Malia

by P. S. Power

  Malia

  P.S. Power

  Orange Cat Publishing

  Copyright 2019

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Dedication:

  Chapter one: A Constant Companion

  Chapter two: A New Friend

  Chapter three: Someone that I used to know…

  Chapter four: Weirdos

  Chapter five: A dating life.

  Chapter six: King’s

  Chapter seven: Run away, into the night.

  Chapter eight: A world of lies.

  Chapter nine: A family affair.

  Chapter ten: One thing left.

  Chapter eleven: This isn’t real.

  Epilog: An old man dies.

  Dedication:

  This book couldn’t have happened in the way it did without my great Patreon supporters! These are the people that are making the future happen. Thank you all.

  Vishal (Dreamweaver), who has been a supporter and friend for longer than I’ve been writing, this book is for you!

  Chapter one: A Constant Companion

  Pain flared across Jessica’s shoulder as she walked down the mainly empty street. The lack of people being out and about was probably due to it being near twilight. As well as the ample amounts of rain. That simply fell from the sky freely. In thick sheets that slapped at her face, leaving her feeling cold and shivering. As if it didn’t even care that she was out walking that day. Using her own two feet to propel herself through the moist curtain that was being foisted upon her without any regard for her health or comfort. Her black dress, a thing that hit about mid-thigh, without being as daring as it should have been, didn’t go too well with the black leather boots she wore. The colors worked, but the styles simply didn’t. Those weren’t combat boots, having big silver buckles on them like they did. They looked bad assed, though.

  What they had in looks, they were lacking in ability to keep her dry, though. Her feet were soaked at the moment. A thing that wouldn’t have been a problem, if she wasn’t as skinny as a rail.

  “I’m a freaking slave to fashion, that’s what the problem is. If I was willing to wear big rubber boots, my feet would be toasty right now. Dry, and comfy.” She wanted to grin at the words. Then, she would have preferred that they hadn’t come out sounding tense and biting. Like she wanted to punch someone over her lame attempts at using clothing to seem like an individual.

  As if anyone in the world that cared to consider her at all thought she was anything but different. Which was the point of how she was dressed at the moment. She should have caught a lot of attention from anyone seeing her. Men especially. Instead, even if she was showing her ass, or nearly half of it, to the world that day, no one had even bothered to glance her way. Like always. Which meant her trying even harder to fit in, by standing out. Normal girls got more appreciation than she did. It wasn’t fair, of course. She looked hot.

  Which wasn’t the issue. It never had been.

  “Do what you want to do… As long as what you want to do is what everybody wants you to do…” She hummed the slightly catchy song lightly. It wasn’t good, in particular, lacking depth and being sung in strained tones, being from a cartoon as it was, but the message had resonated with her when she’d seen the reruns. The world really was fine with you being an individual. Just as long as you colored inside the lines well enough.

  Step outside of that, and…

  Well, she knew that one. Jessica was, if nothing else, well outside the excepted boundaries. On most things. No matter how hard she tried to fit in. It meant, in the moment, that her makeup was probably running over half her face as if she were a drowning racoon. That, or a crying Christian fundamentalist. She didn’t bother rubbing at her face to see if that was the case. That would just smear things around if that wasn’t happening already. On the good side, no one sane was outside to see her at the moment. Cars did drive by, but no one used the puddle at the side of the road to try and splash her. They hadn’t yet, anyway. That kind of thing used to happen a lot, when she’d been even a few years younger. It was mainly kids from school that had done it. Now, on occasion, they still drove past her. They just ignored her though, with a few of them even waving, if with strange looks on their faces.

  It probably meant that at least some of them were growing up, over time.

  The pain of being came back again then. It was a sharp thing, high up on her left shoulder. The rest of her arm ached. That was a dull pain, which provided contrast to the rest of the mess that was her life. Then, as far as anyone could tell, it wasn’t really there. None of the residual pain really was. It had been, a long time before. When she was younger. There had been real damage, after all. Things that had put her in the hospital for months, as a child. She didn’t really recall most of it, having been too young at the time for clear memories to form or anything like that. Only one part of the whole thing had ever bothered to stand out for her. That was the bit that had nearly broken her, on more than one occasion. Until she’d learned to take it and use what was happening to her to make herself stronger. Thinking about it, even for a moment, meant reliving the event. She tried to fight it, clearing her mind and picking another topic to dwell on, which normally worked for her but had to stop moving forward, just standing there on the sidewalk, being soaked by the downpour. Watching it again.

  Reliving the whole thing. As if it were happening.

  Explaining that part had been a problem for her, over the years. She knew it wasn’t real, after all, but when the flashbacks came, it wasn’t just a memory. She was really there again. Almost. The one thing that had saved her was that she’d learned, over time, to hold on to her mind as she saw it playing out. Nothing she did would change it. That was beyond her abilities, or had been so far. What she could do was know what different things meant, even though at the time, as a baby or nearly one, she simply hadn’t.

  It was always the same, of course. There was only the one vision playing out. The colors, the scents, everything, was identical, each and every freaking time. She’d tried to explain to people for over a decade, before she’d given up trying. Psychologists, her parents, a few teachers when she was in junior high school, so they’d understand what it was like. How, when she had a flashback, it wasn’t like seeing a movie. She lived it again. Over and over. The rest of the world falling away as if it didn’t exist at all. From what she’d read, PTSD wasn’t normally that clear or powerful.

  Which she had to count as a good thing. She wouldn’t have wanted regular people to have to live with what she had going on. She wasn’t the biggest fan of humanity in the main, but that didn’t mean she’d wish that kind of pain on anyone else.

  She didn’t feel the rain any longer, as the vision started. Not even her soaked feet bothered her any longer. That would, of course, have been preferable. By far, really. The only good part of the whole thing was that she didn’t have a panic attack when it took place, now. That had happened as a little kid, almost every time. Until she’d hardened herself to what she had to go through.

  Jessica always froze, just standing in place, blind and deaf to the outside world, and couldn’t help that part of how she reacted. On the good side, there was no screaming about it. She didn’t even hyperventilate any longer. So it seemed like she was having an episode of some kind, without it constantly bothering the other people on the bus. Not that she’d taken that this time.

  No, she’d honestly thought that a walk would be nice. The first four or five miles had been. Her boots didn’t hurt her feet or anything. It was using her own feet, or public transportation for her, of course. Driving was right out if you had five-minute-long periods of time when you really weren’t with the world. So was riding a bicycle, or even a skateboard. If it happened while sitting in public, then she wa
s going down for a while. On her feet, she was just going to be stuck in place. Hopefully without being robbed or anything. Not that she’d had that happen to her too often. A few times in school people had stuck signs on her back, using those episodes to their advantage.

  As far as she knew, no one had ever even bothered to cop a feel while it happened though, so there was that, she supposed. It made fewer problems for her, even if that kind of thing probably would have meant that someone was at least a tiny bit interested in her.

  The scene itself always started in the same place. She was in her old bedroom, playing with her imaginary friend, Malia, when there were strange, violent sounds coming from the living room. That was where Debbie was. Her babysitter. She’d been sixteen at the time. Jessica hadn’t known that back then of course. The girl was simply an adult to her younger self. Tall and attractive, having long brown hair that was a lot like her own. Straighter, instead of having the natural curls that Jess did. One who had asked her to go play, so that she and her new friend could talk.

  Debbie had never brought anyone over when she’d watched her, but even with her being only five, it had been pretty apparent that Mark, the tall, muscular blond man, wasn’t up to anything good there. Her parents had only left about fifteen minutes before, having seen him there and everything, since Debbie wasn’t hiding that she was having someone over. The man had just come to the door with her, and shaken hands with her father, giving a leering nod toward her mother that should have set everyone on edge. It did her. Even the little version of her, whose eyes she had to watch the thing through.

  That part, in retrospect, had been incredibly strange. Bizarre on a level that nearly didn’t make sense. No one had ever explained it to her well, either. There was no way in the world her parents should have let a creepy adult man, one pushing thirty-five, into their home with a sixteen-year-old girl like they had. It was as if they were opening their house to the man to specifically have sex with the girl. While their own child was in the other room. That or watching.

  They’d met on the internet. At least that was the story that Jessica had learned later. A thing which, even fourteen years before had been a warning sign. A thing that should have had anyone canceling their plans and having a long talk with a certain girl about staying safe, even if what they’d been doing was considered important at the time. No party or business meeting was going to be more crucial than that. At least Jessica didn’t think so. Not the future version of herself who watched the whole thing unfolding, if from a remove.

  She was in her old room, at the house they’d lived in back then, in Kincaid. The space was small, being only about eight by ten. It was incredibly tidy though and she didn’t have to share with anyone else. Except her best friend. Her favorite coloring book was in front of her. She was working on one page of it, as Malia worked on the other one, sitting close.

  “What’s that?” She spoke out loud to her friend, though she understood, even at the time, that she didn’t really have to. Malia could read minds. The other girl stood up then, and sighed. There was a tight head shake.

  “I think I know what’s going on. Your babysitter is being raped. Then she’ll be killed. Almost certainly, if this man is who I think he is. Which… Well, I know him, so of course he is. He won’t have a choice, given the people who control him. We all have to follow orders, after all.” The words were simple and matter of fact sounding. As if those kinds of things were normal in their world.

  They weren’t, of course. Her life had been safe and fairly cozy, before that time.

  Her friend brushed at her own brown curls, since the two of them looked a bit alike, then shrugged.

  “We can save her. If we hurry. That will probably hurt, if we do that. Do you want to try it? I know that you said you were my friend, which is important. That means I can help you, if you want. It’s a little bit simple as far as such things go, but friendship is important to you, isn’t it?”

  Feeling beyond scared, knowing that something violent and bad was going on, less than twenty feet away, even if not understanding what her friend had been telling her, Jessica really wanted to just hide under her bed. The adult part of her kind of wished that she had, even if it meant that Debbie would be raped for her mistake of inviting the man over that night. It would have been better. Except that, if her imaginary pal had been correct, the babysitter would have also died that day.

  Instead, being an idiot, since children were, she’d nodded.

  “You’re my best friend, Malia. Forever and ever. What do we do?” The fear in her young voice had been palpable. As if she’d known, even then, to fear what was about to go on. Oddly, it wasn’t about Mal. Even looking back on it, that part seemed correct. Her imaginary friend, who looked as real as if a little girl had actually been in the room with her, was actually that. It felt right. At least she wasn’t weird or strange about it. Not most of the time. Occasionally.

  Malia smiled. It was a bit creepy, seeing it as an adult, in the moment. Vicious and a bit dangerous. It had simply seemed confident to Jess at the time, of course. The imaginary girl was older looking. About ten or so. A big kid. It made sense that she’d understand what to do, where Jess simply didn’t.

  “I can step inside of you, and take control of your body. Just for a bit. That… It won’t feel good. I’ll protect you as much as I can. Always. You need to know that and really believe it. Hold on to that later. I’m always on your side. We should hurry though. Do you want to let me in? It’s all right to be afraid. You could die, doing this, even if I help you.”

  There was another scream from the front room, the strange sounds. Things that a five-year-old couldn’t recognize. Grunting and slapping sounds. Now, the grown-up part of herself knew that it was Debbie being beaten unconscious. For a while, when she’d been younger, Jessica had thought it was the sound of a rape happening. Then, she hadn’t really known what that was.

  Whatever had happened, it sounded like it hurt. Debbie whimpered, loud enough to be heard at a good remove.

  Looking down at the ugly orange and brown mottled carpet, a thing that was a mistake to put in any room, ever, Jess nodded.

  “I… What do I do? I’m afraid.” Which Jess, the adult version, got to feel all over again. It wasn’t simple worry, either. She’d been terrified on a level that had caused her words to be barely audible. It was so bad that even watching it, years later, Jessica wanted to flee from the whole thing. To hide away. She couldn’t. That wasn’t an option and never had been.

  Trying to be strong, she focused on what was going on. Setting a part of that feeling aside, as best she could.

  Malia looked more serious then, her little blue velvet dress changing a bit, shifting toward black, as she moved over to where Jess sat. The small plastic chair was firm under her. It was red, but had faded in places, even if it wasn’t that old. The thing was cheap, after all. Most of the things in her room were. Her parents hadn’t had a lot of money back then. Enough to go out a few times a month and to hire Debbie to come in to make sure she didn’t set the place on fire, but they were renting the house they lived in.

  It wasn’t nice, really, though it had been kept clean. Almost unnaturally so. As if her mother had been trying to compensate for being a bad mom or something, by doing extra housework. The thing there was that the woman was actually pretty decent that way. If she’d been struggling with her own demons, Jessica had never learned what they were.

  Her friend, the imaginary girl who even then had seemed like a lot more than that, moved to hug her. A simple thing that was similar to what she’d done before. It was almost as if she were trying to comfort her, instead of doing anything useful. Then, as her arms passed around her, they moved inside, somehow. It had been strange feeling, at the time. Even now, after fourteen years, Jessica couldn’t get her mind to understand what was happening to her.

  She simply felt her heart racing. The pounding was fierce. As if something inside of her might just explode. More so than she’d ev
er experience in her young life. Sweat started to form all over her body as well. She burned, as if scalded by boiling water.

  Her own voice whispered then.

  “We don’t have long. You can’t survive carrying me like this yet. Not this closely. Just in the normal way that we do that. Not past a few minutes. Be quiet, if you can? I know what to do. This is part of why I’m here. Even if they don’t know about the rest of it. That I’m here for you, not to be their slave.”

  Jessica didn’t bother trying to speak, simply putting the forest green crayon back in the box, as if that made sense, given the sounds from the other room. Then, silently, far more so than Jess would have ever managed, even as an adult, she stood, her body practically flowing toward the door of the room. Running, but in an eerie silence that seemed off. Even nearly two decades later, no one she’d seen had moved like that. Not even on television, or in the description on the pages of a book.

  Hunched over, to keep herself low to the ground. Her feet barely lifting. Weight forward like a sprinter, without slamming her legs up and down.

  Rather than go into the living room, which was what Jessica had expected, since that was where the fight was going to be, there was a small surprise. Malia took them directly to the kitchen, instead. There, moving perfectly, she selected a knife from the rack. One of the ones that her mother kept there. Cheap things, but they were incredibly sharp. It was as long as her own forearm and pointed at the end. Not that strong, as it had turned out. Jessica hadn’t even known that particular blade was a thing that they’d owned. She wasn’t supposed to touch the knives. It was an actual rule and one of the only things that her mother truly had ever scolded her over.

  Most of the time her mom just asked her not to do things, or explained why she had to do things a certain way. With the knives the woman had actually pretended to be upset with her, when she’d gotten one to try and cut some bread off of a fresh baked loaf, not long before.