Chapter 6: Harsh Realities

Riding on the bus to Chicago many things came into my mind. It disturbed me that I felt no guilt over killing Kristin. It still didn't make sense that she would turn on me like that. She called me one of them. Who was this mysterious 'Them'? Perhaps there were others like me. I was determined to find the answers about what was happening to me. The only persons I knew of who would know were Father and Uncle Martin, but both had abandoned me.

Perhaps, I was being punished for some great wrong or was I being conditioned for some greater purpose. I was not yet thirteen and had already lost everything twice over. The only thing that I could concentrate on now was survival.

I took in the sights from the back seat window when Pete slithered next to me.

"Hey, M, it's a little lonely back here." "Then move to another seat."

Pete laughed. "You're funny, little girl, so tell me.

Why are you headin' to Chicago?"

"To look for my father," I said and it was somewhat true.

"Why? What he do, ditch ya?" Pete asked and took offense at his words.

"No!" I shot back at him. "Father would never do that. He loves me."

"Oh, it's like that, aye," he said and looked at him confused. "Look, little girl, that ain't love. Fathers don't fuck their daughters."

"Clean up your mouth," I said in a scolding tone. I couldn't believe this strange guy was making assumptions about my father when he didn't even know me. "My father never did that."

"Then why did he disappear?"

That was the question I wanted to learn the answer to. I assumed in my mind that he was in a hospital somewhere and not able to tell anyone where he was. One thing I knew for sure is that he wasn't dead.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I don't even know how I survived. All I want is to go home, but I can't. My mother's dead, and my father might be somewhere hurt like I was."

"Then tell me. What you runnin' away from? Chicago be a bloody rough town. Ya sure ya up for it?"

"I have to be. I promised my mother I would take care of my father, which means, I have to find him first, before..."

"Before what?" Peter questioned when me words trailed off into oblivion.

"Forget it," I said. I realized I had said too much, and there was no way to take it back. "Please, just stay away from me."

"Why?" I stayed silent to his plea. "M, what are you afraid of?"

"You wouldn't understand," I said and turned away from him.

"Try me," he pleaded.

"No," I said quickly. The last thing I needed was is stranger getting involved in my problems.

I felt as if I was protecting Pete. Danger tainted my future, and I didn't want Pete hurt by the things I might do. I longed for a friend in my selfishness, but I had to put my own needs aside to keep others safe. I had the feeling that my rages would only worsen with time.

This time Pete listened to me and moved away to the other end of the bus. The rest of the ride was quiet, except for a feuding couple who was thrown off for starting a brawl and saw that kind of violence served as soft entertainment. While other passengers looked shocked at the scene than relief of it being over, it made my heart cried out for more.

"I like a good brawl, too," Pete said from across the long seats.

I turned away not wanting to look at him. I did my best to ignore him for the rest of the ride even though he tried repeatedly to get my attention. In exiting the bus I ran as fast as I could in hopes of avoiding him.

When I reached the outside of the despot Pete caught up with me.

"Hey, M, wait." I stopped. Running from him didn't work. I felt as though I would never get rid of him unless I had broken down my defenses and talked to him. "M, look. Do you have a place to stay?"

"Yes." I lied. "I have an uncle. He'll be here any minute, so get out of here or..."

"Or what? He's gonna kick my ass. Don't feed me that line. Ya ain't got nothin', do you?"

"I'll be fine on my own."

"M, there's a lot a mean people out there. They'll eat a pretty girl like you up. That's why there's people like me... To take care a people like you. I could take real good care a you if ya let me."

He grabbed my hands as if he was trying to disable me. "Let go of me."

"Why? Are ya gonna t' do t' me what ya did to that guy back at the despot in Vermont? Pretty little monster, aren't you?"

"Stop it! I don't want to hurt you. Don't make me!" He gripped harder, this time pulling back on my hair. "Don't make me!" I shouted.

My hands took on the black glow and my eyes glimmered in a reddish tint. I could see my own eyes reflected through his pupils. His face took an expression of fright as he released me. I had burned him and set fear into his heart. I took no time to contemplate the pain that I inflicted on him. I ran onto the streets of

Chicago. I wanted to put as much distance as I could between myself and the man called Pete. Harsh realities of an unknown future flooded my mind, but I had no time to think, feel, or even care about what I had done.

When I felt a safe enough distance I stopped running. Now, my only problem was finding a decent place to sleep. I didn't have much money and figured that I needed to save it for food.

In an abandoned alley I found a door shaft. My curiosity caused me to follow it. It led me to some dirty rusted and smelly rooms full of pipes and a big pot broiler. I went through several doors before I found an old cellar room. A roll-a-way bed was folded up on the side of the wall and crammed against a ton of boxes.

My exhaustion left me craving the dirty worn mattress. Sleep called to me. The door had an inside lock, so I felt secure if anyone would try and come in on me. I was grateful for the rest and fell into sleep easily.

I don't recall what time I woke, and I didn't really care. As I saw it I had all the time in the world. I went exploring this new place I had found or had found me. I discovered a staircase at the north exit and wondered if it were some kind of apartment building or hotel. My answers lay just beyond that door.

It was marked floor one, although the orange paint seemed to be crumbling. I walked through the door and hoped to see people marching up and down the hallways but what I saw I perceived as more disturbing.

There was nothing and no one. There was just the echo of my own voice. "Hello," I called, but no one answered. I walked down the long musty hallways searching for signs of life.

I found nothing but old apartments with cracked walls and long ago abandoned furniture that looked at least twenty years outdated. None of them appealed to me, until I reached the door at the far end of the hall.

As I walked through I noticed a large studio with an old dusty piano covered in plastic and old worn sofa overlooking an army of spider webs. I felt as if I entered the domain of a dormant vampire. All that was missing was a coffin and a pair of friendly v-bats.

I remember Father telling me stories of the vampire bats; not until this moment did I believe him. I went back down to the basement to find some cleaning materials-a broom and mop, some floor cleaner and perhaps some blankets and hopefully a hot water tank. I had already tried the sink in the studio's bathroom, and the only water I found was cold.

I couldn't find the hot water tank, but it I did find the cleaning solutions I was desperate for. I hated living in filth, and if I were to make this place my home I insisted on a clean environment.

There was no heat in the building, but it wasn't a critical concern at this moment. Winter wouldn't show its face for many months. By then I would have hoped to figure out something else. I cleaned the studio as best as I could even though the floors still looked grungy and there were spots on the furniture.

Hunger hit me suddenly, but I dared not venture out until morning. My sheltered existence left me quite unprepared for the real world, but I was learning fast. I would trust no one as I faded into this drab existence.

I slept most of the night without the dreams to wake me, but I still thought of the fire and how I murdered Kristin. Perhaps I did feel remorse about what I had done.

Taking to the streets at the crack of dawn had been my plan, but with my courage pending it was almost noon before I gained the nerve to take on the venture. Many pedestrians crowded the sidewalks as cars jammed the streets. I wondered why all of these people were in such a rush. Had their lives been so intensified that they couldn't share the slightest courtesy while going along their merry way?

I was small for my age which made me feel even more like a tiny ant in a city full of spiders. My stomach growled, because I hadn't eaten since I left Vermont. I entered a small deli looking for anything that would curb my hunger.

I picked up a loaf of white bread and a gallon of orange juice. I walked to the front of the store and asked for a pound of cheese. As I reached into my jacket pocket I noticed two men with sky masks run up to the register. One had a gun threatening to shoot the clerk.

"Give me the money, bitch," one of them shouted.

The woman behind the counter screamed. Her panic clouded her judgment.

"Now, bitch," the other said.

"Do what he says," I shouted to her. She said nothing. She just cowered in the corner and cried. She reminded me of Kristin those last few moments before her death.

"Hey, you," one of the robbers said to me. "Get that money box open. Ya don't, she dies."

"Why not," I said and crawled over the counter. I didn't know how the register worked, so I decided I would try to utilize my new-found power, but for some reason it wasn't working.

"Where's the fuckin' cash?" One of the robbers screamed. "Ya don't open that box in two seconds I'll blow your fuckin' head off."

Anger took over me as I felt a surge of power fill me. I touched the opening of the drawer. The black cloud penetrated the metal and plastic until the drawer popped open.

I grabbed the money inside and handed it to the robbers who then flew out of the store. I followed them as I heard the sound of police sirens.

"Hey, thanks for the help, babe," one robber said before driving off on his motorcycle.

I ducked down the nearby alley, because I feared I would be blamed for the robbery. If that happened I feared my return to the orphanage. I made my escape easily and returned to the studio. I entered through the basement shaft so no one would see me. I was determined to be the phantom of Chicago.

That evening I sat down eating the remainder of the cheese I had snatched from the deli. The robbers who had unwittingly made me an accomplice gave me an idea. I was too young to get a job. No one would hire a twelve-year-old girl who was supposed to be dead, twice over. If stealing was my only course of survival then so be it.

A thief with the power to melt things and set them back to their original state, stealing would be easy. I tried it out that night. I used a blond wig that I found in the dresser next to the roll-a-way bed.

The streets of Chicago after dark looked more like a light show. Vagrants of very kind came out to play. I was used to the polite niceties that I experienced in the sheltered world my parents created for me, but everyone I had met up with were either rude, selfish or filled with the notion of paranoia.

I stood on the street corner that was simply called Zeet. A man who seemed to be drunk crashed into me. I felt him trying to reach into my jacket pocket. My hand touched him. I felt the surge of power grow through his screams. I released him long enough for him to escape, but he left something behind. A bag of treasures awaited a new owner. That owner was me.

I grabbed it and raced back to the studio. I dumped the contents on the floor. It revealed more than a dozen wallets and a plethora of jewelry. Rifling through the wallets I found photos, identification and also credit cards, keys and little notes of no real use.

I had become the invader of these people's lives. Pictures of happy families came to haunt me. I remember Father, Mother and I posing for family

portraits, and the afternoon spent reading and telling stories. We were not the typical family, but we were a happy one.

I couldn't look at the pictures anymore. I took the ready cash out of all the wallets along with the credit cards and jewelry and threw the rest of the trash back in the bag.

I counted all the money. It added up to eight hundred and twenty-eight dollars. I added it to the twenty I already had, but even with the gray army bag full of stolen memories cowering in the corner I felt as if those faces were laughing at me.

"We have what you don't," they were saying.

I could have had that life with the Stevens if only I hadn't developed this affliction. Now I had to live my life as M. I saw her as a separate entity, someone that was not me. Who was I? I wondered. Not this petty thief wanna-be existing in a no heat, no electricity rundown abandoned building. How oddly my life was

turning out. I wasn't quite thirteen and already a criminal.

As the months passed I became more and more distraught about using my power, or rather my curse, to steal and punish those who wouldn't fend to my will.

The day of my birthday came along and to reward myself I bought a birthday cake at the local bakery. It said, 'Happy Anniversary Benny & Samantha,' but at least it was half price. It was raspberry swirl, my favorite. I made myself drunk with it. I ended up eating the entire morsel.

I convinced myself the next day that I had a grand party with one hundred of my closest friends. I believed the illusion until I vomited the stall cake I had consumed the night before.

I canceled my normal outing that evening because of my self-induced illness. August was upon me and autumn would soon be here. It would be getting colder soon, and I needed to find a way to give this building heat and electricity. I would have to go underground to find the valves that would set the power on.

It occurred to me that all this time that the weather never bothered me. In fact my body adjusted easily to whatever weather followed, but I thought that it would be nice to live in a real house.

I went out two days after my birthday only to find the streets of Chicago to be almost barren. I hated nights like this, but it didn't matter to me since I had all the money I needed for the time being.

My first prospect came when a middle-aged man approached me. It looked as though he had been drinking, but he was not heavily intoxicated. "Hey, sweet thing," he said in a thick English accent. "Looking for company, luv. Got somethin' here ya might like."

"And what's that?" I said.

"Come over here, and I'll show ya."

"No thanks," I said and turned away.

"Got fifty that says ya will."

Out of curiosity I came towards him. "So what do you have for me?"

"How's about you an' me have a party?"

The prospect didn't seem all that appealing to me, but I had done worse things to gain people's trust. That was the key of being a successful theft, gaining trust long enough for a person to let their guard down. Then once they were vulnerable enough I went for the kill. This man looked desperate enough to make himself a victim.

I found out as we were walking that his name was Ned. If it were his true name it remained a mystery to me. Names had a way of labeling people, a practice that I had no part of. I could be whoever I wanted to be. Tonight I was the Lolita of deception.

"Is this your place?"

"One of um. Don't be shy. Come on in. Never heard a one you girls bein' shy."

So he thought I was a whore. Well, maybe I was or perhaps just a slave to my own trickery. Ned led me to his bedroom after I turned down his offer of a drink. He kissed me on my neck and started to feel for my breast.

"Young and tender... just the way I like 'em."

"Money first," I said. Part of me didn't care about the money. I didn't want him to stop. I was barely thirteen years old and already I found myself having my first sexual encounter.

"How you like it?" he asked as he handed me the money.

I didn't know how to answer, so I simply said, "Surprise me."

As he turned around to take off his clothes I stuffed the money in my shoes. I heard on the street of other girls doing that, because their clients would sometimes rob the money back.

Ned plopped on the bed and became impatient that I had not yet joined him. "You comin', or do I gotta get rough."

"You want me. You be patient."

I threw my jacket off and disposed of my gray tee shirt, and then proceeded to take off my denim jeans. I throw my clothes over my shoes on the floor by the bed. I was a little frightened at first but as Ned pulled me down towards him I became excited. I never felt anything like this before.

He put his hands to the privacy of my forbidden zone, and for the first time I wanted him. He practically tore off my panties and entered me thrusting himself sideways. He kept moving until I was under him, and he had the power over me or so he thought. I lay there thinking he would never stop. Except for a minor twinge I didn't feel much of anything. Finally he stopped in his exhaustion and lay sweat-ridden on the edge of the bed.

As I got up to collect my things I noticed the blood on the sheets. I had read about it in my parent's medical books. I was true. I had lost my virginity, some called it, 'the loss of innocence', but I lost that on the day of my mother's murder. Did this really signify the passage into adulthood? I think not. Committing the act itself didn't mean you automatically gain its knowledge. I had caught a glimpse of it when I awakened from my coma.

As I started to dress the man called Ned began to stir. "Hey, we ain't finished yet. I didn't know I had me a virgin."

"You got what you wanted, and now it's time for me to be on my way."

"Not so fast. I paid for it, now you're mine. You ain't leavin' 'til I say so."

I felt the anger swell in me as he said the words. I was still determined to leave even though Ned was determined to stop me. He tried holding me back against the door when I kicked him in the groin with my knee. He came at me again. He reached the side of my face with an open hand. I felt two sharp slaps as I fell to the ground.

The change had started. Ned kicked me as the metamorphosis took over my body. The creature inside me had been released. Ned screamed in terror at the sight of my red glowing eyes. The ingrown fangs came out of my mouth and the deadly claws wrapped around his neck.

"Let go!" he shouted. "Get away!"

"You hurt us!" I screamed and jabbed my right hand claws into his chest. At the moment his eyes went dead and blood spewed from his mouth. I had killed him.

It was funny to me that I didn't feel any guilt over his death. I just rummaged through his things and took what I wanted from his treasure trove and left.

It was only when I returned home did I realize the full extent of my crime. I didn't fear being caught. Who would believe a little homeless girl living in an

abandoned studio could kill anyone. Even if it did turn out that the authorities found out. I would just simply say that he raped me. Who would know the difference? The evidence was already there.