Children of the Mirror
...7th Part: Krad...
I cringed, bracing myself as I opened the door to my house.
"You're late!" the frazzle-haired woman screeched at me. She came tromping up to me and smacked me across the face, which was becoming a routine thing. "Why are you late!?"
"Does it really matter?" I remarked, resisting the urge to touch my stinging cheek. "You don't pay any mind to me, anyway." I cleaned up after her, cooked sometimes, and managed what little money she left lying around. But she was rarely here anyway – which was nice, save for the anxiety that she could at any moment return – and when she was here, she was either sleeping, drinking, or 'doing business' with some skanky stranger.
She hit me again. The woman had a surprisingly good arm. I caught myself on the doorway, spinning around abruptly when I heard a low chuckle behind me. One of the 'businessmen' was here.
I blocked out whatever it was he said, shoving past my mother and rushing off to my room, restraining my legs from breaking into a run. I hated these people. If I could kill them, maybe... maybe...
I didn't know.
. . .
I walked down the sidewalk to school, keeping an eye out for Dark, should he happen to take a break from his motorcycle for a day. I didn't figure he would, but there was always that miniscule chance...
I shouldn't be looking for him, anyway. It was ridiculous – especially when my unconscious mind always obsessed over killing him or the strange little red-head that he, too, had dreamed about. It struck me as horribly uncanny that we would be dreaming practically the same things.
The unmistakable sound of a motor came to my ears. Well, Dark wasn't walking today.
I thought about calling out to him as he rode by, but I held my tongue. As he passed me, though, he slipped something out of his leather jacket pocket and tossed it to my side of the street. The car full of other people from his little gang nearly crushed it, because it hadn't quite made it to the sidewalk.
Once they were out of my sight, I debated with myself whether or not to go and retrieve whatever it was that he'd dropped. I finally decided that I was curious enough to pick it up.
It was a simple piece of notebook paper, but something else was folded up inside of it. Frowning in confusion, I unfolded the paper and a cross dropped into my hand. It was small enough to fit in my hand, and fairly light, though it looked like it was made of gold – mostly white gold.
I turned my attention back to the paper, hoping that it would clear up what didn't make sense. On it was written: 'I thought you were missing something, so I stole it for you. Hope you like it.' I still didn't understand the odd gift. If anything, my confusion worsened.
I wanted to wear the pendant, but more likely than not it would get stolen if it wasn't hidden. So I stuck it in my pocket. It occupied a great deal of my attention throughout the day.
This had something to do with the dreams. I was sure of it.
. . .
At the end of the day, I caught Dark as he was examining something on his bike. His friends didn't appear to be around anymore. I thought about saying his name, but I figured that he would notice me there eventually.
Finally, he did. He turned to me and smiled slightly – one of those crooked smiles that looks like a smirk, but more pleasant. "Hey, Krad. Did you get –?"
"Why?" I interrupted.
Dark looked puzzled. "What?"
I pulled the cross out of my pocket and held it up for him to look. "Why did you give me this?" I demanded.
Dark quirked his mouth in the same manner that one would roll their eyes. "Turn around," he said, taking the pendant from me.
I hesitated.
"Oh, come on – I'm not going to do anything," he insisted.
I turned my back to him, my mind reeling for really no reason at all. I felt a slight tug or two on my hair and turned my head to try to see what he was doing with it. He turned my head back again, so I stayed put while he fussed with it some more.
Dark stepped away, then. I turned back to him to see a look of satisfaction on his face and no cross in his possession. "Do you ever get that weird déjà vu feeling?" he asked, leaning back against his motorcycle.
I pulled my hair over my shoulder to see that he had tied my hair to the cross, keeping all the strands of my ponytail together at the ends. "Yes... I do." I looked at his face again.
"You've been having dreams, too, haven't you?" The question was more of a statement than a question. It sounded like he had concluded this and was already convinced that it was true.
"Yes," I said again.
"What do you suppose... Why do we keep having them?" he wondered.
I examined the precious trinket for a little while longer before answering, "...I don't know."
. . .
The frazzle-haired woman wasn't there when I returned to the house after school. I thought she had gone out already, so I proceeded to picking up stray beer bottles from the furniture and floors and scavenging for lost bills. I wished she would stop wasting the money on alcohol.
There was a knock on the door.
There is never a knock on the door when the whore isn't here.
I went to answer it, opening the door to reveal the ugly man that had appeared the day before. "She's not here," I informed him. I attempted to close the door, but he held it open, pushing his way in.
"Do you know where she is?"
"I do not."
"When she's coming back?"
"No."
He walked into the small living-room, seating himself on the couch. I hoped to ignore him, walking by to search the next room. But he grabbed my arm. My heart leapt into my throat and I tried not to panic. It is not good when a 'businessman' stops you. "What is that you've got in your hair?" he asked. "It looks expensive."
"I wouldn't know," I said, silently pleading to some nonexistent god that this man let go of my arm. "A friend gave it to me." A friend? Was Dark really my friend? I hadn't the time to ponder this.
"Really?" He didn't believe me. "A friend?"
"Yes," I said, managing to keep my voice smooth.
"Do you think I could be your friend for the night? Fill in for your mother, kid. I'll pay you double what I pay her."
No. "Let go of me," I warned quietly.
"What? You won't do it? I'm going to pay you!" he insisted. "You your mother's kid or what?"
"No..."
"What's that?"
I glared at him, coming to a fierce and sudden decision that might get me out of here for good. Snatching an empty glass bottle from the decrepit coffee table, I smashed it over his head, repeating myself, "NO!"
I ran to the kitchen, fumbling around through the drawers to find a knife. I got one. It wasn't very big, but it was sharp and would serve its purpose.
As I'd anticipated, the man hadn't been knocked out by the hit he'd taken and was now coming after me, angrier than hell. When he came at me, I shoved the blade into his chest, but he was able to wrap his hands around my throat. I ripped the knife out of him and slashed his. Blood was everywhere, gushing out of his artery as he slid to the floor.
And that was when my 'mother' decided to arrive.