozen bushes. She gently lifted Betsy and kissed her head, trying to calm her down. She glanced over at the bushes, uncertain at what her pug was barking at. Molly doubted that there were squirrels or any other animals out and about at this time, it was far too cold.
She carefully and cautiously took a few steps towards the bushes, her eyes wary as she held Betsy close to her. Betsy curled her lips upwards and barked again. Molly was finally close enough to the bushes where she could peek over them. "H...Hello?" she called in a quivering voice before gasping.
On the ground, half covered in snow, was a young boy laying facedown. Setting Betsy down, Molly pushed her way through the bushes and started to brush the snow off him quickly. She could start to see jet black hair, and he was wearing a black vest over a gray t-shirt. The boy was also wearing black pants, with a lot of pockets that were bulging for some reason. Once she was confident that she brushed all of the snow off of him, Molly pushed the boy onto his back with a grunt. He was certainly bigger than twelve-year old Molly, so this took a lot of effort.
The boy had his eyes closed and his lips were a weird blue color. His face was cut up and his right cheek swollen. The snow that had been underneath him was faintly red. What frightened Molly the most was a gash running from the top of his left shoulder to the boy's bottom right hip. It was oozing blood and Molly tried to remember what her father had done when he bought in someone who had been attacked by a bear. It had happened when she was six, but she could faintly remember her mother wrapping a bandage over the wounds the person had.
Molly didn't have any bandages with her, but she had something close. Unwrapping her pink scarf from around her neck, she did her best to tie it around the boy's worst wound. Blood seeped through the yarn and Molly feared the worst. She took off her blue wool hat, brushing the snow off it and putting it over the boy's face. She faintly remembered her father explaining to her that the face was perhaps the most fragile of the body.
"Stay here, I'll get help from Dad!" Molly told the boy before running off. Betsy stayed behind with the boy, sniffing his clothes before curling up next to him as if trying to keep him warm her own way. The pug lifted her head and blinked at the boy, whose fingers had twitched. She tilted her head and barked once, only to get no response.
A whole five minutes later, Molly ran to where she had seen the boy, her hand holding onto her father's tightly. Her father did his best to keep up with her, his free hand tugging his coat on more securely. Molly stopped in front of the boy and looked up at her dad who stared at the boy. Betsy leaped up at the sight of her owner's dad, barking happily.
After petting Betsy, Molly's father crouched down and felt the boy's forehead before grimacing slightly. "He's cold. Molly, take Betsy and go home. Tell your mother to prepare something warm for this boy. And get the guest room ready, he'll have to stay with us ." he instructed carefully, taking off his puffy coat before wrapping it around the boy. Her dad then tucked the teenager's hands into black gloves before hoisting him onto his back.
Molly nodded and scooped up Betsy before sprinting home, her red braid flickering behind her as she ran.
Her father trailed behind her, glancing over his shoulder to study the boy's face. He looked no older than fourteen, only two years older than Molly. He didn't recognize him as a neighbor, nor did anyone else besides his family went into these woods. Molly's father couldn't help but wonder exactly what this mystery boy had went through to have such injuries.
Against her mother's wishes, Molly pulled a wooden stool into the room where the boy had been taken to. Plopping down, she was satisfied that she could watch the boy closely without disturbing him. Betsy was sitting close to Molly, chewing furiously on a bone. Molly gave her pug that bone to ensure that she would stay quiet as well.
The boy looked a lot better once her father was finished treating him. He was wearing flannel pajamas now, his old clothes in the wash. His faces had too many bandages to count, and Molly knew there was a large one underneath the boy's shirt. Still, he looked very comfortable. His lips returned to a regular pink color and his cheeks weren't as flushed as they were before. Her mom said that the boy was in no serious condition, and that he just needed to rest.
Molly was so intent on watching the mysterious boy, she completely missed the fact that Betsy's ears perked up. Betsy, abandoning her bone, scampered over to the boy and climbed her way onto the bed.
Panicked that her dog would awaken the boy, Molly moved to grab ahold of Betsy. However, she froze as Betsy growled, tugging furiously on a necklace that had been around the boy's neck. There was a snap, and the leather strap broke.
"Bad dog! Bad Betsy!" Molly whisper-shouted, lifting Betsy into her arms and off of the boy. She set Betsy down on the floor and put her hands on her hips. "Drop it...! Drop it Betsy!"
Betsy set the broken necklace down onto the ground and sat back, panting with what looked like a smile on her lips. Molly bent over and lifted the necklace, squinting at the charm.
It looked like a hawk, with its talons stretched outwards. It was covered in dog drool and seemed to have been dented, but there was no doubt about what it was. Molly wiped it clean on her pants and hurried over to the lamp residing on the night table. Flicking the switch, the light shone directly on the charm.
If she looked harder, Molly could see what looked like an 'A' carved on the hawk's chest crudely. She blinked once and looked back at the boy. What she saw next almost made her drop the necklace. Betsy's ears perked up and she started to bark rapidly, seeming to bounce up and down.
The boy sat up abruptly, breathing heavily with his eyes clouded with an emotion Molly didn't quite know how to describe. She backed up towards the doors, lifting Betsy after stuffing the necklace into her pocket. She ran out the door, shouting "Mom! Dad! He's awake!"
The next thing she knew, her father was talking gently and quietly to the boy while her mother urged the boy to lie back down. Molly watched this all curiously from the door, holding Betsy tightly in her arms so the little pug wouldn't run all over the stranger. Her eyes were wide as she looked at the boy more closely.
"What's your name son?" Molly's dad questioned.
No answer.
"Who are your parents?"
No answer.
"Do you live close by?"
No answer.
"...Alright, get some rest. I won't bother you for now." Molly's dad murmured with a kind smile on his face. "You must be hungry. My wife made some grilled cheese sandwiches and soup for you." he tilted his chin towards a tray of food resting on the night stand.
The boy turned his head in the same direction, his purple eyes staring at it before his hands grabbed one of the sandwiches. Molly watched the boy practically inhale the sandwich whole, which reminded her of the cartoons she'd watch on Saturday. She stilled a giggle.
"Water." the boy wheezed, coughing slightly. Her father frowned slightly and shook his head slightly.
"Don't eat so fast that you'll choke, son. Molly, can you get a water bottle? There should be some in the garage." he called, not having to glance over his shoulder to know that his daughter was standing there. Molly jumped slightly, before turning around and sprinting downstairs and towards the garage.
Water bottle in hand, Molly crept up to the guest room. She peeked inside the room, eyes widening once she realized that the boy was alone. She looked around to see if she could find her father, but it was completely empty besides the strange boy. The boy glanced over at Molly, his face somewhat expressionless while his violet eyes seemed to study her face thoroughly.
"That man left to go talk to that woman." he rasped, his voice scratchy and rough. "I don't bite, if that's what you're scared about."
Molly puffed up her chest as she took a bold step inside the room, Betsy scampering past her. " I-I'm not scared! Why should I be? You're only...something years older than me." she huffed, holding the water bottle for the boy to take. The boy chuckled and Molly felt herself smiling slightly. She was relieved that the boy seemed to be at least capable of some humor. Sitting back on the stool after handing him the water bottle, Molly studied the boy a bit more.
"What's your name?"
Startled, Molly jumped slightly in her seat, caught off guard by his question. Molly hesitated and looked down at the ground. After a moment or two, she finally decided to answer.
"Molly. Molly Mayes." Molly replied, sitting up taller now as she did her best to look 'lady-like'. "And…" she leaned over slightly to pick up Betsy, holding her up towards the boy so he could see her clearly. "This is Betsy!"
The boy smiled faintly and nodded slightly. "Ah...I see." he fell silent, a sort of lost look in his vivid eyes. There was awkward silence before Molly finally decided to ask,
"So...what's your name…?" she asked quietly, uncertain if he would answer her. After all, the boy didn't when her father asked.
"...I wish I knew. I don't remember." the boy said, his voice barely audible. "I don't know who my parents are...I don't know how I got here either...I just...I just don't know."
"Oh." was the only thing Molly could think of saying. There was yet another awkward pause, her eyes on the ground. The boy was staring down at his hands, a thoughtful look on his face as he did so.
"I...I better get going. I hear my mom calling me." Molly lied, getting up to stand. She felt bad about leaving the boy alone, but she was scared she would make things worse. The boy looked depressed as it is, and she doubted that she could make the situation better.
The boy didn't respond nor move as Molly stood from the stool, holding the squirming Betsy in her arms. She walked towards the boy, glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time before exiting the room.
Just as she was going to close the door, the boy finally spoke once more. Molly couldn't exactly tell what he said, so she turned around and blinked. He had a puzzled look, but strength flickered in those purple eyes of his.
The look on her face was probably enough for the boy to tell what she was thinking. He repeated himself, this time more loudly. As he spoke his hands clenched the blanket tightly, almost as if it was painful to speak.
"Alex. I-I think my name was...is, I mean, Alex."
If you got this far, then thank you so much for reading :) please make sure to review so I can improve in my writing.
Much love,
DancingLights.
ns 15.158.61.13da2
