by Ilia Bera
“Please. I’m begging you.”
Kane sighed again. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”
Brittany wiped the tears away from her eyes as she hung up the phone.
Kane was already twenty minutes out of town. Another hour of driving, and he would have been in the next town, safe from the police.
But he couldn’t just leave Brittany when she was so desperate.
Kane pulled his Mustang over to the side of the road and thought for a moment. Angry with himself, he slammed his car dashboard with the palm of his hand.
The glow of Snowbrooke’s city lights was still faintly visible through the heavy falling snow.
TWENTY-FIVE
cassie
While the cold wind howled through the forlorn winter streets, there was one spot in Snowbrooke that refused to go to sleep.
At a big house on the outskirts of Snowbrooke, on a little road called Moncton Street, an annual biker party was loud enough for the whole silent town.
Michael pulled up in his dad’s car up. The loud bass from the party music pierced the solid car door.
The street was loaded with parked motorcycles. On the front lawn of the rough and tumble house was a large oil drum, around which stood a number of bearded bikers—all with cigarettes hanging out of their chapped mouths.
Michael stepped out of his car and began to walk towards the party house. Sounds of screaming party-goers and smashing bottles became louder and louder as Michael came closer and closer to the ajar front door.
As he reached for the door handle, the door burst open. An older biker with a young teenage girl under his arm drunkenly stumbled out of the house.
Michael turned and looked at the girl. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen, while the man was easily into his thirties.
“Hey,” Michael said to the biker, reaching forward and placing his hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“What?” the biker replied sharply and drunkenly.
“How old is she?” Michael asked.
The biker scoffed and turned away from Michael. “None of your fucking business.”
The biker took his young date and continued to stumble towards his parked hog. Michael wanted to go and stop the biker scum, but he had another, more important prerogative: his sister.
Michael entered the loud party. Flashing strobe lights made it difficult to see anything through the crowd of dancing college party-goers and drinking, roudy bikers.
Michael squinted as he scanned the room for his young under-age sister. There was a large age gap between the high school kids and the bikers in the house.
“Cassie?” Michael called out. The deep bass from the music drowned his deep voice out. He may as well have been a mute.
He walked through the thick crowd of people. Thanks to his mighty athletic size, Michael was able to see over the heads of all the party-goers. But unfortunately, Cassie was nowhere to be seen.
Michael found himself at a long wooden staircase, on which was a small group of high school kids snorting cocaine.
“Hey,” Michael yelled over the loud music.
One of the kids turned to look at him, with cocaine smeared on his nose and upper lip. “What?” the young boy asked with a crooked grin.
“Do your parents know you’re here?” Michael asked.
The kids started to laugh. “Yeah—Obviously,” one of the kids replied sarcastically.
“Do you know Cassie—Cassie Fenner?”
“Cassie Fenner?”
“She’s short and thin, with curly brown hair.”
The kids started laughing again.
“Well do you know her or not?”
“Aren’t you that guy who got kicked off The Winnipeg Jets?” a kid asked.
The fallen-from-grace hockey star stared at the bratty kid for a moment.
“Yeah—It was you. Michael Something. It was because you couldn’t score any goals,” the kid continued, laughing as he wiped the excess coke off of his nose.
Michael walked up the stairs, passed the kids. He didn’t look back as the young group snickered at his expense.
At the top of the stairway was a hallway lined with doors. The hall was unfinished. The walls, floor and roof were lined with old plywood, and there was a musty lingering stale odour in the humid party air—like a dirty, abandoned bottle depot. At the end of the hall, a couple of kids stood making out. The boy had his hand under the girl’s shirt and he was friskily groping her breasts, like a horny anteater.
As Michael walked down the hall, he could hear moaning—people having sex behind closed doors. Without hesitation, he opened the first door—pushing it open swiftly.
On the bed were two young students going at it. They were too preoccupied to notice the door had been pushed open. The girl was a chubby redhead—not Cassie.
Michael continued down the hall towards the next door. He grabbed the handle and tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“C’mon baby—take it off,” a deep male voice said on the other side of the door. “Take it off like the slut you are.”
Michael took a step back from the door. Then, in one swift motion, he booted the door open with the heel of his boot, shattering the lock and sending shards of wood flying through the musty air.
In the bedroom was a thirty-something year old biker with a thick stubble beard with his hands on the breasts of a familiar teenage girl. There were dark bags under the girl’s eyes, her hair was a mess, and her body looked weak.
She was wearing nothing but a bra and panties and her body appeared limp, as if her bones were made from rubber.
It was clear that she had been drugged. The biker swiftly looked back at the forced open doorway where Michael stood.
“Get the fuck out of here!” the biker yelled in a hoarse, deep voice.
Michael looked at the girl again. It was Vanessa Riley, his little sister’s friend from school, whom she was supposedly having a sleepover with.
“Vanessa—are you okay?” Michael asked frantically.
“H—Huh?” Vanessa said through her drugged lethargy.
“Get out of here or I’ll snap your fucking neck,” the biker said, standing up and walking towards Michael.
Michael walked into the room, shoving passed the angry biker and towards the drugged teen.
He looked down at her. “I’m going to get you home, okay? You’ll be alright.”
“Hey, buddy—What’s your fucking deal?” the biker asked. “Get your own slice a’ meat.”
Michael turned around and swiftly grabbed the biker by the throat. With incredible speed and force, Michael swung the burly gang member around and slammed him into a wooden dresser eliciting a loud painful scream and a crack as the wood split behind the bulky man.
The biker reached his hands up to his throat in an attempt to pry Michael’s tense fingers loose.
The powerful ex-hockey enforcer swung the two hundred and fifty pound biker aggressively against the wall and pinned him even tighter. The biker’s face was turning dark red as air failed to travel through his crushed throat.
“What did you give her?” Michael screamed at the hog riding pedophile.
“
—Let me g—go!”
“Do you get off taking advantage of teenagers, you sick fuck?” Michael asked.
As the biker’s eyes began to roll into the back of his head, Michael dropped him. The biker fell to the floor and began to wheeze as he held his throat.
Michael walked over to the bed where Vanessa was laying.
“I’m going to get you home, okay?” Michael said.
Vanessa slowly rolled her head over to Michael. “Okay,” she said groggily.
“Do you know where my sister is? Cassie? Was she here with you”
“G—Guy,” Vanessa said.
“What’s that?”
“A—Guy... She’s with a—a guy...”
“A guy? What guy? Where are they now?”
“I don’t...
” Vanessa tried to speak as she rolled her nauseous head from side to side.
Michael picked Vanessa’s shirt up off of the floor and gently slipped it over her exposed torso. Then, he slipped her jeans over her limp body, and then he picked her up in his big, thick muscular arms.
“I’m so sorry,” Vanessa said with tears in her eyes.
“It’s okay. You’re okay now.”
Michael walked past the wheezing biker, back into the hallway. He gently placed Vanessa down on the ground so that he could look behind the remaining doors for his sister.
He opened one door, which was a closet. He opened the next—a bathroom. Then, he walked to the end of the hallway, to the door next to the horny teenage couple. He reached for the handle and tried to turn it.
It was locked.
“We’re next,” the young anteater tongued boy said to Michael.
“Go home to your parents,” Michael said as he took a step back from the door.
Then, Michael kicked the door in powerfully, sending wooden shards in every direction.
It was a familiar scene—an older man on top of a clearly drugged younger woman. Except this time, the younger woman was indeed Michael’s sister.
Cassie was fifteen, with long curly brown hair. She was a pretty girl. More than anything, she was a clever girl. She was quiet, but not shy—the kind of girl who only spoke when she had something to say. She was impressively articulate for her age, and she had perfect grades in school. She had always been independent, even as a young child. Sometimes, it drove her teachers mad. She would always question the logic behind questions, turning them around on her teachers—always seeking something deeper than was being offered.
“Hey!” the slender older man on top of Cassie yelled as Michael stormed into the room.
The man was younger than Vanessa’s biker pairing—but still old enough to be deeply ashamed. He was covered from head to toe in tattoos. He had one especially stupid tattoo across his throat, which read “No regrets”
“Cassie?” Michael said in a panic as he rushed over to his sister.
“Get lost!” the man yelled in a thick hillbilly accent.
Cassie was barely conscious as a small dribble of blood ran down from her nose.
“Cassie, are you okay?” Michael asked frantically.
“W—What?” Cassie asked sluggishly. She was completely wasted.
“What did you give her?” Michael asked.
“I—I don’t know, man—she took it herself.”
“Took what?”
“I don’t know—A speedball.”
“A speedball? She’s fifteen!” Michael yelled.
“She said she was eighteen, man.”
Michael pushed the hair off of his sister’s face. “Can you hear me, Cass?”
Cassie nodded ‘yes’ in her lethargic state.
“I’m going to take you and your friend to the hospital, okay? You’re having an overdose.”
Cassie nodded yes again. “M—Michael?”
“What?” Michael asked, leaning in closer to his sister, placing his ear next to her dry lips.
“I don’t want to die,” she said.
Michael wrapped a blanked around his sister and then prepared to lift her up. “Don’t worry, Cass. You’ll be fine. You’re safe now.”
“Hey man—what in the fuck? We wasn’t done yet.”
Michael turned away from his sister, towards the biker.
“What? Do you think you’re tough shit or somethin’?” the biker asked as he pulled out a switch-blade.
Michael fearlessly took a step towards the biker, who responded by raising his weapon. In the blink of an eye, Michael swatted the blade out of the biker’s hand and grabbed him by the throat. Before the biker could process what was happening, Michael slammed him into the hard ground below.
Then, he started to work away at his face with his tightly clenched fist—powerful blow after powerful blow. Michael shattered every bone in the young biker’s face. He knocked out half of his teeth, split his lip in countless places and left him with two swollen shut eyes.
Michael would have killed the man had three other men not entered to pull him away.
Michael pulled himself up to his feet, taking a deep breath in to calm his insatiable rage. The three men quickly went to the bleeding, broken and beaten biker’s aid.
Michael turned to his sister and picked her up. Keeping her naked body wrapped tightly in the warm blanket, Michael began to carry her away from the rough and tumble party. In the hallway, he slung her over his shoulder, and helped Vanessa up with his free arm. Carefully he led both of the girls away from the nasty party.
The party went silent as Michael carried both girls past the dance floor. The heads of the dancers and the bikers alike all stopped and turned towards Michael, whose fists were bloodied and bruised.
“Somebody call an ambulance!” someone called from upstairs.
Michael made no eye contact with anyone on his way out.
TWENTY-SIX
ava
Back sore and eyes heavy, Connor had been sitting on the same cheap plastic chair in the hallway outside of his mother’s room for nearly five hours. He had practically finished reading the entirety of A Tale of Two Cities, and he was nearly finished his weekend homework.
Despite his exhaustion and muscle soreness, he was proud of himself. For the first time in his life, he was actually ahead of his school-work. For once in his life, he felt as though he could do more than just shoot a puck. It was refreshing—and he owed it all to Wade’s persistence and patience.
For the first time in over a year, Connor could actually see himself playing hockey again. There was a light at the end of the tunnel—and the tunnel wasn’t as long as he’d originally thought.
Fantasizing about it, Connor began to doze off.
The hospital was unusually quiet that night. Only the occasional footsteps from a passing nurse cut the hum of the fluorescent ceiling lights above.
“Mr. Knight?” a female nurse said, pulling Connor out of his near-slumber.
Connor looked over at the nurse. She looked young—almost too young to be a working nurse. She had round cheeks and a cute little mole above the side of her lip. Her hair was long and dirty blonde—tied into a long ponytail. Her scrubs—the smallest the hospital had—were a bit too big for her petite body, which didn’t help her excessively young appearance. She was your classic girl-next-door.
“Yeah?” Connor asked, his eyes fighting to remain open.
“You’re welcome to stay here, but I imagine your mom would feel much better if you were at home, comfortable in your own bed.”
“Oh—I don’t mind,” Connor replied.
“Are you sure? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m okay, thank you.”
The nurse smiled and then walked away. Connor looked back down at his book, and continued to read, getting even further ahead of his coursework.
A couple of minutes later, the nurse returned with a clean pillow and a blanket.
“Here,” she said. “At least put this to use.”
“Thanks,” Connor said, accepting the gift.
“Your mom is doing well—I just checked on her vitals a few minutes ago. She should be okay to leave in a couple of days.”
“Great. Thank you so much.”
“I think it’s sweet that you’re staying here for your mom.”
Connor smiled. “I really don’t mind. She would do the same for me,” he replied.
The nurse laughed. “Sorry to keep bugging you—I’m not used to the hospital being this quiet.”
“I’m sure it’s a welcomed change.”
The nurse smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you, Connor?”
Connor stared at the nurse. “Sorry—Do we know each other?”
“Yeah—Well, sort of. We went to elementary school together.”
Connor stared at the girl for a moment longer.
“It’s okay—We never
talked or anything. I don’t even think we were ever in the same class. My name’s Ava.”
Connor thought for a moment. His mind was too exhausted to place the name.
Ding Dong!
“Nurse May—Please report to the emergency ward. Nurse May, to the emergency ward,” a woman announced over the intercom.
“That’s me,” Ava said. “I’ve got to go! It was nice talking to you.”
“I remember you—You were on the volleyball team,” Connor said.
“That’s right!” Ava smiled as she made her way down the hall, towards the emergency ward.
Connor looked back down at his book. He only had a few chapters left. He considered putting it away for the night, but he knew that with another hour, he could finish the whole thing outright. He did, after all, have the next day off of work and school.
But if he was going to accomplish such a task, he was going to need a coffee.
Connor brought himself to his feet. A nurse was hurrying down the hallway towards the emergency ward.
“Excuse me,” Connor said to the nurse.
“Yes?”
“Is there a coffee machine around here somewhere?” Connor asked.
“There’s one at the emergency entrance. It’s a vending machine, so you’ll need some change. I think it’s two dollars for a big cup. The coffee is terrible—just a warning.”
“Okay—Thank you,” Connor laughed.
The nurse continued to hurry towards the emergency ward. Connor reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of change. He began to walk towards the coffee vending machine.
“I’m losing a pulse! Where’s that IV!” someone yelled from around the corner.
Connor stopped and listened for a moment. A crowd of paramedics, nurses and doctors were hustling down the hall, huddled around a squeaky stretcher.
“Where are we with those vitals?” a doctor asked with intensity.
“Um,” Connor could hear Ava reply. “The heart rate is low—dangerously low. He’s losing a lot of blood! Pressure is dropping fast.”
Suddenly, the whole medical caravan came barrelling around the corner, past Connor. One nurse was trying to set up an IV while two paramedics quickly led the stretcher down the hall. A doctor followed closely behind, attempting to assess the severity of the victim’s neck wound with a sonograph, and Ava had her gloved and bloodied hands pressed firmly down on the gushing abrasion.