The Lost Girl (25 page)

It was clear they meant me harm; I could see it. It was written all over their faces, flashing through their crazy red eyes. They howled excitedly and clapped their hands, their dark clothes drenched and heavy with the rain, clinging to their bodies and showing their muscles. “What luck we have, mate. Look at this fine piece of ass here,” the clever-looking one shouted. “And you said we shouldn’t cut through the park. We could have missed this perky treat!”

“I was the one who spotted her, man. You should be thanking me and my blessed eyesight,” burly, stupid-looking thug barked.

“I don’t care, I’m the one who goes first. You can have her after,” the friend said, taking a step closer to me.

Stupid thug regarded me for a second, starting to get edgy. He looked like he was dumb and slow, but apparently he had a better survival instinct than his “buddy”. He knew something was off with me; something definitely looked wrong.

Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t moved since they’d arrived. Nor did I try to run or even cry out in fear.

Maybe it was the fact that although I was drenched and barefoot, walking alone in a park in the middle of the night, I didn’t seem to care.
At all.

Maybe it was the eerie storm lurching in the background, making everything seem scarier, as if we were all in a horror movie.

Or maybe it was the fact that I was grinning at them – and not a friendly grin. There was nothing friendly about my smile and he knew it.

“Uh … dude, I think maybe … it’s best we let this one
go,” he suggested with a smidgen of apprehension, his eyes never leaving mine. Alarms were sounding inside his thick skull – I could tell by his expression. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked, after all.

My grin widened.

“What the hell are you talking about, you idiot? If you don’t want it, stay the fuck away! She’s all mine,” sneering guy barked, and then pushed his friend away, making him stumble backwards. He turned his attention back to me and matched my wicked grin with one of his own. “So, sweet cheeks, we’re going to have such a good time tonight.” He grabbed my wrist.

We sure are
, I hissed inside my head. I glanced down at his hand.

Something snarled in me, loud, vicious, merciless.
Strike them down
, it growled, rattling its chains.
Make them pay.

“Shit! Your skin … it’s burning up!” the man exclaimed, puzzled, looking at my wrist and back up to my face. We locked eyes. His grin faded slowly and then his sloshed, drugged brain realized that something was seriously wrong.
Deadly wrong.

“Y-your eyes … They’re all … white! W-what’s wrong with you?” He panicked and tried to move his hand away but I was faster and grabbed his wrist. I was the one holding him now. It was
my
time to sneer while I squeezed, slowly and painfully.

He cried out and hit me in the face with his free hand, trying to break free from my iron grip. I didn’t move an inch.
I was made of stone; nothing could stop me.
I felt a tingling on my cheek that disappeared in less than a second.

He raised his hand slowly, looking at the blood staining the rings on his fingers. He had cut me when he slapped me.

And now you must kill him for striking at you.

“W-what the …? H-how did y-you …?” he stammered, looking wildly at my face.

I knew I had healed by now. And he had watched it happen. His weak mind was trying to process this, trying to understand what was happening.

I grabbed the arm he had slapped me with and constricted it until I heard the bones break. Then I let go. He was shouting and crying.
I didn’t care. I barely listened.

“Let go of him, demon!” his stupid friend yelled, running at me.

My eyes darted quickly to my second attacker, and I grabbed him by the arm, too.

He cannot stop me.
I kicked him in the legs and heard bones cracking again. There was more shouting and crying. I still didn’t care when I punched him hard in the chest, making him fly into the air and crash a few feet away, landing on the grass with a loud thud. He tried to stand up, but ended up slumping back down, clutching at his broken leg.

I turned my attention back to the man I was still holding by the wrist. He looked terrified out of his mind now.

Good. He should be scared. You need to strike him down. End his miserable, filthy, pathetic little life.

“You have done this many, many times before, haven’t you?”
I asked, my voice sounding raspy, like a soft growl.

“W-w-what?” he whimpered.

“Preying on other girls. How many others did you have a ‘good time’ with?”

He didn’t answer and kept sobbing like a baby.

“How many girls have you hurt? How many have shouted and cried because of you?”

“Ah! P-please! Stop! STOP!” he shouted in abject horror as my grip tightened around his wrist.

“How many begged for
you
to stop?”
I asked again. The fury in my voice burst out like steaming lava. Red and pure, blasting out of my core. I could feel my hands heating in rage and then I smelled skin burning. He started screaming and thrashing against me, trying to free his arm. I was burning him.

“HOW MANY?” I asked one more time.

“I DON’T KNOW! I don’t, all right? Many, loads, I don’t know! I lost count! Let me go!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his mouth foaming. He was deranged with fear.

I was exploding in anger.

I tilted my head, observing him closely with cold, distant eyes. But inside I was burning. I should strike him now. I should kill him.
You should. That’s what he deserves. Revenge. Make him pay.
But maybe he deserves a better punishment. He deserves to remember what he did.
Every day of his fucking disgusting life.

“Let you go?”
I said with a sneer.
“I cannot let you go like this. Like nothing ever happened. You have to remember this. For the rest of your life, you will remember me. Whenever you look in the mirror, you will remember,”
I said, and planted a hand flat against the right side of his face. The smell of burning flesh hit me again and the sound of his screams filled the night air. I could hear chains snapping off from their hold inside my head and I rested my hand over his entire face.

I let go of his unconscious form and he slumped to the grass like a bag of trash, blisters and raw flesh swelling up on his ugly face. I turned and walked slowly to his
broken-legged friend. He had witnessed everything, his eyes darting manically in every direction. But he was still trying to survive, crawling across the grass, trying to get away from me.

I stopped next to him and knelt by his side. He stopped crawling, giving up his feeble attempt to escape. “I’m s-sorry!” he sobbed in despair. “I won’t ever do it again! Please, I swear!”

I tilted my head again, watching him. The urge to crush him into a puddle of blood in the mud was almost irresistible, but I stopped myself at the last minute.

“I know you won’t. You’re smarter than your friend. You know that if you ever do this again, I’ll come back for you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes! I know!”

“Tell your friend this. He must know he will be punished too if he ever hurts someone else. And you … you need to have something to remember as well. A slap on the face, a mark of your shame for ever etched on your cheek. Remember this,”
I said, planting my hand on the side of his face the same way I had done with his friend. He didn’t cry as much and didn’t faint, either. But I knew he would never, ever forget.

As I walked out of that park, a series of lightning bolts struck dozens of trees around me, scorching their trunks into black coal. I could feel the release of all the pent-up energy bursting out of me. As soon as my bare feet hit the pavement outside the park gates, I felt completely drained. I didn’t have any strength left. No more rattling chains, no more anger, just complete exhaustion taking over my soul.

And it was so cold; my blood was freezing. I was
trembling uncontrollably, the rain still falling heavily, chilling my drenched clothes like ice pouring over my flesh and bones. My teeth chattered as I crossed the street and sat on a bus stop bench. The merciless wind slashed furiously, cutting through me.

The power I’d felt moments ago had abandoned me, and all the fog and haziness returned tenfold.

I was dream-walking again. Wasn’t I? When would I wake up?

I didn’t notice that I had my cell phone clutched in my hand. I remember thinking I needed to call someone to help me. Someone to calm me down and stop all this madness. I remember sticking my hand in my pocket and taking out a wet, smudged piece of paper. I could barely discern the numbers; the note was almost ruined. I dialed. It took two rings for him to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I whispered, shivering.

“Who is this?”

“It’s me, Joey. I need help,” I pleaded, my voice faltering, my teeth still chattering from the cold.

I think he asked for directions. I don’t remember what I said. There was a street sign a few feet away and there was the park. I didn’t know the name of the park. I didn’t remember reading the signs, either. All I knew was that the phone line cut and I remained on the bench, too drained to move, too tired to do anything. I just sat there and trembled from the cold. Soon I couldn’t feel my fingers any more, or my feet. I couldn’t feel anything except the cold, and I was aware of nothing but the sound of rain falling down, thunder rolling above me and the yellow, sickening light flickering from the streetlamp.

Maybe this would be a good time to wake up. This dream wasn’t fun any more.

And then a car stopped right in front of me, making me glance up. He walked out of the car, his face consumed by worry. He asked me things. I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t speak, I was shaking too violently, too far gone, barely seeing him, my mind a shambles.

He grabbed me by the arms and tried to walk me to the car. I managed only a couple of steps before crumbling to the ground. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me. I think I passed out, or just drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, like I was submerged in water, dreaming I was drowning. My body was too exhausted to fight back and to be awake. I thought he carried me up some stairs at some point. But I couldn’t be sure.

I was aware of feeling dry and warm again, and being in a dark room. And then I was aware of nothing.

I woke up groggily, my eyelids heavy as lead. I felt like I had a hangover, but without the headache, just a heavy weariness inside. I couldn’t quite identify what was wrong, but something definitely felt it.

I let out a ragged breath and only then became aware of the heavy arm draped around me. And the different bed and the strange room. This wasn’t home. Where was I? And most importantly,
whom
was I with?

I turned around slowly and was trying to dislodge the stranger’s arm from me when he shifted on the pillow.

Caleb woke up, blinking at me, looking a little startled.

“Hey. You’re up,” he said. He let go of me and yawned. “How are you feeling?”

I moved to the edge of the bed, while he came to sit next to me, ruffling his dirty-blond hair. He was wearing large sweatpants and an old Rolling Stones T-shirt. “You gave me quite the scare last night, Joey.”

“I did?” I tested out my voice hesitantly, and breathed a sigh of relief when I found I sounded normal again. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t know! You tell me,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I don’t remember …” I rubbed my eyes, tiredly. “How did I end up here?”

Everything was a distant blur; I only remembered fractures of things, glimpses of scenes. It was like trying to recover a dream that was slipping away. The harder I tried to pinpoint it, the faster it drifted away from my memory.

“Don’t you remember calling me?”

“No. I called you?” I asked, surprised. My head felt kind of numb.

“You don’t remember me picking you up from the bus stop, close to dawn, completely soaked, freezing to death in that blasting storm, barefoot and looking quite … out of it?” He glanced at me worriedly.

I blinked slowly, trying hard to recollect last night’s events. “It’s all hazy and jumbled,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I think I was in the park … walking … for a while.”

I remember screaming, men screaming, the rain, the wind, burning flesh, rattling chains …

I shook my head. Something inside flashed in alarm – a warning.
Don’t go there.
It was best to leave this memory buried wherever it was.

Caleb noticed my distress and put a hesitant arm around me, trying to be reassuring. “Hey, don’t worry. It was probably some heavy shit someone gave you; you had a bad trip or whatever there. You should be careful with this stuff … I had a friend once who tripped so bad he was never the same again …

“Hell, I had my share of heavy stuff too, back in the party days. Took me a while to realize the shit isn’t worth it. Take my advice, you’re better off staying away from that.”

“I didn’t …” I trailed off, unable to tell him that I had never done drugs in my life. But how else was I going to explain last night to him? “What happened when you picked me up? Did I say anything?” I asked instead.

He shook his head. “No, you were basically freezing to death and almost passed out. I got you here, dried you up, put you in some warm clothes and laid you in bed.”

Only then did I notice I was wearing one of his T-shirts. It had a faded Foo Fighters logo on it and it was too large for me, covering me to the middle of my thighs. I knew I should feel embarrassed or something – he had taken my clothes off and all – but I wasn’t. I didn’t care. Inside there was no embarrassment or shame, just numbness.

“Then I went to change into something dry myself, and I came back to give you a blanket. You still looked like you were so cold … But when I’d covered you up, you grabbed my wrist, and didn’t want to let go. You’ve got quite the death grip on you!” he said, playfully rubbing his wrist. “The more I tried to pull, the more you tightened your hold. I gave up and lay by your side.” He chuckled, but then changed his expression to serious again. “I hope you don’t think I was taking advantage … I was planning to crash on the couch, but you were dead set on not letting go.”