Bitter Angel

by Megan Hand

  “My friend is going to die unless I get her out of here.”

  “I…I…” The whites of his eyes were turning red as he fidgeted. “I didn’t even give her that much,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I dosed you all the same.”

  “Shit.” The words slipped out. My head sank to the bed. “I have to get her help. I have to get her out of here.”

  “They promised me,” he babbled, attention nailed to the wall across from him. “They said it’d be easy. The girls never remember. Best time of my fucking life.” His lower lip quivered, and he started…sobbing.

  I don’t have time for this!

  “Okay.” I wiggled myself upright. My face was fiery with pain, stiff with drying tears. “So you can undo what you’ve done by letting me go.”

  He turned glistening eyes on me. “They’ll kill me if I do, and my—” He stopped abruptly and continued with, “I know it. They already threatened me earlier when I wanted to back out.”

  I don’t give a shit! I wanted to shout at him, but the ounce of rationality in me kept me momentarily sane. I asked the question that I’d really wanted to ask since he’d appeared in the room.

  “Is she really still breathing?” As drunk and sick as I was, I was pretty damn sure I had felt no pulse. “Tell me.”

  It took a full thirty seconds of pure silent agony for him to give me the smallest nod. “Her pulse is low. They have her on a monitor to make sure. They promised me that if it hit the danger zone, they’d let her go.”

  They have her on a monitor? I was stunned silent. These guys were for real.

  He wiped his face with the back of his forearm. “Now I don’t know. I’m a first-year pharmacology major. I wouldn’t even know how to help her if I could.” He was bawling again. “I was just supposed to make the drugs. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  This conversation was on the fast track to nowhere. It was time to be blunt now that I knew he probably wasn’t going to harm me. I was beginning to maneuver myself into a stand when he pulled a knife on me.

  My heart jumped into my throat. “But you just said…” I faltered because, truthfully, I didn’t remember most of what he’d just said or how I was going to finish that sentence.

  However, the way he pulled me to my feet, slower and gentler than he’d been earlier, told me not to panic. He held me close and reached his arms around. I felt the merciful release of the zip tie. His expression was caught between hopelessness and frenzied desperation.

  He lifted the blade to his mouth, signaling my silence, and whispered, “I’ll let you out the window, but you have to go quietly and be quick. Here.” Tossing the knife on the bed, he gathered his designer T-shirt and jerked it off, shoving it into my shaky fingers.

  I shrugged into it. It hung to the middle of my thighs.

  As Trigger threw open the window, he ducked out to scan the street, then nodded to me. “Go.” His eyes were glossy again. A brawl erupted outside the bedroom door. He repeated urgently, “Go!”

  His hands clenched mine as he helped me out onto the fire escape. It was rusty and rickety, and the pads of my feet curled away from the icy metal. I prayed it would hold as it groaned from my weight. Looking down, I could see we were at least ten floors up. The altitude made my stomach drop. I tilted, flexing my fingers on the window frame. Snap out if it, I told myself. Noticing his hands still on mine, I squeezed them, not in friendship or even in gratitude. I didn’t know why I did it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, getting emotional again.

  “What’s your real name?” I asked briskly.

  He gritted his teeth.

  “I’ll tell them you helped me,” I swore. It was only a half-lie. He definitely helped me, but I couldn’t completely lie and say he did nothing. I was sure he’d convince the authorities that he was coerced, threatened. He’d get off light.

  He wavered another moment, then muttered, “Franklin Turner.”

  If this were any other situation, I would’ve laughed. This poor guy couldn’t catch a break. And holy shit, was one of my T names right on? I shook that thought away. No time.

  “And the others?” I asked as a precaution. A just-in-case I couldn’t let myself think about, because I had to make it back here.

  In speedy succession, he spouted, “James Moore, Nelson Mitchell, and I don’t know Alpha’s name. They say they go to UT, but they’re not enrolled. They specifically target girls from out of town. That’s all I can say.”

  My eyes stung again. He was giving them up but at a price. I didn’t think these monsters would really kill him, but I had no doubt they’d beat him to a near-death bloody pulp. I didn’t know why I was getting choked up. He’d put himself in this situation, but I was running on emotions and adrenaline right now. The nausea was surprisingly snapping to the back of my brain.

  In an act of what I hoped would be kindness, I cocked back a fist and clipped him as hard as I could in the right eye. He went sprawling onto his back with a loud howl.

  “I’m not sorry. Thank me later.”

  This way they’d conclude that I escaped on my own, and hopefully they’d go easy on him. Not that I should cared. This was my way of proving to myself that I was capable of compassion. That I was human. Not like them.

  Tomorrow, however, depending on the outcome, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself to that standard.

  I took off in a clumsy dash for the stairs, taking them double time. My blood pressure rose with every step that put me closer to freedom. With the tempo of my bare feet on metal, I said the names over and over in my head, so I wouldn’t forget. I was halfway to the bottom when I heard a loud crack. The bedroom door opening. Pissed off shouting. Alpha’s voice.

  I didn’t dare look back. I ran.

  “Shit!” I heard above me. The voice echoed down the street, which meant I’d been spotted.

  Don’t look! I ordered myself.

  Then I heard Trigger’s low voice twisting up an octave in pain, sick-sounding grunts.

  DON’T LOOK!

  Bracing my hands against the railings, I flung my body down in half flights. Flakes of rusted metal scraped my palms and the soles of my bare feet. I barely noticed. The rough thump of sneakers came behind me, and I pumped my arms faster, propelling myself quicker. On my last jump, I overestimated the drop and tumbled to the ground at a slight skid. My thigh and calf were on fire.

  “Run all you want. I’ll catch you, bitch!”

  It was Alpha.

  No time!

  I pushed up with the heels of my palms and sprung back into motion. Wind whipped at my damp, matted hair. My arms pumped forward and back, forward and back, like an Olympic runner. Tonight, I had no choice but to run like one. The cold air smarted against my injured cheek.

  My face—already puffy and stretched from tears, dried blood, and caked-on mascara—was beginning to go numb. Even with all the adrenaline powering through me, I could feel tiny pieces of broken glass crunching under my feet, slicing the soft skin. I felt miniature cuts for every pound against the asphalt, chaffed by dirt and grit.

  I wasn’t sure how many seconds had passed until the loud clamoring of metal ended, and I heard the sound of rubber soles on the street. He was gaining ground.

  No…

  I rounded out of the alleyway and flung a glance at the street sign. Harrison Road. The road was deserted. I didn’t care. I started shouting like a lunatic to anyone that would listen. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

  Pumping harder, I kept at it, my lungs wheezing, sides cramping. “HELP!” I turned two more corners, no longer bothering with memorizing street names now that I had a roundabout location. “Please help me!” My words were choked from the lack of air. “Help.”

  Up ahead, I noticed moving lights. Headlights. Cars.

  Alpha was so close. I could hear his labored breathing, and just as I felt him trying to snatch my hair, I gunned it, either from a second wind, survival instinct, or both.

  The doughy, sweet smell of fre
sh bread hit me in the face. Businesses. People.

  I heard a strange grunt behind me, but again, I made the next street my focus. I shut out everything, focused on getting around one more corner onto a main road with consumers and proprietors and people with cars.

  One last corner. I was three feet away.

  Two.

  One.

  Then I went down, landing hard. Alpha had caught the back of the T-shirt. I felt a snap in my right ankle, and a deafening wail gushed out of me. Our momentum catapulted us into a painful roll, scraping everything below my ribs, including the length of my arms that I’d thrown up to protect my face.

  Alpha smacked me across the face, his eyes wild and looming. His hands locked around my wrists, easily pinning them to the concrete. His shirtless body on top of me made it difficult to catch my breath. My throat was raw and sanded down. Attempted screams exited my throat as callous whispers.

  I didn’t know why, but all the fight went out of me right then. I had nothing left. I was the best chance my friends had at escaping this hell, and I had failed. I was a failure. The reason my friends would probably die tonight. The reason I would definitely die tonight.

  This filthy street and Alpha’s grotesque face would be the last things I would see. My entire body trembling and raging in pain would be the last thing I would feel. There were no passers-by to rescue me. It’s not supposed to happen like this.

  Finally, I allowed myself to do something I had refused to let myself do earlier—retreat. With careful backward steps, I let my spirit leave me. I mentally watched her turn around, away from my physical body. She opened that door to divine numbness and closed it safely behind her. I was lying on my back on the street, eyes watching the sky but not really seeing it. I was cold. I was alone.

  I’m alone?

  No. I wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t seeing the sky. I was seeing light, blinding light. I shifted my head and squinted to shield my eyes as a voice floated into my ears.

  “Miss? Are you alright, miss?”

  The light went away, and a face replaced it. Not Alpha’s.

  The face turned and shouted orders behind him. “No, I don’t think so. Call for an ambulance. She’s gonna need it. Go! He went west!”

  Fingers. Soft fingers. Down my body. Touching, probing, examining.

  Not the same, I told myself.

  My voice found me. Small and childlike. Two words. “Help. Me.”

  He murmured something under his breath and came closer to my face. “You’re going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

  Sirens. More lights illuminated the side of the building in a streaking red. More faces. Different faces.

  A whisper. “Help me.”

  A smile. “That’s what we’re doin’, darlin’. You just relax. You’re safe.”

  Right. I was safe. I was safe. Something was wrong with that idea.

  Suddenly, my spirit snapped back into place as if I were just waking up. “My friends,” I cried. “They’re in trouble. Please.”

  “Hold on a minute, honey.” A woman’s face and voice. A young blonde in an EMT uniform.

  Air whooshed under my body as they lifted it and placed me on the soft cotton mattress of a stretcher. My ankle was being wrapped and iced, and they examined the cut on my cheek.

  “What hurts?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” I insisted. “You need to help my friends.”

  She sighed, and her face went out of view. I heard muffled conversation, and more hands were working on me. A big guy did my vitals, checking my blood pressure and shining a light in my pupils. An older bearded man gently set long strips of gauze on my bleeding legs, and then he covered them with a blanket. I saw a third guy, short and stocky, that stood off to the side, watching. He was probably a trainee and driver. I felt a pinprick in the crook of my arm, then one of them hung an IV bag above my head. They heaved the stretcher up. The legs clicked, and I was level with their waists.

  The girl returned. She sighed again, looking disappointed. “We’re goin’ to the hospital now, hon. The officers have gone after your assailant, and they’re callin’ for backup. That’s all I know right now.”

  Her words gave me no reassurance, and I didn’t know what to do. I was caught between wanting to weep until my insides went dry and prying myself off this stretcher to go back for them, broken ankle and all.

  “No,” I told them, shaking my head back and forth. “I have to go back for them.” I only managed to raise my shoulders off the bed before the older bearded EMT pushed me firmly back to the mattress. “No! You don’t understand! I have to! I can take you there! I remember! Harrison Road. Harrison Road. HARRISON ROAD!”

  They talked around me, deliberated.

  I writhed in protest, my back arching away, arms thrashing as I screeched weakly. “I need to help them! They’ll die without me! Just let me help them!”

  The two bigger male EMTs had to hold me down, and the shorter one disappeared from my view.

  The young blonde put her face in mine and spoke soothingly. “Honey, you need to be still, or we’ll have to sedate you. You’re not leaving this stretcher.” Her voice floated right through me as my mania continued. She gave the big guy at my head a nod and the bearded one a sigh, her lips tucking in at the corners.

  Then I was being lifted into the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed shut, and I felt us begin to move, the square space tottering left and right a bit.

  “NO!” I screamed, my voice scratchy and thin. “No, no, no, no, no!” I was underneath Trigger all over again.

  I bucked against the flimsy bed and lashed out by biting the big guy who had a hand at my collarbone. “I won’t let my friends die! I won’t! Let me out!”

  “Stacy!” the big guy growled. His hand hadn’t moved an inch though my teeth marks were visible on his skin.

  “Fine,” she replied, resigned. She peered at me. “It’s just something to calm you. It’ll help, honey, I promise.”

  I saw a flashing needle and I freaked, violently struggling to free myself. No! I couldn’t let them drug me. Not again!

  Of course, I had no say or enough strength to spring myself from this moving prison or from their forceful hands, even though they were supposedly helping me. Again fate had caught me in her unjust grip, probably waiting until later to cut my heart out completely.

  A sudden, cooling sensation glided through my veins, forcibly zapping me again of all fight. I’m sorry, Nilah, I thought as my body went slack and the weight of hands lifted. My lips parted slightly, my gaze pasted to the off-white pocked ceiling. I’m sorry, Heather, I thought as my surroundings blurred from the wall of tears that coated my eyes. I saw their faces momentarily in the watery haze, and I wondered with an excruciating uncertainty if I’d ever see them again.

  Hours went by with strange faces hovering, X-raying my ankle, and probing my injuries in a room with curtains for walls. They lathered me in salves and bundled me practically head-to-toe in thick bandages. They asked questions my numb state only allowed minimal answers to as I slipped in and out of consciousness.

  I had no idea what time it was when I heard a familiar female voice come to me in the darkened room where they had docked me for the night. I only knew that it was real, not a trick of my imagination, because I had been fighting real sleep the entire time. I also knew right away that something was up from the muted sound of her shoes. The nurse that’d been checking on me all night wore shoes with squeaky rubber soles.

  Light from the hallway washed over my blinking eyes, and I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, one of the only parts of me not bandaged.

  “They found your friends, honey. We just brought ‘em in. Just off Harrison Road. Good memory. Caught the guys too.”

  There was a pause. My brain struggled with my body, begging it to pull itself from this chemically and physically induced drowsy state, but they had me too drugged with pain meds for my ankle. I’d turned down all sleep meds for this very reason, but my body was still d
efying me. I could barely wiggle the finger the pulse ox was pinching.

  Then she added, “The girls are gonna be fine.”

  I could tell she wanted to say more by the way her fingers tightened, and I sensed it would be along the lines of, as fine as one can be. Meaning, they’d be fine physically, eventually. But mentally? Emotionally? They hadn’t had the benefit of being completely conscious and able to fight like me. God only knew what’d been done to them.

  But, they’re alive, I told myself. That’s all I had to think about right now. My eyes closed in relief. I wanted to cry, but I was too doped up.

  “You did good, honey,” she whispered, letting go of my arm to stroke my tangled hair. “Real good.”

  I moaned out the faintest, “Thank you,” from parched lips.

  The pressure of her hands went away, and the hallway light was there and gone, abandoning me to a blanket of loneliness. I was only awake for about three more seconds until I finally succumbed to sleep.

  I did it. I won. That was my last thought.

  Saturday morning

  As I begin to wake, I keep my eyes safely closed, listening first for the beeps of machinery that tell me I’m in the hospital. I have to be in the hospital because I remember everything.

  I remember going out with my friends, and I remember staying behind with Jay. I remember the danger, still feel the pain. I remember the feel of Jay’s naked chest against my back as we fell asleep and the sadness in his eyes when he begged me to consider transferring schools. Somehow, I lived last night twice, and it’s all clicking together in swift and terrifying pieces.

  When I went out with the girls, Nilah and Heather survived. Then in my dreams, I so vividly recall their deaths. This can only mean one thing—Alpha was lying. He was never going to drop them off safely and hope that Heather lived. Or maybe he was and without me there, something even worse had gone awry. I don’t know.

  I can’t think about this anymore. I need to know.

  I hear no beeps, but that means nothing really. Maybe the nurse took me off the monitors at some point during the night when I was too groggy to notice. I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. My heart is beating triple time as the anticipation taunts me. I clench whatever is underneath my fingers and feel something dreadfully familiar—my cotton comforter.