Edwin Davis

It wasn’t a habit of mine to smuggle random kids I found on the battlefield across the border. If that were the case, I'd most likely be branded a war criminal by now. But when I saw that girl lying there, barely alive in a rotting pile of corpses, I couldn't help it.

Why did you bring me here?

And what a ridiculous question that was. What was I even supposed to say? That I felt sorry for a kid that clearly no one else cared whether they left her behind?

I let out a heavy sigh, my grip tightening around the steering wheel as I glanced over to that girl beside me in the passenger seat while I drove us back to the capital. Her legs were pressed up to the side of the car, seemingly wanting to create as much distance between us as possible.

She’d changed out of that old hospital gown and into some older clothes left by some soldiers, which drowned her entire body, but that was all Liz managed to find. Her trousers only stayed up because of an old belt. Liz had also managed to tame her unruly hair of hers into a manageable ponytail, although it still resembled a bird's nest with all those various strands poking out from odd places. I was really going to have to thank that nurse later for all of this.

I continued to steal glances at that girl and it dawned on me just how tiny she looked. In fact, her smallness was one of the things that struck me when I first saw her. Perhaps not in the physical sense since she wasn't short by any means—at a glance, she was taller than most girls her age—but she was far too thin after living off of rations for that long. I made another mental note to get her something nice to eat once we arrived so she could get some more flesh on her bones.

But, none of that was the very first thing I noticed. No, that would've been her eyes.

Just barely under her eyelids was a glimmer—something I'd never thought I'd see in a war. They were eyes that seemed to bore into you, ones that pierced into the deepest trenches of your soul. There was this golden luminescence that radiated from the center to every edge of her iris as if embers were burning inside. The very sight was that of a star refusing to die.

I’d seen green, blue, brown, hell, even purple eyes on occasion, but never gold. I didn’t even think gold was an option. Was it normal? Probably not. At the very least, it was another thing to add to the list of abnormalities about her.

"Say, was there anything you wanted to eat once we arrived?"

“No, Mr. Davis.”

It had only been a few hours since we left the military hospital. We'd made it into the city at that point, and yet in that small amount of time, this girl already proved to be the dullest conversation partner I ever had. I was starting to think she was allergic to responses that exceeded more than a few syllables. And I couldn't exactly get anything from her expressions either. If she wasn’t actively glaring at me, it was just a stoic look stuck permanently to her face. If I had to describe the feeling, it was kind of like trying to read a blank piece of paper, that is, if paper could glare at you.

I shifted my attention back to the road, trying to ease my own discomfort over the awkwardness as I focused on the vehicles driving past. Honestly, it was a surprise to see so many of these automobiles driving alongside carriages through the street. Before the war, they were hardly affordable for most people, but now, it seemed as if every other person owned one.

It sometimes felt like I'd returned to a different city entirely so I couldn’t imagine how that girl must’ve felt if she'd never known anything outside the war. Her eyes fixated out the window, taking in every building, vehicle, and person we drove past. Had she even visited a city like this before?

"You're probably curious about where we're headed, aren't you?"

"No, not particularly."

My smile almost faltered. "Well, just so you know, I'm bringing you to the funeral home I own."

"And what's that?"

Right. They probably didn't have funeral homes on most battlefields.

"It's a kind of business that provides burial and funeral services. I inherited the property during the war and instead of selling it, I decided to keep it up and running as the funeral director." In my peripheral vision, I could see her glancing over to me with perhaps the closest to a look of curiosity I got from her yet. “Most of the business is done on the ground floor, but there’s a small apartment above it with a spare room.”

“And you’d like me to live there?” she asked, staring at me hollowly, but at least she was finally saying something longer than a few syllables. Thank God.

“That’s right. It’s a bit morbid—I know— to live right above a morgue,” I said playfully, trying to lighten the mood. “But while I’m still figuring out that paperwork for you, it’s best for you to stay with me for the time being.”

“And how long will that be?”

“Don’t tell me you’re already eager to leave.”

It was supposed to be a small tease, but judging from the lack of response that followed, she was probably a little more serious than I was about it.

I cleared my throat, trying to ease the awkwardness. “I’m not sure exactly and it may take some time. But while you stayed there, I thought you might like to help around a bit.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “You want me to work for you?”

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m certainly not going to force you into labor, but Liz did say it would be good for you to move around a bit since you were unconscious for so long.”

She stared at me for a long moment, as if considering my words, before finally nodding. “All right, if you think that will be best.”

I smiled to myself, relieved she actually agreed. I don't know what I would've done if she didn't.

"I'm glad to hear that."

It wasn't long before we arrived. I pulled up to the side of the road and turned off the engine in front of our destination. The building had deteriorated a bit during the war with it being abandoned for so long. But after I left the army, I’d been able to fix it up here and there. I’d even hired some new staff so it felt more like a functioning business.

It still was nothing special, hardly the grandest building around as it only reached a few stories high, but it was her pride and joy. She'd even used to call it her “child” years ago—

I shook my head. Just the thought of it made my chest clench and my heart throb all over again.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.”

I opened the car door to let myself out before walking up toward the building. Thankfully, that girl was still following after me, albeit, a good few paces behind me. Although, I suppose it was better than having her take off the moment I stopped the car.

“Hey boss, don’t you know it’s my day off? Did I really have to come out here?" someone suddenly called out to me. I turned to the source of that voice and found a familiar mop of olive-gray hair that was as ruffled as ever. A certain young man stood by the front door, his arms crossed and shoulders slouched as he leaned against the door frame. His eyes—these dull gray orbs—looked on with disinterest as we approached.

I shot him a disapproving look. “What did I say about calling me ‘boss’? You’re supposed to call me ‘director’ now!”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, sounding far too nonchalant for my liking. His attention quickly shifted to the girl behind me and narrowed his eyes at her. "Boss, who's the kid?"

“It’s director,” I reminded him again, but my will to argue was already dissipating as I let out an exasperated sigh, “and you’re not that much older than she is so don’t be rude.”

I turned back to look at her, meeting her with a smile. Her eyes, however, were already starting to contort into that god-awful glare again. At least this time, it wasn't directed toward me as she stared at the man by the door, eyeing him with an ever-blank expression that made it impossible to tell what was going on in that head of hers.

“Let me introduce you: this over here is Alfred. He’s the general hand at the funeral home.”

Alfred took a few steps from the door as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “In other words, I do all the dirty work they need to get done around here.”

“Well I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” I mumbled, refraining from rolling my eyes. “And Alfred, this is… the girl I’m looking after for the time being.”

His eyes were curious as he peered over at her. She returned that stare with an added hostility. It was almost concerning how long they stared at each other, not even blinking once as if they were engaged in some sort of silent staring contest that only they understood.

“Since when did you start plucking kids off the street?”

“Why did you just assume I took her off the street?!”

“Well, it’s not like you bring kids over here every day!"

I could already feel my exasperation rising; but then again, he wasn't that wrong. A deserted battlefield wasn’t all that far off.

Alfred let out a loud sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back to her. “Well it’s nice to meet you, I guess.”

I believe that was his attempt at being polite.

“Likewise.”

It was like trying to get two children to get along: awkward for every party involved. I cleared my throat before the two could burn holes into each other with their eyes. “Follow me inside. I’ll show you around.”

I opened the door to let her in. I decided against closing the door in Alfred's face and let him follow behind. He was still eyeing her closely as she walked past with a scrutinizing look.

Inside, Francesca stood behind the reception desk. Her crimson hair was all tied up neatly and she looked like the pinnacle of professionalism that we wanted customers to see. She was reading through one of the record books when she heard us enter the room. The moment she noticed us, she gently took off her glasses and a welcoming smile appeared on her face—the practiced one she gave to all the customers.

“Davis, you’re back! And you brought a pretty girl with you.”

Of course, she had to put it like that.

“That's right, and she'll be staying with us for some time," I briefly explained before turning back to said 'pretty girl.' “This here is Ms. Francesca Rossi. She’s the funeral arranger here, and a vital part of our business since I wouldn't be able to keep the place running without her."

“Hey! Why did she get such a nice introduction?”

“You shouldn’t be so brash in front of our guest, Alfred,” Francesca said, reprimanding him lightly with a momentary sternness flickering across her face. But she quickly shifted back to a friendlier smile as she faced the girl. “It’s nice to meet you—”

A voice cut her off. It brought us all to a silence, and while none of us noticed him yet, his presence cut through the room like a knife the moment he spoke.

“Who is this?”