Will. Time. Fate.

by Andrew Yake

  “I don’t know.” She turns her head slightly. “I mean. Do you or have you even…” her voice travels off as she looks away for a moment and then faces me again. “Have you even been with anyone else before?”

  I catch her meaning immediately. I know she is asking me if I really want my first sexual experience to be with a professional who has no intention of remaining physically faithful to me. “Does it really matter?” I say to her.

  She pulls her hand free. I do not fight it, but I miss the feel of her hands in mine already. “Maybe… or at least I think it will.”

  “Will you at least give me a chance?” I speak in a hushed tone. “I will always be there for you. I promise.”

  “I know you will.” She says as tears begin to form again. “I won’t.”

  I speak without thinking due to my high emotions in the moment. “We are friends! And I would NEVER hurt her.” I keep my voice low, but there is a strained tone of menace that I cannot hide creeping into my body language as well as my voice. I catch myself from speaking further and realize where this will be heading if I say much more.

  Fay had been studying me during my momentary musing and the answer of her question. She changed the tone slightly to her voice and speaks to me in a kinder tone that is obviously meant to sooth me. “You see, we went to that alley that you mentioned to the staff and didn’t find any trace of anyone else there.”

  I cut her off. “Then you didn’t look hard enough.” I am flustered now and becoming more uncomfortable by the moment.

  Fay takes note of my body language before she writes something else down in her book. “You look like you want to say something else.”

  I try to stall for time. “How is Hailey doing?” My abrupt shift in our conversation does not do the trick.

  “That is why I am here. Now, tell me what else can you tell me about what happened?” Her eyes seem to look right through me.

  “Don’t you have to have my mother here before you can question me.” This does it. Fay is caught off guard. I realize I look older than I am and the thought had not occurred to her that I may be under age.

  “Fine. I will call your mother and then we will continue our conversation.” She closes her book and grabs her cell phone. “What is her number?” I give it to her and pray that my mother is in a drunken stupor or at work and either way that she is unable to come down here. I am out of luck on both fronts when I hear my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone. Fay gets up and walks away, but I can still hear the tone of my mother’s voice becoming more agitated with each passing moment and then there is silence on the line. Fay turns to me and looks at the phone for a brief moment before putting it back in her jacket pocket. She smiles at me with the kind of fake smile that is reserved for people, like family, that you don’t like, but have to be civil with while they are around. “She is on her way.”

  I grimace at the thought that my mother could make things much worse. Then I notice that the detective’s badge says homicide. I feel my blood pressure spike again. Does this mean that she’s dead? I try to reign in my anger and my desire to go back and track down the jackass that was beating her. None of my body language is lost on Detective Barr. She sits down again next to me and turns toward me. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me while we wait for your mother?”

  I sit and stew in my anger and do my best to ignore the constant presence of the detective and the impending feeling of doom knowing that my mother would be here shortly. I look straight down at the floor and then speak before I get up. “I have to use the bathroom.” I rise to my feet. The detective follows suit and then follows me as I walk to the bathroom.

  I relieve myself, but do not feel relieved. I go to the sink to wash my face and feel horror wash over my entire body when I hear my mother’s voice yelling at someone in the waiting room. “WHERE IS HE!? WHERE IS MY BOY?!”

  I hear a scuffle and I go to the bathroom door and open it a crack. I am not prepared for what I see. There is screaming from several sources and I see a police officer rushing toward someone outside of my line of sight. I see Detective Barr thrown back against the nurse’s station and flip backward over it before disappearing from view. I look again and think that I am going crazy as I open the door a bit more to increase my view. I see what looks like a dog or a bear batting people away like the Incredible Hulk in one of those comics or movies. My first instinct, my only instinct is to run and that is what I do. I run fast. I run hard and I hear the commotion continue behind me. I go through the corridor that says “Staff Only” and do not look back. I am unable to form any thoughts at the moment other than survive.

  I duck down another hallway and still hear the otherworldly sounds of growling from behind me somewhere. I keep running. I find myself wondering if my mother is alright. I will go back to check on here when that thing is gone. I keep moving. The adrenaline flows through my veins and I only barely recognize the voice of the detective calling out to me. I am glad that she survived, but I do not stop. Instead, I increase my speed and feel my leg muscles start to burn along with my lungs. I have never run this hard before, but I am starting to enjoy the sensation. I narrowly miss a group of people as I dash through the hall toward a glowing exit sign. The lettering on the door says “Emergency Exit” and I know that an alarm will sound the second I press the bar to unlatch the door. I do not slow down as I approach.

  My body slams into the door with incredible force. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man with gray crewcut hair and a scar on his face. He does not attempt to stop me, but as if in slow motion I can tell he is trying to make sure to memorize my face. I run past him and I hear him grunt as he and someone or something else slam into one another. I look back and see the beast from before and the scared man fighting. I see the flash of a blade and then the flash of the beast’s teeth. I use this time to continue my retreat while this thing’s focus is not on me. I do not know why, but I notice a familiar smell coming from that direction. Mom?

  By the time I recognize the scent I am in the middle of the street. I look back to look at the fight that is continuing. I see the blade that the man is brandishing seems to have a silvery glint on the edge and strikes one of the appendages of the beast. The sound that this thing makes when the blade makes contact is unreal and is only drowned out by the sound of a horn. My attention comes back to where I am standing and I put my hands out as an old car nearly runs me over.

  I look into the car and see a nurse in a ridiculous pink and purple cartoon set of scrubs and the girl from the waiting room. Yes, I recognize her, but she looks different this time. She is dressed differently and, although I can hardly smell her and the strangely clothed nurse because they are in a car, I do see edges of bandaging on one of her arms. The driver honks her horn at me again and I move out of the way. I contemplate this only momentarily before I continue running down a now darkened alley. The air is cold, but I hardly feel it. I have a strong tolerance for cold weather and today, especially with what is happening right now, I do not feel it much at all.

  I hear sirens behind me and know that the police have arrived. I say a silent prayer for their safety. I have faith that at least a few of them will survive. My faith serves me well as I hear the footfall of several officers running after me. Damn! I see an alley coming up and pray that there is a fire escape. Again, my faith is rewarded as I come around the corner and see the hanging ladder to my left connected to a fire escape. I run full-speed toward the wall. I jump up at an angle using my forward momentum and then push off the wall toward the ladder. My hands connect with the rungs of the ladder and I pull myself up without stopping. My feet find purchase on a rung and I am now bounding toward the first landing.

  I push myself hard. I reach the first landing and hear the cops come around the corner. The noise that I have made climbing the ladder did not go amiss and the cops immediately turn their attention to where I am. I do not slow my pace. I take the first short flight of steps three at a time and make it to t
he second, third, and fourth landing in quick order. There is no other place to go at this point and I bust through a window. The apartment is occupied by an older heavy-set Hispanic woman and a rail-thin man with a stubble on his face. They are as surprised to see me as I am to be in their living room. I mutter an apology as I move through their apartment toward the door. I unlock the four locks that they have on their door and take off running again.

  I find the steps leading to the lower floors and hear voices coming up the steps. I look and see that there is a door that goes to the roof adjacent from these steps. I cross the short distance to the door and fling it open. I ascend the steps with ease and open the door to the roof. I consider my options as I look around. I feel my muscles tense and ready for more. I feel a drop of sweat run down the side of my face and I make a dash for the nearest looking building. I push off the edge of the roof and make the leap to the other building. I land safely on the other side and continue. The next building is slightly farther away, but I am able to make this jump also.

  I hear the voices of the officers telling me to stop. I continue. The next building is much farther away so this time when I jump I aim to land on the fire escape that is down one level. I land hard and I hear the metal creak as it bends slightly under sudden arrival of my weight. I move down the escape again and take note of my surroundings once more. I see several options for simply dropping down the remaining three flights, including a large trash receptacle. However, I know that unlike the various popular movies there are often nasty things that could be more painful to land on than the ground and I also know that it could slow my escape. I decide to bound down the remaining flights of steps. I jump off the last landing onto the ground and duck into another alley and slow my pace.

  I see the lights and hear the music from what I believe is a club. I am crossing into an industrial area of the city and there are a few clubs that have started popping up in old warehouses. I decide to move toward the gathering crowd of people and attempt to disappear. I believe that I have lost the cops, but I do not wish to take any chances. I also do not want to risk running into that thing, whatever it was. As I move closer to the crowed I notice that many of them are wearing all black and are wearing makeup that makes them appear ashen. Great. I have to run into a bunch of goth vamp wannabes. I move closer, but decide to keep moving because I know that I will stick out in my outfit in this crowd. I notice the soft footsteps of someone keeping pace with me. I do not look back instead I go into a dark alley and hug the wall while awaiting the arrival of whoever is following me.

  A short stocky man wearing a plaid button up shirt, jeans, biker boots, and a straw cowboy had rounds the corner. He stops and lights a cigarette and takes a long drag on it while he seems to look past my location toward the end of the alley and then start walking again. As he is about to pass me, I see him start to turn toward me and I react. I grab hold of his shirt and pull him off balance, shift my weight and pin him against the wall. He seems unfazed by my sudden assault and simply smiles.

  “Well, How-de.” He takes another drag off of his cigarette while I continue to stare him down and keep his feet slightly off of the ground.

  “Who are you and why are you following me?” I say and tighten my grip on his clothing. I push harder against the man to keep him pinned against the wall.

  “Now see, I was ‘bout to ask ya the same thing.” His thick southern ‘good ol’ boy’ accent hung in the air. “See, yer not s’posed to be…” I pull him back from the wall and shove him against the wall again. This gets his attention, but I am unable to tell if he is simply annoyed with me or the fact that I have him pinned. He takes another drag from his cigarette and blows it into my face.

  “Why are you following me?!” I speak as low and menacing as possible trying to intimidate him.

  “I saw yer darin’ acrobatics.” He over-pronounces his last word and smirks at me. “Don’t know where yer headed, but if you stay here I know yer gonna get more than ya bargained for.” His accent is thick and his voice has a quality about it that simply wants me want to laugh because it seems like such a caricature of a deep-South hillbilly. I smile.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure ya can. Now, why don’t ya put me down and we’ll chat.”

  I think about this and decide that he seems reasonable. His eyes are locked with my own and the longer I stare into them I feel myself liking him more and finding his request more reasonable. I release him gently. He brushes off his shirt where I had been holding him and attempts to get the stretched fabric to lay flat. I notice that this man smells different. I cannot place it. He seems momentarily distracted by the state of his clothing and continues to vacillate between fussing with his shirt and smoking his cigarette. Tossing his cigarette on the ground finally, he extends a hand toward me. “Name’s Ben, but my friends call me Benny.” He smiles. I take his hand in my own. His grip is strong and his skin is cold to the touch.

  10

  Twisted test

  “May I help you?” A man’s voice speaks to me evenly. It is not threatening, but it does not give any indication of friendliness either.

  I had been inspecting the different tools on shelves including a foldable shovel and survival knives. There were also an assortment of machetes and hatchets in the area. There were cheap ones, but there were also real ones with the thick rubberized handles and that were built for more than just show. I turn my back to the machetes and place a hand on a random one, just in case I need to use it. I had been considering how I was going to get out of the store with all the gear we, or I suppose, I needed. I did not know what would be waiting for me once we left the store and wanted to be prepared. I had figured that I would probably knock out the person running the place and just take what I needed. That is, until I saw the figure addressing me.

  The Pilipino man before me is not all that tall, but what he lacked in height he made up for with a rather imposing presence. He could not be more than 5’5”. His black tee-shirt seems to be painted onto his thick muscular body. I doubt if he has an ounce of body fat on him. Where his right arm should be, there is a metallic prosthetic arm that seems to be mechanized to mimic realistic arm and hand movement. His left arm is probably the circumference of one or both of my legs put together and all muscle. He is wearing some army style black, brown, and green fatigues. They are flattering on him. His boots are the type with laces, but they also have zippers on the inside of them. His skin is darker and seems a bit leathery from being outside and often exposed to the elements. I see that he also has a short sword or a type of machete strapped to his right hip in way that is obviously for cross hand access. I seriously doubt that this weapon is simply for show. It could have been my imagination, but I could swear that I have seen that blade that he is wearing somewhere else before. I think that I used to have one just like it. It occurs to me that the access to his blade may also come from his prosthetic arm. I suppose that he may be able to use his prosthetic arm just as easily as the other if it could truly maneuver the same way.

  He has brown eyes and while they look kind to me, they also seem hard. It is like they tell the story of a man who has seen way too much bloodshed in his lifetime. His hair is longer and straight. He is wearing a bandana that is folded so that it can help him keep the hair out of his face, but does not cover the top of his head.

  I must have been gawking because he changed his position again and eyed me up and down. For a moment, it is as if there is a flash of recognition in his eyes and then it is gone. “Well?” He speaks to me again.

  I decide to change tactics from bluffing my way around my memory loss and go for simple distraction. I know that Allison is still somewhere behind this man and I have a feeling that I can use that to my advantage. “Sorry for staring, but do you know me?” I ask, hoping that I will be able to keep his attention on me.

  His gaze intensifies as he looks into my eyes. I am hoping that I am not giving anything away by my facial features. My question
must have struck a nerve his metal hand comes to rest on the handle of the blade, but the hand does not grip the handle. The metallic finger like appendages simply rest on it in a way that I can tell he can easily grab the blade if he so chooses. He raises his left hand so that it is resting on the rack nearest to him and he leans his massive bodyweight slightly toward the rack and remains silent.

  “It’s just that it looked like you recognized me for a moment there.” I speak earnestly.

  “Are you screwing with me?” The man finally speaks. His voice is even. His face gives nothing away.

  “So, you do know me.” I press my advantage. My guess seems to be paying off. “Where did you see me?”

  “JJ, what is wrong with you?” The man’s tone has changed now to almost friendly.

  “JJ.” I repeat the foreign name quietly to myself. I suppose that it is either how I have introduced myself in the past to this person or a shortened nickname that my friends would have used. Either way, I am rather sure that I am in no immediate danger from this person, but I still do not wish to let my guard down.

  It is then that I notice movement behind the man. I see a smaller figure. I know it is Allison, but she moves between the racks in such a way that it is hard for me to see exactly where she is. I make the decision to continue trying to find out more about myself from this person. “When did we meet?” I say placing my hands on my hips and immediately regretting my action. I have to stop doing that. I involuntarily wince from the pain. The man notices.

  “You really don’t remember me?” The man is now speaking with slight concern, but he still seems to be on guard with me. I am curious to find out why.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.” I see more movement from behind this man, but have not actually seen Allison yet. “You know who I am. Would you be willing to tell me who you are? That is, if you truly do know me.” I see Allison out of the corner of my eye. She looks like she is about to strike the man and she is almost close enough to do it. I make eye contact with her momentarily and try to convey, with my eyes, not to attack. I do not have time to find out if I am successful in my ocular communication.