by Natalie Dean
“Take as much as you need, love.” His hand was still on her back, warm and heated yet promising things that made her blood run cold. “Probably need to put a little weight on, don’t cha? Although you don’t look so bad for being out on the street.”
“I’ve had it lucky the past month.”
“That so? Well that’s good. I know a lot of the time all you guys can do is fill yourself up on junk and fast food. Makes you gain weight something terrible, so people don’t take your hunger seriously.”
Frenchie nodded. A lot of really poor kids and some of the homeless folk ended up getting puddly because all they could eat was cheap, junky stuff. Vegetables and fruit were a premium, leaving them with carbs, carbs, carbs. The only reason Frenchie was constantly losing weight was because she had a super-fast metabolism. Even when she was living in her home, she had always struggled to hold onto her muscle and weight, and that was with eating all the time.
…she missed having a doctor. She missed having insurance.
“Just take everything you need, all right? We’re here to take care of you.”
His words may have been meant to be comforting, but because she knew what he was capable of, they just made her shiver.
Hastily, she started shoving food into her backpack, hardly paying attention to what she was doing. Normally she would go for the highest calorie counts and the most filling, but her stomach felt like it was filled with spikes—not exactly the most appetizing of situations.
But if the man thought anything strange about her selections, he didn’t say anything. No, he just walked along with her, his hand never leaving her back, occasionally sliding up her spine then back down.
It wasn’t the first time she’d ever been in such a situation. If it was, well… she never would have been out on her own anyway. She knew that he was relishing his power over her, letting that invisible meter inside of himself build up until he felt the need to move onto the next step.
It was sick. Just because she was small, just because she was in need, he thought it gave him the right to demand things from her. From people like her. But she wasn’t going to let him do it to anybody else. His hunting was going to stop with her.
But as determined as she was, her heart was pounding as her backpack was nearly full. It was time to make her move.
There, on an upper shelf, she saw some rice cereal. She’d always had an affinity for it, and it was just high enough that she was fairly certain the predator behind her would try the same thing that he had with Tawny.
“Oh, my favorite!” she said, trying to sound natural as she trotted over to it. As if she was excited and not caught somewhere between terrified and murderous. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up for the box.
It was hard to keep her body movement normal, not to tense as tight as a bow as she went through her charade. And for a moment, time stretched impossibly, suspending her in the anticipation and fear of what he would do.
Then she felt it. His hand on her spine curled around one of her hips, his other hand going to the opposite so that he was gripping her tightly. She could feel the ten pinpricks of sharp pressure from his fingers digging in, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wanted her to be still.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly. She needed to get him to speak. To say his words out loud.
“Just helping you reach, sweetheart. Here, let me get that for you.”
He took his time, one of his hands letting go of her to stretch above her head. She watched it, for the lack of a better thing to do, feeling his body press against her back much more tightly than necessary.
Even though she was wearing her hoody, it was like his slick, inky perversion was sliding across her flesh itself. Maybe even her soul. It always felt this way, when someone was trying to take something from her that she had no intention to give, and she found that it always left marks on her spirit that never quite faded.
Then, a moment or so later, it was done and he was stepping away.
“Let’s go to the freezers, shall we?”
Frenchie nodded, feeling like she was going to swallow her tongue. She didn’t really think she was a religious woman, but as she followed him into another room, she found herself internally asking for someone, maybe Jesus to help her. Or maybe for God to do something and smite his supposed servant who was looking at her like a wolf might look at a bunny naive enough to bounce into his den.
She let him corral her into a kitchen area, one wall being more like a counter at a diner where the workers could serve food to anybody visiting. It seemed that they were supposed to be giving hot meals to the community as well, judging by all the ovens and microwaves and tools, but she hadn’t heard anything about that.
Her eyes automatically scanned the entire area, taking in any escape points she could find, logging them all in her mind to call on if she needed them.
Because she certainly had a feeling she would need them.
“Which freezer?”
Then it happened. He reached out to grip her wrist, not yanking her to him but definitely stopping her forward momentum. She looked to him, trying to affix a truly terrified look on her face—which didn’t require much acting on her part.
“Yes?” she said.
“You know, I’ve been real nice to you letting you come in here after we’re supposed to be closed. Don’t you think you should thank me?” His thumb was moving in small, gentle circles on her wrist, but what the movement implied was anything but. “I could show you where they keep the real nice stuff. Jerky and steaks and all of that, if you were polite.”
“Th-th-thank you,” she whispered, trying to pull her hand away. “I appreciate it.”
He pulled her a step closer, his front almost flush to hers. “I gotta admit, you don’t seem like you mean it.”
The shake that went through her body wasn’t faked. “Y-you know what, I remember that I’ve got someplace to be. You can k-keep the food. I don’t need it.”
She went to slide her backpack off of her shoulder, pulling backward, but he just caught the strap with his other hand and shoved it right back into place.
“Come on, don’t be like that. I don’t like it when people lie to me. After I’ve been so nice to you?”
“I’m not lying!” she sputtered, trying to yank her wrist from his grip again. “Let me go!”
But he didn’t, and she knew he wouldn’t. Instead he jerked her until they were pressed right up against each other, his mouth right by her ear.
“What, you think you’re too good for me?” Suddenly the “nice,” charming parishioner was gone, leaving the man exactly as what he was: a monster in human skin. “Why is it so hard to just show a little gratitude?” He shook her harshly, and she allowed herself to be rattled. “Are you aiming to be punished? Is that it? Do you need the lesson beaten into you?”
He shoved her back and her hip collided with the counter, knocking her off-center. That allowed him to give a sharp shove to the middle of her back that sent her sprawling.
He stood over her, his foot coming down to pin her middle. She didn’t even know his name, and yet she knew she was staring at her worst enemy. His hands went to his belt while hers balled into fists at her sides, waiting for the word.
“Your lot is so uppity, so arrogant,” the man hissed. “You think you run the world, but you owe everything to us. So, you’re going to be quiet, and then you’re going to thank me for this, do you understand?”
She was frozen in place, wanting to tell him exactly what she thought of him and his tirade, but she couldn’t. She had to be helpless against him until the signal sounded.
Just then, her earpiece crackled, and she heard Solomon’s furious voice over the line.
“That’s it! You have enough evidence, so get out of there now, Frenchie! We’re already coming in.”
Thank God.
Her hands went down to her middle, where his foot was pinning her in place. Gripping his toes and his heel, she qui
ckly twisted his foot as violently to the side as she could.
He let out a curse and stumbled backward, limping, clutching the counter to hold himself up. His momentary surprise allowed Frenchie to crowd him, and she slugged him right across the face.
She’d never really been trained as a fighter but being as sporty as she was let her learn a bit about how the body worked, and then several sticky situations one right after another when she first was on her own was sort of a trial by fire. She learned that the last thing most attackers expected was for someone like her to press them, so the strategy was to rush them, get in the hits she could, then run for her life.
He shoved at her blindly, his hand flashing by her face, so she just bit it, chomping down with all of her might while her other fist punched at his throat. She missed, but that didn’t matter because her mouth didn’t, and perhaps she enjoyed the cry that rose from the man far too much.
He kicked at her, one of his big feet crashing into her thigh. She stumbled backward, knowing that there was going to be a bruise there in the morning, but she didn’t care. As she crashed into one of the stoves, she reached above her to the hanging rack and grabbed a skillet, yanking it off the hook to slam into his face.
He reeled back. Frenchie was breathing hard, hyped up on adrenaline and survival, but she knew she had pressed her advantage as much as possible. She raced for the counter, vaulting over it and toward the front door.
She barely made it a couple steps when they burst wide open, Solomon having filched the keys the day before. Except he didn’t filch so much as he told the church that his family wanted a copy of all the keys for their records and then had them make the full set for him.
But it wasn’t Solomon who burst in, but Alabama and another one of the homeless folks she knew, Adam. It was, however, enough backup for her to feel less alone, less trapped, and she turned back towards the man. He was rising up to his feet again, holding his nose in vain against the blood pouring from it. She had probably broken it.
Good.
His eyes skidded from her to the other two men, and he realized it was his advantage that was gone.
As was true with almost any predator, he really was a coward. He turned on a dime and tried to run out of the other door, where there no doubt was a back section. He didn’t make it far, however, because as soon as he threw the door open, he was tackled to the ground by none other than Solomon Miller.
“Let go of me!” the man cried. “This is assault!”
“Really?” Solomon snarled. “We have you recorded trying to sexually assault someone. We have the testimony and a medical report from the last girl you beat to a pulp. You’re sunk, buddy. The cops are already on their way.”
“You can’t record me! That’s illegal! This is a sanctuary!”
“Wrong, this is my family’s property, and Texas has single party recording laws. My advice will be to lay there and shut up until you manage to get in contact with your no doubt sleazy lawyer.”
“Your family?” The man craned his neck to look back at Solomon and went even paler.
Frenchie would have enjoyed his alarm, but she didn’t think she could be satisfied while the man was still breathing.
“It’s you,” the predator said.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“You don’t understand, brother. I’ve been set—”
Solomon clapped his hand over the man’s mouth, his anger quite evident. “Save it. I saw everything that happened through that little pin on her shirt—the pin that just so happens to be a camera. Like I said, just shut up before I do something decidedly unchristian.”
It didn’t seem possible that it could all be working out, and Frenchie found herself sort of detaching from what was happening. Nothing ever went right in her life. The bad guys never got caught, and they never had to pay for their sins. Yet that was what seemed to be happening right in front of her.
The cops didn’t take long at all to get there. Much faster than they had ever reported to any emergency Frenchie had ever had. Then again, the crime they were reporting was happening inside of a multi-million-dollar church that was funded by one of the most elite families in the area.
It wasn’t until the man was in cuffs and being taken away that Solomon came over to her, looking at her with that heady look again. “Are you all right?” he asked. His hands raised as if he wanted to touch her face, but they quickly dropped. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. My hip hurts a little, but that’s it.”
Solomon nodded. She could see his jaw moving as if he was swallowing several times, but before he could say anything, another officer was approaching them to take their statements.
The situation was still catching up to her, and Frenchie found herself not even caring about the look she got at telling the female officer she didn’t have an ID or address. Normally she would huff up and tell them if they had a problem with it, they could give her a home, but she just didn’t have it in her.
Besides, she didn’t always need to put up a fight. A lady officer was more likely not to hassle her anyway, at least from her experience, so maybe it would be best not to have another enemy.
It was like someone had put a dampener on the world. All the voices became muffled. Frenchie just stood there, watching Solomon give his own report to another officer across the way.
He was mad; she could tell that. Even though they had won, and the guy was in cuffs and being put into a police car, Solomon was still agitated. Which meant that he cared. The situation affected him. He didn’t hear about it and try to defend his church. He didn’t feel bad and then dismiss it as something that was out of his hands. No, he heard about it and then did something about it. Not only something, but researched, made a plan, and went to action.
She was always suspicious, and the man that had just gotten arrested didn’t help things. But… as she watched Solomon, she couldn’t help but feel that he just might be legit.
If he was, that would have been the last thing she expected. What was that thing her abuela had said before she passed?
Oh, right. Angels could come in all sorts of forms. She just never figured it to be very true before.
17
Frenchie
Everything was just so weird.
It had taken them over an hour and a half before the cops let them all leave, the officers telling them that they would be contacted with more questions later. The cops hadn’t been pleased when they found out that none of them had phone numbers beyond Solomon and the hotel, and the hotel stay was ending in just a few days. The best compromise the group could come up with was giving them the phone numbers of two of the local shelters they promised to stop by every few days.
And then they just… went home?
It was bizarre. And it was equally bizarre to wake up knowing that, for the first time in her life, she had helped to make someone pay for what they had done instead of just running away.
It was a good feeling, a real addictive one, and she began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was one iota of power and righteousness that she could grab onto and use to fight when these sorts of things happened.
“Huh, that really happened, didn’t it?” She rolled over in bed to see Tawny’s eyes open on the bed across from her. Her bruises were almost gone now, with only her two chipped teeth and the speckling in her eyes still being the most prominent signs of her injuries. “We really bagged him.”
“He still has to be charged, and then there will be a trial, but Solomon said if they try to go easy on the guy that he’s going to make sure that they don’t.”
“Sounds ominous. What does that mean? He’s gonna go all vigilante on them?”
Frenchie laughed. “Hardly. I think he means to get his family’s connections and mega-pants lawyers involved.”
“Wow. Things really get done when you’re loaded, huh?”
“Seems like it.” Frenchie knew what the young girl meant. They all worked together in a web to protect each
other, warning of people who hurt, who took advantage, who was to be trusted, because they’d learned along the way that no one cared what happened to them. But Solomon did care, Frenchie was almost sure of it now. And she was beginning to wonder how many of her beliefs were true, and how many were suspicions engrained into her by the worst of the worst.
And how in the heck was she supposed to find out?
“Whatever you did to that guy, I need to find me a rich man and do it too—because I was so certain I was dead for a while, but this has turned out to be two of the best weeks of my life in… what… ten years?”
“You’re seventeen, Tawny, ten years is basically your whole life.”
“Excuse you, it’s only a little more than half. Don’t give me that adult tone when you’re only six years older than me.”
Frenchie sat up, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Six years is more than a third of your life. Don’t sass at me.”
Tawny let out an indignant sound and the next thing Frenchie knew, a pillow smacked her in the face. It fell away quickly, with both girls staring in surprise.
“Oh, my gosh,” Tawny whispered, her smile growing. “I just hit you with a pillow. I basically started a pillow fight like a regular girl. I… why does this seem so important?”
“Well,” Frenchie answered slowly. “It’s important because you”—her fingers slowly curled around the edge of her own pillow, and then she was bringing it down on Tawny’s head—“forgot to never drop your guard!”
The young girl let out a squeal as the pillow hit, and then it was on. Laughing, jumping around, the two of them were absolutely ridiculous as they bapped and bopped each other with the soft things. Frenchie knew it was a bit childish, but she didn’t care. After everything that had happened, they deserved a little levity. A little nonsense. On the streets, there wasn’t enough time for a pillow fight, or even pillows to fight with, and trying it in the shelters might result in being kicked out or banned. Something none of them could afford, but especially not the young ones.