by L. E. Bross
“Hello?” I croaked out through my overly dry mouth.
It had spoken last night. It had called me Princess. My subconscious was officially crazy.
I snorted at the absurdity, then cringed as the sound echoed around in my head. My gaze roamed over every inch of its face for signs of life. It sat still as, well, stone. The creature's blank eyes stared at me, its teeth bared in a hideous grin that was now seared into my mind.
I thought I'd made it all up.
It was just a figment of too much whiskey and an overabundance of lack of fucks that I gave last night. I took a wobbly step closer and reached out. My hand shook, though whether from fear or the hangover from hell I didn't know for sure.
I brushed my trembling fingers across its leg, waiting for the beast to spring to life. The coolness of the granite sent a shiver up my spine. When nothing happened I slid my hand up the neck, the stone abrading my hand before it rested next to the mouth.
My breath lodged in my throat. When I slipped my fingers between its pointed teeth, all sounds ceased in my head except the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.
Nothing happened. Of course it didn't. It was just a statue.
The laugh of relief escaped before I knew it. With more reassurance, I removed my hand while adrenaline pumped through me. I made it across the roof without a backwards glance, content to keep from asking the question that would make last night all too real.
Because there had never been a gargoyle statue on our roof, and now, after the most real nightmare of my life, there was.
The roof door slammed shut behind me, severing the final links to what I feared might just be the last remaining bits of my sanity.
Chapter 2
I showered quickly so I wouldn't wake Mom.
Explaining why I wasn't in school this morning would end up in another fight. Not that she would do anything except bitch at me about how 'that damned' social worker would come by now to 'check up on me' and Mom would have to clean the place up.
I dug through an old cardboard box that was my dresser until I found a ratty black hoodie. All my clothes were hand-me-downs and pretty much useless, but they were all I had.
I threw it on over the black Metallica tank top that I had scored at some forgotten thrift store ages ago. My jeans had holes in the knees and were faded almost to see through, but it was my luck that was the trend right now.
Who knew looking poor was so vogue.
Thankfully, I had not grown much over the past few years, still too skinny and boyish to worry about my old clothes getting too small yet. Which was for the best since we barely had enough money for food. Clothes were not a priority. Well, clothes for me anyway.
I definitely did not get my build from my mother who leaned more towards the 'plush' figure–more cushion for the pushin is what she called it. Always the lady, my mom.
My army green canvas backpack sat on the floor next to my bed, and I wrapped the worn straps around my fingers. Digging through Mom's not so secret stash, I grabbed a couple of crumpled twenties and shoved them into my pocket, not thinking too hard about where they came from.
I didn't want to put my black army boots on inside, in case she heard me, so I carried them out the door.
So far, my luck held. I managed to avoid getting caught.
I tied the boots in record time and slung the backpack over one shoulder. After tugging my hood up over my head, I started down the endless flights of stairs to the street. The stairwells were dim and smelled like piss. I didn't even want to think about what went on in them as I hurried down floor after floor until I finally reached the street level.
I kicked the piled up trash off the steps and ignored the sunken-eyed kids sitting there. Everyone for themselves in this world, but I didn't need to tell them that. From the look on their faces, they already knew.
Two blocks and I made it to the bodega on the corner. It was empty when I went in and the stale air swirled around me, thick with the scent of fried food. My boots stuck to the dirty linoleum. I quickly grabbed a greasy ham and cheese sandwich, sixty-four ounce Big Gulp, and a cheap bar of chocolate.
Mr. Lopez smiled at me through his bulletproof glass and slid my change out the tiny opening. The subway was another block over, so I stuffed my sandwich and candy in the bag and walked quickly with my head down, my Big Gulp held like a shield in front of me.
Eye contact in this neighborhood was either taken as an invitation or challenge, so I kept my shoulders hunched and my gaze glued to my boots. It was actually pretty easy to be invisible when you looked like everyone else around you. Usually.
“Hey baby,” some creep called out from garbage-covered steps.
I scrunched tighter and made my feet go a little faster. But not too fast. If it seemed like I was running from him, it would only make it worse. Guys like that loved the thrill of the chase.
Once, years ago, I told some drunk to fuck off when he propositioned me. He'd flown off his stoop and chased me for two blocks before I slipped behind a dumpster. The space had been too small for him to fit through and after calling me every filthy name he knew, he gave up and left. I sat there for hours, shaking and crying.
The thing I remember most was that not a single person tried to help me.
I was ten.
Ever since, I've kept my head down and my mouth shut.
With the memory fresh in my head, I hurried down the steps to the train and slid my Metro card at the closest turnstile. Please Swipe Again blinked at me and my hand shook. Fear reared up and the back of my neck prickled. Was he behind me? I didn't dare turn around. I swiped and this time, the screen lit up with GO and I pushed through, racing onto the B train just as the doors swished shut.
I stumbled erratically to the back of the car and sank into the very last seat. I always faced the crowd with my back to the wall. No one could sneak up on me that way.
I guzzled half my pop to dislodge the panic still wedged in my throat. I hated feeling freaked out like that, it made me too aware that I was vulnerable just because I was a girl. I hated being vulnerable.
My hood covered most of my face and I stuffed my backpack into the vee of my stomach, resting my feet next to me. I tucked the Big Gulp under my seat. It was a short ride, my stop only about twenty minutes away. When my pulse finally returned to normal, I exhaled and let my shoulders relax. My head fell forward onto my arms and I let my eyes close for a brief second.
Exhaustion from the night before settled over my body as the train lulled me. I came to with a start and cursed my own stupidity. I knew better than to fall asleep on the B and it pissed me off I had done it so easily.
A man watched me from the seat next to my feet and leered when he noticed me staring. His hand came out and rested on my ankle, his thumb rubbing just above my boot. The touch sent shocks of revulsion up my leg. The urge to kick him in the face churned in my gut.
If he moved any higher, I would though.
“Back off asshole,” I growled and tucked my knees up even closer to my chest.
He slid into the seat where my feet had just been, then tried to move even closer. I brought my knife out of a slit in my boot and draped my arm across my knee. He licked his lips and looked around.
“Whoa, settle down. Was just bein friendly.” He held up his hands and slid back away, then stood and pretended to zip up his jacket before moving a few feet to the front. I met several different gazes but the commuters just looked away.
He could have attacked me right here and no one would have helped me. It's why I had made the sheath in my boot in the first place. In my world, if you didn't look out for yourself, no one else was gonna do it.
I learned that the old-fashioned way.
The scar along my forearm throbbed with the reminder as I slid the blade smoothly back into my boot. Three years ago this same thing had happened, but back then I hadn't had the knife. Hadn't known how to defend myself. That's the day I met Torin. I guess technically he saved my life and I owed h
im for it.
I hate owing people anything. Makes them think they can take advantage. I guess in reality, Torin and I both took advantage of each other at first though. He got me all the booze I wanted and I gave him the only thing that was mine to give. I suppose I still use him, though it's different now. I care about him more than I expected.
I need him now.
And it wasn't like I didn't enjoy it. He knew what he was doing and I enjoyed myself as much as the next person. Pretty even trade, I'd say.
I watched the man from under my hood and except for a few quick glances back at me, he kept his distance and got off two stops later.
My stop came up, 103rd Street, and I quickly slipped out between briefcases and patent leather shoes so polished I could almost see myself in them. Why on earth do people need such shiny shoes?
Probably to get a better view of the asses they kiss all day. That thought made me grin as I shoved my way through the crowd. When I got above ground, I stopped and inhaled. The air smells different in Manhattan. Cleaner, more refined. The scent of money and opportunity. Even through the exhaust fumes, I can smell it. It's not surprising though, because being here is like another world.
Someone shoved me aside but I didn't even care. I was too focused on the reason for the trip. Across the rushing traffic was Central Park. A magical oasis in the middle of city too busy to even appreciate it.
I'm sure the rich bastards with the best views never even looked out their windows. Or considered how lucky they were.
The park has always been someplace wonderful to me. A place where I come alive as soon as I enter, like a flower that finds sun. The first time I was here—one of the few times my mom acted like a Mom and took me to the zoo—it felt like coming home.
Though, not like any home I've ever known, having moved from apartment to apartment all my life.
It's more…the place where I belong. My spot in life.
My feet knew the way from memory, and I didn't even notice the people who pointedly ignore me anymore. Or the ones who step around in a wide circle when they pass. Snobby nannies pushing silver spoon-fed babies or yuppie college kids sipping froofy coffee drinks while talking about their futures. They acted like if they get too close to me, the poor would rub off on their perfectly tailored clothes.
It used to piss me off. I would glare or bare my teeth at them on purpose. Laugh at the fear on their faces. But when it turned to disgust it only made me feel like dog shit on their shoes. I decided they weren't worth the effort.
Now I just ignore them, too.
The path I chose wound through the trees, and I inhaled the earthy, humid air as I walked. I could hear the stream already. The soft gurgling of the water sounded like a welcome home greeting, and I smiled as the tension slipped from my body.
My guard loosened and my shoulders relaxed. It was something I only did here. Where I was really free. No monsters, no teachers, no good-for-nothing-so-called friends. It was just me, hidden away in this small part of the world that wanted me.
At the last turn, my feet slowed. I knew what was around the bend but prolonged it as long as possible. My heart skipped a beat when it finally came into view. The Huddlestone Arch was what it was called, but it was too majestic to be confined to just a name in my mind. To me, it was a gateway to somewhere magical.
Some place safe.
My fingers ran over the rough edges of stone before I stepped under the archway. Coolness surrounded me like an embrace. The big rock there was my throne. My spot. The breath I'd been holding came out in a soft sigh and I let the enchantment of the place wash over me. The tension and despair faded away, replaced by a calm sense of rightness.
If only I could just stay here, live forever under my arch, life wouldn't be so bad. Here I could forget exactly who I was—Mercedes Hope, the daughter of a hooker. Here I could be anyone I wanted.
Here I could be someone.
I settled on top of the cool stone and dug out my now cold sandwich. The over salted ham stung my lips and when I tried to wipe it away, mustard smeared across my sleeve. An angry yellow stain to remind me who I was.
Even in this place, I couldn't escape the reminder of what I really was.
Chapter 3
I sat under the cover of shadows until voices broke through my reflection. Tension stiffened my shoulders and I scrambled into the darker crook under the arch.
Sometimes people would walk by and I hated them for it—for the invasion of my space. I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep from shouting at them to go away like that maniacal old bag lady on the corner of Fiftieth did.
They walked by, a couple so immersed in each other they didn't even notice me cowering in the shadows. My hands unclenched and I slowly climbed back up onto my rock. I tried not to stare at their retreating backs. At the way his arm wrapped around her waist or how she leaned on him.
Yearning filled me to the point of physical pain. I wished Torin were here with me right this moment to remind me that I mattered to someone. I had too much hate inside me to ever hope for something like love and happily ever after. Those were fairy tales. Stories that existed only in books, but not in real life, not for people like me.
What I had with Torin, that was all I could ever hope for and even that would end one day. Something that good in my life would not last. I couldn't. I watched my mother try to find something to be happy about for years and every time she thought she had it, it would slip through her fingers and she would sink down deeper into the darkness.
I barely recognized her anymore.
A few minutes later, two children ran by me, shouting for someone to catch them. I listened to their excited laughter and tried to remember ever being that free. A man's deep amusement echoed around me and I jumped in surprise at how close it was.
“Daddy, come catch me,” the small boy shouted and started running again.
The man turned and smiled at his son. My breath lodged in my throat at that look of adoration. I wanted to hate that child, that clean, happy boy who was at the park with his father today.
Why couldn't that have been me?
I had no idea who my father was. Some nameless John that paid my mother for sex. I wasn't born from love so why would I ever think I could find it.
Tears spiked my lashes, but I fought the urge to let them go. Crying never changed what I was. I blinked them back before any fell and shoved my half-eaten sandwich into my pack. I needed to walk, to get rid of this stupid longing clogging my pores, choking the breath out of my body.
The sanctity of my private space seemed polluted now that reality had intruded on it. I followed the path along the Ravine, watching the small waterfall, hoping the sound would soothe the ache inside. Nothing helped ease this unwelcome craving that constricted my chest.
I found myself walking towards the Wildflower Meadow. Everything would be in full bloom this time of year. I needed the color right now, to see life shining bright in this urban sprawl and pollution. That despite everything pushing against them, the flowers survived. Flourished, even. The flowers should be beautifully alive with reds, greens, yellows, but my vibrant talisman had withered. The flowers were dried up; ugly and brown. And like a flame succumbing to the wind, it seemed the lights went out inside me too.
The same family who crossed under my arch raced out into the field on the other side. I heard the small girl squeal. No matter how much I disliked their happiness, it seemed a shame they had to witness this too.
“Daddy, aren't they pretty. Look at all the pretty colors,” she shouted, throwing her arms wide and spinning in a circle.
I looked at the flowers again, blinking, trying to see what the child did, but all I saw was a field of colorless death. Despair sank down onto my shoulders. The monsters who haunted my nightmare had finally managed to destroy this last place of refuge for me.
The oppressive weight threatened to send me to my knees, but I fought it away. I would not fall in front of anyone. Especially not a family wh
o still saw life blossoming.
Without feeling or thought, I walked towards the north part of the park. I didn't give the meadow a cursory glance back. Like it would be any different than a few moments ago. I walked and walked without really seeing.
Deep into the North Woods I would find what I needed.
Already I could feel them waiting for me.
The Shadows.
As I made my way towards my own destruction, a sense of calm descended. The trees eventually thickened, and I went even deeper into the dense woods.
The shadows abruptly sprang to life around me, hissing and twisting with glee. I ignored the voice in my head that screamed at me to run away. Instead I took another step closer, into the blackness. This was it. The pain would finally come to an end.
I stopped and tipped my head back. “I give up,” I screamed. “You win.”
The fear inside me went away at last.
But so did my monsters.
Hours later, I still sat on the cool steps of the Blockhouse deep within the forest and I waited.
The bits of sunlight that filtered through the trees when I first entered were gone. Darkness grew all around me and I shivered. I wasn't scared, not even as the sky grew darker. I was just confused.
This was what I thought the shadowy monsters wanted. To get me alone, without the drugs or alcohol to numb my brain. I'd catch them in moments of sobriety, small glimpses in a dark corner, a shadow on the ceiling, or creeping fingers along an alley. They never bothered me and somehow I knew it was because I tried to forget them. Pretended not to see the way they hovered around me.
But I wasn't forgetting right now.
I wanted them to find me.
Even though the shadow grew deeper, they weren't the kind that followed me.
My shadows were now missing.
When I walked into the woods earlier, they had swarmed around me, dipped through the trees and kept pace, encouraged me to go deeper into the thick growth. I was alone, vulnerable, and it was the perfect opportunity for them. I wasn't going to even try to stop them this time.