The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves

by Richard Heredia

  She saw him rear back and strike her in the face, felt herself fall to the ground. She landed on the carpet of his busted-up, dirty apartment. While he was yelling and cursing at her, screaming at her that she was a worthless whore, a depraved little slut. She remembered her dizziness. She’d been stunned by the blow of his fist against her cheekbone, her eyes had teared-up. She could barely make out what was happening. On and on, a tirade for what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes.

  She thought she had seen him unclasp his belt. An absent-minded thought streaking across her mind, possibly, he was going to continue beating her. He never stopped bellowing at her. He’d went on about how easy she was, how he should’ve let all of his friends have a go at her. Her mind had cleared when he’d broached that topic. That’s when she began to realize his intent was. When his pants began to fall to the ground, she had no doubt in her mind. Frantically, she’d tried to regain her feet, but he was upon her by then, one hand already groping, the other grabbing her around the neck… She’d shut out the rest, only a sharp pain and shame remained in her memory.

  “Not anymore, Sonny.”

  If anyone had heard her say it, if anyone had been in her bedroom at that time, that person would’ve sworn there was murder in her tone.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again!”

  With one touch of her finger, she’d terminated the call. That was when she saw her hands were trembling, her chest was heaving, her shoulders hunching. She couldn’t stop it, control it. The tears had come next. She had leapt onto her bed to bury her face into her pillow to stifle her cries, to keep the anguish of that day her own, private, a thing she would never share.

  In the end, she was glad she had done so, because, not long after the cries became shouts and shrieks of anger and guilt, of pain and regret, a new thought hit her. Through this entire emotional journey, this was the first ironclad decision she’d made in a long time. She had reached some sort of culmination all on her own.

  Sonny would never touch her again, not even a handshake. He was dead to her now. It was time to move on, to find another venue from which to gaze out at the vista of her life. This would be her time, her chance to get away from her past and search for that one glimmer of hope in the future. She deserved this. She deserved to be free.

  Never again, never… Sonny!

  The rest of the weekend had been a rollercoaster ride - up and down, side to side - a tentative mixture happiness and nervous fear, of trepidation and aspiration.

  Not sure why, Friday after school, she went directly to the Boy’s gym and had watched Shawn play a game against their cross-neighborhood rivals, the Panthers from Franklin High, who came from over the hill in Highland Park. The game went into overtime, which seemed to piss everyone off, because, as she learned later, the consensus was their team should’ve blown out the Panthers in regulation. Still, the Eagles had won, by three.

  After all the cheering and after cleaning up, Shawn had come out of the locker room and walked up to where she had been waiting.

  “Still having boyfriend issues?” he had asked with half of a smile, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Nope,” was her answer, warmer than she would’ve expressed the day before.

  “Then, why are you here?” His eyebrows came up slightly, his expression a tiny bit challenging.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, but I think I’m still in need of some protection…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes, heavy with mascara. “That is if you don’t mind.”

  Shawn breathed a chuckle. “Not at all, if it means I get to learn more about how the mind of a Goth girl works.”

  “Emo, Shawn, I already explained the difference.” She had played at sarcasm, but ended up grinning with him.

  “Whatever, it all looks the same to me,” he’d ascertained. “I’m hungry, though, you wanna get something to eat?”

  “Sure!” she had said, getting up from the bleachers, realizing she was hungry as well.

  “Where do you want to go?” He shrugged his shoulders and let his gaze focus on her eyes

  “Pete’s, I feel like a pastrami.” Her mouth was already watering at the thought.

  Shawn rocked back on his heels and pointed at Kimberly with his left hand. “I think you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

  The smile had never left her face.

  They’d walked six blocks down Townsend Avenue on their way to the burger joint when they saw a large dog eating something in the bushed on the opposite side of the road. One look at its’ massive head, neck and shoulders, Kimberly knew what it was, what she was seeing. It was the ghoulish hound.

  Shawn was about to say something, but she hushed him quickly, pulling him along before the beast noticed them.

  She heard the awful sounds of it eating for at least another block – ripping flesh, splintering bones, the horrid gulps of mutilated flesh.

  The rest of her weekend had gone smooth. No Sonny. No nothing. Even her parents hadn’t riled her all that much. She guessed it was because she’d stayed near the house, spent a lot of time on the phone with Shawn. Instead of her usual routine with Sonny, which typically kept her on the streets through the ungodly hours of the day.

  Shawn had come over on Saturday. They sat in the front yard talking, eating ham and cheese sandwiches just enjoying the time. It was the first real breath of fresh air she’d had in a while and liked it. It was like coming up for air after having swum at the bottom for longer than she could recall. The great weight of the ocean had lifted off her shoulders. All the strain and constriction in her chest had melted away. She could actually sit by someone and not have to calculate her every move, speculate over every outward reaction to anything Shawn might’ve said or done. She could simply act naturally and idly watch the boy next to her with a light heart and an open mind.

  Shawn was easy-going and laughed a whole lot, didn’t have wild swings in his mood and appeared not to have a shred of violence in him. He was big for a boy her age, that much was true, but he seemed very much aware of his size and went out of his way to downplay it, trying not to be intimidating or overshadowing. He could’ve been doing it, out of regard for her. Maybe he was wary of her feelings. After all she’d gone through. If he was, she didn’t care. So what if he’d been handling her, who cared if he went out of his way to be nice, to make her feel comfortable and allow her real personality to bubble to the surface.

  It was about time somebody did, shit!

  Besides, it was nice to feel appreciated, to be worth a little extra time and effort.

  Now, all of Sonny’s crap was behind her. For once, she didn’t feel depressed at having to face yet another week of school, and assignments, and teachers and all the other bullshit that came along with High School in the twenty-first century. Now, she felt ready, no anxiety, and no dread. She felt capable of making it through the week. Yes, that’s what it was, she was empowered, confident.

  She sighed as she put down her brush, looking at herself in the mirror, knowing it was a better choice, a better way to live. She continued to stare as the foremost vestiges of closure crept into her eyes. She knew the road ahead was long and torturous, this was only the beginning. However, there was always a first step to any adventure and she believed she’d taken just that.

  She stood up suddenly and walked to her bed, grabbing her backpack and made for the door, hoping she’d get the chance to see Shawn before the bell rang.

  It was a better choice. It was my only choice…

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 22 ~

  A Change of Plans

  Monday, November 22nd, 12:37 pm…

  Anthony Herrera was walking across the schoolyard, between the grassy area directly before the main building and the basketball courts when his cell phone rang. Having just turned it on, as told by his parents should any plans for the day change while he was at school. Make sure you turn on your phone at lunch, Tony. If we ever need to get in conta
ct with you, while you’re at school, it’ll be at that time. Ok?

  Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure.

  Thus, he wasn’t all that shocked to see there was an incoming call from his parent’s landline at home.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Tony, it’s Dad.”

  “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

  “I got a last minute call from my agent about some mundane change to the book. Even though it’s minor, they want me to drive down to Century City to write off on these changes in person, right now. So, I will need you to take the Dash bus and swing by and pick up your sister’s at school for me. Can you do that?” explained his father, sounding frazzled over the phone. It must’ve been a hectic morning if he was coming unglued this early in the day.

  “Yeah, sure, Dad, I have nothing going on,” he retorted, glancing about to make sure no teachers or school administrators were around to catch him talking into his cell phone. He was in the clear.

  “Good, and don’t forget,” admonished his father. “There are a ton of Hot Pockets and chips, and some of those pouch-thingy drinks. You guys can have to snack on when you get home. Remember, no stove and no toaster oven - use the microwave only.”

  “Ok, Dad, I won’t forget. I’ll make sure everyone is safe and not acting stupid,” he said, trying to placate his father.

  His father chuckled once. “Alright then, son, I gotta make like a banana and leave.”

  His father hung up before he could respond, but it didn’t bother him. He smiled at their way of saying good-bye to one another - make a joke that didn’t make any sense.

  It’s “make like a banana and split”, Dad!

  He was about to laugh, when his eyes caught sight of a dog running back and forth along the outer fence of the school, about a hundred yards from where he was standing. It was about the size of a German Sheppard, only it was black with the short hair of a Rottweiler and a musculature to match, though it clearly wasn’t a dog of that breed either. Maybe a cross breed of some sort, he thought to himself, frowning at the size of its jaws. At a distance, they appeared too big, its teeth and fangs too long, almost disproportionate when compared to the rest of its body. It made the beast look cartoonish, almost unreal.

  And, why is it running back and forth like that?

  He could see it was trotting down one portion of the fence, would stop and sniff at the ground, make a few tentative scratches at the dirt and grass, and then move on. Anthony stood there, putting his cell phone back in the right front pocket of his jeans and placed his hands in the pockets of his sweater. The air was cold, even for November. Temperatures in the low forties weren’t normal daytime levels in Los Angeles, not by a long shot.

  The dog continued to stride along the fence, weaving one way, then the other. Abruptly, it stopped right where the backstop of one of the softball fields stood, behind yet another fence. Anthony had to peer through both to see the creature. It sniffed and pawed at the ground again, appearing to lean against the fence, applying its body weight against the chain-link. Was it testing the strength of the fence? He frowned deeper. His eyes bulged when the dog opened its huge jaws and bit down on the fence itself, trying to tear some of it away, but it couldn’t - though it did bend some of the links in the process.

  Is this thing trying to get into the school? What the hell was wrong with this dog? Was it rabid or something? He couldn’t help but watch as it renewed its’ attack against the fence, its’ efforts redoubling as it shook the entire section between two of the ten-foot fence posts. He glanced around to see if anyone else was watching, witnessing what he was seeing, but everyone else seem oblivious. He turned back. The dog continued to rip at the fence with unnatural ferocity.

  “BOO, you little bastard!” shouted someone in Anthony’s ear, so loud he jumped, nearly lashing out with a fist. In the last instant, he recognized the large face of his hulking friend Gabriel.

  “Crap, Gabe, you almost made me take a swing at you!” Anthony’s heart was pounding in his chest.

  “I had to do something, you were standing there like a dweeb looking off into the sunset or something,” the large teenage boy replied.

  Anthony looked him over. Gabriel was wearing what he always wore: jeans, a t-shirt with some sort of print on it, and a pair of Addidas low tops. His hair was mussed, but not styled – typical. Gabriel always looked a few shades from frumpish.

  “I wasn’t just staring off at nothing, dude. I was checking out that crazed dog over by the fence,” supplied Anthony, weighted with sarcasm.

  Gabriel craned his neck in the direction Anthony had indicated. “What dog?”

  “That one, you big oaf,” replied Anthony exasperated, pointing to where the dog was chewing away at the fence.

  Only, there was no dog.

  There was only a twisted and mangled section of the fence staring back at him now. He frowned, his eyes darting this way and that, over the entire expanse of the fence, stretching for nearly a football field in either direction before him.

  “You’re losing it, man,” muttered Gabriel as he turned and walked away.

  Anthony remained silent, still grimacing over the incident, not in the least bit happy.

  Maybe, I am…

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 23 ~

  The Jacket

  Monday, November 22nd, 2:38 pm…

  Elena waited by the fence, her backpack slung across her back. She clasped her math book in her left hand and her souvenir Disneyland water bottle in her right. Back and forth across the field of her vision, she gazed out over the small street next to the east exit of her grammar school. It was the designated exit where parents could pick up their children from school two years running. She was waiting for her Dad, who was sure to drive by any second now. He was running late.

  Beside her, squatting down upon one the big roots of the age-old magnolia tree standing closest to the gate leading out to North Avenue 57 was Mikalah. Her younger sister was talking to herself about some poem she had to learn in three weeks and recite to her class from memory. Elena was about to tell her to shut up when a breeze swirled about her, cold and wintery. She forgot what she was about to say.

  Christmas weather, was the thought that bubbled to the top of her consciousness as she shivered and then giggled at the prospect of how much fun she was going to have in the coming months. Christmas was a time for sweaters and long pants, and jackets -. Oh, crud, my jacket! Her eyes bulged as she realized she’d left her jacket in the closet of her classroom. Oh man, Dad is going be super mad if I forget my jacket AGAIN!

  “Mikalah!” she exclaimed suddenly.

  “What?” her sister asked, annoyed at the interruption of her memorization process.

  “I forgot my jacket in class! Dad is going to be really mad if I don’t bring it home again, so I have to go get it,” she said in a rush. Already she was taking a few steps away from the fence and the tree, back toward the main building of the school where her classroom was located on the second floor.

  “Ok, but you better hurry, because he’s going to be mad if you’re not here when he gets here, even if you do have your jacket with you! He might just leave you here!” Mikalah called after her sister and then turned back toward the street, peering through the fence, her tiny brow furled.

  Still, there was no sign of her father.

  Maybe, I have time!

  Elena ran as fast as her encumbered, young legs could carry her, hoping her teacher, Mrs. Smith, hadn’t already left for the day. It was hard to guess with her teacher, because sometimes she would leave within minutes of her student’s departure and other times she would stay as late as 6pm when the last custodian left for the day, having cleaned and locked-up the entire school for the night.

  Maybe today I’ll be lucky and she stayed behind for a bit, Elena pleaded with herself, afraid of having to face her father without her jacket again. This would be the second time this week, and the fifth time this month. Why couldn’t she just
remember to go into the classroom closet and get it? How hard could that possibly be, right? Mikalah never seemed to have a problem remembering to bring her stuff back home. Why did she have such difficulty?

  She made her way through the rear double-doors of the first floor of the main building and immediately turned to the right, bounding up the stairs that would take to her classroom above.

  *****

  Outside, Mikalah gazed heavenward to see the sun duck behind a huge bank of dark, foreboding clouds. The wind began to swirl about her, cold and even colder the second time it came. She stopped practicing her poem and pulled the zipper of her jacket all the way up to her neck, folding the collar back upon itself to ward off the increasing chill. Despite her efforts, she shivered. A storm was gathering above her. She was certain it was going to bring much more than rain and wind, thunder and lightning. This was going to be different; she could feel it deep down in her bones. This one felt like a true winter storm, like the ones she’d seen on The Weather Channel, the ones that battered the mid-west and the northeast of the continent.

  A real winter was coming to Los Angeles.

  *****

  Elena had just stridden upon the fifth step of the stairwell, hop-trotting as fast as she could.

  “Elena, wait!” said a voice from behind her at the bottom of the staircase.

  Elena stopped so suddenly she almost fell forward. She had to brace herself, using her palms against the corner of a step a few feet in front her, to keep from hitting her face against the hard concrete of the steps. She spun around swiftly, but instead of staying upright, the motion made her unceremoniously flop down into a sitting position. Her legs were a tangled mess beneath her. There was little else she could do, but sit down.