Broken Worlds

by Anitha Robinson

  Broken Worlds

  Text Copyright © 2014 by Anitha Robinson

  Exploded World: Mircea Maties/Shutterstock.com

  Girl: absolute-india/Shutterstock.com

  Glass: ConstantinosZ/Shutterstock.com

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express permission of the copyright holder.

  For more information, write:

  CBAY Books

  PO Box 670296

  Dallas, TX 75367

  Children’s Brains are Yummy Books

  Dallas, Texas

  www.cbaybooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-933767-37-6

  ISBN: 978-1-933767-38-3 (ebook)

  Kindle ISBN: 978-1-933767-93-2

  PDF ISBN: 978-1-933767-94-9

  CHAPTER 1

  We’re almost at the end of the poorly lit alley when I realize it leads nowhere. I should have kept to the main roads, even though it takes longer. Sammy hasn’t said a coherent word in the last several minutes. He’s so cold. His lips are chapped and colorless. I bend down and cocoon him within my arm, sharing whatever body heat I have left. He practically disappears, reminding me how small he truly is.

  I have made a terrible mistake. What was I thinking? This isn’t a shortcut. I turn around to head back out and see the orange glint of a cigarette. A stranger leans against one of the windowless buildings. Even in the faint light, I can see the whites of his eyes as he leers at us. He steps toward us and tosses the cigarette to the ground. A malicious smile forms on his face.

  “Ow,” Sammy whines, trying to wriggle his fingers free from my tightening grip.

  Rooted to the spot, I look around, desperate for an escape route. My chest tightens. It’s hard to breathe. The only way out is past the stranger.

  I quicken my pace, pulling Sammy in close. His short legs scuttle beside me. I square my shoulders, hoping I appear unaffected by the man’s sudden appearance.

  “Please let us pass. Oh, please let us pass,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Did you say something?” the stranger asks.

  Eyes staring straight ahead, I force myself to walk toward him. I can hear Sammy whimpering my name. “Kalli, Kalli, Kalli.”

  “Did you say something to me?” the stranger says again.

  “No,” I squeak back, annoyed that my voice sounds so small. The distance between us shrinks. He reeks of cigarette smoke.

  “Kalli,” gasps Sammy.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper.

  In the fading light, I can see that the guy’s about my height but much heavier. His neck is huge, as wide as his head. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” He straightens and steps out in front of me.

  “Meeting our friends.” I hope it sounds braver than I feel. “They’re just over there.” I point to a spot behind him.

  “Yeah? I don’t see no one there.” He doesn’t even look. Instead, he moves so close to me that I can see the deep acne pits that scar his cheeks.

  “Bradley!” I automatically scream a name that was once so familiar.

  The stranger grabs me, spins me around, and shoves me face first against the wall. Sammy’s grip tightens, and I unintentionally pull him with me. He groans as his tiny body collides with the bricks.

  “Please let us go. Our friends will be back any minute. I promise I won’t say anything to them.” I will away the tears. I have to be strong for Sammy.

  The man twists my arm behind my back and smacks me even harder into the wall. My flimsy winter coat is a poor barrier and the rough bricks scrape against my chest. Tears blur my vision, but I can’t brush them away. I feel a cold sharp edge pressing under my chin and I’m instantly frozen with fear. A knife!

  He leans into the wall so that his scarred face is level with mine. “You won’t be sayin’ nothin’ to anyone.”

  I try to scream again, but there is no sound, just a dry rush of air.

  Sammy starts to cry. It begins as a low whimper, but quickly escalates.

  “Shut up you!” He lowers the knife from my chin. “Looks like the little shit will have to go first.”

  The pressure against my back lessens as he leans toward Sammy. I have to protect him. I wriggle my hand free from Sammy’s grip. Before his tiny fingers can grab back, I pull and push and twist myself until my back is now against the wall. I thrash my legs and my knee finds its mark between his legs.

  He slouches over, and I pull myself free. I drag Sammy along as I sprint toward the safety of the street.

  “Kalli?” whimpers Sammy.

  “It’s going to be okay, Sammy,” I pant, knowing without even looking at him that his brown eyes are huge. “Just keep running, and don’t let go of my hand.”

  We’re about fifty feet from the exit. The alleyway is getting brighter.

  “Almost there—”

  My right ankle is yanked backward. I crash to the concrete, pulling Sammy down with me.

  “Think you could get away that easily? You stupid bitch!”

  “Kalli,” Sammy moans beside me.

  “Sammy, run, just run!” I push him up.

  “Like hell he’s going to run,” croaks the stranger. He drags Sammy back.

  The stranger still has my right ankle, so I kick with my left foot and thrash until I hear him groan. I see Sammy crawling away.

  “Sammy! Go! Run!”

  “No, Kalli, not without you. You told me to not let go of your hand.” He reaches back for me.

  “Just go!” I scream at him. “Get help. Please, Sammy.”

  Even though his cheeks are covered with tears, his expression hardens. His eyes narrow, and his eyebrows furrow into a straight line. He knows what must come next. I will fight, and he will flee. It’s our only chance to make it.

  He barely takes two steps when he trips and screams. Why can’t anyone else hear him? The creep still has my right ankle, so I push up as hard as I can with my arms, and fling myself around. My ankle snaps. Ignoring the pain, I smash my left foot into the side of his head as Sammy struggles to get up.

  “Come back, you little shit,” my attacker snarls.

  I keep punching, desperate to give Sammy a chance to run away, to escape. Sammy gives me one last look. My eyes plead with him to go. And finally, he does.

  A guttural sound comes from the assailant. He drags me back deeper into the alley. I steal one final glance of Sammy running away from us, his black curls sticking out beneath his wooly hat.

  “You’ll pay for that, bitch!”

  The maniac pulls me up, slams me against a brick building, and covers my mouth. I can smell his rancid breath. He brings the knife up to my face, and my knees buckle. I try to turn away from the steel blade, but he squeezes my jaw between his thumb and fingers and holds me still. Ignoring the fire in my right ankle, I kick at him.

  I feel the knife drag across my chest, down my stomach, and stop at my waistband. Please, no. He slides the knife beneath the top of my pants and pulls the knife and pants toward him. I kick at him again, and he clamps my legs still with his own, pressing his hips into me.

  He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  The psycho has every inch of me pinned to the wall. But he will not get Sammy. I keep repeating this over and over. Sammy is smart and savvy. He may only be six, but he’s been living on the streets longer than me and knows how to survive. Even though I’m almost seventeen, sometimes I felt like I relied on Sammy, rather than the other way around. I just need to give him more time to get away. I start shaking and twitching. Anything to make it more difficult for this lunatic to finish me off.

  “Move away from her!” commands a new voice.

  Someone else is in the alley. Oh God, another man. I think of what two men
can do to me. The freak’s hand covering my mouth slackens. I dig my teeth into his fingers.

  “Ow, you bitch!” He pulls back his hand. The skin on his face stretches, causing the scars to spread. His eyes widen. He looks inhuman, a monster. “You stupid piece of ….”

  He slaps me hard, driving my head up against the bricks. A warm liquid spreads across my face. It has that distinct salty taste of blood as it slides past my lips.

  “I said move away from her—now!” The other person’s voice echoes, filling the alley.

  The maniac’s still gripping my hands. I push my back against the wall and kick up with my left leg, hitting him in the chest. He stumbles and lets me go. I try to run, my right leg dragging behind me, but he grabs me by my hair and throws me against the wall. I feel the knife plunge into my stomach. The psycho actually stabbed me. My whole body burns. I scream. He stabs me again. I feel myself emptying. There is so much blood. How can it come out so quickly? The inside of my ears feel cloudy, and I can’t hear properly. My vision narrows as different pictures flash by. Mostly of my mother.

  Strange that I should think of her now. I see her dressed in her pale yellow nightgown, her black hair pulled back in a tight bun, unwilling to help me. Saying that I brought this on myself.

  As I feel myself fading away, I realize she is right. I am stupid. I didn’t escape anything when I ran away. All I did was leave Navi, my little brother, behind.

  I feel a sudden rush of wind, and my legs collapse. I land in a heap on the ground. The searing in my belly lessens as all sensation fades.

  With trembling fingers, I wipe the blood from my eyes and blurrily look around. The alley is empty, except for some garbage in a corner. Where did my attacker go? I try to stand, but my legs are too weak. I’m about to drag myself out when a crash shakes the ground. Something smashes onto a pile of discarded boxes, collapsing them. Oh God, it’s him. Before I have a chance to react, he’s gone again. Something lifts him from the ground and flings him against another wall.

  My breath comes in short bursts. I’m sinking in my own pool of blood. There can’t be much left inside me. My ears are full and heavy. Every sound around me fades.

  Suddenly, I’m pulled from my sinking consciousness and feel myself being lifted away.

  “You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” a velvety voice says in my ear.

  I struggle to lift my eyelids, and I’m looking at the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. Seconds before, all that existed was cold and gray. But now the air shimmers. Dazzling bright colors of gold and pink and orange stretch out in front of me.

  “Stay with me now,” his voice soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

  I’m looking at an angel, my angel, carrying me off to heaven. No human is this beautiful. His ivory skin is smooth and framed by a short curtain of hair so fair that it radiates light. And his eyes, a shade of blue that only exist somewhere within the secrets of the oceans. I feel a long-forgotten serenity as he carries me away to my final home.

  I press my head against his shoulder. His warmth seeps into my skin and heats me to my core. I don’t want this feeling to end. I have never felt this safe. I don’t know why I ever feared death.

  But wait, what about Sammy?

  “Where’s Sammy?” I whisper.

  “Shhh, you’re going to be okay,” he says.

  “No. Where’s Sammy? The little boy. He was with me, but he got away before you came.”

  “He’s fine. Everything is fine. Just stay quiet.”

  “Did you see him? Did he get away? Is he safe?”

  He pulls me in closer, so that my face is nestled into his neck. Oh, he smells so good, like warm cinnamon toast.

  “He’s okay. He’s safe.”

  I relax deeper into his arms. I can leave this life knowing that Sammy’s okay.

  We soar faster than seems possible. Scenery blurs past. It’s hard to breathe. But then I remember—it doesn’t matter if I’m breathing. I’m dead.

  I must have been a good person when I was alive, contrary to what my mother and Sita always said, to be allowed such a gorgeous angel. I tilt my head so that I can breathe in his scent, and a fiery sensation spreads down my arms and into the tips of my fingers. I have to feel my hand against his skin.

  Just as I am about to lay my fingers across his face, we crash through a door.

  “Margaret! Margaret!” he shouts.

  A crowd gathers around. Hands reach out and touch me. I nuzzle into him as tightly as I can, unwilling to be separated.

  “It’s okay. They’ll help you, fix up your cuts.”

  I swat away the hands intent on separating me from him. But then I stop. His words penetrate into my brain.

  Fix me. I’m not dead? I don’t want to be fixed if it means leaving him. I don’t want to be fixed if it means going back to the streets. I want to be safe and warm like I was moments ago. I never thought I’d feel that way again.

  “No, please don’t go,” I plead, grabbing onto him.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.” He gently lays me on a table. The others are moving in between us, probing my eyes with lights. I reach out to him, but my hand is roughly laid back onto the table.

  “For God’s sake, Ellis, enough of this. She’s lost a lot of blood. I need to get her under soon.”

  A tall slender woman dressed in white rolls me away from him. I feel a sharp prick in my arm, and everything floats away.

  CHAPTER 2

  A constant hum whines inside my head. I open my eyes and immediately shut them. The light is blinding. I try again, lifting my eyelids slower this time and squinting for several seconds before my vision adjusts. I’m lying on a cot, with wires and tubes connecting me to a monitor. The room is completely white and windowless. Four concrete walls surround me. There is a counter by the wall across from my bed with cupboards above.

  Where am I? The train station? Home? Images force their way through my foggy mind. Dark cold eyes. And blood. So much blood. I push down the covers. My hands hover above my stomach. Trembling, I lower the tips of my fingers onto my abdomen, feeling for a gash, a hole. But there’s nothing. Only smooth skin and a tiny bandage the size of a penny. How can that be?

  I vaguely remember someone else being there. Someone small? A child? It couldn’t be Navi. I press the base of my palms into my forehead, trying to untangle the chaos of images and reassemble them into something that makes sense. There was someone else too. Someone in addition to the child. Someone who helped me. My angel.

  “Good, you’re awake,” says a woman, entering the room.

  She looks to be my mother’s age, but she’s nothing like my mother. She is tall and lean and breathtaking. Her pearly hair, which hangs just above her shoulders, glistens. She moves like a dancer and glides toward me in a white lab coat that billows behind her. I struggle to get up, but the room spins.

  “Do not be silly. Lie back down.” Her delicate hands are surprisingly strong, and she pushes me back onto the bed. “My name is Margaret Turner. You were brought to my clinic last night with cuts to your head and stomach and an injured ankle.” She points out the location of my wounds as she speaks. “Though there appeared to be heavy blood loss at first, once you were cleaned up it was clear that the lacerations were fairly minimal. You will be fine. No permanent damage. Your ankle was twisted, so I have wrapped it.” She pulls up the covers at the foot of my bed to reveal my right ankle bound in a beige cloth bandage. “You can remove it tonight. It will have healed by then.”

  She sounds robotic. Despite being immediately drawn to her glorious appearance, I flinch when she touches me.

  Margaret peers into my eyes with a tiny light. “Yes, all is good. The surface scarring will heal in a short time. I have something to assist with the process,” she says, and turns away to leave.

  Her hurried manner of speaking adds to my state of confusion. “Are you a doctor?” I ask, though I assume she must be.

  “Yes, I’m a healer.”r />
  Healer?

  “Please.” I reach out and touch the cuff of her white lab coat. “Where am I?”

  She looks at me as if I’ve asked a stupid question and snaps her arm back. “You’re in a recovery room, in my clinic.”

  “And I’m okay?”

  “Yes. You are now.”

  “I don’t understand. My ankle snapped. I heard it. Blood was pouring out of me.” I sit up and drag my fingers through my hair, stretching my scalp. “It was everywhere. My clothes were soaked in it.” My voice is high.

  Margaret leans her head to one side and sighs heavily. She reaches above my head and adjusts knobs and buttons on the monitor. Her forehead creases as she furrows her brow and regards me for several seconds before she finally speaks.

  “I am a skilled healer, and I repaired all your internal injuries using a technique that leaves a tiny scar.” Margaret detaches the wires and tubes from my neck and arms. She returns her gaze to me and smiles stiffly. “Your ankle was not broken. And I have appropriately dealt with that minor injury also. Remove the bandage tonight. You will see that it is fine, and you can walk on it.” She glances at the closed door and clears her throat before returning her attention to me. “Now, if that is all, I will return with the medicated cream that will further minimize the scar.” Margaret turns to leave.

  “Wait,” I call out to her, and she stops. She lets out a great exhalation of air. I press on, despite her clear indication that my exam is over. “You said I was brought here. Who brought me? Was it a man? Was there a child?”

  She lets out an almost inaudible gasp, and her hands form into tight balls. When she faces me, her lips have transformed into a narrow, tight line. She moves closer to my bed, and my entire body tenses.

  “What exactly do you remember about last night?” Margaret asks, her voice noticeably strained.

  “I-I-I don’t remember much. It’s all fuzzy. Mostly the blood. I remember there was a lot of blood.”

  “Anything else?” she asks, crossing her arms.