by HJ Lawson
“I don't want to hurt you… don't come any closer!” I say, holding the knife out.
He just laughs. “What are you going to do, little girl?” He takes one step closer, and the streetlights reveal the evil glint in his eyes.
He dives at me once again. But this time, the blade plunges through his ribcage and into his heart. The whites of his eyes pop in the darkness; his body flails backwards, taking my knife with it.
I stare at him for several long moments, watching him die. Oh, my God, I really did it… I finally killed one of those perverted pricks who prey on young women. This wasn’t the first time some dick tried to rape me, but I sure hope he’s the last!
Big Red was the first person who tried to rape me; he was always undressing me with his eyes. Mom and Dad didn’t believe me, but I knew it was because they were afraid of him.
Big Red is the founding father of the Wild Boar Riders. Now, thanks to me, he’s rotting in a jail cell waiting for his trial.
My hands tremble as I look down at my attacker’s body. I know I was just defending myself, and I had no choice… but I cannot believe I killed a man. Jesus Christ, I’m a murderer… I’m going to hell! Straight to hell!
God, I need a smoke.
But first things first – I want my knife back. It's the only thing I have from my dad. Bending down over the body, I start pulling the blade from his body. But it’s stuck in real good and won’t budge. Crap! Why everything is so damn complicated?! All I was trying to do was get some sleep for the night. So stupid of me to think Hook Dock would be safe.
I stare at the corpse and groan inwardly. I cannot believe I’m going to do this, but I have no choice. I place my foot on his shoulder, grasp the knife’s handle, and push down on my leg with all my strength. The blade comes free, sending me flying backwards into a large puddle of water.
Great! It's already freezing, and now I'm wet! I jump back to my feet and go to kick the tramp in the stomach. But I stop myself. Jesus, what type of animal have I turned into?
I drop to my knees as it hits me. I’ve become one of them. Everyone and everything I was running away from… the filth I said I’d never be like.
Now I’ve murdered a man. I want to steal from him, and I have a nicotine addiction. I hated everything about the Wild Boar Riders, and now I’m acting just like them.
“You pervert!” I yell.
Frantically, I start pouring the puddle's water over the knife, washing away any trace of my crime. I hold it up to the streetlight, making sure it’s clean.
The blade catches my reflection. I look so different than I used to. I started to change my appearance after my nightmares with Big Red began.
*****
Big Red terrified me. I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was five years ago and I was only twelve at the time. I was living with my Grandma then, and I was on my weekend visit at my parents’ house. Grandma allowed me to stay with them on the condition that they were off heroin. Since they’d both just come out of prison, instead of being hooked on heroin, they were hooked on methadone.
The Wild Boar Riders, or the WBR, as I called them, liked to throw a party when people got out of prison. I didn’t like the WBR members; they creeped me out, and I was right to think that way. Mom told me I was being rude and had to go. I wish I’d protested more and hadn’t gone. But I was too young to stand up to my mom.
Once at the party, my mom and dad disappeared to the bar, and all the WBR members swarmed around them.
A heavy hand pushed down on my shoulder, and I spun around to see who it was. “Kid, you’ve grown.” My heart sank… it was Big Red, the leader of WBR. I knew Mom and Dad were terrified of him, but they acted like he was their best friend.
“Hi,” I mumbled. What else could I say, “Get your hand off me, you fat pig”? He’d have slapped me for that, or worse… and I most definitely would have gotten a beating from my parents.
“Hi? Is that all you have to say to me? Come here…” Big Red pulled me toward him, pushing me into his repulsive belly, and I could feel his sweat against my face. Yuck.
I struggled against his powerful grip. Finally I squirmed free and took a step away from him, trying not to puke. God, he was so disgusting!
“What’s up, kid… do you not like Big Red?” He smiled, flashing his yellow and gold teeth.
Hell, no. I hate you, you vile pig!
“Mmm… sorry, I need the bathroom,” I explained as I hurried past him.
“No worries, kid… get you later,” he said as I walked by.
I hurried to the bathroom, praying he didn't follow. Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I jumped. “What the…?”
I spun around and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Dad.
“Where are you running off to?” he asked with a smile.
Should I tell him? But what was I going to say, Big Red gave me a nasty, stinky, sweaty hug? Dad would have just laughed at me.
“Just need the bathroom,” I explained.
“Run on, kiddo,” Dad said as he chugged back another beer. Dad was funny when he was drinking; it was the drugs I had to worry about.
I was eight when I found my parents' small, clear crack pipe. It was in my mom’s jewelry box. I held it up to the light and threw it out the window. Dad gave me a whack on the butt so hard it hurt to sit down for two days!
I turned and made my way down the hall and toward the bathroom. Just as I reached the door, a hand reached out from an empty room and grabbed my arm. I knew his odor before my eyes even met his. Big Red. Oh, God, he must’ve been waiting for me.
He dragged me backwards into the coat room and closed the door behind us.
“Annabel, don’t look scared. I’m a good friend of your parents,” he said.
I frantically looked around the room; it was just me and him. The music outside was so deafening, no one would hear me if I screamed.
“Come here, sweetheart… I just want to be friends.” He moved closer to me, and I stepped back, right into the wall with the coats.
I had nowhere to go. I was trapped.
He lunged forward and pressed his hand over my mouth. I let out a whimper of fear.
“Hush, little girl… hush now. This will be our little secret, do you understand?” Big Red whispered in my ear. I tried to open my mouth to scream, but his hand muffled any sound.
“Keep this a secret, you little bitch, or I’ll feed your shitty excuses of parents to my bloody pigs! Do you understand?” His saliva flew onto my face as he yelled the last part.
Terrified, I just nodded.
“Very good, princess. Now comes the fun part. Relax… you’ll enjoy it.” He smiled a perfectly evil grin, as sweat dripped down his head into his overgrown, fire-red eyebrows.
I tried to control my breathing, but I felt like I was going to hyperventilate.
“I said relax! Can you not follow orders, like your whore mother?”
Tears streamed down my face as I tried to compose myself.
“That’s better,” he said. His black, beady eyes pierced my soul. He wiped his tongue across his lips as he stared at me like I was a steak he was dying to taste. “You’re growing into a beautiful woman. You could be a model with them high cheekbones.”
His eyes moved down my body, stopping at my blossoming bosom.
“Mmm… look at them tasty peaches… nice and ripe…” He moved his hand slowly down my shoulder blade, across the top of my breast. I stood frozen with terror; he bit the top of his lip so hard it began to bleed.
“Mmm. I want to taste them… doesn't it feel good?”
He squeezed each of my breasts so hard it hurt. But the sounds of my cries were silenced with his hand as he pressed down on my mouth.
“Tell me you like it, you little bitch!” he yelled into my ear.
I nodded in submission.
“Good girl. I said it would be fun… I love your brown hair.” He placed his lips on my cheek, kissing me intensely and leaving a trail of his sal
iva on my face. His hands moved downwards, releasing my breast. I let out a sigh of relief.
“See… it’s fun.”
What? Fun?! I'm not enjoying this, you stupid fat pig! I frantically wiggled, trying to get free.
“You want it rough, just like your mother.” He gripped hold of me more tightly around the face. He shoved his hand down my skirt and under my panties.
I squirmed harder. God, no, get off me!
I squeezed my legs together, trying to prevent his hands from going any further.
Suddenly, the coat room door swung open, and his hand flew out of my underwear as quickly as it entered. He removed his hand from my face.
I ran for the door before the fat slob could react. Standing in the way was another member of WBR. I quickly ducked under his arm and out of the room.
“Annabel, you keep our secret or I will feed them to the pigs!” Big Red yelled at me.
“New girlfriend, Big Red?” the WBR member asked.
“She will be.” His laughter echoed through the corridor, as I ran to find my parents. I wanted to tell them everything, but I couldn't. They wouldn't have believed me, and Big Red would feed them to the pigs. I was so screwed.
“Hi, kid… what’re you running for?” Dad asked as I slammed into him and threw my arms around his huge belly. I finally feel safe.
“What’s wrong, Annabel?” He pushed me away and studied my face. I had to think fast.
“I’m sick. Can we go home? Can Grandma get me?”
Dad didn’t question the lie; I never told my parents about what Big Red did to me that night, or any of the other times.
*****
After that incident, I began to change my appearance. The first thing I did was cut off all my long, brown hair. I figured if I made myself look unattractive, then maybe no one else would do that to me again.
Now… five years later, as I look at my reflection in the knife, I hardly recognize myself. My hair is bleached platinum-blonde and shaved at the sides, with blue running through the heavy top. Mom says I look like a lesbian, which I’m not. But it’s fine if the WBR thinks that!
The only things I recognize are my hazel eyes. They’ve never changed over the years of heartbreak. Grandma said I have my mom’s eyes. When my grandma died, it hurt worse than anything Big Red could do to me.
I had to move back in with my parents; that was three years ago, when I was fourteen, and I was already a hell of a lot smarter than they were. I ended up looking after them, and a lot more.
It sucks that their dumb genes are running through my blood! I’m sitting here dwelling over sick times, when I should be running away. I put the fat bastard in prison, but I’ll be joining him if I don’t get out of here now!
Chapter 2
Just A Normal Girl.
JADA
We’ve been living in America for one year now. At school I blend in with the other children, but I know I’m different. Especially when I go to meet people on the list my father gave me.
After Gérard informed me that my parents were spies, I showed him the list from my father. I also gave him the letter my mother had addressed to him. He never told me what it said, and I never asked. Every day I want to know, but I don’t push it.
“Jada, this is too dangerous for you. No offence, but you’re just a kid,” Gérard explains.
“But I thought you said you’d train me, and help me find my father,” I say, trying to contain my frustration.
“I will help you find him… in my own way,” Gérard says. “I’m not getting in touch with these people. Trust me, you don’t want to meet them. They’re crazy! I don’t know if they’re even alive. Most spies are killed on one of their missions. I will continue to show you how to use a gun, like your dad began teaching you.”
I put my hands on my hips and let out an annoyed huff. “Gérard, not to sound rude, but I am already a perfect shot; I don’t need your help on that. I thought you would teach me other things that I’ll need to help me find my father. If you won’t help me find the people on the list, I’ll have to go on my own.”
“You are stubborn, just like your mother!” As soon as he says this, the atmosphere changes in the room.
“Don’t call my mother stubborn!” I snap. It’s been hard for all of us to keep in our anger since we arrived here from Syria. It’s been especially difficult for Haytham. He’s always in trouble at school and is having a tough time adjusting to life in America.
Zak and I are in the same class, and so are Kyra and Ali. That leaves Haytham on his own. Faith set us up with counseling once we got to America, telling us that we need to talk about what happened in Syria. It’s supposed to help us “get over it.” Yeah, right. We’ll never “get over it.” The images of my mother’s and my brother’s lifeless bodies still haunt my dreams every night.
“Sorry, Jada… I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Gérard says, shaking his head. “Your mother was stubborn when I knew her. It wasn’t a bad thing; it just meant she wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted. I guess you’re the same way.”
He’s right about that!
“If you know I won’t give up, wouldn’t it just be easier to help me?” I give him my sweetest smile.
“Jesus, Jada… you are more like your mother than you know.” Gérard rolls his eyes and grins.
“Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“Okay, you win… guess you won’t stop going on until you’ve made me change my mind. What does a man have to do for a quiet life?” Gérard laughs.
“Maybe not invite a group of homeless families to live with you.” I smile, and Gérard places his arm around me and holds me close.
“Good point. Look, Jada, Faith cannot know. I hate lying to her, but she wouldn’t understand. She’s not like us.”
He’s right – Faith is not like us. She’s the kindest person I’ve ever known, other than my mother. It’s weird; sometimes Faith’s facial expressions even remind me of her. But I don’t want to lie to Faith, not after everything she’s done for us.
We’re silent for a moment as we both think. “Well, she works every weekend at the hospital. We could tell her you’ve found some of my extended family and that we’re going to visit them on a weekend so I don’t miss school.” I’ve always been good at thinking on my feet. I don’t want to give Gérard any reason to back out now.
“Let’s keep it between us. Don’t tell Zak, do you understand?”
I nod. It’s going to be hard lying to Zak, but Gérard is lying for me, so I guess it’s the least I can do.
“Let’s have a look at the list again,” he says, and I pass it to him.
“Makio Suzuki… mmm…. Oh yeah, martial arts specialist. Did Léon teach you any martial art skills?”
“Nope,” I answer.
“Makes sense. Léon wasn’t that keen on hand-to-hand combat.”
I try to keep a straight face and let Gérard run through the list. What did he and my father do together?
I’m not sure I want to know.
“You’ll like Makio. I’m guessing that little ninja is still alive. No one could catch that sneaky shit.” Gérard places his hand over his mouth. “Oops, sorry for swearing.”
I laugh. “It’s fine. You should hear the children at school… every other word is a swear word. Nothing like Syria. Children didn’t dare speak that way.”
“How are you finding school? Is it very different from your old one?” Gérard asks. I like that he’s interested in my life, but it’s also kind of weird. Maybe he feels protective of me because he knew my parents.
“It’s the same as it was when you asked last week — wait, I know what you’re doing, trying to change the subject!” I shake my head at him. “Come on, we’ll be here all day. Who else is on the list?”
“Forgot you’re a smarty pants, like both of your parents. Okay, next we have a knife specialist… did your father teach you any knife skills?”
I shake my head in disappointment. Why
didn’t Father teach me any of this good stuff?
“Jada, like I said, Léon didn’t do much hand combat,” Gérard reminds me.
“What were my father’s special skills?”
Gérard pauses. It’s clear he’s trying to select his words carefully before answering. “Your father’s special skill was… he could speak loads of languages, so he could blend in easily with the targets.”
“What else?” I know Gérard is not telling me everything.
“He was a perfect shot, like you say you are. And he was bloody smart, just like you!” Gérard snaps his response, and I’m more confused. I thought he and my father were supposed to be friends, but he seems to get angrier each time the subject comes up.
Gérard seems to sense my next question, and answers me before I even have a chance to ask. “Your mother was especially skilled at blending in, like your father. But she was also good at hand-to-hand combat,” he says softly, and bites at his bottom lip.
“I wonder why she didn’t teach me anything,” I murmur.
“Your mother had her reasons. Syria is not a safe place for women to have these types of skills.”
I shrug my shoulders, defeated. Maybe my father will know.
“Okay, back to the list,” Gérard says, holding up the paper. “Christian… oh great! This is your father’s idea of a joke – he could’ve selected anyone but this guy!” His face glows crimson.
I smile. “What’s his special skill?”
“Being a prick!” Gérard snaps. “Sorry… special intelligence. Jesus, I'll bet he already knows we’re coming to see him. That jerk always has the upper hand!”
I try to keep a straight face at Gérard’s outburst, as he continues to study the paper. “Let’s see what other jerks Léon has put on the list,” he mutters. “Bet he had a good laugh when he wrote this!”
“Why do you hate my father?” I bluntly ask.
Gérard just stares. “I don’t hate Léon… he’s like a brother to me,” he replies somberly, almost as if it hurts when he thinks about him. “It’s just…”