Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Stars
The sound tore through the damp silence of the barn like rusted metal scraping against concrete.
Lily froze, her oversized, waterlogged sneakers locked to the rotted floorboards. The smell of old hay and damp earth was suddenly undercut by something sharp and metallic. Blood. Copper.
She retreated two steps toward the narrow gap in the foundation where she had crawled in, her instincts screaming at her to vanish into the rain. A ghost she could ignore; a living, unpredictable adult was dangerous.
The low groan came again, weaker this time, strangled by a wet gasp.
"Help..."
Lily crept around a mound of decaying hay bales, her thin frame moving like a shadow. Tucked deep into the dark alcove beneath the collapsed loft was a silver sports car, its front end crushed like a tin can against a massive oak support beam. Smoke whispered from the crumpled hood, accompanied by the erratic ticking of an overheating engine.
Halfway out of the driver’s side door, sprawling across the mud-caked dirt floor, lay a man.
He was not from Oakridge. Even in the gloom, Lily could tell. He wore a dark tailored suit made of cloth so smooth it almost looked like liquid, though it was now torn at the shoulder and drenched in dark crimson. A heavy silver watch glimmered on his limp wrist. A few inches from his pale fingers, a smartphone lay face down, its screen cracked and dead, a faint red battery icon flashing once before going completely black.
The man’s chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid hitches. Blood poured from a jagged tear along his throat and upper chest where a heavy splinter of shattered wood had pierced him.
"No... no..." he wheezed, his eyes rolling back. "Julian... the vote..."
Lily stepped into the dim light filtering through the broken roof. She knew what dead looked like. She had watched her mother’s skin turn the color of winter wax on their sagging sofa while the rain beat against the window. This man was stepping over that same ledge.
If she left, he would die. If he died, the police would come. They would search the barn, find her prints, find her hiding spots, and trace her back to the streets.
Or worse, they would take her to the center where Emma was.
Run, her mind whispered.
The man shifted slightly, his trembling hand reaching out blindly into the air, grasping at nothing. "Please... I have... a daughter..."
Lily stopped.
She reached into her soaked coat pocket and pulled out the blue handkerchief. The black marker stars drawn by five-year-old Emma stared back at her—crooked, imperfect, and naive. It keeps bad things away.
Lily knelt in the dirt beside the dying stranger. He didn't register her presence, his eyes staring blankly at the dark rafters above.
Without a word, Lily unfolded the handkerchief and pressed it firmly against the gushing wound at his collarbone.
The man gasped violently, his body going rigid as pain flooded his senses. He instinctively grabbed her wrists. His hands were freezing, but his grip was like an iron vise.
"Hold still!" Lily hissed through gritted teeth, her tiny arms shaking under the force she applied to the wound. "You're bleeding out! You have to push back!"
The man blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on the small, filthy face inches from his own. He saw a seven-year-old girl with hollow cheeks, dark circles under her fierce gray eyes, and soaked hair plastering her forehead, using her only clean possession to stop his life from draining into the dirt.
"Who... who are you?" he choked out.
"Nobody," Lily said, putting her entire weight onto his chest to keep the pressure firm. "Don't talk. Nobody's coming for you out here."
For twenty minutes, while the thunderstorm raged outside, the beggar girl and the dying millionaire remained locked in a silent, agonizing battle against time. The blue handkerchief turned deep red, the marker stars disappearing beneath the stain, but the heavy pumping of blood slowly began to ease, clotting under the sustained pressure.
Headlights suddenly swept across the high, cracked windows of the barn.
Tires crunched aggressively over the gravel driveway outside.
Lily’s heart slammed into her ribs. "Someone's here."
The man’s eyes widened, not with relief, but with absolute, visceral terror. He grabbed Lily’s forearm, dragging her down toward him.
"Listen to me," he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. "Do not... let them see you. Hide."
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"Is it the doctors?" Lily asked, her voice trembling for the first time.
"No," the man bled out the word, his jaw clenching. "It's the men who cut my brakes."
