by Hayton, Lee
Not stars. Fairy lights. Sophie had strung them across her backyard for the party. Or maybe her parents always had them out. Nicole barely knew her.
As she bounced to the beat, her sequins split the light and reflected it back in a rainbow of colors. Like the prism her elementary school teacher, Mr. Clark, had shown her class. The most wondrous thing her seven-year-old-self had seen.
When she’d eagerly babbled about it to her father over dinner—words tangling in her hurry to get them all out, to share—he’d laughed at her excitement and brought her one from his study. That night, Nicole laid on the couch and refracted the television screen into beams of colored light, entranced. The last thing her father gave her, except heartache.
The tempo increased, and she danced farther across the room. Gyrating, her balance shifted, and Nicole almost fell before Evan caught her waist and pulled her back up. She laughed happily, shook her head until her hair spun in a shining circle, then lifted her arms above her head to shimmy again.
That was when she saw them. Mo. Jeremy. Lips pressed together. His hands moving over Mo’s waist, down to her ass.
Nicole froze with horror.
#
This isn’t happening.
Nicole’s mind latched onto the lie like it was a flotation device in choppy waters. She closed her eyes tight and tried to wake up. When she stepped back, the floor was soft like a cloud of marshmallows, her footing unsteady. Every nerve-ending in her skin buzzed. Her eardrums thrummed with blood.
Eyes open, for a moment Nicole couldn’t see. Her retinas were flooded with light. She blinked. Mo’s face had turned toward her. Mo’s mouth an open O of surprise. Mo’s hand reaching toward her.
Nicole turned and ran.
From the light of the party to the darkness of the street, she ran blindly, arms outstretched. More to ward off the horror she’d seen than prevent injury. Nicole ran until each new breath seemed torn from her lungs; until her feet felt pierced by knives; until the long muscles of her thighs stretched into cramping pain. When she stopped, it was to collapse against a lamp post, her eyes crying dry tears, her heart beating unaerated blood. When her knees touched the rough grit of the pavement, Nicole keened. A long, whispering wail in the night.
A thousand betrayals chased across her memories: her father dropping her at school to drive away to a new family, a doctor handing her pills instead of help, a mother-daughter breakfast shared with her teacher.
If she didn’t start moving soon, Nicole felt she’d drain into the gutter.
Clinging to the post, she pulled herself to a standing position. Furious anger swept through her, and Nicole punched her abdomen hard: once, twice. Stupid baby. Everything was its fault.
Stupid Nicole, her mind mocked. Getting knocked up.
After digging her mobile phone out of her stupidly small purse, Nicole swiped the screen to wake and saw a “Network Unavailable” message. She held it in the air, turning in a slow pirouette, but there was no change. Angry, she jabbed at the tiny off button, holding it in place long enough to reboot—long enough to leave a crimp in the hard plastic. A swirl of color formed into a logo and a short tune announced the phone’s reawakening. The menu formed—no bars.
Nicole stabbed at the off button again, this time pressing it once and throwing the phone back into her purse. Where was the nearest cell tower? If she couldn’t get a signal, she couldn’t get an Uber or a taxi. Every part of her body already hurt. She didn’t need to add a walk home to that.
Ashleigh Street. There was a tower there. Maybe not the closest, but Nicole remembered the terse exchanges on the local news from shop owners having “that monstrosity” outside their places of business.
A ten-minute walk at most. Nicole forced her feet to start moving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Victoria ran back to her car, nerves screaming. Her ulcer took a gigantic bite out of her stomach. Her mind thought of locations and discarded them. Her heart stopped still in shock then began beating discordantly.
She sat in the front seat and twisted the key. Foot pressed on the accelerator ready to rev the engine.
But her car didn’t start.
Frustration boiled up her nervous system, and she slammed her fists down in violent anger on the wheel.
Calm down. Calm down and think.
She picked her phone up and dialed through to Edwards. Maybe a noise complaint could gift her a location. But the phone wasn’t answered. It rang with a hollow tone, like a bell ringing in an abandoned room.
There was something wrong. Something so very wrong going on here.
Victoria jumped out of the car and ran across the road, back outside Nicole’s house. The girl couldn’t drive, so wherever she’d gone must be within walking distance. The noise on the phone hadn’t been overly loud, but a party was distinctive. Even a quiet teenage rave should be audible from the street.
She tried her mobile again. This time, Nicole’s phone didn’t even ring. Just went straight to voicemail. Either blocking her, or a battery fail had just displayed Godawful timing.
A buzzing sounded above her head, and Victoria looked up startled. The streetlight above her was burning brighter than the others. As bright as the one outside her kitchen window.
A brief flash energized Victoria’s body, refreshing her. For a moment, she felt close to optimistic. When she advanced to the next lamp, the buzzing brightness did the same. Like having her very own firefly lighting the way. The despair receded further.
A thought snuck in beneath her panic. Nicole’s friend might know where she was. But Mo’s phone rang and rang, then clicked over to voicemail also. Was the entire teenage population not answering their damn phones?
When Victoria tried to turn onto Lake Street the lamp above her head stopped buzzing. Not even consciously deciding, she turned in a circle and set off at an adjacent angle when the light burned brighter.
Lead the way.
Energy returning, Victoria’s fast walk turned to a jog, then accelerated into a run. She reached the edge of the college housing. A cell phone tower stood proudly above a line of shops, all closed for the evening.
The streetlight above her head glowed and buzzed, then exploded into a fiery burst of sparks and plastic shards. One fell in her hair, the strands frizzing on contact. Her nose wrinkled against the singed smell. Her anxiety increased at the scent, fire meant danger.
Victoria ran to the next light and the pattern repeated. This time, instead of feeling her energy increase, she felt it draining away like the soapy remnants of shower water circling lazily down a plughole. Her left foot caught on the back of her right, and she staggered out onto the street.
Nicole stood there. In the middle of the road, swaying gently back and forth. The rising moon illuminated her, spreading an inky shadow of despair out across the tarmac. Nicole’s arm held a mobile phone aloft, sagging low under the weight.
As Victoria watched, Nicole’s arm drooped further until the phone rested level with her shoulders, her breasts, her hip. It fell from powerless fingers into the street, it’s gorgeous screen shattering against the indifferent bitumen.
Nicole swayed like an invisible band was playing a slow, depressing tune. She made no move to pick the phone up. Slowly, inch by inch, her body lowered until her knees were touching the road, her hands loosely bending back from her wrists. Pleading to the empty sky above.
Victoria felt the same overwhelming pull on her own body. Like gravity had increased a thousand-fold, dragging at every cell of her being.
Run to her. Get to Nicole and get her the hell out of here.
Instead, Victoria dropped helplessly to her knees. The relief of submitting to the force outweighed the painful grazes on her tender skin.
You need to get help, she thought as her elbows touched the ground, then she rolled onto her side. Eyes sagging closed against the burning bright street light above her head.
#
There’s mace in my bag, Nicole thought as her kne
es buckled. Something was wrong, and it was the only defense that came to mind.
There’s mace in my purse, and if you mess with me then you’re in for a surprise, motherfucker!
Her chin hit the road. Her teeth snapped shut, catching the end of her tongue. The jolt ricocheted up her jaw and made her ears pop. Blood filled her mouth, hot and meaty, coppery like fear.
Where the pain should be, a feeling of gentle warmth lodged instead. Nicole felt the same safe comfort as when her dad tucked her into bed as a girl. One story, he’d always said, then let her pressure him into two.
A fear of fire ruled out electric blankets in their house. If the nights were bitterly cold, he’d sneak in a hot water bottle covered in a happy furry bear for her to hug.
That was the essence of her dad. Warmth and hugs and bedtime stories. As her eyes gave in to the deepening sensation of sleep, Nicole’s bleeding mouth and chin stretched in a red-foamed smile.
Except he’s gone.
Nicole struggled against the warmth. Her self-pity intuited the lulling sensation was as fake as the chemicals she’d used to keep a smile plastered on her face the past year.
Fake. The whole world was detestable set-dressing. It was all suited perfectly to the world where her best friend Mo betrayed her with Jeremy.
Anger energized Nicole until she dragged herself to her knees. Fighting against the overwhelming pull of gravity as difficult as if a man’s weight lay across her slender back. The pain in her mouth arrived; all at once. Agonizing. Warmth was replaced by a deep, bone-ravaging chill. Contentment replaced by a dagger to her heart. Her chin and jaw felt like shattered crystal, shards biting deep into her flesh.
An arm wrapped around her throat and pulled her back. The pressure increased on her windpipe until she couldn’t sip in air. It increased again until the restricted space forced her tongue to press grotesquely out of her mouth. A lap dog licking for air.
Terror fueled her body into wakefulness and Nicole fought back in panic with her perfectly manicured nails. Scratching hard where the powerful arm was tightest around her throat. The grip on her was strong, muscular. It pulled tighter than any wire garrote. But Nicole’s savage fingers found nothing to attack except her own vulnerable throat. Her desperately scratching talons drew blood from her own skin.
The vicious pounding in her temples moved to her eyes. The top of her head filled to exploding point with her own blood. The arm compressed everything into a smaller and smaller space. Pressure popped her eyes out so her lids wouldn’t close. Her lips puffed like she’d injected a syringe of Juvederm. The top of her head throbbed with terrifying force. A headache more devastating than any migraine or hangover.
As Nicole fell to one side, she balled her hand into a fist and punched aggressively above her head. He must be there. Her attacker must be there.
Her fist punched nothing but air.
Her purse was on her hip. As her sight whirled into decaying bright spots, Nicole grabbed for the handle. The opening was intricately confusing to the touch. A buckle. A clasp. Feed the chain from the buckle through the gap to open.
Her left hand dipped in. Her knuckles scraped against the mesh as she forced the gap wider with her fingers. The can of mace felt weighty and powerful in her hand.
Nicole popped the top off with one thumb. Wrenched her hand out of the bag. Her skin tore, her fingers catching on the chain. The pain was muffled by the horrified shriek of despair from her oxygen-starved brain.
She held the can with both hands, one desperate finger confirming the nozzle faced the right way. Another finger depressed the trigger, so the attacking liquid escaped in a thin stream.
A woman screamed in pain and fear.
#
No one’s there.
Victoria fought back against the pull of sleep. A thousand hours of insomnia cast it off like tissue paper chains. She struggled to her knees, her feet, then ran to help Nicole. Help her to fight against an attacker that neither of them could see.
Nicole fought valiantly in the center of the road. Scratching, punching, clawing. Victoria’s mind tried to reconcile the scene into attacker and victim. But there was no attacker to see.
The teakettle whistle of a restricted windpipe sounded above Nicole’s struggle. Like Stanton a moment before he reached for his damn inhaler. Victoria heard the muffled noises as nails pulled at the tender skin covering a throat.
Victoria punched a wheelhouse blow at where a human attacked would be standing. She put her weight into it, swinging from her heels. Her fist hit nothing, and she staggered off balance.
There was no one there.
This wasn’t a trick of the light. It wasn’t the quick impression of an exhausted mind. As Victoria spun, she finally pulled all the loose strings together.
Vindication flooded her with adrenaline as she realized she’d been right all along. Gregory Mancini was the Birdman. She could smell his dirty scent, the fertile arousal of his body. Just the same as when he’d attacked Star.
They were fighting a dead man.
The thought terrified her, left her mind reeling, overwhelmed. Helpless to pull an intangible attacker away, Victoria fell to her knees at Nicole’s side. She pulled at the girl’s arm, trying to lift her, drag her away.
Away? Away where?
Victoria’s mind emptied of everything but fear and nervous excitement as she heaved the teen’s body into her arms. It took her full strength and full weight to shift the two of them a few inches along the road.
Then her eyes were streaming, her face burning like she’d been lit with napalm. An image of a naked girl running screaming from a village dumped into her mind.
Victoria pushed the worthless thought aside as she wiped her face with her sleeve. She’d been through basic training. She knew the dreadful burn of pepper spray.
Eyes streaming tears, ears buzzing, nerves dispatching pain in a thousand directions, Victoria tried to lift Nicole again.
The girl was winsomely light. Her skin was like paper covering pop-out cardboard bones. Victoria shoved an arm under Nicole’s knees, keeping the other swung around her shoulders. She staggered to her feet. The muscles in her lower back protested—lift with your knees—but it was a pinprick in a body swarming with piercing hot needles.
Each step felt like she was dragging her feet through setting concrete. The wrench in her back was soon joined by aches in her knees, her thighs. When Victoria opened her eyes, all she saw were bright circles of gummy light. She didn’t know where she was going.
Away.
The halo of lights grew brighter, spread along the street like a choir raising its voice in song. They burned and fed her energy, easing the burden of each step.
A roar of desperate defiance split the air above Victoria’s head. A moment later the retaliatory buzzing of a dozen street lights overwhelmed it. The setting concrete melted away into easily navigable air.
Victoria let her eyes stream themselves clear of the irritant as glowing streetlight halos led her to a bright intersection in the dark, dirty road.
As she followed them into the corner, Nicole’s body was lifted gently from her arms. A mass of dark shapes and reassuring voices surrounded her, saying they’d called the police.
Supportive arms draped around her shoulder, a multitude of human voices begged her to tell them, “What happened?” “What’s wrong?”
And when Victoria called out to Nicole in sudden desperate panic. Scared this was a new trick from a dead man, hands flailing blindly in the air, she heard Nicole screaming in distress.
Alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“They’re letting you out, looking like that?”
Victoria punched Edwards on the shoulder and poked her tongue out. Luckily, her eyesight was still so compromised by the pepper spray that the blurred reflection in the bathroom mirror looked okay to her.
“I want to get out of here. My insurance lapsed along with my job, remember?”
“I’m sure they�
��ll still pick up the tab.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed her tight, rocking her back and forth. “Hero of the streets. Rescuing girls with her bare hands. I can just see the headlines.”
Victoria extracted herself from Edwards enthusiastic grip and grabbed her phone off the bed, sweeping her arm in a wide circle to ensure she wasn’t leaving anything else behind.
The room was still populated by fuzzy shapes and dim shadows. Even when Victoria blinked hard, an exercise in pain, she couldn’t make out any more details. It’d been a long time since she’d gone through the pepper-spray drill and she’d forgotten how long it took to wear off completely.
“How’s Nicole?”
“Doing okay. The doctors are keeping her in, overnight at least.” He leaned forward to whisper, “That’s more to do with her weight and general condition than the attack, and her parents still haven’t turned up.”
Victoria winced. “Can I see her?”
Edwards snorted. “Doubt you can see anything, but yeah. She’s not in isolation or nothing.”
He led her through the corridors until they reached a respiratory ward, stopping at the second bed on the right. Just as Victoria stretched out a hand to place it on top of Nicole’s, a woman bustled up behind them.
“Where’s the doctor? My girl needs a room to herself.”
“Shhh, Mom.” Nicole’s voice was a low whisper. “People are trying to sleep.”
Victoria heard the woman turn toward her. She couldn’t see her expression, just a blur of features. From the protective grip Edwards took on her arm, she guessed it wasn’t welcoming.
“I hope you haven’t been questioning my daughter without me present. She’s underage, you know.”
“Mom. She only came by to see if I was okay.” Nicole’s voice was rough. Victoria could hear the effects of the inflamed tissue where her windpipe had been squeezed without mercy. “The other cops have already been and gone.”