Steadying herself on the glass panel of a nearby bus shelter, she pulled a bottle from her pack, swirling the minty liquid in her mouth, desperate to wash away the taste from her last encounter. He was old and tasted old, his rancid odor still filling her nostrils.
Returning the mouthwash to her pack, she checked again that the money the old man had given her was there, wrinkling her nose at the few crumpled-up twenties, far less than she was used to.
The money had been better when Brandon brought her to Ann Arbor last year. He knew the right people: young, good-looking college guys who didn’t mind spending their parents’ cash on a girl like her. She had tagged along with Brandon on a whim, grateful to be gone from her mother and the rest of the assholes in Detroit, mesmerized by the life of parties, designer clothes, booze, pills, and good times.
He had been good to her, better than most people that came in and out of her life. She didn’t care if she had to chicken head a few of his friends at parties, and if he wanted her to hook up with some random guys every now and then, it was cool. It turned him on, and she wanted to make him happy. She was having fun too. The cash was just a bonus.
The bad times started when Brandon, who always took care of the money, met some new skank at a party, taking off and never to be heard from again. She was still confused—he had said he loved her. The problem was she had gotten used to the lifestyle, and there was no way she was going back to her mother.
She tried to hang with the guys he had introduced her to, but they weren’t interested in her now that he wasn’t around. They wouldn’t let her into the parties anymore, and suddenly she was on her own.
Then one night, with no other options, she posted pics on in the personals section of Leo’s list, nothing too racy at first, but it got her the type of attention she needed to make some quick cash. The guys trawling the classifieds weren’t rich college kids. They were older, mostly working-class or middle-of-the-road, white-collar types with too much debt, which meant they were cheap, not to mention gross. Now she did what she had to to get by.
Catching her reflection in the bus stop shelter, she ran her hands through short, blond hair, dabbing on some concealer from her bag to cover the dark circles under her eyes.
“You look like shit, Gwen. What happened; you fall asleep in the snow, ho!”
Gwen turned to see her dealer, Marco, hanging out the side of an old Honda that had seen better days. Marco was a rat-faced asshole who had one redeeming quality in that he was reliable, showing up within minutes of getting a call as long as you were local and had the cash.
He wore a cheap suit over a black turtleneck, with cheap gold chains around his neck. He had slicked-back greasy hair and cultivated an air of stupidity that made him look every part the goon he was trying to be.
“Screw you, man. You got my stuff?” she said, irritated, pulling the crumpled twenties from her bag.
“For you, honey, I got the best right here!” he said, grabbing his crotch and laughing. “But only when you turn eighteen—I ain’t into dirty diapers. Your regulars ain’t normal.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, you’re a real humanitarian,” she said, shoving the money into his greasy palm and taking a small baggie of plain white pills in exchange, not bothering to check the quality. She was never sure where he got his stuff, but it was always pharmaceutical grade, uncut.
“Thanks, asshole,” she mumbled, walking away abruptly.
Gwen could hear the motor surge to life, Marco following her. “Hey, be careful with those, they’re pretty strong,” called Marco. “It’s pretty cold out here. You wanna lift somewhere? Maybe we can go get some tallboys and hang for a bit.”
She wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or just playing games, but he was the last person she trusted. She quickened her pace, ignoring him.
“Alright, it’s like that, huh? Well, screw you, bitch! That’s what I get for trying to be nice to some junkie whore!” he screamed, peeling off.
“What a douchebag,” Gwen muttered, stumbling along. She was frozen now; her toes were numb, and she couldn’t feel her fingers. The old man had dropped her off at the edge of the university campus, and while it was well lit, she hated walking here alone. The streets were mostly deserted at this time of night, but she kept glancing behind her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following her. She felt jumpy, the people passing by leering at her like she didn’t belong. She could feel the night pressing against her. There was a flophouse not too far from the campus, and if she hurried she could make it before she died of exposure.
Opening the baggie, she took out a tiny, white pill, dry swallowing it to calm her nerves. She had twenty dollars left, and that would be just enough to rent a room for the rest of the night and crash. She would take one more hit before bed to ease her down. Right now she just wanted to get high and chill. As she walked, she could feel Marco’s little wonder doing its magic, the rush coming much faster than normal. The feeling of euphoria hit her hard and all of a sudden she felt like everything was perfect in the world. She fought the sudden urge to take off her heels and run barefoot, as the cold didn’t bother her so much anymore, but she knew better. Slipping her earbuds from her pocket, she fumbled with an antique music player she had stolen from her mother, playing an old tune her father sang to her before her mother ruined that too.
“I used to think maybe you loved me...now baby I’m sure...I’m walkin’ on sunshine woah...and it’s startin’ to feel good!” She had loved Brandon so much; she would have done anything for him. Just thinking of him, she started to run, laughing to herself in glee. “I’m walkin’ on sunshine...woah, walkin’ on sunshine babe...” she sang with pure joy, skipping along. She opened her arms wide, spinning in a circle, singing at the top of her lungs, dancing wildly down the quiet Ann Arbor street. The air felt so good, she could feel a silly smile plastered on her face. “I’m startin’ to feel good! Yeah right now….woah...” She was twirling and shaking her hips now to the beat of the song in her head. “Walkin’ on sunshine, baby!”
Then suddenly, for the second time that night, she found herself face down on the icy pavement. Somewhere between a spin and a twirl, the icy street had gotten the better of her, sending her face-first to the street. She lay there, groaning and gasping for air, touching her throbbing forehead and her fingers coming away sticky red. She could feel blood trickling down her face. With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet, wincing in pain as the world began to spin. Finding her balance, she stumbled along before finding another bus shelter, half falling onto the cold hard bench. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she rummaged around in her bag for something to stop the bleeding.
Finding her scarf, she pressed it against her head with a sigh, waiting for the pain to subside. She leaned against the glass, relishing its coolness against her skin. She smiled, taking deep breaths and enjoying the sensation of her nose hairs freezing. Even the air smelled good. Looking onto the street, she was mesmerized. Everything glowed, the street lights like stars swirling in infinite patterns. She felt like it was all coming together for her, she would get it all back. She didn’t even miss Brandon anymore. She wanted to feel like this forever. Reaching into her pack, she popped another pill, washing it down with mouthwash this time. She had once read that true happiness was a clear horizon, nothing on your plate to stress you out. This is how she felt now, at peace, like nothing could go wrong. It was the greatest feeling in the world. She was not sure how long she sat there, but it felt really good. Everything was going to be alright—she just knew it.
Feeling tired, she bunched up her bloody scarf to make a pillow and lay down on the bench. She would relax for just a minute and then head to the flophouse, and tomorrow...tomorrow she would… Tomorrow would be better. She began humming to herself. She was so tired, so she would just rest for a minute; it was all good, she thought, as she drifted off to a deep sleep.
***
Gwen came awake to the uncomfortable feeling of pi
npricks in her extremities, frozen fingers and toes throbbing terribly as feeling slowly returned, surprised to be warm. “Where the hell am I?” she muttered.
Cracking an eyelid open, she squinted at the brightness, finding herself in a strange office, confused as to how she had ended up slouched over in a hard wooden chair with handcuffs loosely around her wrist. The desk in front of her was piled high with manila folders and loose paper, and behind it sat a man with short, curly, orange hair peppered with hints of gray and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. He stared at her through hooded, green eyes, frowning, giving her the impression that he didn’t smile often. He was dressed in a light blue, button-down shirt and a dark blue tie. As they watched one another, her eyes were drawn to the gold-plated badge on his chest, on it the image of two stags rearing in stark relief. “Shit.”
“Yes, shit would be a good word,” he said, offering her a box of wipes. “Clean your face. I don’t want it looking like we abused you during your stay with the Ann Arbor Police Department.”
She moaned, taking the damp cloth as she fought to hold back tears, worriedly cleaning dirt and blood from her face. She had never been arrested and felt nauseous suddenly, like someone had just kicked her in the gut. “How did I get here?”
“Patrol car found you passed out in a bus shelter, near frozen to death,” he said slowly, “said it was a real mess, blood everywhere.”
“I just slipped on the ice, but I’m fine now. I’m late to meet up with friends. Can I go?” she asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“If that were true, you could go home right now, but...we both know that’s not the case,” he said, holding up a file folder. “It’s all in here, Gweneth Stone, age fifteen, no priors, reported missing eleven months ago by your mother. Still not enough to land you in any real trouble, just a free ride back to Detroit.”
She squirmed in the chair, eyeing the file as though it were a snake, praying that there was nothing more, and the curly-haired officer was just messing with her.
Seeing her reaction, the officer sighed deeply before putting down the file. He looked directly at her, steepling his fingers against his lips. “Listen, kid, they found enough oxy in your system to kill a horse,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Gwen’s heart sank, knowing for certain they must have checked her blood, easy enough with it spilled all over the fucking bus shelter. They knew exactly who she was. At best, she was going to juvie; at worst, back to Detroit with her mother, a woman who was a monster at the best of times.
The officer continued, speaking in a detached tone, “You’re lucky we found you when we did. Not much longer, and you would have never woken up from that bench! Now here is the bad news,” he said, putting a tiny bag of pills on his desk. “These are a schedule-two narcotic, and you don’t have a prescription. Even as a minor, you could go away for a long time.”
“Those aren’t—”
“Don’t bullshit me, kid,” he interrupted, raising up a hand to stop her. “I want to help you. I know what you’re going through, I really do. I used to be you. This stuff ain’t cheap. How are you paying for it?”
Gwen looked away, biting her lip before looking at him from the corner of her eye. “How do you think,” she whispered.
The officer frowned, nodding to himself. “I get it. To this day I still think about it. You don’t have a care in the world on this stuff. It was the best feeling; everything covered in that soft glow.”
Gwen could only nod, knowing. Nothing was as good, not booze, not song. Not even Brandon made her feel so good. “Yeah,” she said in a tiny voice.
He continued softly, leaning back in his chair, “When it was over, I was always ok, not like booze or coke. No hangover. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t sick, and that’s the devil of it—how you get sucked in. It never really feels like you’re an addict, until you are. Then you find yourself doing things you’d never do, anything to have that feeling. After a while, you’re doing it to keep the shakes away, just to be normal. I did worse than you, much worse, so don’t feel so bad, kid.”
They sat in silence, a sense of understanding growing between them. Gwen didn’t dare to speak.
“You can kick this, but only, only if you can be honest about your problem. It ain’t easy. Hell, it took me six tries and ten years. But you have to decide to make a change.”
She sat up straight in the chair, about to speak, when he stopped her once again. “Even if you decide to turn things around, we’re still going to have to arrest you, but if you cooperate, let us know who sold you this crap, I’ll see you go to state-sponsored rehab, not to juvie.”
Hugging herself, she could only shrug, not sure what to say.
“I’m going to give you some time to think while I go to the bathroom, get a cup of coffee, and when I come back, we’ll talk about how we can help each other.” Walking by, he put a freckled hand on her shoulder. “Name’s Armstrong by the way. Don’t worry. It’s going to be ok.”
Watching Armstrong vanish around the corner to empty his bladder, Gwen felt suddenly lost and alone. The office was mostly empty, with only a large blond woman with a headset on, answering the occasional call at the reception desk. From her vantage point she could see the security door that led out into the visitors’ area, and beyond that a bank of windows looking out onto a darkened parking lot, mostly empty aside from a large black SUV sitting with its lights on. She wished she could just run for it, get the hell out of Ann Arbor and maybe disappear to somewhere warm, but with her arm chained to the desk, it didn’t look like she would be running off anytime soon.
She didn’t have a problem telling them about Marco—he was a scumbag anyway—but she couldn’t be sure if Armstrong really wanted to help or if he was angling for something else. Most of the time men his age only wanted her to get them off, and not one of them ever did something for nothing. There was always an angle to their niceness. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t want help. She liked to party. She wasn’t hurting anyone, so why should she stop?
It was a little after 3 a.m., and Gwen was imagining being in jail, making herself crazy with worry, when the oddest boy walked into the police station. He was small, very thin, barely over five feet tall from the look of him. He could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. She couldn’t imagine what business a kid would have in a police station in the middle of the night. He had large dark eyes and caramel-colored skin, and his brown hair was curly and fell just past his shoulders. He wore an unadorned, black army service uniform with a crimson collar. To say he looked out of place would be an understatement.
Shaking the snow from his hair and shoulders, he made a beeline for the large blonde woman who sat at the reception desk. “Good morning, Tammy. I have a transfer order for a girl who was brought in earlier this evening,” he said, handing her a data pad and giving her a polite smile.
The large woman, Tammy, was clearly taken aback by the boy, stammering for a moment before giving him a condescending smile. “Well now, sweetie, aren’t you cute. Where are your parents? What are you doing out of bed at this time of night?” she asked. “And how do you know my name?” she added in a simpering voice.
“You have a name tag, Tammy…” he said, pointing at the tag on her blouse. “I haven’t a clue where my parents are, do you? And as I said, I am here for the girl.”
Gwen ducked down in her chair, chewing her fingernails, her brow narrowing, knowing she was the only one here. He had come for her.
“Is this some kinda joke, sweetie?” said Tammy suddenly, pushing her chair back. “You know it’s illegal to lie to a police officer. What’s your name, little man? I’ve got a mind to—”
Curiosity got the best of Gwen, and she poked her head back up.
“No, Tammy, not a joke at all. In fact, it’s very serious,” said the boy, interrupting. “My name is Arthur, and you are not a police officer. You are a dispatch clerk and night receptionist. I’m certainly not
lying. The order on the data pad requires your office to relinquish custody of the girl to my care, and while it would be nice to have you and your colleague cooperate with me, I do not need or require your permission to leave with her. But it would be appreciated, so please bring her to me now, or I will come in and get her. Do you understand me, Tammy?”
Watching the confrontation, Gwen could see Tammy growing redder by the moment, spittle running down her ample chins as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Ok, little man, playtime’s over. Get your butt outta here before I whup it. I’ve had enough bullshit for one night, got it?” she said loudly, putting her hands on her ample hips and leaning forward as she spoke.
Gwen felt a surge of relief, although she wasn’t sure why, given the reality of what would happen once Sergeant Armstrong returned. But the idea of leaving with some strange child in the middle of the night felt worse than the alternative.
Arthur shrugged, picking up the data pad and stepping away from the counter. “Well then, I’m sure I should say something witty, but I really can’t think of anything right now. I hope you’re not too disappointed that I’m not more dramatic. Please understand, I will be going back there now, and if you try and stop me, there will be...consequences.”
“Get outta here, you little runt! There are thirty cops back here, and any one of them would be happy to shoot your sorry ass!” Tammy screamed, leaning over the counter as Arthur vanished from her field of view. “That door is locked and steel plated. You’re not gettin’ in here, you little bastard!”
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 6