Determined To Live (8 page)

I see the man at
the edge of the stairs and my eyes widen. I throw myself to the side,
and manage to just roll out of the way, when the man's body slams to
the ground. He's right next to me, and I'm on my side facing him. I
put the gun up to his temple and fire, making damn sure I wasn't
going to miss this time.

His head jerks and
his body goes limp. Mine does too, with relief, but that's soon
replaced by fear that others may have heard the gunshots and are on
their way to investigate.

While I move my
body in a crawl to the stairs, I'm unable to stop sobbing in pain. I
do manage to keep the sobs pretty quiet however, so that's
something
.
Finally reaching the stairs, I do the butt bump back up them. At the
top, I take a few moments to breathe and regain some strength. Then I
grab my crutches and get my ass inside.

I go to the bedroom
door and open it wide. It gives a light bang when it hits the wall,
and then I step inside. The room is pretty big and has its own
bathroom, which is also pretty big. The bedroom is done in all whites
like the living room, but the bathroom is a kaleidoscope of pastel
colors. It's actually very pretty. I see a tall armoire about five
feet from the front bedroom window and wonder if I can manage to get
it moved to cover the gaping hole.

Guess I'll never
know if I don't try.

I go to the far
side of it and push. It moves a little...a
very
little. I can't really put much strength behind it with only one
foot, so like before, I sit on my ass and push with my good foot. It
takes a very long time, but I finally get it there. I look around the
room as I sit and rest a few minutes. I need something to alert me in
case the armoire is moved.

I see a couple
fragile-looking vases and crawl over to grab them. Taking them back
to the armoire, I place them on the floor in front of it, then look
around some more. Finally spotting what I need, I crawl over and
sweep everything off the dead woman's vanity table. Then I remove the
glass tabletop from its frame and lay it on the carpet, shoving it in
front of me as I move back to the armoire.

The top drawer,
just under the swinging cabinet doors, is about four feet from the
ground. I pull the drawer out just an inch, and then balance the
vases on the drawer opening. Finally, I slide the glass underneath
the armoire. If this piece of furniture moves, the noise of the vases
smashing into the glass should be more than enough to warn me.

I look around the
room for anything else I might need, and see a pile of folded
blankets and a couple pillows in the open closet door. I crawl over
and lift a few of the blankets in my arms, throw both pillows on top,
then "walk" across the room on my knees. When I get to the
door, I toss the bedding into the hall, then go back for my crutches
and push them ahead of me. Once I'm back out in the hall, I close the
bedroom door and lean against the wall.

Holy crap! That
shit wore me out.

And my body is
aching like a mother-frikker!

First things
first...painkillers.

Honestly, all I
really want to do is just crawl to the sofa and pass out, but...no
rest for the wicked. Isn't that what everyone says?

Sighing, I use the
wall to stand and get the crutches situated, then I head through the
dining room and back to the kitchen. I look at the two unexplored
doors and try to guess which one might be the bathroom. Choosing the
door on the right, I swing my way over, wincing each time I move
because my underarms are a little sore from the damn crutches.

That's another
thing to add to my list, padding these sons-of-bitches!

Not thinking
straight from being exhausted, heartbroken, and in pain - I
carelessly throw the door open and something rushes straight toward
me.

I
scream, jerking my body back. Already being unstable on only one
foot, I crash to the floor, whip out my gun and point it...
at
a little girl
!

She's got a toilet
brush raised high above her head and starts bringing it down on my
body, over and over. I drop my gun and cover my face with my arms,
screaming as the hard shit-smelling bristles slam into my head, face,
and body. I'm finally able to grab hold of the brush, and I jerk it
out of her hands. She's crying and screaming, but still fights hard,
determined to live.

I throw the brush
across the room and grab her, holding her against me in a tight hug.

"Shh, baby.
It's alright, I won't hurt you. I'm not one of those things," I
repeat that until her sobs lessen in intensity and her body relaxes
against my chest. She had wrapped her arms tightly around my neck,
but now they finally loosen enough so that I can breathe normally
again.

I let her hold onto
me as long as she needs to, even though I've got to pee so bad my
eyes are watering. After a few more minutes, she leans back so that
she can see my face and I can look down into hers. She studies me as
I study her.

She has long
naturally curly black hair, beautiful big blue eyes, and her face is
gorgeous - at least, I'm sure it is, when it's not all red and
blotchy from crying and snot isn't hanging from her nose. I resist
the urge to check if I have snot all over me, and ask her what her
name is.

I quickly fix my
eyes on her own when I see the snot jump around when she sniffs.
Spying a hand towel on the back of the chair next to us, I pull it
down and wipe her nose.

Oh, thank god!
Much better.

"Thank you,"
she tells me, softly. "My name's Ginger now."

Ginger?

What the hell!

Shouldn't that
name be for a red-head?

Was she bald
when she was born or were her parents frikken color-blind?

Wait―

"Honey,
I don't understand. What do you mean your name is Ginger
now
?"
I ask her.

"That's what
they told me my name is now. But it was sumthin else before,"
she tells me.

"What was it
before?" I ask her.

And just what
the hell is going on!

"Before they
bringed me here, I was Melody."

"Before
they― What do you mean before they bring―
brought
you here? Weren't those people your mom and dad?"

"They
din't use to be. They says my mommy and daddy don't want me no more.
I gotta call them Mother and Father, and I gots to live with them
forever
.
I don't wanna live with them no more!" Her eyes shine with new
tears and I pull her close to me again.

Was she adopted?

Turning
her around so her back is against my chest, I wrap my arms around her
and lay my cheek on the top of her head. "I'm
sure
it's not true that your real parents don't want you. I'm sure they
love you very much. Tell me what happened. How did you come to live
with these people?"

She
sniffs a few more times and begins, "Mommy and Daddy took me to
Kid Plant" -
I
smile at her mispronunciation of the popular and kid-friendly pizza
place, Kid Planet
- "for my birthday. I had twelve whole friends there!" -
Better than twelve
half friends, I'm sure!
- "We played lots of games, and eated lots of pizza. Then Mommy
and Daddy went outside to our car to get my presents and my
big
pink
princess
cake. I had to go potty, but the baffroom was in a really dark
hallway and I was scared. None of my friends would go with me, 'cuz
they wanted to play the games. But I had to go potty
real
bad!"

I know exactly
what you mean, kid.

"When
I went in the baffroom, that mean lady was there and she picked me
up! And then she put her stinky hand on my mouth and I couldn't
scream or breathe or nothin'! The mean man was waiting for us when we
leaved the baffroom and he telled her to 'Hurry up' and they runned
out the door at the end of the hall. Mommy and Daddy told me I can
never,
ever
touch that door 'cuz it was for 'mergency only and a loud bell will
go off. But no bell went off. Then they throwed me in their car and
droved me away from my Mommy and Daddy and all my friends!" She
starts crying again, and a tear of my own trails down my face from
just imagining how scared this little girl must have been. "I
peed in the car and the mean lady hurted me real bad. She made my
mouth bleed and I couldn't see for a long time 'cuz she broke my eye!
I couldn't open it!"

This poor baby
girl!

How can people
be so damn evil?

Of course,
that's when my mind reminds me
I'm
one of those "evil people" now.

I
tell my mind to get bent, and turn my attention back to this sweet
little girl in my arms.
What
did these people want her for - and please God - don't let it be
that
!

"How old are
you?" I ask her.

"They telled
me I'm seven."

"Ok, but how
old were you at your birthday party?"

"Five."
And then she proudly recites her birth month and day, but is
embarrassed that she doesn't know the year.

Oh holy crap!

How long has she
been here?

Has she really
been here two years, or did they change her age along with her name?

"Do you know
how long you've been here?" I asked her.

She shakes her head
no, but then tells me she put a sad face every day she was here on
the calendar in her room, and points to the door across the kitchen,
opposite from the bathroom.

She stands and
grabs my hand, ordering me to, "Come look!"

I gently pull my
own hand from hers and ask her to please let me go to the bathroom
first. She nods and watches me as I awkwardly get to a standing
position. When I move to go into the bathroom, she follows.

"I'll be right
back out. You can wait for me in one of the chairs," I tell her.

Her eyes leak big,
fat tears again. I rush to reassure her, and I give in, telling her
she can come with me

You are such an
idiot
!
Of course she's terrified to be alone. Look at everything she's gone
through, and she's
only
a little girl!

I follow her into
the bathroom and sit on the toilet while she sits on the edge of the
tub. It takes me awhile to go, because she never takes her eyes off
me. Finally my bladder wins out over my discomfort and embarrassment.
But I get embarrassed all over again when it seems like my bladder is
never going to empty. The little girl doesn't help when she starts to
swing her legs back and forth, and hums to show her boredom.

At last my bladder
is empty. I wash my hands and face in the sink and look longingly at
the shower reflected in the mirror, but it's going to have to wait.

I leave the
bathroom with the girl following me and sink down onto one of the
chairs at the breakfast table. She pulls the chair that was next to
me even closer, then sits down too.

"So...what do
you want to be called then?" I ask her.

"Melody. Well,
my Daddy always called me Mel. You can too. I like it. What's your
name?"

"Canada,"
I tell her.

She
wrinkles her nose and says, "I don't like that name." -
You
and me both!
- "I gonna call you, hmm, what's your other name?"

"My middle
name?" She nods. "Marie."

She nods again,
"Ok. I gonna call you Marie!"

I laugh. "Well,
my mom's name is Marie."

Her
smile turns into a scowl and she gives me an accusing look, like it's
my
fault my mom has that name!

"Lemme think
about it," she tells me.

I look around the
kitchen as she thinks of a new name for me and make a list in my head
of all the things I need to do before I can rest. The clap of her
hands and her shout of, "I got it!" scares the livin' hell
out of me.

I breathe deeply
until my heart rate slows to just slightly faster than normal.

"Ok, so what's
my new name gonna be?" I ask her, in control enough to grin at
her now.