AN: This chapter is quite dark. More than a mention of underage sexual abuse. I don't say, 'penis' or other 'sex' words, but you'll definitely get what's going on. Just a warning for the very squeamish. This is as far as I'll go, though. It won't get more graphic than this (and it's not very), I promise.

But other than that, enjoy!

The Wound of Sorrow

Chapter 7

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Indiana, September 2009

It's September, but there's no school. Ben hadn't been aware that a school year generally begins in September and ends in June, but Maria tells him. In the beginning, she had looked at him a bit oddly when she figured out that he doesn't know much about 'normal' things like when school starts, but she's never said anything about it. Ben supposes she figures it's just a part of his dark and mysterious 'Before' that he wants to keep a secret.

It's only afterward that he finds out that she thought he was a little 'special' at first. The whispered conversation that Deputy Hudak and Juliet Richardson had had on that first day had been about his possible autism or perhaps amnesia. Apparently, some of the people who had talked to him that day were doctors. Ben doesn't like doctors.

But of course, 'autism' doesn't mean anything to Ben until he looks it up later. Ben shrugs it off. Well, what would you expect from a runaway government experiment raised in captivity with no schooling on 'how real people act'? A discourse on the adverse effects of hip-hop music on the fabric of American musical culture? Of course he was a little detached from society.

Anyway, Maria has secrets of her own. She doesn't tell him what exactly Mark Richardson would have done to her if he had been able to make his way into the bathroom that night. When he asks, she gets a hard look on her face and changes the subject.

Ben can take a hint. Bluntness does not work outside of the military compound.

Food is scarce now. Very scarce. He's seen people fight, steal, and kill for it. All over half a loaf of bread that's partially black with mold. The fungus wouldn't kill him, but he doubts genetically unmodified human stomachs could manage it. Starving people fight over it anyway.

He's also seen men offering small bits of food to others, usually young women and girls, in exchange for something that Ben doesn't understand. He gets the same unsettling feeling about them that he got about Mark Richardson. Maria always pales and pulls Ben away from them as fast as she can. However, she doesn't know about Ben's enhanced hearing, so he can sometimes hear the whimpers and crying of the young girls and deep-throated moans of…pleasure from the men. He doesn't understand completely, but he begins to.

The day comes when food hasn't passed their lips for three days (four for Ben because he gave his portion to Maria that last day when she was so weak that she had to stop walking to rest). They're standing around a metal trashcan with a fire in it trying to forget the empty feeling gnawing at their guts. They're in the company of a dirty-looking man with long strands of greasy hair falling in his face. He stinks. But he has food, enough to last him a week. Found a gas mart in the middle of nowhere, he says. Pure dumb luck.

He gets a familiar greedy look in his eyes as he lets them travel up and down their huddled bodies. "How long?" he asks. "How long's it been since you kids've had grub?"

They answer him stiffly, eyeing the sausage stick in his grubby hand with hungry expressions.

"That long? Man, you kids gotta be damned hungry." The man smiles suddenly, as if he's just thought of something. "You know, just 'cause I'm so goddamned generous, I'll give you a deal. You do a little somethin' for me, and I'll give you a can of soda and a bag of chips. Each." His teeth glow yellow in the firelight. Ben thinks he reminds him of a wolf. A predator. A low growl begins to roll deep in his throat. Ben's a predator, too.

Maria jerks away with a quick "No." She grabs Ben's hand. "Let's go. Now." Her eyes are afraid.

Ben shakes his head. "We need food." He turns to the man, "What do you want us to do?"

"Ben," Maria warns from his side. "No."

Ben can see the food in the man's pack. He's guarding it carefully, like a dog hoards a bone. "We need to eat soon, or we'll die." He meets Maria's eyes. She knows it too.

Blinking against the smoke from the fire, she nods tersely. "Fine. What do you want from us?"

The man grins. There's a piece of meat stuck in his teeth. "You, not him," he tells Maria. "It's a good deal. Four packsa food for one. Just once."

Ben frowns. "No," he says firmly, "Me or nothing." He still doesn't understand, but he's not letting Maria pay for both their food.

"Nothing, then," the man says flippantly, pulling back from the fire with a shrug. "I don't do boys. I'm not a friggin' homo." He takes a big chunk out of the meat stick. "Mmmm," he moans and rubs his belly. Ben's mouth waters at the sight. "This sure is real tasty." He's mocking them.

Maria's jaw trembles before she clenches it. "Fine," she whispers hoarsely, stepping around the burning trashcan to the man's side of the fire. "I'll do it. But I want one of those sausage things too."

The man pops the rest of the jerky into his mouth and puts out his hand. Maria takes it, despite Ben's protestations. "We need to eat," she says, throwing his words back at him. There's a look in her eyes he's never seen before. He doesn't like it. "Stay here, Ben," she orders. "Whatever you hear, stay here."

It's an order. Ben's a soldier. He's been trained to never disobey orders, even if he disagrees with them. It's the involuntary pause he gives that allows Maria the time to follow the man to a dark spot around the corner.

Ben can't see them. But he can still hear. Maria's shallow gasp-like breaths, the man's grunts, the sound of a zipper. Ben's forehead is slick with sweat and his palms are wet. His heart's hammering in his chest. He doesn't know what's happening, but it doesn't seem pleasant. Maria lets out a whimper that sounds like a sob, and that's it for Ben. He doesn't care about orders; they could 'go to hell' (a phrase he has picked up recently). Nobody scares Maria like that.

He blurs to where the pair is concealed in the shadow of a dumpster, but hesitates when he sees what Maria had tried to hide from him. The man has got her shoved up against the rough brick wall, her hands pinned above her head. His hips are ground up close against hers and he has his face buried in the side of her neck, forcing her head to the side, neck tendons standing out in tension. There's a grimace on her face, a furrow in her brow and she's biting hard enough on her lip to draw blood. Tears run down her dirty cheeks, making streaks in the grime.

Maria whimpers again and Ben spins into action. He pulls the man away from the girl and throws him on the cold, wet ground ten feet away. He's at the stubbled throat in a second, his hands choking the life out of him. Larger hands scrabble at his smaller ones with filthy nails, but Ben has steel running through his bones; it's a futile effort to get away. Red-veined eyes roll back in their sockets as the man goes unconscious, but Ben snarls and keeps squeezing. Adrenaline pumps fiercely in his veins.

"Ben." A shaky voice calls to him. "Ben, no. Stop." It's Maria. She's curled against the wall where she'd fallen when the man had been wrenched off of her.

Ben freezes and looks up.

"Stop," she whispers. "Don't kill him." The tears still leak from her eyes as she stares at Ben crouching over the man.

Without the man's body blocking his view, Ben can see now that her pants are unbuttoned and her shirt is hiked up to an uncomfortable height. He thinks he understands now. Mark Richardson deserved to die. This man deserves it too.

"Maria," he starts, but she cuts him off.

"No." She's firm now. "Killing is bad." Maria tries to get up off the ground with the wall for support but falters with a hard sob. One arm's wound tight around her torso, but she's not injured. Not physically, at least.

Ben rushes to her side, his intent to choke the man to death temporarily forgotten. He pulls her up off of the cold concrete and puts his arms around her.

Swollen eyes open and a hand gropes in the dark to clutch at his shirt. "Ben?" Her voice is small, shaky. "Ben."

Comfort, he can do. He's done that for his sibs, and they've done that for him. "No more. You're not ever doing that again. No one's going to do that to you—ever."

She clings to him and sobs. She smells like the man he almost killed. His scent is all over her. Ben's jacket grows wet at the shoulder but he doesn't care. "Maria," he whispers, "it's okay. I'm going to take care of you."

Neither of them feels much like eating that night, but they take the food and the contents of the man's wallet with them anyway before he wakes. Food is food, and these days, no one knows where their next meal's going to come from. Nevertheless, they're both glad when the last sausage stick is gone.

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Outside Seattle, Washington, May 8, 2034

Mila's started to doze off again when they pass a sign that says:

NO TE_L MOT_L — NEXT EXIT.

There's another sign right after that one that proclaims:

AL'S C_R SHOP & AUTO _ _ASS

that makes Alec snort and nudge Mila awake. The tired teen is not impressed. "You're so lame," she mutters, before shifting in her seat again. "And your car seats suck."

"Okay, Grumpy. We're almost there," Alec replies amiably as he takes the next exit. "Then you can be Sleepy in the motel room."

"I'm sleepy now," Mila says into the crook of her arm. "And I'm not a dwarf."

Alec can't resist another poke at her, "Whatever you say, Dopey."

Mila levels a glare at him. "What's with the name-calling, Tonto?"

Alec raises an eyebrow at her. "Did you just call me a jackass? Nice." He nods in appreciation. "I've been told I probably have some donkey DNA in my cocktail."

Mila's next response sends him into a fit of laughter. "Sabelotodo?" He chuckles. "Oh, I sure am a 'smart-aleck.' That's what I was named for," he says and snorts again.

"Seriously?" Mila stifles another yawn. "That's where 'Alec' comes from? That is funny. Living up to your name."

"Of course I am," Alec says and turns into the motel parking lot. "Keeps things interesting."

Mila snorts. "Grow up." She rolls out the door as soon as Alec shifts into 'park,' stumbling a little once she hits the ground.

The motel clerk stares at them through bleary eyes when they enter the office. It's papered with dingy yellow-brown-orange wallpaper and there's a dust-covered plastic palm tree in a planter by the door. It looks as if it was put there by some decorator with crappy taste decades before the Pulse even happened.

The guy at the desk is seven 'Z's away from conking out completely on the job. He probably doesn't get much business nowadays because the place smells like a bar. Bottles lie scattered along the back wall behind the desk. Alec bristles slightly when the guy's clouded eyes brighten when they see Mila and focus on the upper edge of the black tank top peeking out from under her jacket. Mila's curvy for her age, and the jacket doesn't do much to hide that fact.

Alec slams his hand onto the flat surface of the desk a little harder than necessary. The guy jumps. It's a little funny. Okay, a lot funny. "One room. Two queens," he tells the guy with a wolfish smile once he has his attention.

Watery eyes glance quickly at Mila before snapping back to Alec's. "You sure you want two beds?" he asks, leering openly at the teenager.

Alec has to fight the urge to grab the guy by the collar. "She's my niece, you perv," he growls, indignant outrage saturating his voice. "Two queens."

The clerk's mouth and eyes turn into three 'O's. "Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry, man. My mistake. Sure, I can do that. Seventy bucks." He pulls a drawer open and scrambles in it a minute before emerging with a battered metal key. "Here ya go," he says, sliding it over on the table. "Room seven."

Alec slaps the money down with a steely glare and takes the key. "Thank you." He leads the way out the door, holding it open for Mila to pass through.

The motel clerk's either gotta be stupid-drunk or just plain stupid because he calls out, "Hey, babyface. I'll still be here if you're not doin' anything later."

He gets a "She'll be plenty busy sleeping, buddy. Back off or I'll make you" and a slammed door in reply.

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Translations:

Tonto = jackass

Sabelotodo =smart-aleck

Pop culture references:

Okay, not really pop culture, but there really is a sign in my city that says, 'AUTO ASS' instead of 'AUTO GLASS.' My juvenile sense of humor finds that simply hilarious.

Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey: Three of the dwarves in the Disney version of Snow White. Can you name the other four? I never could without thinking really hard about it. Also, Sam Winchester was referred to as 'Grumpy' on Supernatural by Pamela Barnes. I have no idea why; Sam's not emo at all!