by D.L. Miles
Threads of Chaos
Mercy Singer died five months ago, but the doctor’s brought her back. Too bad she came back damaged; she’s started to have visions of people dying, and conversations with people that like to vanish. She thinks she's crazy, but when new kids Eve and Tristan Holmes suggest what she's seeing might be real she begins to wonder. What if she came back for a reason?
Prologue
The moon floated high over me, merely a sliver in the sky and not giving me much light to see by. My boots pounded the ground, the familiar adrenaline running through my veins and numbness a person only got when running for their life; I remembered it from when I was a child playing tag, trying to escape being “it”. Too bad, I thought, that if I was caught now, I would probably die. No, I knew that I would.
My terrain changed from sleek pavement to soft grass as I rushed past the mausoleums and headstones, my pursuer not far behind. If I survived this, what kind of story would it be? I wondered.
The night had started off so well; sneak out to the Bay, meet up with friends and have my first drink. Okay, I wasn’t really as interested in drinking as I was in seeing my friends, but it was still why I left home without telling anyone. It was so stupid, I saw that now. Leave home with a killer on the loose? What would my parents say? I wondered if anyone was looking for me yet…they must have realized I was gone…right?
Breath coming fast, I hopped over a small grave marker and landed on my foot wrong, twisting my ankle to an unusual angle. I fell to the earth below and cried out, clutching at my injury before quickly glancing behind me.
There was nothing there, the world quiet save for the gentle whisper of the leaves.
“What?” I breathed. He had been there, just behind me; I couldn’t have outrun him already. Maybe he gave up? I thought hopefully. I imagined it was possible, but given that this man had said I was “perfect” I doubted it.
A sudden blow came to my side and my face was pushed down into the soft dirt next to me, a freshly dug grave. Well, I thought, he’s still here!
I was on my stomach now when the man stood up, pinning me down with his shoe and pressing down onto my back. Struggling, I tried to push him off, but the angle was wrong and I couldn’t do anything. A fifteen year old girl versus a grown man? Not only a grown man, an experienced killer.
My heart was pumping, unable to handle or even believe such a situation. It was now or never though and I decided that I really wanted to live. I wanted to graduate from high school and I wanted to go to college. I wanted to see my friends again and I wanted to have my first kiss. I didn’t want to die.
The man gripped my dark brown hair in his hand and hoisted me upwards. I couldn’t feel the pain in my ankle anymore, my focus on him.
“I hate it when they run,” he said to himself, his voice deep, “it makes this so much harder.” He laughed, short and loud. It reminded me of my father’s laugh when he just couldn’t stop. And the thought of my dad made me fight even harder. With the last of my strength I swung at the man, managing to strike his face. It didn’t do much, only interrupted his ramblings to himself, but it was enough for his grip to loosen on my hair.
I ran for everything I had. This was my only opportunity and I wasn’t going to waste it as I headed for the first streetlight that came into view. My ankle started to scream at me to stop, the sharp pain running through my entire body, but I wasn’t about to give up. I was determined to not end up on the morning news, the third girl killed by the Balefire Bay Butcher, making him an official serial killer.
Blood trickled down onto my new leather jacket as I ran, reminding me that my ankle wasn’t the only thing that was hurt. The man had also cut me when he grabbed me in the forest, slashing at my collar bone when I had tried to get away. Now that was what had hurt the most; I had felt the blade slice right across bone.
As the incandescent light hit my face, I didn’t stop to bask in its glory. I could hear the man, the killer, just behind me, shouting profanities for hurting him and what he was going to do to me when I was caught. If, I told myself, if I’m caught. Just as I was about to pass the streetlight I saw two policemen walk around the corner of the building. I smiled, thinking I was saved as they saw me.
But a rough hand grabbed my arm and spun me around, bringing me face to face with the killer. The cops shouted something as I came to a grinding halt, the man’s grip being unbearably strong. A knife was in his other hand, and then suddenly it was plunging into my ribcage, a twisted smile on his lips.
“You’re safe now,” he whimpered, a strange amount of sorrow and happiness in his brown eyes, “it’s okay. You’re going to be okay now, angel.”
I stumbled backwards and he pulled the knife out. As I fell I heard something go off, a shot from the police maybe? There was more shouting and I heard more than I felt. My head contacted with the concrete sidewalk. I couldn’t see or hear what was going on around me now. The world was beginning to blur while I stared up at the sky, grasping at my wound. The blood felt wet as it coated my fingers, mind still trying to grasp what was happening. What was I supposed to do now?
Something thudded at my feet and a blurred policeman came into view. The walkie-talkie on his shoulder was buzzing as he applied pressure onto my wound. I hadn’t felt the knife go in, it only pinched, really. But now I could feel it searing, and a grunt escaped my throat. He was saying something to me but I couldn’t make out what it was.
My bloodstained hand fell beside my face, looking for something, anything that would make the pain go away. The clouds shifted across the moon and soon my breathing slowed, coming in white puffs beside me. I closed my eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of the night.
