by Jeyn Roberts
I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve fantasized about killing Rufus over the years. The countless times I’ve plotted out the details in my mind or even scribbled in notebooks when I’m supposed to be paying attention in class. I’ve come up with some far-fetched ideas and others that seem like the perfect murder. I’ve thought of countless accidents and simple plots that require a single gunshot or knife to the throat.
But I’ve never thought beyond that. Not once.
Chael thinks I’m selfish and that I forgot about him but that’s not true. There’s a reason why I never replaced my nightstand and why I continued to trace Christian’s initials in the melted wax that covers the top.
Because my revenge was also his.
And now it’s gone.
Is it really so bad that Chael reclaimed it for his own?
I kick the lamppost once as hard as I can, ignoring the pain in my toes. I deserve this. I spin around to kick it again but something else catches my attention. Across the street, I can see someone walking toward me but it’s too dark to see their face.
If it’s Chael, I should probably apologize. Perhaps I’ve been looking at this from the wrong perspective. Instead of being selfish, I should be thankful that Chael did the job. Besides, there’s still Ming Bao and Phil Sabado. They’re not nearly as satisfying but I guess I can’t be choosy at this point.
I look up at the approaching figure, ready to open my mouth and call over to him. It’s got to be Chael.
He comes into the light.
My vocal cords freeze. My mouth remains wide open.
It’s not Chael.
It’s Rufus.
Seventeen
Rufus crosses the street and moves toward me. I can’t seem to do anything except stare at him. Is he a ghost? After everything I’ve seen, I can’t dismiss that idea without solid evidence.
Solid evidence? Ghost? Right.
The stupidity paralysis doesn’t break until he’s right on top of me. Grabbing hold of my jacket, he shoves me sideways and up against the wall. His arm presses down on my throat, pinning me to the brick. He brings his face in close and studies my face long and hard.
Then he pulls out the gun and holds it right between my eyes.
Fear. Icy, burning, confusing, leg-numbing terror crawls all over my skin like a thousand chewing insects. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I stare down the barrel of the gun.
“I don’t know you.”
My eyes flicker over in Rufus’s face. He’s got his face right up against mine. He presses harder against my windpipe and I start to see stars. The dancing type. But the second the edge of my world starts to darken, he eases off a bit and the air rushes back down my throat.
“I said I don’t know you.” Rufus turns his head to the side and then back, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, and his eye starts twitching. His gin-blossomed nose is almost pressed against mine. I can smell the rank alcohol on his breath.
He continues to wait so finally I manage a little nod.
“So if I don’t know you, why the hell do you keep turning up like a bad penny?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I finally manage to get the words out. My throat burns from where he pressed against my windpipe and my voice is barely more than a whisper.
“I’ve been seeing you for some time now,” Rufus says. “You always standing here like some sort of whorish gutter rat. But you’re more than that, aren’t you? There’s a reason why you’re here. You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you one of Trank’s girls?”
The terror keeps me from laughing. I’m far too old for Trank to be interested. The thought of him willingly touching me makes me shudder in repulsion. I shake my head as much as I can.
“You’re not a cop.” More of a statement than a question.
I cough twice. My throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.
“But you’re someone. Why else would you be following me? At first I didn’t think much about it,” Rufus says, ignoring my pathetic coughs and splutters. He’s talking more to himself now, not even looking in my direction. The gun, however, moves until it’s planted against my jawbone. “But then some of my buddies have gone and got themselves killed. And I hear stories about how this young girl managed to beat the crap outta some of my boys the same night Trank gets himself broken up. So I’m trying to figure out who’s going after my men. And all of a sudden I remember you. Why is that?”
“No idea.”
“And then tonight another one of my men bites it and here you are.”
“Who?”
Chael lied to me. He killed someone but it wasn’t Rufus. Ming? Phil? I open my mouth to speak but Rufus shoves me against the wall again and my head cracks hard against the brick. He raises the gun until it’s right against my teeth.
This is it. I’ve failed my revenge. All that training and I’m useless. I can’t even raise my leg high enough to kick him. I should have done better. Gazer taught me to defend against everything. A gun isn’t any more threatening than a fist. So why did I freeze and why can’t I fight back?
Gazer was right. I’m not ready.
“I don’t like coincidences, girlie, and you’re turning out to be one, don’t you think?” Rufus smiles at me but there’s no light in his eyes. The weapon moves downward, tracing an invisible line along my neck and then back up to my forehead.
“I didn’t do anything,” I finally manage to say.
He holds the gun up for what seems like forever before finally pulling it back a few inches. Suddenly he releases his grip and I collapse to the ground before my legs manage to regain balance. I land in a deep puddle and cold water assaults my lower body. Rufus kicks me hard, right in the side, and pain shoots through me, reducing me to curling up into a ball and trying to bite back the tears as they threaten to fall.
I’m not tough at all. It’s all been an act. How could I not know this?
“Your face is familiar and I never forget a face,” Rufus says. “You were there the other night at the docks. Why?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Don’t lie to me. I saw you outside the bar and then at the docks. You and that dorky kid with the glasses. I thought I shot him but I missed. You’re not as invisible as you think.”
“I’m not following you,” I gasp. “I swear.”
Rufus kicks me again. My right leg spasms in the wet puddle.
“Who are you?”
“No one.”
Another kick.
I raise my voice as high as I can. “No one!”
Wham.
Again.
I’m going to pass out. I can’t take this pain. It’s horrible. Even a Heam addiction is better than this.
I need Chael.
Bright lights turn the corner and start heading in our direction. A car. Maybe a cop? Can I ever hope to be that lucky?
Rufus’s gun quickly disappears into his jacket pocket. He kneels down on the ground and grabs me by the hair. Lifting up my face, he whispers right in my ear. “I’m going to figure it out. Then I’m coming for you. Don’t you forget it, bitch.”
He slams my head against the wall one last time and then disappears into the darkness. I lie there, half against the wall, stars swimming in my eyes and pain throbbing through every single muscle in my body. I watch the car as it moves past. It doesn’t slow, but continues on. The driver didn’t even see me.
Panicking, I struggle to my feet. I have no idea how far Rufus got. If he’s close enough to see the car go by, he might come back to finish the job.
I’ve got to get out of here.
My legs won’t work. They refuse to hold my weight. So I start to crawl on my hands and knees. I have to get away. My fingers are numb from the cold rain but I can’t stop.
I make it over fifty feet before my legs stop shaking. I don’t look back. If Rufus is coming after me, I don’t want to see. I push myself up on one knee and manage to get into a standing position.
It’s not until I’m several blocks away that I allow myself to cry out in pain before collapsing in a doorway. I stay there for half an hour, curled up against the wood, trying to keep quiet as the tears roll down my cheeks.
Finally, I force myself to get up and slink through the streets as quiet as a mouse to try to make it home before Gazer wakes up.
This is my own fault. There’s no one to blame but myself.
I wasn’t on my guard. The one thing Gazer keeps telling me is that I constantly have to be aware of my surroundings. I allowed my emotions to take control of my brain. I screwed up tonight, big-time. I’ve paid the price. My ribs feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder.
I won’t make that mistake again.
I wake up late, realizing instantly that Gazer hasn’t come in to check on me. Concerned, I listen to the church, waiting for a telltale sound that he might be puttering around in the kitchen or reading by the fireplace.
Nothing.
Did I screw up again? Maybe Rufus followed me home? No, I was careful. I checked every few minutes to make sure no one was behind me. Is it possible I was outsmarted again? What if he came while I was sleeping and did something to Gazer? What if Rufus killed him in revenge for what Chael and I’ve done to him?
This wasn’t part of the plan.
I roll out of bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in my stomach and rib cage as I force my muscles back into action. So sore.
It takes me a while to climb down the stairs. Partly because I’m trying to be quiet but also because my limbs are stiff and screaming at me with every step. I slip on the third step from the bottom and almost tumble the rest of the way. I manage to grab the banister at the last second, clamping my teeth down hard to keep from screaming.
So much for a graceful entrance.
“Faye?”
Gazer. I come around the corner and he’s by the fireplace, a cup of coffee in his hand, several books stacked on the table in front of him.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” My voice sounds like gravel and I swallow twice, trying to force the spit through the sandpaper that is my throat. I plop down in my chair, hoping the pain doesn’t show on my face. I should have looked in the mirror first.
“Thought you deserved a day off,” Gazer says without so much as glancing in my direction. “Obviously, I was right.”
Relief overpowers me. Gazer is safe. I’m safe for the moment. I’m sure even Chael is safe right now although he’s still in the doghouse as far as I’m concerned.
“How was your date last night?”
“It was good,” I lie. “Casual. We just went for coffee and talked a lot.” I decide to keep the date window open. I may be able to use it as an excuse in the future. Also, pretending I’m happy is easier than coming up with a story to cover the truth.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Gazer says. “Not that I worry, but I’m always here if you need to talk.”
I force myself to smile. “I know.”
“There’s still some coffee in the kitchen,” Gazer says. “We’re almost out. I’m heading to the store this afternoon so I’ll pick up some more. I’ve left a list on the counter so if there’s anything else you need, be sure to put it down.”
I stand, ignoring the wobbly knees and the stomach spasms. Coffee sounds perfect. Then a nice hot shower. I’ll be as good as new.
“Faye?”
I pause and look back at him. Gazer is staring right at my face.
“Are you sure there’s something you’re not telling me?”
I almost burst out laughing. Where would I begin? The list keeps growing every day. But I keep my face impassive and shake my head.
“Everything’s fine,” I say.
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
When did I start lying to Gazer? I can’t remember. I once told him everything but that was back when things were simpler. Before Chael. Before Beth and Arnold Bozek and Paige LeBlanc. Way before I got thrown out of school for something I didn’t do and now the entire school is fighting to get me back and I can’t tell him about that either. He’d like that one. Gazer always says that one day people will start fighting for equality again. But fighting for me? I never saw that one coming.
Rufus knows me now. Okay, so I said that would be the biggest mistake I could ever make. How large of an error is it, though? It’s not like his face lit up in joy and he yelled out “Holy crap, you’re Faye!” He doesn’t remember the little girl and boy he left on the pavement all those years ago. Have I really been so arrogant to assume that he would? That he’d take one look at me and remember such an insignificant event?
It was the worst event of my entire life.
For him, it was just another day.
A few more gutter rats bite the dust.
Okay, Rufus, this is it. You know my face but you don’t know who I am. That’s fine. When the time is right, you will remember because I will tell you. But I’m not going to make the same mistake again. It was very stupid of me to be so vulnerable. I see that now. I’ve been harboring this crazy idea that I’ve been invincible because of all my hate. I got careless.
It won’t happen again.
My fingers trail along my stomach, wincing at the tender spots from Rufus’s boots. What was that nonsense he was spouting about never forgetting a face? If that were true, he would have remembered mine.
I look at my face in the bathroom mirror. Wiping the steam off the glass, I examine my eyes and cheekbones to make sure there are no bruises. Nothing. My stomach is purple and black and so is part of my rib cage.
I can deal with that.
I slide my fingers across my scars. The skin is soft and slightly tighter than on the rest of me. The red spiderweb veins thrust away from my heart and along my chest and across my shoulder. They’re not really ugly. It’s a pattern, actually, and not a horrible one. Why have I spent so much time hating them?
No more.
I am done pretending to be someone I’m not.
I will stand up and fight and I will win.
It’s time to take my revenge no matter what Chael and Gazer say. Afterward I will march myself straight to hell and accept whatever punishment the afterlife decides to dish out.
Leaving the bathroom, I get dressed quickly, pulling on my jeans and a black sweater with a high neck. I pick up the switchblade I keep buried in my drawer and put it in my back pocket.
I should be carrying this all the time. I guess I’ve gotten so used to people leaving me alone that I didn’t realize I still needed it. The blade presses against my butt and I’m comforted knowing it’s there.
I grab the gift certificate for the hair salon off the table. First things first. There’s not much I can do in the daytime so I might as well spend the day saying goodbye to Beth. I just hope that what happens to me won’t affect her rehabilitation. Just because I am choosing a different path doesn’t mean she needs to end up like me. She could be anything she wants. A teacher. A doctor. An artist. Anything she sets her mind to.
I’m living proof of that.
No one can ever accuse me of not going after what I want.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
I’m sitting in Ramona’s office and the counselor is at her desk, forcing a cup of coffee and some stale cookies on me. I should have suspected it was bad news when she asked me to join her first. I just thought maybe she had the information on the courses she was trying to persuade me to take.
Heam counselor my ass. They’d be stupid to ever let someone like me get involved with helping people. After all, once a gutter rat, always a gutter rat. They never change. They
can’t once it’s in their blood. They’d kill their own grandmother for another journey to heaven. Why would anyone trust me for a job? I can’t even keep a single addict from running away.
“She went out her window last night,” Ramona says. “She was there when the night staff checked around midnight so she must have taken off after that. I’m sorry, Faye. I know how much you care for her. This isn’t your fault.”
“But she was doing so well,” I say. “She said she wanted to go back to school. She was even talking about how her parents might consider letting her come back home.”
“Yes, she was having a good stretch. Sadly, they don’t last very long. You know this.” Ramona opens up a folder that’s sitting beside her coffee cup. “I’ve contacted her parents but they haven’t seen or heard from her. I also tried her friend Joshua. He said he’ll go around to all her favorite places and keep an eye out but there’s not much else we can do.”
“Except wait for her body to show up.” I’m trembling so hard I can’t hold on to my coffee cup. It slips through my fingers and hits the table with a dull thud. Coffee spills everywhere. “Shit!” I jump back from the chair, wincing as the hot coffee hits my jeans.
“Here!” Ramona rushes over and grabs some paper towels. Together we clean up the mess.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I meant the coffee.”
Ramona smiles at me. “I know.”
I wipe down the mug, marveling at how it didn’t break even after I dropped it. I toss the towels in the trash and remember the gift certificate. It rests on the table, now stained brown and slightly curling. It’s ruined. I pick it up quickly and shake it, sending droplets in all directions. Ramona hands me some more paper and I try to sop up the remaining liquid.
“They will probably still accept it,” Ramona says. “It’s not too badly damaged.”
Of course, the certificate is made out in Beth’s name. We both stare at the lettering.
“I’ll spend the afternoon looking for her,” I say. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”