Sanctuary
‘It isn’t safe. You should leave, quickly.’ You feel a shimmer of worry run through your chest, clutching at your heart as you remove the message from the broken fortune cookie, putting the cookie pieces down on the plate in front of you. Carefully. You don’t want to show any emotion which might give you away. Casting your eyes from side to side, you glance at the others sitting around the table with you. Suspicion wells inside you. Carefully, hands trembling, you fold the fortune in two and place it inside your pocket. Sending messages this way was risky. Something must be wrong. You should never have left the sanctuary.
You quietly excuse yourself and head for the restrooms. You leave your jacket. Taking it would look suspicious. In the subdued lighting, you see people look up at you, as you walk past the other tables. A man with silver hair and frameless spectacles. A dark skinned woman wearing a blue dress. You try not to make eye contact. Any one of them could be a hunter. Stepping briskly through a door, you find yourself in a small corridor. There are two doors leading to restrooms, and another door labelled ‘Staff only’ with an emergency exit sign above it. You step through the third door.
Garish white fluorescent kitchen lights hit you in the face as you step into a large room full of smoke and steam with sweet and savoury fragrances, lined with shiny stainless steel surfaces. A chef stops you. He looks Korean, with unkempt hair. His sleeveless shirt shows a jellyfish tattoo on his arm. He insists that you go back through the door. You apologise, desperately trying not to draw too much attention. You just need to get out quietly, you explain. He eventually relents, and lets you step out of a back door.
Humid night air envelops you as you step outside. Thicker than in the kitchen. Heavier. Permeated with a thousand aromas of the city. It assaults your senses as you find your way out of a back alley. The street outside is busy, but you feel exposed. You fight an almost irresistible urge to just run. You can’t draw attention.
You need to find a portal. A quick escape somewhere safe. Normally, you’d create one of your own, but that would be unwise. Anyone paying attention would find you instantly. As you walk, a bus turns onto the street. You sprint for a bus stop, just a few metres away, holding out your arm to flag down the bus. You practically dive into the bus as it stops, and find a seat near the exit doors.
The few other passengers, tinted a sickly hue by greenish lighting, seem uninterested in you. You try to make sense of things, but can’t. Too many thoughts. Your mind whirls. You take a deep breath and look out of the bus window. The bus passes a large advertising board with the words, ‘Get off at the next stop.’
You blink. Another message? Such an obvious one? This feels very wrong. You reach out and hit the stop button. As the bus pulls up, you stand to slip quietly out of the exit doors. Before you do, you glance at the entrance to see another passenger getting on. A man with silver hair and frameless spectacles. He looks directly at you and his eyes widen. Quickly, you step off the bus, walk sharply down an alleyway, and break into a full sprint, not even looking back. Before stepping out into another street, you slow to a walking pace and try to control your breathing.
“There you are.” A voice from behind you. With a gasp, you turn to find yourself face to face with a dark skinned woman wearing a blue dress. Your heart leaps in your chest, as you start to back away. “It’s ok.” She holds up her hands quickly, speaking softly. “I can help you. I’m from a sanctuary. Come.”
You hesitate and look around the street. This could be a trick, but you don’t have many options. You follow her. She leads you along a side street and walks into a launderette, checking to make sure you’re following.
It’s empty apart from the two of you, and smells of soap and bleach. One of the dim fluorescent tubes in the ceiling flickers ominously. The woman leads you to a door in the corner of the room.
“You’ll find help on the other side of this portal,” she says. She gestures at the door.
You look at the door, and then back at the woman. She smiles, nervously, glancing at the launderette entrance. You take a deep breath, reach out, and turn the handle of the door, stepping through, and closing it behind you.
Suddenly, you’re surrounded by smoke and steam with sweet and savoury fragrances. Garish white fluorescent kitchen lights and shiny stainless steel surfaces. A feeling like a lead weight lands in the pit of your stomach. Sharply, you spin around and open the door again. You find yourself staring into a supply room. The portal is gone. You breathe heavily, and look around desperately, trying to find somewhere to escape. Anywhere.
“Don’t worry.” The Korean chef with the jellyfish tattoo. He holds up his hands, not stepping too close to you. “Over there. That portal leads to a sanctuary.” He points.
You look over to see a door on the other side of the kitchen. The same door you left the restaurant through earlier. You frown and look back at the chef.
“It’s ok,” he says, “go now. Quickly. And take this.” he holds up your jacket, neatly folded.
You take it, and give him a half smile in thanks.
Walking up to the door, you still hesitate. But you don’t have any other options. Opening the door, you step through the portal and find yourself surrounded by green leaves and golden sunlight.