Stolen Read Online Free PDF

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    “The Separates,” you said. “That’s what I’ve called them. They look unlike … kind of … separate from everything else, around this area anyway. They’re alone, but they’re together in that, at least.”
    I hobbled to a wicker couch, tumbled onto it, and cradled my foot, rubbing the red mark from the picture hook. “Why didn’t I see them before?” I asked. “When I ran?”
    “You weren’t looking.” I felt you watching me. When I didn’t look back, you moved across to one of the veranda posts. “You were too upset to see anything much then.”
    I scanned the boulders, looking for pathways, checking for anything man-made. There was a plastic pipe leading out from them and running all the way along the ground to the house. It fed into a large metal tank at the far end of the veranda, near where the bathroom was. There were wooden posts spaced evenly around the base of the rocks as if there’d once been a fence there.
    “What’s on the other side?” I asked.
    “Nothing much. More of the same.” You jerked your head sideways, nodding at the dusty ground around the house. “It’s not your escape route, if that’s what you’re wondering. Your only escape route is through me. And that’s bad luck for you, I guess, since I’ve already made my escape by coming here.”
    “What’s the pipe?” I asked, thinking that if a pipe led to your house then there could be other pipes and other houses behind the rocks.
    “I laid it. It’s for water.”
    You grinned, almost proudly, and started feeling around in your breast pocket for something. Then you reached down into your pants pocket and took out a small handful of dried leaves and some rolling papers. My eyes lingered over your other pockets. Were there any small bulges? Could that be where you kept the car keys? You crumbled the leaves and rolled yourself a long, thin cigarette and licked up the sides.
    “Where are we?” I asked again.
    “Everywhere and nowhere.” You leaned your head against the veranda post and looked across at the rocks. “I found this place, once. It’s mine.” You studied your cigarette as you thought. “It was a long time ago. I was small then, maybe half your height.”
    I glanced at you. “How did you get here?”
    “Walked. It took about a week. When I got here, I collapsed.”
    “All by yourself?”
    “Just me. The rocks gave me dreams … and water, of course. It’s special, this place. I stayed here about two weeks, camping in the middle, living off those rocks. When I got home, everything had changed.”
    I turned away, not wanting to know anything more about you or your life. There was a bird circling high above us, a tiny x against the darkening sky. I wrapped myself up small, cradling my knees, gripping them tighter, trying to stop the fear inside me from opening up into a scream.
    “Why am I here?” I whispered.
    You patted your pockets, then pulled out a box of matches. You gestured toward the rocks.
    “Because it’s magic, this place … beautiful. And you’re beautiful … beautifully separate. It all fits.” You twisted the cigarette between your thumb and forefinger. Then you held it out to me. “Want one?”
    I shook my head. None of this fit. And no one had ever called me beautiful before. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice cracking.
    “That’s easy.” You smiled, and the cigarette in your mouth hung down, stuck to your lips. “Company.”
    When you lit up there was a strange smell to the cigarette, more natural than tobacco but not as strong as weed. You inhaled deeply, then looked back at the collection of boulders.
    I followed your gaze and spotted a small gap through the middle of them. It looked like a pathway.
    “How long will you keep me?” I asked.
    You shrugged. “Forever, of course.”

     
    When the light faded to a gray dusk, you turned to go inside.
    “Follow me,” you said.
    You paused in the porch we’d come through before, beside a bank of