The Locked Door

Nico's eyes flicked up from the old, dried out, and dirty newspaper. His heart fluttered. He stood up and took a careful step toward his mom. “M—mum?”

His mother's teeth were clenched together and she groaned. The groaning continued for a second, and then let off, and his mother let out a long shuddering breath, shaking her head.

“What's happening?” he pressed.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved.

Nico stumbled toward the other end of the trash filled alley.

“Get out of the way,” Nico's father said, “don't make me clean up the mess of your passed out self.” The man shook his head, muttering about “birth...” and, “enough mess as it is.”

The boy's cheeks became red and he turned away. He walked to their shelter in the alley corner, then looked back over his shoulder.

“Get out of sight, Useless!” The man shouted, jabbing a finger.

Nico ducked and crawled inside the pieced together construction, chest shuddering, and eased forward. He pressed his eye against a crack in the shelter.

Hot wind blew a layer of dust up from the dirty floor of the alley. Trash blew, floating and tumbling an inch off the ground, and then settled down. The two people who raised Nico stood in the midst of it.

Nico's father stood over his mother, arms spread, shouting something. The man threw his hands out and turned toward the shelter, walking, shaking his head.

The boy pulled back, sucking in a few deep and precious breaths. His chest began to ache with a soft pounding.

His father ducked into the lean-to, crouching at the entrance. He looked at his son breathing deliberately. “Look at us, both useless.” The words were sour. “Like father like son, can't handle a mess.” The man spit out a couple of eloquent curses. “Get out of the way, why don't you. Go occupy yourself somewhere,” he said, then scooted to the corner of the shelter, next to the pile of dirty water bottles. The man picked a bottle up, stripped the lid off, and took a sip, leaning back with closed eyes and a sigh.

Nico turned away, crawling out of the place, feeling like the dust he walked in. He climbed to his feet, wobbling, and looked to the other end of the alley—forgot his suffering.

His mother sat on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees. Tears rolled down her face, muddying her dusty cheeks. She sobbed and pressed her face into her arms.

She's hurting. Nico started to turn, to get a bottle of water from the shelter, and stopped.

Father had the water.

Nico wanted to run, to scream and kick. To slap his father. His body itched to rage. Then, love for his mother washed over him like cool water, and he felt even more trapped—unable to help.

The traveling doctor years ago had said Nico's heart had a door fused shut. The boy was locked inside his young body. He looked at his mother again and felt cold for her. The little boy or girl in her belly must be struggling to escape. It looked like it hurt.

She needed real help.

Nico clenched his jaws and started for one of the streets he knew would take him out of the dirty back-streets.

Water was somewhere out there—and maybe help.

If we're so useless, he thought, doesn't mum deserve better than either of us?

…

Nico wiped a hand against his forehead, flicking the sweat away.

Everything was hot.

The sweat splattered on the asphalt, in the sun just beyond dumpster, and sizzled. Nico blinked more sweat from his eyes and shifted—keeping to the cool shadow of the dumpster.

The ache in his chest throbbed, reminding him why he was there, and he scanned the street. Sunlight warbling over the asphalt as if boiling away. People in robes, with scarved heads, shuffled from building to building.

The people were his goal. It would be a gamble, though. He had to make them notice him.

If this is what it takes. He reached into his pocket, gripping a piece of paper. A no-longer-blank section of an old dry newspaper—his only hope. Nico sucked in a breath, pushing himself to one knee. I'll show you useless. He stood up and staggered into the heat.

Pure, hot, pain jabbed into the bottoms of Nico's feet. He cried out. Tears slid down his cheeks. He pushed into a run and closed his eyes as dizziness filled his head and hammers thumped against his skull.

Someone will see me...please.

The pounding in his chest beat faster. It hurt. So does mom, he scolded. The air from his heaving lungs turned to wheezing. His knees wobbled.

Nico pushed on anyways.

His legs didn't.

He stumbled and dropped to all fours, gasping. He tried to stand, push the flaring heat from his head, but fell from wobbling legs.

No, he tried to whimper. Not yet.

Shouts encompassed him. Cool shadows fell over him.

His thumping heart faltered, then pounded even harder, trying to drive blood past that one locked door. The voices were fading. Read the message, he pleaded silently. But the people would only hear wheezing.

Their voices were fading.

READ IT!

Hands lifted him from the hot ground.

Nico threw an arm out. His fist caught something hard. A distant voice cursed. Read it. Please. Someone grabbed his wrist, pinning it against his body. The hand slipped away and he lashed out again.

The person caught the fist this time. “What is this?” The message was wrestled from his grip. “His mother is in labor!?”

Tingling crawled up and down his body. Sounds echoed through a tunnel.

More shouting sent someone to start searching the back streets. Someone else would follow behind with water. A third group would follow close behind with more supplies.

Thank you, Nico said to them. Nico's heart pounded one more time, a weak, tired thump. The door remained locked. I did my best, mother, he said quietly. I hope it was useful.