A/N: I you are a more sensitive reader , be advised that there is some rather graphic content in this chapter. Specifically , violence and foul language. I'm not telling you to stop reading , just brace yourself.
Also , a very esteemed thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far.
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Chapter 4 : Move or Be Moved
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" The police have no new leads on the robbery of the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas late last night. Security personnel were unable identify the intruder before , apparently , a wall caved in. The wall collapse allowed the suspect to escape arrest. It is believed that the assailant is connected to a series of seven bank robberies spanning throughout the Dallas area. If you have any leads on these mysterious thefts please call the police or our anonymous hotline. This is Geena Hantley , Dallas Morning News reporting."
Anxiously placing a french fry from her lunch into her mouth, she watched the television screen in the break room of Downtown Books. It was odd watching as Geena Hantley reported to the entire city about current events. Events in which she had participated just five hours ago. Normally when people watched the news , they watched because they wanted to find out what was going on in someone else's life. They wanted to know if anyone they knew was involved in a drive-by or about the latest medical research on wether or not Ipods could cause cancer. It was different when she was the topic of today's report. In some ways , she felt a glimmer of pride just knowing that she had accomplished something important enough to land her a spot on the morning news. But at the same time it disturbed her that people would unwittingly know details about her other life. Details that she did not necessarily want publicized.
" Hey!" A irate voice called , followed something making painful contact with the back of her head. The object rebounded off her skull and landed on the table in front of her , revealing itself to be a blue ball point pen.
"OW!" She spun around in her chair , meeting the gaze of Sandy. The young woman's hand position suggested that she had been the origin of the pen. "What was that for?!"
Sandy Lozier was a short , stocky teenager with a head of hair that had the bright intensity of golden flames. She wasn't the most glamourous girl , but she had a whimsical beauty that emanated from the sweet , fun loving spirit inside. A spirit and naivety that one tended to gravitate towards. Though they only saw each other at work , they quickly found themselves becoming companions. Though she would not go so far as to call Sandy a "friend" , she did enjoy the time they spent in each other's company. Sandy and her shared a common interest in various sciences , and had bonded while stocking the shelves with the latest volumes of delightful scholarly lore. It was uplifting to be able to have an intelligent chat , without the conversation ending with foul language and drawn out brawls.
" I've been trying to talk to ya' for almost five minutes!" Sandy replied in a thick , almost cliche Texan accent. " What's on that television screen that ya couldn't even hear a word I said?"
Still massaging the back of her skull , she shot Sandy a dirty look. " Sorry. I was just watching the news."
" Did ya hear about the guy who's robbing all the banks? It's been plastered all over the news this mornin'."
" Yeah." She secretly wanted to correct Sandy for her gender error , but knew it wise to keep her mouth shut. " Pretty scary stuff. "
" The newspaper said that the guy just up and disappeared. Guess he got lucky that the wall happened to fall in just as he was going get arrested."
" I guess. So what did you want to talk about?"
" Saw your new ride parked outside the store."
" Isn't she great. I've wanted a Kawasaki since I was nine."
" Jo , your a teenager who works in a bookstore. You mind tellin' me where you got the dough to pay for it? Brand spankin' new motorcycles don't grow on trees." Her friends teasing comment had a slight air of accusation.
" The Ninja 650 isn't just a motorcycle ." She playfully retorted and paused , quickly making up a witty and sarcastic excuse for her sudden boost in income. "My dad sent me money. The guy apparently felt guilty about ignoring me for seventeen years." In truth , she had no idea where her father was. Sometimes it sucked being an illegitimate child because she could never use her biological father as an excuse for anything.
" You and I both know that you have no clue where your daddy is ." Sandy waited for reply. Finding none , she placed her hands on her hips. " Fine! Don't tell me where you got it. You just better not be doin' anything illegal to pay for that machine."
" I'm not." It was almost amusing how easily blatant lies could flow off her tongue.
Sandy turned to leave , but stopped . " Jo, I know I've only known you for a little while , but..."
" What?"
" You've been different lately."
She immediately felt the need to defend herself from her cohort's accusatory tone. " Different how?"
Her companion kept her mouth open , as if trying to find the words to fill it. " More..."
" Confident?" she replied with a naturally lopsided smile.
" Cocky. Last week you almost got fired for tellin' off our boss."
" Mr. Horowitz had it coming. Even he's not supposed to take money from the till with out consulting the store owner." She retorted indignantly. " I was just reminding him of store policy."
Sandy folded her arms , clearly displeased about where this conversation was going. " Then ya start showin' up late to work , with no explanation why."
" I've been working a late job over at the mall. It's hard to get up that early." She lied and placed another french fry from her lunch into her mouth.
" And now ya ridin' around on a rather expensive piece of hardware that should be labeled Motorized Death."
" So your mad because I'm finally acting happy for the first time in my life?"
Sandy looked incredibly hurt that she was accused of being envious of her friend. " I'm concerned because your actin' like your havin' a mid-life crisis."
With a frustrated sigh , she looked her familiar in the eye. " Sandy , I know you're just looking out for me but I can take care of myself. "
" If that were true , then you wouldn't still be living with your ma."
" That's because I don't want to spend my time and money trying to get emancipated. It would be a waste considering that I turn eighteen in two months."
" I just want ya to know that ya don't always have to deal with things alone." Sandy's voice grew quiet and sincere.
" I appreciate the sentiment , but I prefer to handle my issues on my own."
Defeated , Sandy quickly changed the subject. "Well , we have customers comin' in. Get on your smock and get your butt out here."
She playfully saluted her friend. " Yes Ma'am."
" And don't think you're off the hook. We'll talk later."
" I'm sure we will."
Sandy exited the break room , leaving her alone to let their conversation fester in her mind. Underneath the stiff-upper-lipped front that she had to put on , she felt bad that she could not tell her associate her troubles. However , guilt was not a sufficient motivator to let this situation out of the bag. Letting emotions and friendship cloud judgment was a good way to get yourself caught , arrested and imprisoned for life. She was not about to let a month of companionship get in the way of her continued freedom. Friendship was useless in jail.
Removing herself from the comfort of her seat , she walked across the break room to where the staff lockers were located. Her locker stood at the end of the second row , making her walk the longest distance out of the other employees. As she neared the her usual locker assignment , a discrepancy in the normal arrangement of space caught her attention. On the floor underneath her locker sat a large brown envelope. Inscribed on the wrinkled paper , in black sentimental scrawl , was her name.
With weary observation , she removed the curious package from the ground. She knew of no one who would be sending her packages. Being the daughter of a woman who owned no mailbox had insured that sorry fact. The only thing she had received in her life that even fell into the category of letter , were eviction notices precariously jammed in her front door from choleric landlords.
Curling her finger nail underneath the lip of the package's opening , she ripped through the adhesive. As she extracted and examined the contents of the wrapping , a sense of unfounded dread entered her mind. In her hand she held a book , seemingly ordinary and innocent. It's cover was a rich shade of dark blue , engraved neatly with a lighter cursive-S design. She knew this book from the many copies she had been forced to stock on the stores shelves. Large capital letters that spelled Activating Evolution stared up at her from the glossy cover.
With a cautious hand , she opened the book to the title page. To her unpleasant surprise , someone had inscribed a note to her inside.
Miss Joann Hayworth ,
As I am sure you're aware, a change has occurred inside of you.
You are different now. You have a unique ability
at your disposal. My name is Dr. Chandra Suresh and
I have a theory about you. You are not alone
Miss Hayworth. I urge you to seize this chance.
I will be sending my associate to contact you.
Chandra Suresh
As if Suresh's words had sent an electric current through her hands , she snapped the cover of the book shut. Questions began to spin in her head like whirling Dervishes. The question that worried her the most was , how did some stranger know what she could do? How did her deepest secret suddenly become the musings of some crackpot doctor? She had never told a single , solitary soul about how she could make everyday objects bend and change to her every whim. If this Chandra Suresh knew about her "ability" , there was a chance that he knew what she had been using it for. The dreadful word blackmail was her first thought.
Her heart leapt into her throat at the very cogitation. If he did have demands and she refused , jail would be the immediate result. That was something that she couldn't let happen. Even if he didn't attempt to blackmail her , there was no way of telling what he would do to her with the information he already had. Risking capture was not an option!
A plan had already begun to formulate in her mind. All she had to do was run and get as far away from Dallas as she could. There were no obligations for her to remain here. Her family life sucked , her work didn't carry much importance and she now had a viable means of transport. If she were to leave tonight , no one would notice until she was long gone.
The mere idea of an excuse to leave her old life behind made a devious smile creep into her lips. This seemingly catastrophic situation now proved to be the chance she had dreamt for so many years. She could start fresh , and live any life she wanted. A new name , a new home. Her windows of opportunity were now wide open. The words of Suresh's note poured into her subconscious , and opened the Pandora's box of her new existence. "I urge you to seize this chance." Though she was sure this method of evasion was not what Suresh had meant when he'd penned the cryptic note , she intended to follow it.
People often associated escape with cowardice. She saw it as a way to live , a way to preserve her own dignity. Throughout her long and painful life , she had a penchant for knowing when to run. It had easily become a rather grim and unfortunate talent of hers. Whenever her mother would go into a drunken fury , she knew when and where to hide to avoid being beaten into a bloody pulp. Escape was the ultimate form of protection. Wanting to live and preserve one's freedom was not an act of cowardice , but of intelligence. The people who thought running was a sign of the faint-hearted had no idea what it was like. Not a clue about being afraid for their life or having to flee from evil on a daily basis. In a strange and pathetic way , she pitied them for being so sheltered about the true darkness of the world around them. That was the only thing she could ever thank her mother for giving her. Over the years her mother had beat her into having a crystal clear perspective of the world.
With the smile still stretching across her face , she placed the book in her locker , retrieved her smock and return to work as if nothing had changed. Only , everything had...
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She progressed through the day as if it was normal. She ran the cash register , stocked books on the shelves and helped customers. All of her duties were carried out in a stoic and willing manner. None of her co-workers , including the more observant Sandy , seemed to be aware that something in her docile countenance had changed dramatically. Inside , her stomach was doing back-flips. Excitement , fear , anxiety and joy were all surging through her at the same time , leaving her as giddy as a school girl. She had done some pretty amazing , stupid and impossible things these last few months , but this took the cake. She was going to go on the road and not look back.
It was dark outside when she finally ended her shift , the last shift she would ever work for Downtown Books. There was no sadness or regret as she removed what little belongings she had from her locker into her work backpack , including the book that had changed her her prospects in life , and migrated to the front of the store. Sandy waved , giving her the usual " See ya tomorrow" farewell. With her pleasant asymmetrical smile , she returned the sentiment and walked speedily to the exit. When she opened the door , her speed barreled forward , narrowly missing a man with hideously framed glasses. Their shoulders grazed , but she didn't look at him. Ignoring his indignant "excuse me" , she turned her full attention to her wonderful black Ninja parked directly in front of the store.
With a slight skip in her step , she playfully dashed to the bike and mounted. Completing the usual procedures of motorcycle safety involving the helmet , she turned the key in the ignition. The electronic animal saddled beneath her purred happily , like a child greeting a parent after a long day's work. Grasping the sides tightly with her legs , she roared forward on the wheels. There was nothing quite like being strapped to 600 cc. of raw power , and feeling the blast of air as it pummeled against her clothes. On her bike she felt invulnerable and completely exhilarated.
She headed directly home from the store. Packing for her infinitely prolonged road trip had to be done whilst her mother was still in her catatonic , booze induced lethargy. It would take , at the most , ten minutes to load her money stash , clothes and any small valuables into a duffle bag. Once that was done , she could say farewell to the cruel house and all the hellish nightmares it contained.
Creeping silently through the house , avoiding the drunken lump on the sofa , she located her large black duffle and went to work. The money was the first thing that she shoveled into in the deep recesses of her luggage. That was her utmost priority , because without it the escape would be a one-way ticket to homelessness. After the money came clothes and toiletries. To her own surprise , she tucked the Activating Evolution book amidst the untidy mass of unlaundered clothes. For some mysterious reason she felt that it may be needed. Ignoring the illogical quirk , she prepared herself for the next item she would take. A chill trickled down her spine at the very thought of retrieving this particular object. It was not the object itself that caused the dread , but its location was a different story.
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For as long as she could remember , her mother's bedroom had been an inhospitable domain. The slightest look at the door caused fear , due to the memories associated with it. The one time in her childhood that she had ventured into the abyss of the forbidden room had been met with tragedy. She had been six years old at the time. At that age , she had been a abnormally curious and thoughtful youth , exploring everything that sparked her interest. One day , while her mother was at the liquor store , she had noticed that the bedroom door had been left open. Ignorant of the the consequences her curiosity would invoke , she entered , anxious to explore the new territory that had been opened to her. She remembered the room being dark , dank and smelly. Her mother's vomit riddled clothes laid strewn across the floor , attracting all kinds of unsanitary vermin. The bed , devoid of any appropriate linens , stood blatantly unaligned from the rest of the dust encrusted furniture. The walls and drapes that had apparently once been white , were stained by careless barrages of booze and other substances that she did not wish to speculate of their origins. Through the vile conditions , memory of one special decoration was the most prevalent. Even at her young age , she was able to recognize the fact that her mother had taken care of one specific object. As her home fell apart around her and her daughter's blood stained her brutalizing hands , Deborah Hayworth had managed to spare one single possession. The photograph was the one thing , other than alcohol , that her mother treasured.
She remembered it vividly. During her incursion , she had stumbled upon the small picture. It had been stuck into the lower corner of her mother's broken vanity mirror. It was unlike any object she had seen before , due to a lack of proper childhood upbringing. The attraction to touch and hold the picture in her tiny hands was unbearable , so she followed where her inclinations took her. Upon retrieving the fascinating piece of paper , she studied it as intently as her immature mind would allow.
To this day she could clearly see the picture in her mind's eye. Trapped beneath the glossy coating was a world that she had never seen. A world before her mother had allowed herself to succumb to the dangerous addiction , a world before the painful late night beatings , a world before she even existed on this planet. Staring up at her were two smiling people , an unfamiliar man and a woman that she hardly recognized as her mother. A smile on Deborah Hayworth's face was as rare as snow in the middle of August. She had never seen it occur in real life. Yet , in the presence of this man , she had been happy enough to let it occur. All those years ago , the concept of a smile appearing on The Beast's face was foreign and confusing. It was impossible to connect the monstrosity that she encountered everyday , with the young vibrant woman.
Before she had a chance to examine the picture and continue her innocent exploration further , an earth-shattering voice made her heart stop.
" YOU LITTLE BITCH!"
Whirling around , picture still guiltily clutched in her fingers , she came face to face with her own personal anti-christ. In the doorway of the bedroom loomed her mother. Being six years of age , the woman appeared to be as great as a mountain , towering furiously over her.
" I'LL TEACH YOU TO MEDDLE WITH MY STUFF!"
In one ferocious , swift movement , her mother grabbed her by her tiny wrist and effortlessly through her small body into a nearby wall. With a crack she felt her shoulder dislocate from it's socket upon impact. Terrified and excruciating tears rolled down her cheeks , which infuriated the woman more.
"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BABY!"
She saw red as the bulk of her mother's strength was transfered to her face in the form of a bone crushing punch.
" NO MOMMY! I'M SORRY!" She pleaded , in too much shock and fear to attempt to block her mother's violence.
" STOP CRYING!"
Once again , the evil woman took hold of her dislocated arm and began to twist it as slowly as possible , increasing the pain with every millimeter of movement. The torture seemed to continue for hours as she released scream after blood-curdling scream.
" I'M SORRY MOMMY! I'M SORRY MOMMY! PLEASE STOP!!!!! NO MORE!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!"
Even at this current time , she still had no idea how long she had endured the cruelty before she finally fallen unconscious. She woke up three days after the attack on the living room floor , covered in every classification of trauma that she could think of. Apparently , The Beast had thought it fitting to continue the beating long after her tiny victim had stopped screaming. The pummeling that she had amazingly taken had been so severe that the dislocated shoulder had been relocated in the course of the traumatizing event , never to return to it's original range of movement.
For two weeks after the nearly fatal thrashing , she spent a good variety of her time cowering in her closet bedroom. As the wounds healed themselves , she occupied herself with thinking. After every battering , she went through stages. At first the only thing she could think about was pain. The pain in her body seemed insignificant compared to the pain in her soul. She blamed herself for provoking her mother's wrath for doing something that had seemed so innocent at first and dwelt on her own carelessness. Days were spent in a constant state of self-loathing and silent tears. At these times , even at six years old , she mentally cursed the heavens for ever bringing her into this world. The desire to die controlled her body and rendered her catatonic for undetermined amounts of time.
After the loathing came the delusions. When they set in , she pretended that she was standing on the top of the tallest building in the Dallas skyline, looking down at all the people. There , she was free from her body and all the afflictions that came with it. In this dreamworld her mind soared high above the restrictions of the world. At these times , she was a dreamer and delighted in every minute of freedom. In her mind she would float over cities and visit amazing places. Places that one could only see if they had enough money and time to do so. It was in these places that she played with imaginary friends. One of her best and closest was a boy that lived in a faraway land. He had no name and was much older than her , but that didn't stop her from enjoying his company. Together they would hop over buildings , and swim on tropical beaches. While she was with him in her mind , impossible and wonderful things could happen. In ways he was her Peter Pan , sweeping her off to Neverland and rescuing her from the reality of her dismal situation. Though she now knew that the boy was just a childish figment of a desperate little girl's imagination , she still offered him unwavering gratitude for the many times he had saved her sanity.
Soon she would transcend the psychotic dreams and began to analyze why her predicament had occurred. This particular incident stuck out more than any other that she had experienced , because it had happened over something so totally ridiculous . It was then that she remembered the man in the photograph. His face , his clothes , his hair was all vividly engraved in her head , never to leave her. As age strengthened her ability to reason , she was finally able to determine the identity of a man who had been important enough to her mother , that any handling of his picture would incite such brutality.
At age fifteen she eventually put all the puzzle pieces together. The man's physical features had begun her nine year thought process on this matter. It was only when she looked in the mirror did she realize why. She bore a shocking resemblance to him in almost every way. The Mediterranean style jawbone , the onyx locks of hair , and the strong and slender build of their body frames were all unique traits. Traits that couldn't have possibly come from the Scottish lineage of her mother. It was painfully obvious that this man had contributed into her very creation. He was her father...
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This photograph was the only history that she had. Growing up in her mother's home had never been an appropriate environment to learn about her origin and purpose in this world. Here , asking a question was considered a death wish. Tonight was her last chance to change her life , and she would start with learning about why she had been born into a place that she now felt an overwhelming desire to flee from. History was the best way to learn about the future , and not repeat mistakes of the past. That was precisely why she would not leave without that photograph.
With the heavy duffle strapped to her shoulders , she tiptoed across the living room where her mother was passed out and headed down the hallway. As she reached the door and extended her hand to touch the knob , she began to shake uncontrollably. A psychological pain formed in her shoulder at the memories that were being stirred up. The physical scars of that night had long since healed , but were far from being forgotten.
Taking a deep and shaking breath , she took the metal knob in her hand. Apparently , some kind of response was triggered when she touched the knob , because the skin cells of the hand began to buzz. Knowledge of the door knob's atomic make up entered her brain. Brass. Iron. Aluminum. With this knowledge , she was once again she was reminded that her ability was still an uncontrollable force , triggered during stressful situations. This emphasized the need to use caution it her handling of this anomaly. Shaking off the sensation , she entered the room.
It was just as she remembered from eleven years ago. The stench of vomit and liquor , the lopsided bed , the stained drapes. Nothing seemed to have moved it's position. Not wanting to waste more time than she had to , she scanned the the vanity mirror. There it sat. The photograph , the one true answer to why she had suffered so many years. She dashed to it , taking it in her hand and shoved it into her pocket. With a strong sense of self-satisfaction she turned to leave. Upon reaching the bedroom door , her heart jumped into her throat.
There was no accurate way of explaining how exactly she knew , how exactly she could sense that something was incredibly wrong. It started off as a uncomfortable buzzing of her fingertips and began to grow. As it crept through her body like an army of marching ants, the air around her seemed to vibrate. Her brain struggled to process what exactly was happening , stressing itself to the point of frustration. When it finally managed to translate the information , a door had been opened . She could suddenly feel the world around her. Every movement of every particle , every atom around her passed through her head with alarming intensity. She could feel the vibrations of a fly's wings , and the exhaling breaths of her "sleeping mother." These miniscule particles of energy began to draw a map of her surroundings , just as it had when she was stumbling around the bank hallways. But this time was much different...
A picture had been drawn and now played in front of her eyes , a movie of the present. This time it was focused on , not just the room around her , but also the outside of the house. It was then that she realized why the sudden anxiety had seized her. In the front yard , something had drastically altered the natural configuration of which atoms moved. More accurately , someone had disrupted the way energy flowed. Another person , a person who didn't belong here , was approaching the house. However , this was no ordinary individual. There was a difference. Normally , she couldn't feel people around her. Only non-living objects seemed to call out to her. Something about the individual that was now closing in on her doorstep brought fear to her. She could see inside of them and what she saw terrified her. This person was physically different from normal people. This person was like her. But there was more beneath the simple fact that whoever this person was had a physical uniqueness. Something more prevalent in the atmosphere that emanated off this individual , caused her unimaginable terror. Whoever was standing in her front yard reeked of evil intentions.
Quickly resolving to not find out what these intentions might be , she began to look for an escape that did not involve the front door. The most expedient exit was her mother's window. Without wasting precious seconds thinking about the person at her door , she bolted to the window. Rapidly she slid it open , and jumped through. Climbing out of the window was quite a unusual task , considering that her full duffle bag had remained efficiently strapped to her back , but her feet eventually touched the dying grass of the back yard. Using every bit of agility she possessed , she ran around the side of the house. With cat-like stealth , she peered around the east corner of the building. The front yard was empty , and immediately she saw why.
The front door of her house was laying on the grass , hinges pulled clean off the door jam. Her mother's screaming could be heard from the living room , followed by a voice. The sound of the intruder's voice permeated deep into her subconscious. It mirrored the voice that haunted everyone's dreams. This type of voice was so commonly used by actors in horror movies , because it triggered a horrible psychological fear. But this was no movie.
" Where's the girl?" The man asked , his tone riddled with an ominous stillness.
" She's at work." Her mother's slurred speech replied with trembling terror.
There was terrible crash , followed by a heinous and excruciating screech. Heavy , masculine footsteps began to tread across the floor.
" Your lying to me." The man's voice held a terrible sense of delight. " Where is she?"
" I don't know." Her mom sobbed in fright.
Another crash , this time with the sharp ring of breaking glass. The sound that followed would never leave her for as long as she lived. A wail , unlike anything she had heard , echoed from the open door of the house. It was unearthly. A sound that could've come from the blistering inferno of hell. It continued for mere seconds , and then was silenced as quickly as it had begun. A moist splattering , like the smashing of a pumpkin , followed the silence. She knew well what was causing the noise, but wanted to deny that it was real. She wanted this to all be a figment of her imagination , but it wasn't. Her mother's blood was being splattered all over the living room.
Fighting back the paralyzing fear of the madman in her home , she ran. She soared across the front yard , not having the slightest inclination to look back. Before she realized it , she had mounted her motorcycle and was speeding at full speed down the street. Her mother's obvious fate brought her no grief , only fear. Fear that whoever had killed her mother had really been looking for her. As for the woman , who's karma had finally caught up with her, In pace requiescat!
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A/N: Read carefully , and don't jump to conclusions. This is one of the longest chapter's I have ever written for any of my stories , so I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for the wait. Maybe some more reviews will speed up my typing fingers ;-) If my dialogue sucked big time , I throughly apologize. It is not one of my more acute writing skills , but I'm working on improving that. Keep reading (AND REVIEWING)
