Caller 107
Author: Matthew S. Cox
Date: 2014-07-12 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult; Fantasy; Fiction
Description: When thirteen-year-old Natalie Rausch said she would die to meet DJ Crazy Todd, she did not mean to be literal. Two years is a long time to be stuck between two people that want nothing more than to destroy each other. A tween crush on the larger-than-life jock from a local radio station is the only trace of a once-happy life ruined by warring parents. Whenever WROK 107 ran a contest, she would dive for the phone, getting busy signals and dead air every time. She never expected to get through, but at least with her best friend at her side even losing used to be fun. Before her parents ruined t
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

A Division of Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com

© 2014 Matthew Cox
http://www.matthewcoxbooks.com

Cover by Eugene Teplitsky

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at info@curiosityquills.com, or visit http://curiosityquills.com

ISBN 978-1-62007-630-9 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-631-6 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-632-3 (hardcover)

1. Start Reading

2. A Taste of The Summer the World Ended, by Matthew S. Cox

3. About the Author
4. More Books from Curiosity Quills Press
5. Full Table of Contents

roken glass crunched underfoot; every third step, her foot slipped to one side or the other almost sending her to the ground. Natalie stumbled through the alley behind the others, struggling to keep the pace demanded by the hand around her wrist. The clamor of boots on the wet pavement made her feel as if the eyes of the entire city fell on her. Something bad was in the air tonight, something worse than ripping off the corner store or pinching a Beemer for a joyride. Wet brick and fire escapes, highlighted in moonlight, passed overhead; she ran through the shadows to a part of the city she had never been.

In time, the pack slowed to a quiet walk and came to a halt just shy of where the glow of streetlamps invaded the alley. Natalie covered her mouth with her left hand, both to shield herself from some awful smell in the air and to quiet the sound of her breathing. The others leaned against the wall of an old brownstone. Each time a car went past, she froze as if the driver might hear her over the sound of his engine.

What the hell am I doing here? Mom is gonna lose her damn mind if I get caught.

Jason, despite his size, had a boyish face that made him seem less like a criminal than the rest. If there was any of this lot of misfits she trusted, it would be him. Most nights, he had a harmless, urgent look to him that felt at odds with everything the others were doing. Tonight was no different. This was, however, the first time he had squeezed the feeling out of her hand. She tugged at her arm, wanting to sink into the cover of darkness against the building.

He thinks I’ll run.

Kevin, white-painted face aglow in the streetlights, shot a hard look at those assembled. Natalie cringed inside, trying to evade his glare. The last time he had that glint in his eye, he almost stabbed some kid from Long Island. He peeked out of the alley, looked around, and came back pacing.

“Yo, where’s Etan?” Cory emerged from a sunken stairwell on the sidewalk, as calm as if he owned the basement apartment. He paused at the top, a red glowing dot brightened in front of his face for an instant before he entered the alley through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “He was supposed to be here.”

Everyone tensed at his sudden appearance; a few knives got put away when they realized who it was. Natalie shivered. Cory had a deep voice that sounded ten years older than he looked, the kind of voice they use to sell stuff on TV. He took another drag, laughing the smoke into a cloud. The collar of his long, dark coat flapped up against the back of his neck in the breeze; his eyes stood out against his dark face. He was either going for Wall Street or Blade.

“He’s in fuckin’ Jersey, trying to score some rocks. We need a cash infusion.” Kevin tapped his fingers on his arm as if prepping a vein.

Natalie flattened against the wall, heart pounding. She looked at Kevin, at his shitty impersonation of The Crow with spiked hair. Jason had the face paint too, but he skipped the overdone bit around the eyes. Cory frightened her more; he never liked her, too young, too white, too Jewish.

Jason pressed her into the cold brick, kissing. The smell of his makeup teased her anxiety into full-blown nausea.

Neck, cheek, lips. Hand on her shoulder, down her side.

She stood stiff as a mannequin, palms flat against cold stone.

“What’s wrong with you, Nat? You need some E? Relax, girl. It’s not like Rosario’s gonna call the police coz we hit his stash.”

Everyone laughed.

“No… If my mo―” A loud wooden bang from the street made her jump. She buried her face in Jason’s chest, trembling.

“Jay, man. You don’t got the green, man. That scrawny little JAP can smell your poverty.”

Natalie gave Cory the finger. “Fuck you, Blade.”

Her trembling lofted audible in her voice. Again, the group laughed.

“No thanks,” said Cory. “If I’m gonna bite on jailbait, it’s gonna have a shape. Ain’t suckin’ on four-to-ten for some flat-ass white bitch that thinks she’s street.” He whirled on Kevin, pointing two fingers. “No tits, no ass… shit, she wouldn’t know what to do with this monster.” He gestured at his crotch.

For an instant, she thought he went for a gun and gasped. Then she wanted to die of embarrassment.

Cory made a dismissive ‘pff’ sound, sidestepping. “Shit, man. Why the fuck you even bring her here? Bitch is gonna be nothin’ but trouble. She ain’t even real.”

Kevin leaned at him with a scowl. “You were a scared little punk ‘fore you stole that Brooks Brothers coat.” Cory glared. “Etan wants her to get her hands dirty. Gave her a choice of bendin’ over or pull a job, and she’s stiff as a rod. She ain’t wanna put out, she’s gotta do something serious.”

“You think I had to steal this?” Cory pulled at the lapels of his coat as he stepped up on Kevin. “None of you motherfuckers knows a damn thing about distribution.”

Natalie folded her arms and shivered into the wall, ignoring the continuing argument. I’m no whore, I’m not gonna be another Traci. I’m not like Mother. I can do this. Just stealing drugs from a drug dealer, not like anyone’s gonna get hurt. Maybe they’ll respect me if I―

Jason ran a thumb over her bottom lip, no doubt removing a smudge of his black lipstick. “Relax, kid. No one’s home. We’ll be long gone before the cops even know what happened.”

Natalie met his gaze, calmed by the image of a gothic prince staring down at her. The look her mother would give her if she showed up with face paint and black lipstick would make just about anything worth it. All she had to do was find the nerve to actually do it. “Cops got me twice at the mall already, if this goes―”

“It won’t.” Jason winked. “Traci babysits for them, knows they’re out of town this week and right where they keep the shit. Dude’s got two pounds. Word is he’s the source for his whole damn brokerage.” Jason laughed. “And they got the money to get the good shit.”

Kevin stepped over and wadded her shirt into a fist, then lifted her on tiptoe. “Look, kid. This is big-girl time. You wanna go home to your mother, do it now before we get started.”

She punched him in the gut.

His lip curled into a grin. “Cute.”

Her boot scraped on glass as she shifted her weight.

“Any part of your leg comes within six inches of my junk, your face and that wall are gonna be good friends. We copacetic?”

Natalie glared. “Yeah… asshole.”

He let go; she stepped back and adjusted her shirt.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Jason got between them.

Kevin shifted his eyes. “Just a bad feeling. She won’t put out, won’t touch any shit, got trashed on two drinks, and almost coughed herself puking when she tried weed.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? She’s no cop.” Jason laughed. “She’s a kid.”

Natalie stepped up on Kevin. “Why do you think criminals always get caught? Coz they get fuckin’ high and then do stupid shit.”

“Cut her a break, she’s thirteen.” Jason pulled her back.

“Traci knew her way around a dick pretty good at that age,” said Ernesto, the grin of a fond memory on his face.

Corey made a dismissive wave. “Yeah, but that bitch from Jersey, not uptown like this J―”

“Something’s fucked.” The tip of Kevin’s finger hovered at her nose. “She’s just usin’ us to piss off mommy and daddy. She don’t wanna be here, just wants to be seen here.”

A boy leaning on the other wall stepped into the light. “Etan said it was time to―”

“Alright, everyone just shut up.” Kevin spun with enough force to flare his leather trenchcoat. He pointed at her again, then the street. “Since you’re still a child, you get the easy job.”

Natalie bristled. Indignation did little to trap the butterflies in her gut.

“Your skinny ass is goin’ through the window and lettin’ us in.”

“It’s clear,” said Lucas, from the street.

The others moved around front, leaving her and Jason alone in the dark. I’m gonna throw up. She shivered, huddled against the wall as he attacked a street-level window. The taste of freezer-burned meatballs and cheese came back. Natalie cringed each time his boot hit the glass, every crunch felt like it hit her in the stomach. Jason scraped his foot across the bottom to chase away the last of the shards and covered the lower edge with sheets of cardboard from the dumpster.

“You’re up, kid.”

Natalie wiped a line of bile from the corner of her mouth, and approached the window where she sank into a squat by the small opening. The butterflies got bigger as she peered into a half-basement full of dusty things covered in cloth. With one shaking hand on the cardboard, she slid her head through the gap and looked around. The floor waited about six feet down. It was dark, scary, and the opening was a tight squeeze, even for her.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Jason held her hand.

She peered into his eyes, closed hers halfway, and kissed him. No. “Y… Yeah.”

atalie crouched by the unsteady piece of cardboard, leaning her upper body through the gap. The floor was too far below. She backed out, turned, and stuck a foot through. Jason held her hands, and she let her weight dangle. Squirming, she wriggled backwards until gravity took her through the gap. A box of old computer parts made for a lousy landing, and she spilled over backwards. Pain shot up through both arms as her elbows and the back of her head hit the ground at the same time. She lay still as dancing lights sparkled above her. A moment later, she curled on her side moaning, both arms wrapped around her head.

“Ow…”

“You ok? You cut?”

When the room ceased flashing, she sat up. Shifting from side to side, she ran a hand along each leg to check her jeans. Aside from filthy with dust, there was only a small tear. “Yeah, just cracked my fucking head on the floor. Thanks for letting go, dick.”

“Uhh, sorry. I’m going out front with the others. Just find the door and let us in.”

Natalie stood up, looking around at a small basement. Shoplifting had been one thing―now she stood inside a house which did not belong to her. This was serious. This was juvenile hall. Boxes of old junk sat stacked atop some kind of game table, ping-pong, air hockey, whatever. She took a tentative step around the pile, making uneasy faces at a washer and dryer that looked older than she was. Exposed wood overhead had wires set off on tiny porcelain nubs caked with dust. She stopped breathing, terrified someone upstairs could hear it. Minutes passed without a sound.

Nobody is home. Come on, you can’t just stand here. You just broke into someone’s damn house.

She flicked her arms, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. Beyond the ancient appliances, a wooden stairway led up to a narrow door. Holding her hands over her face, she crept to the bottom and peered up at the speck of light coming through the keyhole. The sight of the door hit her as a reminder this was not her house; the urge to throw up flipped over in her gut. The police warned her once for shoplifting and arrested her twice after that. Fortunately, her father had some sway with the department and they were sympathetic.

“Next time, I’m gonna leave you there overnight… or longer,” screamed Mother, in the back of her mind.

Next time… If I get nailed here, I’ll do more than one day.

The night she was arrested had been terrifying enough when all the police did was take her home and yell at her. At least they took the cuffs off before Mom saw them. The idea of going to juvie almost left Hot Pockets on the stairs in front of her. It was too late to dwell on that, already standing in a stranger’s basement. Come on, Nat. Who calls the cops to say someone stole their cocaine? Wait, some people are that stupid. Swallowing hard, she eased her weight into the first step. One by one, she weathered the horrendous, loud creaks on her way to the ground floor.

Manipulating a brass doorknob with sleeve-covered hands frustrated her just short of the point of screaming. No way in hell was she going to touch anything. They must be going crazy outside, wondering what the hell I’m doing in here. She squeezed harder, the navy blue wool just slid over without grip. She grumbled. I look like such a tool. Street punk in a Macy’s coat, really. Natalie wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. Whining, she squeezed the knob between both hands, leaning her entire body around in a concerted effort to turn it.

When it opened, she stumbled through into a tiny kitchen. The scent of recent cooking wafted through the air, concentrated around dishes piled in the sink. She nudged the basement door closed with her boot and cringed as it clicked. Ignoring another door that led out to a cramped yard, she edged past a plain oval table toward the interior. As if tiptoeing over a minefield, she scrunched her shoulders and went through an archway into a dining room.

On the wall just inside, a blinking green light made her turn. The flashing came from a white box with a small LCD screen bearing the words ‘Fault 00C.’ That doesn’t look like a thermostat. Oh, shit! Shit… shit… shit… From the back of the dining room, the front door was visible past a stairway along the right-side; most of the rest of this floor was open area divided by very wide arches, as if someone knocked out the wall between living and dining room and left a few inches of it just as a marker. As soon as she saw the exit, she sprinted for it. A throw rug on polished hardwood took her feet out from under her, and she rolled sidelong into a bookshelf.

Her collective of friends on the front stoop enjoyed a communal wince at the noise; a few whispers of ‘what the fuck are you doing’ made it through the paralytic pain. Fear of Traci being wrong, that someone was still here and was now awake, got her to her feet. Fear of the flashing light got her moving. She unlatched the door, pinching it through her sleeves. Kevin yanked it open and dragged her out onto the porch.

“For a little bitch, you make a shitload of noise.”

“Sorry.” She got snotty. “Who puts a fucking Oriental rug on hardwood without a pad? Shot right out from under me.”

Yeah, I sound like a street kid.

He hauled her down two steps. “You stay right here. You see anything weird, you come running in and warn us. We go out the back.”

Her urgent eyes grew wide. “Hey, there’s―”

Kevin shoved her out of the way, sending her over the porch railing. The stone to the gut knocked the words right out of her, and nauseous guilt kept them gone. Before she could breathe again, the lot of them had disappeared inside, pulling the door closed behind them. Trembling, she meandered onto the sidewalk, cupping sleeve-covered hands over her mouth to warm icy fingers. A lone taxi drove past; she turned her face away before the headlights hit her.

She tasted meatball Hot Pockets again.

What am I doing? Dad can’t make this go away. Even if Rosario is a drug dealer, this is still B&E. From fear, she could resist the shakes. From cold, she could resist the shiver. From both, she succumbed.

Would he even bother to try?

A thud came from the second floor window. She drew a sharp breath, tasting the basement dust from her coat. At least she muffled the yelp. Natalie leaned against the stone railing, gazing at the shadows adrift in the windows. This sort of thing felt much more exciting on TV; being in it sucked.

Nat… They wanna give you drugs. They wanna get you fucked up so you drop your pants and they all take a turn. They are going to get you put in jail. She managed a snarl, thinking about her mother. Her nerves came under control, and she stopped shaking. Serves you right, Mom.

Glimmering red and blue lights invaded the dark one block down. Her legs went to jelly. Silent alarm. She took a step back, thankful the building they chose was right next to an alley. Before the police car nosed around the corner, she bolted into the night. Natalie did not think about where she was going―she had no idea.

Blind with panic, she ran from alley to alley and into a street. She ran past more apartments and one or two people out wandering at that hour. She ran until she collapsed in a wheezing heap on a bus stop bench.

Her lungs burned. Steam wafted from her hair. Fire rippled through her legs. She leaned forward, hugging her knees and coughing. After a few gagging breaths, she sat back and wiped her eyes. Natalie’s heart stopped when a policeman shone a flashlight on her face.

“You alright, kid?”

She slumped forward and hurled all over her boots.

He patted her on the back, noting the smudges of black lipstick on her face. “What happened? Did someone try to take advantage of you? What were you running from?”

Natalie just stared at him, petrified at the guilt that had to be radiating from her eyes.

“Calm down, kid. Take a few breaths. Tell me what happened.”

She shrank into herself. “N… Nothing, officer. I got into a fight with my boyfriend. He kicked me out of his car when I wouldn’t fuck him.” She cringed at throwing that word at a cop. “I… uh, don’t know where I am.”

“Did he assault you? Make you do anything you did not want to do?”

No, yes. “He just kissed me.” She dabbed genuine tears with her sleeve. “I didn’t wanna go all the way, so I ran.”

The officer nodded. “Do you need a ride home?”

“A ride to my Mom’s…”

atalie recoiled from the smell of vomit. Lifting her head, she stared through bleary eyes at the toes of her boots, dangled inches from her face. The fragrance made her want to roll over, but she lacked the strength.

“Natalie Elizabeth, what the hell are you doing? Where is your nightgown? Why are you sprawled face-down on top of your covers in your underwear like some little slut?”

She found the energy to move one hand. The decision between wiping away eye crumbs or covering her ear was a difficult one. Natalie decided on neither and closed her eyes, letting her cheek hit the pillow again. Face down, one arm and one leg dangling, was the end result of hours of sleeplessness; alas, Mother was not about to give up.

“Do not ignore me, young lady.” The boots bonked her on the head. “Did you go out drinking last night? You look hung over. Tell me it wasn’t drugs? My God, Natalie, you’re out of control.” Mother stomped over to the only window, banging into her desk and knocking little figurines over. “Lying there like that, anyone could see you.”

“Why do you have the heat set to stupid?” Natalie fumbled at the edge of the mattress. Three attempts later, she got a handhold and pushed herself over onto her back. Cold air rolled over her front as Mother opened the window, forcing her fetal.

“Mom, close the damn window, it’s fucking cold.” She curled away from the wind, on her side.

“Don’t you use that language with me.” Her mother swiped a wooden ruler from her desk and gave her a whap on the butt―Natalie did not react. “You drink yourself to puking last night, and I find you like this in the morning? Do you know what time it is? You have school in an hour.”

Frigid mom-claws circled her wrist, dragging her to the edge of the bed. Mother pulled her into a sitting position, squeezing her cheeks and sniffing.

“What did you take, Natalie? I don’t smell any booze.”

“I didn’t drink, Mom.” She wobbled, about to fall over backwards. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

“I should think not. That’s the third time in four months that the police have brought you home.” Mother’s screaming fell a few decibels and tinted with a quiver of sadness. She drifted around the room picking up discarded clothes. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore, Natalie… You used to be such a good girl. So smart… Why are you throwing your life away like this? With those people.”

Natalie stared at her bare thighs, woozily trying to acclimate herself to consciousness. The breeze did not grow any warmer. “I don’t have to be smart; I just need a nice ass and open legs.”

Boots slammed into the floor. Mother stormed over, hand drawn back. Natalie fired off a sarcastic ‘go ahead’ look and held her face out to be slapped. Always threatening, Mother never followed through.

“Are you having sex with them?”

A few breaths of freezing air almost gave Natalie the resolve to stand up. The bed beneath her still beckoned, welcoming and warm. “Like you’d believe me if I said no.”

“What’s that?” Mother sat on the bed next to her, dabbing at the smear of black lipstick.

“Jason’s lipstick. Chill out, we just kissed. I didn’t let him do anything.”

“Natalie…” Mother took her hand, clasping it in both of hers. “What do I have to do to get through to you?”

She stared at her mother, at the faint glimmer of actual emotion in her eyes. Everything felt vague and unreal; the product of two hours of sleep. “Why don’t you have your lawyer call me? That’s how this family talks to each other, isn’t it?”

Natalie got up and staggered into her bathroom, slamming the door, trying to ignore the sound of Mother sobbing.

“You’re almost there, Mom. Put a little more emotion in it and you’ll win a fucking Oscar.”

Silence.

Heavy footsteps, the bedroom door banged closed. Natalie made a smug face at the mirror. “Ugh, no wonder she thinks I got drunk…” She wiped at her eyes and looked in the mirror again; the dark spots remained.

The hot shower helped her mood; the wall of silence that hung over breakfast and the ride to school did not. Mrs. Mendoza was off that day, and her mother’s culinary efforts were limited to dumping cereal in a bowl and carrying the unopened bottle of milk to the table. Even toast was a challenge. Natalie kept her arms folded and her gaze out the passenger side window. After last night, she wanted to stay as far away from Etan, Kevin, and Cory… even Jason, as she could. That had been far too close. She wondered if they had gotten away. The police cruiser had come in quiet; somehow, she set off a silent alarm. If they got pinched, she had no doubt they would drag her into it. After all, she was the one that set off the alarm.

After that night, she wanted―needed―comforting, but the only thing Mother offered was more yelling and derision. She should talk. Why did Mother do that to their family? What happened to the woman that she used to admire? By the time the car squeaked to a halt by the private school, Natalie was crying. She did not look over before getting out. As her boot hit the street, she froze; one hand on the door and her back turned. A sense of something wafted out of the car that made her pause. If Mother apologized for being a bitch, Natalie would fall apart right there―she might even apologize herself, perhaps even hug her. Was she going to say sorry? Come on, Mom, you can do it… please.

“Have a good day, hon. Please think about what you’re doing with yourself.”

Bitch. Slam.

Mother had no idea how shallow she was; much less see what she was doing to the people she supposedly loved. Natalie trudged through the courtyard, clinging to her backpack, ignoring the other kids trickling in just a little late. The massive front door guard offered an honest smile as she shrugged through the metal detector. For him, she managed to brighten up. He was the only one in this entire building that did not judge anyone.

“Morning Darius.”

“You a’ight?” Buttons threatened to spring off his white shirt as he leaned forward. The security guard hat tilted at an odd angle, balanced atop thick cornrows. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m okay, just a fight with the bitch.”

He shook his head. “Y’oughta ‘spect yo’ momma, girl. Y’only get one.”

She frowned. “She doesn’t respect herself, why should I?”

Darius leaned against the wall, folding his arms with a resigned shake of the head; the stool protested his change of posture with an audible creak. Natalie wandered through the hall, pivoting through the flood of a sudden post-homeroom crowd as she continued on her way to her locker.

It had been a week since she had even bothered to open it; the combination took a moment to come back. 3-14-15. Pi… You are such a damn nerd. The door squeaked to the left. You’re better at nerd than you are at street punk. She frowned at the texts and notebooks. For no reason she could think of, the sight of them made her angrier with her mother. What did that lawyer do that made her father break contact? She put a hand on a thick calculus textbook, rubbing her thumb over the spine. She could pick herself up, try to start giving a shit again, but what was the point? A yearlong deliberate slide was a hard thing to pull out of, and repeating a grade would destroy any chance of early college admission.

Skipping senior year and going right to college was a prospect her father had been thrilled about; now, he did not even want to talk to her. She dropped a few books into the backpack and pushed the locker closed.

“Hey, umm, Nat?”

The voice made her jump. Leah Fernandez, former best friend, had been hiding behind the open door. Taller, curvier, and definitely not thirteen looking, the girl wore an uneasy smile as well as her usual untrendy hand-me-downs and battered pink flip-flops. Natalie tried not to be too visibly jealous of Leah; the girl’s older sister could cause car accidents by walking down the street in a short skirt. If Leah put on decent clothes, she could probably get away with buying beer.

“Hey.” Natalie slung the pack over her shoulder.

“Missed you last night… You said you might stop by and help me sort Pokémon cards.”

“Sorry.” Even Natalie wasn’t sure if she meant to sound that sarcastic. “I forgot, was out.”

Leah looked at her peeling toenail polish. “You’re still hanging out with those gang people, aren’t you? I’m still waiting on the next episode of Heart’s―”

“None of them gave me up to Principal McCarthy.” Natalie glared at her. “I almost went to fucking jail for that, thanks.”

Leah’s head popped up, tears formed at the corner of her eyes. “I wanted to help you…” She put a hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “You are my best friend, and I’m losing you. We’ve been like sisters since preschool.” She let her arm fall. “You wouldn’t talk to me anymore, wouldn’t hang out.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a geek anymore either.” Natalie looked her up and down. “You look like a senior already.”

“Is that why you’re mad at me? Coz of Martin? I’m sorry he asked me out, I know you liked him.”

“Don’t forget Terrell chasing you.” Natalie closed her eyes, seething in silence for a moment. “Fuck Martin, fuck Principal McCarthy, fuck this whole school.” Natalie tried to walk off, but Leah tugged her back.

“Wait, Nat. I’m sorry I snitched. I… miss you.”

Natalie squinted, somewhat unsettled by the emotion in Leah’s voice. “Okay, this is getting a little gay.”

“Not like that.” Leah gave her a playful shove. “You’re like my sister.”

“You have siblings.”

“Yeah… four brothers, I can’t tell them anything. Oh,” Leah whined. “Paolo heard that little chihuahua in your ‘gang’ is lying about his ties to the Cartel. If he pisses them off too much, it’s gonna get ugly. He shouldn’t brag about stuff that isn’t true. You shouldn’t be with them. People like us, we’re not like them.”

“How the hell does your brother know anything about that?”

Leah folded her hands across her books, turning to walk in step alongside her. “He spent a few years with a real crew, not those punks you found. He almost died. It took gettin’ shot up to make him see how much of a pendejo he was being. Please, Nat, be pissed at me for getting you in trouble, but don’t get yourself hurt.”

“You sound like my fucking mother…” Natalie picked up her pace. “I’m not gonna get shot.”

Leah stopped, a breath away from crying. “Why are you such a bitch to everyone? No wonder your father doesn’t want you.”

Natalie froze. Leah’s books tumbled from her hands as she covered her mouth, scattering around her feet.

“I’m sor―”

Screeching, Natalie flung herself into Leah, knocking the other girl to the ground and grabbing at her hair. Incoherent words streamed out of her mouth. She wanted to defend her father, but the potential truth of it fanned her flames of rage. For a year at least, Natalie had been a miserable bitch to everyone in her life. Maybe her father really did want nothing to do with her. If it was true, it was her fault.

That made her angrier.

They rolled over each other on the ground, Natalie scratching and tearing at clothes and hair. Leah curled up, guarding her face with both arms and not offering any significant counterattack until Natalie got a handful of hair and yanked too hard. Just to get away, Leah lashed out, a decent right hook into the cheek. For all her fury, Natalie still had the physique of an elf. The one good shot knocked her to the side seeing stars, and reminded her she had only gotten two hours of sleep.

On the floor, Natalie cringed and braced for an expected assault. Leah just sprawled there, trying to keep her ripped dress from falling off. She pouted; crying, red eyes accused Natalie of being the worst friend ever. Even after that, Leah did not seem angry with her. Unable to continue looking at her, Natalie let guilt pull her gaze to the floor. With the scuffle at its end, the circle of spectators dispersed, some even complained it was a lame fight.

Natalie rolled onto her knees to get up, just before Mr. Donnelly came out of nowhere and hauled her into the air like a scruffed kitten. Fatigue, shame, and general lack of giving a shit kept her quiet as it was freely offered by the crowd of thirty or more that Natalie threw the first punch―or first hair-pull as it were.

Clenched into her jacket, the unyielding hand of the geometry teacher pushed her along to the guidance office. She slouched, trying in vain to cling to enough anger to keep the tears away.

oul-sucking fluorescent lights lifted the small wood-paneled office out of reality and into a bizarre dream. Natalie sat with her legs crossed, boot heel on the edge of a battered green desk. From the look of it, the same desk occupied this office when her dad did his time here. Her arms vanished amid the voluminous mass of a black hooded sweatshirt, pulled down over her face to conceal closed eyes.

Urgent murmuring from just outside the door belabored a meeting she would rather skip. Mr. Copeland, at long last, shuffled past the door and pushed it closed too hard. Nameplate’s gonna fall.

Clatter.

The noise brought his forward-leaning stomp to an abrupt halt. He paused as if to ask the ceiling why, and trudged out into the hallway. Natalie pantomimed a face to fit the groan he made as he bent over to pick it up. Metal scraped, and then his fist banged in an attempt to pound some life into the worn out double-sided tape.

“Christ. Takes a damned act of congress to get tape on my door.”

“Stop slamming it,” she muttered.

The grumbling came back around. Natalie did not open her eyes until her boots were shoved off the desk, and even then only for a moment. Mr. Copeland settled into his chair, his shirt forced over his belt, turning him into a coffee-stained, white, button-down muffin. A wisp of aftershave, and whatever the cafeteria tried to fawn off as ‘breakfast’, followed him.

“Miss Rausch, we meet again. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the nurse?”

She sank into the sweatshirt, the throb on her right cheek intensified. “I’m fine. Leah hits like a girl.”

“Pull that hood down, you know it’s against dress code to wear a hat indoors.”

A grating sound of protest came from his chair as he leaned back; she fantasized about it snapping and dumping him on the ground.

“It’s not a hat, it’s a hood. Duh.”

“Natalie, I am not sure you appreciate the position you’re in. Getting into a fight two days after your suspension for”―he looked at something on his computer screen―“third suspension, for stealing. If Miss Fernandez decides to press assault charges―”

“I’m fucked. Yeah, I know. At least I’ll be out of this shithole.” Natalie yanked the hood down, her defiance and shame engaged in a Mexican standoff.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his face soften at the sight of a tear-streaked bruise. His radiant pity made her frown at the wall even harder; made her miss her father more.

“Natalie…” Mr. Copeland’s voice dropped to that cloying near-whisper he used whenever he tried to ‘empathize’ with a student. “I read your middle-school transcript. Last June during open house, you seemed so thrilled about attending this ‘shithole.’ Can you explain to me how a girl that was passing high school level math classes in eighth grade is pulling a D average six months into her freshman year?”

“I dunno… Maybe coz I’m not doing any of the work?”

“You were accepted here for your exemplary grades… If there’s something going on in your life that you need to talk about, that’s what I am here for.” He smiled. “If someone close to you is hurting you, you can tell me. It’s not drugs, is it?”

“You sound just like my damn mother.”

Mr. Copeland scooted up, elbows on the desk. “Natalie. My role here is to help, not to judge, but I can’t do anything if you don’t let me in. Your grades have plummeted, you’ve alienated your friends, you’re hostile, and getting into trouble with the law. You are displaying some symptoms of abuse.” He let the sympathetic look linger for several minutes without her saying anything. “Let’s back up a little, what happened with you and Miss Fernandez? I thought you two were umm… BFFs or whatever it is they call it now.”

Her eyes narrowed. He was trying to make her laugh at his out-of-touch act. No smile came, but she did feel less angry. “She was pissing and moaning about me avoiding her. Doesn’t like some new friends I made…” She trailed off, staring at the peeling green desk paint.

“Take your time.”

Natalie slid both hands over her face; just thinking about what Leah said got her furious, and at the same time, she wanted to cry. Her former BFF had a habit of doing that whenever she felt backed into a corner. Blurting―the therapist called it that. Leah could say stuff and not understand how much it hurt.

I’m one to talk.

She shrank deeper into the chair, not wanting to let Copeland see her so close to tears. Blurting had gotten her in trouble too; Leah was not the only one guilty of it. Remembering all the time spent at her friend’s house giggling to the same cartoons made Natalie feel even more like she had gone into a new life where no room existed for anyone else. Family, friends, none of that belonged anymore―just lawyers and psychologists and family court judges.

Copeland tapped away at his keyboard, the erratic click-click of a two-finger typist that shook his entire body with each jab. She picked at her jeans, waiting for the mop of semi-curly dead animal to fall off his head.

“This is bullshit. I don’t need a fucking therapist.”

Tapping ceased. He made a pensive face and a slight shake of the head. “You keep building walls, Natalie. What are you going to do when you close yourself off with no one to talk to?” His supportive face went serious after a minute of silence. “Look, even if you think it’s bullshit, I need to put something in this incident report. I can’t force you to accept help; I only hope you realize you need it before it is too late.”

“Leah said my father hates me now, since I got arrested last month.” Natalie looked for truth beneath her folded arms. “…that’s why he stopped dragging Mom to court.”

“That’s when you attacked her?”

She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. She had no right to say that. I don’t even know if he really…” She held a hand over her mouth before her voice broke up.

His affect softened. “Natalie, we both know you are not stealing out of need. Children of difficult divorces often look for ways to lash out and punish their parents for how they’ve been treated. You are an intelligent young woman, Miss Rausch. Surely you can see that you are hurting yourself more than your parents?” He paused to type a few words. “Of course, what happens here is out of my hands. It’s up to Principal McCarthy and the Fernandez girl.”

Natalie swallowed hard. “Cops?”

Mr. Copeland shook his head. “No weapons were involved, just a hallway altercation. Usually it would, at worst, result in a few days of detention or maybe an ISS. However, given your recent record, it could escalate to a full suspension or perhaps even an expulsion.”

She grinned. That’ll drive Mom batshit.

He cleared his throat at her reaction. “Natalie. This is your life you are throwing away. You were on track to start taking college-level courses next year, as a sophomore. That’s an incredible accomplishment. I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me. Your grades are a disaster, but I’m sure I can convince your instructors to offer you retests and after-hours make up sessions; maybe even something over the summer so you don’t stay back. That is, assuming we can get some documentation. There’s a psychologist I am thinking of recommending to your parents―”

“I’m not nuts, and she’ll say she can’t afford it. She can’t even afford to get me a cell phone coz lawyers got all the money.” Natalie fumed. Somehow, Mother would ruin this chance at scholastic redemption Copeland just dangled. “Is it a man? She might sleep with him. That’s how stuff works, right?” She stood, pulled her sweatshirt open, and put on an alluring face she was too young to wear. “Hey if I fuck you right here, can you make the whole mess go away?”

“Natalie Rausch!” Mr. Copeland all but screamed, face red, pointing. “Sit down, and I’ll not tolerate another word like that out of you.” He simmered down to a low grumble. “You have got to stop lashing out at everyone and everything that tries to help you.”

The guidance coordinator peeked in from the front office at the ruckus.

Dust blew out of the chair as she fell into it, hood up again to hide her embarrassment. What’s wrong with me? It worked for Mom.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, young lady. That little outburst was way across the line. All I am trying to do is help you with some very obvious problems. I’m beyond suggesting you meet with Dr. Lee; I think you need to see her. I’ll give you two choices.” He pointed at her.

She curled her knees to her chest, shaking. Mild Mr. Copeland had never before raised his voice, or turned that deep a shade of crimson. Pudgy, curly-haired, dough-faced Mr. Copeland seemed so intimidating with that look in his eyes. Not even Dad yelled at her like this.

“One, I submit a report to the OCFS about your family situation. You’ll be placed in a state facility while they investigate what the devil’s going on in your home.” Bushy caterpillar eyebrows relaxed. “Two, you go have a meaningful session with Dr. Lee, and maybe let her help you before you completely flush any semblance of a decent future down the toilet.”

Natalie kneaded her hands through the separation of her sweatshirt pockets. “If Dr. Lee fixes me, will I go nuts again in a half hour?”

He glowered, the anger softened to pity after a moment. She had to glance away.

She hated that look.

“Being insensitive, racist, and disrespectful is not something I’d expect from you.”

“No one respects me.”

Mr. Copeland’s fingers interlaced over the roundness of his stomach. His brows tilted up in the middle as he made full eye contact. “Natalie, you have to respect yourself before anyone else will.” He gave her a moment of silence. “Why do you think your father has cut off contact?”

“How the fuck should I know, not like he explained it… just won’t talk to me.” She wanted to say more, the tsunami of sarcasm welled up within. In her mind, she went off on a great tirade. Alas, one more word and he would hear the crying in her voice.

Copeland got up and moved around the desk, offering her a tissue as he leaned against the ancient workspace. “I will reach out to him and try to understand what’s going on. Will you give Dr. Lee a chance?”

Sniffle. “I guess.”

Natalie got out of Mr. Copeland’s office halfway through her second-to-last class of the day. She trudged through the empty hallway, half-hearted glances tossed at one closed door after another. This place had once seemed so exciting; a gateway to a bright future. Now, she felt like an outsider. Doctor LaBonte’s deep Haitian baritone rumbled through one; the eccentric physics teacher lost in one of his animated rambles. She halted just outside the room, listening to him go on about how exciting the theory of special relativity was. The first time she had heard him, she could not wait to be a senior and take his class. Now, the sound of his voice teased her with something she could not have―at least, not with her current grades.

On the other end of the building, she stopped just shy of being able to peer through the door into the chemistry class she was supposed to be attending. Mrs. Simon’s shrill diatribe pierced the two-inch thick wooden door as clear as if she had been in the room. Natalie fantasized about the little strip of glass shattering under the sonic assault.

She thumbed the hall pass Copeland gave her, intended to forestall punishment for being late. Her eyes went from the classroom down past shifting fields of sunlight glimmering along the green-flecked tile floor. Twenty yards away, the main doors.

“Fuck it.”

Natalie crumpled the paper into the sweatshirt and walked out. Simons is a bitch anyway, pass or not, she’d give me shit. Besides, I hate the way she pronounces covalent.

No one seemed to notice as she slipped past a snoozing Darius and shuffled down the stairs to the outside. Two blocks later, the exhilaration of doing such a thing faded away to worry. It was easier to cut an entire day; she could fake the sick note and Mom would be either too drunk or too busy to notice. Skipping out in the middle―well, at the three quarter mark―of a day was obvious.

She has a lot of goddamned nerve, thinking I was out drinking last night. I should have told her I can’t drink because you already drank it all.

A glance back at the school slowed her stroll to a halt. She turned, thumbing the hall pass. Maybe if she got expelled, her parents would finally realize how bad they screwed up. Copeland had seemed sincere about his belief she could save her academic life. Natalie’s pace slowed and she shifted, walking backwards a few steps while glancing at the school.

Fuck it, she repeated, letting her head sag forward. My parents already trashed my grades, why should I care?

atalie wandered without particular destination, heading in the general direction of the neighborhood where her mother’s place was. She felt apart from the city; did not belong at school, did not want to be with her mother, could not go back to the gang. Resignation sapped the urgency from her legs and she slumped into a foot-dragging shamble. A few blocks later, she ducked into a corner store.

The clerk, a once-nice older man from somewhere in the Middle East used to smile at her. Now, she got the same suspicious ‘I’m watching you’ look that he gave the rest of the punks that came in. Maybe he did not recognize her without a dress on, maybe it was her ‘I’m up to something’ posture and eye-over-the-shoulder gait, or maybe it was her combat boots and the sweatshirt pulled over her face. She tugged her hood down and raked her fingers through her hair to set it into some semblance of order. Grandma Moore used to live just around the corner. Natalie had been coming here more often since Mother moved to the neighborhood after the divorce, and she did not want to steal from a man she had known since she was six. Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Kouri… Please?

Hands out of pockets, head down, she pulled a Diet Pepsi from the cooler and went right to the register. “Hi, Mr. Kouri.”

The suspiciousness in his gaze flew away to something else when he saw the bruise. She weathered a few rapid sentences in Arabic with a wincing smile, only able to guess at what he was saying.

“No, it wasn’t my dad… I got into a fight at school.” She dug two singles out of her pocket and paid.

“They send you home early?” He patted her on the back of the hand.

“Umm, yeah.” Looking away. “I’m goin’ home. Headache, dizzy and stuff. Mom’s at work, so they let me walk.”

He nodded, making change.

Natalie paused at the next corner, staring down through a tunnel of chestnut hair at her boots. She did not feel guilty about skipping out on her last class as much as she dreaded the repercussions in the morning. I’m gonna get suspended for fighting anyway, who gives a shit?

The light changed. She crossed, not going anywhere in particular. Mom would be home now since it was Wednesday; going home too early would set off another argument. She looked around at the thin, post-one o’clock crowd and wondered what to do with herself for an hour and a half. If she had a cell phone, she could call… She stopped walking.

Leah? No, too guilty.

Traci? No, she’s a whore.

Jason? No, too scared.

Dad? Hell no, he wouldn’t answer.

She stumbled into a lean against a street lamp, squinting at the cold breeze that pushed her tears sideways across her cheek. Maybe she could fare-skip a taxi to her Dad’s job. If she caught him in person, he could not dodge her. What would he say then? Was it something she even wanted to hear? If she confronted him and he really did want nothing to do with her, could she withstand a public rejection?

A blaring horn dispelled the black cloud over her head. At the center of the intersection, a ragged vagrant stumbled among the traffic. Cars honked and swerved, faces stuck out of windows, red and screaming. Car after car came within inches of killing a man who appeared to be blind, with no idea where he was. She gasped as a delivery truck passed close enough to send him spinning out of control. Two men in suits waiting under a bus awning cheered him on.

“Ten bucks says he doesn’t make it to the curb.”

The guy next to him smacked him in the shoulder. “That’s fuckin’ dark, man.” He looked up at another long blaring horn. “Dark. Make it fifty and you got a deal.”

Aside from those two and a couple of screaming cabbies, no one else seemed to take notice of him.

“Fuckin’ druggies… he’s gonna cause an accident.” A woman’s voice trailed along behind her.

The vagrant reached out at the air, groping for something to hang on to.

“Come on, Tyrone, you can do it,” yelled the man on the left.

A pang of guilt came on at the racial jab as Natalie thought of her own dig on Dr. Lee.

“What’s wrong with you? That poor man’s gonna die,” she blurted.

Both men glanced over their shoulders at her, the one on the right lost a little enthusiasm. His coworker smirked. “Just some damn homeless. He’s probably got AIDS or something that’ll kill him in a few months anyway. Whoever hits him is doing the city a favor.”

“Wow, you’re an asshole,” gasped Natalie.

Long beep.

Before she thought more about it, she darted out from between the bus stop and a vertical billboard for Crossing Over. Harrison Ford squinted right at her for an instant.

The next horn blasted at her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I doing?

Screaming and flailing, Natalie weaved among moving cars into the street. Tires squealed around her, drivers leaning on the horn; as if she needed the added sound to tell her she was in the road.

“Stupid kid!” shouted a cabbie.

“He’s blind, you fucking shithead!” she shrieked back, earning a middle finger.

Another taxi skidded to a halt, the only car in the entire city not driven by a jackass. She smiled at him and sprinted to the homeless man, still square in the middle of the intersection.

“Hey.” She clamped onto his arm. Pepsi bubbled up into the back of her throat, in protest of the cloud of stench surrounding him. “You’re in the middle of the damn road. Come on.”

His hand tried to grab her face before he patted her on top of the head and it slid down over her ear to the shoulder. The man’s eyelids had shriveled in, both sockets empty. His jacket and cap made her think he might have been a veteran. She swallowed her horror at the sight, too terrified of the passing cars that didn’t even bother to slow down.

“You shouldn’t be in the middle of the road, kid.”

“Those assholes were gonna just watch you get hit. I… You’re gonna get killed. Come on.” She turned to drag him to the curb and almost fainted as the side mirror of a bus passed over her head.

She screamed.

The blind man caught her as she jumped back, preventing her from falling over. She did not bother giving the shouting bus driver the finger; he was too far away by the time she thought of it. The light changed, and she gathered her footing in that three second gap when no direction had a green. With a firm grip on his hand, she dragged the pathetic man to the sidewalk. The cavalcade of long-blaring horns and screaming gave way to the normal din of short beeps and shouts.

Natalie shot a spiteful stare at the two men on the bench across the street; the loser of the bet attempted to worm out of it citing external interference.

“You were in the intersection,” she said, panting. “You almost got killed.”

He squeezed her shoulders; she tolerated the hand on her face despite the smell.

“You a little young to be out now. School still on, ain’t it?”

“Didn’t wanna stay,” she admitted before thinking about it.

The man chuckled. “Well, neither did I. What’s your name?”

“Natalie. You need help getting home?”

“Darnell James Fox.” He bowed, and then held his elbow out. “Any excuse to spend time with a pretty girl.”

Natalie did not blush very hard; figuring since he could not see her, he only said that to be polite. She took his arm, helped him figure out where he was, and walked with him once he pointed out a direction.

“So, guess you’re gonna tell me I shouldn’t skip out on school, huh?” She squinted up at him; the sun glare on the windows was blinding. “Wind up like you… out here.”

Darnell chuckled his way into coughing. The noises coming from inside him made her glad she skipped lunch too. “Guessin’ I don’t need to since you already said it.” His face did something that was supposed to be a wink.

“Yeah. I’ll go back tomorrow. I just wanted time to think.”

“What about?” He paused as they reached the curb.

Natalie glanced at him, not knowing how she should react to him reacting to the red light. He’s counting steps, knows there’s a street here. “Parents. They hate each other… and me too.”

“Oh, come on now.” He reached across his chest to pat her hand where it held his right elbow. “No parent hates their kid. Course, if they be hatin’ each other, they prob’ly don’t realize you dun got stuck in the middle.”

“They’re not fighting over me anymore. I got in some trouble, Dad doesn’t want me now.”

Natalie startled when Darnell began to walk at the change of the light. He’s gotta hear the shift in traffic… right?

“You ever hear about King Solomon, kid?”

It felt as if he was leading now. Natalie looked around, at him, and down at her boots. “Umm… That’s bible stuff, right? Isn’t he the guy that made the big temple in Israel?”

“He was known for wisdom. Story ‘bout two women both claimin’ the same baby as theirs.”

“Oh yeah… He wanted to cut the infant in half, right?”

“Think about the real mother.” He ducked a low-hanging sign.

Natalie gasped. “Can you see?”

Dry, coughing, wheezing chuckles leaked from his weary lungs. When he got his air under control, he swallowed something and grinned. “Me, I been walkin’ this way for a long time. That sign and me, we go back a long ways. Used to be enemies. Then I remembered that steely bastard takes a swing at me the same damn way every damn day. Can duck it when you know what’s coming. Now, we ain’t enemies no more. I figure he just does what he does. I just do what I do, and we don’t have no problems no more. It’s just a sign; it’s on me not to walk into it.”

Her nod stalled as he continued off the curb. She gulped air to yell, but the light changed as soon as his foot hit the street. Did he know it would turn at that second? “My mother’s a bitch. She would have told Solomon to cut me in half.”

“Reckon she might have.” He avoided the aftereffect of an inattentive dog-walker.

She stared at the land-mine, silently mouthing “what the―”

“Smelled it. Got lucky.” He made the same wannabe wink.

Hollow. No eyes at all. Natalie put her free hand on her face, wondering if she was dreaming. He waved his arm in a blind man’s effort to point, leading her to a side street. The third building sat behind a modest parking lot, with a long wheelchair-accessible ramp leading up to a deck full of homeless people. The smell of food hung in the air.

He grinned the disaster of his teeth at her. “Well, thank ya, young lady. Reckon someday I maybe repay ya.”

She was thankful he could not see the look on her face. “It’s okay. I couldn’t just let you get hit by a car. I can’t believe those two douchebags were betting on you.” Her hand found a $10 bill in her coat. Natalie pressed it into his hand. “Here, take it. It’s a ten.”

“Take care yourself, girl.” Darnell James Fox took the railing in both hands, stumbling towards the door at the end as he slipped the cash into his jacket.

“See ya around.” Natalie stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned to go home.

After a few steps, she glanced over her shoulder. He was not on the ramp, and she could not find him in the crowd waiting for food. She squinted at the shaded doors, wondering if he’d gotten inside already.

Weird… Guess he’s faster than he looks.

atalie leaned into her pillow, propped against the wall, staring past bare feet at her closet. Post-dawn sun leaked through heavy rose-hued curtains, glinting from the face of a stuffed monkey. It gazed at her with lifeless plastic button eyes. Its head protruded between the flaps of a cardboard box, sitting lopsided on top of the mound of stuff jammed into the too-small space. She scowled, imagining a cartoon monkey voice making fun of her for putting them all in there.

“Who’s in trouble now, kiddo?”

She looked down over herself, arms limp at her sides and palms upturned, traces of a scuffed knee poked out from under her oversized t-shirt. Having the silhouette of a ten-year-old boy still, she fumed, jealous of Leah. Something had to be wrong with her. Stress, that stupid organic-food diet her mother kept forcing on her, her father’s shitty genes. Grandma Rausch could pass for an effeminate twig of a man. Natalie hoped she would take after her mother’s side of the family. Mom’s chest opened many doors.

The red marks on her leg took her mind back to that basement, falling over a box of junk. She tucked her knees to her chin, shivering, rubbing the scab.

Did I leave blood on the wall? Will the police find it? Maybe hairs or fibers from my jacket… They’ll be knocking on the door any minute now. Did the others run away in time? Will they rat on me? Yeah, they would, just to be shitbags.

Her head lolled back, thudding into the wall. “I’m so fucked.”

Next to the closet, the oversized head of DJ Crazy Todd gave off the same raised-eyebrow head cock that he always had. This time though, it felt more as if he had just made the face at her. The poster was the only relic that remained of her other life, before her parents ruined it. She forgot about her expectation of police at the door any second, and grinned at him. A few practice winks and alluring looks failed to elicit any reaction from the twenty by thirty likeness of the former teen heartthrob. The fact that he was more than double her age did not seem to matter; that poster and her, they had something special.

Then she remembered when Leah came over. The two of them sprawled on the floor by the phone, trying over and over again to win tickets to some band she couldn’t even remember the name of. They did not get through, but they had fun trying. She sulked, thinking of Leah’s giggle.

Natalie found enough energy to move, enough to slide forward and curl up on her side with her back to the door. Once again, Mom had the heat set to ridiculous; she could not even stand being under a sheet.

“Who listens to radio anyway?”

Leah, Bethany, Courtney, and Sarah all had iTunes. She tucked an arm under her head and glared at the post it note-covered computer on her desk by the window. Her first encounter with the NYPD came hand-in-hand with a failed attempt to join her friends on iTunes, vis-à-vis shoplifting what her mother refused to buy. Never mind needing a credit card to get any music onto the hardware. Dad would have bought it for her, if not for mother shrieking about how he was trying to buy her love. Gee, thanks Mom. Fucked me again. Should’ve just cut me in half.

Grumbling, she sat up and yawned, and then trudged to the chair. Wobbling in the seat, she waited for the computer to boot and flicked on the radio. The PC came out of sleep mode within a minute, still with the half-completed paper she had worked on for Mrs. Forrester’s social studies class. Nerd-Natalie probably would have gotten another A on it, had she bothered to finish it. Her hand slapped down on the mouse, closing the file. Useless. Even if she completed it now, it was too late to turn in. Maybe the Copester will talk them into it. Ugh, gotta see another fucking shrink.

Her hands met in her lap, listless. Sugary desktop wallpaper, parallel rows of pink hearts set into a surface resembling icing offered a weak reflection of the bleary person staring at it. If she had any energy, she might have scrunched her face up at it.

I liked that once? Ugh.

She brought her email client up. When it loaded, she raised one six-pound eyebrow. “Wow… No penis enlargement emails today, guess they finally realized ‘Natalie’ is a girl’s name.”

And nothing from Dad.

Click, new.

“Dad, I don’t want you to buy anything. I’m not looking for money. I just want to know if it’s true what Mom says… that you don’t want me anymore. Please just answer this one email and just tell me why. If you really don’t want me anymore, I swear I’ll leave you alone. – Nat.”

Send.

She let her forehead land on her crossed arms and set her feet on the wheel spokes of the chair. Another night with only a few hours of sleep; Mother is going to faint when she sees I’m already out of bed.

Bee-oop.

Natalie looked up. Did he reply already? Her wide-eyed eagerness broke apart into a fit of sobs when she saw it: Undeliverable Message Error.

Traci tried to kill herself twice: pills once and the ol’ razor to the wrist the second time. No one thought she really wanted to die though―no one except for Natalie, anyway. She knew what truth came from the mouth of a drunken girl. Undeliverable. Staring at the word caused a jolt of pain right through her chest. She was as easy to discard as a setting on an email client. Added to an auto-reject list. His own daughter.

This had to be Mother’s fault. She had to poison him against her. How would Mom like finding me dead in the bathtub? She shivered and stared at the small, attached bathroom. Only problem is, I don’t want to die… Maybe little cuts, just make her think I tried it.

At the right of the screen, a green gem lit up. Leah was online. She touched cold fingers to the healing bruise under her eye, once again sick to her stomach at the close call from the other night. I can’t go back to that pack of assholes. I don’t wanna wind up in prison. Leah seemed upset yesterday, like she was afraid of me. Maybe that part isn’t Mom’s fault.

Click.

An IM window opened; she stared at Leah’s spiral-eyed anime avatar until she could perceive individual pixels.

‘I’m such an asshole, I’m sorry.’

Natalie’s finger hovered over the send button. She backspaced it gone.

‘Leah, I’m sorry I was such a bitch, it’s my mom.’ Natalie’s mind filled with the snarl on Leah’s face just before the punch came.

Backspace.

‘Hey, what’s up?’

Like nothing happened. Backspace.

‘Leah, I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been. Can we talk?’

The mouse pointer orbited the send button. Music cut out to DJ Todd’s voice.

“Good Morning, New York! The big day is finally here, I’ve got four tickets to see Lamb of God when they come to the city in April!”

Natalie woke up; Todd’s overabundance of energy came through the radio and lifted her out of her stupor.

“Releasing at number two on the Billboard top 200, Wrath is the highest rated extreme metal”―Todd’s voice warped with demonic effect―“album in fifteen years. The 107th caller to get through to the hotline gets these one-of-a-kind backstage tickets.”

She stubbed most of the toes on her left foot kicking the chair’s wheels in her haste to get to the nightstand. “Fuck! Ow!” Natalie hopped to the bed, grabbed the phone, and squeezed her thumb into the speed dial button.

“…tency hearing *beep* this coming Tuesday *beep beep* and the judge *beep* what the * beep* hell is that *beep*…”

“Natalie.” Her mother’s voice yelled from the hallway. “I’m on the phone, stop doing that.”

“Mom!” She drew the word out to a ten-second long whine. “I need the phone, there’s a radio contest, I gotta call in.”

“I’m on the phone with Amanda. You’ll have to wait―”

“But Mom! The contest is―”

“No butts, Natalie. You have school in less than an hour and―”

“Amanda? That’s the fucking lawyer isn’t it?” Crying mixed with anger. “Stop shitting on my life!”

Someone else gasped on the line.

“Natalie Elizabeth Rausch, you will watch your lang―”

Beep.

Let her scream at the lawyer. Four, three, two…

The door flew open. Mom was there, cordless phone in her shaking hand. She pointed, her stare hard as a glacier and just as cold.

“What’s happened to you, Natalie? You used to be a sweet young woman, and now―”

“I used to have an intact family too.” She turned her back to hide the tears. “And a dad.”

Mother gasped. “Well, I don’t know what made that man decide to give you up. Maybe he’s got a new bimbo that hates kids.”

“Shut up!” Natalie shrieked, hurling her pillow at the nattering presence in the door. “I hate you! Why did you destroy our family?”

The woman stood there with trembles of anger, or something else perhaps, stalling her words. A voice warbled out of the phone, loud enough to hear, and Mother walked away with it in her ear. Natalie sank onto the edge of the bed, ignoring the hot tears running down her legs.

She cradled the phone in her lap, tugging at the white shirt so it covered the scrape on her knee. The radio contest felt petty. Was it thinking of her father or that odd look her mother had just given? Not like I’m getting my life back, might as well. She pushed the talk button. Voices. She clicked off. A minute later, repeat―same thing. She tapped her foot, raked her toes through the carpeting, scowled. Click. Still voices. Click. Growling, she stormed around in a circle, squeezing the handset almost to the point of cracking.

Radio call-ins were a lot more fun with a friend.

Click.

“…what he’s doing to her is causing all sorts of trouble at school…”

Click.

“It’s not Dad’s fault you rampaging bitch!” She screamed into the hallway.

Natalie fell heavy into the chair, staring at the unsent instant message. Nausea came back. She was terrified of her new friends, she alienated her old friends, her father gave up fighting for custody, blocked her email, and his phone was disconnected. Mom was such a bitch.

Click. Dial tone. Click.

She’d hung up too fast, expecting it to still be in use. Scrambling, she double-tapped the speed dial, messing it up. It took forever for the phone to cycle back to an open tone. She hit the button with care. It dialed. Busy. Hang up. Again, busy. Hang up. Ringing. Her eyes widened, the call dropped. She held the phone up as if to smash it to the floor, but calmed. Click. Dial. Busy.

“No!” she yelled.

She was in mid-dial when the music faded out at the end of a track. “DJ Todd, who’s crazy with me?”

A man’s voice, so excited it came out as a distorted moan, came over the radio.

“Uhh, I think that was Mike R. from New Jersey. Mike, you are the hundred-and-seventh caller, You’re going backstage with Lamb of God.”

Slam.

The phone did not break on her desk, but something small and metal fell off the far end of it. Natalie squinted at the wall. This, too, was Mother’s fault. After the fuming anger abated, she got up. She padded across her bedroom to the adjoined bathroom, pulling her shirt off along the way. She ripped the stupid starter bra off and whipped it at the wall, as if it was to blame for her lack of shape. What the hell is the point of that? She kicked the door closed and turned toward the shower with a thumb hooked under the band of her panties. Toes aching, heart sore, she stared at the bathtub.

“Fuck it.”

She skipped the shower and got dressed, opting for her mother’s favorite shirt: a black tee with ‘F*ck it!’ scrawled across the chest in pink cursive. As a mark of triumph, she donned the pale grey cargo pants she stole from the mall. Mother would never have let her spend $140 on them, not with the way she blows cash on lawyers. Combat boots, no socks.

Nerd-Natalie liked dresses and nice shoes with frilly socks―white or pink. Nerd-Natalie had gone away, locked in the closet amid a box of stuffed animals. Of course, Street-Natalie got the hell scared out of her last night.

Maybe she would just try to be Natalie for a day and see where it took her.

The denim jacket with Metallica back-paint came last, and she fluffed her hair out and shook her head to let it settle. After making sure the door was un-mothered, she reached into the hiding spot on her bookshelf and removed the black leather collar with chrome studs, another successful bit of sleight-of-hand. She held it around her neck, grinning at how vicious it made her look. Natalie made faces at the mirror, acting tough and scary.

At the sound of Mother approaching, she jammed it in the coat pocket, went rigid, and whirled to face the door.

She just walked down the hall, not even looking in.

atalie took the backpack from the peg on her door and threw it over one shoulder. At the end of the beige-carpeted hallway, the smell of breakfast dragged her by the nose into the kitchen. Real food? Must mean Mom’s too busy to try and cook.

“¡Buenos días! Natalie,” said Mrs. Mendoza, setting a plate of bacon and eggs on the table.

Natalie’s hard glare softened. It wasn’t that woman’s fault Mother spent money she didn’t have on the maid service. It wasn’t Mrs. Mendoza’s fault she didn’t have a cell phone, or anyone to bother calling with it anymore.

“Morning, Mrs. M.” She sat. “Thanks.”

The backpack slid off her shoulder and flopped against the table leg. Mrs. Mendoza noticed the lack of a thud, no books in it, and shook her head. Natalie shied away from the pitying face, attacking the food as if it would be another week before she could eat again. It was embarrassing enough having a woman old enough to be her grandmother deferring to her like some sort of servant; Mother liked that sort of thing, but it made Natalie feel awkward. All of mother’s friends from work had maids. Most of them had live-ins; all Mom could afford was a service that showed up three times a week for a couple of hours. Mrs. Mendoza was not supposed to cook, but she did anyway, for Natalie.

Somewhere in the walls, water moved in a hissing rush through pipes.

Thinking about the cops made her slow down but did not kill her appetite. Maybe the others got away. Only Jason seemed to like her, she was certain if the police had caught them, they would have implicated her just for spite. Just for running. Two days with no heavy knock at the door or no cops leading her out of school had taken the edge off her fear. Natalie shrank against the table thinking about that. Getting beat up by Leah in the hallway had been humiliating enough; if she got walked out by the cops, she could never go back there. The thought of everyone seeing her in handcuffs held off her appetite for a few minutes. Yeah, maybe I should stop stealing.

Mrs. Mendoza added toast to the edge of the plate when it popped.

Natalie offered a genuine smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Mendoza.” That’s a real mother. Why did I have to get such a bitch?

The phone rang. Natalie ignored it, occupied by food.

“Missuz Roosh, the phone, it is for you.”

Natalie grinned at the older woman’s mispronunciation of her name. Guess there’s no Rausches in… wherever she’s from. Her face fell flat. Rausch was her father’s name. If he did not want her, she did not want him either. Using Moore was out of the question; she wanted an association with her mother even less. What would she change it to? She got a wicked grin. Mendoza… or maybe Fox.

The hiss in the walls cut off with a squeak. “Who is it?” Mother’s voice had a bathroom echo.

“It is the guidance man from the school. A Mr. Copeland.”

Natalie slid out of the chair and swung her backpack up in one smooth move. Wet-haired Mom intercepted her in the hallway, snagging the book bag and hauling her back to the kitchen by it.

“Not so fast.” Mother pointed at the chair. “Park it. Thank you, Anna.”

Mrs. Mendoza nodded and wandered off to attend to her duties. Natalie sat sideways in the chair, backpack between her boots, glaring at it.

“She did what?” Mother fired off an incredulous look. “Natalie hit first? Wait, suspended? She can’t be suspended, her grades are already―”

Mr. Copeland’s unintelligible mumbling stalled Mother silent. She listened for a moment, mouthing ‘Dr. Lee’ without adding voice.

“Okay, doesn’t sound like it is much of an option, is it. How much will that cost?”

Natalie got up. The gravity of a pointing finger put her back in the chair.

“The state is paying for it?” She held the phone against the towel around her chest. “Natalie, what the hell did you do this time?” Not waiting for an answer, she lifted the phone again. “Alright, next week, Monday? I’ll take her. Yes, of course. Thank you Mr. Copeland.”

Beep.

Mother turned to face her, arms folded, still clutching the phone. Mrs. Mendoza stepped into the kitchen, sensed the mood in the air, and turned on her heel. Natalie picked at the top loop on the backpack, refusing to make eye contact.

“Guess I’ll go back to bed.”

“Like hell. You’re still going to school.”

Natalie looked up. “I got in-school?”

“Mr. Copeland said the other girl hasn’t decided yet. He wants to set up a mediated session with the two of you to sort this out before you get suspended. You’re on thin ice, missy. One more event and they’re going to kick you out. What happened? Suspended? I’ll not have a child in this family get expelled for being a delinquent. My mother would flip over in her grave.”

“What happened?” Natalie shot to her feet. “You have some balls asking me what happened. How about two damn years of being used as a fucking rope in a tug of war? Why were you such a bitch to Dad? It was your fault.”

“Natalie…” Mother softened. “I don’t know why your father dropped his custody suit, the man is erratic―”

“He’s not erratic. He used to be a kind and loving person until you sucked all the life out of him and turned him into that buzzard that shows up at court.” She fell into the chair once more, hands over her face to dam in the tears.

“He hasn’t asked to see you in six months. His phone’s off, he doesn’t answer his email. Maybe he’s in Bermuda with his secretary.”

“Dad’s not the one that sleeps around at his job.” Natalie squinted a venomous glare at her mother.

“Watch your tone, young lady.” Mother unfolded her arms, taking a step closer. “I’ll not be talked to like that by my own child. Things are going to change around here. I’ve had enough of you going out at all hours. Today you come directly home after school. You’re grounded until further notice. No more going out, you understand me? Whatever you did at school, Mr. Copeland thinks the state should get involved if it doesn’t improve.”

Natalie jumped up again. “You don’t give a shit about me, you’re just worrying what your friends will say if word gets out your kid got taken away.”

“Is that what you want, Nat? This life, this home, everything I’ve done for you is not good enough? You want to wind up living in the Bronx in some tiny roach-infested apartment with some foster parents that only care about the stipend they get for locking you in their closet?”

“They’d probably let me have a cell phone.”

Mother gasped. “Why are you so fixated on that? You’re only thirteen, you have no need of being in contact with the world 24/7. Only drug dealers have cell phones at your age.”

“Mom, this isn’t the friggin’ Eighties. All of my friends have them.”

“Oh, here we go with the ‘all my friends’ crap. That’s just reason enough right there isn’t it?” Mother put the cordless handset on the counter before she spiked it into the floor. “I’m worried about you, Natalie. A cell phone at your age is dangerous. Besides I don’t want―”

“Me to call Dad without you eavesdropping?”

“If he wanted to talk to you, he wouldn’t have changed his phone number.”

Natalie cringed as if the words formed a tangible punch. “You’re such a liar, Mom. You’ve always been a fucking bullshitting liar. You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the tits.”

“How dare you speak to me in that tone…” Mother took a step closer, backing Natalie into the chair. “I was going to offer to make a deal with you, let you get a cellular phone if you got your grades out of this yearlong nosedive you’ve fallen into… but.”

The warm rush of redness filled Natalie’s face, screaming rage and desperate sobbing paused at the edge of her consciousness to do rock paper scissors to see what came out.

“That little outburst of yours…” Mother turned, sniffling as if about to cry as well. “I don’t even know you anymore, Natalie.”

Anger’s rock beat crying’s scissor.

“Bullshit. Now you’re just saying that to dig your talons in deeper. You could win an Emmy. You don’t give one shit about me, or you wouldn’t have spent the past two years rubberbanding me through fucking court twice a month. All you care about is your reputation, and that’s shot to shit. All of your friends know you boned Mr. Hartford to get promoted. My entire school knows about it. How the fuck is it possible that you do that and the goddamned judges let you keep me? Like you’re supposed to be some kind of role model. You think if I fucked Mr. Copeland he’d drop the whole thing? Oh yeah, whenever the going gets hard, a girl bends over a desk. Worked for you.”

Slap.

Natalie hit the linoleum on all fours, pain flaring in starbursts across her cheek. Mother had not struck her for real since a spanking too long ago to remember. Shock mixed with pain. Ow, shit. Is Mom that strong or am I just a total wimp? She wanted to cry, but she would not give the bitch the satisfaction. She pulled herself a few feet away and clung to the chair until the room stopped spinning.

Mother was quiet and did not move until Natalie lunged to her feet. Something in her glare or posture made Mother cringe away, as if she believed her daughter would hit her back. Natalie gave her mother a patronizing glare, unimpressed by the overacted cowering. She snatched her backpack, stormed out, and punted the door.

Slam.

Just outside the apartment she stopped, hard breaths gasping, on the verge of fainting. The kick had driven the door closed with such force that something fell from the wall inside. I must be a sight. Wet eyes, big red handprint on my face. Maybe my nose is bleeding. Wipe. Damn, just snot. Natalie wished it was blood; she’d have gone right to Mr. Assland’s office and showed it to him so he knew what his phone call caused. Maybe the court would let her stay with her father then.

If he even wanted her.

umbing cold seeped through the seat of her pants, the stone banister growing more intolerable with each passing minute. She had been sitting for almost an hour, listening to the sporadic hiss of cars passing on the larger road a few blocks to the left. The idea came to her in the elevator; she decided to blow off school that day. What was the point of going through all that work if both of her parents thought so little of her? There had to be something wrong with her. She had given her mother five minutes to appear at the porch to drive her in, but the woman did not show up.

She wondered if she even wanted to go back.

Safe behind the fortress of her folded arms, her head rested atop her knees, cradled in the folds of her denim jacket. The throb from her cheek had subsided some time ago, though she was sure the redness in her skin―and her eyes―was still visible.

Her pride stung more than her face. Aside from her rack, mother was as insubstantial as she was. The slap hurt more on an emotional level after the moment passed. With a begrudging sigh, Natalie conceded most people would think she crossed the line. Natalie did not care, she was happy the argument had ended and she was out of the apartment. What she said was not wrong; her mother did sleep with her boss for a promotion. Her dad did find out about it, and he did file for a divorce the next day.

Mother always tried to put the blame on him. She said she had only done it because every other woman at that office did it; she had no feelings for the man and did not think it was cheating―just a career move. Everyone else did it… everyone else has an iPhone. She shivered.

Not that she would ever admit it, but Natalie had cringed inside as soon as the words left her. In the fleeting seconds of silence between thoughtless shrieking and slap, she had already felt guilt. What if Mom wasn’t acting? The woman had spent the better part of two years working on her Oscar nomination in front of various judges and attorneys. Natalie forced traces of regret from her mind and tried to steel herself against it. Leah would probably be a bitch to her and get her suspended. Natalie frowned, figuring she deserved it. The girl had only tried to save their failing friendship; the two had been inseparable since before kindergarten. Perhaps that shot about her father was just a desperate last try, some kind of Hail-Mary grab at any kind of emotional string.

She did not want to be here, she did not want to go to school. Her father probably didn’t want her. Mother was a notorious liar, but the truth remained: Dad changed his phone number without giving her the new one and was rejecting her email. Etan and his crew, while terrifying, might be the only place she could go. It felt better than being alone. I don’t have to do bad shit, I’m just hanging out with friends. They had to have gotten away, the cops haven’t come after me and neither has Etan.

The wind picked up. She drew her arms tight around her legs. Somewhere within the jumble of cheap jewelry and bits of leather clinging to her wrist was a watch, though it was almost too much trouble to unearth. A glance upwards confirmed the sky was as grey as her mood. She grumbled and unwrapped herself from the ball she had been sitting in. Her boots thudded against the concrete as she jumped down to the sidewalk, her first few steps awkward as her frozen legs protested motion. Nylon cargo pants were not very warm.

They’re gonna be assholes coz of that night. Fuck ‘em. Jason will say I’m just a little kid and I panicked. I still let them in… still did my part, sorta. I didn’t break the window.

Her mood swam from indignation through anger to loneliness. She meandered down the street at a pace that said she did not care when she arrived. Small bits of trash and other debris that found themselves too close got sent flying with halfhearted kicks. Natalie expected cutting school to feel more liberating, more exciting. Nerd-Natalie tapped her foot and shook her head. Copeland, the bastard, had teased her with a chance at academic salvation. The head-doc could say she had some mental problems due to the nasty divorce. If the principal bought the psychobabble, they might not hold her back; or kick her out for bad grades. Nerd-Natalie begged in the back of her mind, a sensation that manifested as guilt just shy of being strong enough to stop her walking.

Her fingers bothered the flap covering the thigh pocket of her new pants, the pocket she had reserved for a cell phone. The pants themselves bore the scent of sweet victory; the clerk at the mall had not even noticed she had not worn them into the place. If she had a cell phone, she could have called Traci and been complaining about her mother for the past hour instead of sulking alone with a numb ass. She scowled. Just the thought of her mother finding yet another reason to delay getting her a phone made her angry again. Of course, she had to turn it around and make it Natalie’s fault. Oh, I would have let you get one but because you used bad words at me, you can’t have it. She screwed up her face and muttered a Peanuts-like warbling caricature of her mother’s high-pitched nagging.

Her martyr’s rage over the phone situation brought momentary triumph over her isolation. The grey sky and howling wind heightened the sense of being the only living soul on the street, a somberness that tilted things back to an even mood. Horns wailed, people shouted, and tires squealed. The chaos of the city remained, but far away and out of sight. The storefronts grew more run down as she went on, deeper into the parts of the city that most girls her age feared to go at all, much less alone. She paused at a cracked window, making sure her eyes were clear of redness.

Natalie could not care less how her hair looked; she gave that up awhile back when she stopped caring about her grades. A few swipes of her hand through the thick tangled mass that passed for a hairstyle was enough. She stared at it despite herself, wondering if she regretted cutting it to her shoulders or not. Too short, and the popular girls called her a boy. It sort-of worked at this length, but she missed it being long enough to sit on, even if it was a lot of work to maintain. Leah used to laugh whenever she did that and wound up with an awkward head tilt.

Natalie grumbled.

She held her chin up with pride, posing with her fists on her hips. Her denim jacket parted to reveal the “F*ck It!” in pink pearl fabric paint. The spiked collar came out of her pocket and went on.

She adjusted it snug, and spun the clasp around behind her neck out of sight. Using the window as a mirror, she tugged at her clothes here and there. It was difficult, given her mother’s shopping habits, to pull off a look off-center from mainstream and edgy enough to fit in with her new friends. Mother loathed the shirt, and the first time she saw Natalie wearing the spiked collar, it started a good three-hour shouting match. Natalie growled in the back of her throat, remembering how her mother threatened to put her dinner on the floor.

You want to wear a collar like a dog, you can eat like one. No daughter of mine…

“Denigrate this.” Natalie gave her reflection the finger.

She smiled for a change, thinking about the arguing. Since the divorce, neither her mother nor her father seemed to care much how she felt about anything. Even Dad had become angry and withdrawn, a pale shadow of what he once was. Any opportunity she had to twist the knife a little bit deeper into her mother’s side gave a sense of control. Her hands sunk into her jacket pockets as she thought about it. They did not need to know it hurt when they screamed back at her. She did it on purpose, a hair-trigger temper that erupted as soon as she realized her family was gone. She hoped it hurt them more, but even when it sent her mother storming off in tears, it only felt good for a little while. The pathetic waif staring back at her might have been her mother twenty something years ago.

I’m not gonna cave in. She looked away, feeling the lump in her throat grow. You stop being a bitch first, Mom.

For now, she was off to prove to the world she was tough. They would not expect her to go back, not after running. Maybe having the chutzpah to return would earn her a little respect.

She spun away from the window and walked on, turning a few blocks later down an alley into familiar surroundings. Her new friends hung out in this part of town, and for the past few months, she went there to chill with kindred spirits. Other kids who had similar parent problems; granted they were older, some even out of school. Jason’s father used to hit him until he got big enough to fight back. Kevin never talked about his parents, but rumor put his dad in jail and his mom in a nuthouse. At least two of the others were illegals that slept at the hangout. Traci was a runaway, but Cory… he had a home and well-off parents, just like her. Maybe that was why he resented the kid so much―she reminded him of his own poser-ness.

Natalie maneuvered around garbage that all but filled the strip of decaying blacktop, a scar running between abandoned buildings. Pigeons darted in and out of the broken windows, the echoes of flapping wings filled the alley with noise beyond her chattering mind. She quickened her pace, as the strange emptiness in the city had the effect of making her want to go home. Some dark worry fell on her, bringing out the urge to turn around and run back to her bed. Natalie grumbled, trying not to feel like the little kid they always teased her for being.

It threatened to rain, and it was already chilly and inhospitable. She coughed at the smell of old beer and urine, rotting trash, and other fragrances she dared not try to discern in the air. A warm apartment seemed all the more welcome now; pity the only place she had to go was back into earshot of a screaming witch.

I’ma get Copeland back for this, why did he have to call? He said he was gonna call Dad. Natalie sighed. If she had gone to school, she could have grilled him about that. Too late now.

Distant music chased away her daydreams of revenge. The song was a familiar vitriolic punk anthem that she often used to drown out the nattering of her mother. The closer she got to the source, the less she thought about home and the more alive and wanted she felt. Natalie ducked through a collapsing portion of brick wall, into the ground floor level of what was once an office building.

raffiti covered the crumbling grey walls, depicting everything from fancy, artistic street names to crude smut and unreadable squiggles. Old memos and papers hung as if by the hand of a haphazard visionary, decaying cubicle walls stacked up in the far corner formed into ‘rooms’ where the illegals slept. A small group of people had arranged themselves around the back end of the space, lounging on broken desks. Most were smoking, drinking, or playing with knives. Etan, the de-facto leader of the group, stood in a circle with Cory, Kevin, Jason, and three other boys whose names she could not recall. The smell of mold and urine hung in the cold, humid air; she imagined this place would be unbearable in the summer.

Etan looked younger than the rest, though no one ever mentioned his age. By appearance, Natalie put him at fourteen, or maybe sixteen with a baby face. She did not understand how the others, especially Cory or Kevin, let the little Mexican boss them around. Perhaps they were afraid of the sudden bouts of violence that sometimes came over him, triggered by trivial things. Perhaps it was his complete lack of any sense of self-preservation or fear; maybe there was a little truth to the rumors that he had killed grown men for the Cartels. He certainly seemed psychotic enough.

Traci, the only other girl here, sat on a desk with her back to the wall, laughing at something existing only in her head. She twisted and giggled, wiping at her face and making doe eyes at thin air.

I wonder what she’s on this time?

Natalie felt contempt as well as pity for the blonde in the short skirt. The gang kept her around for three reasons, two of which threatened to fall out of her tank top. Seeing her reminded Natalie she had a choice; bend over or break the law.

Neither one of them felt like a great idea. She glanced at the hole in the wall that led out to the street. Undeliverable. Her mind drifted from that word to the feeling of getting slapped to the floor in her own kitchen. Maybe I could steal stuff. How bad could prison be?

One of the guys wandered over to Traci and set to the task of creating a mark on her neck that would linger for a few days. She waved as Natalie drew closer, flopped onto an empty desk a few feet away, and listened to the boys talk. Etan’s foray into Jersey had resulted in a small amount of product some larger player across the bridge used as a test of arrangement. If Etan’s crew could move it, there would be more―a lot more, and money. Aside from working out how to distribute it, he led a discussion about how they had to make a name for themselves. Topics ranged from knocking over a convenience store to going bum-hunting for jollies. Kevin seemed insistent on beefing up their reputation by means of an unprovoked attack on another crew.

Kevin shot her a glare as she settled in, and then returned to the conversation.

She leaned against the wall, hands in her pockets, and exhaled. In a few minutes, the smell of the building would cease being noticeable, and maybe something fun would happen. She tried to think of the other night as fun and exciting; and to a point, it was―until the cops showed up. It was still a few hours until dark, just past five. Perhaps the overcast gloom would let them start early.

The goings on continued unchanged by her presence.

Ernesto wandered by, offering her a beer. She made a face at it, and for no particular reason decided to accept it. At least they had shoplifted Heineken this time, not that other crap. The expected chuckle came as she winced down the first sip. After half a can, it did not feel as harsh or taste as nasty. When the can was empty, she felt languid.

Natalie stared at the wall, pondering the truth made painful by its obviousness. Her gaze drooped into her lap, whether she was sitting here or sitting between the wall and her bed, it felt no different. The empty can spun between her fingers as her mind roamed the annals of boredom for a while. Depression came on, her brain kneading it back and forth like dough, from guilt to sorrow and back again. Her hand found the hall pass still in her pocket, and she crinkled it around.

The line between the girl she wanted to be and the girl these supposed friends of hers wanted around blurred. All of them were infatuated with death, suicide, Goth music, and all manner of morbidity. Natalie thought about Leah being in this room, how scared shitless she would be with these people around her. Nerd-Natalie was right there with her, friends clinging together in the flickering glow of a bad horror movie.

Traci had been in the hospital a month ago after slashing her wrists open. When she was sober, Traci never spoke of her home life. For whatever reason, she called her stepdad by his first name, Ron. Drunk and high Traci, on the other hand, talked endlessly about how Ron only married her mother to get close to her. Natalie shivered at the thought. Yeah, Traci was eighteen now and legal, but it was still icky. Traci probably thought it was icky too; probably why she wound up in a tub of bloody bathwater.

Natalie shivered.

A sinister idea snarled through her lips then, wondering how Mother would react. The shock of hearing her daughter call her Meredith was too juicy not to use. She would save that one for a special moment.

Natalie pulled one leg up, bracing her cheek against her knee and watching Traci suck face with a boy she barely knew. Traci still wore her wrist bandages like trophies, dried blood and all.

Suicide queen, barely eighteen, spread your wings and fly…

As if the radio knew.

Into the dark, she falls. She yearns to be free, she calls…

Was the radio reading her mind?

The water so warm, Her skin is so soft. She flicks the blade…

Criiiimson, dark embraaaaace…

Natalie closed her eyes and whispered along with the lyrics, daydreaming about her mother finding her in a bathtub full of red water. She pictured her in the doorway, that stupid cordless phone slipping out of her hand and shattering on the tile, her stupid bitch lawyer saying ‘hello’ over and over out of broken electronics. She would cut shallow, just enough to tint the water, just enough so she stayed alive to be found. Just enough to show her mother how much it hurt.

Traci gasped a sob. Rhythmic clunking on the desk gave away what was going on. Natalie cringed to the side, a hot blush spread through her cheeks. She kept her eyes closed. Why was Traci crying? Didn’t she like it when they did that to her? Fingernails scratched on cinderblocks.

“Ron, stop, Mom’s home.”

Natalie swallowed bile.

The clunking ceased. “Who in the fuck is Ron?”

Dead silence.

Natalie shuddered, unwilling to glance over, but she could imagine the look on the other girl’s face.

Traci sniffled, and then laughed as if nothing was wrong. “Oh, sorry… he’s no one.”

Suicide, even faked, would leave Natalie feeling as much of an over-actor as her mother. Plenty of people had it worse than her; people like the girl ten feet to her left. The more she thought about this place, the more she followed Etan talking about distribution networks and undercover cops, the more running seemed like a good idea. She sighed at the decrepit drop ceiling; these thoughts killed her wonderful dark mood. When the heavy grunting stopped, she risked a look. Traci packed herself into her shirt and leaned back as if to fall asleep.

Why can’t I be air-headed like her, why do I always have to think and rationalize and ruin my depressive logic?

“Hey…” A voice from nowhere broke her trance.

One of the boys, Ian maybe, leaned on the desk and offered another beer.

“Hey…” She replied, taking it.

She smirked at the can before popping it open and downing a healthy swig. She still wanted to cringe at the taste, but at least she could hide it now. The first time Miss Tough tried beer, they all shared a good laugh at her reaction. Natalie remembered them giving her something else, ‘a brown’ they called it. It burned going down, and she did not remember much else from that night aside from waking up face down in a puddle of vomit on the floor of her room. Nerd-Natalie hid in the corner of her mind, puking into a toilet already. Her hand shook as she took another gulp, and then grabbed the can with both to steady it. Street-Natalie had to be in control here, among these people. Everyone watched her drink. No sooner had she finished it than Ian gave her another. For a moment, she felt like a pig fed its last apple.

She was not drunk, but she noticed the effect of two cans. So far, she had avoided touching anything harder than one hit of a joint. As much as she had wanted to fit in, she would not let herself get wrecked in front of people she did not trust. That’s what happened to Traci.

Trust…They’re my friends right?

Ian smiled, leaning into awkward proximity. “Heard you skated on the guys.” He chuckled. “You’re lucky Kevin saw the lights in time. They made it out. Didn’t get the shit, but they got away clean. That’s great news, what’s with the face?”

She smirked, her mood obvious to the outside, but she did not want to let on the cause. It would not be cool to show scars from a fight with a parent―unless they had been drawn in razor blades.

“Nothin.’ Just bored. We gonna do somethin’ tonight?” She brushed his hand off her shoulder.

Some of the others glanced at her. Kevin scowled. Cory went off on a murmured rant about Jewish princesses. Natalie glared at him; as if she would be able to do anything but get her ass kicked. Pink nightgown, stuffed animal-loving Leah put her down in one punch. Cory would kill her. Etan used her comment as a springboard into a suggestion to hit the convenience store down the street. Jason repeated the mantra of ‘don’t shit where you eat’ and suggested they visit a little place a few blocks south, an independent place, not a franchise.

No… not Mr. Kouri’s…

Natalie’s horror at that thought snapped back at the touch of a warm hand on her stomach where the cut-off shirt left it bare. Before she could react, the hand moved.

Ian seemed happy and surprised at her lack of a bra. It took several seconds for her brain to wrap itself around what he was doing to her. As soon as the momentary fog lifted, she grabbed his arm and pushed him away, scratching herself with his spiked bracelet. Florid crimson, she slid back into the wall and stared at him with her arms clamped over her chest. Getting felt up in public was only half as embarrassing as everyone seeing her reaction to a boy’s touch. Mother was emotionally aloof, her displays of physical affection had become quite scarce since the divorce; touching had gone from craved to hated. Some part of her longed for contact, making the grope seem not altogether unwelcome, but that part did not want an audience.

Ian grinned, all the metal hanging off his ears rattled with his laugh. “Guess the little girl ain’t ready.” He spun away, sauntering back to the group. “Not wearing a bra, nothin’ to put in one.”

Everyone chuckled, even Traci.

Fuck her. Everyone else has. I don’t care what she thinks.

atalie found herself in the same pose she adopted on the concrete porch: chin on her knees, folded arms hiding most of her face from the world. She was blushing hard and confused to boot. She hated her parents for what they did to her, what made it worse was she felt no better now than she did before as a ‘normal’ girl. Watching her mother agonize over her less-than-slow transformation into a wannabe street chick was somewhat amusing, but altogether unfulfilling. Her dream of early admission to college went up in smoke. All for spite. She stifled a belch into her arm, finding the repeated flavor of beer even nastier than the initial taste.

Why did she turn against Leah? All these people wanted was another Traci, another easy girl who didn’t care what anyone did to her. She thought about the face Leah gave her after their “fight” and cringed at another wave of guilt.

The boys’ snickering pulled her mind from her wallowing self-pity. When her head popped up to look, she gasped. Etan was standing two feet away glaring; appraising her as one would a horse they considered purchasing. His gaze right away set her ill at ease. Feeling vulnerable, she slid off the desk and stared defiance back at him. He was a little taller, but not by much. On the scrawny side, like her, he had a sinewy ferocity and wild eyes that set people on edge. Not altogether a bad looking boy, she once fantasized about bringing him home. Mom’s reaction to Natalie dating a Mexican would have made for an epic YouTube post.

Etan slapping the hell out of Traci a few weeks ago erased all interest in him. After witnessing that display, Natalie tried to avoid him as much as possible. She would sooner date Mr. Copeland, and that was not very soon.

He shoved her back onto the desk, knocking her head against the wall. “Just how the fuck did those cops show up so fast, huh?”

Etan lunged forward and slapped her. Not hard like Mother, just an in-your-place gesture that was more humiliating than painful. She screamed, raising her arms in front of her face to block the next two.

He kept trying to swat her on the cheek as he spoke. “You some kind of rat?”

Natalie cowered, terrified by the look in his eyes. “Silent alarm… Saw the panel on the wall inside.” Just act weak, he’ll stop.

Vice hands seized her forearms, squeezing. “You’re full of shit.”

“Ow.” She wailed. “I’m not. I swear, Etan, please. I dunno what set it off.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She stopped fighting. “I tried, Kevin shoved me over the railing before I could warn them. He didn’t let me.”

Etan let go of her arms, thrusting his jaw out. For an instant, his eyes flicked over to Kevin. “Alright.” He wiped his lip with one thumb, making that grinning half-smile that said he was up to something bad. “I believe you.”

On her side, half curled into a defensive ball, she sniveled. Some of the fear was real, some acted. Etan got off on people being afraid of him. The more she mewled, the happier it made him. She hoped that translated to being able to get out of here without a broken jaw, or worse. He rocked back, making faces at the others, bragging about how he put her in line so easily. At the same time she wanted to defy him, she also wanted to be far away from here. The part of her that was still very much a child cried out for some kind of safety. The expressions everyone else wore, even Jason, told her any protection here would have to come from within. She sat up, whining, rubbing the spot on her arm that would be a bruise soon.

“You know I don’t like it when I have to do these things.” Etan reached to brush the hair off her face. Expecting a slap, she cringed. He smiled. “I’m gonna be nice to you, girl.”

Natalie relaxed, sitting up straight, a hint of a smile.

His hand grabbed her by the jacket, pulling her standing. “But, if you’re gonna stay with us, you gotta know your place.” Two fistfuls of denim shook her. “You ran like a bitch. You were supposed to be on lookout. You ain’t even a Wanna Be. I can’t trust your ass, so I’m gonna make you one of my bitches.” He snapped his fingers. “Clothes, lose ‘em.”

Natalie took a step back, eyeing the gap in the wall. There was no way in hell she was going to strip in front of all these people, no way in hell she was going to be Etan’s bitch. She hesitated, reaching for her jacket as if to remove it, and then darted around him. He caught her with an arm across the chest, lifting her off her feet and slamming her down on her back atop the desk. The thin rolled steel bent, a sound like a cannon firing echoed through the room. Natalie flailed, trying to sit up. Etan grabbed her by the wrist, flinging her into a stumble against the wall. He followed and yanked one arm up behind her, crushing her into the cinderblocks. His other hand palmed the back of her head, forcing her cheek against cold graffiti. Her free hand clawed at the wall, a futile effort to push away.

“If you were a dude, and you ran the fuck off, they’d be finding your ass in an alley. You don’t abandon your bros to the god damn pigs.” He lifted her head away from the wall just enough to shove it back there hard enough to hurt. “I’m fuckin’ surprised you had the nerve to come back here after that shit. Jason thinks you’re just a little girl, wants me to cut you a break.” He wrenched up on her arm.

She wailed, unable to help it. “Etan, please stop. I won’t say a thing to the cops. I won’t come back, just don’t make me do this. You’re right, I’m just a kid. I wanna go home.”

No one moved to help, in fact their conversation continued. Traci still made out with whatever his name is.

“Now, bitch. Instead of killing you for ditchin’ on us, I’m gonna induct you proper. I wanted to be all nice and romantic like, and you go and try to run. This your final warning. If you do it real nice, It’ll just be me and I’ll consider lettin’ you walk outta here, no strings. But, only if you do it perfect. Piss me off and the boys are gonna line up and take turns. You got that?”

“I’m sorry, I got priors, got spooked.”

“Fuckin’ shoplifting ain’t priors, kid,” said Cory, rolling his eyes.

Etan let go of her hair. “I don’t care why you ran, bitch. Fact is you ran. Now your ass is mine. I’m gonna love you till you can’t walk upright.”

He punched her in the lower back, taking all the strength out of her legs. Palm against the wall, she struggled to look at Traci. The girl remained oblivious to her. Bitch, help me!

His hot breath pulsed over her neck from behind. He slid the hand not about to break her left arm down her back, forced it under her belt, and squeezed her ass so hard she screamed.

“Jason?” She bawled. “Help!”

Hope glimmered for an instant in her mind, until the way they all watched sank in. No empathy, no concern; not as though they watched a girl about to be raped, they stared with rapt interest as if she was a live porn show.

Even Jason.

Still woozy from the beer, she closed her eyes in an effort to stop the nauseating spin. Now she understood; they wanted her loosened up. That’s why they insisted on the beer. This was the plan all along. Should she relent and let him do whatever, and maybe live to get out of here? Should she fight back? There was no guarantee he would keep his promise and let her go. Her fear grappled with her dignity for only a few seconds before he tried to reach around front. She struggled to push away from the wall but had no leverage. She could not help but emit a whimpering grunt as she strained, reaching down to grab his arm before his hand went too far.

“Come on Etan, please… I’m only thirteen. I’m still―”

“Sweet,” he rasped. “I’ll be your first.”

Natalie jerked her face away from the tongue that slid over her neck. “Stop!”

“Don’t think she likes your cologne, E.” Kevin laughed.

Etan’s hand crested her hip. Panic hit a crescendo. The tipsy haze meant to make her pliant instead lubricated her resolve. As his fingers crept ever closer, she flailed her free elbow into his gut. Natalie thrashed so hard he had to pull his hand out of her pants to keep holding her down. He slapped at her face; she ducked away.

Etan grabbed her by the hair. “You want it rough, bitch? You got it.”

Desperation leaked out as a shrieking wail; she expected him to pound her skull into the cinderblocks as he did to Traci so often. At least if I’m unconscious I won’t remember it. No! Fuck that. She shoved off the wall, at the same time driving her heel down onto Etan’s sneaker.

Combat boot beats Nike.

He let out a pitiful squeal as she put all of her weight on that leg, grinding her heel side to side and crushing his toes into the concrete. His grip weakened enough to wriggle her trapped arm free. Her jacket went down over one shoulder as she shrugged out of his grasp with a twist. Fear blossomed to rage; she stepped forward and kicked a field goal, driving the heavy boot right into Etan’s groin. A flick of her arm sent most of her chain bracelets and other bangles down over her hand. As he crumbled in a heap, she punched a scratch across his cheek with a lucky right hook.

He careened onto his side with both hands in his crotch. The others stared in surprise and excitement, sounds of cheering lost in a surreal haze. Natalie gasped for air as she adjusted her underwear back to where it belonged. The stream of obscenities flying out of her mouth sounded in echoes, distant as if someone was next to her screaming. She lost herself in the moment and kicked Etan in the chest and side, with the occasional stomp at his head. Had she been any more substantial than a rail-thin waif, he might have wound up unconscious and maybe hurt. As it was, he crawled away from her onslaught once the crippling effect of the initial kick wore off.

Natalie backed against the wall; nervous fingers pulled her jacket up, fussed with her hair, and went into her mouth. She gnawed on her knuckles, trembling, wanting to run, but the others had formed a human barrier between her and the way out. They closed in around her, wearing unreadable expressions that could have been amusement, shock, or a desire for vengeance.

With a hand on her stomach, she collapsed against the desk and projected a spray of beer onto the wall. Cory squinted at Etan as he staggered into the alley out of sight, muttering in Spanish; everyone else averted their eyes as she vomited again.

When she looked up, Cory and Kevin stood over her, arms folded and shaking their heads.

atalie’s trembling hands tucked into her armpits as she fought to get her nerves under control. Cory regarded her with an almost-impressed look. She gathered herself and wiped her face, stumbling away from the desk.

“I am not one of your hoes!” she screamed at the opening, before swallowing hard. “Why the hell do you take orders from that little chihuahua?” She glared at Cory as the last vestiges of adrenaline quaked through her body.

His hard glower softened.

“Yeah, so I’m a priss. I know I don’t belong here, and you don’t like me. You won’t see me again. But… If anyone should be running this it’s you.”

Cory measured her with a look. Kevin growled.

“You’re too angry,” she said, with a nod at Kevin. “That lame ass Crow paint doesn’t make you look scary.” Laughter, Kevin grabbed her shirt. Oh shit, what are you doing Nat? Fuckin’ heart is racing. Calm down before they kill you. “I mean… You gotta think. Etan’s all noise. You’re better than him but you get pissed too easy. Cory’s smart.”

Cory removed Kevin’s hand from her shirt.

“Looks like she’s got jungle fever.”

“Go to hell, Ernesto. I don’t want to sleep with anyone.” Natalie fumed, taking a step back. “Just saying, he stays calm.”

“Like we’re gonna listen to what you think?” scoffed Kevin, pacing an erratic figure eight.

Jason gestured at the opening. “Well, she did kick Etan’s ass. Doesn’t that give her a say?”

“This ain’t motherfuckin’ pirates,” said Cory. “Let’s discuss shit.” He turned on Natalie. “And you…” She swallowed, beer-courage fading. “You know some of our business.”

“I swear I won’t tell anyone anything. I’m in it up to my neck too. I broke into the fuckin’ house, right? My ass would go to jail right along with you guys.”

“Just so we understand each other.” Cory seemed to like her better as a prissy white girl that accepted she did not belong with them. “Don’t let me see you around here again. If you come back.” He pointed at Traci. “That’s you.”

Natalie squinted at him. Holy shit, is Cory a cop? “Okay.”

Hot tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as the adrenaline wore off. The others, sans Traci, collected in a circle to discuss where to go from here. Several voices laughed out loud, mocking Etan for getting ‘owned’ by a little girl. Traci, despite her previous nonchalance at the impending rape, seemed happy that she kicked him down and walked over. Natalie shrank from Traci’s hand, though calmed when the older girl brushed her cheek.

“Damn girl, are you okay? He whacked you pretty hard.”

Blood on Traci’s hand; Natalie did not remember him punching her in the face. It must have happened, her cheek was tender and nose bleeding. Everything after the kick to the balls was a blur of furious panic, she couldn’t piece together where Etan had found the time to hit her. She glanced around; the bastard had disappeared, no doubt to lick his wounds. Natalie shivered and staggered toward the gap in the wall. She would have run if not for the worry that he might still be out there, waiting.

“I… I gotta go.” Natalie took a step closer to the crack that served as the door to the room.

Traci pulled her by the jacket. “You can’t go out like that, you’re a mess.”

She leaned away from Traci’s attempts to dab up the blood draining from her nose, still wired to the point of not feeling pain. Natalie wanted out of there. The yelling she knew waited for her at home seemed welcome by comparison to another minute spent here. Certainly more than the company of those willing to watch Etan attack her and do nothing but cheer him on, maybe even take a turn after. How would her mom react if she just stayed quiet and accepted the yelling?

“Really, I’m okay… Just… get offa me.” She pushed on Traci, trying to get away.

“Aww, let her run home ta mommy,” yelled Ernesto.

The words stung, but she was past caring. These people almost got her arrested for serious, almost let her get raped, and she did not like the look in Etan’s eyes when he wobbled out of sight.

“Why do you think they let us stay around?” Traci muttered, still trying to clean her face up. “Gotta give ‘em a little to get protected. Since you’re chicken shit about breakin’ the law, you have to put out. Cops won’t hassle you for just hanging out with ‘em.”

“You fuckin’ dopehead bitch, she’s out,” yelled Jason.

Indignation welled up as she stared at Traci. “How can you…”

She tried to formulate a response that summed up her utter repulsion that this woman accepted being someone’s toy. Natalie stared at the older girl for a moment before shaking her head. Not only did they protect her, Traci was also desperate for the fix they provided. Now was not the time to debate that sort of thing. There was not much left of whoever Traci might have been before all the drugs and whatever damage Ron did to her.

For the first time in many months, Natalie made up her mind to tell her mother the truth and just eat the consequences. She had been so very wrong about these people, these supposed friends. What else had she screwed up? She squirmed away from Traci and stumbled halfway across the room, dizzy from the beer and dreading what was outside.

With a dismissive sigh, Traci gave up and went back to whatever guy was closest. Natalie turned for the patch of daylight in the wall, freezing as a figure moved past it. Etan emerged from the shadows, staring at her with a dreadful glare made worse by a blackening eye. He crept into the room, bringing an end to the din of conversation behind her.

“Dude, you’re supposed to fuck her, not get fucked up.” Jason winked.

Ernesto rattled something in Spanish, all Natalie picked out was the word for ‘little boy.’

Neither reacted to the taunt. Something awful glinted in his eyes, and the icy grip of panic slid over the back of her neck. For a moment, he stood silent, staring. She edged towards a broken window on the other side of the room; there was glass, but there was no Etan in the way. He stalked her like a cat after a cornered mouse; the black eye appeared to darken even more.

“No bitch does that to me”―a battered .38 caliber revolver flew out of his sweatshirt, shaking―“and lives.”

Traci’s scream drowned in a flurry of gunshots. Natalie cringed, knee up, hands forward as if that would help at all. Her body jerked from something striking it, but the lack of pain reassured her. Everyone scattered, shouting. When bang, bang, bang became click, click, click, Etan turned and ran off. The room spun into a blur. The hazy, triangular outline of fading daylight on the floor wobbled closer as she swayed into the wall. She held on to the crumbling cinderblocks for an instant, wheezing. The previous lack of pain grew into a cold spike in her chest that throbbed in time with her racing heart. Warmth spread downward over her stomach.

It was raining outside now. The splatters of footsteps grew distant in either direction. She lurched forward, clutching her gut, and fell to the ground. Frigid water seeped into her clothing as she went over sideways and landed on her back, staring up into the panorama of raindrops falling onto her face. Managing a mangled yell of pain, she tried to cry out for help. Blood soaked her arm; her precious stolen pants had turned almost black from the waist to the knees.

She stared at a crumpled McDonald’s cup lying in the street a few inches from her eyes, her cheek numb to the rough pavement.

“Out in the street with the rest of the trash.”

Her mother’s voice echoed from everywhere, words once screamed in anger as she ran out of the apartment some weeks ago. Now here she laid, just another piece of trash in the alley. Natalie struggled to breathe, reaching up to her neck. Feeble fingers undid the spiked collar and let it fall to the side. She cried; wanting someone to help her, wanting her parents―wanting anyone to care this had happened. She couldn’t just lie there. Realization dawned; Etan shot her. She was losing blood. If she stayed here, she would bleed to death. There was no sign of Cory or anyone else.

Her hand, pale against the cloudy sky, seemed to glow in her vision. Her body ignored her will to stand. She managed to roll onto her side before her arm fell limp. She gasped. Traci’s screaming voice faded into the distance; maybe she would go for help. If Cory was a police undercover, maybe he had already called it in.

Cold. Why is it so cold? I’m sorry Dad.

reezing, clinging silence gave way to the sound of the rain. Water fell on her from above and soaked through her clothing from below. The barrage of cold, incessant rain peppered her trembling body. The burning sensation that had torn through her like a lightning bolt was gone. For an instant, she felt relief, but the taste of blood in her mouth brought panic. Despite her furious mental effort to get up, her body continued to disobey. Natalie’s arm went numb; her weight shifted and pulled her onto her back into a large puddle.

The alley slid further into darkness as the grey sky gave way to premature night. The clouds looked surreal, luminous edges with cores of indigo. She wondered, staring up into the droplets, if it was really getting dark or if she was imagining things. She shook from cold and fear, doubting anyone would find her in time to save her life; wondering why in the hell she had come back to these people. A dozen ‘why did I do that’ moments from the past three years ran through her mind.

Natalie closed her eyes, and her breath went into the chattering stutter of a crying child. She thought about her parents. To her surprise, she did not imagine joy at the misery that would result from them seeing her like this. She wanted more than anything to be with them.

She opened her eyes to send a pleading look into the sky. A face staring down startled her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. The shock of being able to move again set in, added to the surprise of not being alone, and her eyes widened. A man, maybe in his late thirties, stood over her with an amused grin. A Hawaiian shirt with a “WROK” logo and khaki shorts brought him out of vague familiarity and into clear recognition.

Coughing, she managed to blurt out “Todd…” The man looked like “Crazy Todd,” the morning show DJ she’d had a thing for since she was ten.

“Close enough,” he said, and reached for her arm.

Before she could answer, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She expected to scream from pain, but it did not hurt and she found her balance faster than expected. After a long confused gaze at him, wondering why he of all people was here, she noticed his clothing was dry.

As if in answer to her questioning stare, his grin broadened. “No need to do the whole coughing and spitting up blood thing… a bit late for that.”

“What?” She muttered, still more in shock at seeing the object of her long-time crush than what had happened to her. A genuine celebrity was here, right in front of her. All those years of trying to get through on the phone, and now she was face to face with him.

He looked her over, lifting her chin with a finger. “There’s nothing to you, girl. You should eat more.” He chuckled. “Well, I suppose you might worry about that later.”

It occurred to her she no longer felt the rain. Natalie held her hands out, trying to catch the droplets, but they were as untouchable as a rainbow. Clothes, soaked through, clung to her in that uncomfortable way that soaked-through clothes do. Natalie pulled at her short-cut shirt to expose her stomach, finding no evidence of a wound, not even any blood. Between her boots, a good deal of crimson streamed through the alley, staining the bits of trash strewn about. A mounting feeling of terror rose up as she turned to look at the pavement behind her.

Todd took hold of her and pulled her around before she could. “Looking over your shoulder will do you no good. In fact, I don’t think you could handle it.”

Natalie pinned him with her eyes, realization dawning that what lay behind her was her own body. She folded her arms and glanced down at bloody water flowing through the trash.

“No… I… can’t be dead.” She wanted to cry, but for some reason could not summon the will or the energy. “I’m dreaming. This doesn’t make sense at all. Why would you be here if I’m dead? I’m not dead, am I?”

“Well, you are… for the moment.” Todd flashed his used-car-salesman smile, the gleam of knowing more than he let on danced in his eyes. “But good news, you’re the hundred and seventh person to die this year!”

Coldness enveloped her as she shivered; no matter how tight she pulled her denim jacket around her body, it did little to lessen the chill made worse by the thought of being dead.

“What do you mean?” She looked up again, any trace of her prior ‘bad girl’ attitude gone. “This is like, negotiable or something?”

Todd laughed, a haughty sound that echoed through the city in both directions. “Well, as a matter of fact, this is your lucky die.”

Natalie blinked. “Don’t you mean day?”

He simply smiled.

“Dare I ask?” She did not know how to feel. His demeanor started to take the edge off her fear. It seemed too much to believe, she wondered if Etan had smashed her hard enough into the wall that she had passed out.

“Well, first of all, you’re not dreaming.” He produced a small cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “Secondly, I do this every now and then when someone that doesn’t quite deserve this sort of end takes that long step off a short pier. Especially after I find someone worth owing a favor to.”

She took the phone and stared at it. Plain, small, and black, it looked as though it had never been turned on. All that was missing were the strips of clear plastic often adhered to new bits of electronica. She tucked it under her arm, folding them across her chest in a feeble search for warmth.

Todd could not help but chuckle at the face she made. “Whether or not you actually stay dead is up to you. I’ve chosen you for a little game.”

“No…” She blurted out, arms flying down to her sides as she balled her hands into fists. “I don’t want to be dead,” she whined. Her voice trailed off into a little whisper. “I’m only thirteen…”

He leaned back, smiled, and put a finger on her lip. “It’s not that simple, dear. I’m not the one that gets to make the final choice. That’s up to the producer―but we’ll see how you do.”

She stared at him, fighting the urge to snivel. “Who are you?”

“That’s an interesting question, really. Every civilization winds up with its own name for me, you know. Some called me Hades, but it has been everything from Charon to Satan to some hippy in a white robe, but no, I am not the devil. Mortals just can’t make up their mind about what lies beyond their little sandbox.”

Natalie pondered for a moment, and looked down at the alley. She stepped away from the bloody water. The horrible truth of it being her own blood, and so much of it, made her trembling worsen.

“Why do you look like Crazy Todd?” She mumbled, an effort to keep her mind from attempting to guess at the sight that waited for her should she turn around.

He flashed that same smile from the radio station posters. “People see me how they want to see me. It depends on what’s on their mind, usually something comfortable and nonthreatening.”

“Why not one of my parents?” She looked up to meet his glance.

“I never appear as someone that you’re intimately familiar with.” He gestured at himself. “This provides a way for me to talk without overwhelming people.”

“Wouldn’t a celebrity be overwhelming?” She sniffled.

“This guy?” Todd pointed at his chest with both thumbs, one of his trademarks. “He’s maybe got a thousand fans… Sorry, nine hundred and ninety nine.”

Natalie pouted at the street. “So, what do I have to do?”

“Wait for that phone to ring. There’s no tremendous rush, but when it does, you should listen to it. You don’t exactly have all night.”

She sighed, taking a step forward before hesitating.

He was behind her again, hand on her shoulder. The electricity in the DJ Todd voice faded to a soft, reassuring tone. “Really, girl. Don’t bother looking back just yet. If you manage to pull your bacon out of the fire tonight, that sight is a memory you won’t want.” He turned to leave, but whirled back, once more sounding like the overbearing DJ. “Oh, one more thing!”

He snapped his fingers and her body changed. She noticed her transparency only by its sudden absence. The touch of the rain once more fell upon her.

“There, call that a door prize. Now we’ll see how you do.”

Natalie gawked at herself for a few seconds. When she looked up, he was gone.

The alley and its cold darkness was hers alone.

rms held tight to her chest, she bit her lip and thought about what sort of horrible vision lurked just behind her shoulders. Careful not to look back, she trotted around the corner at the first cross street to remove any temptation. The lump building in her throat grew uncomfortable; she doubted she could speak if she needed to save her life.

In the distance, cars hissed over the rain-covered road as patches of light moved around the rotting walls of a dying neighborhood. Staring at the ground, she walked. She felt more or less normal. The stink of the city once more clawed at her throat and the raindrops hit her again―not that they made a difference to her already drenched outfit. Her feet slid around in boots full of water. Every article of clothing dripped, as though she had fallen in a pool. The cold cling of her pants and damp heaviness of her denim jacket felt altogether as they should, given an ordinary night.

She wandered for a while, every so often pausing to stare at the cell phone for a moment before tucking it back into the pocket she had reserved for one. It might have been just past one in the afternoon when Etan shot her, but the city was dark now―midnight dark. The odd thing, aside from being dead but not dead, was how few people she encountered. There was no one. In fact, the city seemed abandoned except for an occasional trace of sound from around a corner or a far distant shout or blaring horn.

“Shit… fuck…” Wham. The sound of a kicked trashcan reverberated.

Natalie paused. She knew that voice―Etan. She whirled and ran towards it, clinging to the corner of a building to peer into the alley beyond. Etan was on his knees, having recently vomited. If she did not know him, she would have mistaken him for a white boy. This was Etan as she had never seen him before. He looked terrified. Without his attitude, the wide eyes made him seem even younger. Unsure if she was visible, she stayed hidden and watched him wipe his face and cough. He looked as though he had run himself to the point of collapse, all the bravado had left him. Now, he resembled a little lost boy rather than the leader of a street gang.

Had he not just killed her, she might have felt sorry for him.

She nudged a plastic carton, making him jump.

“Who’s there?” he called out, leaping to his feet.

Natalie froze, wanting to hide. He stared right at her but did not react. He wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve as he paced about. She ducked, only one eye peeking around the corner.

“Man… what the hell am I gonna do now? Damn Kevin wants to take over anyway, and them rats’ll go with him. Damn that little bitch.” He spat, and then wiped his face on his sleeve. “I could ditch the body… she’s gotta be dead. Got her right in the fuckin’ chest. Fuckin’ hit me? Who the fuck does she think she is?”

She glared. His rambling came off as pathetic now, out of breath and desperate.

“Naw, I’m good, yo. None of those motherfuckers would dare squawk. I got too much shit on ‘em. Someone gonna find that little bitch. Jason said she’s got some hotshot lawyer for a dad. He’s gonna be all up on TV postin’ rewards and shit. Fuck.” Etan slapped himself in the face a few times, and then his flailing arms stalled on his sweatshirt pocket. “Shit.”

His fingers clenched around an object. Natalie stared at the clump of cloth, more specifically what was beneath it, and a pang of fear followed a rivulet of water down her spine.

Etan looked around for a minute before the fire escape caught his eye. With a nervous laugh, he scaled a section of drainpipe and got onto it at the second story. Natalie emerged from her hiding place as he climbed, trotting over to the wall and attempting the same maneuver. She grasped the pipe with both hands and planted her boots wherever the wall offered purchase. Creeping upward, she worried more about stealth than speed, and clawed at the bricks until she pulled herself high enough to make the leap to the metal ladder. She paused on the platform, waiting for Etan to get far enough above her not to see.

Damn, I’m heavy for a ghost. Am I that weak? If I make it through this, maybe I’ll go to the gym with mom again.

Right after the divorce got started, Mother thought going to the gym would offer them some ‘girl time’ to re-bond. Maybe it would have if Natalie wasn’t so angry at her. Dispelling the memory, she rounded stairway after stairway, staying a level below him until he disappeared onto the roof. By the time she peered over the top, Etan had climbed onto a small outcropping of brick and pipe, some kind of ventilation for internal plumbing.

He took the .38 out of his front pocket and pulled his left hand into the sleeve. Wiping the gun down from tip to cylinder, he transferred it to the cloth-covered hand and repeated the process on the handgrip. She grinned, noticing he appeared to forget to wipe the trigger in his haste. With the gun clean to his estimation, he balanced on tiptoe and dropped it down one of the wider black pipes. It rattled and crunched into what sounded like plastic cups.

“Shit.” He tried to climb up to peek down into the pipe. “Dammit, they’re gonna find that fucker too easy.”

Natalie watched him balance there, so close to the west edge of the roof. She thought about sneaking up on him. I’m a ghost, right? I’ll scare the shit out of him. He’ll fall. She pictured it in her head: Etan screaming, losing his balance, falling sideways over the edge of the roof, and then plunging to his death.

She stood up, pulling herself over a two-foot safety barrier. One step later, she paused. I walk for three blocks through New York City and see no one else. Why can I see Etan? She squinted. Fate was either giving her a shot at revenge or testing her. Was this a choice between being dead and avenged or getting a second chance by forgiving him? Eye for an eye, right? But what if Todd isn’t bullshitting me? If I can survive this… test… I might not stay dead, and that would make me a killer.

Natalie took another step. This was fate’s cruel idea of a joke. She made up her mind to tolerate her mother screaming, she accepted she deserved it, and now this happens. You little egomaniacal shit. No, you’re not going to kill me twice.

She crossed her arms as he grabbed on to the stacked bricks, hooked his fingers into another vent pipe and pulled himself up. Her bored smirk at the moon faded as dust fell from the mortar. His footing crumbled unnoticed. Oh, no fucking way. Natalie glared at the sky. Really? He’s gonna die anyway? She sighed. Fine.

Etan lost his balance as a brick slid out from under his sneaker. He cried out, but swung his legs back into position and clung to the crumbling brickwork. Within a few breaths, his panic faded to determination. He clenched his jaw and continued trying to climb. She jogged over, putting herself between him and the side. If he freaks, he’s gonna jump away from the edge. Natalie wanted him to see her now.

“You’re gonna fall. It’s breaking. Pipe’s gonna give out and you’re gonna take a header over the wall and die.”

He did fall, but only a few feet to the roof. “Oh man, you scared the―” He stopped breathing when he realized who was looking at him.

“Hi.” She waved her fingers at him.

“Madre de Dios,” he gasped, then pointed. “I shot you…” The lack of blood or bullet wounds frightened him more than the gore would have, and the gradual expansion of a puddle of water out from her boots set him babbling.

“Yep, it’s me. You’re a real genius, and an idiot, and an asshole.” She seethed. “Ugh, I can’t believe I just saved your useless life after you killed me.”

Second chances are a bitch.

“W… what do you want?” He crawled back, lacking the ability to stand.

Natalie stalked after him. “I dunno, turn yourself in to the cops? I doubt that. You’re not going to enjoy prison. You got a face like a little boy. You’d be a very popular prison bitch.” Wow, I guess Dad was right that I spent too much time watching crime shows. “I guess you’re not gonna do that. Maybe I just wanted a closer look at the kind of pathetic loser that needs a gun to get even with a little girl.”

He screamed, raising an arm over his face.

“What’s wrong Etan? I thought you liked putting bitches in their place.” Will Todd be upset at me if I kick his ass a little? She came to a halt at his feet, staring down at the expanding wet spot in his pants. She held her hands up, clawing. “Maybe I just came to take your soul with me to the afterlife.” She lunged at him, clawing at the air. “Boo!”

Etan rolled away, scrambled to his feet, and almost fell down the fire escape. She stared at the spot of wall where he vanished, motionless until the rattling metal ceased. Once his screaming grew too faint to hear, she circled the place he ditched the gun before walking to the edge of the roof. Corner of Lincoln Place and Classon street…

Her left leg thrummed with a bizarre spasm a second before the sound of a ringing cell phone. She fumbled with the small device in search of the answer button. For a moment, she felt a little slighted that he hadn’t given her a smartphone. What the hell is wrong with me?

Beep.

“Hey, kiddo.” DJ Todd’s exuberance surged into the air. “Almost thought you changed your mind there. Meet anyone interesting?”

“Just some boy, I wouldn’t say he’s to die for.”

Todd laughed. “Always good to keep a sense of humor, helps ya get through bad times. Anyway, kid, you might wanna head over to the corner of Fulton and Jay.”

“Brooklyn Heights? That’s like miles away…”

He did not reply, when she looked at the phone it was as dead as she was. Natalie sighed, staring off to the northwest. “Well, not like I’ll get tired.”

he city passed with blithe indifference to the little dead girl trudging along. Again, the sounds of life lurked just out of reach. She wondered if ghosts had as much trouble seeing the living as the living had seeing ghosts. Maybe she was walking right through people and did not notice. Picking at the phone in her pocket, she checked a street sign and took a left turn. She did not bother to look at traffic lights or slow down for crossing roads. More than the icy water trapped in her clothes, the empty city chilled her mute.

She thought about the other day, how she cut her last class and meandered home just so she arrived at the normal time. She ran back through the argument that morning; each painful barb Natalie threw out felt as sharp as if aimed at her instead of Mother. For at least a year, she had given up on her classes, turned on her close friends, and lashed out at her mother. Even Dad had gotten some of the attitude after a bad day with Mom. Natalie did not think she was that mean to her dad; it was hardly his fault her mother couldn’t stay upright at work. Natalie wracked her brain trying to figure out what she had done to make him hate her.

The gang, those so-called friends she stumbled across, had never really accepted her. At best, she offered access to her father’s money. At worst, she was to be a vulnerable underage conquest. Somewhere between the two extremes, she wound up feeling like a little dog that growls and everyone thinks is cute despite it being really pissed off. Except for Leah, her old friends had avoided her since she went off the deep end with the bad girl routine. Leah kept hanging on, despite getting proverbially kicked in the teeth over and over.

It wasn’t them being bitchy, it was me. Somehow I get the feeling ‘sorry, I fucked up’ won’t quite work.

Natalie stopped at a curb and looked in two directions down desolate streets. Horns echoed as if from miles away, someone shouted from just around the corner. She knew no one would be there if she looked, and did not bother. Every so often, the sound of a car rumbled right past her, though noise was all there was. For a moment, she watched steam coalesce above a manhole cover, then sank in on herself and felt silly that she looked for traffic.

“I’m dead… who cares if I get run over.”

The thought made her shiver even harder, and she turned at the next block, following Todd’s instruction to go to the corner of Fulton and Jay. The hazy darkness drifted in a fog as she moved, the towering specters of distant buildings loomed high. In whatever place she now existed, they all looked abandoned.

Is this what it feels like to be the last person on Earth?

“Hey there…” A ragged voice drifted from an alcove of a red building with a round tower-like corner.

She turned with a casual glance. An elderly black woman leaned on a broom, looking in her direction with a concerned expression, the sight of her having interrupted the task of cleaning. The woman’s pea-green dress and white sweater looked like something a thrift store would not be able to give away.

“What you doin’ out this hour, child? This ain’t no place for someone like you.” The woman rubbed her nose on the back of her sleeve as she leaned out of the doorway. “Heard some gunshots. Ain’t safe here.”

Natalie’s arms again crossed over her chest, a pained expression upon her face as she tried not to break down on the spot.

“Yeah, I heard ‘em too.”

The elder nodded. “Best be gettin’ yourself home, less’n you ain’t got no place to go. You kin come in ‘ere if ya be needin’ a place to rest. Not safe bein’ out with that looney runnin’ round.”

“Looney?”

“Some evil sort running about, shootin’ young people at night. S’all over the news. Some folk callin’ him the Son o’ Sam.”

Natalie blinked. That was, wow, like old or something. I wasn’t even born yet. She stared at the woman who resumed her sweeping, and gasped. She’s dead too.

Natalie managed a weak smile and tucked her hair over her ear with a trace of her finger. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m trying to get home…” She looked away, off down the street.

“Yep, I reckon you are.” The elder made her way into the building, followed by the scratching of a broom over ancient linoleum. “If you can’t find your way, you just go on and come back here if’n ya need.”

“Thanks.” Natalie stood in silence, motionless as the door closed without a sound.

The rain had all but ceased. She looked up at the moon, and then frowned at her waterlogged body. No matter how much she wrung herself out, she stayed as wet as if she had just climbed out of a swimming pool. This sucks. Trudging along, her mind wandered in random directions. Her mother had often yelled about her needing counseling. A silly half-grin settled on her face as she considered looking for Dr. Malcolm Crowe.

She walked another few blocks, noticing she drew close to her given destination. It did not feel as though she had walked most of the way across Brooklyn, certainly not that much time had passed. Just one more item on a long list of weird things happening tonight.

A paper cup came dancing out of a side street, caught in the wind. It whirled and skidded over the road; the hollow scraping cut the silence. Natalie stopped to let it pass, staring at it as it slid by. She felt like another piece of refuse drifting, and gave the right of way to one that had been out here longer. It was a once-useful thing forgotten by a society that no longer had need of it. She sniffled, unable to bring herself to cry. Across the street, she caught sight of a familiar deli; she was very close to her father’s apartment. It had been almost six months since she went there, and about two since she had even seen him.

Her mind swam with guilt. Mom said he gave up custody so a juvenile delinquent would not get in the way of his career. Mom lied a lot. Natalie did not believe her at first, but when she found he had changed his phone number and blocked her emails, it seemed as if he abandoned her too. A hollow opened inside as she thought of driving him away. If she could believe her mother, which she doubted, her attitude as of late had been the last straw. She made him want nothing to do with her; an attorney like him could not afford to have a child that gets arrested.

“Wonder how he’ll react to my five minutes of news coverage.” She sighed, catching herself checking for traffic at the next cross street.

Each block was every bit as deserted as the one before it. The corner deli looked as if it had been shut down for some time, moldy boards upon the door and windows. That’s odd. That place isn’t closed. She looked around at the desolation. The buildings were, with the exception of the deli, not in bad shape. I guess dead people don’t eat much. A distance away to the north, her father’s apartment building peeked over the surrounding structures; his high-rise cost more for one month’s rent than her mother made in two.

Natalie reserved most of her vitriol for Mother, the one responsible for everything. However, here and there, the “bad girl” attitude reared its head at Dad too. He missed the award ceremony for some stupid essay contest Nerd-Natalie entered, citing work. She had thrown that back at him a week later when he wanted to take her out, doubting his story about work. She was too cool to go to his office for that stupid “take your kid to work” day.

She was at her worst after Mother primed her, though. The last time she saw him, he came to pick her up for a concert. Mom threw a fit that he bought tickets without telling her, she’d tried to encourage her to pull her grades up with banning all ‘fun.’ In the midst of the fight that raged through the front door, Natalie had let him have it too. When he gave in and refused to stand up to Mom, Natalie had called him a spineless cocksucker. Most of the building probably heard it.

The face he made when she said that haunted her still, right before he sagged into a dejected slump and walked off. He did not even look up as the elevator doors closed over his face. It was the last time Natalie had seen him. Thinking of the doors closing over him made her cry. Thinking of her mother’s faint smile at his utter defeat made her angry. She trudged forward, kicking at the occasional rock or beer can that crossed her path as she looked for anything Todd might have meant for her to find. Her face was a mask of worry as she meandered about; here she was at the spot and nothing stood out.

After some time, she sat down on the curb with a squish. Her clothing was every bit as wet as it was before, despite the rain having stopped almost half an hour ago. She curled into a ball and shivered more, staring through a small gap between her knees at the other side of the street, trying not to look at the trickle of water forming in the gutter. Her Mother’s voice needled at the back of her mind, screaming about what happens to girls that hang out with “people like that.” The shrieking wail had painted over the meaning. Mother sounded more as if she did not want the tarnish of a delinquent daughter on her reputation than she expressed any genuine concern for Natalie’s safety. Could there be any chance mom was sincere? Noises of the city filtered in from just out of sight, as if life existed around a corner ever out of reach.

She fantasized about being a character in a video game, badly wanting to punch in a cheat code and skip right to the good ending. She hugged her legs to her chest, trying to stop the relentless shaking. It had been easy to think she didn’t need anybody but herself; now all she wanted was to have someone to tell her it would all be okay. Her father’s face formed in her mind again; his look of shock and betrayal, of disbelief… and pain. She cringed as the elevator doors thundered closed in her mind.

I’m sorry Dad.

Straightening her posture, she craned her neck and looked to his building. Etan had been able to see her; perhaps she could speak to specific living people, part of this “game.” Her father had to be one of them. If this was some kind of test, she figured it was on her to try to set things right. She slouched. Maybe this whole thing was just a chance to say final goodbyes. Her eyes watered at the thought of someone tossing her a safety line. Maybe that’s why Todd sent her here; this was near her father without being so close as to be obvious.

Natalie grumbled, forehead to knees, and pondered. For a second, she resented being made to walk through what was starting to seem like a macabre morality lesson. The thought died as fast as it dawned; she could not care about that anymore. She wanted life more than false pride. While searching for the courage to get up and walk away from the gang, she had been ready to accept a tongue-lashing from her mother; how much worse could this be?

Her hands grasped the edge of the curb in preparation to stand, but she paused. The roughness of the concrete was a welcome sensation. She could still feel things. It gave her a sense of normalcy that suppressed the black monkey of doom perched on her back since she had parted company with Todd.

Something strange caught her eye from across the street. A patch of newspaper and debris had blown into a recessed doorway, settling in a patch of unusual light that did not fit the surroundings.

Natalie jumped up and ran to it. Sifting through the pile of papers, she made a most curious discovery. On the stone step lay a bubble-wrapped pre-roasted chicken. It was as warm as if just cooked, despite being out in the street at night in early March. The sticker was intact; it had not yet been opened.

Staring at the googly-eyed cartoon chicken on the label, she wanted to scream, “What the hell is this?” at the top of her lungs.

“No way this thing is still hot.” She picked it up and looked it over, picking up on the garlic-seasoned aroma. “A chicken? Todd sends me here to find a chicken? What the hell?”

Indeed, it was as warm as if she had taken it right out from under heat lamps. “Quick’n Chik’n”, a bug-eyed hen in a jogging suit had been the latest marketing brainstorm of the local grocery chain. Her dad used to get them all the time when he had her for the weekend or on a Friday night, especially if he got in late from whatever case he worked on. Even the smell of it made her think of late nights watching old movies. She hugged the thing, remembering using his chest for a pillow while wrapped in a blanket, the TV the only light in the room.

Clinging to the weird find for warmth, she wondered if this was just more salt in the wound, making her miss being home and safe; or if there was more to it. Her mind came up blank, this… this chicken was just so far out there that she could not handle it on top of everything else.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Her voice wavered, echoing off the walls.

Shaking again, feeling overwhelmed, she stuffed the bird into her backpack and took off at a full run in the direction of her father’s building. The streetlights passed in a blur, she ran as hard as she could with tears in her eyes. Flying through a cross street, she shrieked at a blaring horn and caught a glimpse of a car that almost hit her. Her gait dropped to a stumble as the shock wore off. She whirled about, but the street was empty. The car was going far too fast for this road. Still, the strangeness of being the only person out and about brought a shiver to her hands and sapped the steadiness from her stride. There should be dozens of people walking the streets here. The banshee-like wail of squealing tires came from the direction it seemed to have gone. Whoa, did I just scare the shit out of someone? Why did that guy see me?

It couldn’t be that late, could it?

“Dead.” She muttered, staring at her watch: 88:88. It had taken its last bath in the puddle. She let her arm fall limp at her side and swallowed hard. At the center of the block, she jogged into the covered alcove by the door to Dad’s apartment tower. With a shaking hand, she reached out and pushed on the worn black button next to the label “Rausch – 117.” Her arm snapped back as though the plastic nub was boiling hot, and she kneaded her hands.

atalie stared at the intercom box, pacing back and forth. She dreaded he might be working late or just not there, or this might be a misstep. What if she was wrong and Todd did not want her to come here? What if Dad really did hate her? She battled guilt at the way she screamed at him when anger boiled past reason. She hoped a familiar voice would come out of the steel mesh. Minutes of silence later, she hoped it was any voice.

She pushed the button again, ignoring how much it hurt to touch. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. She held it down for a full minute, and then recoiled with her finger in her mouth to cool the burn.

“H… Hello? Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

She swooned, weak at the knees as her father’s voice crackled out of the little box.

After making a ‘yes’ gesture with her fist, she jumped at the intercom and hammered the talk button.

“Daddy!” she wailed into the tiny hole. “It’s me, Natalie… please, I’m in trouble. Can I come in?”

She released the button, eyes wide, tugging at the door and hoping to hear it buzz. After a minute of silence, the lack of reply shattered her hopeful smile into a baleful look of sorrow. Her legs gave out and she fell against the wall, sliding a wet smear to the ground. He didn’t buzz her in. Mom was right. She let the back of her head thunk against the fake stone, and stared for a few minutes through the glass before her head sagged forward. She took the little black phone out, wondering if she had just screwed up or if it would ring.

Just as her eyes started to close with the cringe of rejection, a shadow moved deep in the lobby. Light expanded across the floor with the silhouette of a figure in it. Natalie gasped; her father was there, walking out of an elevator to the front in boxers, t-shirt, and socks. He had not buzzed her in; instead, he had come down in person. She jumped up and hung on the door handle, pulling at it and bouncing as he came striding through the dark. He seemed astonished himself, nearly slipping twice on polished marble tiles.

He pushed the door open and she hauled it out of her way. As soon as the bronze-plated edge passed, she flew through and clamped her arms around him. He winced from the cold water as she squeezed as hard as she could. Taken aback, he pulled her inside and gave her a moment before pushing her off to conversational distance by a hand on each shoulder. His clothing was now as wet as Natalie looked, though he did not seem to mind, or even notice.

“Dad, I’m sorry I screamed at you about the Maiden show. I don’t hate you. You’re not a coc―”

“Aren’t you a sight then?” He brushed her hair out of her face and sized her up. “Still going on with that punk rock bit?”

Natalie cast a mournful gaze at the floor. Her lack of sarcastic remark seemed to worry him. She stood without moving or speaking.

“Is something wrong? Why were you running around out in the rain, you’re drenched.”

She struggled to speak, but the lump had grown to softball proportions. Noticing the plain cell phone in her hand, he pointed at it.

“Your mother finally let you have one?”

Natalie shook her head.

“You didn’t steal it did you?”

She cringed, but stared down at the floor. “N… No, I…”

Seeing her reaction, he put a hand on her cheek and wiped a forming tear away from her eye with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Nat. That was out of line.”

“Help…” She leaned into him, unable to bear eye contact any longer.

Seconds of silence passed. He squeezed her, a faint tremble in his hands as her demeanor rattled him. At long last, he lifted her and carried her to the elevator. Neither spoke as the floors chimed by.

She clung without a word, sniffling at the sight of drips in the hallway rug vanishing seconds after appearing. He fumbled one-handed with his keys for a moment, and then brought her into his apartment. Photos of her lined most of the shelves, her age varied from infancy to around the time of the divorce. He set her down on her feet, on a quarter-circle of linoleum by the door, and put one hand on her shoulder.

“Wait here,” he said, and went off down a rear hall.

Natalie frowned at the shoes lined up against the wall by two umbrellas. Cabinet doors opened and closed in the distance. She looked around at pictures that mocked her. The innocent, happy little girl that smiled back was a far cry from the person she had been this past year. She dwelled on one, a family shot taken only a few months before the breakup. With all her heart, she wanted to go back to that point and tell her mother not to do it. She wondered if her mother knew the effect sleeping with her boss would have on her daughter. Natalie wondered if she gave even one second of thought about her at all when bent over the VP’s desk.

An uneasy noise came out of her as she found herself unable to be angry. Her present situation had done much to lower her standards for accepting her parents. Even bad parents were better than the current alternative, and after hearing about Traci’s, hers did not seem so bad after all. If the TV news was any indication, there were even far worse than Ron out there. She felt like the spoiled brat everyone accused her of being.

Her father returned, now wearing jeans and carrying a big towel. He wrapped it around her and eased her across the room to a soft, brown leather chair. On one knee in front of her, he looked as if he was expecting her to tell him she was pregnant.

“Okay Nat, take a deep breath and let me have it slowly.” He tried to smile as he stared into her eyes, taking her hand in both of his.

She sniffled. “I’m in a lot of trouble, Dad. I… messed up big.” She looked away from him and down at the rug. “Before you ask, it’s not the cops, I’m not pregnant, I didn’t steal anything, I’m not on drugs, and Mom is okay.”

Donald Rausch stared more intently at her.

She weathered his gaze, once more shivering.

“Tell me what happened, Nat.”

“Mom said you didn’t want me anymore. She said you couldn’t have a criminal in the family. She rambled on about you running off to Jamaica with some blonde.”

“You know your mother has issues with the truth. I changed my phone number because she had some idiot PI harassing me to death. I emailed you the new one.”

Natalie sniffled. “I didn’t get anything from you. You blocked my email, everything I try to send to you comes back undeliverable.”

He cradled her head to his chest for a moment. “I’ve been emailing you every day, waiting for you to stop being angry with me. I should have gone to the school to see you or something. I”―his guilty eyes bored into the carpet―“I was just so focused on not letting your mother win; I stopped thinking about you as a person.”

Crying now, her words approached indistinct noise. “I never saw it. I thought you hated me. I just keep seeing that face you made when I screamed at you…”

She sobbed, wondering how much different the past several months would have been if she had gotten even one of those messages. A tremor of rage ran through him, and after letting her cry it out, he leaned back. “I wouldn’t put it past your mother to load a net nanny on your computer and set it to block my email.”

Natalie squinted. “I found my PC on one night when I was sure I turned it off. Got home early. That bitch. It was her fault.”

“I don’t care what that woman told you, Natalie. I stopped fighting her for full custody because I saw the effect it had on you. You used to be so sweet, smart, and loving. I couldn’t do it to you anymore. I got so wrapped up in how angry I was with your mother, it consumed me. We were just turning you into some other person that scared the hell out of me.” He kissed her atop the head. “Tell me, Nat.” His hand on her cheek. “What happened tonight?”

“I get it. How did he…” Natalie blinked, thinking back to Darnell James Fox. “Mom wanted to cut me in half.”

“What?” Her father blinked.

“King Solomon.” She pouted. “Two women―”

“I know the story,” he said, running a hand over her head.

“You’re the real parent… You let me go to save me. Mom would have cut me in half.” She lost a few minutes crying on his shoulder.

“Nat, tell me what happened tonight, please.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I didn’t show you.”

Her father took a seat next to her on the oversized chair and put an arm over her shoulder, running a hand through her hair in a gentle soothing rub. She closed her eyes as her cheek pressed into the warmth of his chest, thinking of how he used to sing her to sleep before she had become “too big” to want her father to cuddle with her.

A gasp of sob escaped her at last, and she hugged him tight for a moment. Her father waited for her to regain the ability to speak.

“There’s nothing you could have done to make me not love you, Natalie. I want you to know that. I’m sorry I wasn’t around more often; work… your mother… my own anger.”

She did not look up. Sniffling back tears, she mumbled. “I missed you so much. I shouldn’t have believed her. She said you gave up on me.”

“It wasn’t like that. Your mother was being unreasonable. We were fighting over you like two dogs with a piece of meat. It wasn’t fair to you.” He sat forward, wiping his face in both hands. He spoke again when his fingers slid off his mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever again do anything as hard as it was to decide to stop fighting for you. I finally realized it wouldn’t end until you got really hurt. I did it so you wouldn’t have to go through that anymore.”

Her grandfather had always made that weak joke about ‘what happens when you assume,’ now she felt like the ultimate ass. “I’m an idiot; Mom rigged my PC. I should have come here to see you in person. I let her get to me.”

Tension rippled through him as he shook, presumably with anger. He pressed his face into her hair, kissing her atop the head. “I have been hoping for this for a long time. I never understood why you seemed to hate me so much. I should have followed up with the school.”

Natalie stared at the rug. “Whenever you and Mom got going, you turned into the same kind of assh―moron she did. It was like both of you just stopped being who you were. I was mad at you for not winning. Every time we went to court and I still had to stay with that bitch, I got pissed at you for being a shitty lawyer.”

“Lauren was doing all she could, you know I had to have my own counsel for those hearings…”

“Mom thinks you’re shtupping Lauren.”

Dad went from white to red and back to white in a second.

She covered her mouth. “Holy crap, you are?”

He held a hand up. “After the divorce. She felt sorry for me I guess, how broken I must have looked when I learned I was going to lose custody.”

“Eww” She shivered. “Dad… just… I don’t want details.”

Try as she might, Natalie could not remember what Lauren looked like. Every hour spent in court she hid under an enormous black cloud, not looking at anyone. “I wanted to live here, with you. I was taking it out on mom for winning, and you for losing.”

He seemed to want to laugh and be angry all at once. “It might have helped if you told the judge what you wanted, instead of giving him the finger and saying whatever.”

A sniffle, a giggle, and a smile. “Actually I think I told him ‘eff you and your robe.’ He turned purple.” She wiped her cheeks with her palms and looked at him. “If I get out of this alive, I don’t want to leave you again.”

“What?” He held her out to arms’ length, his fingers squeezed into her shoulders. “Out of this alive? Did someone threaten you? What’s going on, Natalie?”

“Dad, did Mr. Copeland from the school try to call; last night or this morning?” She folded her arms over her knees.

The sound of him sucking particles from between his teeth made her expect bad news. He always did that when he wanted to avoid an issue. “Yeah. He wanted to know why I’d been a non-presence in your life for the past six months. I didn’t have a good answer for him, I blew him off like I had been doing to your mother’s attorney. I…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Her gaze fell upon the expanding creep of wet around her boots. “Didn’t want to deal with me getting in trouble again. You can say it, Dad. It won’t make me hate you.”

“Well, you have been unapproachable lately. Look”―he lifted her chin―“we both had some issues, but you can’t just throw a bombshell like ‘get out of this alive’ at me and change the subject to your guidance counselor. What the hell have you gotten involved in, Natalie?”

Reining in the urge to cry, she shied away from his face and stared at her knees. “I told you, you’re not going to believe me. But, I…” She stared down at the floor. “I’ll never lie to you again. I’m already dead.”

He remained silent for quite some time, the look on his face unreadable.

“I wish this was a sick joke, Dad. I really, really do. It’s gonna sound so fu… umm, unbelievable, but this guy came out of nowhere and said if I do something right I won’t stay dead.”

“Natalie… Those boys you are hanging out with, they are involved in drugs. Did they give you something?”

She sighed. “You know I’m not stupid. I didn’t touch ‘em. Etan shot me coz I fought back when he tried to rape me. I kicked his ass too. Little punk couldn’t deal.”

“Why are you doing this?” He recoiled from the word rape as if it were a physical blow.

Natalie grabbed his hand, pressing it into her stomach and pushing it up under her shirt. “Notice how cold I am… Do you feel a heartbeat?”

The initial awkwardness of having his hand up his daughter’s shirt faded in a gradual drain of color from his cheeks. Sensing something amiss, he pressed his fingers against her skin, shifted his hand, and swallowed hard. His eyes faded from suspicion to blatant worry. His waterlogged daughter stared back at him, cold to the touch, with no discernible heartbeat.

“What… happened?” His voice leaked out as a weak whisper.

Natalie took a deep breath, and recounted the argument with her mother and her trip to meet ‘the gang.’ She held eye contact as she described getting beat up, thrown around, groped and shoved into the wall. Her father took hold of her at the arms, just above the elbow. He trembled, sadness and rage in his expression as she kept talking. She clung to him, enjoying the contact.

“I might’ve been a little drunk. He wanted me to get naked right there in front of all those people. I tried to run but he caught me. His hand was down my pants. I just… I dunno, I went from terrified to pissed off, and I just started kicking him. I don’t remember much, I was scared shitless.” She sniffled. “I stopped when he crawled away. Everyone was making fun of him for getting beat up by a little girl.”

She forced her way through her father’s distancing grasp and pressed herself against him once more, curling her arms into her chest and trying to forget her state. He all but crushed her with a hug; she almost felt warm.

“I was trying to leave, to get out of there. I wanted to run home. I wouldn’t have gone back to them, ever. I knew I didn’t belong there, I didn’t fit in. They are criminals.” She frowned. “Cory was right, I’m too nerdy.” She paused to breathe, the rest of her words flat and without affect. “Etan came back and stared at me like the devil himself, and pulled out a gun.”

He shook his head ‘no’ and sniffled into her hair.

“It felt like a rock hit me, I couldn’t see. Everyone ran away and I stumbled out into the alley before I fell over.” Natalie’s words fell to a whisper. “I, I…” She could barely say it. “I died in the alley. A piece of garbage like Mom said.”

For some minutes, she bawled as he sat stunned. She was afraid of what was going through his mind. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him more; the night he gets his daughter back was the night she dies. That idea chased the tears away. Natalie sat up, awash with sudden hope.

“Look, Dad. It’s not as bad as it seems. DJ Todd said I might not stay dead if I do something right.”

“Do what right?” He had the voice of a ninety-year-old smoker.

“I don’t know. That’s why I came here, I need help.”

“What kind of help?”

She leaned up and looked at him, he was crying too. Something about her story had felt too genuine for doubt, despite the outrageousness of it. He had been a lawyer for twenty years, he knew liars.

“He sent me to this spot, but there was just a chicken. It’s some kind of game, I think. I don’t know what to do.” She took the bizarre item out of her backpack, astounded that it was still as hot as before.

The sight of it put a somber smile on his face. “I used to get those damn things for us whenever I got stuck late at the office. Bachelor Dad dinner.”

Natalie struggled with the package, trying to open it. It seemed as though it might pop open if she tried really hard, but the unusual difficulty of the task made her hesitate. “Umm. I’m not sure we’re supposed to eat it.”

“Think it’s a metaphor?”

Natalie held it up, turning it about on her fingertips. The smell brought back so many memories. After moving to the dining room, she set it on the mahogany table where they had such an inglorious feast so many times. She pouted at the couch in the other room, remembering movie nights of past weekends. In her current state, she did not want to touch his expensive chairs. Her own giggling voice echoed in her mind, laughing hard enough to spray half-chewed chicken at some joke her father made a year ago. He walked up behind her, hand on her shoulder, staring at it.

“It’s still hot. It shouldn’t be,” she muttered.

“Am I supposed to eat it with you?”

“I dunno.” She lifted it up, picking at the plastic. “It seemed too hard to open. You know how when you’re trying to do something and it’s just about to work and you get that sudden feeling of ‘what the hell am I doing?’” She looked up.

“Yeah…” Guilt, all over his face. “I know that feeling.”

“Opening it might be wrong. I don’t wanna stay dead…” She thought for a moment. “Maybe the important thing is where I found it?”

“Where did you find it?”

“Umm, on the street, under some newspapers… Want me to show you?”

He nodded. “Might as well.”

She peeled the soaked towel off her shoulders. “Dad. See the towel?” She held it up. “It’s soaked, and I’m still soaked. I… umm…” She stared down. “I landed in a puddle, probably going to stay like this, since I di―”

“Stop.” He covered her mouth with his hand. The impossibly wet cloth had set him trembling. “I don’t want to hear it, I… I can’t. That’s no place for my child to be.” He sank into the chair.

“Dad, please… I still have a chance. Don’t give up on me again.”

She cringed as her words knocked him to the side.

“Damn, Dad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like it did. You can ground me for the rest of my life if I still have one.”

He smiled through tears as she pulled him to his feet.

Soon, he had dressed, and they went down the elevator to the parking garage. She followed him to a black Benz, waiting for the door to unlock.

“You sure? I’m drenched.”

“Get in the car, Nat. If it helps… I don’t care about anything else. I can buy a new seat cover, I can’t replace you.”

They stared at each other over the roof for a moment. She got in. Neither spoke as he started it and drove out of the parking deck. Walls passed in silence; they looped the garage twice, until he finally spoke on the ramp up to the street.

“So this… person who told you about this game, who was he?”

Natalie shrugged, staring at the cell phone as she turned it around in her hands. “He looked like Crazy Todd. The DJ from WROK. Lame, huh?”

Her father smiled, though the rest of his face did not seem to agree with his lips. “The one you used to have a crush on?”

Natalie tried to blush, but nothing happened. “Yeah. He um… said he looks like what people wanna see.”

“I imagine that makes sense.” He nodded, turning a corner at the end of the street.

Natalie pointed at the boarded-up deli. “Pull over there.”

As the car stopped, she got out and looked around. The subdued whisper of distant cars on rain soaked streets was gone. Aside from her father’s door closing, the only sound was the static crackle of a distant radio. She stepped onto the sidewalk, shoving against the door, finding she needed all her weight to close it. Moving to his side, she took his hand and led him back to the alcove.

She slung the backpack off her shoulder, unzipped it, and pulled the pre-cooked feast out.

“Okay, Dad. If you thought the water thing was weird. Check this out.” She handed it to him.

His eyebrows rose as he took it. “It’s hot.”

“Yep.” She rocked back and forth from heel to toe a few times. “I found it here an hour ago.”

“Quick’n Chick’n,” he muttered.

She sat on the steps, staring at him until he took a seat next to her. He studied the pre-cooked econo-meal.

“Not a clue.” She muttered. “I was starting to panic before.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her close.

She looked at the sidewalk. “I’m a fuck up.”

“The past is past, Nat.” He leaned into her. “Though this is kind of an abrupt turnaround.”

“Dad, you know how you told me you had a heart attack at thirty, and quit smoking right after? Like a carton a week to zip overnight?” She clung to his side, winding her arm around his back. “Well, if almost dying got you to kick that habit, don’t’cha think actually dying could make me feel like a stupid, selfish bitch?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at the chicken.

“Do you hate Mom?”

“I’m not fond of her.” He sighed. “The worst part of it is she still doesn’t understand what she did. She thinks it was just something to climb the ladder. She doesn’t understand betrayal. It’s all about what she wants, and damn everyone else.”

Natalie fidgeted, feeling guilty of the same.

“I won’t lie, Nat. I’ll hate her more if I lose you.”

She nodded. “Being dead is weird. I’m so pissed at her for what she did to you, but I can’t seem to stay angry.”

“Oh Natalie… What does this stupid chicken mean?”

“Maybe Todd’s calling me a chicken for running away from reality.” She huddled into him. “Why does it take something like death to make people see how dumb they are?” Her gaze fell to the sidewalk. “Couldn’t fate have just given me an ass-kicking instead? We could drown in sorrow pondering what-if’s.”

He kissed her on top of the head and chuckled. “Where did you hear that? That’s rather philosophical for a kid.”

She smiled back at him. “A lot of your old textbooks are still at Mom’s. I poked around them a bit… Before I was too cool to be a geek.”

“The psychology texts?”

Natalie nodded. “Yeah, and the philosophy one.”

“You’re smart, Nat. You could’ve been very suc―” He choked on his own voice.

She shivered; reality came back in the form of tears. “I… I’m not giving up yet.”

After a moment of clinging, a voice echoed around in the air above them. The static on the radio gained clarity as a familiar voice crackled forth and flooded the street with saccharine energy.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey New York, It’s Crazy Todd here between songs to say that we still haven’t had a winner. The first person to call in and sing the ad jingle for the mystery product wins the…” The voice broke away to white noise.

Natalie looked up at her father, then back down at the chicken. Their gazes met again.

“Dad, you remember the ad for these things?”

“How could I get it out of my head? It’s so damn catchy, and we used to sing it together every other weekend.”

They said it together. “If your time is slim pickin, grab a quick’n chik’n.”

She heard the underlying music in her mind. An instant later, she turned the tiny black phone over in her hand. A sideways glance went to her father as she held it up. Natalie cocked an eyebrow in a look of ‘You think?’

“I always thought those radio games were rigged.” He offered a weak smile. “I bet they have a winner on hold before they even tell people to call in.”

Natalie took a deep breath and tried to voice the line, though she managed only a mousy squeak. She gawked at her father in panic. “I… I’m too sad to sing.” She cried again. “I can’t… I…” She grabbed her neck. “Lump.”

He took her face in his hands, again wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. “Remember when we used to sing along with the TV?” He tried to seem cheerful, his own mood no brighter than hers.

With her dad croaking into the jingle, Natalie stumbled along after him. Remembering the past, the way they had laughed themselves silly after singing the theme song to one of her cartoons, was not doing much to make the lump smaller. She struggled to put it out of her mind and gasp out the brief ad-tune. They went over it three times before he pointed at the phone.

“I…” She stared at him. “Why was I so mean to you?” A tear splattered into the gloss black phone.

He squeezed her shoulder to reassure her. “We can worry about that when this is over. If it will make you feel better I’ll ground you till you’re out of college.”

She smiled through a teary giggle. “After the way I’ve been, you should really smack the hell out of me… Mom let me get away with anything; all she really did was scream.”

“Make the damn call, Nat.” He pushed the cell phone towards her. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

The phone caught the glint of the streetlights as she thumbed the buttons. Her finger hovered over the talk key and she drew in a big breath. He was right, now was not the time. She would have all eternity to drown in self-pity and apologies if she screwed this up. If this did turn out to be her last hours with him, she wanted it to be positive. The phone abandoned her previous dial due to time-out. Shaking fingers re-entered the number she memorized the first time she saw Crazy Todd’s face. She had never gotten through before. Even as she hit the send button, she expected just another busy signal or instant drop.

She clung to the phone, leg bouncing, staring at it as the sound of the distant ringer echoed in the speaker. The urgency on her face did bad things to her father, who seemed unable to bear the sight of her. She shrank into herself, figuring she looked pathetic.

“Yo! Crazy Todd here. Who’s Crazy with me?”

Natalie jumped at the voice, and then stared at the phone. Shock at getting through grabbed her around the throat and choked her voice gone. She gulped, feeling her father’s embrace grow tighter. She stammered into the phone.

“Hi, I think I know the mystery product jingle…”

“Okay little missy, how old are you? You’re a girl, right?”

A meager trace of tone filtered through her whisper. “Yes, I’m thirteen”

“THIRTEEN!” The saccharin voice boomed, sounding as if it echoed over the entire city. “Very good, what’s your name kid?”

“Natalie.”

“Okay, great. Say, Natalie, you don’t sound very happy to be talkin’ to the Toddster…”

She cringed, trying to force fangirl cheer into a throat that wanted only to cry. “I’m having a bad day, but it’s a whole lot better now that I got through to Crazy Todd.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Okay kid, you got thirty seconds to sing the jingle―go!”

Three passed without her making a sound. Her father nudged her in the side. She started to rasp at the words, and then he started singing in a hushed murmur next to her. Picking up on his lead, she stumbled through the quick’n chick’n jingle.

“Okaaaaay… sounds like you’re trying to sing the jingle for the speedy little egg-layin’ dude in the sweatshirt.”

“Yes,” Natalie croaked.

“Bit of stage fright there kid? Relax, Natalie, It’s just a few million listeners, not like your life depended on it.”

She broke into nervous laughter and cried at the same time. Before she realized it, she belted the jingle into the cell phone with all she had.

“If y… your time is slim p… pickin, grab a quick’n chik’n,” Natalie sang with closed eyes.

It was brief, but she left her father holding his ears. A tinny sound rang out of a distant alley as a spooked cat knocked something over.

The phone was quiet for a moment, and then the distant static of the radio crackled into clarity once more. “We have a winner! We’ll be right back after this word from our sponsor…”

Natalie’s voice echoed from the radio, and then the rest of the commercial took over before the static returned. Heat washed over her face; she wondered if her voice had just saturated the airwaves of New York. Perhaps all of this was still a dream and no one will ever hear that.

Soon, silence descended over the alley. The lights on the cell phone went out. It was apparent there was no longer anyone on the other side.

“Aren’t they supposed to ask for your information afterwards?” Her father’s voice fell on her like a warm blanket. “You know, to send you the prize you won?”

She stared at the sidewalk, shuddering as she noticed the expanse of water spreading out from where she was sitting.

“Dad…” The morbid reminder scared her to death.

He saw it too, knowing it was not possible by conventional wisdom for that much water to have drained from her clothes, and she was still as wet to the touch as if she crawled out of a lake two seconds ago.

“I want to go home…” She sniffled.

“That’s not a bad idea. No point sitting around here in the street.”

They stood, Natalie walking with a heavy lean into her father’s side. A homeless man picked through trash across the way. She glanced at the chicken, which was not as warm as it was a moment ago.

“Dad, the chicken, its cooling off.”

He looked at it. “I guess we’re done with it then.”

“Not quite.” She took it, and ran over to the stumbling man. “Here…” She held it out to him.

He blinked with disbelieving eyes, clutching the treasure. “Bless ya.”

Natalie skipped across the street to her father’s side.

“That’s my girl.”

atalie sank into the seat, cringing from the frigid, watery embrace she could not escape. She gave him a weak smile as he closed the door for her, letting her gaze fall back to her lap once he walked away. Her body leaned forward, rigid, in an effort not to soak too much into the leather. Her father paused at the rear of the car, no doubt releasing some emotion he did not want her to have to witness. Guilt made her feel even colder as she berated herself for being hostile to him. She glanced out the window at the side mirror. The face staring back looked dead: grey and drawn, with black hollow eyes and an accusing glare. A gleam spread over the wood-paneled dashboard from the overhead light; fixated on the angry wraith, she did not notice her father get in.

She jumped when the engine started, folding her arms across her stomach. Shivering chattered through her teeth. Her father froze in place, head shifting to the right with a terrified look.

“Please tell me that you’ve been this cold all night; it’s not like a sign of failure?”

Natalie offered a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno. I don’t wanna hurt you anymore. I think I’m shaking coz I’m scared.”

He held her hand and tried to rub warmth into it.

“Mr. Copeland said he might be able to get the school to let me take retests. I dunno if it will work though, a psych would have to sign off saying I was under extreme dumbass.”

Donald Rausch sputtered a chuckle. “Extreme duress. From the divorce and such, I bet.”

“No.” She made a face so sad he could not maintain eye contact. “Dumbass. You guys didn’t make me start ignoring school.”

“Nat, don’t dwell on that now. I don’t think the blame lies with any one person here. Let’s just concentrate on moving forward.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. He dropped the car in gear and pulled out, astounded at the lack of other people. Comets of streetlamp light shot over the windshield. She peered to her right, watching the buildings go by one after the other. Two blocks later, she broke the silence.

“You want to see where it happened?”

The car swerved, rocking back and forth. “Are you… still lying there?”

“Probably.” She muttered. “DJ Todd didn’t let me look back, said it was something I wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a good sign.” His fingers creaked on the wheel.

“Why?” She glanced over at him.

He smiled, trying to look comforting. “It sounds like he expects you to make it. Why would he worry about that if he thought you’d fail?”

“I guess.” She looked at her lap again. “I’m not mad at you, Dad. Mom’s the one who ruined it.”

“We all had a part to play, hon. Your mother didn’t make me drag you through the court system so much.”

“Yeah, she did. She was mad at you for divorcing her even though it was her fault. She was just using me to hurt you, and I helped her.”

“Nat. You’re just a kid, none of this is your fault. Your mother and I were acting like spiteful children. I saw what she was doing and played right into it. I was determined to take you away from her as much as she wanted to keep us apart. Will you please accept that nothing the two of us did was in any way caused by you?”

Natalie sniffled, holding both hands over her face. She tried to say something but all she could do was cry and nod. She leaned into his side and clung to his arm. He did not cringe from the wetness seeping into his shirt.

The sudden loud ring of the cell phone startled her; she yelped as she sat up and fumbled with the little device in an effort to answer it. Once she regained control of the phone, she pushed the talk button and held it to the side of her head.

“Hello?” Her voice quivered.

“Was starting to worry about you, kid.” Todd’s voice, despite it logically originating from the phone, sounded as though he was in the back seat.

“I needed help.” Her gaze fell into her lap.

Todd chuckled. “That you did. No shame in that, glad to see you got it.”

Natalie wiped one eye then the other with her free hand. “Um, can I please live now?” The absurdity of the question drew a startled chuckle from her father.

“You’re doing well so far, but the show’s not over yet. I know you’re eager to get on with it. Might want to check the radio.” The line dropped, and her panicking stare bounced between the now-dark phone and her father.

“What station is he on?” He poked at the steering wheel buttons, and the radio came on. Classical music flowed liquid through the car.

“WROK, um… 107.1” She spun the knob until the glowing green numbers lined up.

A heavy crunching guitar piece filled the car, and despite liking it, she turned the volume down.

“I hope you stay that considerate when this is over with.” He tried to laugh.

She fell into his side and teared up. “If I wake up again I’ll be the perfect daughter. I’ll go back to wearing dresses, I’ll get rid of the collar, I’ll take those violin lessons you wanted me to take, I won’t stay up late…”

“You’re more convincing now than when you were trying to get a new computer.” He put his arm around her, and squeezed.

She giggled.

“Well it worked, you got the computer.” He ruffled her hair, shaking his head at the emptiness of the street. “This is beyond odd.”

“I wonder if you’re seeing the ghost world too.” She tilted her head upward. “Maybe you’re still at home asleep, dreaming this?”

The path to the apartment had changed to a meandering journey with no specific destination.

“You don’t deserve this, Nat. If this doesn’t work out, you tell Todd to take me instead.” He sighed.

She shook her head. “No, Dad. I can’t ask him to kill my own father. Plus, I don’t think he would.” For a moment, she stared at the glowing numbers on the radio. “I guess you don’t want to go to that alley.” The floating numbers all but burned themselves into her brain.

“If ever there was a sight I never want to see…” He sniffled. “Things have been strange tonight, strange enough to where I expect I would see the one thing on this Earth that would make me give up.”

Natalie sniffled harder at the thought.

“I don’t want to just leave you there.”

She shivered. “I have a feeling that no one’s gonna find me until this is over. Besides, ghosts just know if someone messes with their bodies, right?”

“How should I know?”

Her face was as flat as if she spoke known fact. “It works that way in all the movies.”

“Maybe.” He let out a heavy exhale.

“It happened in that office tower on 40th street; the one that’s been for sale for like, ever.” She closed her eyes and let herself feel protected by her father’s presence. “I stumbled into the alley right behind it.”

Her father offered a solemn nod.

At that moment, the muted thrash metal that had been an almost unnoticeable backdrop to the conversation ended with a break-in from the DJ loud enough to make them both jump.

“For today’s prize giveaway, Joey the Chimp is at Candle Park handing out WROK bumper stickers and free tickets for the Plague Rats concert this weekend.”

“Candle Park… that’s over the river where we used to live.” Natalie pouted.

“Plague Rats?” Her dad’s question tripped over a chuckle.

“It’s a band.” She mumbled.

“No sarcasm this time?” His hand ran through her hair for a moment before returning to the steering wheel.

“My sense of humor is a little dead.” She picked at the phone with her thumbs. “Maybe it’ll come back when I’m feeling a bit more lively.”

“That sounded like a rather obvious suggestion.” Her father indicated the radio with his little finger without releasing his grip on the wheel.

Natalie nodded. “Yeah.”

He used a side street for a U-turn that would take them toward the George Washington Bridge. Natalie’s mind returned to the past. The small community park was only three blocks from her old house in Englewood. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to sleep. Her body floated in the seat, tired as if she had been awake for days, but infused with so much espresso she still could not rest. It felt too close to permanent; perhaps that was what kept sleep away. She leaned back, watching the struts of the bridge flash over the dark, distant water.

With no other cars anywhere in sight, her father drove faster than he was known to; however, that only put him at about normal person speed. She considered making a joke that he was doing sixty-five, but decided against it. Natalie wrapped her arms around her legs and looked out the window, tracking trees and buildings as they slid by. It was as though they drifted through an eerie twilight world in which every passing image brought back some long-buried memory. This place was as empty as the city, with only a tiny smattering of cars in the area and no pedestrians―and a lot of regret.

The worst image of all was the mask of dread on her father’s face.

er father’s black Mercedes came to a halt in a leaf-strewn lot adjacent to Candle Park. Natalie opened the door and stepped out, staring in confusion at the metal gate wrapped in fluttering yellow ribbon. The scent of river water and fallen leaves mixed in the air with an undertone of dirt and car exhaust. Beyond the proximal haze of withering trees, the distant outlines of skyscrapers hung over the river as if the progress of man resented the intrusion of the natural world.

A padlocked chain wound through the gates, interwoven with police tape. As everywhere else she had found herself since the shooting, there was no one around. A dilapidated row of small booths, food vendors, t-shirt shops, and carnival-style games lay abandoned. She stared from one shack to the next, remembering how she got cotton candy from one, the stuffed monkey from another. She pictured the monkey, lifeless plastic eyes staring out at her from the closet. The booth where her mother had won it was still there, one of those games involving baseballs and holes. She rubbed her right bicep, remembering the pathetic arm she had at nine. After six complete misses, she gave up and cried on her father’s shirt. Mother took the final two balls and put her first try in for a score.

That was the last time she could remember genuine happiness on her mother’s face, beyond a plastic smile intended to placate a judge or child advocate. The monkey always reminded her of her mother smiling. It used to be her favorite. Is that why it’s in the closet?

She darted around the car and took hold of her father’s arm, her sunken eyes locked upon the rattling gate.

“It’s scary here.” The sudden childlike statement came with a momentary twinge of embarrassment.

His hand squeezed her, a comforting presence if there ever was one. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, surveying the area. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here, certainly not a radio promo guy.”

Natalie panned her gaze from one side of the park to the other, over the remains of once-familiar and once-happy memories. “Nothing but ghosts.”

His grip tightened, making a squish as he forced water out of denim.

“I didn’t mean me.” Natalie’s statement was almost a sob. “I mean…” She covered her mouth and nose with both hands in an attempt to regain her composure.

“They closed the park about a year ago.” He exhaled, squinting at the reflected city light on the river. “A woman was murdered inside. This used to be a safe area.”

Natalie frowned at the fluttering police tape, yellow tinsel on an iron tree. She wondered if DJ Todd, or whatever that woman saw him as, had tried to help her too.

Guess not, if they found her dead. Maybe she just failed the test.

Determination came over her, tapping the same primal instinct that lashed out at Etan. He was not going to win; she could not let him do this to her father. She let go of his arm and ran up to the fence, ducking through a gap in the gate. At a jog, she whirled left and right in a desperate search for anything with meaning, heading right for the row of stores.

“Where are you going, hon?” Her father followed, taking a few half-running steps to catch up after climbing the fence.

“I’m looking for the chicken,” she muttered, studying any suspicious piles of debris or hidden alcoves.

“The chi… oh, right.”

He held her hand, letting her lead. Aside from the somber silence, lack of people, and being dead―it almost felt like the way they used to spend time here. When the park closed, the merchants and gamesmen left the ramshackle booths behind. Several still had tattered sheets of paper bearing a photo of a pretty college co-ed, the large word “MISSING” stenciled below her face. All around was nothing but broken despair. For a few seconds, the sight of her was paralyzing. The girl was twenty; an age that at first thought seemed old, now one Natalie may never experience. She put the thought out of her mind and, after a few calming breaths, kept going.

About halfway down the row, still having seen nothing out of the ordinary, Natalie stopped. With hands tucked into her armpits, she sank into a squat, shaking and dripping.

Her father fell to one knee, with an arm around her back. Hearing her cry rattled him. “Don’t give up, Nat.” He rubbed her back, trying to sound optimistic.

She sniffled. “I’m not, I…” She wiped at her face with her hands. “I think I know what he wanted me to see.”

Donald looked around, though there was nothing obvious to him. “What?”

She looked up into his eyes. “The park. We always used to come here. When we were happy, when we were still a family, this place was alive. Now it’s a ruin.” She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “It’s just like our family. Fallen apart and forgotten.”

Warm arms encircled her and pulled her standing, into a hug. She clung to his shirt, wondering why the entity was doing this to her. She had already felt guilty enough over the past few years, why did he have to twist the knife? As her father held her to his chest, she found some comfort that she had at least repaired the rift between them. Even if these were their last hours together, she would not trade them for anything.

“Come on, let’s skip rocks.” Still sniffling, she led him by the hand to the river. As she neared the riverbank, she let go and started hunting for suitable stones.

“Don’t get too close to the edge,” he said. His voice sounded quite normal considering the tears running down his cheek. “You don’t want to fall in.”

He always said that. A year of angst primed her brain with sarcastic comebacks: I’m already soaked, I can’t get deader, Not like I’ll drown. Natalie felt no urge to lash out at him anymore, and let the venom flow out with the dripping water. “I won’t,” she chirped.

Five minutes later, with a pile of rocks between them, they took turns trying to get one to skip more than once.

“It’s not your fault, Natalie. I don’t want you to take the blame for what we did.” The grim finality in his voice made her shiver.

“You said that already, twice.” She tossed a rock. Plop.

He whipped one side-arm. Piff, plop. “Maybe it’s my fault. I could have forgiven your Mom for what she did, but I got angry.”

“Dad, she fu”―she cringed, two years ago she’d have been embarrassed hearing someone swear―“cheated with her boss for a promotion. You had every right to be angry. It’s her f”―that’s not who I am―“darn fault.” She threw a rock that went straight into the water without skipping at all. She pouted at the ground. He offered another stone. “I’m just full of second chances tonight, huh?” A teary-eyed giggle. “It’s everyone’s fault, stuff just happened… do you think I should forgive her?”

Piff, plop.

“I can’t tell you how to feel, Natalie. Only you can decide that one.”

His breath was warm in her hair; he shuddered as well, perhaps from grief, perhaps from anger. His rock skipped twice. She took another from the pile, thumbed it, and held it out. The last time they threw rocks out onto the Hudson, Mother was with them, yelling about muddy shoes and that stupid white rug she put in the front hall. “You’re getting mud on your shoes, Dad.” Piff, piff, plop.

“Nice throw.” He patted her on the back.

“I’m gonna try to stop being mad at her.”

He squinted at the horizon. “I’ll consider it too. If you…”

Live. Her mental voice filled in what he could not say. “This is the scene in the movie where the ghost disappears and the parents go on to grieve, isn’t it.” She managed to rein in her tears long enough to look at him.

He held her close, hand on the back of her head. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing already.”

“Sorry.”

They shared a nervous laugh.

“I’m not giving up, Dad. I did a lot of bad sh―stuff you still need to punish me for.”

He gave her a dismissive wave. “Get through this and I’ll consider it even.”

“I stole these pants.” She pulled on the pocket flaps.

“What?” He blinked.

She ground her boot into the dirt. “Shoplifted them right from the Gap at the mall. I…”

Donald cut her off with a finger over her mouth. “Not even the same ball park of importance. I doubt you’ll ever do that again.”

“No way.” She trembled. “I also helped them break into a house to steal some suit’s drug stash. They sent me through the window and I opened the door.”

He almost fainted.

“Silent alarm went off, the police came. They got away though, but they didn’t get the drugs. I’ll confess to the police if you want me to.”

“No.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You were coerced, those people are older and bigger, and they manipulated a vulnerable child, and you’re not going to spend another second in their presence. Don’t tell the cops anything about that. No one got hurt, right?”

“No, just my knee.” She smiled at him. “And I hope I never see those assholes again.” She cringed. “Sorry.”

“What for now?”

“Cursing.”

He pivoted her to face him with a hand on each shoulder. “Nat, in two years you’ve spat out more swear words than the crew of a battleship. I don’t think a few accidental slips are going to make much difference.”

She hugged him.

“I should have petitioned for an evaluation hearing the first time you got arrested.”

“What is this, the blame game?” She poked him in the ribs. “A bit late for that, besides it would have made me mad at you.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She turned, looking back at the row of carnival stands. Nothing appeared different. The cell phone had not yet rung, she did not find any chicken, but still felt as if she missed something. When they ran out of rocks, she took him by the hand and led him up the grassy field. They searched among the old booths, still looking for anything important. Natalie wondered if she had over thought the ruin metaphor.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

She stared at the collapsing frames. “Do you think, I mean… if I wake up tomorrow…”

His hand tightened around hers.

“You and Mom… might…”

He coughed. “I, umm, don’t think…”

“No, I’m not that naïve. I don’t mean that, I mean just… like stop trying to kill each other?”

The shoulder-squeeze again. “Oh. Well, that’s up to your mother.”

A strange glow caught her eye back in the direction of the park. She waved for him to follow and walked around an abandoned cotton-candy station to a perpendicular row of game windows. The fourth one down had its lights on; she recognized it right away. As if walking to her own execution, she trudged over to the ball-tossing booth where her mother had won the monkey four years earlier. The prize shelf above the board with holes was empty, save for the rotting cousin of her once-beloved stuffed friend. Despite being a creature made of cloth and stuffing, its plastic eyes had the same forlorn quality she imagined was all over her.

“That thing looks as pathetic as I feel.”

Her father leaned over the counter, looking around. “There’s no one here, but the lights are on. Hey, look.” Someone had left a basket with four worn-out baseballs, grey with water damage, tucked under the counter. He pulled it out and set it on top. The earthy scent of mold washed over her.

“Darn, do you think I have to bring Mom here?”

He looked at her, rubbing his chin.

Natalie frowned at her arm. “Last time I couldn’t even throw one hard enough to reach the board. Mom had to do it for me.” She picked up one ball, and gave him a look.

Her father offered a reassuring smile, but did not say a word. He seemed worried. Natalie looked at the baseball, at the board, back to the baseball, and then to the decomposing fake monkey. He knows I couldn’t hit the target, much less a hole. She wanted to cry, wanted to throw the baseball back into the basket and get angry at such an impossible test. “Why even give me the chance if he knows I can’t―”

Dad put his hand on her head.

She looked up at him, teetering on the verge of a sobbing breakdown. He smiled. She held the baseball up to her face in both hands, a soaked squirrel sniffing an acorn, and stared over it at the target. Edging up to the counter, she took a deep breath. Her parents did not pull Etan off her; she did that. My parents didn’t ruin my grades. Natalie got angry with herself and winged the baseball at the board. Her sudden spike of fury sent it high, into the canvas backed space.

Dad raised an eyebrow.

She grabbed another ball, gazing at the target. I’m not giving up.

Thunk, a foot shy of a hole, but it hit the board. The third, she clutched to her chest, trembling. Two more chances to get one in, two more chances to fail.

“This is so screwed up,” she said, sniffling. “Live or die baseball.”

“Nat, your mother is nothing if not tenacious. I’m not usually one to give up either.”

She gave him a sarcastic glance.

“It took me almost two years to get to that point; I didn’t want to let her win. I… let her get under my skin without realizing what it was doing to you.”

“Yeah… she has that effect, doesn’t she?” She stretched her arm, waving it around in a slow circle. “I liked her better when she was happy.”

Wiff―right through a hole.

Natalie jumped back, hands over her mouth in shock. Tears fell from her eyes, and she smiled through her fingers. The decrepit stuffed monkey twitched, jerked, and fell off the shelf out of sight. Shivering, she lowered her hands and offered an earnest glance to her father before finding the courage to take a step closer. Hands on the counter, she stood up on tiptoe to peer into the booth.

A capuchin monkey, very much real and alive, leapt up right in front of her. She yelped and jumped back. It scratched the top of its head, and then tilted it at an angle. Natalie blinked, swallowing her initial shock, and waved. The diminutive creature returned the gesture and leapt onto her chest. It hung for a second before climbing around behind her head and perching on her left shoulder, furry tail coiled across her neck. She suppressed the urge to shriek, standing rigid, and moved only her eyes to glance at it.

It screeched, shocked by the cold water as it sat, and patted the side of her head twice before it leapt to the ground and raced off. Dumbfounded, she stared at the trample mark it left through the grass for a few seconds before the realization hit her that she should probably be following it. Without a word, she grabbed her father’s hand and dragged him along in pursuit. Around the edge of the dilapidated amusement shacks she ran, chasing the little thing until it came to a halt next to a figure dressed in a gaudy ensemble of lime green and purple, seeming in his very early twenties. He stood in front of a hotdog cart well in the throes of collapse. At his feet, the monkey made noises with its mouth and waved at her again.

The man turned to look at her as she approached. “One drowned rat. Check.” He pantomimed making a tick mark on a clipboard that did not exist.

She blinked, looked at herself, and shrugged. “Guilty.”

“Hey, kid, thanks for stopping by. Don’t forget to listen to the graveyard marathon tomorrow night. Move on, don’t hog the front.”

Natalie shuddered. “Um… Was that a joke? Graveyard?” She looked behind her at the desolation. “Hog the front? There’s no one else here.”

The monkey tilted its head at her, then looked at him, and furrowed its brow before it began jabbing the guy in the leg.

“What?” He glanced down at the creature.

“Oh, right. I’m forgetting something.” He handed her a WROK bumper sticker.

Natalie turned it in her hands, making an unmistakable ‘that’s it?’ face.

“Sorry kid, I ran out of Plague Rat tickets an hour ago.”

Her mind raced, the connection to the radio station motif was too strong―this had to be it. The monkey seemed to realize who she was; the little simian pestered the hell out of the lime-hued pant leg.

“Um… DJ Todd told me to find you.” She offered a demure look.

“Can’t be, you’re too young. He knows I draw the line at eighteen, maybe seventeen if the boo―”

Her father glared.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me something?” She scoffed, hands on her hips.

Joey the Chimp lifted an eyebrow. “Boy, you sure are a pushy little tart.”

Natalie wrapped herself around her father to keep him from choking the guy. Joey leapt back, wide eyed.

“Whoa, easy man.” He held up his hands in a disarming gesture. “Relax pops, I’m just playing a character. I don’t really have that many girls.”

The monkey climbed Natalie and perched on her shoulder. She looked at it, and it bared its teeth in an attempt to smile. She grinned, and the monkey clambered upside down over her chest, and filched the cell phone from her pants pocket.

“Hey,” she screamed, making a futile attempt to grab it away from the critter.

It darted back over to Joey and held the phone up to him, screeching.

“Oh!” He blinked. “That DJ Todd.”

He tossed the phone back to her. “Pops, follow me. Kid, you got the monkey.”

“What?” She looked between them in a panic. “I don’t want to”―she longed for him with a stare―“leave him…”

“Well, that’s certainly your choice…” Joey faced the main gate, apparently ready to walk away.

“Okay.” She blurted, sensing imminent disaster. “Daddy!” She flew into a hug, squeezing him with all her strength. “Please don’t give up on me, I’ll see you again.”

He shook, fingertips dug into her back as he clutched her. No doubt, he expected this to be the last time he saw her. The same fear was firm in her mind as well, but she managed to separate herself from his arms and trudge toward the monkey.

“This way.” Joey went towards the car, indicating for her father to follow.

He backed away, unable to take his eyes off her. She bit her lip, wanting to run to him and cry. She took a step after him, but halted. Her fear over the consequences mounted. If bringing her to the park was a pinch of salt in the wound, this departure was an ocean’s worth.

The monkey chattered and ambled off. She ran after it, waterlogged boots galumphing into the sidewalk as her feet slipped inside them. The creature scampered up to the side of a crumbling, wooden building amid a scattering of rotting baseballs. When she caught up to him, he took her hand and pulled her through a small door in the side.

rawling, Natalie squeezed through the monkey-sized door with an arm held out to block dangling strands. At the end of a narrow tunnel, she stood, glancing around at hanging bits of material draped from the ceiling. She could not tell if they were cobwebs, fabric, plastic, or something else. Through the semi-transparent blur, she recognized the shapes of mildewed stuffed animals and old un-won prizes packed into shelves. The monkey’s grip on her fingers loosened, but he continued to lead her through a maze that seemed far too large to fit inside such a tiny stand. A series of confusing turns led up to another hatch in the wall. Her furry guide pulled it open and waited for her to drop to her knees again before he went into the dark. She crawled, blind, with only the tugging creature providing any sense of direction. It did not feel like a passageway, though she did not attempt to stand up.

After crawling around in the dark for several minutes, a sliver of light appeared up ahead. A horizontal line stretched low across the ground. Natalie went toward it, less cognizant of the monkey leading her, and made out the shape of a normal-sized door. She pulled herself up with a hand on the knob, turned it, and walked out into a bright hallway awash with the fragrance of patchouli, which bore no resemblance whatsoever to the ramshackle carnival stand.

It only took her seconds to realize where she was, the back hallway in her mother’s apartment. The vacant darkness behind her had become an ordinary broom closet with a few coats. Natalie sent a longing stare at her knee-length wool coat; too lame for a street girl, but that no longer mattered. It looked cozy and inviting, just seeing it made her feel warmer. She reached toward it; fingertips brushed the fabric before her arm fell. She did not want to ruin it.

She looked back to the hallway, to the bathroom ahead of her, Mom’s bedroom to the right, and the living room past that. Fifteen feet left, the door to her room sat an inch shy of closed. Her mother’s soft grumbling came from the front. Natalie looked in that direction with dread in her heart. The idea of faking suicide to get back at the witch for wrecking the family had once felt so entertaining. Now, she dreaded having to bear the news of a real death. The monkey led her here for a reason.

Natalie folded her arms, scowling at the puddled carpeting at her feet. Sparing Etan was nauseating at the time, but did not feel so bad in retrospect. She clutched her hands to her chest, resting her chin across her knuckles, hoping with all her strength she could get through this.

Etan didn’t kill me, he tried to kill me. Stay positive, Nat.

The living room beckoned; the sound of her mother still awake at this hour scared her as if a screaming match was imminent for getting home late. Hey, Mom. I have a good excuse this time, not that you’ll believe me.

Confronting her father broke through a lot of pain, but she was thrilled beyond words for having done so. The carnival game had seemed insurmountable at first, but she had done it. This―having to deal with Mom―made her shiver.

She stared at the creamy beige walls with hospital-clean white trim. An unearthly quiet had settled into the place, though that was the norm here. Her mother did not earn anywhere near what her father did, even after the promotion. Still, given her new job, she could not be doing too badly, yet still always bemoaned her lack of money.

Natalie sniffled at one of the several decorative mirrors hanging in neat rows of incrementally sized squares on either side of the hall. She was a sight. Thick brown hair clung to her head, soaked to near black from the rain that had fallen hours ago. Her eyes were sunken and dark, and she looked much paler than usual. The Goth style seemed much less cool when caused by actual death.

“I wouldn’t really look good in face paint anyway.” She frowned.

The “F*ck It” t-shirt that was the cause of such angst between her and her mother clung to her skin like paint, trails of water threaded across her exposed stomach―though there was no sign of blood or wound. The image in the mirror made her want to donate money to some third world charity for needy orphans.

She looked pathetic.

It occurred to her that the monkey was too quiet. She blinked several times in shock when she found herself holding the hand of a stuffed animal. Inanimate plastic eyes stared back at her with a silly grin sewn into the face beneath them.

A beep from the cell phone startled her; the screen flashed a simple message.

Monkey is lonely.

She held it up, looking at it. The words were simple; she nodded. A box of stuffed animals consigned to a closet for being uncool―the first act of destroying her identity.

“Okay,” she muttered to no one as she went down the hallway towards the front of the apartment, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation. She knew she could not let it turn into an argument.

That, she thought, was the difficult test.

Natalie stopped at the end of the hall, closing her eyes for a breath of preparation. No matter what the bitch does, stay calm. You have to stay calm. She squished into the living room, finding her mother perched on the couch, glaring doom at the front door. The smell of coffee filled the air and the woman looked beyond fried.

Natalie wandered around the armrest and made eye contact. Her mother jumped, almost dropping the coffee. Her entry from a point other than the outside door left Mother unable to speak. With one hand on her chest, the woman struggled to breathe. The shock on her face showed a twinge of relief, and then confusion. Natalie pitched her head down and stood for a few seconds without saying anything.

“I’ve been a complete bitch and a horrible person to you, Mom.”

Her mother set the quivering mug on the table and stood. She held Natalie by the shoulders and shook her, staring horrified at all the water.

“Where the hell have you been? What happened to you?” Natalie jostled back and forth, not resisting as Mother twisted her around under examination. “My god, you’re soaked. I don’t like that look in your eyes, did you drop acid or something?”

“No, Mom,” she droned.

“Answer me, Natalie Elizabeth!”

“Please calm down, Mom. You don’t have to shake me.”

Natalie sounded mechanical; most of her concentration went to suppressing her urge to get angry. Her mother’s voice just had that effect on her―on everyone.

Her mother stared. “You sound high. Do you know what time it is? It’s almost three in the morning and you just walk in the door.”

“Mom?”

“What!” The woman was near to shouting.

“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to let you have the literal truth in a blunt and painful way. If you don’t wanna lose me forever, can you please stop making assumptions and accusations before I explain myself?”

Mother sucked in a breath, speechless. Usually by now, the child would be screaming obscenities and throwing things. This seemed like the pre-divorce Natalie, only less happy. Something was dreadfully wrong. Fear shimmered in her mother’s eyes. Mom was a bitch on the outside, especially when she did not get her way. Underneath it all, Natalie hoped there was genuine care; she wanted to reach the same person that won her a monkey. For a full minute, Natalie stood without another word, watching her Mother’s face cycle through a range of moods at the inexplicable change in her daughter’s attitude. Then, she exhaled. The smell of (probably several) Manhattans washed over Natalie’s face.

“The school called. You never even showed up today. What is wrong with you?”

Natalie clenched her fists. “Did you ever stop to think using me as a weapon to hurt Dad was hurting me too?”

Mother stepped back as if a slap hit her in the face, and sank onto the edge of the sofa.

“Okay, Natalie.” Mother’s voice quivered with ill-contained fury. “Sit, and let’s talk.”

“I’ll get the couch soaked.”

“Go get undressed, we can talk while I help you dry off.” She leaned as if to stand. “What, did you fall in the East River?”

“No, just a puddle.” She looked down at her dripping clothes, sighing. “I wish you could dry me off, this is really annoying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Must you always be difficult?”

“Mom, please.” Natalie’s voice quivered, on the verge of crying.

Mother had not seen her ready to cry since the divorce; the steely ‘screw the world’ persona had been the norm for some time. All crying happened in solitude; Natalie showed no vulnerability. That would have signaled Mother was winning. The sight of tears stalled whatever else the woman seemed ready to say.

“You were right about those people that I was hanging out with. Something bad happened to me tonight, and I’m trying to fix it.”

“W… were you―”

“Raped?” Natalie cut her off.

Her mother’s eyes darkened with horror. Mother hated that word, second only to the big C; the one Natalie never dared use, even at her worst.

“Almost. Etan tried, but I kicked his ass.” Behold the power of panic.

Her mother leaned forward, offering a tentative hug. The last time she had tried to show any affection, Natalie hit her in the nose. The fear in her mother’s eyes from trying to get close cut. It wasn’t Mom’s fault she had become afraid to touch her own daughter.

“I know I lie a lot, but I learned it from you.” Natalie returned her mother’s embrace, feeling just a little traitorous to her father.

Her mother squinted; the same look she always put on before a fight.

Natalie sighed more than spoke. “I got shot.”

“Oh my God!” Her mother went into a full-on flip out and started pulling at her clothes looking for a wound or blood.

Natalie stood, patiently tolerating her Mother’s panic. Fingers tugged at her shirt, but the fabric would not budge. Her jacket seemed fused to her body. Mother’s eyes widened with confusion as she could not undo the pants―or even boot laces. After minutes of frantic pawing, she stood shaking, picking at her lip with a terrified stare into her daughter’s eyes.

“What in God’s name is going on, Natalie? This is some kind of game isn’t it? Caroline’s been reading a bunch of psych books about troubled kids. She told me you’d do something extreme, like try to run away with a thirty year old man you met online or fake a suicide just to hurt me. What did you do to your clothes?”

“Mom!” Natalie roared; control lost. “Why is it always about you? You’re the one that cheated on Dad. You’re the one that made him get divorced. You’re the one that ruined my life! You and your stupid fucking friends are more important than your own family.”

Pain hit her in the chest, a hot lance.

Shrieking anger gave way to sobbing pleas. “Just for once in your miserable life can you get over yourself?”

“You’re on drugs, aren’t you? Natalie Elizabeth, after what you said this morning, don’t you dare―”

“Stop it!” She bawled. The pain worsened, blood ran warm over her bare stomach. “I don’t hate you I hate what you did.” Natalie covered her mouth, weeping through her fingers for several breaths. “I deserved that slap. I never should have said that.”

Mother noticed the blood and collapsed into the couch, kneading her hands. The air seemed to chill its way through her; the bullet wound must have returned.

“Mommy… Please stop being a bitch, just once… please listen to me. You were happy once. Remember at Candle Park, when I had a tantrum about the baseballs and you won that monkey? I haven’t seen you smile for real since then.” She could not help but clutch a hand over the wound.

“N… Natalie… Is that blood?” A shivering hand reached out.

She let Mother touch it, cringing at the fingertip inside her chest. “You know those creepy stories where someone gets killed and goes to visit people they love before they go away?”

Her mother recoiled into the cushions, shrinking into a gargoyle of terror. It was too much to believe, though the drastic change in the girl’s demeanor, irremovable clothing, and a fatal-looking wound painted an otherworldly light over the situation.

“No…” She gasped, falling into sobs.

“I’m not dead yet, Mom.” Natalie looked up, speaking with earnest calm. “This guy showed up and said I might not stay dead if I passed some kind of test. I hope I didn’t just fail it by screaming at you. You always come at me like everything is all my fault. Even with Dad, you act as if it was all everyone else’s fault but yours. Dad didn’t make you do what you did. He had enough money; you didn’t even have to work. None of us are innocent.” Tears ran free as her voice faltered. “We all killed our family.” Natalie put a hand on her mother’s arm.

Mother shook her head, holding her temples and chanting ‘no’ over and over. “I hated feeling dependent on him for everything like a trophy wife. I’m not a dumb peroxide blonde. I have just as much schooling as he does. I’m the damn VP of Operations for―”

“Mom.” Natalie waited for her mother to look her in the eye. “You could have got that promotion without letting Rick use you. You’re smart and talented, and you work so hard. Why did…”

The pain lessened.

Mother stared into her eyes, shivered, and burst into tears. When the emotion subsided, she straightened up and looked over Natalie’s shoulder out the window. “Mindy Clarke. She was in the running for the position as well, and her resume was only a little less impressive than mine. By rights, I should have gotten the promotion. Mindy had already spent the weekend at Rick’s place in the Hamptons. She didn’t even try to hide it.” Fury seethed in her Mother’s eyes, but for once, she did not aim it at Natalie. “I seduced him so I had something to take to HR if Mindy got the position. I wasn’t some weak and vulnerable woman that needed to sleep her way to the top. I wanted him by the balls. I wanted what I earned.”

The look in Mother’s eye had to be the same look Natalie gave Etan just before she kicked him.

“It killed me to have to do that… To have to throw away my dignity just to keep what should have been mine.” Anger faded, Mother sank into a broken crouch.

“But Mom, you didn’t even need to work… Dad makes so much money.”

Mother shot a tangle of indignant sadness out of her eyes into the fireplace. “And he loved reminding me of that fact. That was a side of him you never got to see. He was always so careful about being the perfect father around you.” She tried to sip coffee from an empty mug, frowned at it, and set it back down on the small glass-topped table. “He loved being superior. Forget I had a degree too; I stopped working when you were born and just never got back to it. He made me feel like some Good Housekeeping poster wife, and that’s not who I wanted to be.”

Natalie squinted. She could not imagine Dad being that much of an ass, but her mother’s death-mask face hinted at truth. “Is that why you were always upset?”

Her mother startled from the sound of her voice, as if lost in a daydream. “Oh, Nat. That day at the park… It was one of the times when he stopped being Donald Rausch the lawyer and was just Donald, my husband… your father. I’ve had my moments since then, but you’ve been too busy trying to feel sorry for yourself to notice.”

Wet arms squished across a saturated tee shirt. She looked away. Mother cringed, expecting a bad reaction to an accusation. When none came, she held Natalie’s hand.

“You have not exactly given me much to be happy about lately either. I was mad at you, Natalie. Angry because no matter how much of an ass that man was to me, you still idolized the ground he walked on. I’m not the one that dragged you to court so much. That was him trying to take you away from me. All I wanted was to continue to be a part of your life, Nat. He wanted to take you and go to Philadelphia. Even selling the property in Englewood was his idea. He just could not let me win and keep it. Insisted it be sold and split in half.”

A hard lump slid down Natalie’s throat. “I just thought you were being bitchy. Why didn’t you tell me it was Dad? I thought your b―umm… lawyer was talking you into chasing more and more child support or limiting visitation to make him hurt.”

Mother laughed. “I offered to take less in support payments if he let us keep the house, but…” Her mood fell right back into the gutter; tears ran down her cheeks. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Nat. You’ve been a damn handful the past two years. It’s killing me. I know I haven’t reacted well. I could’ve been a lot warmer, but between work, your father, and what you have been doing to yourself, I had no energy left.” She let out a long, slow breath. “What happened to you?”

Natalie picked her mother’s hand out of her lap and held it. “Etan shoved me into a wall, bent my arm up behind my back and stuck his hand down my pants. I figured he was gonna kill me if I didn’t let him do it. When he tried to touch my umm…” Awkward moment of silence, Mother nodded. “I just got so damn pissed off. I think I know how you felt about Mindy.” Mother’s worried look softened at Natalie’s grin. “I kicked him in the balls. He was all talk. He fell, and I just kept kicking him till he crawled away.”

Mother tried to say something but managed only a wheeze.

“No, Mom. It’s not your fault. If I wake up, I’m gonna go back to school, I’m not gonna hang out with those morons anymore.” Natalie held the monkey up. “One sec, Mom. There’s something I have to do here if you want me to come home again, and not be a ghost.”

Her mother blurted an incoherent wail as Natalie sloshed toward her bedroom. She walked around the end of the bed on the way to the closet, but paused. The computer was still on, the IM window still there, unsent. She sniffled, approaching the desk, and stared at the name of her former best friend. She might not get another chance to do it; she had to try, regardless of how Leah reacted. Natalie’s hand hovered over the mouse, finding herself all but praying it would be solid when she tried to grab it.

Click. Message sent.

She backed away from the screen. Leah’s asleep now. She won’t answer. After placing the monkey on her pillow, she went to the closet. The double doors opened with a squeak. Expecting it, she sidestepped the wall of junk that fell out and straddled the resulting avalanche. Natalie grasped the large cardboard box and pulled it out of the pile. After setting it on the end of the bed, she pulled the flaps open. The lack of monkey inside it came as no surprise. One by one, she tossed her small army of stuffed animals onto the bed.

When the last of them had bounced to a halt on the mattress, she kicked the box back into the closet and turned to face the menagerie. Her mother leaned in the doorway, shaking and staring at her with an unsettling expression.

Natalie set about arranging the animals on the pillow, as they used to be.

“I’m hoping I don’t screw this up, I really want to come home.” Something about her mother’s presence made it hard to cry.

It had to be resentment at keeping her hostile to her father for so long. It would take more than one night, even with death involved, to forgive her all the way. However, for the first time since the divorce, it seemed possible. Natalie entertained the thought that her Dad had a bigger part to play in the ruination of her life than she let herself believe. Mom always lied, but for some reason, she believed her this time. She put a small grey rabbit at the far right side of the pile.

“I visited Daddy tonight. He told me why he stopped fighting you.” She plopped the stuffed creatures one by one into place, adjusting them here and there to fit her memory. “Did you put something on my computer to kill his emails?”

“Yes. At first, it was to block perverts.”

“Another of Caroline’s ideas?” Stuffed giraffe on the left side.

Her mother crumpled against the doorjamb and sank to the floor. “What do you want me to say?”

Natalie stared at the wet rug. “Nothing, Mom. I’m not a prize that you need to win from Dad. I could say it’s your fault I’m flat on my back in a massive puddle in an alley somewhere, out in the street with the rest of the trash.” Her mother shuddered at the repeat of her own words, once hurled in anger. “It isn’t. You hurt me, but I did that to myself trying to hurt you back. Assuming I wake up, I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I don’t want you to fight with Dad anymore.” Pushing a massive plush Snoopy into place, she glanced over at the trembling figure in the doorway. “I don’t expect you to understand how it felt to be me the past two years. I hated you for destroying our family. I hated Dad for not being a good enough lawyer to take me away so I never had to see you again.” Natalie plopped the monkey down at the top of the pile of animals. “I was pretty f―damn stupid.” She turned to face her Mother, her voice little more than a weak trace of sound. “Now I’m terrified I’ll get my wish… about never seeing you again.”

Her mother cried and buried her face in both hands.

“Dad saw what the arguing was doing to me. He didn’t abandon me.” She looked down at the watermark growing out from her boots. “You know that King Solomon thing, with the baby. He didn’t want you to cut me in half.” Mother looked up, yanked out of her tears by the thought of it. “I wanted to be with Dad, and you did all you could to poison me against him. I guess you figured I wouldn’t believe you if you told me how he treated you. Do you think you two could share me? My arms are about to pop out from all the back and forth.”

Natalie trudged to the door and sat on the floor next to her mother.

“Caroline had one thing right, I was thinking of faking suicide. I just wanted you guys to stop.” Natalie took her mother’s hand, pulling it away from her face. “You kept doing stuff to me like you couldn’t see how much it hurt. I wanted to hurt you back; make you think, make you stop. I daydreamed about doing something drastic.”

Mother seemed terrified at the coldness of her daughter’s skin.

“Etan came back a few minutes after he ran away. He had a gun. I don’t really remember what it felt like, he just kept shooting till it clicked. I can still smell it. I tried to run home, but I was so dizzy. I stumbled into the alley and fell; I was too weak to get back up.”

As she described lying in the rain-soaked street, her mother broke down. She went back to shaking her head and muttering ‘no’ repeatedly, as if trying to disbelieve it all.

“Now that something drastic happened, I feel like shit”―she winced―“Umm, I feel awful. I wish it didn’t take getting shot to make me see that. Can you forgive me for being so lousy to you?”

Her mother looked at her, reaching out and touching her cheek. “If I do, will you fade away?”

“Not if I can help it.” An odd confidence settled into her voice. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be home alive at three in the morning right now and getting yelled at.”

Her mother squeezed her hand. “That monkey, you remember it?”

She smiled at the bed. “You won it at Candle Park, before it shut down.” She sank, staring at the floor. “He was my favorite because he made me think of you smiling. I miss seeing you happy. You had such a big smile when you gave it to me. I threw such a tantrum when I couldn’t even get a ball all the way to the board. Guess neither one of us likes losing.”

Mother stared at the pile of stuffed animals, wordless.

“I threw them in the closet coz I was being childish about the cell phone thing. I’m sorry, you can’t afford it. Maybe you should stop pissing money away on lawyers.” She could have tipped the barb with venom, but she stuck a grin on the end instead.

Her mother gasped a one-breath laugh. “It’s not just that, I”―Mother pursed her lips, truth did not come easy to her, especially when it showed weakness―“didn’t want you to talk to your father behind my back.”

Natalie leaned into her shoulder, recoiling with an apologetic gaze as a shiver ran through the woman. “Is it the creepy, cold, wet, ghosty thing or is it just me?”

After a moment of watering eyes, her mother pulled her into a squishing grip. They cried until the ringing of a cell phone broke the mood.

“What is that?” Mother gawked as she pulled the device out of her pocket.

Staring at the ringing object, Natalie muttered. “I’ll explain in a sec.” She thumbed the talk button and held the phone to her head. “Hello?”

“Hey there, kiddo.” Todd.

She made a doe-eyed grin at the poster. “Hi… How am I doing?” Her voice wavered with both anxiety and eagerness.

“Well, you’re certainly getting points for beating yourself up. I’m starting to feel good in my guess you weren’t quite done in this world. There is, however, the slight problem of it not being my decision. Producers can be so fickle sometimes.”

Natalie’s heart sank. “What do I have to do?”

“Well, they’re letting people into the Prospect Park carnival free if they show a WROK bumper sticker…”

She squeezed her jacket, feeling the outline of the radio station swag Joey the Chimp had given her, still in the pocket.

“Okay. I’ll go now.”

The phone line went silent, and she spent a moment staring at it.

“You got that cell phone you wanted, I see. Your father?”

Natalie shook her head. “No, it’s not a real one. Its… um…” She scratched her head. “The spirit thing that’s trying to help me gave it to me.”

Her mother blinked. “What?”

“It would take too long to explain. It’s not really a phone, it’s just some kind of representation of hearing spirit voices, I guess. I have to go to Prospect Park, the carnival.”

Her mother pulled her close again. “That’s not for a few months, yet.”

Natalie fixed her with a flat glance. “What about this is normal? Besides, if I do this right, we can have all the time we want. If I screw this up, this is the last you’ll see of me.” Natalie’s horror at the thought shook her voice. She clung a little tighter, her urgency to depart fading.

“You think I’m going to let you walk out of this house at almost four in the morning?”

Her mother’s tone was anything but scolding. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought her mother was making a joke. Natalie wore a blank face.

“Let me drive you, hon.” Her mother started to get up.

Natalie stood, an eager gleam in her eye, but stopped. “I think I have to go alone…” She stared at the floor. “The last thing I want right now is to be alone, but I just have this feeling…”

The apartment phone rang, making them both jump. The caller ID voice announced her father’s name and cell phone number.

Mother gawked. “I never programmed his new number into the phone, how…”

“Get it, please.” Natalie prodded her mother to her feet. “Be easy on him, he’s having a bad night. He umm, might have umm… seen something he can’t handle.”

They moved to the kitchen, where Meredith Moore, formerly Rausch, picked up the phone. Natalie leaned in to eavesdrop.

“Hello?”

“Meredith.” Her father’s voice seemed incapable of holding a steady tone.

“Yes?”

“It’s not going to be easy to say this.” His voice cracked.

“Natalie’s here, Don.” Her mother squeezed her hand.

“I imagined. I’m”―he was unable to speak for a moment―“standing next to her body.” His voice cut off in a chatter, as if he was trying not to break down. “How could someone do this to our little girl?” In the background, an approaching siren wailed.

Her mother swooned into the counter top.

“You should be here. The guy from the radio station suggested I call for an ambulance and wait.”

Natalie’s eyes perked up. That had to be a good sign. Corpses do not need ambulances.

“Go, Mom. Please…” She patted her on the arm and ran out the door.

atalie had only been to Prospect Park once or twice, but she knew the route as if it were routine. The walk from her mother’s apartment in Bay Ridge should have taken far longer than it seemed to. For most of the trip, she kept her gaze down, almost mesmerized by her boots dipping in and out of sight. At first glance, the park appeared empty save for a pair of cops walking abreast some distance inside. She crossed onto the grass. A few paces forward, a smear of light and eerie sounds pierced through the dark as a carnival faded into view out of thin air. The two policemen had vanished, despite being in the middle of a large open field. She took a deep breath and went in the direction of the luminous expanse of music, people, and portable rides―which appeared to be operating.

Running? At four in the morning?

She ducked under a chain, through the squeaking gate, and looked around at a series of booths and large tents with strange jagged points and impossible proportions. Cruel painted faces leered from the sides of most of them, menace exaggerated by the backdrop of a cold whistling breeze.

“If I wasn’t a ghost, this would be pretty damn scary.” She forced her legs to propel her into the midst of the carnival.

The amusements ran and played music, though they were devoid of riders. Rounding a corner, she noticed other people at last and went towards them. She felt quite small indeed, as she mingled into the crowd, pushing and squeezing her way through. A man with whom she collided whirled about and stooped down. Both hands flew up over her mouth to stifle a scream. The front of his face had caved in; everything below the eyes reduced to a pulsating bloody mass.

He murmured something that sounded like ‘fell asleep driving’, but it could have just been a moan.

Natalie swallowed the shriek and backed into another person. She turned, receiving an annoyed look from a blonde about her mother’s age, wobbling on her feet with a martini glass and an expensive white dress. She had one of those purposeless fur things looped around her back and through both elbows. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and more leaked through her teeth when the woman smiled.

“Bastard husband got me,” she said, holding up the glass as a toast. “Already killed me with it, so I might as well enjoy it.” Despite the woman taking a healthy swig, the drink still looked full.

With a gasp, Natalie spun in a different direction, making it three steps before stalling in her tracks. A girl, maybe nineteen, stared at her. Pale, naked, and wet, she bled profusely from both wrists, blue lips frozen in a visage of somber regret.

Natalie screamed.

All of them, all of these people in the carnival were dead. They noticed her now; the crowd moved as one to appraise the new arrival. Even the rides seemed to pause at the sound of her terror. Natalie trembled; grateful Todd prevented her from looking at her own corpse.

She covered her eyes and spun in place, searching for a direction that offered nothing grotesque to see. Overwhelmed, she gasped for breath despite the utter lack of need, and stumbled to the side to seek refuge between two tents away from the crowd. The suicide girl did not say a word. The drips of blood hitting the leaf-strewn ground got louder. Dripping became tapping, which became a pounding incessant drum in her mind. How could she have ever thought to do that to her mother, even faking it? Uncontrollable shivers rattled through her as she sank into a squat and tightened into a ball.

The pounding stopped.

She looked up. The others turned away; their initial curiosity sated, they went back to what they were doing. The bathtub girl stared at her still, now only a step behind her. Her hands glistened with blood in the moonlight, flowing faucets from deep cuts. Why is she staring at me like that?

“Hi,” Natalie offered in a mouse’s voice, turning away from the nude spirit.

One wet foot entered the periphery of her sight. The pat, pat, pat of drips continued. Natalie stiffened, shivering. It was already cold; the sight of the specter behind her made her feel colder. At least I’m not the only one here that’s soaked.

Guess Todd isn’t in a subtle mood. “I’m sorry I thought about making my mom think I killed myself.”

The dripping girl did not react.

Natalie stared at the paper-white foot; the other dead girl was within arm’s reach. Too embarrassed to turn and look, she hugged her knees to her chest. A brief pang of humiliation washed over her as her mind ran away with the thought of Etan killing her after he was done, after she did what he wanted. If he had left her dead and naked in the alley instead of just dead, she would be stuck like the girl behind her. The dread of having to go talk to her Dad like that was paralyzing. Maybe if she had let Etan do what he wanted, she’d still be alive. Her eyes narrowed. No way. I’d rather be here. Little chicken shit was all noise, one of those little yap dogs that barks loud so the big ones leave him alone. At least now, the others know he’s a pussy.

She turned to face the girl, keeping her gaze at ground level. “I’m Natalie, I guess you can’t talk.”

Water dribbled from the older spirit’s mouth.

“Yeah… thought so.” Natalie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to rub warmth into a non-body. “You’re part of the test too, I bet. Did Todd send you to make me feel bad about faking a suicide?”

The girl’s head tilted, gazing down with a sad shake of the head.

“No?” She looks so lonely. Damn, I’m turning into Mom. Always about me. “Wanna hang out?” What the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry you killed yourself, I got shot.’ Blah, lame. I love the smell of your bath gel, no way―insensitive as hell. “I’m lonely too. Need a friend?”

A sense of gratitude radiated from the older girl. Despite her state, she smiled.

Natalie leaned forward, not looking, and held a hand slick with water and blood. “You’re freezing.” She smirked at her jacket, and then remembered her mother’s futile attempts to peel it away. “I’d give you my jacket but it won’t come off.”

Hand squeezed.

Damn, it’s gotta be awful to be stuck naked forever. Natalie shrugged her backpack off, and pulled on her coat. When it came off, she blinked at it and then shuddered from the frigid wind across her saturated t-shirt. The cloth felt colder than the exposed skin between it and her belt.

“Here… Guess the rules are different in this fu… umm, place.”

The suicide spirit took the jacket; in such a rush to cover herself, she fumbled with it for a full minute. Natalie shivered, folding her arms, and regretting the day she decided to cut her shirt to expose her navel. When the other girl finished zippering the coat, she made a pleased watery moan.

The pale girl smiled again, gratitude in her eyes. She backed away, their fingers slid apart. Natalie steeled herself as the apparition drifted into the crowd. Visions of the dead moved back and forth; Natalie followed her with a glance until she vanished. The dead continued to meander about, confused and directionless. She tried to wring her shirt out, but it produced as much water as she squeezed out of it. At least it’s not white. Natalie tried to find a laugh at the raunchy joke but was too cold to find much humor in anything.

She wandered around the edge of the tents, past vendors selling the usual array of carnival junk food. None of the crowd seemed interested in eating or partaking of any of the games of chance. Having a suspicion, Natalie searched in earnest for something involving baseballs or monkeys, but found nothing but more dead people that looked every bit as lost and confused as she was.

An old woman blew cigarette smoke at her out of a tracheotomy hole. “Screw ‘em all. Made it to eighty-nine, smoking every damn day.”

A heavyset man with red-purple skin patted his belly at her and grinned. “I have no regrets. Rather be here than eating that soy crap. So, yeah, I ate whatever the hell I wanted. All I lost was the nursing home years.”

She backpedaled away from bacon-breath and reached the end of the ‘street.’ In the shadows, a couple of gangbanger types paused from their bullet-wound one-upsmanship to glare at the white girl for getting too close. Natalie turned on her heel and gave them a wide berth.

Back on the main concourse, she felt adrift and alone amid a strange world she did not want to be part of. Everyone here looked terrifying in one way or the other, all she could think of was the want of a friend. As if on cue, the mass of forlorn spirits parted. At the end of a path of clear ground, a red and yellow painted board glowed with eerie light. Two jesters, smiling at the top left, frowning at the bottom right, flanked the entrance to a funhouse.

Oh, hell. This is gonna be weird.

he garish door opened on its own as she neared, revealing a dark passageway leading into a space that resembled a building more than a tent. Natalie jumped as it slammed closed behind her, trapping her in the dark amid the scent of wet wood. Momentary panic triggered several seconds of fruitless struggling at the immovable knob. After regaining control, she faced forward. Light leaked in as she brushed aside a hanging black curtain, a grey-painted hallway of wood studded with mirrors led into a maze.

Warped reflections diverged from reality as funhouse mirror copies of her moved on their own. Some showed her younger and happy, some older and lost. Six-year-old Natalie jumped up and down and waved at her. Nine-year-old Natalie fumed, arms folded, eyes red from crying. A fat version of her around current age laughed, mocking her for being so thin. The next lent her Leah’s shape: boobs, hips, and a non-flat butt. Her stare lingered on that one for a moment as she walked. When she turned to look ahead, the mirror at the end of the right wall made her leap away with a squeal. She did not want to see what Etan might have done to her if she did not fight back. She kept her gaze averted and went right for the end. Another mirror-Natalie, in her mid-twenties, looked like a bonier version of Mom, complete with big boobs.

Natalie frowned and continued through the narrow corridor with her arms out to the sides, fingertips searching for obstacles. The wood plank floor creaked under her boots; odd, she thought, for a tent to have a wooden floor like this. Then again, what was the point of questioning anything in this place?

Click.

She whirled. Etan stood at the corner of the last hallway, his .38 glinting in the weak light. His thumb had just pulled the hammer back.

Panic set in. She screamed; she ran.

Mirrors blurred into streaks of silver, the occasional faltering light bulb zoomed overhead. She hooked right at the next corner, shrieking and covering her head as a gunshot shattered glass just behind her. Large-breasted Natalie fell apart in a rain of glass shards. Stomping got closer. Bolting forward, she leapt past another mirror. Twenty-something Natalie in a graduation gown exploded into fragments of sparkling crystal.

“Daddy!” she wailed, trying to run faster. “Mom!”

The hallway felt narrower, the mirrors deceiving. Her boot hit something black, a pipe perhaps, tripping her. Etan chased, firing a third bullet over her just as she fell. Natalie snapped her head up just in time to see a facing mirror at the end of the hall break. The image of a thirty-something Natalie holding two babies, splintered apart in a rain of glittering fragments. She leapt into a somersault through which she vaulted right back to a sprint. She regained balance in two loping steps, leaving a pair of handprints on a mirror to help her around a corner. Skidding to a halt at a three-way turn, she looked back over her shoulder. Etan stalked into view, red glowing eyes thinned as he smiled. The gun gleamed. She spun left and sprinted; a brief squeal came out of her as a bullet nipped the material of her backpack.

His voice flooded her reality, coming from all over. “No bitch does that to me, and lives.”

Every turn seemed to lead into the same endless array of shiny, wavy surfaces. Etan’s dark presence at her heels. This isn’t Etan. What the hell am I supposed to do here? Fight him?

She ducked another shot, another spray of glass, and darted down a narrow passageway that looped left at the end. A strange sound, the clattering of computer keys, drifted from the dark. For no reason other than how out of place it was, Natalie tried to run toward it. Another gunshot preceded a hard slap in the back―but no pain. Chest first, she flew into a mirror and bounced to the ground.

Ow. She grabbed her face, sparing only seconds to hope she did not have a bloody nose before she scrambled back to her feet and staggered to the right. Another shot destroyed the mirror she just cracked. Natalie held on to the backpack that wanted to slide off her shoulder as she ran. Out of the corner of her eye, a previously unnoticed light glimmered. She skidded to a halt and slipped down a narrow side passage just as Etan fired again. The crash of a distant mirror’s death made her shriek, and cower. This hall was so tight he could not miss if he fired down its length. Panic welled strong and she grabbed at the cold, smooth walls for extra speed. At the end, she entered an octagonal chamber fifteen feet across, covered with mirrors.

Her boots squeaked as she stopped in the middle of the space. She rotated, staring at seven exact copies of her. Etan drew closer; she whirled to face him. The sight of her in a dead-end room with nowhere to run slowed his pursuit to a menacing swagger. Natalie tried to find confidence in the belief that she was already dead and could not die again, but it offered little reassurance. She glanced left and right, hoping for a way out, and took a step back as he arrived at the entrance to the chamber.

Seven Natalies stepped out of their mirrors, surrounding her. Etan’s glare of malice fell away to a blank look, and then to worry. Her copies roared, and charged at him. He backpedaled and turned to flee; the sound of seven angry girls faded off into the distance.

Natalie was alone.

She caught sight of a fleck of paper in the air and shrugged the backpack off her shoulder. Inside, her three-inch thick Introduction to Applied Calculus book swelled from the bullet it trapped. Natalie stared at it for a moment, and then glanced at the vacant hallway where Etan’s apparition had been. I just keep getting lucky. Book saved me from getting shot. After putting it back and pulling the zipper closed, she smirked at the bag. “I get it…”

As if seven clones walking around were not jarring enough, she jumped at the sight of the mirrors. None of them showed her reflection. She approached one, fingertips tracing the glass. As far as the mirror was concerned, the octagon was empty. The chattering of plastic keys came again, from right behind her.

Opposite from the hallway in, one of the mirrored panels had changed. It resembled a plain white-painted interior door, as if from a house. Natalie tiptoed over, listening to someone on the other side type. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a test… This place is just messing with my head. What’s behind door number one?

o sooner had her hand circled about the knob than the mirror room became a closet. Girl’s coats and a few dresses slid in from the left and right, sandwiching her in an uncomfortable and awkward posture. Forcing her way through it, she opened the door and emerged in a dark bedroom, lit only by the glow of a computer monitor. Off-pink carpet looked grey in the dim light around the stretched silhouette of her friend Leah.

Bare feet poked out from under a frilly white nightgown, she had tucked her legs under her on a wheeled computer chair and whined at the screen of her iMac. Her long, light brown hair almost reached the cushion.

“Come on, come on. What are you waiting for?”

Natalie cringed, not wanting to scare the hell out of her. Please don’t scream.

“Leah?”

Leah Fernandez turned her head toward the whisper, the redness in her eyes made Natalie cringe away with guilt until the sound of her friend falling out of the chair made her look. Leah scrambled back to her feet, shaking.

“Nat! H… How did you get in here?”

“Sorry I scared you.” Natalie kept herself in shadow, back against the closet door. “I have to talk to you.”

“My father is gonna freak the hell out if he finds out you snuck into our apartment.” Leah shivered. Beneath the bed, a cat hissed. “Milo, what are you hissing at? It’s Natalie.”

Hiss.

“Smart cat,” Natalie said, without emotion. “Leah, I’m sorry.” She stepped forward, into the light.

Leah covered her mouth, drawing in a gasp at the sight. “You’re trying to freak me out? This isn’t funny. I wasn’t gonna complain to the school. I don’t want you to get expelled.”

Hiss.

“That’s not why I’m here. I don’t really care if you do or don’t.” Another step closer. “I’ve been thinking a lot tonight about what kind of person I’ve been to everyone lately and I just wanted to tell you it’s not your fault.”

The desk rattled as Leah backed into it. A small figurine fell off her monitor. “Why do you look like that?”

Damn you, Todd. Why are you making me hurt her? “I… No matter how much of a bitch I was to you, you kept trying to come back.”

“You’re my best friend…” Leah looked at her toes. “I love you like a sister. Sisters fight sometimes. It’s just not fun without you.” She remained quiet for a moment. “What aren’t you telling me? Are you running away from home? Yes, I’ll go with you.” Leah ran past her to the closet, pulling out a similar backpack before going to her dresser.

“No, Leah. I’m not running away. I don’t want to go away.”

Her friend dropped the bag in the drawer she just opened, and rushed over to grab Natalie’s hand. “Oh my God, you’re freezing.”

“Yeah, well…” I’m kind of dead. “I’m having a strange night. Sorry for waking you up.”

Leah blinked, taking notice of thin rivulets of water running over Natalie’s stomach, and the endless dripping. The sight of the previously wet rug by the closet now dry made her tremble. She backed away for a moment before she pointed. Already puffy eyes erupted with tears; Leah collapsed on her knees, bawling.

Hiss.

Natalie felt awful. “I―” She stumbled as Leah flew into a hug.

“No… I don’t forgive you.” Leah sobbed. “You’re a ghost, aren’t you? You came to get me to forgive you for being mean to me. I’m gonna forgive you and you’re gonna go away forever. No. I don’t forgive you. I’m mad at you. Stay here.” She pawed at Natalie, as if trying to squeeze them into one combined being.

Oh, no. I’m gonna f― Natalie let herself fall seated, Leah adjusted her hug upward. Screw the test, I can’t do this to her. “Okay. I’ll stay, but I don’t think Milo is gonna like it.”

Hiss.

Leah sat back on her heels, crying and giggling at the same time. “I’m so angry at you for being a bitch. I swear if you go away I’ll…” Her voice faded to a whisper. “Come after you.”

Natalie put her hands on either side of Leah’s face. “Leah. I don’t deserve your forgiveness so fast, but I don’t for a minute think you’d actually do it. Don’t even go there, don’t joke about that. I saw a girl on the other side that killed herself; it was awful. I don’t want that guilt on me.”

“Well don’t go away then,” snapped Leah. “We’re like twins.”

“Twins?” Natalie laughed. “Your boobs are big enough to buy beer already; I still look like a seventh-grade boy.”

“You’ll catch up,” Leah whimpered, before breaking into sobs again. “No… you won’t… you’re dead.” Leah stared down at the rug. “Please don’t leave me,” Leah blubbed, clinging. “I don’t have any other real friends.”

“I’m still here.” Natalie shook her friend by the shoulders. “Chill out. This is getting a little umm, awkward. Terrell’s been sweet on you but you ignore him. You’re not, like, in love with me are you?”

Leah stopped sobbing as if a switch had been thrown. “No.” She flashed a sudden, cheesy smile, scratching at her hair. “Umm… not that there’s anything wrong if that’s what you… I mean, if you like girls, that’s no big deal. I just… you’re not getting any boys, so I didn’t want to make you jealous.”

“I’m an awkward geek, not a lesbian. I did make out with Jason though.”

“Is he the one with the stupid shit on his face?” Leah wiped her eyes.

“Umm, you’re probably thinking of Kevin. He’s seen The Crow too many times. Terrell’s a nice guy, you should give him a chance before you lose it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be here… haunting your closet.”

Leah made a nervous giggle.

“Hey, are you caught up on Heart’s Quest?” Natalie tilted her head.

“No, I haven’t watched it since the last time you were over.” Leah frowned.

“Wanna stay up late?”

Leah jumped up and scurried to the computer. “What, do you like fade away when the sun comes up now?”

Natalie galumphed over to the desk, sockless feet loose in waterlogged boots. “No idea. I haven’t been dead that long. But I promise I won’t bite you. I’m a ghost, not a vampire.”

“Figured, you’re not sparkling.”

They laughed.

Milo lost his mind, yowling, hissing, and flooding the under-bed with a panicky low growl. As Natalie neared, a streak of orange tiger blurred to the door. Somewhere down the hall, something fell. Four seconds later, skiff, skiff, skiff, bam.

Natalie imagined the cat trying to take a hard turn on the kitchen floor and sailing headfirst into the cabinets. “Poor Milo.”

Leah shut down her IM before Natalie could read the mushy apology. A few minutes later, she was online. Netflix pumped their favorite magical princess Anime into the room. Leah hopped on the bed on her stomach, chin propped on her elbows. Natalie stared at her usual spot, and sighed.

“I don’t want to get your bed all wet.”

Her friend got up, pulled her iMac closer to the edge of the desk, and aimed the screen down. Then, she flopped on the rug. Natalie settled in next to her. The last time they watched it together was at least a year ago, but she did not dwell on the time between. In whispered tones, they sang the theme song together as they always did; somehow, episode after episode, it never got old. Neither one of them had the first clue what the lyrics meant, but they did their best phonetic recreation of Japanese. They quoted the character’s catch phrases (in English), giggled at the same stupid jokes, and both shouted at Princess Heart not to trust the evil viscount.

For a little while, Natalie forgot all about being dead.

wo episodes of Heart’s Quest took her mind away from her life, or lack thereof, and made her feel as if nothing had happened. Without the commercials, they wound up being about twenty-two minutes long each. As the credits began to roll, overlaid with the infectious chirp of a Japanese woman singing, Natalie echoed the first two words and realized she was the only one doing so. Leah had fallen asleep on the floor, still smiling. Natalie, propped up on her elbows, watched her friend breathe for a few minutes. If Todd sent her here to get forgiveness, had she done so? The melodic din faded into the background as she debated the choice between making her friend miserable and breaking both her parents’ hearts.

The light came on, startling a gasp out of her. Mr. Fernandez, barely awake, staggered through the door; the gurgling of a flushed toilet came from the hallway outside. Natalie froze, petrified of getting in trouble. He rounded the corner of the bed on the way to the desk, grumbling about her leaving the computer on. He did not notice Leah was out of bed until he almost tripped over her.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” He rubbed his eyes, crouching to check on her.

Leah was too tired to respond.

Natalie crawled backwards, relieved and horrified in equal measure that he seemed not to have seen her. Mr. Fernandez shut down the computer before stooping to gather his daughter into his arms. Natalie stood up and backed off as he carried the girl back to bed, edging up alongside him as he set her down, covered her with her bedding, and planted a light kiss on Leah’s forehead. Natalie pouted as he walked right past her. Now, she wanted to be yelled at. She wanted to be acknowledged.

He paused on the way out to mumble something at the crucifix on the wall, and shut the light. The ka-thunk of the bedroom door closing felt like the wall of a tomb shutting Natalie in. Mr. Fernandez had not seen her; there was no way he could have missed her, even bleary-eyed.

I blew it. I’m a proper ghost now.

Natalie slumped into the computer chair, a mournful stare upon her sleeping friend. She pulled her boots up and rested her chin on her knees. Leah did not seem to take the news well at all. I’ll have to stay here and keep an eye on her. When it sinks in, she might try to hurt herself.

Beep.

Natalie glanced at the dark computer screen, mesmerized by a thin strip of light it reflected from under the bedroom door. The rattle of glass bottles told her Mr. Fernandez was raiding the fridge. She chuckled without a sound as he yelled, startled by the cat. She let her chin rest on her knees, and gazed through the dim light at the room. Pictures of Leah and Natalie together littered the desk around the iMac, each one cloaked in memories. Her hand hovered over Leah’s, afraid to touch her lest the cold wake her up. She would not let her best friend suffer for her bad choices.

Beep.

Oh, crap. Natalie fumbled at her pants, pulling the cell phone out of its special reserved place. A text message glowed from the screen.

“Don’t keep the big man waiting.”

She almost dropped the phone. I’m not screwed. Crap, crap, crap. She stuffed it back into its pocket and paced in a rapid circle. What do I do? Natalie ran to the side of the bed, leaning over to whisper in Leah’s ear.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll see you soon. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Later,” Leah whispered, muttering out of her dream.

The bedroom door would not budge. Natalie grabbed the knob in both hands and wrenched with all her strength. It might as well have been a solid ingot of brass. She backed up, staring at it. “Dammit. Wait, I’m a ghost, right?”

Wham.

“Ow.” Natalie rolled to the side, propping her back against the wall as she rubbed her nose. “Maybe not.” Her fingers fell out of her vision, revealing the closet door. “Oh, yeah. Duh. Guess it’s a two-way closet.”

That doorknob felt warmer. She grasped it, looking back over her shoulder at Leah for a moment, before giving the door a yank. A rush of chaos wrapped around her, drawing her once more into the Prospect Park carnival. Behind her, the rear exit of the funhouse slammed; the kind of door you can only open from the inside. Eerie music filled the air, louder now, amplified by the dread of her impending fate.

Don’t keep the big man waiting… Todd’s voice narrated the text message through her mind. Natalie slung her backpack over her right shoulder with a wet splat, sighed, and went around the garish building toward the midway.

y the time Natalie emerged from the alley into the sea of other dead people, she trembled. Anxiety worse than any appointment with a court advocate, fear worse than any time she had been sent to the principal’s office, and shame at what she had done to herself closed in on her. She watched everyone around her talking. Just like some old stuffy adult party, they had clumped off in little groups and made conversation about things she did not understand. The poisoned martini woman flirted with a man in a suit who had several bullet wounds. Suicide girl was nowhere to be seen, something that made Natalie feel better. Maybe she got out alive?

Natalie leaned forward into a slow plod, moving among the boring adults and feeling very much like the only kid at a wedding reception for her father’s friend. She had no real idea of where to go or what to do, allowing random wandering to guide her.

At the end of a row of stands that appeared to sell cotton candy, funnel cakes, hot dogs, and other kitsch, a carnie stood by a small shed. Only somewhat larger than a phone booth, it seemed to be little more than a ticket-taker’s window. His presence would not have piqued her interest if he did not have the same face as Crazy Todd. It could have been his twin brother, minus all the overblown radio-personality exuberance.

She walked toward him, dodging the conversation clusters on the way. Some of the people were vaguely familiar, as if she had seen their faces on the news. One even looked to be the woman whose murder closed Candle Park. Trying to avoid eye contact, she kept her gaze on her boots, and stopped in front of the ticket counter.

The carnie looked at her, with an impish grin. “Good to see you.”

Natalie managed a weak smile. “I don’t think I belong here.”

“That remains to be seen.” He bowed.

“I’m not in New York anymore, am I?”

“Very perceptive.” He nodded. “Your time ran out. I think you did what you needed to do, but it’s up to him.” He pointed over his shoulder at the tent behind him. Peeling red painted letters on the side indicated it was the lair of “The World Famous Strong Man.”

Natalie shivered, thinking about the ghostly visitation to her parents being similar to a prisoner’s one phone call. Dread surrounded her as the carnival of the dead took on a more unearthly quality. Lights intensified, the ever-present creepy music moved to the forefront of her senses. Her gaze darted from one laughing dead person after another: deep bellicose guffaws, high-pitched cackling women, half-muffled polite chuckles. Each face stretched into a caricature of the person they once were. One by one, their joviality faded as the onlookers noticed her at the booth. The crowd of mangled people shifted in a mass behind her, all conversation ceased. They glared as if they knew she had a chance to escape and resented her for it. They might have just been curious, leaning in to see how the latest candidate fared, but their looming, warped faces scared the shivering back into her.

Shying away from the encroaching crowd, Natalie ventured a hesitant look down at herself. The stolen pants were again blood-soaked; she stifled a scream. There they were, two holes in her body: one just right of the sternum, and one in her gut.

Todd poked his finger into the higher one. “That’s the one that was the problem. Nicked the heart, you bled out in about ten seconds.” He shook his head. “Be happy he was holding it sideways like a moron or your face might not have stayed so pretty.”

She whimpered, offering a pathetic look.

Todd rolled his eyes. “Oh fine, take my fun away from me why don’t you. You’re a master of the guilty stare.”

She examined her wounds again, horrified at the thick fluid oozing from the holes. Their presence came on like a slammed iron door, reminding her where she was. With her jacket gone, the bone-gripping cold numbed her to the core.

“Right. I don’t normally give hints, but I like you. When you go in there, wait for him to speak first. He hates loud people, especially kids.” Todd paused. “I mean, he likes kids. He just dislikes loud kids more than loud adults. He’s really old, so he’s not used to women being bossy. Come to think of it, he’s not fond of anyone being bossy. Not saying you need to bow and scrape, just try to be polite. And oh yes… a few tears couldn’t hurt.”

She wondered if she had any left after all the crying she had done so far tonight. Natalie took a deep breath, and started for the door.

“Tut, tut.” He blocked her. “Do you have a ticket? I can’t let you in without one.”

She instinctively went for the jacket pocket and found her bare arm. She gaped at him for a second, her head starting to shake a negative. A moment of total panic hit her as she remembered she had given her jacket away. Natalie gawked with a defeated expression, and slouched. Her backpack slipped, landing at her feet. Through the half-closed zipper, came a flash of lime green. She squealed and squatted over it, almost tearing the zipper off to get it open wider. A moment of furious rummaging later, she yanked the WROK sticker out of the pack and held it up. Her nervous laughter made her elated expression seem psychotic. The key to her escape had been in her jacket before, the one the suicide girl took. She stared at her empty hand as Todd snatched it, wondering if the other girl would escape.

“Ahh, radio promotion eh?” Grinning, he patted her on the head and pulled the gate aside. “Go right on in then.”

Natalie let her head sag forward and stepped through.

“Oh, kid.”

“Huh?” She twisted to look up at him wearing a face as if she was ready to hurl.

“Don’t forget to duck that damn sign.” DJ Todd winked.

Her expression froze in a mixture of confusion and nausea; anxiety about what waited for her left the statement hanging in meaningless clouds. “Uhh… Okay.”

On the other side of the fence, a small dirt lot marred with a thousand footprints spread from the bustle of the crowd to the edge of a huge tent. She crossed the forlorn, empty space in three strides. The coarse brown canvas flap was ancient and heavy, almost burdensome to gather and shove out of her way. A small light broke up the vast darkness inside, illuminating a massive figure seated on a small wooden stool.

The man was unrealistic in his hugeness, more than twice as big as a person should get. His body swelled with muscles well past reason, and his darkish skin gleamed as if he had worked up a sweat. Bald, he had a massive handlebar moustache, bright red boots, and a leopard print singlet like a wrestler might. Were she not so anxious, the comical sight of a 1930’s-era strongman would have made her laugh. The most out of place thing about him, however, was the immense book that appeared to absorb the entirety of his attention.

Mr. Kouri? Natalie blinked, and then rubbed her eyes. No… can’t be.

He sat sideways to the entrance and about twenty yards in, not reacting whatsoever to her presence. She tiptoed closer, cringing at the squish her feet made in flooded boots. With painstaking care, she crept to the center of the immense tent, stopping at the edge of the circle of light. Near him, she seemed miniscule, smaller than a toddler would next to her father. She was not even as tall as his knee. Of course, now was not the time to question anything about this place or this man. As unbelievable as the entire carnival was, she had to cling to hope.

She tiptoed into the spotlight and sank to her knees, crawling the last bit of distance until she sat on the ground an arm’s length from a gleaming boot. The room hung in deathly silence, save for the scratching of a quill across paper. Natalie prepared herself to be ignored for a long time, wrapping her arms around her legs and staring into the darkness. Her mind wandered from her parents, to the shooting, to Etan, and to how thoroughly cold she was at that moment.

It astounded her to think that Leah was willing to kill herself. Guilt, perhaps, that her clingy friendship might have driven Natalie into the crowd that killed her. No, It’s not Leah’s fault I’m dead. It’s not Mother’s fault either, or Dad.

Todd had suggested she cry. He probably says that to everyone. She did not want to seem fake. Trying too hard might be the same as not trying at all. She drew her knees closer to her chest, shivering, waiting. Once or twice, she risked a peek upward, unable to suppress the urge to cower away from the gargantuan figure highlighted in harsh shadow. Something familiar hit her then. She thought this colossal man had taken on a form that was a combination of Mr. Kouri the shopkeeper and the character Hakim from Heart’s Quest.

She almost smiled. Is he trying to make me feel safe?

Natalie covered her face with her hands, thinking of her parents, and going over everything she would do differently were she given the opportunity to. Please, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll earn this second chance.

The giant remained stoic and impassive; the scratching quill crawled along her spine like an unreachable itch. Natalie opened her mouth, about to speak, but thought better of it. Mother came from a Catholic family, but Natalie could not remember her talking much about it. All of Dad’s family regarded Natalie as Jewish, so Mom must have done the paperwork when they got married. Neither parent had much of a sense of faith; she wondered what they would think of a circus strong man holding the book of fate. It almost hit her as funny that her future rested in the hands of The Great Hakim.

Leah would adore this.

She huddled down, picked at her boot, and scrunched herself forward to hide the “F*ck It!” written on her shirt. What had once been cool and rebellious was now embarrassing and irreverent. His outward appearance, whimsical as it may be, had to be how she perceived him in this strange non-dream. A faint gasp slid through her teeth as cold metal touched her chest, under the shirt. It slid up over her sternum toward the base of her throat. Natalie patted at the spot, but felt only soft wetness. A whisper drifted past, as if someone’s face was just behind her ear. The sensation of fingers covered in medical gloves prodded at her ribs.

A voice murmured from nowhere, foggy. “Oh man, this poor kid never had a chance. Are those the parents?”

“Yeah,” whispered a woman. “Can you tell them? They think she’s alive, I… can’t do it.”

She imagined her father forced to confront the image of her body lying in the alley. The touch of water enveloped her, a line of wavering frigidity along the sides of her body. Natalie hugged her knees tighter, wishing her arms could be around him instead of her own soaked legs. After months of no contact, to see him again under these circumstances created a hollow in her chest. She could not imagine how painful the sight was for him. The knowledge it was her fault he had to see that closed her throat off with a giant lump. Even Mother, after what she said about garbage, did not deserve it.

A sourceless light flashed in one eye, then the other. “No dilation response, she’s…”

Nothing they did to her was worth putting them through this. She pictured her father’s face the moment he first saw her in the puddle. The thought of his grief brought real tears. Natalie cried in silence, sliding down a worsening spiral of sadness. When a light pat touched her cheek twice, the whisper returned.

“Sorry kid, nothing we could have done. You were gone before we got here,” said a man.

“She looks so young,” said a woman, audibly upset.

Natalie shuddered, screaming in her mind. “No, please don’t tell them. Don’t do that to them.” Voice came to her sniffles, no matter how much she tried to stay quiet in this being’s presence.

“Well now, that took longer than most.” The thunderous tenor shattered the silence and shocked her out of her tears. The timbre of it rattled through her bones.

Natalie cringed; her gaze crept upward until she found the base of his chin. She could not bring herself to look higher. A tremendous hand reached down and cradled her like a tiny doll. He lifted her up and set her upon a knee that felt as though she sat astride a horse.

“Why are you here?”

“The DJ―”

The man shook his head, silencing her.

“I would like very much not to die today, sir.”

“Indeed, who does?”

Natalie’s hope shattered.

Was it that easy to screw it up? Of course, who wants to die?

That was a silly thing to say, wasn’t it―despite being truthful. She stared into the man’s chest, not wanting to seem rude by making eye contact.

“I… I… might deserve it for being stupid, but my father doesn’t.”

The giant’s head tilted back, an appraising rub of his finger crossed his chin.

“Mother too… I mean, my parents don’t.”

He twisted one end of his moustache; the thing was wider than Natalie was tall.

“Todd spent the time since I got shot pointing out how shi”―her face flashed hot and red―“umm, how horrible I’ve been to both of them. They shouldn’t have to suffer from seeing me dead.”

She looked down at her lap; the once-grey pants now black with blood. “I don’t know how many people wind up even getting a chance like this… Why he chose a screw up like me, I don’t know. I had a great life, real friends, and I just gave it all up.”

“Fine, I’ll tell them. Call the coroner,” said the echoing voice of a man, somewhere behind and above her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she convulsed in sobs. She folded her arms across her chest as thoughts of her father cradling her lifeless body filled her mind. “Please, they don’t deserve this.”

“Indeed.”

The figure lifted her off his knee by pinching her shirt. Held up like a piece of bait, she went still for a moment; her crying ceased. After an appraising glance, he muttered under his breath.

“You have too much unresolved karma. Not yet.”

She tried to speak, but found no words. Terrified, she flailed, fearing the worst. The massive hand flung her to the side. Her body careened into the darkness, flailing, trying to scream―but no sound came out.

Up and down lost meaning, as did time. The sense of falling became weightlessness. She was unsure of how long she remained in the air; it felt as though she should have hit the ground by now. Seconds of disorienting vertigo stretched to minutes. Natalie tried to relax, waiting for the inevitable crash. Distant murmuring voices floated around, mixed with the occasional static crackle of a radio. The sounds of far away traffic faded into her awareness, and then the Earth crashed into her from behind.

Damn, this is a big tent.

She tried to get up, but found herself unable to move. Natalie screamed in frustration, a sound produced only in her mind. Every ounce of her desire went into trying to push herself off the ground, but it was as though her limbs were made of lead.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy…” Her voice trailed to silence.

he sense of cold grew more severe along the back of her body than the front. Paralytic darkness held her down. She could neither move nor see, and the teasing sounds had ceased. Unsure if her eyes were open or closed, Natalie stared into nowhere, her mind swimming with fear and regret. A sound clicked in the distance, something mechanical; then came the wail of a woman crying. Mother. A running engine, idling, while warbling voices on small radios said unintelligible things, chopped into bits by sharp pops of white noise.

She felt.

Sensation returned; cold air on her chest, burning fire in her stomach―wetness, rough pavement under her cheek, fingers so cold they had gone numb. The pain rose until she could no longer remain still.

Natalie’s eyes shot open as she gasped. The alley was as she had remembered it, save for the presence of artificial light bathing her from the direction of her boots. Wispy raindrops hung suspended in the beams of headlights as time paused for a moment; then chaos erupted.

“Jen, Jen! She’s moving.” A man’s voice shouted from just out of her field of view.

Emitting a weak gasp of agony, Natalie pushed at the alley. Her hand slid over the rough paving, but she could not sit up. She stared into the night sky; the bullet wound in her stomach flared an angry ember of pain that shot down the nerves of both legs. The taste of copper filled her mouth, fluid gurgled in her throat as her attempt to breathe came out as feeble cough.

Help! I can’t breathe.

Natalie clawed at the air, a feeble attempt to grab her throat. A crowd came out of nowhere and surrounded her. Someone held her arms down and hands touched all over, pulling at her jacket. Warm liquid bubbled out of her mouth and slid over her cheeks. Wet cloth slid over her amid the snipping of scissors as someone finished cutting her shirt away; cold air washed over her naked chest.

“Mike, what the… She was…”

“Don’t think, Jen… Fourteen hours so far today, maybe we’re just seeing shit. Clear that airway or we will lose her.”

Rubbery gloves swiped at her, something plastic slid into her mouth. Someone else’s hands cradled her head, holding it still. The rigid tube sucked fluid out. Blessed air. She whined, taking a raspy, desperate breath, unable to move her arms away from whoever gripped them. A bright light hit her in the eye and she involuntarily recoiled.

Gagging.

“Stay with us, honey… You’re going to be fine.” The voice got quieter, as if the woman turned away. “Come on, move it.”

The sound of something heavy unloaded from an ambulance; the rattle of wheels on pavement.

She almost made out the face of a policeman with a penlight hovering. More men, and a woman in a blurry uniform surrounded her. Beeping came from her left, rhythmic, in time with her heart.

“I don’t believe it…” A different woman’s voice. “She was asystolic a minute ago.”

“Her lung is collapsing…” A strange man’s voice just above her. “That wound moved… I swear she was hit in the…”

“It’s dark, it had to be a shadow. Shut up and hand me a three-sider, we gotta get this kid downtown stat.” The woman’s voice got louder, pointed away. “Henry, this kid needs blood, we need her in transit yesterday… Sir, do you want to ride―”

“Of course,” said her father. He sounded far away and dream-like.

She wanted to see him, but could not move her eyes far enough to do so. A whimper escaped past a clear plastic mask over her mouth; the cool rush of oxygen tickled her lips. Hands cradling her face brushed gentle reassurance into her cheeks. Plastic crinkled, a hand pressed something sticky over her chest. Bloody air burbled between it and her side.

“She’s ready to go,” said Jen, one of the EMTs. “Stick her, I’ll grab the bolus, and we’ll need an 18G for the blood once we get there.”

Movement. Wet ground became weightlessness, then soft and warm. Painful jostling amid swirling lights ended with the ka-chunk of metal doors. A sharp bite inside the elbow of her right arm announced the arrival of an IV needle. A figure in blue labored over her, connecting a bag to it before adding another, larger needle he left capped. A man’s indistinct voice said something about fluids. He kept telling her she was going to be fine. I bet they say that to everyone. Her other hand went numb; she rolled her head toward the sound of both of her parents trying to reassure her from a bench seat. Dad squeezed what little color she had left out of her fingers.

A cough spat blood into the oxygen mask over her face. “Da… Mmm…”

“Shh, don’t try to talk.” The EMT put her hand on Natalie’s forehead. “Save your strength.”

The room rocked as the ambulance moved. A muted siren blared outside. The expression on her father’s face painted a mixture of every conceivable emotion all at once. Most astounding was the sight of him comforting Mom.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Rausch, I don’t know how we mistook this wound.” The woman’s voice faded into a murmur. “I honestly thought she’d been shot in the heart. When we found her, I couldn’t read a pulse.” The woman hesitated, an undercurrent of confusion in her voice. “I’m really sorry we scared you. I guess it was just a glop of blood on her chest. I’m so sorry; I don’t know how I made that mistake.”

Natalie stared at the ceiling, focusing at a cluster of bright square lights. The pain was overwhelming, but it was there. A smile squeezed a tear out of each eye. Ghosts don’t feel this much pain. The male EMT seemed worried at her happiness and continued to reassure her. Dad looked at her, past the apologetic woman. Father and daughter exchanged a knowing glance. The EMT’s weren’t wrong, at least not when they’d first found her. She glanced away; vaguely aware of her father reassuring the woman he did not blame her for anything.

She tried to look at her chest, a morass of tubes, blood, and gauze. It proved too difficult to move, and she relaxed, letting her head sink back. The t-shirt her mother so hated had been destroyed, not a scrap of it remained; Natalie did not miss it. Eyes closed, she resolved not to lose consciousness.

“Morphine?” asked a blurry male voice.

The woman spun away from Dad, looking at something on the wall. “No, BP’s too low, I don’t wanna crash her. It’ll have to wait for the doc in the box.”

The rocking of the ambulance persisted for what felt like only a few seconds until a sudden sense of falling snapped her out of a brief nap. The crew lowered the gurney onto its wheels and speed-walked her into painful bright light. It hurt even through her eyelids, and she tried to turn her head to avoid it. Her weight shifted on a turn, and then another. Hands fussed at her, the snipping of scissors teased at her ears. She did not look until the sense of moving stopped. Cold air hit her toes, the sound of tearing nylon croaked through the air.

Green-clad people surrounded her. Sheets gathered around her as a crowd of people lifted. Clean, dry linen brushed across her back; all of her clothing was gone. She did not care, whatever bed she was on felt so warm compared to a puddle in an alley, or hours trapped in a permanent soak.

Mechanical beeping echoed in a hazy reality of green-masked faces. The lights above her blurred to a field of pure white.

atalie’s eyelids parted, sliding open at the pace of some ancient, mystical door. Her head seemed like stone, a feeling similar to the hangover she got the first time her so-called friends gave her liquor. Groggy, she tried to look around. Her head wobbled as if it were a bowling ball balanced on a broom handle. A hospital room, plain and without decoration. A simple white vase to her left, at the forefront of a mass of flowers. The Hello Kitty on the card was a sure sign it was from Leah. Natalie paused for a moment of thanks that Leah knew she had made it.

Her father’s black coat draped over a chair nearby, though no one was in sight. She inhaled a few times, feeling alive, though each breath brought with it a measure of pain.

She was tucked in bed, the blanket neatly up to her armpits with her arms on top. Her right arm was loaded with IVs, her left with marks from old ones. Pain traced the presence of every rib in her chest with each inrush of air. She grunted as she raised both arms and ran all her fingers through her hair, finding it tangled but finally dry, though she wanted a shower as soon as possible.

Dry. The urge to cry welled up inside, but her body had run out of tears. I’m alive.

Her left hand, unburdened by IV needles, went under the blankets as curiosity took over, confirming what her breathing had been telling her, bandages and tape covered her abdomen, and a square gauze patch clung to her side just under her left arm around a plastic tube emerging from between two ribs. It led to a boxy contraption with three tanks. One had water, the other bloody slime. Natalie cringed away. The blankets, and a hospital smock, were her only clothing. A plastic tube ran over her right thigh and off the side of the bed. She blushed.

I guess they don’t want me getting out of bed at all.

She looked at the door, straining to hear voices in muted conversation intended to keep her from hearing. What few words she did make out led her to the conclusion her parents spoke with a doctor. They discussed the remarkably low odds of a bullet doing what it had done. The doctor told them the shot had ricocheted off the sternum and diverted into her lung. He had no explanation for how it missed the heart aside from some anecdote about ‘strange things happen all the time.’ The doctor seemed to credit her call for help from a cell phone as what made the difference between life and bleeding to death.

Natalie chuckled, even though it hurt.

Specks of black amid the drop ceiling distracted her long enough to count forty-two of them before a flash of ouch made her cringe and lose track. She glanced to her right at the window; the overcast day outside left her clueless at the time. It could have been early morning or just before dark. Sighing, she resigned herself to wait for someone to come in. DJ Todd’s admonition replayed itself in her mind.

“Duck the sign?” she whispered. “What the heck does that mean?”

With a muted gasp, she tried to shift her weight to better peek out the door. Three inches of gap offered little in the way of a hallway view. A nurse passed by, pushing a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. His dark skin, greying afro, and green army jacket seemed eerie in their familiarity. The man’s aimless gaze went wherever the jostling chair caused his head to lean. As soon as she looked at him, hollow eye sockets wrinkled with a grin and his face twitched in a pseudo-wink. It hit her.

Darnell… Darnell was DJ Todd.

Natalie fussed at the bed, trying to sit up. She wanted to run out into the hallway and hug him, say thank you, something… Her struggle, and the pathetic noises she made, attracted her parents. At the sight of them, she stopped trying to get up. Dammit… He’s probably gone already. She gazed upward.

“Thanks,” she whispered to the ceiling.

The look of somber acceptance on her parents’ faces brightened in an instant when they noticed her awake. Dad rushed to her left, while Mom came around the other side of the bed. Each of them held one of her hands.

“Natalie.” Her mother started to cry.

“Nat.” Her father, choking up, smiled.

“I made it.” She grinned in spite of the pain in her side, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Good morning.”

“It’s almost five in the afternoon, dear.” Her mother sniffled.

“Two days later,” added Dad. “You have been out for almost fifty hours.”

Natalie blinked. Fifty hours? That’s more than two days. Ugh, it felt like an instant.

“Food…” she choked, trying to sit up.

Dad adjusted the bed so she could sit up a little straighter. She clenched her teeth at the pain from the motion.

“Ow. Ow times a thousand.”

Both parents squeezed her hands. “Natalie, don’t ever do this to us again.” Her mother tried to sound angry, but could not.

She laughed into a wince. “Mom, you’ll be lucky to get me to go outside again.”

They glanced at each other before her father placed his hand on her forehead. “We’ve reached an agreement, hon.”

The color ran out of Natalie’s face. “You’re not…”

“No. Your mother and I are no longer capable of being involved with each other in that sense, but we have agreed to keep in close contact. We’re not getting back together, but you will have two parents again.”

“And no more lawyers,” added Mom.

Natalie’s attempt at a cheer came out as a rasp. “That’s awesome.” She sighed. “I just wanted you to stop trying to hurt each other.”

“After what just happened, I couldn’t…” Her mother was fast losing the ability to talk. “I’d endure anything for you.”

“Like Dad’s that bad…” She muttered.

He smiled. “You’re going to be here for a while. It’ll be a couple of days till the drain comes out of your lung, and we can take you home in a few weeks once the doctor feels safe letting you go. You’re not to try to get out of bed at all until the Doc okays it.”

Natalie smirked at the bag on the side of the bed. “Yeah, I kind of figured.” She cringed, shifting her weight. “I’ll take it, though. Beats the other option.”

They shared a knowing glance.

“Was that a bad dream, or do you remember the chicken?” Natalie squinted at her father.

About to answer, he paused as a nurse walked in. The woman reminded her of Mrs. Mendoza, only thinner and about ten years younger.

“Time to change the bandages.” She offered a pleasant smile as she pulled a curtain closed around the bed. “Your parents can stay if you want them to.”

She glanced at her father and turned bright red.

Dad nodded at the nurse. “I’ll be right outside, Nat.”

Once her father ducked out, the nurse tugged the curtains closed. “I’m going to give you something for the pain first.” She walked around to the right side of the bed and clipped a small syringe to an existing IV branch. After emptying one, she repeated the process with a second. Warmth ran up inside Natalie’s arm and left her feeling foggy. All the little nibbles of pain throughout her body faded away.

As if she had done it a thousand times before, the nurse peeled back the blankets and set about removing and reapplying the dressing around the drain. Natalie studied the pattern of black dots in the drop ceiling, not wanting to see what was under the gauze.

“They tell me you’re a lucky kid. The bullets passed right through without any serious damage aside from that deflated lung. They stitched you up nice. Everything looks good, no sign of infection.”

Natalie winced as the gauze separated from scabbing blood. Her mother held her hand as she whined. Rapid breathing calmed as the nurse applied clean bandages around the drain.

I don’t want to know what that would have felt like without the shot.

She turned her head to the side as the nurse changed the dressing on the abdominal wound, staring at her Mother until her gown tugged back into place

“I’ll be back later, sweetie. You did great.” The nurse excused herself after re-opening the curtain.

Her father waited for the nurse to get out of earshot, then ran his hand over her hair. “I think I had the same dream you did.”

“You left muddy boot prints in the living room.” Her mother muttered, staring at the wall as if lost in a trance.

“Sorry, I’ll clean that up when I get home.” Natalie offered a weak smile.

“That was… strange.” Her father sighed, easing himself into the bedside chair.

“Yeah.” Natalie exhaled. “Who or whatever that was, I’m glad it chose me.”

A moment of silent agreement passed between them.

A knock at the door drew their attention away from the unearthly topic. A pair of men in suits each flashed a badge as they walked in.

“Pardon the interruption, I’m detective Gregory”―he waved his badge at the other man―“this is detective Simon. Would we be able to have a moment with your daughter?”

The intense one on the left was bald, short, and stocky verging on pudgy. The other was about her father’s build and gave her a sympathetic glance. Detective Simon could have been Cory’s father, he looked like a poster-boy for NYPD meets Brooks Brothers.

“I don’t think she’s quite ready to―”

“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll help as much as I can.”

Her father relented, pulling her arm into his grasp for moral support.

“You were shot in the abandoned office on Fortieth Street?”

Natalie swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”

“You knew what kind of kids they were?” The taller one raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I thought they were my friends. I was angry with my parents and trying to fit in with a street gang.” She smirked at the silhouette of her legs in the blanket. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

The bald one, Gregory, jotted some notes in the pad.

Detective Simon kept writing. “Can you tell us more of what happened?”

“Traci, the other girl, babysat for this guy they called Rosario. She said he had a big stash of something, maybe heroin, maybe coke… I dunno. She knew right where he kept it and they wanted to steal it.” Natalie swallowed hard. “They wanted me to be a lookout, but I got scared and ran away. I, umm, know I should have called the police but I was afraid.”

“She’s been having a difficult time coping with our divorce,” said Dad. “She had a traumatic experience with an arrest a few weeks ago on shoplifting.”

“Natalie’s not bad,” protested Mother. “She was just acting out because of how we treated her.”

“Go on.” Detective Simon scribbled in his pad.

“I wasn’t gonna go back to them after that, but…” Natalie sent a guilty stare at her mother. “I got a bad case of the dumb after a fight with Mom. I cut school and went back there. Etan, he’s kind of the leader, was pis―angry at me for running away.” Her face hardened to a sarcastic impression of Etan. “He said since I didn’t want to participate I only had one other use.” She paused for the span of a few breaths, waiting for the pain in her side to ebb. “He told me to take my clothes off so the whole gang could…” She blushed, unable to say it in front of her parents. “I was like, no way. The bastard shoved me into the wall and stuck his hand down my pants.”

Her father’s grip tightened around her arm. Mother cried again.

“You’re gonna find this guy, aren’t you?” asked Dad.

“We got him already,” said Detective Gregory. “Little bastard had some kind of meltdown, ran into Saint Pat’s screaming about La Santa Muerte coming after him or something.”

“What is that?” asked Mother, glancing over her shoulder.

Simon answered. “Mexican saint of the dead, she has a lot of followers in immigrant communities.”

Natalie grinned, thinking back to the look he gave her as he ran down the fire escape. “I couldn’t move, and he was touching me…”

Detective Simon finished writing a line, and looked up. “Where, exactly?”

Her father grumbled. “I really don’t think you should be asking that without a psychologist present.”

Mother raised her voice. “Please, do you have to―”

“I assure you Mr. and Mrs. Rausch, it’s only so we know the extent of charges that need to be filed.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Dad, I’m not five. I can handle it.” Natalie summoned her most confident gaze before it fell apart due to coughing. “He grabbed my ass. He tried to reach around front, but my belt was too tight. He didn’t umm… touch my… you know…”

Detective Simon’s pen blurred along the pad. The heavy one gave her father a knowing look, as if both men wanted to get Etan alone in a locked room.

“He got pretty close though. I dunno what happened. I went from scared to pissed off. I stomped on his foot and he let go, so I turned around and kicked him in the ba”―she attempted to mimic the motion, but stopped short, clutching her side and cringing.

Detective Gregory put a hand on her knee to still the leg. “Easy kid, just explain. You don’t have to reenact it.”

She held on to her father’s arm, hissing through clenched teeth until the pain lessened enough to talk. “Nuts. He fell. He was always mean to me, and everyone else. I just kept kicking and stomping at him. He crawled away and they were all laughing and making fun of him coz he got beat by a girl.”

Detective Simon’s pen paused. “What did you do then?”

“I wanted to run home, but Traci kept fussing with my bloody nose. I guess Etan must’ve hit me or something when I was kicking him, I didn’t notice.”

“You could’ve run away? Were you being held against your will?”

Natalie sighed. “No, I just let her wipe my face, I should have pushed her away and run.”

Scribble. “Go on.”

“Etan came back. He stared at me as if the Devil had possessed him or something. He blocked the way out. I tried to go for the window on the other side, but he pulled this little gun out and said that he was mad coz I made him look like a pussy in front of the others.”

“That’s when he shot you?”

“Yeah, he fired all his bullets but only two hit me. Everyone ran. I didn’t feel it at first. I made it to the alley and fell over and couldn’t get back up.”

Her mother walked over to the window, shaking, rubbing her arms.

“Would you be willing to identify the shooter in a lineup? We have him in custody, this”―Detective Gregory flipped a few pages back in his notes―“Traci Jimenez you mentioned called us the next morning. Most of the others are likely to face some charges for failing to summon help for you.”

Natalie squinted. “They were all gonna stand there and watch him rape me, fuck ‘em.” She covered her mouth. “Crap. Sorry. I kind of feel bad for her though. Etan ditched the gun in a vent pipe on the roof of a building at Lincoln Place and Classon.”

Detective Gregory raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

She froze. Unlike Mom, she was a rotten liar. Maybe being half dead and on painkillers would mask her giveaway face. “Umm, he always dumps stuff there.” She described the crumbling group of pipes. “He’s pretty careless too, might have missed a fingerprint when he wiped it down.”

Her father made a subtle raised eyebrow at her. She winked.

Both cops scribbled in their respective pads.

Detective Simon looked up. “What about that lineup?”

“Lineup?” Natalie tried to sit up, but got pushed down by her father’s hand. “Forget the lineup, I’ll point him out in public. I’ll walk right up to his bitch face and say it. I’m not afraid of a wimp that needs a gun to handle a girl my size.” She eased her weight back into the bed, sweating from the effort of speaking.

The detective smiled. “That works too. Assuming your parents have no problem with it, I will have the prosecutor’s office contact you after you are discharged. There remains the chance we may have to move sooner, in which case we may need to do it via video feed from the hospital.”

Her parents looked at her.

She nodded, and then coughed. “Whatever. I’m not gonna let him walk.”

“It’s her decision.” Dad brushed the hair out of her face. “Looks like we’ll be in court.”

“You have one tough daughter there, good thing she had that cell phone.” The detective flipped his pad closed and smiled at them.

The two policemen offered some consoling small talk with her parents and made their way out after a moment. Dad walked them to the door and returned to the bed once they were out of the room.

“So… umm… can I get a cell phone?” She offered a sheepish look, biting her lower lip.

Her parents looked at each other. Dad went to answer and stopped, giving Mom a glance. She ran through a few test faces, and then smiled. “Let’s see what your grades look like in six months.”

Natalie grinned. “Deal.”

The Summer the World Ended, by Matthew S. Cox
(https://curiosityquills.com/kindle/tstwe/)

As far as Riley McCullough is concerned, her best friend getting ‘dragged’ off to Puerto Vallarta for the first two weeks of summer vacation was the end of the world―at least until the bombs fell.

Life in suburban New Jersey with her mother has been comfortable, not to mention boring, to an introverted fourteen year old. As if her friend’s surprise trip wasn’t bad enough, her expectations for the ‘best summer ever’ disintegrate when she gets sent across the country to stay with a father she hasn’t seen in six years. Adjusting to a tiny, desert town where everyone stares at them like they don’t belong proves difficult, and leaves her feeling more isolated than ever. To make matters worse, her secretive father won’t tell the truth about why he left―or what he’s hiding.

Her luck takes an unexpected turn for the better when she meets a boy who shares her interest in video games and contempt for small town boredom. In him, she finds a kindred spirit who might just make the middle of nowhere tolerable.

Happiness is short lived; fleeing nuclear Armageddon, she takes shelter with her dad in an underground bunker he’d spent years preparing. After fourteen days without sun, Riley must overcome the sorrow of losing everything to save the one person she cares about most.

blivious to the rambling voices in the living room, Riley McCullough stared at the shapeless white lump on her plate. They didn’t look like much, but her mother had found the sweet spot of garlic in the mashed potatoes. The salmon smelled fine and the asparagus looked perfect, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. She caught only one in ten words from the TV, something about stock markets, too boring to tolerate. A steady thrum from the central air unit was more interesting.

She slid her sock-covered feet back and forth over the linoleum. Sitting in a sideways lean, face propped up in her palm and eyes closed, Mom seemed as interested in food as Riley felt. Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t ever this quiet. Today had been the last day of eighth grade, and Mom should’ve been an explosion of questions about her day, what she wanted to do with her summer, and all sorts of the usual parental chatter that occurred every single night.

Riley pouted at her lap. The repeating series of dancing teddy bears on her red pajama pants mocked her with their vapid smiles.

“Your food okay, hon?”

Riley straightened in her seat, taking the weight of her face off her left fist. She let her arm fall flat on the table. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“What’s bothering you?” Mom attempted to sound comforting, but came off tired.

Oh, yeah, that too. In addition to Mom being strange, her plans for the most awesome summer ever had gone up in smoke. She’d get to spend the first fourteen days alone and bored.

“Amber’s parents are dragging her off to Puerto Vallarta for two weeks.”

Her mother made a weak attempt at a chuckle. “I’d hardly call that being dragged off.”

“They sprung it on her as a graduation present… we had plans. I can’t believe she’s gonna be gone for two whole weeks. It’s not fair. This is like the big summer before high school.”

“Riley… you’ve got the whole break ahead of you. Two weeks isn’t a big deal. Besides, what plans did you have? Hanging out at the mall?”

“Ugh, Mom…” Riley rolled her eyes. “We’re not mallrats. We were gonna try and start a guild.”

Mom set her fork down and worked her fingers over the bridge of her nose. “You’ll be a freshman in a couple of months, Rile. You can’t spend your whole life shuttered in your bedroom with video games. Have you given any thought to a summer job?”

“No.” Riley stabbed a fork into the lump of potatoes. “I can’t work. I’m only fourteen.”

“Fourteen? Wow, I had no idea.” Mom smirked, though she seemed distracted or exhausted. “I checked groceries when I was your age for a couple hours a day. I’d like you to consider it this year, but I won’t force you. Next year, young lady, is another story.”

Riley poked at her salmon. “I guess I could apply at GameStop or something.”

“Wow, no argument?” Mom pushed herself upright with visible effort. “What’s really bothering you?”

“You’re too quiet.” Riley stared at her plate for a moment. “You’re never this quiet.”

“Oh, I’ve just had a horrible day at the bank. Pritchett’s been riding me about the second quarter customer satisfaction figures, the Fed is coming in for a ‘routine audit,’ and I’ve got a city inspector giving me grief about the building. He can’t seem to understand I’m just the branch manager… I don’t own the damn place.” Mom deflated. “Oh, and Mr. Hensley thinks I’m going to Hell.”

“Pritchett’s the pudgy, bald guy that wears his tie so tight it looks like his head’s gonna pop like a grape?”

Mom laughed once, her expression bleeding to a wince. “Yes, but don’t repeat that at the Christmas party… you’ll get me fired. He’s the district manager, and a complete control freak.”

“Are you okay?” Riley stared into her mother’s eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Just a headache.” Mom closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. “Oh, and I heard that. Mind your language, Rile.”

Riley grumbled inside, wondering what Mom would think of the way the kids at school talked. She looked up, ready to argue, but the exhausted expression on her mother’s face stalled the argument before it started. “‘Kay.”

“Mmm. Hey, would you mind loading the dishwasher when you’re done? I think I’m going to pop some ibuprofen and close my eyes. Damn stress is getting to me.”

“Sure, Mom.” It’s my turn anyway. Riley glanced at her mother’s glass. “Is that water?”

“I already feel sick. Not up for the Manhattan tonight.”

“Oh, damn. I’ll call Guinness.”

“Hush, you.” Mom scoffed with a hint of a smile. “I don’t drink that much.”

For ten-ish minutes, only the clank and scratch of forks and knives on dinnerware broke the silence.

“Looking forward to your first day of summer?” Mom again tried to smile.

“Amber can’t even come over tonight… they’re leaving in the morning. I get to be alone for two weeks.”

“You can get started on your summer reading then. You haven’t even taken them out of the bag yet.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll jump on that right away.”

Mother stood, smiled, and wandered down the hall to the bathroom. Riley glanced through the open archway, the din of financial news from the living room a dull murmur in the back of her consciousness. Mom hadn’t questioned the attitude in her voice. Worry danced in her belly, but maybe the simple truth was she’d been too worn out to start a meaningless argument. They both knew Riley would wind up at least skimming through the books… probably in the last three days before school started.

September felt like an eternity away, too far ahead to worry about now. She picked at her food until the squeak of the bathroom faucet cutting off made her look up. Mom shuffled down the hallway with her eyes closed, swaying as if dizzy. After a moment, she made her way to the living room, bracing a hand along the wall for support. After eating the rest of the fish, half the potatoes, and two sprigs of asparagus, Riley shoved the rest in a small plastic container and fridged it. Mother hated throwing food out, even if it was green vegetables. Riley’s insistence on going vegetarian ‘for the animals’ lasted about six months. Still, pork or beef rarely saw the inside of their kitchen. Chicken and fish provided a routine break from quinoa and various all-veggie things she found online.

Why did Mom ask me to pack the dishwasher? She knows it’s my turn since she cooked.

She gathered utensils, plates, pans, and cups in no particular hurry. Amber would be waiting for her online, so at least they could stay up late tonight, mothers-be-damned. Maybe they could get two weeks’ worth of hanging out accomplished in a few hours. A squirt of detergent in the reservoir preceded her lifting the door with one foot and kicking it closed while stretching to shove the bottle back in an overhead cabinet.

Once the dishwasher started up, she crept up to the archway and peered into the living room. Mom sat askew in the recliner facing the fifty-inch flat screen, a hand on her face as if deep in thought. She had refused to let Riley connect the Xbox to the ‘main TV,’ declaring that one for ‘TV purposes.’ Three middle-aged men in suits sat behind a desk covered in strips of neon, debating stuff about Wall Street.

“You okay, Mom?”

“Fine, fine. Just waiting for the Advil to kick in.” Mother rubbed her temples. “Haven’t had a headache like this since”―she waved her hand around―“since I got promoted.”

Riley tiptoed closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

Mom took her hand, offering a weak smile. “It’s just a headache, Rile. Really, I’m fine. Don’t get yourself so worked up.”

“‘Kay. Yell if you need something.”

Mother shielded her eyes with her hand as soon as Riley let go to walk away.

“Another migraine?”

“Probably,” whispered Mother.

“Want me to call Dr. Gest?”

“If it doesn’t go away in a few hours, sure.”

Riley lingered at the door watching her mother for a few minutes. No alcohol, no nagging, not even the usual supportive talk about her lack of friends, and how she should try to make more. She’s gotta be exhausted. That job is killing her.

“Mom, take the day off work tomorrow. Let’s have a movie day… we haven’t done that in like months.”

“I’ll think about it.” Mother paused to take a few quiet breaths. “There’s a bunch of new Pixar ones you haven’t seen.”

“We’re out of popcorn.”

Mother looked up, forcing a smile. “Easy enough to fix that.”

Riley’s worry lasted another few seconds before she grinned and drifted away from the arch, dragging her feet on the way down the hall to her bedroom. Aside from one Captain Jack Sparrow poster above her headboard, she had decorated her room with video-game couture. Amber had accused her of murdering an older brother and stealing his digs. The theoretical location of the body had been a two-year running joke.

That girl likes pink way too much.

Three pillows covered in navy-blue linen formed a pad upon which she sprawled, propped up on her elbows before a thirty-six inch flat screen hooked to an Xbox sitting on top of two milk crates full of DVD cases. The spot in her computer desk where the PC should go contained a graveyard of old controllers, some smashed in anger, others worn to the point of death.

After putting on her chat headset, she kicked her feet back and forth while waiting for the console to power up. A moment later, she popped into the e-lobby for Call of Duty.

“Hey, where the hell have you been?” Amber’s yelling flooded her skull from both ears, making Riley cringe. “I’ve been bored off my ass for like an hour. Come on, Rile, the noobs won’t shoot themselves in the head.”

A few button taps put her in the same virtual space as her friend. DoomBear14 appeared on the line below her friend’s username: IH8Toobers.

“You need to de-cute your tag, Rile. You look like a squeaker.”

Riley grinned. “I like makin’ the old men rage quit when they get killed by someone with a silly name.”

“You’re such a bitch, Rile.”

“I know.” Riley examined her fingernails. “Piss them off, and they can’t play for shit.”

A flurry of other names filled in both sides of the roster, and soon the lobby screen switched to a level-loading image.

“Ugh, I hate Panama. Nothing but goddamn campers,” grumbled Amber.

“Crap, we got squeakers,” said a man.

Riley forced her voice up into a preteen range. “Hi everyone! This is my first time. I just got this game for my birthday. Can someone tell me how do I shoot?”

Voice chat erupted with the expected laughs, taunts, and ‘aww, leave her/him alone’ requests.

Fifteen minutes later, the opposing team realized Riley was the Irish word for ‘Troll.’ After twenty-two kills and four deaths, the entire other team called her a cheater. She giggled every time she got the drop on ‘DeltaForce187,’ and after the seventh un-answered kill, an incoherent roar came over the voice chat and he logged out.

“Victory for team Bear,” squeaked Riley.

Another two rounds came and went. Despite it being more of the same, it never got old. The simple tactic of sticking with Amber and working as a team protected them from the lone wolves, but every now and then, they’d land in a match with a competition squad and get soundly smashed―though twice she held her own enough to be extended an invite.

Until they heard she was fourteen.

A patina of camo-clad bodies, Eastern European backdrops, and bullets faded to an automatic routine.

“I still can’t believe you’re going to Puerto Vallarta for two weeks.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” said Amber.

“Wait, what?” asked a boy that sounded about their age. “In what world does that suck?”

Amber sighed. “There’s nothing to do there.”

“You could work on your summer reading,” said Riley.

“Go to hell.” Amber cracked up laughing.

“Jesus Christ, is this friggin’ high school? Come on, play the goddamn game.”

“Aww, someone’s got their old man diapers on too tight,” said Amber in a sing-song tone before lowering her voice to mock a man. “This is the virtual military, hut hut. Serious faces, please.”

Riley laughed, biting her lower lip as she snuck up on a sniper hiding in a stack of sewer piping. The player, a deep-voiced man, launched into a diatribe of obscenities after she knife killed him. She was pretty sure his anger stemmed mostly from the girlish squeal he let off as she scared the crap out of him.

“I found the knife button.” The cursing got worse when Riley giggled like a five-year-old.

She made her way down off the elevated position to the next best sniper roost on the map, the roof of a big warehouse. The spot was empty, but she hid behind a stack of what looked like concrete bags.

Four death announcements flashed by.

“I found the grenade launcher,” said Amber.

An expected series of complaints about the ‘noob-tube’ followed.

“Hah,” said a boy. “‘I hate toobers’ just killed people with a tube.”

“It’s called irony,” said Amber.

A minute later, Riley twitched when a digital soldier went by. The same sniper she knifed minutes before ran to the edge of the roof and flopped down in a prone position. She crept out, planted a C4 charge between his boots, and backed away to her hiding place.

“How does the semtex work?” asked Riley, again making her voice sound like a little kid’s.

Boom.

The sniper’s virtual body went flying like Superman to the middle of the map.

“Oh, I get it.” She giggled.

For another twenty minutes, the girls tormented that particular sniper until the round ended and the game dumped them back to the e-lobby.

Amber’s voice came over a private chat. “Hey Rile, it’s been like two whole hours, and your mom hasn’t bothered you once. It’s a miracle.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Riley dropped the controller and moved around to sit up, stretching and rubbing her sore elbows. “I think she’s getting sick.”

“Oh, that sucks. She drunk again?”

“She doesn’t get drunk drunk, just has enough to turn into the nag-o-tron 3000.” Riley glanced past the door, at the dark hallway. The murmur from the TV now sounded like some late-night show. According to the clock, it was 12:11 a.m. and Mom was still up. “Amb, I got a bad feeling. I’ll be right back.”

“Your mom is like the terminator, ‘cept without like the killing and stuff. She’ll kick it.” Amber yawned. “So what are you gonna do for two weeks?”

“I dunno.” Riley couldn’t look away from the hall. Something felt wrong. “Wanna bail on the trip and stay here?”

“I would ask but… the vacation is supposed to be like a surprise present for me. Be kinda crappy to do that, even if they are my parents.”

“Yeah… Uh, one sec. I wanna check on her.”

She peeled the headset off, stood, and walked out into the hall. More canned laughter broke the silence in intermittent bursts between jokes only an old person would understand. With her fingers tracing the wall, she snuck up to where the corridor opened to the living room. Half hidden behind the corner, she peeked at her mother who remained seated in the recliner in the same pose she’d left her in.

“Mom?” whispered Riley. “It’s late. You should go to bed.”

The curtains on the TV behind the host’s chair saturated the room in an unearthly dark blue light. With the volume way down, she couldn’t make out why the guest was laughing so much. She couldn’t even tell who it was aside from he was someone famous―but not so popular she could place where she’d seen him.

“Mom? You look pale.” Riley stopped at the arm of the chair and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mom? Wake up, it’s like midnight.”

“Hmm?” Mom let off a disoriented moan. “Midnight?”

Riley shivered at the sound. “Yeah. Come on. Go to bed. You need to call out tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the doctor?”

“I’m not going to work tomorrow.”

Mother leaned forward in the chair and reached for the coffee table. Her fingers grasped at the wood four inches to the right of the TV remote. She tried again to grab it, missing. Mother tilted her head up at Riley with a confused look, as if she couldn’t understand why the remote wasn’t in her hand.

“Mom?” Riley clutched her mother’s shoulder after she looked down and tried unsuccessfully for a third time to pick up the device. “Mom, you’re scaring me. I don’t care if it’s midnight, I’m gonna call Dr. Gest.”

“Wha…?” Mother looked up again.

The whites of her eyes had gone blood red.

Riley stepped back, covering her mouth. Mom gazed into space, with no trace whatsoever of recognition or awareness. After a few seconds of silence, she slumped back in the chair, mouth agape.

Riley screamed and stumbled away.

She stood for a few seconds after her lungs emptied. Mom’s chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths. The room spun. The voices from the TV sounded like they were inside her head.

“Mom!” Riley shrieked again. “Mommy!”

Mom didn’t react.

What just happened? No. No, this isn’t real. Mom’s not sick. She ran two circles around in front of the TV, looked at Mom again, and sprinted to her room. Six seconds passed as she stared dumbstruck at the Xbox lobby.

Why am I in my room?

She turned on her heel, glancing at the weak moonlight coming in through the kitchen windows. Mom? Oh, shit, Mom!

Riley ran to the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone with enough force to knock the base off the counter. She punched 911, not breathing until she heard a ring tone.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

She gazed at nothing.

“Hello? This is 911. Do you have an emergency?” The woman on the other side muffled the mic. “No, it’s not dead, I can hear someone breathing.”

“Uh…”

“911 Emergency. Do you have an emergency?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you sound like a kid. Are you okay?”

“Yes… no.”

“Take a few breaths, and tell me what the problem is.”

Riley burst into tears. “Mom. My mom…”

“Easy, sweetie. Take a breath and tell me what happened?”

“She’s sick.” She babbled through a few sobs. “Her eyes are red. She’s not moving.”

“Try to stay calm, sweetie. Your mother needs you to stay calm. I’m sending people to help.”

“Okay.” Riley sank to her knees in the middle of the kitchen, bawling.

“Don’t hang up, okay, sweetie? Stay with me until they get there.”

She sniffled. “‘Kay.”

“How old is your Mom?”

“Forty.”

“Tell me what she’s doing right now.”

“I’m in the kitchen.” Riley coughed and sputtered, unable to stop crying. “Hang on.”

She crawled to the three-step stairway from the tiled kitchen to the carpeted living room. Mom hadn’t moved.

Riley looked away, not wanting to see her like that. “She’s slumped in a chair staring at the ceiling.”

The voice on the phone blurred, becoming an indistinct series of comforting lines, likely read from a flash card. Riley offered the occasional ‘mmm-hmm’ or ‘huh’ as bits and pieces of words snagged on her consciousness. She scooted closer, inch by inch, until she could reach up and hold her mother’s limp hand. Though her skin was warm, her contact got no response. Riley curled up against the side of the recliner.

Three minutes later, red and blue lights flooded through the front door window. The same meaningless word repeated from the phone. Riley looked up at the silhouettes of a pair of cops in the frosted glass of the front door. Answering the bell would require letting go of Mom.

“Can you get the door, sweetie?” asked the woman on the phone.

“Um.”

Riley stood on autopilot, trudging to the foyer as a distant siren gained in volume. A blast of thick June wind pushed the air conditioning away as she opened the door. One police car had parked out front, half nosed into their driveway. An ambulance rounded the corner at the end of the block and gunned the engine. Riley stared up at the cops as if they were aliens. One grasped her by the shoulders and eased her out of the way while his partner hurried inside.

“Is there anyone else here with you?”

Riley blinked.

“It was only a headache,” she muttered.

“Are you alone?”

“My mom…” She looked to her left over the front lawn as the ambulance doors banged open and a gurney clattered out. “Just my mom.”

The Summer the World Ended, by Matthew S. Cox
(https://curiosityquills.com/kindle/tstwe/)

Caller 107 started off as a strange dream, which I turned into a couple pages of written text with the simple title ‘Natalie.’ At 22,000 words, it was too small to be a novella and too long to be a short story. I’d been sitting on it for many years, thinking it too odd a thing to show to anyone.

I wanted to thankJames Wymore for convincing me people might want to read it, and Lisa Gus for the suggestion to expand it to novel length. Without their confidence, you would not have read this.

Born in a little town known as South Amboy NJ in 1973, Matthew has been creating science fiction and fantasy worlds for most of his reasoning life. Somewhere between fifteen to eighteen of them spent developing the world in which Division Zero, Virtual Immortality, and The Awakened Series take place. He has several other projects in the works as well as a collaborative science fiction endeavor with author Tony Healey.

Matthew is an avid gamer, a recovered WoW addict, Gamemaster for two custom systems (Chronicles of Eldrinaath [Fantasy] and Divergent Fates [Sci Fi], and a fan of anime, British humour (<- deliberate), and intellectual science fiction that questions the nature of reality, life, and what happens after it.

He is also fond of cats.

Now that you have completed this book, we hope you will leave a review so that other readers may benefit from your perspective. Authors like Matthew Cox live and die by your reviews, after all!

Please visit http://curiosityquills.com/reader-survey/ to share your reading experience with the author of this book!

Quite Contrary, by Richard Roberts
(http://j.mp/19MGKYA)

The secret of having an adventure is getting lost. Well, Mary is lost. She is lost in the story of Little Red Riding Hood, and that is a cruel story. She's put on the red hood and met the Wolf. When she gives in to her Wolf's temptations, she will die. That's how the story goes, after all.

Unfortunately for the story – and the Wolf – this Little Red Riding Hood is Mary Stuart, and she is the most stubborn and contrary twelve year old the world has ever known. Forget the Wolf's temptations, forget the advice of the talking rat trying to save her, she will kick her way through every myth and fairy tale ever told until she finds a way to get out of this alive.

Exacting Essence, by James Wymore
(http://j.mp/1qAIGgM)

Remember waking up late in the night after a nightmare? Your mother holding you tight and whispering it's all just a dream and everything would be all right? She lied.

Evil clowns haunted Megan's dreams for years. Even though nobody ever said she was crazy, she knew they were all thinking it. With her life falling apart, she turns suicidal until a new therapist suggests the impossible: dreams are real.

Most, of course, forget theirs as soon as they wake up. Megan is not so lucky. She's also not so powerless.

Appetizer:

- Book Cover

- Copyright & Publisher

- Title Page

Main Course:

- Chapter One: Crime, For Serious

- Chapter Two: Over Her Head

- Chapter Three: Sore Point

- Chapter Four: On Thin Ice

- Chapter Five: Blind Solomon

- Chapter Six: Can’t Get Through

- Chapter Seven: Glass Tiger

- Chapter Eight: Slipping Away

- Chapter Nine: Suicide Queen

- Chapter Ten: Wanna Be

- Chapter Eleven: Little Dog, Big Bark

- Chapter Twelve: DJ Crazy Todd

- Chapter Thirteen: La Niña Blanca

- Chapter Fourteen: Playing Chicken

- Chapter Fifteen: No Amount of Sorry

- Chapter Sixteen: Across the River

- Chapter Seventeen: Follow the Monkey

- Chapter Eighteen: In Vitae Veritas

- Chapter Nineteen: Cold Comfort

- Chapter Twenty: The Mirror Always Lies

- Chapter Twenty-One: BFF

- Chapter Twenty-Two: Night Watch

- Chapter Twenty-Three: The Judge

- Chapter Twenty-Four: The Magic Bullet

- Chapter Twenty-Five: Duck the Sign

Dessert:

- A Taste of The Summer the World Ended, by Matthew S. Cox

- Acknowledgements

- Thank You for Reading

- About the Author

- More from Curiosity Quills Press

Table of Contents

- Copyright & Publisher
- Title Page
- Chapter One: Crime, For Serious
- Chapter Two: Over Her Head
- Chapter Three: Sore Point
- Chapter Four: On Thin Ice
- Chapter Five: Blind Solomon
- Chapter Six: Can’t Get Through
- Chapter Seven: Glass Tiger
- Chapter Eight: Slipping Away
- Chapter Nine: Suicide Queen
- Chapter Ten: Wanna Be
- Chapter Eleven: Little Dog, Big Bark
- Chapter Twelve: DJ Crazy Todd
- Chapter Thirteen: La Niña Blanca
- Chapter Fourteen: Playing Chicken
- Chapter Fifteen: No Amount of Sorry
- Chapter Sixteen: Across the River
- Chapter Seventeen: Follow the Monkey
- Chapter Eighteen: In Vitae Veritas
- Chapter Nineteen: Cold Comfort
- Chapter Twenty: The Mirror Always Lies
- Chapter Twenty-One: BFF
- Chapter Twenty-Two: Night Watch
- Chapter Twenty-Three: The Judge
- Chapter Twenty-Four: The Magic Bullet
- Chapter Twenty-Five: Duck the Sign

- Preview: The Summer the World Ended, by Matthew S. Cox

- Acknowledgements
- About The Author
- Thank You for Reading
- More from Curiosity Quills Press
- Table of Contents