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Simon Keyes sat patiently in the bathroom, the air smelling of chemicals.
Not only was the smell foreign, but it mildly stung his nose as it lingered—and to take his mind off of it, he glanced up to suddenly see a dog towering over him. He couldn't claim the dog was unfamiliar to him, but the two of them were not quite acquainted, either, so he jumped a little at the sight, though the startle was brief.
The tall dog was followed by its master, and Simon at least knew who that was. Sirhan Dogen stepped toward him carefully, touching the chair behind him. Simon meekly watched him with a mixture of wonder and self-consciousness, feeling awkward staring onesidedly. Dogen touched the sink vanity Simon sat next to.
"Child," he beckoned him. "Hand me the brush, won't you?"
"Here," Simon replied and obeyed. "...Mr. Dogen, does your dog have a name?"
"Certainly. His name is Anubis." Saying this, Dogen reached for the dog and scratched his head. Anubis seemed to sneer in satisfaction as he did. "He listens to whatever I tell him, but you should still be careful with him, small one."
"Oh, okay..."
Their conversations always seemed to be curt like this, Simon was finding. It had already been a few weeks since he left the orphanage, yet he felt like he had hardly learned anything from the man. Even though Simon's voice has cracked when first he saw him again; even though Dogen had hidden him away without a moment's hesitation. It seemed, just like him, that Dogen was a private person. They seldom spoke of frivolous things, and the way Dogen never quite made eye contact made it difficult to feel close to him, even though Simon knew he shouldn't blame the man for such a thing. Perhaps, Simon found himself thinking, they simply did not share the connection that he hoped they had. Perhaps he had only burdened Dogen by coming here.
He had escaped the Happy Family Home Orphanage on a rainy day, the tips of his toes crowded in his outgrown rain boots. For a while, he was lost—especially because following the storm that melted the snow, the weather was so oppressively humid, and he could barely pull his thoughts together enough to think rationally about anything, much less navigating an unfamiliar city. All he could think about was what would happen if Ms. Roland woke up and realized he was gone, or if someone saw him walking alone in the middle of the night and called the police. However, he hadn't escaped without a plan. He might be scared and sweaty and alone, but Simon had a plan.
He was twelve now, so he wasn't stupid—but he must have looked so when he had stumbled into an alleyway with his stomach rumbling and with perspiration coating his hairline. After all, it would all be for naught if he was mugged or kidnapped not even a day after he escaped. Still, he needed help. And Dogen had told him something on that day of the fire that he still recalled—if they were ever meant to meet again. That's why he was here.
Simon had spotted a man with a dog. The man was far from notable, but the dog (it was not leashed, piquing Simon's curiosity) was alert, and it was large. Large and powerful enough to immobilize someone, for certain. He also saw by the man's expression that he had not noticed him yet. He stepped into the flicker of a yellowish lightbulb, and immediately, the dog was on guard. It barked loudly once.
As if practiced a hundred times, Simon swiftly squatted down and, with both hands, pushed his bangs back tight as he fit his head between his knees. He braced himself as the barking suddenly intensified, but it didn't seem to be directed at him anymore.
"What are you yapping at? Get off, get the hell off!"
Simon had peeked up, his heart beating out of his chest. Slowly, a look of cloudy realization fell upon the man's face as the two of them locked eyes. The dog seemed satisfied with this and ceased jumping, but instead paced around the two of them with interest.
Simon was almost breathless once the attention was on him. "D... Do you know Sirhan Dogen?"
Instead of answering, the man had pursed his lips. "Sure was stupid of you to do that. She's not a smart one. Could've ripped your face off."
"But it worked." Simon had felt strangely proud of himself for such an accomplishment.
"Yeah." He squinted at him. "It did. So you're the kid."
"Come here, child."
The words Dogen spoke when they reunited were subdued, yet welcoming. Simon had taken notice of the way that his subordinates had eyed him incredulously as they led him along, how they shot each other glances that obviously meant something like "Does Dogen really intend to take in a kid this feeble?". Simon tried hard to swallow his doubts, tried to trust in the man who rescued him, but he couldn't shake his anxiety when he thought about what he would do if Dogen turned him away after all. So it was a great relief when Dogen had given him a small smile, almost like he was impressed, and beckoned him forward. An immeasurable relief, really. Simon had viciously fought off the urge to burst into tears when he heard the words—and the only thing that had given him the resolve to do so was not wanting to be more of a burden to Dogen than he already was.
Still, Dogen wasn't always around, and when he was, he wasn't really one for conversation. Simon had been living with him for about a month now (though they had already moved three times in that month, "for safety," Dogen had told him). And although he rarely talked about himself, Dogen had a great many warnings and lessons for Simon. Things like how to set up a post office box, what to say to police officers, how to obfuscate your handwriting, and so on. When he could, he even began teaching him how to wield a knife.
Something that he was very adamant on, however, was the urgency of his situation. Something like this was not only Ms. Roland's gruesome threats that Simon used to cry over—it was connected by little threads everywhere: Blaise's threads (that was the name of the man, Simon had also found out). His people. Always watching, always vigilant. And so as Simon picked up on Dogen's preventative measures, one by one, he found himself embarrassed by his lack of awareness before. He began listening to Dogen's every word attentively, and dedicating himself to learning from him, as if it would make up for the burden he had placed on the assassin. To that end, though, Simon could never detect any sign of discontent or approval in Dogen's face, though he certainly was observant. As far as Simon could tell, to Dogen this affair was as objective as a kill request.
But still, he did let Simon pick the color of his hair dye.
As Dogen began to paint the foul-smelling bleach into the roots of Simon's hair, Anubis strutted around the tile of the bathroom floor. After looking up at Dogen, as if to triple-check he didn't need anything else, he stuck his nose in Simon's face, sniffled thoughtfully, licked his chops, and finally flopped down in his lap.
Simon couldn't hold back an exhale of relief, and any tension in the air was dispelled in an instant.
Dogen, too, chuckled. "Anubis seems at ease. It's uncommon for him to breathe so softly."
Curious, Simon peered in closer to Anubis, but the dog only let out a sleepy sigh. He was huge and heavy atop his lap, but Simon didn't particularly mind. There weren't many opportunities for close contact at an orphanage, after all. Not normally.
Dogen went on. "Normally, he is ever-vigilantly keeping watch," he mused. "But he is very gentle. If you'd like to pet him, he wouldn't mind. Would you, Anubis?"
As if to reply to his master, Anubis's tail wagged. Simon had never been particularly bad with animals, but even he hesitated reaching down to pet the monstrous hound's head. At first he poked him with one finger, then unfurled his hand against his forehead, and finally, when he was certain the dog wasn't displeased, he pet him a bit. Simon smiled as Anubis happily pushed his head into him, and he felt Dogen shift in pleasant surprise as he listened in on the interaction.
"Well now, Anubis. Have you made a new friend, boy?"
Simon scratched under the dog's neck enthusiastically as he felt Dogen's brush near the middle of his hair. "He really is sweet," he said cheerfully.
"Yes," Dogen agreed. "But this is unusual, even for him. It seems you're something of a hound-whisperer, child."
"Oh, I don't know..."
"You have no need to be humble. Did you have a companion of your own?"
"Well..." Simon suddenly felt timid. "I don't... really remember. I-I don't think so..."
"You need not strain yourself trying to remember. I just thought it might jog your memory."
Embarrassed to have failed him, Simon shifted under the towel shielding his clothes and searched for something else to say. "At the orphanage, I used to feed and take care of a stray kitten that came by sometimes," he stuttered out. "It even came in the snow sometimes."
"I see," Dogen said thoughtfully, and Simon immediately felt foolish for bringing it up. "Then, do you suppose the kitten is wondering where you are?"
Simon's face felt hot, like he was confessing to a sin. "I guess so," he mumbled bashfully. "But Horace said he'd feed it, so..."
His embarrassment morphed into something twisted and unpleasant in his chest. He hated remembering the orphanage, suddenly. He hated childishly talking about it in front of Dogen like any of it meant something to him. He pursed his lips unhappily, wishing he could run away.
"Calm down, young one." Through his gloved hands, he patted Simon's head saturated with bleach dye. Simon, his throat tight, looked down and fidgeted with Anubis's ears awkwardly. He half-expected Dogen to say something more to reassure him, but he didn't. A few more minutes passed, and finally Dogen's brush reached the tips of his hair. "The mirror," he requested, and Simon stood and glanced around, grabbing a hand mirror resting on the sink. Anubis stood idly by after he had been pushed away, either miffed over the disturbance of his nap or perhaps merely waiting for the boy to sit down again.
"Here..." He offered the mirror to Dogen.
"No, not for me." Dogen shook his head and reached his calloused hand out to Simon, palm facing up. "Raise it up, and guide my hand to the spots I've missed."
Simon blinked in realization but did as he was told, holding up the mirror so he could he could see the back of his head in the dingy vanity mirror they'd been sitting next to. He supposed it made sense that Dogen took precautions for things like this—he must be very used to being blind, and all—but Simon himself hadn't even considered the possibility that Dogen's work might have been imperfect. But in fact, there were quite a few little black strands that poked out defiantly from the white of the dye. Even so, Simon was impressed by how thorough he was. At Dogen's reminder, Simon was careful not to get any on his hands. He tried imitating the way Dogen was so mindful of his movements, remembering everything he touched and staying aware of his surroundings.
"I... think it's all covered," Simon declared after they had gone through the process a few times. The bleach was horribly uncomfortable on his scalp. It burned, not in the pleasant, satisfying way that fire does but the unpleasant way of chemicals, acid. Simon winced just a little bit, only because he knew Dogen couldn't see it, and sat down with his back against the bathtub.
"It will be a while before we can rinse it," Dogen told him. "Essentially, the bleach is slowly, methodically killing all the pigment in the hair. Your hair is dark, and thick. That's why it burns the way it does. Is it bothering you, small one?"
"N-No." Simon folded his hands together. "I'm okay."
A pause. Anubis trotted over and helped Dogen sit down, a bit closer to him this time. Simon swallowed, wondering if somehow the proximity would give Dogen the ability to sniff out his white lies. Again Anubis returned to Simon and laid down pressed against him.
"Child," Dogen chided. "Listen very carefully to me, now."
Simon looked up at him guiltily. So he had been caught already. He felt horrible knowing that the reserved Mr. Dogen was going to lecture him. Strangely, though, when he saw his expression, it was calm, patient. Simon suddenly wasn't entirely sure why he was so primed to expect anger. His guilt turned to gingerness, and although he didn't have to, he looked at Dogen in the eyes as he spoke.
"I told you before that this world is a cruel one for unfortunate children. It is natural that you fear such a world. In fact, you must. Or it will blindside you—" Dogen reached to pet Anubis idly— "And you will surely perish. However... on that day, you boldly defied that fear and saved my life."
Simon felt that squeeze in his chest again. "I... didn't know anything back then... I wasn't doing anything heroic. I just wanted to help you, Mr. Dogen."
"That is precisely why I am speaking about this now. You and I, we are kindred souls. We have saved one another," he explained, "and we have escaped the same gruesome fate. But listen closely: you must not go on defying your fear as you did on that day."
There was another harsh feeling inside him. "Why not?" Simon pleaded. "They would have killed you! Ms. Roland, and—and those guys! They said they were going to!"
"Keh heh heh. I know that very well. I am merely trying to teach you the way of survival, young one." Simon gazed miserably at Dogen as he went on. "We are kindred souls, we are, but we are also quite different. It would be nice if we could survive protecting one another over and over, but it would eventually end in tragedy."
"How can you say that...?" Simon murmured in disbelief. "So you're saying I shouldn't care about anything at all?"
"It is a cruel thing to ask, isn't it?" Strangely, Dogen smiled. "But I am not the one asking. It is the world that asks it of us, young one. You will not remain sheltered here in the shadows forever, so you must try your hardest to adapt to its whims before you are forced to face them head on."
"... I'm sorry..." Simon looked down, defeated and hopeless. "I don't really understand..."
Dogen dismissed his pathetic apology. "Forget it all for now. Perhaps you are just listening to the ramblings of an old priest." He focused again on petting Anubis for a couple minutes, and they sat in lukewarm silence until he spoke again. "Hmm... Perhaps now it is your turn to speak. I'm afraid I've neglected to ask all this time about how you've been faring these past six years."
"It's nothing that important," Simon mumbled shyly. "I'm alright."
"Well, I think Anubis would be interested in hearing. Wouldn't you, boy?" Dogen smiled, and as if to answer him, Anubis nudged awake and flopped his big head down atop Simon's twelve year old knees, peering expectantly into his eyes. Simon relented and laughed at the sight, wrapping his arms around the dog's neck.
"I don't really know where to start, though..." he tried to deflect again. His face scrunched up. "Lately I feel like... like I might be close to remembering something bad. So much has changed, and... I was really scared, back then..."
"You worry so incessantly, but you already began speaking freely earlier. About your kitten, and your Horace. Perhaps something may be uncovered relating to those?"
"Hm," Simon hummed uncomfortably. "Well... Maybe."
"Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but would he happen to be the other child Anubis and I saved all that time ago, alongside you?"
"Yeah, he is."
"He is your friend?"
"He is..."
"Then... He is still at the orphanage, yes?"
"I guess so."
"Keh heh." Dogen shifted, looking nowhere somewhere else. "Young one, if you abandon a kitten without food, all it can do is mewl helplessly and starve. Humans are quite different."
"What do you mean? Sure, we were... friends, but..." Simon tightened his grip around Anubis for reassurance. "It's not like he'll die never seeing me again. But I... I would've died if I stayed there, I'm sure of it."
"You are certainly right about that. But even if they won't starve, humans can search. If you were close as you say, you don't think he would try?"
"No way!" Simon insisted. "I-I didn't even tell Horace I was leaving, there's no way he'd be able to... find..."
"You did not even bid him farewell?" Dogen smiled, but it didn't comfort Simon one bit. "Young one, we humans are animals led along by attachment. By our feelings. You shouldn't underestimate that." He stroked Anubis's back. "Understanding the motivations of animals is how we may work alongside them. Predict and control them. Humans are no different in that respect."
Simon blinked, suddenly captivated by his words.
"The other child... Horace." Pause. "He cared for you?"
"Yeah..." Simon felt his throat tighten. He hadn't let himself linger on the topic until now. He had to run away, no matter what, and nothing Horace could've said or done would've changed that reality. He knew that. He didn't want to think about how confused he must have been when he woke up one day and Simon was nowhere to be found. He didn't want to think of all the stupid half-baked ways he cared. How he was always too cowardly to pick fights but how he'd always meet Simon in the bathroom while Ms. Roland was tsk tsking over his bloody nose and rubbing ointment on his scrapes, and he would timidly wait for her to leave and he would say that he was sorry for just watching and that he would beat the kid up the next time he thought it was funny to shove Simon off his swing. Simon would smile and reassure him even though he was the hurt one, and he would really mean it, too. Horace was just like that.
Horace was just like that—it was something he'd realized quite quickly. Sometimes it felt more important than he thought it should be.
"He was my best friend," Simon said quietly, almost shamefully. "Of course we cared about each other."
"... I see." Dogen harbored something inscrutable in his cloudy eyes. If they had been talking about anything else, Simon might have asked about what he was withholding. But he didn't. His lips were pressed together tightly, like if he spoke anymore everything would be torn apart. Dogen seemed to understand his reluctance—he stood, and with the motion Anubis sprang to his paws again to guide him.
"I am going to prepare the dye. Take care not to muss your hair, child."
It's almost an hour later when Simon realizes he'd dozed off, and it's because Dogen is gently nudging him awake.
"Time to rinse, young one."
The process is a bit awkward, especially since Dogen had not yet memorized Simon's size like he had, say, a dog's, so there were times Simon got water in his eyes or times he had to use the mirror trick again to make sure everything was properly rinsed. After a while, though, the unpleasant chemical was out of his hair, and Dogen had even prepared a hair dryer.
He stood in front of the mirror in astonishment. "All the black is gone...!" he gushed. He obsessively ran his fingers through the blonde strands, over and over, holding it up to the light, brushing it behind his ears. "It's like... I'm..."
"An entirely new person... correct?" Dogen smiled amusedly from behind him. Simon recoiled a bit, embarrassed by the pragmatic reminder of their actual goal. As he looked back at Dogen he saw that he held the dye, mixed and ready. Red. Simon had chosen it himself.
The process was repeated without words this time—apparently having exhausted all topics, or perhaps they had just reached a silent agreement that the prying they had tried earlier was taxing and fruitless. It's relaxing now, and Simon found himself wanting to fall asleep again as Dogen slowly worked his way down his hair. It had grown quite long since he was overdue for a haircut even before he ran away—now all the way past his chin in some parts and just barely brushing against his shoulders in others.
Another hour passed, and Simon was finally washing the red out. When it was dry, he rushed over to the vanity to take the sight in, momentarily unbothered by Dogen's watchful presence.
It was striking. Bright. He combed his fingers through, mesmerized. It was everything Simon never thought he could be. But now, it was who he was. Who he had to be, at the cost of his life. He was a product of Sirhan Dogen, even if for now he was nothing more than a cheap imitation—the red only a clumsy coat of paint over his true weak, helpless self. But he would take Dogen's words to heart. He would reconstruct himself so that no one could recognize him—not Horace, not Ms. Roland or Blaise or even himself.
Behind him, Dogen hummed thoughtfully. "How is it, young one? You haven't uttered a word."
"... It's really wonderful, Mr. Dogen. Thank you."
Dogen gave a half-nod of acknowledgement. "At times such as these I wish I were permitted to see, if only for a moment. I fear you might grow old without my noticing, just like my Anubis."
Simon didn't really know how to reply, so he just smiled quietly and turned back to the mirror.
That night, as if the black of his hair was the final layer of protection against his own memories—everything came bursting forth, and Simon began a series of horribly familiar nightmares.