It's a dark, stormy night in Brooklyn. A young woman is walking home from God knows where, and she's alone. She's beautiful, with gleaming, chestnut-colored hair that falls to just beneath her shoulders in loose curls, flawless porcelain skin, and big blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, though it's hardly noticeable in the rain. Her footsteps are slow, hesitant. She's in no hurry to get wherever her destination is.
Involuntarily, she shivers against the cold wind. She pulls her dark green pea coat tighter around her small, slender frame. It doesn't help much. The fabric is old and worn, ripped in some places. Her faded blue jeans offer no more protection than the jacket due to the tears and holes in the legs. The brown felt gloves covering her hands are most likely the warmest clothing on her body.
She comes to an old, rundown brick apartment building and steps into the lobby. An old woman sitting in a chair with a toddler at her feet smiles and waves at her. She waves back, her smile so shy it's almost unnoticeable on her pouty, pink lips. She pushes her thick black horn-rimmed glasses up on her nose and starts the long trek upstairs.
The apartment building's stairwell is cold and dim, each landing lit only by one bare light bulb hanging from the bottom of the landing above it. She finally exits the stairwell on the fifth floor and steps into the hallway.
The hallway isn't any better lit than the stairs, but it's much warmer. The floor is covered by a cheap, ragged red carpet. There are doors on both sides of the hall all the way to each end of the building. She turns left and stops at Apartment 519. Pulling a key from her jeans pocket, she unlocks the door and goes in, shutting the door behind her.
She pulls off her gloves, tucks them into the pockets of her coat, and then takes the coat off and hangs it on the coat rack beside the door. The apartment is warm and cozy, but tiny. She steps into the living room where a little boy and girl are sitting on the floor, playing with buttons. They both look about six. The girl has long brown hair in two plaits, big, innocent blue eyes, fair skin, and is wearing a blue and white striped flannel nightgown. The boy's hair is cut close to his head and is the same shade as the girl's, as are his eyes, and he's wearing flannel pajamas that match her nightgown.
"Hi, doves." she whispers to them as she passes.
"Hi, Maddie!" they chorus back to her. She heads into the kitchen. A woman in her mid-forties is standing in front of a stove, stirring a pot of soup. She's pretty despite her age, with grey hair cut into a sharp, stylish bob, blue eyes, and slightly weathered, wrinkled skin. She's wearing a grey, knee-length skirt, a cream-colored turtleneck, and a white waist apron.
"Hey, Mom." Maddie says softly. The older woman turns her head.
"Hello, my darling." she says, giving her a weak smile. Maddie hugs her mother quickly, then leaves the kitchen and heads down the hallway. She opens a door to what is obviously her bedroom.
It's a rather small room, but it's cheery and comfortable. The walls are covered with photographs and posters, but what little bare wall can be seen is white. A twin bed is nestled against one wall. A shelf is over the head of the bed, holding books with such titles as "The Giver" and "Scandinavian Ghost Stories". A patchwork quilt covers the bed. An upside down milk crate serves as a nightstand, with a small desk lamp and an old fashioned, wind up alarm clock on top of it. On the other side of the room is a tiny closet, just big enough to hold the three skirts, two sweaters, and four dresses she has, with room for her three pairs of shoes at the bottom. Next to the closet is a small dresser that most likely holds all of her other clothes. On top of the dresser is an assortment of nail polishes, eye shadows, lip glosses, and a brush and comb. Hanging above it is a small, dingy mirror. She glances at her reflection, frowns, and lies down on her bed, her hair fanning out around her.
It's no secret that she's exhausted, for she falls asleep in seconds. She looks so peaceful just lying there. Her mom calls out that dinner is ready, but she sleeps on.
Later, when everyone else is asleep, a noise outside rouses her. Rolling out of bed, she creeps to the door to peek out into the hall. A tall, strong-looking young man is standing there, looking livid. His cold brown eyes are full of fury; his close-cut brown hair covered in raindrops.
"What do you want, Jake?" Maddie whispers groggily. Without a word, Jake grabs her roughly by the collar of her shirt and yanks her out into the hall, eliciting a startled cry from her lips. He shuts the door and slams her against the opposite wall.
"You little slut! What were you doing over at Mark's house?" he demands, his face inches from hers. She struggles against his grasp.
"Let me go, Jake! What are you talking about?" Her voice is strained.
"You know dang well what I'm talking about, Maddie!" he hisses. She tries to squirm away, resulting in his grip tightening on her.
"I promise you, Jake! I don't know what you mean!" she cries. He slaps her and throws her to the floor.
"You're just a lying little freak, Maddie! You'd better stay away from him. Stay away from everyone! Don't forget: You still belong to me!" he snarls, kicking her in the side.
"Y-you jerk." she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. He sneers, turns away, and leaves, slamming the door to the stairwell behind him.
Derek McPhee jolted awake, sitting straight up in his bed. A cold sweat was pouring down his skin, making him feel clammy and uncomfortable. A cloud of confusion was hanging over him.
This was the third dream this week he'd had about that Maddie girl! In each one, someone was hurting her. Last time, Jake and a couple other boys had cornered her in an alley and beaten her to the point where she blacked out. And before that, her father had come home drunk and beaten her with a belt!
Who was this girl?
