This is the place. The long, winding road twisting and turning around the
large hill, a steep cliff rising up to the left, a more gentle decline to
the right. Sadie could see her reflection in the bus window, almost
comical in the waning light. Full lips smeared with red paint, rosy pink
blush standing out against the pale white of her flesh, black circles
around her eyes from where the mascara had run with her tears.
She was coming home. It was the thing she had come to talk about endlessly, wondering when her release date would be with only the hope of one day returning to the comfort of loved ones. Reaching into her purse, scrabbling amongst the matchbooks, lipsticks and loose change, finally settling on a small nail manicure set kept in a gold compact. With trembling fingers she tried to remove the skin and blood from beneath the nails, even though she could not see them she knew they must be there.
Scraps of him. Pieces of him caught under her nails from the fight that had started years ago. The begining of the end had happened when she dug her nails across his face, clawing at him. It had been her day. A wonderful day at the Art Institute of Renmark, a small city in California, where an entire room had been set up to show off her works of art.
"Do you live here?" a brunette man leaned across the aisle to speak to her.
She looked over at him, checking him out as she would an art work, detecting subtle nuances of personality in his clothes and manner. His eyes darted about constantly, his head facing the bus driver, tilting first this way then that, one ankle hooked behind the other. "What?"
"Silent Hill. This where you live?"
"No," she looked back out the window.
"Have you been there before?"
"Look, what is your problem? I'm sitting here, minding my own business."
"Think any of the rumours are true?"
She slumped against the seat and took a deep breath. "Great, a tourist."
"You're the great Sadie Collin's, right?" he was looking directly at her now. "The rumours about you true? You don't look like very wholesome."
"Meaning what? I'm a little upset, okay? The exhibit didn't go so well. Look, I've had a really rough time lately, in case you haven't noticed. I'm not really." Her voice cracked and she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Just not prepared for any of this."
"I know it's rought. What with Patrick not wanting to keep silent." His voice was so low she almost didn't catch what he said.
"What?"
"Patrick. I know all about him. And I got the letters. I followed you from his house. You look really guilty right now. Could probably turn out real bad for you in the divorce courts just to see your face."
"Ha. Well, I'm upset because some vandal went and trashed some of my paintings." she shrugged and got off her seat, standing in the aisle. Deep breaths now. "I spent all of yesterday in the police station, explaining. Never had time to do anything."
"Time to do what?"
She looked at him. Smiled.
He withdrew a sheath of polaroids, waving them at her and wiggling his eyebrows.
"Cute," she said. "All right. Let's talk. Right here, right now."
"I'd prefer us to do it somewhere more private."
She nodded, smiled again and headed for the bus driver. "Stop right here. I want to get off."
The bus driver shook his head. "You crazy, lady? Sit down."
"Open the door right now," she drew a cigarette from her pocket, lit it. Asshole. She looked at the sweating, balding middle-aged man, his pants had ridden halfway down his butt cheek and a glance in the wrong direction revealed a few inches of butt crack. She remembered what bus drivers did to open the door.
"Get behind the line," the bus driver swatted at her legs just as the bus started going around the corner, the steady decline dropped more sharply around this bend. She remembered this road and everything that was a part of it. She dropped the lit cigarette down the back of his pants.
She watched, her jaw dropping open as the bus driver leapt to his feet, knocking the wheel sideways. She was knocked sideways out the open door, thrown a few feet before she hit a bush, rolled across it and down the decline. Rocks and pebbles grazed her bare skin, tearing her clothes, the thorny branches of the shrubs tore at her clothes. If she hit her head against a rock the size of her fist, that would be the end of it.
Sadie's head didn't hit any rocks. After rolling halfway down the hill, she had slowed enough for a large bush to stop her. She lay there, breathing heavily. Her chest hurt like hell and she guessed she'd cracked a few ribs. Her entire body was a mass of cuts and scratches. When she felt her nose, she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was a bloody mass of pulp. No more Miss. Silent Hill beauty contests for her, no siree. After a few minutes she sat up, checking her limbs. None were broken. Damn.
Sadie laughed, examining the cuts and struggling to get up. The rush of adrenaline was incredible. It was just like that time before except even better. This time it wasn't meticulous and the wonder of whether she'd get away with this was amazing. How many people were on that bus?
She thought back as she put on her gloves. One old bag, two teeny-boppers and their angry father, the blackmailer and the bus driver. She climbed up to the road, the adrenaline largely wiping out the pain that hammered at her chest with every step.
The bus wasn't as damaged as she had hoped it would be. Sure, it was dented in a lot of place and all the windows had shattered but it was mostly whole. At least in the movies it would be on fire. She looked around for a weapon. A long shard of glass was attached to a piece of the window sill that had been torn off the bus in the fall. That would do. She picked it up and climbed onto the bus. Through the window on the other side of the bus she could see one of the teenyboppers lying on the grass outside, crawling away. The kid might've noticed something so she'd have to deal with that.
The bus driver was dead, a few moments checking his pulse proved that, the bag lady's head hung at an obscene angle, the other teenybopper had her head through a window - her throat was slit and her juices were making pretty patterns on the cracked glass shards. The father was obviously dead.
"Help me."
She looked over at the blackmailer. One of his arms were trapped between the seats in front of him and the seat he sat on had broken, crushing his right leg. His free arm flailed in her direction.
Sadie took his hand, gripping it and looking at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "You survived?"
"Hurts."
She smiled gently, squeezing his hand sympathetically. "I never saw anyone die before."
"Need help. I need. Oh God."
"Can you see a bright light?" she asked, retrieving the sheath of polaroids that had been miraculously caught between two seats. "I've never seen someone about to die before."
"Not gonna die."
"Yes, you will," she said and gripping the hand he had held out to her, she moved it directly over the broken shards left inside the nearby window. Drove it down onto the glass and then pulled it free to increase the blood loss. He swore and she hushed him, watching him curiously before grabbing him by the shoulder and trying to drag him from the seat, causing the blood to flow more freely from his leg. If anyone asked, she had been trying to help him. Watched him until he fell unconscious. Kept moving his limbs to keep the blood flowing out.
Then she went outside to the girl on the grass.
Dead.
She tossed her gloves to the floor, a terrified girl would do that, no doubt. Try and get the blood as far away as possible.
Then she dropped the glass weapon, unused and cut her arms on the broken windows, careful not to hurt her hands or any major artery.
Sadie headed for town.
She was coming home. It was the thing she had come to talk about endlessly, wondering when her release date would be with only the hope of one day returning to the comfort of loved ones. Reaching into her purse, scrabbling amongst the matchbooks, lipsticks and loose change, finally settling on a small nail manicure set kept in a gold compact. With trembling fingers she tried to remove the skin and blood from beneath the nails, even though she could not see them she knew they must be there.
Scraps of him. Pieces of him caught under her nails from the fight that had started years ago. The begining of the end had happened when she dug her nails across his face, clawing at him. It had been her day. A wonderful day at the Art Institute of Renmark, a small city in California, where an entire room had been set up to show off her works of art.
"Do you live here?" a brunette man leaned across the aisle to speak to her.
She looked over at him, checking him out as she would an art work, detecting subtle nuances of personality in his clothes and manner. His eyes darted about constantly, his head facing the bus driver, tilting first this way then that, one ankle hooked behind the other. "What?"
"Silent Hill. This where you live?"
"No," she looked back out the window.
"Have you been there before?"
"Look, what is your problem? I'm sitting here, minding my own business."
"Think any of the rumours are true?"
She slumped against the seat and took a deep breath. "Great, a tourist."
"You're the great Sadie Collin's, right?" he was looking directly at her now. "The rumours about you true? You don't look like very wholesome."
"Meaning what? I'm a little upset, okay? The exhibit didn't go so well. Look, I've had a really rough time lately, in case you haven't noticed. I'm not really." Her voice cracked and she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Just not prepared for any of this."
"I know it's rought. What with Patrick not wanting to keep silent." His voice was so low she almost didn't catch what he said.
"What?"
"Patrick. I know all about him. And I got the letters. I followed you from his house. You look really guilty right now. Could probably turn out real bad for you in the divorce courts just to see your face."
"Ha. Well, I'm upset because some vandal went and trashed some of my paintings." she shrugged and got off her seat, standing in the aisle. Deep breaths now. "I spent all of yesterday in the police station, explaining. Never had time to do anything."
"Time to do what?"
She looked at him. Smiled.
He withdrew a sheath of polaroids, waving them at her and wiggling his eyebrows.
"Cute," she said. "All right. Let's talk. Right here, right now."
"I'd prefer us to do it somewhere more private."
She nodded, smiled again and headed for the bus driver. "Stop right here. I want to get off."
The bus driver shook his head. "You crazy, lady? Sit down."
"Open the door right now," she drew a cigarette from her pocket, lit it. Asshole. She looked at the sweating, balding middle-aged man, his pants had ridden halfway down his butt cheek and a glance in the wrong direction revealed a few inches of butt crack. She remembered what bus drivers did to open the door.
"Get behind the line," the bus driver swatted at her legs just as the bus started going around the corner, the steady decline dropped more sharply around this bend. She remembered this road and everything that was a part of it. She dropped the lit cigarette down the back of his pants.
She watched, her jaw dropping open as the bus driver leapt to his feet, knocking the wheel sideways. She was knocked sideways out the open door, thrown a few feet before she hit a bush, rolled across it and down the decline. Rocks and pebbles grazed her bare skin, tearing her clothes, the thorny branches of the shrubs tore at her clothes. If she hit her head against a rock the size of her fist, that would be the end of it.
Sadie's head didn't hit any rocks. After rolling halfway down the hill, she had slowed enough for a large bush to stop her. She lay there, breathing heavily. Her chest hurt like hell and she guessed she'd cracked a few ribs. Her entire body was a mass of cuts and scratches. When she felt her nose, she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was a bloody mass of pulp. No more Miss. Silent Hill beauty contests for her, no siree. After a few minutes she sat up, checking her limbs. None were broken. Damn.
Sadie laughed, examining the cuts and struggling to get up. The rush of adrenaline was incredible. It was just like that time before except even better. This time it wasn't meticulous and the wonder of whether she'd get away with this was amazing. How many people were on that bus?
She thought back as she put on her gloves. One old bag, two teeny-boppers and their angry father, the blackmailer and the bus driver. She climbed up to the road, the adrenaline largely wiping out the pain that hammered at her chest with every step.
The bus wasn't as damaged as she had hoped it would be. Sure, it was dented in a lot of place and all the windows had shattered but it was mostly whole. At least in the movies it would be on fire. She looked around for a weapon. A long shard of glass was attached to a piece of the window sill that had been torn off the bus in the fall. That would do. She picked it up and climbed onto the bus. Through the window on the other side of the bus she could see one of the teenyboppers lying on the grass outside, crawling away. The kid might've noticed something so she'd have to deal with that.
The bus driver was dead, a few moments checking his pulse proved that, the bag lady's head hung at an obscene angle, the other teenybopper had her head through a window - her throat was slit and her juices were making pretty patterns on the cracked glass shards. The father was obviously dead.
"Help me."
She looked over at the blackmailer. One of his arms were trapped between the seats in front of him and the seat he sat on had broken, crushing his right leg. His free arm flailed in her direction.
Sadie took his hand, gripping it and looking at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "You survived?"
"Hurts."
She smiled gently, squeezing his hand sympathetically. "I never saw anyone die before."
"Need help. I need. Oh God."
"Can you see a bright light?" she asked, retrieving the sheath of polaroids that had been miraculously caught between two seats. "I've never seen someone about to die before."
"Not gonna die."
"Yes, you will," she said and gripping the hand he had held out to her, she moved it directly over the broken shards left inside the nearby window. Drove it down onto the glass and then pulled it free to increase the blood loss. He swore and she hushed him, watching him curiously before grabbing him by the shoulder and trying to drag him from the seat, causing the blood to flow more freely from his leg. If anyone asked, she had been trying to help him. Watched him until he fell unconscious. Kept moving his limbs to keep the blood flowing out.
Then she went outside to the girl on the grass.
Dead.
She tossed her gloves to the floor, a terrified girl would do that, no doubt. Try and get the blood as far away as possible.
Then she dropped the glass weapon, unused and cut her arms on the broken windows, careful not to hurt her hands or any major artery.
Sadie headed for town.
