Usually my chapters are longer than this so i need to elaborate...
3. The Victim
That night was the scariest night in my entire life. I will never forget the terrifying images of Phoebe, Mark, and Justin’s faces the last time I saw them. I didn’t want to forget my family, but even more so I didn’t want to remember them like this. Twitching, convulsing, faces broken in pain. I had never seen so much pain.
Without being aware of it, I slowed down. I was tired, and the fury that had driven my feet before was dwindling into grief.
The night was silent; the moon hovered overhead like an orb in the sky. Its surface was covered in imperfections: patterns and formations that made no sense to me, its face creased as though it too was suffering.
I closed my eyes. The tranquillity was overwhelming. There was no noise at all, except for the sounds of laughter and music coming from the buildings to my right: the noises of some old pub or greasy bar.
I inhaled. A waft of something repulsive flew into my lungs, and I choked, disgusted by the scent. It was something like stale chips, stagnant alcohol and cheap perfume, with an under scent of sweat.
I looked over to the right; below the grimy walls of a pub was a grid covering a basement window. The window had been flung open, and the pub noise was streaming out of it.
I suddenly realised where I was; I had run all the way through the lanes in the dark part of town. I was on the south side of Beacon Hill. I’d covered at least a mile and a half. Not stopping to admire my sprinting skills (I’d been charged with adrenaline anyway so I guess it didn’t really count) I plunged, just like I did in any other situation, straight into panic.
Southside had been on the news the other day: some kind of murder, or worse. I shivered. That could be me next. Images sprung up in the dark, my imagination playing games with me. The withered branch of a tree became a hand, the distant scream of a police car siren was a ghostly wail, but when an innocent pile of rubbish bags became a dead body, I cut myself off. I didn’t want the fire to start again in my head.
I moved, swiftly but silently, through the alleys and lanes, imagining I was a cat, or a mouse, or a fly. Something small, that didn’t attract much attention. There wasn’t anybody around, and though I was grateful for that, it also made me nervous. Did people avoid this place on purpose? Where were the drunks and murderers and drug dealers?
I clenched my fists tightly together. That hurt, so I let them relax and fall loose. I felt something fall from my hand, a clatter resounded through the stillness. I froze. Then I remembered the object Justin had given me before he… before he died. I’d assumed I’d dropped it or something when I was running.
Now I wanted to keep it. I bend down and carefully lifted it, checking for signs of damage. It was too dark to know- until a cloud slid away to reveal again the halo crowned moon. In the moonlight I could see everything.
It was a box, I could see that now, covered with dog-eared paper in faded rose-pink. The cardboard- I assumed it was cardboard because it was curling at the edges where it was damp- was thick and the lid stuck. It took me three tries to tease it open, though I knew Justin could’ve done it in one.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Justin would know what to do.
I couldn’t look at what was in the box. So I looked up. Ok, bad idea. I could see the street I had fetched up on clearly now, because of the moonlight. I hadn’t gone far: I must have only turned a couple of corners because I could hear the same music as before, only louder now, coming out from a door on my left.
I was at the front of the pub. The sign swung above me, naming it “The Executioner’s Axe”. It wasn’t a promising looking pub, and I knew I was still in Southside because the streets were still grimy and the buildings in need of repair.
While I was still standing there, a group of people spilled out onto the street in front of me, mostly men in their late teens or early twenties, all drunk. I shrank back, automatically trying to blend in. Damn it- I could never blend in with hair like this. Bright reddish gold, like a flame in the darkness. But that got me thinking about fire again…
“Oi!” Looking back, I can’t be sure that what that man had said had been directed towards me. The one who had spoken- he looked about eighteen, one of the youngest of the group, was so drunk he wasn’t entirely looking in my direction. But, like the idiot I was, still clutching the box, I turned and ran.
They say motion is the thing that attracts the most attention, you can see it even from the corners of your vision. Maybe if I had stayed still and quiet in the shadows, he might not have noticed me. Maybe not.
But he noticed me now.
“Hey! I was talking to you!” I turned, petrified. Why had I come here? Why Southside? Why couldn’t I have stayed with the firemen? Safe, safe people who I could trust.
To my horror, he followed. I ran crazily through the streets, drawn towards any light or sound or person who could save me from this. I thought I could outrun him. I thought I could leave him behind me. But he was surprisingly swift, even in his drunken state, and he gained on me quickly.
I might have escaped though. There was a side street, dark and thin, and it was full of bins. I could have hidden myself. I could have… but his friends had taken a roundabout route, and I found my exit cut off. Ice plunged through my veins.
“I told you to wait!” I spun around to glare at my pursuer, only to find him right behind me, so close I could smell the beer on his breath, and see that he was younger than I’d thought. He looked about sixteen, only a year older than me.
I mumbled something incoercible.
“What was that?” He asked, and when he didn’t get a reply, “What did you say!”
Such an unpleasant voice, ringing in my ears, I felt every bone in my body tremble and poise, ready to shatter.
“Nothing.” That wasn’t much louder than before but he heard it.
“What are you doing here?” Questions, so many questions. The blackness started spinning around me, or maybe I was spinning, flicking my head back and forth, trying to work out where his voice came from, echoed with jeers from the others at the end of the street.
“Nothing.” I repeated, “Nothing.”
“Why don’t you come with us then?”
“Yeah, come with us.”
I shook my head, but his hand whirled across my face. It would have stung, but I was numb from head to toe. I was going to be the next person in a Southside murder headline. Or maybe they wouldn’t kill me. Maybe they’d do worse…
I couldn’t help it. I tried to run. It was pathetic, I only led myself nearer to the bigger group of people. I stared from side to side, my hands flying out, kicking, biting, punching the air.
They converged down on me, pulling at my clothes, tugging at my hair. The box was out of my hand, I was on the floor.
I curled into a ball. It was always like this in the end. Giving up.
