Milayna

by Michelle K. Pickett



  THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Milayna

  Copyright ©2014 Michelle K. Pickett

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63422-039-2

  Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

  Typography by: Courtney Nuckels

  Editing by: Cynthia Shepp

  For more information about our content disclosure,

  please utilize the QR code above with your smart phone or visit us at

  www.CleanTeenPublishing.com.

  This book is dedicated to the everyday angels we find in life.

  Magnolia, Texas, EMTs, thank you for the care you gave my dad.

  You are one of my family’s angels.

  Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

  ~St. Paul

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Milayna's Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  That night, I dreamt of demons.

  They chased me. No matter how fast or where I ran, they chased me.

  Brown, curling horns protruded from their heads. They looked like wood with the bark whittled away. Some demons had two horns—one next to each pointed ear—and some had just one in the center of their forehead. Their gray skin was covered with a layer of dark ash that curled behind them as they ran, bringing with it the smell of sulfur and rotting flesh. Their eyes were black orbs. They were dull, dead eyes.

  I screamed for my parents.

  “Don’t fight it, Milayna. This is your destiny,” my dad told me.

  I ran to Muriel’s house. My best friend—surely, she’d help. She waited for me at her door.

  “Help me,” I screamed and reached for her.

  She smiled, and horror filled me. Her jaw protruded and her mouth filled with long, yellow teeth, which were pointed like daggers. She grabbed my arms and held me for the demons.

  “Muriel, help me,” I gasped, trying to pull free.

  “I am helping you. You’ll see. You’ll be so much happier with us,” she hissed through her fangs.

  I struggled against the demons. Their black nails bit into my arms, drawing blood. They pulled me to their leader, who stood silently watching, adjusting the sleeves of his black robe as if he were bored.

  He looked like the devil. His skin was ruddy, and his eyes glowed amber. Jet-black hair, slicked back on his head, hung to his shoulders. But the demons didn’t call him Devil, Satan, or even Lucifer. They called him—

  Azazel.

  ***

  The sun beat down on my back. It felt good after swimming in the pool’s cool water. I looked at the trees surrounding the park while I squeezed water from my hair. The leaves looked like someone had dripped orange and yellow paint on them. I loved autumn in Michigan, but it meant the end of swimming outdoors, which I preferred to the tiled, sterile pool at school.

  The water sparkled a silvery blue. I watched the children play, splashing and giggling as their mothers sat poolside, no doubt gossiping about the latest scandal in the neighborhood.

  A young girl, maybe six or seven years old, caught my eye. I watched her strawberry-blonde curls float around her in the water. She was cute, at least as far as kids go. They just weren’t my thing. A whiny younger brother was all I needed. I didn’t even babysit, except when my mother needed help. But my gaze was drawn to the girl.

  What is it about her? I can’t stop looking at her.

  I felt like I had a knot in the pit of my stomach. It grew like a growth, moving into my throat. It was hard to pull in a breath. The strange feeling wasn’t directed toward the girl, although she was part of it. It was more a feeling that something wasn’t right. I could feel the cold fingers of evil slide up my spine.

  I sucked in a breath, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I dropped my towel and focused on the girl.

  She climbed out of the pool. Her mother was still deep in conversation with another woman. The redheaded girl yelled to her mom, but she waved her off, never looking away from the woman talking animatedly beside her.

  It must be juicy gossip.

  Happy, the young girl—why was I fixated on her?—scampered off to the playground next to the pool. She plopped down on a swing and pumped her legs back and forth until she swung high. Leaning back, she stretched her legs out, her chubby face to the sky, and smiled.

  And then I saw him.

  He stood just inside the trees at the edge of the playground. Watching. Waiting.

  I don’t think he cared which kid it was. She just happened to be there. Either way, his stance changed. His face became animated. An ugly grin slid across his mouth as he waited next to a towering pine tree. He knew his chance was coming soon, and his gaze followed the girl. His prey had just entered his line of sight.

  The knot lodged in my stomach twisted, as if someone were tying my insides together like they would their shoelaces. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and tensed against the pain.

  Without thought, seemingly without my conscious control, I rose from my seat and circled the pool. I continued into the parking lot, where the sharp, small stones embedded themselves in the bottom of my feet, but I hardly noticed. I was on a mission. Why, or what I was going to do, I wasn’t sure.

  It’s her mother’s responsibility to watch over her. Well, that’s not exactly true. We should—no, we’re required to watch over each other. At least, that’s what Mom and Dad pound into my brain every chance they get, usually right before they ask me to babysit Ben.

  I continued through the gravel parking lot to the hill on the edge of the tree line. Glad to feel the cool grass under my burning feet, I picked up speed. He wasn’t hard to spot when I entered the trees. The sorry son-of-a-bitch stood watching her with his hand down his pants.

  Eww and ick.

  He was so engrossed that he didn’t hear me behind him. I picked up a fallen tree branch about the size of a baseball bat. It felt heavy in my hands, and the bark scraped against my fingers. With visions of his hands on the little girl running through my mind, I swung the limb as hard as I could. It cracked against the back of the man’s balding head.

  I had no emotion as I watched him crumple to the ground. I stood over him, images of him with the girl mingled with images of him with other children. As I watched his blood trickle through the grass, I realized what I’d done. My hands started to tremble, and the branch slipped from my fingers and landed on top of him. My heartbeat was frenzied in my chest, and I turned and ran from his scrawny body.

  Thoughts scrolled through
my mind at triple speed. What caused the unstoppable desire to save the kid? I would’ve never let him touch her. But normally, I’d tell her mother that she’d wandered too far or call the police and alert them to the possibility of a child predator roaming the park. I never would have stepped in myself, but I wasn’t able to stop. Drawn to the girl, to her safety, I couldn’t walk away.

  I went back to gather my things at the edge of the pool, looking over my shoulder to check on the girl. Her red curls bounced as she swung in the sunlight. Her mother was still unaware of where she was or how close she’d come to losing her childhood innocence.

  Before climbing into my beat-up Chevy, I stopped at a pay phone near the restrooms, shaking my head with a smile.

  I can’t believe I found one. Everyone uses cell phones. I thought these things were only in museums. It’s gotta be older than me.

  Using my wet towel, I picked up the receiver, dialed 911, and reported the man—and I used the term man very, very loosely.

  “You’ll find a man unconscious just inside the trees. Hurry before he hurts another child.”

  “What’s your name?” the nasally dispatcher asked.

  I dropped the receiver, letting the cord hang limp, and walked away.

  Let them trace the call. There’s nothing pointing to me. I don’t want anyone finding out I was here. What do I say? I had a funny feeling and… what? I had a vision of him doing stuff with kids so I bashed his head in? Yeah, right. No, they just need a valid trace so they can get here and catch the pervert before he wakes up.

  As I drove away, I was struck by two things. First, what drew me to the girl? My eyes weren’t drawn to any other. In fact, I couldn’t remember the face of any other kid at the pool. My eyes wanted only her… searched her out. I knew I needed to watch her, knew that something was wrong.

  And second, how did I know?

  Eight weeks, one day until my eighteenth birthday.

  “What’d you do yesterday? I called you.” Muriel twirled her pen in circles on the dirty Formica table.

  “Nothing exciting. Just laps at the pool,” I lied. I hadn’t stopped thinking about what happened at the park. I couldn’t get my mind wrapped around how I knew the man was going to hurt that girl.

  She slapped her hand on the pen to stop it and looked at me. A perfect, jet-black eyebrow arched over her almond-shaped eye. “Gee, ever think of asking your best friend and swim teammate to go along?”

  I cringed. “Sorry, it was a last-minute decision.”

  She pointed at me. “Don’t let it happen again,” she said through clenched teeth. Her black, stick-straight hair fell over her shoulder. I burst out laughing. She dropped her finger and shoved my shoulder, laughing with me.

  Our calculus teacher marched into class like one of the British Royal Army’s soldiers in a parade with those red uniforms and the knee-high marching steps—arms full of books and files.

  I wonder what Muriel would’ve thought about the guy in the trees—what she would’ve done.

  Halfway through class, Muriel texted me. I reached for my cell phone and looked to make sure the teacher wasn’t watching before I read the message. That was when I saw him.

  His body angled in his seat, and his head turned slightly toward me. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, like he’d started to smile but decided against it just before it materialized.

  I’d noticed him before—it was hard not to. Talk about easy on the eyes. We had English together. I knew him, but we didn’t travel in the same circles. In fact, as far as I could tell, he didn’t travel in any particular circle. He kept to himself and seemed to prefer it that way.

  I looked away quickly, feeling my cheeks warm.

  Great, I’m blushing. Nice look. Red cheeks and red, curly hair—just like Bozo the Clown. Homecoming queen material. No need to vote; I’ll just take my crown. Yeah, sure.

  When my eyes darted back in his direction, he’d turned and faced forward. I felt a small pang of disappointment. Looking down, I read Muriel’s text.

  Muriel: Go to the mall after school?

  Me: Sure.

  Muriel: I’ll drive.

  Me: K.

  Muriel: What was that look?

  Me: What look?

  Muriel: Between you and the hottie.

  ***

  I grinned when I read her text. There wasn’t a look, I typed back. Then why are your cheeks red? Muriel puffed her cheeks out at me. Shut up! I typed and dropped my phone in my bag. She laughed out loud, earning a glare from our calculus teacher.

  I sighed when I turned the corner to my English class. He was waiting for me outside the door. Joe. I guess he had a crush on me. He always walked with me when our classes were near each other, and he parked his car conveniently next to mine, or Muriel’s if I rode with her, so he could walk into school with me. And he taped little drawings on my locker door. He was a great artist, but still.

  Then there was the thing. The thing I dreaded, but happened every week. My hands started sweating and my stomach roiled when I looked at him—I knew it was coming. I hated it because I hated what I had to do. I didn’t want to hurt Joe’s feelings. He was a really nice guy, but I didn’t find him the least bit attractive or interesting with his mousy-brown hair, too-big glasses, and his constant prattle about the AV club.

  “Hey, Milayna.” Joe smiled when he saw me, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger. I smiled back and stifled a groan.

  “Hi, Joe.” I tried to blend in with a group of students walking into class and brush past him before he asked me the inevitable question.

  “Hey, wait up,” he called.

  I stopped just inside the doorway, sighed, and then walked back to where he stood, with his shoulder leaned against the lockers lining the wall. “What’s up?” I twisted my pencil in my fingers.

  “You look pretty today. I like it when you wear your hair down and all… all… red and curly.”

  “Um, thanks.” I shifted and adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

  That’s good since my hair is red and curly.

  “I was wondering…”

  Oh no, here comes the thing. Please don’t ask me again. I squeezed the strap of my messenger bag so tightly my fingers ached. There’s only so many ways I can say no without being mean.

  “…if you wanted to go out to a movie this weekend?” Joe reached out and put his warm, sweaty hand on my arm.

  And there it is.

  I sighed and moved my arm to push my hair behind my ear, so he had to pull his hand away. “Joe—” I started when movement caught my attention.

  The hottie from calculus walked up beside me. “Hey, there you are.” He stood beside me, at least a head taller, his muscles flexing under his white T-shirt, which clung to him in just the right way as to hint at what lay beneath. His arm brushed against mine, and the unintentional touch was enough to send my nerves crackling. “I saved you a seat.” He winked.

  What is he talking about?

  “Thanks.” I turned back to Joe. “Uh, Joe, I can’t this weekend. Sorry,” I told him, my voice soft.

  “Maybe another time?” He gave me a tight smile before looking the hottie up and down with narrowed eyes.

  The so-hot-he-could-be-an-underwear-model guy from calculus gave Joe a friendly slap on the back. “I don’t think so, buddy.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Joe looked between me and the tall, dark-haired guy, blowing out a breath. “See ya around, Milayna.” Joe turned and was swallowed up by the current of people rushing from one class to the next.

  “‘Bye.” I turned, looking at the guy who saved me from Joe, and was sucked in by his marbled, blue-green eyes. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I’m tired of watching you try to turn him down without hurting his feelings. Better just to be done with it.” He turned away, and I fumbled for something to say to keep him from leaving.

  “I’m Milayna. You’re Chay, right?”

  He nodded once. “Be ca
reful. They’re here for you,” he murmured over his shoulder before he slipped into the classroom.

  “Wait! What are you talking about?”

  What the hell kind of freaky thing to say and then just walk away.

  I watched the clock tick the seconds off one by one. As soon as the bell rang, I was going to tackle him. My body wanted to tackle him for a totally different reason than my mind, but my mind won out—I wanted information.

  When the bell rang, Chay swiped his books off his desk and slipped out of the door. I ran out of the classroom to catch him, but he’d already disappeared into the hoard of students.

  ***

  “Where do you want to go first?” Muriel asked as we drove to the mall after school, looking over at me from the driver’s seat of her car.

  “I dunno.” I typed out a quick text to my mom, letting her know I was going to the mall.

  “Food court?”

  “Yeah, I could go for a soft pretzel.” As if on cue, my stomach growled.

  “Food court it is,” Muriel said and pushed up her sunglasses. “Guess what I heard about…”

  Muriel’s words were shoved away and pain, swift and sharp, took their place. My stomach scraped together like someone punched through my gut and scrubbed my insides with sandpaper. My breathing became ragged and shallow, my head pounding in rhythm with my heart.

  The sights and sounds around me moved in slow motion. Muriel spoke, but I couldn’t understand her, her voice too deep and slow. It sounded like she was underwater. What’s going on? What’s happening to me?

  I gripped the armrest on the car with one hand and wrapped my other arm around my stomach. It felt as though someone were drilling holes inside me. I ground my teeth together against the pain.

  Muriel continued her story, maneuvering her car down the street toward an intersection. The light was green, and we inched toward it.

  I knew something was going to happen—the same feeling I’d had at the park rolled in the pit of my stomach. Licking my lips, I tipped my head forward so my hair created a curtain between Muriel and me. I didn’t want her to see my eyes darting back and forth and the sweat beading on my upper lip.