Last Memento

The cracks of light that outlined the door blurred as the siren call of sleep drew Dante's eyelids closed. His head bobbed toward his chest and rested there a moment before snapping upward. This repeated twice, thrice, and sleep nearly overtook him. In the end, he hauled himself to his feet in an attempt to free himself from the encroaching lure of unconsciousness. His muscles protested when he unfolded his limbs, and his joints popped loudly as he stood and rolled each one in turn. Sitting in such an uncomfortable pose hadn't been his best idea, especially since it hadn't even removed the temptation of dozing off. Then again, years of sleeping on the floor under a ratty blanket was a good way to learn to sleep anywhere and in any position.

It can't be that much longer, Dante thought to himself. He stepped closer to the door - bare feet searching out the floorboards that he knew were silent - and leaned his ear close to the worn wood. In this silence, his breath, coming from his nose in shaky yet steady bursts, seemed as loud as a raging windstorm, and his pulse pounding in his ears was as loud as the drummers that would be part of tomorrow's celebrations. Over the internal cacophony of his body, Dante sought sounds from the other side of the door.

As his ears strained to hear the world outside of themselves, a distinct and guttural snort came loud and clear through the wood that separated his tiny room from his uncle's larger one.

His uncle was finally asleep.

Dante took in a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh as he sank into a crouch. One hand reached out into the darkness to grope for his bag, which had been packed earlier that night with his sole possessions. Fingers worked open strings holding it closed, and he reached in and pulled out the piece of stiff cloth he'd stored near the top. Jemma had given it to him. The fabric was thick and soft, perfect for muting and transporting a chime without any of its parts jostling and clattering loudly together. What it held now, however, was a piece of bread that Dante had pilfered just before bed. The morsel wasn't much, just a few bites' worth, but it would keep his stomach from giving him away as he slipped out under his uncle's nose. He unwrapped his prize and jammed it in his mouth, chewing as he closed up his bag and slung it over one shoulder, cloth held in one hand.

Still low, he reached up and found the cold metal of the door knob with the hand not holding the fabric. He turned the knob all the way to the right, and bracing himself, he leaned into the door with his shoulder, readying himself to open it.

Dante had finished his chores early that evening, and when his uncle hadn't been looking, saved a dollop of grease left from the day's cooking before he excused himself to bed. Once he'd gone to his Uncle Tobias' room, Dante had opened and closed the door to his bedroom, which not long ago had been little more than a storage closet, to produce its characteristic squeaks so his uncle would think he was in bed, and then he worked the animal fat into the hinges, rubbing away the extra with the edge of his shirt to keep the oily sheen from revealing what he'd done.

Even though he had tested the door and had proven there was no more squeak, fear still rose in his chest at the thought of attempting to open the door while his uncle slept. If he'd done it wrong and his uncle woke up, his uncle would fly into a rage, and who knew what he'd do?

Dante swallowed his bread and then pushed the door open.

Silence.

The grease had done its job, and the door swung open smoothly and without a sound.

Dante let out the breath he'd been holding with a shuddering sigh and then stepped out into Uncle Tobias' room.

Compared to the pitch darkness of his own cramped chambers, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminated this room as bright as day. There was no movement outside the window as far as Dante could tell, which meant that Jemma wasn't at their meeting place in the alleyway behind the tavern yet. If all went well, he'd be out there before she was.

A thick, straw-filled mattress under the window housed the resting form of his slumbering uncle. The massive man was sprawled on his back, one arm draped over the edge of the bed and the other thrown over his face. Faint, gasping snores interrupted by the occasional sharp snort suggested that Tobias had been asleep for some time now, and the pile of blankets that had been kicked this way and that proved it further.

The door out to the hall was to his left, but Dante instead continued forward, closing the distance between himself and Tobias. His gaze darted from his uncle to the floor and back again with each step, each glance upward seeking confirmation that Tobias hadn't stirred and each glance down looking for the next safe board to stand upon. With each step, he pressed his bare heel to the floor first before rolling the rest of his foot, then his weight, down upon the board. By the time he finished this slow and deliberate maneuver and was ready for his next step, the floor beneath his foot had soaked up enough of Dante's body heat that it had lost some its chilly bite. Each step meant sacrificing more of his precious foot warmth to an increasingly cold floor. Dante clenched his fingers, digging them into the square of fabric he held, and on he pressed with that same excruciating slowness.

Thankfully, other than the floor, the room was warm, heat lingering in the air from a fire that was now little more than embers.

The side table that was Dante's goal sat dangerously close to his uncle's bed, and the drawer that held his precious chime was known for sticking. Still, that chime had belonged to his mother, and Dante wasn't leaving without it.

Crouching on the balls of his feet in front of the table, Dante's hand found the latch and lifted it with the faintest of clicking sounds. With a slow and steady hand, he slid the drawer open, wincing at the dry scrape of wood on wood as he worked the drawer free. Each sound, no matter how small, was a risk. Thus, with there only a gap of a few inches, Dante stopped tugging the drawer open and shot a glance to his uncle. Tobias' eyes flicked back and forth behind closed lids and he let out another loud snort. Dante swallowed hard, excitement fluttering within him at the prospect of how close victory was, and then he readied the fabric and peeked inside the drawer.

It was empty.

Dante froze. His adrenaline-fueled blood thudding through him like icy rapids.

It should be here! Where is it? Where…

He glanced frantically around the room, his body tense as desperation quickened both his pulse and his breath.

His uncle shifted in bed, and Dante froze, eyes locked onto him in a silent prayer that he wouldn't wake up.

Tobias scratched at his backside and then grunted as he settled back under the comfort of his blankets, hugging one of his pillows to him. Something in the bed clinked in a dully metallic but somehow recognizable way.

Dante stood, eyes wide as horror filled him at the realization of what the sound meant. Looking down at his sleeping uncle, Dante saw that the chime he sought was tucked away under Tobias' pillow, half of it exposed in the space where the hugged pillow should have rested. The rest of it was pinned firmly under his uncle's head.

Dante's mind raced. He had already decided that he wasn't going to leave without his chime. In fact, he needed it if he was going to finally be free of his uncle for good. But if he tried to fetch it now, he ran the risk of waking Tobias, and Dante didn't want to think about what would happen to him then.

Dante bit his lip. He had to act. There was no room for hesitation. He wanted to be long gone before his uncle stirred, and each second that he waited increased the risk of his uncle awakening and beating Dante worse than he'd ever been beaten before.

He bit down harder on his lip, the sharp pain urging him to move. With a shaking hand, he reached over his uncle's prone form, stretching out his fingers toward the tool that would guide him to freedom.

His fingers brushed the coldness of the metal when a soft, sharp tap at the window startled him, and he jerked back. He took a moment to steady himself before looking up at what had struck the glass.

Jemma stood there, a scowl on her face. She mouthed words at him through the glass, exaggerating the movements of her lips to ensure that Dante could understand her words even without hearing them. But even if she hadn't, the wild and angry swings of her arms made her meaning clear enough. "What the hell are you doing?!"

To answer, Dante gestured helplessly at the chime wedged under Tobias' pillow.

Jemma shook her head sharply and then jabbed a finger in the direction of the door to the room.

Dante looked pitifully at the chime and made a motion to reach for it again.

In response, Jemma curled her fingers in front of her as though wrapping them around an invisible neck and then shook, throttling her unseen victim.

Dante hesitated, gaze going between the chime and his friend.

Eventually, Jemma threw her arms up in exasperation. "Don't be an idiot!" she mouthed. "Get out of there. Now!"

Dante sighed and threw one more look at the chime. She was right. But there was a part of him that couldn't bring himself to just leave the chime with his uncle.

A heaviness settled into his stomach and clenched at his throat. His pulse slowed as his adrenaline faded, replaced with a bitter sadness. He have the chime one last, loving touch, lingering on the cold metal. His chest ached at the thought of leaving it behind, but he had no choice.

Dante hoisted his bag further up his back and turned away from his uncle, the window, and the chime. And lacking the same meticulous stealth he'd displayed earlier, he walked from the room, leaving his last memento of his mother behind.