Surely he’d been home and left me a note.
Making my way from one small, windowless bedroom to the next, I found his bed appeared messed up, since I’d left it made, I assumed this meant he’d been home for a bit today.
There was nothing in the main room, but there was a bright orange post-it note stuck to the olive-colored refrigerator: “Ash, I’ll be late. Sorry honey. Don’t wait up.”
Staring at that short, emotionless note all the fear of the past day rushed back into me, tearing at my insides with a vengeance. My knees gave out. I dropped to the hard gray floor and let myself flop back against the battered kitchen cupboards. Limp like a rag doll, I let the orange square burn into my vision. Then it blurred.
Hot liquid filled my eyes and ran down my face.
Fuck. I’d cried more this past week than I had the past two years of hospital visits, and I hated it.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I held on. Unable to do anything other than feel the terrible misery crawling into my bones. He’d come when Mom was sick and he’d promised to take care of me—to make sure I wasn’t alone. He’d brought me here. And he’d left me here as surely as he had all those years ago.
Expendable Ashley.
Misery transformed into anger with a lightning-fast punch of heat.
How dare he. How dare he drag me down here, to this dry, dusty demon-hovel and then abandon me here. No answers or explanations. As soon as I got my hands on him, he was going to get an earful. And then I was leaving.
I looked around the room. The gray, soulless room we were supposed to live in for the next year while my dad worked for a demon.
And I was supposed to deal with this for a whole six months?
“Screw it.”
I shot to my feet and scrubbed moisture from my face. I wasn’t waiting. I’d waited for ten years; that was more than enough.
Jim’s problems were his own.
I’d left the creepy, alley-wall-running Sunglasses back in Portland, wasting his time searching for a girl who wasn’t there. I could grab my guitar, my money—and even some of Jim’s. The thought of taking money from him left me queasy, so I decided I’d leave it. It wasn’t like he was a real parent to me—I didn’t need anything from him.
Full of righteous resolve, I marched down the hall.
Gathering my other money and guitar, I dumped all the school crap out of my bag and shoved in what I considered the essentials of life: MP3 player, laptop, two pairs of jeans, makeup kit, three metal band t-shirts and a mix of underwear and socks. I added Mom’s journal and the picture of us to the top of the pile.
I was ready to take on the world.
And this time I wouldn’t come crawling back.
Head held high, I strode from the apartment, not bothering to shut the door behind me. The keys were still on the narrow slab of counter, where I hoped they’d stay. Cleansing, empowering rage flowed through me. It drove me down the stairs and straight past the Bulldog. I nodded at her, smiled, and kept right on going out the door. Silently daring her to challenge me so I could hurl a verbal form of the maelstrom churning in my gut.
She did nothing other than watch me go. I could feel her beady eyes chasing my form all the way to the end of the block until I turned a corner and the intervening buildings stepped between.
“Kiss my ass, demons,” I muttered.
I didn’t care that Nabila and Oscar were headed to my apartment. I didn’t care about their answers. All I cared about was getting the hell out of Vegas.
Swinging my hands, I felt a weight lift off my body. I was free. Free.
I took a deep breath, savoring the sensation. This was the freedom they talked about in history class, why our forefathers fought so viciously for it.
My backpack and guitar couldn’t weigh me down. I was buoyant. Floating. No one to tell me what to do. No one to force me into uniforms or classes I couldn’t care about. My life was my own. Screw Sunglasses, I was going to LA. It was a huge city, he’d never find me. If he was even looking—which he wasn’t.
“Mine, mine, the world is mine,” I sang the words with a tune all their own.
If people stared, I didn’t notice. Or care. I hit the main road we’d traveled on the way in and started walking into the setting sun. Fitting that I’d find my future in the fiery sky before me. Who needed a trusty steed when they had music and their whole life ahead of them?
Shadows stretched longer beneath my feet. Marking a long, thin line of Ashley leaving for LA.
The sight made me smile; I was gradually outrunning myself, leaving the darkness behind in Las Vegas and moving into the bright sun of LA. It was a long walk, but I was ready to travel. I’d hitch a ride later—I wanted to be well shot of Vegas and its demons before I considered getting into a vehicle.
Walking along the side of the highway, I watched the sun turn from gold to orange to a fiery sliver of red that slipped over the horizon. Momentarily highlighting the low line of hills I was determinedly headed for. Behind me, the blazing lights of casinos prevented the night from fully claiming the sky.
The simple sign reading “Now Leaving Paradise” was my beacon of hope.
Full of hope, I sang louder as I prepared to step across the line. “Freedom, I’m coming for you—”
I fell backward onto the pavement.
Air burst from my lungs.
“Ow!” My face smarted and my butt hurt from cushioning my landing. My guitar case clattered against the pavement, my backpack keeping me upright. Dazed, I clutched my nose and looked around for what hit me.
The road was empty. The sign was a good five feet to my right.
There was nothing ahead of me. So where was the brick wall I’d just smacked into?
“What the actual fuck?”
I stood gingerly, grateful blood wasn’t gushing down my face. I darted another glance around the area, but there was only a handful of cars lighting the road. Low lying housing in uniform shades of sand was barely visible. None of them were directly in front of me. I supposed I should be glad I hadn’t walked into the broad side of a house.
Shaking myself off, I took a decisive step forward.
Thump.
The collision knocked me onto my butt—again.
It was exactly like walking into the broad side of a house. “What the hell!” I exploded. Ignoring the aching pains in my back, I jumped back to my feet. Holding fists before me, I pushed forward.
“Ouch!” My fists struck a hard, unyielding object.
It reminded me of punching the hospital wall. I’d done that once. My fists lost that contest with the white brick, just as they lost the fight with the barrier I couldn’t see before me. Splaying my hands, I felt the air in front of me. There was nothing there—nothing. I could see all the way to the mountains still tantalizingly out of reach in the distance.
But I couldn’t pass the sign. I couldn’t leave Las Vegas.
“Fuck you! Let me out!” Beating my fists against the invisible barrier, I threw every curse, every threat, every foul word I knew at it. My hands throbbed, body aching from the blows.
I shoved my shoulder against the barrier, tried to push it aside.
It didn’t budge.
“No, no, no… please move. Please let me leave,” I begged, my voice getting higher and more broken with every breath. “Please! I have to leave. I have to get out of here!” I sunk to the rough pavement, leaning against the barrier only I could see. As if in a dream, I watched a truck approach, two lone headlights slicing the darkening air. Were they coming to take me back?
I didn’t think I could let them.
Three steps and I could be in front of that truck. And this whole nightmare would end.
I was on my feet without realizing I’d gotten off the pavement.
One step and I was at the edge of the road. Two more and no Churchfield could make me harm myself. No Bulldog could watch my every move. No, Jim could hurt me by doing the same stupid things he always did.
The truck was closer. I could hear its engine growling down the strip of gray towards me. All I needed to do was take two simple steps.
“One, two…” I whispered.
A band of light swung past me. An engine roared. And the truck was past.
No. It wasn’t fair.
A shipment of prunes could leave Vegas. I couldn’t even manage to step in front of a truck. Defeated, I crumpled against the barrier that only stopped me. Battered hands wrapped around my head, I slid slowly to the ground.
Chest heaving, I surrendered to the misery coating my insides with lead.
Lying on the side of the road against the line I couldn’t cross, I let the tears fall. Wished they somehow had the power to wash my nightmare away.
I lay there for a long time, bleeding pain into the gathering night.
Sobs echoed loudly in my ears, but there was nothing other than rough desert grass to hear them. Lights passed by as the odd car and truck made their way out the city, their beams shining over me without noticing the bundle on the roadside. Behind them, Vegas’ uncaring neon-grasp lit the sky.
Another engine rumbled from afar and I dimly wondered whether this time I’d find the will to get up and try again to end things.
No. I curled into a wretched ball and cursed the world, I wanted too much out of life to leave it.
This time the growl didn’t rush by, stretching its sound as it left me behind. It dropped in tone and a bright beam fixed upon me in a steady glare. Twisting around, I pushed my cheek into the pavement and willed the vehicle away. If I couldn’t end this nightmare, then it could just leave.
The engine stopped, but the light persisted.
Footsteps crunched over sand-strewn cement. Someone had noticed me. For a moment, hope filled me. Maybe Jim had come home and was sorry… But the Buick didn’t sound like this engine did, too throaty and polished a purr for Jim’s shitty old car.
My stomach flipped.
What if it wasn’t Jim? What if it was someone else? Fear of Sunglasses had me curling into a tighter ball, hands high around my head.
“Hey, kid,” the voice was low, female and definitely didn’t belong to Sunglasses. Or anyone I knew. More footsteps drew near, hard heels making distinctive clicks and scrapes against the road. “Not been your day, huh?”
Something brushed my shoulder and I flinched.
I sensed the person hunkering down to look at me. Reluctantly I opened one eye into a narrow slit and peered from beneath my arm. The headlamp rendered the face nothing more than a silhouette, but I got the impression of dark, wavy hair.
“Go away,” I whispered, the words barely audible after my long period of abject misery.
A silhouette of a hand moved slowly towards me, fingers resting hesitantly on my shoulder. “Come on, kid. I can’t leave you here. It’s not right.”
“What do you care?” The broken question snuck out between cold lips.
The woman sighed and patted my shoulder. “I guess because I’ve been there.”
I said nothing. Been here? Doubtful. No one had been exactly here, trapped beside a road sign. Maybe she’d run away or been abused, but there was no way her dad had forced her into a demon compound and unseen forces wouldn’t let her leave Vegas.
“Go away,” I whispered.
Another sigh. “No.” This time the hand gripped my arm and gave it a decisive tug. “Up.”
I went limp, refusing to let anyone pick me up. “Things are not okay and you can’t make this better.”
“Fine.” She didn’t let go of my arm, giving it another tug. “I can’t make things better for you. But I can save your guitar from the rainstorm that’s about to hit.”
She wanted to save my guitar?
My case was waterproof, but the flight from Sunglasses had left a long crack down the side and… Another hand joined the first and I forgot to fight it before she’d pulled me to my feet.
Upright, away from the pavement, I swayed as the world shifted into a mix of bright dots moving across a night sky. I didn’t complain when she grabbed my elbows and held on until I steadied. Eventually, my feet communicated with the ground and I waved in a silent request for her to let go, which she did without protest.
Scrubbing hair and dirt from my face, I took a few steps out of the headlamp’s line of fire and got my first proper look at my guitar’s would-be savior. She was taller than me, though not in some kind of Amazon way. Standing at about five foot eight, she had on a black leather jacket, black jeans with leather strips running down the sides, and black leather shit-kickers with heavy soles that ran all the way up to just below her knees. I’d bet anything those toes were lined in steel.
“You let me know if you’re going to fall down. Okay, kid?”
I let my gaze travel almost reluctantly to my savior’s face as she spoke. Her lips quirked upwards in a lop-sided smile as she quietly endured my study. Strong cheekbones sculpted a face of angles and large, shadowed eyes into something unique. Too many edges to be beautiful in the manner of actresses, she was still the most striking person I’d ever seen.
Her lips curled further upwards as a fat droplet of rain splattered over my nose.
“Whenever you’re ready, maybe we can get out of the rain?” she said, the smile carrying into her rich voice. “It’s going to be a doozy.”
I took another step away and looked around.
We were totally alone on the darkened side of the road. Beyond the Vegas skyline, the only illumination shone from the single eye of her motorcycle, an odd spotlight for an odd moment. The woman before me was younger than Mom had been, but she had an old, worldly air about her. She was almost strangely slender, holding herself like a cat. What were the chances she was normal? I’ve been there…
My fingers curled into fists. “You’re not human, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“You here for Churchfield or the Bulldog?”
Dark brows drew together, then one lifted in question. “I don’t know who Churchfield is and I don’t have a dog.”
Another splatter of rain speckled my face with cold droplets.
I gave her my best long, cold stare, but for some reason, I believed her. “Are you going to drag me back there?”
“Wasn’t planning to drag you anywhere.” She rolled her shoulders and sent a disparaging look at the clouds. “But if you want, you can come to my place until you know where you want to go.”
I considered my options. They weren’t great. “Do you know why I can’t leave Vegas?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
There was a long pause before she gave a single nod. “If you insist. But not here.”
Admitting to myself that she was right, I couldn’t stay on the side of the road forever, especially in the rain, I figured taking off with the stranger on a bike wasn’t my worst option.
She wasn’t a sketchy truck driver who stared at my emerging breasts with poorly concealed lust. She wasn’t Churchfield—or Sunglasses.
And she could give me answers.
Chewing on my lip I hesitated, waiting to see if my sight would kick in and reveal her as some soulless beast come to cook me for dinner… Rain began pelting the pavement, a soft rhythm that promised to grow into a full-bodied percussion. Giving up, I shrugged in defeat.
“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll go with you.”
“Alright, kid,” she held out her black, shiny bike helmet at me. “Think this’d be better on you. We’ll drive careful. Make sure that guitar is strapped on tight.”
Lucky me.
If I survived hitching a ride with yet another new creature, I’d find out why I couldn’t escape the first ones.
Chapter Thirteen
Blue and purple neon letters declared the back alley door as the gateway to the Ground Zero, apparently our destination.
We’d made the depressingly short twenty-minute journey from my spot along the highway back into Paradise, Nevada. Turning down a narrow roa
d was like entering another world, hidden in the nooks and crannies between flashing signs and bold amusements.
My savior pulled her bike into a space between a metal dumpster and a stack of crates. Pulling the borrowed helmet from my head, I carefully dismounted. The rain was falling with a vengeance now, peppering the world with sound and liquid, and I’d had to hang on to her to stay stable with the unbalanced weight of backpack and guitar case sitting on my back.
I’d learned one thing—this woman might be slender, but she was very strong.
I cautiously handed the helmet back to her and stood awkwardly in the narrow width of gray and tan that comprised the alley. Planning to lie about my age in LA was one thing, actually entering a bar run by someone who wasn’t human… that was another.
“Come on, kid, let’s get out of the rain.” She motioned me towards the door.
“Er—” I looked between her and the door.
“Don’t worry. Business hours aren’t until later. And only when I fancy it.” She winked at me. Turning she headed towards the door; pulled keys from chain connected her belt to her back pocket, and opened the door with a quiet click. “We probably have something that isn’t illegal to give you,” she added before she stepped inside.
“Oh hell,” I muttered and hurried after her.
The entrance was dark, and the bar inside offered only hint more illumination offered from a row of thin strips of dark blue lighting running along the bar and what looked like a stage. A rustling sounded from across the room and then round ceiling lights flickered to life above me.
“Need these to satisfy health codes,” she told me, moving fluidly between tightly packed tables. “Can’t say we use the overheads much, but I figured you might like them.”
“Thanks.” I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. My body was finally starting to register how cold it was, protesting its long sojourn on the roadside and current, soaking-wet state.
“So, what’s your name, kid?” Reaching the bar, she stayed a safe distance away while flipping on some machines on the opposite side. The top of the bar brightened, illuminated from beneath and highlighting smoky lines of blue and gray and black running through thick glass that comprised the bartop.
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