I watch
the rain reflect off the streets of this city. My city. My home in a
long line of homes. It rains every day here in Orlando. Like
clockwork. Barely drizzle now, it’s not enough to affect the number
of tourists walking around downtown.
Orlando
is a strange place. Every city in the world has its own personality,
good or bad. But not Orlando. The Little Town that wants to be a Big
City. It lacks personality because its existence is based solely on
catering to tourists coming in from all corners of the Earth.
Tourists who blend in to one faceless, nameless crowd.
I
guess that’s why she stands out. She’s not a tourist. And
although no one in this moving mass of people notices her, I do…
The
small, frail girl stood invisible by the payphone. Soaked and dirty,
she had obviously been living on the streets for some time now. Not
the first homeless or lost child in this city. She pushed the long
strands of dark hair from her face as she dug in the pockets of her
cut-off jeans. Four quarters. A nickel. Three pennies…Penny. Enough
for one last call. Maybe Penny would talk to her this time. She was
fully aware of how badly her hand shook as she pushed in the last
numbers.
Two
rings book-ended a long pause and then: “Hello?”
Her
throat went dry. No response escaped.
“Hello?
Who is this? Rebecca, is this you?”
Tears
flooded her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment. She wiped them
away and hung up the phone. It was ungraceful. She looked around,
expecting to see someone in the surrounding crowd laughing or
staring. Maybe looking away as they shook their heads in pity,
avoiding eye contact so they would not have to be involved. She
expected to see something. Anything. But all she found was nothing.
Not a soul knew she existed. She was truly invisible.
Her
throat contracted, catching her off guard as the pain came forth in
another flood of tears. She tried to stifle the sobs but knew it was
a losing battle. Not here, she thought. Not like this with all these
people. This was not the place where she could do what she knew she
had to do. If she was invisible, let it stay that way. Let
them find me long after I’m gone.
As she
headed back to the darkness of her alley ‘home,’ surrendering to
its cold and heartless embrace, a pale teenager looked up from the
reflection of city lights off rain splattered streets. His long black
coat was out of place in the warm spring night. But no one noticed.
He was truly invisible, as he silently followed the girl into the
shadows.
The
sounds of the city continued. Bad bar bands mutilating Jimmy Buffett
or the latest Top 40 song. A horse and carriage clomping on
cobblestone at a grotesque cost per ride. Drunken, happy tourists
coming off their afternoon buzz, loudly segueing into another wild
night of bar hopping. All interrupted by the sounds of screams and a
chainsaw.
At the
end of the street, a small group burst out of a haunted house
attraction, spilling onto the sidewalk with laughter. In the doorway,
an actor dressed as Leatherface waved a chainsaw in the air, taunting
the long line of patrons waiting for their turn to face the terror
inside. He gave a final swing at the fallen group, receiving one more
scream before disappearing back into the flashing lights and smoke
behind him.
Adam
stared at the victims with a slight smile, revealing pearl white
fangs. His dark blue eyes widened as he stroked his hairless chin. He
loved being the street barker for the House of Horror. Every night
filled him with a rush of energy. There were times he couldn’t
believe he actually got paid for dressing up and playing outside host
to the endless stream of people pouring through their gate. Most were
folks looking to test their bravery. Some were true horror fans who
couldn’t leave Orlando without paying their respect. But to Adam,
everyone was the same. Fans he could entertain just by being himself.
He
swirled his stylish black cape out into the night air and raised his
prop walking cane. He stood quite dominating in his surroundings.
This despite his thin build and barely twenty-something age. He
turned his head and quickly selected a visibly nervous woman in line
to focus upon. He stared unblinking through the back of her head. The
woman unconsciously moved backwards and slid behind the safety of her
husband’s wide frame. The crowd laughed at her reaction, and Adam
felt the surge of power once again.
“Good
mourning, Milady. Welcome to the House of Horror! Do you have your
organ donor card with you?”
She
let out a squeal and squirmed further behind her spouse. The crowd
rejoiced in her fear. Adam continued boring a hole through the
husband’s round body, so as not to break eye contact with his
victim. True to form, the woman peeked up over her husband’s
shoulder to see him still staring. She let out a scream and buried
her face in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Not even
in the attraction yet, Adam thought, and
I have her scared out of her wits.
He
threw his head back and let out a villainous laugh, mocking the
terror awaiting them inside. It echoed past the rooftops of the
surrounding buildings.
Two
silhouettes peered down at the cattle standing obediently in a
straight line outside the haunted house. From up on the rooftops,
they could see everything that happened downtown. It would soon be
time. The bottom of a thumb pressed on a pointed tooth. Blood bubbled
out of the small puncture. Slender feminine hands with black nail
polish pulled the wounded thumb away from its owner’s mouth. Black
lips parted as a soft pink tongue danced across the wound. Then
cheeks caved in as the thumb was sensually sucked inside a warm wet
mouth. Yes, it would soon be time.
Moving
the discarded boxes and bags of garbage, the small frail girl settled
in beside the shelter of a rusted Dumpster. This was ‘home.’ Had
been for almost six days now. She had wandered around downtown for
three days before she found the privacy and seclusion of this spot.
The cardboard ceiling she wedged between the Dumpster and the brick
wall was soaked from the rain, almost useless now. But that wouldn’t
concern her much longer. Her stomach twisted in pain. God it hurt.
Four days without food. Soon, that wouldn’t concern her either.
She
first saw the broken bottle two days ago. She almost tripped over it
when she was digging through the surrounding garbage and had
accidentally kicked it across the alleyway. She remembered thinking
how strange it was she felt compelled to retrieve it. It had been
sitting next to her plastic garbage bag ‘bed’ since then. Only a
reach away for when she needed it. She kidded herself she was keeping
it for self-defense, in case someone tried to attack her in the
middle of the night. Or maybe to ward off rats that tried to take her
spot away from her. But she knew the real reason why she kept it
close.
She
held the bottle out in front of her face. What little light the
alleyway allowed bounced off the jagged edges, making the glass look
almost sacred. Religious. Like the way the light tried to break
through the stained glass windows in the church Mom forced them to go
to three times a week. She could even block out the bellowing of the
Reverend, getting lost in stained glass like that. How many hours did
she stare into those patterns, waiting for the light to finally win
and pierce the colorful thickness holding it back? Funny. This broken
bottle was no different. They were exactly the same. Both there to
deliver God’s message.
She
held out her other arm. Palm up. She turned the sharp edges at a
forty-five degree angle to the exposed forearm. In high school, Karen
Stovall once told her most people who sliced their wrists did it
wrong. Well, Karen hadn’t actually told her. It was shared with the
popular girls. Karen Stovall never spoke to her directly. No one in
that clique did because they didn’t know she was alive.
Karen
had said most people sliced across the wrist. And although you’d
bleed, it wouldn’t kill you because the blood flow would come out
too slowly, especially if you didn’t cut deep enough. No, Karen
said the real way to do it was to cut long ways, down the arm. Not
even a paramedic could repair your arm in time to save you.
She
felt the tip of the pointed glass press into her skin. People who
committed suicide went to Hell. Pitiful. She sneered. Her last
thoughts were religious programming. The same religious bullshit that
drove her to this. According to her mom, she was going to Hell
anyway. The Bible said so. Simply because she was in love. In love
with a person God said she couldn’t be in love with. It didn’t
matter if Penny didn’t love her back. God shouldn’t punish people
just because they fell in love with the wrong person.
She
felt the jagged edge enter her flesh. So
strange, she thought. Not
the way I expected it. I’m not scared. I’m not crying. I’m at
peace. I’ve failed at life. It’s time to leave.
Something
moved. She caught it from the corner of her eye. It happened so
quickly. A dark figure lunged out of the shadows. Its hand reached
for the bottle. Naked fingers sticking through a worn leather glove
reached for her arm. The reaction was instantaneous and purely
reflex. She pointed the bottle at the figure as her body slammed
against the far wall. The figure kept moving towards her, closing the
gap, completely unafraid of the weapon held at him. She attempted to
scream but a strong hand clamped across her mouth.
“You
should not be out here, Milady. Bad things happen back in the
darkness. It is far too dangerous for someone of your potential.”
The
tiny girl cowered into the corner, her mind filled with terrifying
images. He’s going to rape me. Tear my
clothes off and fuck me. Like Mom always warned. He’s going to beat
me, strangle me and no one will ever know. He’s going to kill me so
I’ll never escape. Never tell. He’s going to kill me. Kill me.
Yes…Kill
me. Then I can leave this pain.
She
held her shaking wrists out, letting the bottle go limp in her dirty
fingers. She relaxed, surrendering her fate to the stranger. He
removed his iron grip from her face.
“Are
you going to kill me? Please?”
The
dark figure tilted his head to one side as a bird would. His gravelly
voice didn’t try to mask its confusion. “Kill? Alas, such
pleasures are forbidden to me. I am only here to care for you. Are
you hungry?”
The
confusion spread to the girl. Her own voice escaped as a whisper.
“Hungry?”
“Yes,
you must be. Come with me, young princess.”
The
dark figure offered his hand. Her bloodshot eyes focused on his thick
fingers for a second, and then she took it without any further
concern for the consequences. The powerful black man easily pulled
her to her feet with one simple tug.
She
hadn’t realized how average-sized her giant assailant was until she
stood next to him. He couldn’t be more than 5’10.” Still
towering over her five-foot frame but normal none the less. From what
she could make out of his face, he was an older man. Maybe sixty.
Deep lines cut across his skin and swollen bags hung under his eyes.
Poor man looked as if he hadn’t slept in forever. Maybe
he’s as homeless as I am. But for as burnt
and bizarre as he looked in—what was he wearing, a suit? Not a
business suit though. More like something a butler would wear in
those movies about rich people—as burnt and bizarre as the stranger
looked in that beat up suit, he gave off the most harmless aura. It
was his eyes. So brown. So gentle. Why didn’t she see that earlier?
"What
is your name, Milady?”
She
noticed she was still holding his hand, like a child would do with a
parent. “Rebecca. Rebecca Anne.”
The
old black man smiled, revealing brown teeth behind his cracked lips.
His breath smelled of cherries. Not Cherry Coke or a breath mint or
anything like that. Just cherries, like the prepackaged kind wedged
in juice you would eat from a little jar.
“Rebecca,”
he said, rolling the words off his tongue with an unsure thickness.
He walked the trusting girl back to the warmth of the city. “Rebecca
Anne…Oh no. That’ll never do.”