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Cruel Twists of Fate
2012


Lori woke up in the hospital room, the events of the past few hours all but a blur on her memory.

"Darling, you're all right!" Her mother screeched, jumping from her chair to hug her daughter.

Lori was still a little confused, she looked around the room dazedly. Why was she in a hospital? "Ow!" Her mother had tried to hug her around the shoulders, grazing her neck. Lori flinched, one hand finding its way to the guaze covering half of her throat. Now, she was remembering. "I...I was attacked."

"I know, Honey. I know. You were working in the lab. Some dreadful boy waited for you outside and tried to kill you."

Tried? Why had he stopped? 'I'm sorry.' She remembered him whispering those words. "I'm not sure he meant to kill me, Mother." She whispered.

Her mother dabbed at her forehead with a lace hanky. "I don't think anyone accidentally slits a young girl's throat, Loren. It was intentional."

"Why didn't he finish the job than?" Lori pressed.

Her mother hesitated. "I believe he was interrupted. Some Good Samaritan happened upon you while you were being attacked. I'm sure he scared that heathen away."

"Who...Who was the 'Good Samaritan'?"

"That's just it, Honey. He left before the ambulances arrived. He didn't want the credit for saving your life. He really is a hero."

Lori frowned. He hadn't been there when the ambulance arrived. The teenager who attacked her apologized. It took only a second for her to understand the meaning behind those two seemingly unrelated facts. *He* had called the ambulance. *He* had saved her life after nearly taking it. But the real clincher, the thing she couldn't quite understand was the barcode.

*He* was one of *them.* He had to be one of the Manticore kids. But, why was he running lose on the street? Was Manticore after her? Had they learned her father's dirty little secret? If that was it, why hadn't the X-whatever finished the job? He'd saved her life. He'd apologized! Why on earth would he do that? "Have the police captured him yet, Mother?" She finally asked, trying to hide the hope in her voice.

"Actually, Honey, there's a nice police detective outside waiting to ask you some questions about the boy who attacked you. Are you up to an interview?"

"Yes, Mother. Anything to see that this young man is apprehended."

A few moments later, her mother exited to make room for Lt. Collins. The man seemed to carry with him an air of confidence and an aura of relaxation. Lori found it difficult not to like the man, but she had an agenda.

"Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" He started off, taking a seat by her bed.

One of the nurses helped Lori sit, propping her up with pillows. "Not at all. Anything to help, Sir."

"All right, first thing's first, can you describe your assailant for me please?"

Lori paused, closing her eyes to picture the boy in her mind. "I believe he was around 5' 6", maybe a bit taller. Ebony black hair. It was long and shaggy, like he needed a haircut. He had brown eyes, almost black they were so dark. Carmel skin tone, you know, that bronzy color you get when you tan for awhile. Only...I don't think his was a tan. Maybe...Hispanic? No...No, wait. Definitely, Italian. He looked more Roman than Spanish. Strong features, I guess some people would call them chiseled. He appeared...hard, like he'd been through hell and back. He was muscular, I could tell from the feel of his arm around my neck. He definitely works out. I'd guess his age at around fourteen or fifteen, maybe a bit older. I'm not sure. Ah...I think that's it. I'm sorry, I know it's not much."

The Lieutenant looked surprised. "Actually, Miss Davis, its much more than I was expecting. I wish all my victims were as astute as you. You couldn't have gotten a very good look at him. How do you remember all that?"

Lori blushed. "Photographic memory. Mine's better than most. If I see something once, I can remember it for however long I choose."

"I bet that's useful." The detective laughed.

Smiling thoughtfully, Lori nodded. "You have no idea." Although she had only seen it for a brief moment, the fraction of a second, she still knew what she saw. Her attacker's barcode number lay etched on her eyelids, one fact she would not relate to the police. His number? 230045483316 She would find him, and find the truth, if it took the rest of her life.


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