Blood Moon Rising
In the full moon's light I listen to the stream
And inbetween the silence I hear you calling me
But I don't know where I am and I don't trust who I've been
And if I come home how will I ever leave…
"The dark is comin', young Missie."
She turned around at the sound of Baggins's harsh voice, but he was nowhere to be seen, his words echoing oddly around the alley. "Should I bring a flashlight, then?" she flung back, turning in a circle as she spoke.
"Bring your Bible," Baggins jeered, stepping out of the shadows, "if you have one that is. You don't look the type."
"No, I'm not quite ready for taking my holy orders just yet," she replied, standing her ground, "tainted goods right here."
"We're all tainted," Baggins observed, "tarnished."
"But will your blood be?" Missie said, before suddenly springing at him, her teeth sinking into his throat, turning the night crimson -
She woke up with a start, clutching her own throat, feeling like she was choking, the taste of blood bitter on her tongue. Spluttering, Missie rolled off the sofa, crashing into the coffee table, the collision jarring her knees. For several long moments, she just lay there, aching limbs asprawl, her head spinning from lack of sleep.
Last night had seen her up and down like a yo-yo, what with one of the boys wetting his bed, Missie having to strip and change his bedding, and then one of the girls getting her up to tell her that Thyroid Girl had stolen her teddy bear, necessitating Missie to act as an negotiator to get it back. That had been between everyone else wetting their beds as well or having impromptu pillow fights, Tori quite happily leaving Missie to handle the chaos.
As reality slowly returned, she managed to pick herself up from the floor, slumping against the sofa instead, struggling with the memory of a past still snapping at her heels. It had been Baggins who'd saved her from the streets, shielding her from the worst, teaching her how to survive. They had first met when he'd intervened in a fight between her and another girl, the two scrapping over a doorway to sleep in, Missie having marked it out as hers for the night, the girl claiming she had claimed it first. He had watched Missie try and fail to deck the girl, before dragging her away, almost laughing himself fit to burst at seeing her swing a punch, promising to show her how to do it properly.
He had made good on his promise, taking her under his wing, but not before propositioning her first, Missie unsurprised, having been more than expecting him to make a move. Out on the streets, it was common to trade flesh for survival, but Missie had steered clear of travelling down that road, even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach. But after she had brutally knocked Baggins back, he had never mentioned it again, seeking carnal company elsewhere. From that moment on, a strange friendship had sprung up between them, each watching out for the other, but then out of the blue he'd left her, upping sticks while she'd slept, another who'd abandoned her.
But dream or not, the taste of his blood was still acrid on her tongue, making Missie want to retch. Stumbling to her feet, she staggered into the hall, before heading towards the downstairs bathroom, only to find it was occupied. Cursing, she limped up the stairs, only to see Tori standing at the top of them, arms folded across her chest. "Jesus, freaking, Christ," Missie muttered, clutching the bannister, wishing her mother into the cornfield.
"Going somewhere?" Tori asked, raising an eyebrow. "There are no night-clubs open at eight in the morning, Melissa, just so you know."
"I'm going to barf, Mother," Missie said through gritted teeth, "and I'd really rather not hurl over your size 8 Birkenstocks."
"Go, then," Tori said abruptly, standing aside, rolling her eyes as Missie rushed past.
"What the hell are you doing!?" Missie demanded, slamming the plate of muffins down on the vanity, making Amy whirl around from where she'd been leaning out of the window, grimly gripping the sill for dear life, Amy not having a head for heights.
"I'm not doing anything," Amy said quickly, too quickly, trying to hide something behind her back.
"First up, what's with the whole almost-falling-out-of-the-window routine?" Missie snapped, eyes narrowing, instantly suspicious.
"I was just looking out of the window."
Missie tried to keep her cool, feeling her temper starting to rise. Already Amy had been causing trouble, refusing to come down for breakfast, Tori shooting down Missie's suggestion she take up a tray to Amy, ruling that an empty stomach would teach her to toe the line. "What's that you're hiding?" she said, coming over to Amy, who backed away from her, Missie reaching round her to snatch the book out of her hands.
"I was just looking at it."
"Like you were just looking out of the window?"
Amy scowled as Missie turned the book over in her hands, only to see it was Pride and Prejudice. "I was just looking at it," she said again, turning away from Missie.
"Well, it's a good choice," Missie said, sliding it back onto the shelf, pretending not to notice Amy's red-rimmed eyes, "and if you behave yourself, maybe you can read it later. Might be a little mature for you, though, I don't know. Anne of Green Gables might be a better choice" - Instantly, she cut off the rest of her sentence, making Amy look at her curiously. "Just forget it," she said hastily, wincing as she remembered too late Anne Shirley was an orphan, "maybe something modern would be more up your street."
Amy looked at her for a long moment, before glancing at the plate Missie had set down. "Are those muffins for me?" she asked, brow furrowing.
"Who freaking else?"
Amy eyed Missie suspiciously, hesitating before reaching out and taking a muffin, her gaze still fixed upon Missie as she took a big bite out of it.
Missie glanced around the room, noting the neatly made bed. For a ten year old, Amy was strangely self-sufficient, already up and dressed. All the kids downstairs had shown up for breakfast in their pyjamas, but here Amy was, suited and booted as if she had somewhere to be, increasing Missie's suspicions she was up to something.
"I need your help," Missie said abruptly, making Amy's eyes narrow this time, "my darling mother has given me a shopping list as long as my arm, so I need you to help fetch and carry."
"Child labour is against the law."
"So is starving you, but who's the mug who snuck you up this plate of muffins? Me, that's what. So you owe me, brat. My mother was more than happy to let you go hungry, I can assure you of that."
"I'll just tell my social worker."
"You don't have one."
"Monday, I will."
"Fine, tell your social worker," Missie shrugged, "and my mother will just say you refused to come down for breakfast; that you disobeyed her and stayed up here all morning, and when she brought you up a tray, you refused to eat that too."
Amy's response to this was to merely cram another muffin in her mouth, Missie giving in, helping herself to one as well, figuring if you can't beat them, join them.
"Your shoes light up."
"Trust me, I know," Missie said, rolling her eyes.
"I think they're cool," Amy said, skipping along beside her, her lips smeared with chocolate, a bottle of milk tucked under her arm. Missie had paid for the groceries with the money Tori had given her, along with strict instructions to keep the receipt so she could claim back the cost. But with Tori coldly counting out every coin, leaving none to spare, Missie had unleashed her light fingers, slipping the chocolate bar up her sleeve at the most opportune moment.
"Then you can have them," Missie said, tightening her grip on the shopping bags, the plastic handles digging into her skin, "but you might need to grow a bit before you can wear them though."
"What will you wear, then?" Amy asked, frowning. She had finally agreed to accompany Missie to the convenience store, only if Missie promised to put her backpack somewhere safe, Missie doing so by stashing it in the closet, hiding it under her old hockey sticks and cheerleading uniforms. If she knew Missie had stolen the chocolate, she didn't say, happily accepting it regardless.
"My mom and I are about the same shoe size," Missie said with an answering frown, "she must have something I can borrow. I'll be damned if I have to wear these for another day."
Amy just nodded, glancing around, curious despite herself. Missie watched her, feeling an odd satisfaction at getting past Amy's guard, even albeit briefly, knowing it could spring up again anytime. She felt a strange kinship with the kid, but they were just ships passing in the night, stowaways depending on fortune's good favour.
"Can I go on the swings?" Amy said, becoming distracted by the play-park beside the flight of steps that led up to the road around the corner from Missie's street.
"No."
"Please?"
Missie looked at Amy's pleading face, and reluctantly relented. "Five minutes," she said, frowning as a Dalmatian growled at them as they walked past it and its owner, "and then we're off-ski, okay?"
As Amy ran over to the swings, Missie sat down on the steps, gratefully putting down the plastic bags. Leg ticcing, she leant against the wall, half closing her eyes, the sun beating down on her head. Life had taken another sharp left-turn, and here she was, trying to find her feet. But she knew she had to take baby-steps; to let time take care of the past, so she could move on from it even as it felt odd to be under four walls and a roof again. The nightmare about Baggins was just a natural reaction to transitioning from one environment to the other, but this piece of common sense didn't comfort her, the taste of his blood still vivid even now.
But she had to focus on the present, not the past. She had a foothold now, a tiny one at that, but still a foothold. If she played ball with Tori, she could pull herself together, find a job, save up and move out. However, in the meantime, there were potential problems on the horizon such as her position in the household, how this would impact on Tori's fostering. Missie wasn't sure if she needed to be vetted due to her close contact with the children, but logically it seemed likely.
Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Missie's brow furrowed as a poodle went past, growling at her, the owner shooting her an odd look. Feeling nervous, she stood up, flexing her arms. In the near distance, she could see Amy swinging to and fro, kicking her heels, going higher and higher. She stood there for a long moment, watching Amy, glad the kid could forget her troubles, even if only for a little while.
Turning away, Missie thought of the future again, of taking that first step. The trick was to keep busy, to not give herself time to think, allowing the voices to intrude. In a way, Tori's tyranny was a mixed blessing, distracting her, but it was only a short-term solution to a long-term problem. Missie wanted a life, not just scratching out an existence, living like some sort of sewer rat, having already been there and done that.
Gripping the railing, she stood on her tip-toes, waving her arm to catch Amy's attention. "Right, kiddo," she called as Amy looked over, "it's time to go" -
The rest of her sentence was suddenly cut off, the world going sideways, Missie reeling back with a scream, spine slamming into concrete. Her vision tunnelled, only seeing snapping jaws inches from her face, her arms instinctively flying upwards, covering her head.
"Missie!" Amy cried, running over to the fence. "MISSIE!"
"STAY BACK!" Missie screamed. "STAY THE HELL BACK!"
Above and around her, people were yelling, the dog finally being dragged off her, the German Shepherd straining at its chain, face feral. "What the hell is wrong with you, lady?" its owner bellowed at Missie as he struggled to keep the dog under control, nearly getting dragged off his feet.
"Me!?" Missie screeched as another man helped her to her feet, his face vaguely familiar. "Me!? What the fuck is wrong with you? Or more precisely what the fuck is wrong with your fucking dog!?"
"There's nothing wrong with my dog," the man retorted, "he was completely fine until he walked past your hoochie ass!"
"Are you alright?" the other man asked Missie, stepping inbetween them. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"Missie?" Amy said through the railings, her small face fearful. "Are you okay!? Did you get bit!?"
"I told you to stay back!" Missie snapped, pushing her hair back with both hands. "Why don't you fucking listen!?"
Amy drew back from the railings, looking as though Missie had struck her, her chin trembling, the other man raising his eyebrows at Missie's tone.
Missie averted her eyes, realising too late she was maybe in the wrong. Amy might not have stayed back, but she'd kept herself safe all the same by staying behind the railings. "It's okay, I'm fine," she said abruptly to the other man, her gaze travelling over him, finally putting a name to his face. "You're Jon, aren't you, Mrs. Wong's son?"
He merely nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the man with the dog, who was now beating a hasty retreat, the small crowd dispersing with him.
"Yeah, go on, take your white ass out of this neighbourhood!" Missie hollered, kicking the wall, only to instantly regret it.
Jon raised his eyebrows again, Missie catching the tail end of his disapproval. "What?" she spat. "Maybe when you've been called Mario a few times, you'll see what side of the fence I'm on."
"You're not the only one to encounter racial abuse," Jon said coolly, picking up her shopping, "but two wrongs don't make a right."
"Yeah, but it makes me feel better," Missie flung back as Amy came over, shoulders hunched. "Let's haul ass," she then said, stalking ahead, hiding her fear behind false bravado, "before my mother kicks my ass."