Lovely Vicious

“I love you too.” I grin.

I watch her go through the window, half wanting her to come back and half wanting her to never come back. After everything I’ve put her through, through the nasty remarks and my hidden jealousy, she’s still my friend. I’m a less-than-stellar person, but she’s stuck by me.

The days blur. It feels like I’ve been out of school for weeks, but it’s only been a few days. When I’m not sleeping, I research Northplains on Google, looking for any hint of what Jack did. The newspapers archives from back then don’t help. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Two men. A baseball bat. Something that scared Avery and Wren into silence. Did Jack beat them? But why would that convince him to give Belina money? Was Belina the wife of one of the men?

Belina was the wife. It all falls into place. She was the wife of one of the men Jack took a baseball bat to -

Mom screams, the sound echoing from downstairs and into my room. My blood goes cold, pumps slow through my body.

Mom doesn’t scream like that except in her nightmares.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

My feet fly down the stairs, jumping the last few and landing painfully but pain doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is getting to the door, getting to her, fighting off whoever is making her scream like that –

“I’LL CALL THE COPS!”

“C’mon, Georgia. We both know you won’t. Just be sensible about this.”

Mom clutches the door for support, body twisted in terror around it. The man at the door is stocky, in khakis and a gray shirt, with a black beard and the kindest face I’ve ever seen – crevassed with smile lines and crow’s feet. But I know the truth behind it. And it sickens me. The man sees me and his face lights up in a smile.

“Isis! Good to see you –”

I pull Mom away and slam the door in his face and lock it. She trembles, terrified, and clings to me as I lead her to the couch to sit down. I pull the curtains, lock the back door and windows, and grip my cellphone tightly as I approach the door to check if he’s gone. Nope – his fat, bulky ass still looms through the mottled glass of the door.

“Isis, c’mon! Georgia, tell her to open the door! I just want to talk!”

“No!” I shout. “Nobody’s talking, Leo. Leave us alone!”

“You can’t be serious! I drove all the way up here for a friend. I’ve been on the road for a whole week! I’m dusty, sweaty. Just thought I’d stop by, since I was in the neighborhood. Could use a glass of water. How about a little hospitality?”

“How about you clear off my front steps before I call the cops?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong, you little bitch!” Leo’s voice switches from amiable to irritated. “Now open this door and let me talk to your mother!”

“This is your last warning, Leo. Leave, or I’ll call the cops.”

“This is an adult problem, not for snotty kids. So I’m only go

I suddenly can’t breathe.

“C’mon, bitch! Open up!”

He knocks on the door, hard, and the knocking turns to pounding, and Mom screams and covers her ears. With every hard pound she flinches and screams louder, burying herself into the couch, convulsing like each second of sound is a physical blow to her. This is not better. This is not healing. He’s hurting her all over again just by being here. The slams get louder, and I grab a heavy porcelain statuette from the table with one hand and start to dial 911 with the other.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“There’s – my name is Isis Blake,” I hate the shake in my voice, the shake in my hands. “1099 Thorton Avenue, Northplains Ohio. There’s a man trying to break into my house.”

“I understand. I need you to lock all doors and windows and get into a room.”

Leo roars, using his shoulder to pound the door down, like a furious bull.

“Isis?” The emergency responder’s plea is insistent. “Talk to me, Isis. Do you know this man?”

“He’s my mom’s ex-boyfriend. Please, you have to hurry!”

Something shatters, and I drop the phone as I watch in horror – Leo’s hand punches through the glass panes on either side of the door, and he’s reaching around to open the knob. Mom’s scream turns primal, shrill, and she flees from the couch and runs up to her room.

The door creaks open slowly, and he stands in the doorway, dark eyes gleaming. I’m the only thing between him and her. Me, a seventeen-year-old, clutching a heavy porcelain statue behind my back and shaking like a butterfly in a hurricane.

“Step aside, kid. I’m just here for your mother, not you. I don’t wa

I look up, slowly. All the nights of Mom’s crying, all of her sad smiles, all of the days she couldn’t bring herself to leave her room and face me flash through my mind.

“You already have, asshole.”

He narrows his eyes, taking a step towards me. It’s a heavy step. My heart sinks with it. What hope do I have against a two-hundred-something pound guy? He carves wood. He hunts deer. He’s dangerous.

“Last chance. Get out of the way.”

“Over my dead body.” I grit my teeth.

He chuckles, sour and sinister. “You got guts. I like that.”

I’m trembling. I’m trembling so hard I can feel my teeth chattering and my fingers twitching. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t fight this demon. I can barely fight my own.

I hear Mom’s wailing from upstairs and grasp the statue more firmly.

But I have to fight. There’s no one who’ll come save me. No one will rescue me. No one saved me when Nameless held me down. No one rescued me in the shower afterward, not Mom, not Dad, not my aunt. I am alone. No one has ever tried to rescue me.

So I have to rescue myself.

Leo lunges for me, and I duck to the side and slam the heavy statue on the back of his neck. He flinches, roaring in pain, and whirls around and grabs me. He lifts me like a paper doll, a bag stuffed with cotton, something light. I’m easy to throw. I’m flying, sailing through the air for seconds, and then sharp pain sends shockwaves of agony tearing at my spine. I’m on my hands and knees, staring at the floor as it wobbles, dims, then comes back bright, then dims again.

Mom. I have to help Mom.

Leo’s heavy footsteps thump towards the stairs.

I try to scream to warn her, but the blackness consumes me.

***

Isis Blake’s house is intimidating.

It shouldn’t be – it’s a tiny one-story that looks like it’s survived at least two house fires and a tornado. The yard is unkempt and the railings and gutters are rusty and clogged with leaves. The paint peels like a bad sunburn, the windows are fogged with age and smoke exposure. The wind chime clinks pathetically against itself.

Is this really where she lives? I check the address Kayla gave me just to be sure. My GPS points straight here. It’s a hole, a hovel. I expected a grander palace, with the way Isis struts about with perfect self-confidence. It’s plain and run-down and exhausted looking, the total opposite of her. It’s a dump.

And yet it’s still intimidating.

It’s because I know she’s inside. Her; the girl who wars with me, the girl who smirks at me, the girl who gave me a kiss that still lingers when I close my eyes.

The girl I injured. Twice. No, three times? How many times have I crossed the line and she just hasn’t said anything?

I get out of the car and walk up to the door. The sound of someone screaming is faint, and disturbing. I look around for the source, but there’s no one on the street. It must be a horror movie blasting loudly in a nearby house. I shake my head. Stop, Jack. No distractions. You’re going to apologize for that bullshit you said the other day, and you’re going to do it right now.

I’m so wrapped up in what to say when I first see her, how to play it off like I’m cool and composed, that I don’t see the glass at first. But when I get to the first step on the porch, I freeze. My shoes crunch glass. The mottled windowpanes for decoration on either side of the door – one of them is smashed.