The Damned of Lost Creek

by Danae Ayusso

  I don’t care what I got from him; he can kiss my ass.

  “I’ve always had a temper, but I was hoping that you didn’t get it,” he continued. “Your easygoing nature gave me hope that you were spared from it, but obviously I was mistaken.”

  That makes two of us.

  “Mikhail, you have to learn to control your temper, it could prove to be dangerous,” he warned. “Look at your hand! That is testament to how dangerous it can be. You’re going to need stitches, maybe even surgery if you damaged the nerves. Why would you pull the glass out, especially after I told you not to?” he demanded.

  “Temper, temper,” I sneered.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. What were you doing up so early and dressed so,” he looked at me from the corner of his eye, “questionably? Normally you are having self-therapy in the far pastures, not hanging out in the barn.”

  And that makes it completely okay? If I had been in the pasture, I wouldn’t have heard him be so dismissive towards me and what I am… Who I am.

  “Good thing I am nothing more than a fucking exchange student, huh?” I sneered, pushing the door open.

  Softly Price growled under his breath, pulling into the hospital parking lot. I didn’t wait for him to put the truck in park. I practically jumped out, slamming the door shut behind me, and headed towards the emergency entrance.

  “Mikhail, wait,” Price called out after me. “You don’t understand,” he said before I reached the automatic doors and grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t touch me!” I yelled, causing security to take notice of us. “Don’t you ever touch me,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

  Instantly he removed his hand, and his face dropped.

  I wanted to apologize immediately since I obviously hurt his feelings, but I shouldn’t.

  I can’t.

  I won’t!

  He doesn’t want me, doesn’t love me, and he’s stuck with me. All I am is a goddamn ward the State dumped on his doorstep, and I’m not going to put myself in that situation again.

  “I’m sorry,” Price whispered and motioned towards the reception desk.

  The attendant looked up at us and smiled. “What can we help you with?” she asked, her eyes moving up and down Price as she licked her lips.

  Slut.

  I held the bloody towel up. “Oh I don’t know. What do you think you can help us with?” I sneered.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?” she asked, sliding a clipboard with some admittance forms on it over to Price.

  “Cut myself shaving. What does it look like?” I scathingly asked, rolling my eyes and walked off. I dramatically threw myself into one of the chairs in the waiting room and Price sat next to me.

  Everyone else that followed us sat back, giving us space.

  That was exactly what I needed in order to make a clean getaway.

  Price looked over the papers. “Um…social security number?” he whispered.

  Lovely.

  “409-52-2002,” I said, shaking my head.

  He’s our father thus he should know this.

  How in the hell would he know it? Then again, that’s Elvis’ social security number, not mine.

  The King lives!

  Funny.

  “Date of birth?” he asked softly.

  “Just give me the damn thing,” I snapped, ripping the clipboard from his hands and started scribbling out information, most of which I was pulling out of my ass. I think my name was the only thing correct on it since Price filled that part in.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked, pleading.

  Go to hell, Prick.

  “A Coke,” I grumbled under my breath.

  He nodded and handed me his wallet. “There’s an insurance card in there with everything you’ll need. I’ll be right back.” He stood and motioned for Shep to follow.

  Oh, that can’t be good.

  Screw it. That’s what he gets for being an annoying puppy.

  Getting rid of Price was easier than I thought it was going to be.

  I eyed the wallet, surprised by the level of trust he was giving me considering I was nothing more than a ward of the State, an inconvenience for him.

  I was totally going to pick someone’s pocket, but this works much better.

  I pulled out the needed card and quickly transcribed the information so the three people staring at me wouldn’t notice that I was actually eying how much money was in it.

  Three-hundred bucks should be enough for a bus or train ticket.

  “Ellie, will you turn this in? I’m going to the bathroom.” I held the clipboard out and she hurried over.

  “Of course, Sweetheart.” She smiled, and I forced one in return.

  I tossed the wallet to Bleu, and his head tilted to the side. “Give that back to its owner when you see him.” I hurried from the waiting room and towards the bathroom down the hall, discretely tucking the cash and credit card I pilfered in the front of my underwear.

  The door across from the bathroom opened, and I skidded to a stop as two doctors came out of the employee lounge. They went the opposite direction so I slipped into the room before the door closed and locked behind them.

  Half of the lounge was lined with lockers with a seating section and the back half had three small rooms containing a sink, shower, toilet and bed for those long shifts that required naps between traumas.

  I flipped through the lockers that didn’t have locks and finally found some clothes that would work. In the back room, hidden in the shadows by a pony wall, I carefully unwrapped my hand and scrubbed the blood off it in the sink and repeated with my arms, face and legs until I was slightly presentable and didn’t look like a car wreck victim or a knife-wielding psycho that just took out an entire family.

  Once I was changed, I tucked the money and credit card in my pant pocket and stashed my bloody clothes in the trash then peeked out into the hall to make sure that no one was lingering. Slipping out of the lounge, I ran out the fire exit at the end of the hall, the alarm buzzing when the door opened, but turned off once it was closed behind me.

  “Now where do I go?” I mumbled under my breath, hurrying around to the back of the building where there were no cars. I ran once the street came into view, going the opposite direction that we took to get here in hopes of not running into anyone else that’s stuck claiming me as a relative, and ducking alongside buildings when traffic was more than two cars heavy. I have no idea where the damn bus or train station is. I didn’t even know if there was something leaving any time soon. I needed to call and find out because that would save me from wandering the streets and being caught.

  When I rounded the corner of Main Street, an old two-story department store housed a familiar sight: neon beer signs. I ducked into the unadorned, faded green door and stood there, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Three pool tables lined the center of the grimy bar and dark wooden tables filled the rest of it with stools shoved under each. A neon sign hanging down from the ceiling marked TOILET illuminated the back corner of the bar in pink light, the jukebox in the opposite corner did the same with green and blue light, and the long wood and brass bar ran the length of the closest wall with ten stools lining the counter.

  “Can I help you with something?” the bartender called out.

  Whiskey and lots of it.

  “Pay phone?” I asked.

  “Ain’t got one, but if it’s local you can use the house phone.” She set the large, turn of the century, plastic rotary dial phone on the counter and went back to stocking bottles of beer.

  “Thanks.” I hurried over to it. “Do you have a phonebook or are they on stone tablets around here somewhere?”

  She laughed. “That I’ve got in the modern variety.”

  I sat on the stool in front of the phone and she eventually returned from under the counter with a phonebook. “Thanks.” I tried to smile, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  I’m tired, hungry, thirsty, stressed out, em
otionally numb, and my hand hurts.

  “Are you open, or am I bothering you?” I asked, flipping through the stained pages.

  “We’ve been open for an hour or two, but it’s Tuesday and early still. Did you want something?”

  “Rum and Coke?” I asked, hopeful.

  Again she laughed. “How about Coke, hold the rum, and a sandwich?”

  That’s better than nothing.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Flipping through the phonebook felt like a walk of shame.

  I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do.

  Price is the one that doesn’t want me, not the other way around.

  I actually wanted him.

  I wanted to be in his life and be part of his weird family and to call him Dad.

  “What’s wrong?” the bartender asked, putting a sandwich and Coke down in front of me. “Boy troubles?”

  “Yes and no,” I admitted. “Daddy issues more than anything. He doesn’t want me,” I whispered, watching the bubbles float to the surface of the Coke. “Seventeen years too late,” I mumbled, picking up the receiver and started dialing.

  When the line picked up, I didn’t wait.

  “I need the first whatever leaving from Anaconda, Montana,” I said.

  “East or West?” the lady on the other end of the phone asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. Whatever leaves first,” I said, pulling the credit card from my pocket. “Name on credit card is Simoeau.”

  Five hours before we can leave?! You cannot be serious! This can’t get any worse if we tried.

  When I hung up the phone, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s appeared on the bar.

  “I think you’re going to need something a little stronger than Coke,” the bartender said.

  “No shit,” I agreed, shoving half of the sandwich in my mouth.

  “I’m Dillon,” she said, pouring the whiskey into two glasses.

  “Justice,” I mumbled with a mouthful of food, not wanting to throw flags up with my real name.

  Gee thanks, Bitch.

  From what Ellie was telling me, small towns gossip almost as much as family, and that’s how everyone in the family knew about Cinder Dick’s little hogtying his niece incident as quickly as they did.

  Point. But need I state the obvious that no one outside of the family knows of our existence? That’s part of the reason why we’re running.

  Shut up. I’m not taking any chances.

  Dillon laughed. “Justice, huh? Interesting name. So what’s the deal?” She threw her drink back with a single gulp and refilled the glass. “What happened, and why do you feel the need to run?”

  I shrugged.

  “Okay,” she snorted. “It couldn’t be worse than what brought me here,” she assured me.

  I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  Dillon threw the next drink back, and I did likewise, cringing at the taste, but I motioned for a refill.

  “My family practically disowned me because I went to college, and paid for it myself, even though I was offered by my uncle to have all of it paid for since he didn’t have children to put through school. But I didn’t want the handout. I wanted to get where I got in life because of me, not because of what others gave me. So I did what many girls do in order to pay for their schooling. I stripped.”

  Huh?

  Uh, okay.

  She does have the body for it: five-seven, only a size six, huge tits, maybe double D’s by the looks of them, black hair cutting across her forehead and falling slightly past her shoulders—totally looks like Bettie Mae Page—pale skin, overly sculpted eyebrows, and she isn’t wearing any makeup, which is surprising. She’s a natural beauty, a real Betty, so she doesn’t need it.

  “Your boob job looks amazing,” I blurted out.

  Dillon threw back another drink and shivered the burn off. “They’re real,” she smugly informed me.

  “Damn. Not to sound like a total lesbian or anything, but you have a nice rack. Unlike me, a pirate’s dream.” I sighed.

  She cocked an eyebrow, giving me a look I’ve gotten before but I couldn’t place from where.

  “A sunken chest,” I explained, pointing to my chest, and she roared with laughter.

  Yeah, sadly I’m not kidding. My not-even-a-B-cup is an ironing board compared to her tennis elbow inducing fun bags. I’m so jealous.

  “So what’s your family’s problem with it if you didn’t specifically enhance your tits in order to take your clothes off?” I asked the obvious before shoving the other half of sandwich in my mouth.

  Dillon shrugged. “Tits are tits. Everyone has them, and some are just bigger than others. Hell, even dudes have them so what’s the big deal? I never traded sex for money, never slept or fooled around with any of the patrons, didn’t get into drugs or partying or anything like that. I went to work, took my clothes off for six or seven three-minute songs, did a couple lap dances, got dressed then went back to the dorms and studied. But my family couldn’t handle that. Heaven forbid I bring shame to the family name and their assumed sense of accomplishment. Whatever,” she mumbled, then threw back another double.

  “I’m sorry they gave you shit about it. That sucks hardcore. Did you get through school and graduate with your degree?”

  Dillon rolled her large, dark brown eyes. “Most people turn their noses up at stripping, but you accept it, and are asking about my degree?” she laughed.

  I nodded. “My mom used to turn tricks while I waited outside the door, room, car, alleyway, whichever. So stripping would have been a very nice change and a much more honorable profession,” I explained.

  Seriously, shut up.

  Dillon looked at me curiously, her head tilting to the side. “Huh, that sucks. I won’t apologize though. You remind me of the type that’d get pissed at someone apologizing for bullshit that wasn’t your fault so I won’t insult your intelligence or what you’ve been through with the sentiment, even it if is a legitimate sentiment and not the bullshit one that people usually offer up at funerals for people that they didn’t even like or know because they’re hoping that they’re in the will somehow.”

  Damn.

  I like her!

  Most people don’t realize that, even after I tell them.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Not a problem,” she said with a wink. “So yeah, I got my degree. I’m slingin’ drinks until school starts. Next week I have to get my shit together for class, but I’ll worry about that later. Your turn. What’s up?”

  I shrugged. “Daddy didn’t want me.”

  She threw a bar towel at me. “Bullshit flag.”

  I snorted. “Thanks. But sadly, it’s true. He acted as if he did and then he totally... It doesn’t matter. He was ashamed to call me his daughter to his friend or whoever that asshole was, and that doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve put up with way too much shit in my life to simply stay with some shit-heel that never wanted me and is only stuck with me because the court says he has to put up with me. I can take a hint.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” Dillon demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter. In a little more than three hours I’ll be on bus heading west, and I’ll figure something out from there.”

  Dillon drummed her fingers on the bar. She looked like she was going to hit me. “You have to back up: what happened, when, why and who?” she said.

  “Why do you care?” I asked.

  “Humor me,” she replied, making a face, and again it was familiar for some reason.

  Don’t you dare.

  She isn’t giving us a choice.

  “Some jerk came by earlier today and was fighting with ‘my father’,” I explained. “And when the prick asked for an introduction I was introduced as a foreign exchange student. That’s all I am. A temporary student being offered a temporary home until I’m no longer his problem.” I threw a double back and motioned for another. “What I don’t get is that I thought that he wanted me. S
ince I got here he’s acted like he was livid for missing out on my life and that he would always be there for me… That he wanted me. I guess I was too blinded by his bullshit sentiment because I hadn’t noticed that he didn’t introduce me as his daughter to anyone. Not to Birdie at the greasy spoon, not to Principal Wallace, not to the doctors he got me appointments with to make sure I didn’t spread disease or cavities to the rest of his family,” I grumbled the latter, making a face. “But what really sucks about the whole thing is that I’ve waited my entire life to feel loved and wanted and safe, and for the first time ever I felt that. And then it was ripped away from me with just a couple of words.”

  And now I’m full out crying.

  “I wanted to call him Dad so badly, and I thought that I could and I thought that I felt... No, I know that I felt it, and then he had to do that. Why did he do that?” I demanded, even though I’m sure she has no idea what in the hell I’m talking about.

  Way to shut up, Mikhail.

  Dillon groaned. “The man he was arguing with, it wasn’t Soren Van Zul, was it?” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  Wait, what?

  “How did you know that? I mean, he called him Soren, but I don’t know if it was Van Zul,” I stammered.

  “Girlie, you’re so confused and have it all wrong,” she said with a chuckle. “You know how everyone has an arch-nemesis? Clark Kent had Lux Luther, Batman had the Joker, Xavier had Magneto, Daredevil had Kingpin? Well Soren Van Zul is your father’s arch-nemesis. He didn’t want Soren taking an interest in you simply because of who your father is.” She laughed, but it was one of relief for some reason. “Seriously, Mikhail, I’m sure you’re scaring the shit out of him right now with your little disappearing act.”

  How did she know my name?

  This isn’t good.

  I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

  Run!

  “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” I said. “Thanks for the drinks and listening to me bitch. How much do I owe you?” I pulled some money out.

  Dillon shook her head. “If I didn’t take Price’s money for college, I sure in the hell ain’t taking the money his daughter stole from his wallet.”

  Oh shit.