Jessica leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Her left leg was stretched out across faded and scratched linoleum. With her right leg drawn up, her thigh was against her chest, she rested her forehead upon her hands on her knee. Her open eyes saw nothing. Without breath and without pulse, she seemed just a corpse in the shadows and moonlight, but none of the blood splattered across her was her own.

It was quiet in the house. The single yellow light in the kitchen ceiling cast soft shadows in the kitchen. The living room was dark, embraced in shadows and silhouettes.

''� Next to your mother!'�

An echo sparked, for an instant, and she twitched with a sudden, short gasp, before she quelled the internal noise. Jessica sat unmoving, breathless. The stillness that held her petite body had also enveloped her mind, but she could feel her resolve begin to slip again. She desperately dredged her memories for something pleasant to dwell on.

'Rabbit!'�

For an instant, a wave of innocent joy swept over her, but it continued downward, turning into a roaring waterfall of pain that no physical torture could inflict. She tried to hold it back, but her grip slid and her face screwed tight with a grimaced of despair.

Jessica fought the torrent of memories, a lifetime of oppression, frustration, and pain. Then, her mind gripped something solid, an escape from the pressing nightmares. It started with a horror and lead to this night of dark and bloody deeds.

Four years ago, she was running away, but she hadn't even made it out of the Ohio when trouble curled her into a ball behind a roadside diner. She remembered the single bare bulb and how she thought it was so very bright. Her teeth ached and her ribs hurt, but her pride burned away before the purifying flames of rage. Most of her life was about bottling her anger. This is where she unleashed it.

She had always been interested in boys, especially when she learned that there were boys that in no way resembled her kin. Unfortunately, she never had a chance to explore boys, because her brothers would not let any males close enough, crushing Jessica's social development with threats and violence.

When a nice young trucker offered to give her a ride, she was very gracious, but not so gracious to indulge in his carnal whims. She didn't get far from his truck before he caught up with her and dragged her behind the diner. He was going to get what he deserved, he had said, and sure enough, she was willing to fulfill that prophecy. They disagreed on what he deserved, however.

Lying on the concrete by the dumpster behind the diner, she let loose all the years of rage. She didn't know where the long sharp shard of glass came from, but it cut her hand, despite the dirty rag she had wrapped around it. The wicked curve, however, was bare, and it sliced through the man's skin better than any metal blade could have. She exposed tendons and muscles on her second pass. She moved like lightning, darting and dodging, as she had learned when she was trying to get away from her bullying family.

Then the rage boiled over the top and she couldn't think. Her brain shut down. She had opened the man's throat just under his chin, on one side. The bright red blood spurting high with every heartbeat surprised her and she stared at the man as he fell to his knees. His eyebrows were high, and his mouth was open, as if to say something, but no sounds came to her ears. She just stood staring in the gentle red rain.

Water shocked her from her daze. Someone was spraying her with a hose, and she flinched, bringing her hands up, palms out, to cover her face. The shard of glass dropped and shattered. The rag was stuck to her fingers caked with blood, until the hose knocked it free. Jessica dropped to a squat and covered her head with her arms. Someone turned the water off and there was silence.

'You don't seem like a murderer,'� said a woman.

Jessica peered out from behind her arms. A woman stood just below the single bare bulb, her face hidden in shadow. She wore leather boots and a leather jacket, denim pants and a cotton t-shirt. Everything was black, except for the shirt. It was white, with red and brown splotches on it, and the words, 'bleed for me'�. Then, the woman started to walk, slowly, around the body on the pavement. She moved like Jessica's father, confident with power, but cautious and knowing. When the woman had circled around to Jessica, near enough for a quiet talk, but far enough to be polite, Jessica could see the woman's face.

She looked to be somewhere in her twenties, but her eyes told a different story. They penetrated Jessica's soul, as if trying to read her mind, to feel Jessica's story. Jessica dropped her gaze and looked at the woman's boots. The woman squatted down and dropped her stare, looking at Jessica's black Converse All Stars. She tilted her head, as if she were still eyeing Jessica, peripherally.

'You could go inside and call the police,'� said the woman. 'I doubt any jury would convict you. I mean, a young thing like you, getting picked up by a twisted freak, and you had to do what you had to do. Otherwise, who knows what sick things he would have done to you.'� The woman paused for a minute, then raised her eyes to catch Jessica looking at her face, locking Jessica's eyes. 'Or, they might believe the prosecution and believe you were just whoring yourself out and didn't like being smacked around for the kind of cash he was laying on you.'�

Jessica's eyes widened with horror. There was a real chance she could go to prison. The reality of what she had done sunk in and took root. Her heart raced. Guilt twisted her face into a horrified grimace, and she jerked her head towards the body, the over eager young trucker who just wanted a little fun.

'Or, you could walk away,'� said the woman. Jessica jerked her head back towards the woman, face frozen in shock. The woman smiled gently, reassuringly, and said, 'He was going to rape you. And he was doing a fine job of beating you senseless.'� She shrugged. 'Who knows. Maybe he has done this before. Maybe he doesn't like to leave witnesses walking around. Maybe, he really deserved it. And, maybe, you can just walk away.'�

Jessica's face went blank. No one knew she was with the trucker. No one knew she was even capable of such violence. She hadn't known it herself until after the fact.

'But what about you?'� asked Jessica, suspicious.

'If I was going to follow the rules, I wouldn't be hanging around behind roadside diners, washing the blood off young women.'� The woman stood up and reached out a hand. Jessica stared at it, then slowly, reached out and grabbed the hand, letting herself be helped up. She grew very self-conscious, dripping water, stained with blood, and trying desperately not to look at the body.

'Won't they find the body?'� asked Jessica.

'Sure,'� said the woman, 'But no one knows you're here, and no one knows I'm here, so we get you into different clothes and ride on out of here.'�

Jessica looked confused, but she followed the woman around the dumpster and into the parking lot. In the far corner, under the branches of an old tree, a motorcycle stood on its kickstand, covered in a form fitting canvas.

After the woman packed the canvas into a bag and secured it to the back of the bike, she handed the helmet to Jessica. Jessica felt a wave of fear, as if taking the helmet would be compliance, would be turning her back on her crime, and the last step to leaving her former life behind.

'What's your name?'� asked Jessica.

'Teresa,'� said the woman. 'And yours?'�

'Jessica.'� And Jessica took the helmet. They were a hundred miles away by midnight.

*****

The fresh smell of blood seemed to fade in Jessica's head as the scent of old, stale cigarette smoke, fresh bad coffee, and powdered sugar blossomed from her memories. The more she focused on the beginnings, the less she felt the present bloody twilight.

Jessica and Teresa weren't the only two people in the donut shop. There was an older couple in a booth, dressed in biker leathers, staring at each other over coffee and cigarettes. Each move seemed practiced and expected as they sipped and sucked their caffeine and nicotine. The middle-aged woman with sunken eyes standing behind the counter poured more coffee for Jessica. Teresa looked up at the woman and held her hand over her untouched coffee, smiling a polite 'thank you, no'�. The woman glanced at Teresa, nodded faintly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Teresa then stretched her arm out across the counter, hanging her hand off the other side where the waitress had been standing. She rested her head on her bicep, turning her eyes to Jessica. Jessica stared at the cup of coffee, now darker and fuller than it had been a minute ago. Slowly, her arms started to move, reaching for sugar and milk. The cup overflowed onto the saucer as the coffee returned to a creamy tan color.

'You didn't vomit,'� said Teresa. Her eyes seemed gentle as they caressed Jessica's soul. Jessica could feel the ephemeral touch. She steadied her breathing, like she had always done when her father stared at her in his drunken stupor, and kept her eyes on the coffee cup. This time, however, there was no fear. This woman obviously wasn't going to smack her down if she looked up. Jessica straightened up in her seat and looked forward, at the back of the cook's head as he scraped away at the grill.

'What?'� asked Jessica, finally hearing what Teresa had said. Jessica kept watching the cook, tilting her head ever so slightly, as if she could find Teresa's meaning in the sparse hair of his head.

'Most people vomit the first time they kill someone,'� said Teresa, 'Especially when it leaves them covered in blood.'�

A few minutes of silence went by as Jessica thought about Teresa's words. Jessica turned her head to look into Teresa's eyes, feeling herself fall a little deeper into something, something she couldn't quite name.

'Does that mean something is wrong with me?'� asked Jessica.

'Hardly,'� said Teresa, shining a broad smile at Jessica. 'You are not a psychopath, if that's what you are worried about.'�

'But what does it mean?'� asked Jessica, her eyes squinting.

'Maybe it means you don't have a soul,'� said Teresa, her smile mocking the idea. 'Or, you are tougher than you know. Maybe it means your survival is more important than anything else. Maybe it means your life is the most important thing in your world.'�

Jessica turned back to her coffee and sipped at it without lifting the cup.

'What about your family?'� asked Teresa.

'I don't have family,'� said Jessica.

'Ah,'� said Teresa, her voice revealing her enlightenment. She sat up and turned to face Jessica fully, clasping her hands at her thighs. 'Yes, you do. It isn't a pleasant, loving family.'� Teresa knew she struck a nerve when Jessica scowled sharply at her, her face still near the cup on the counter. 'Mean spirited. Abusive, but not sexually. That kind of abuse marks the soul. You got hit a lot, at least until you learned to duck.'�

Rage flared at Jessica's core. Her father used to read her like this, telling her things that only she was supposed to know. Without thinking, like water rolling down a mountain, Jessica turned in her seat, landing one foot on the floor and driving her small fist towards Teresa's nose. Even her father hadn't been able to match her speed. He used to resort to ambushes, saving the beatings for when he could catch her sleeping, or in the bathroom. Her father had been strong, but when Teresa caught Jessica's wrist inches from skin, Jessica knew something was different about Teresa. Jessica's anger subsided.

Teresa was faster and stronger than Jessica, and they both knew it. Also, Jessica had faced raw strength in her older brothers, and older, experienced strength in her father, but this strength that Teresa had was different. It was machine-like, cold and hard. Teresa's grip was steady, without the slightest tremor of adrenaline. This was real physical power. It was something little Jessica could never hope to have. She relaxed and Teresa released her grip.

'I can teach you to fight,'� said Teresa. 'Start with knife fighting. I'll teach you to be the best. Then, I can show you how to win with just your hands.'�

Jessica settled back into her seat and leaned over to sip on her coffee. She rested her chin on her fists stacked one on top of the other. 'You are some kind of recruiter, aren't you?'� she said. 'Like that movie about the street trash girl that gets turned into an assassin, or something.'�

'Not quite,'� said Teresa. 'I'm just a street kid myself. I have a few advantages over the rest of the population, but I don't work for anybody.'�

'Then what do you want with me?'� asked Jessica, trying to look at Teresa without actually lifting her chin.

'I'm looking for a companion,'� said Teresa.

Jessica's eyebrows went high. 'I don't swing that way,'� she said, 'Just so you know.'�

'I'm betting you really don't swing in general,'� said Teresa, 'but that isn't what I'm talking about.'�

'I don't get it,'� said Jessica, frowning.

'I'm older than I look,'� said Teresa. 'Much older. And I spend most of my time on the road, alone. I used to have a companion, but,'� Teresa paused, hesitating before letting out a short, gentle sigh.

'Then, what?'� asked Jessica, lifting her chin to get a good look at Teresa.

'Things ended badly,'� said Teresa. 'I don't live a safe life, and a bad ending meant for me caught up with others instead.'�

'You are being vague,'� said Jessica, her mouth pulling tight, her eyes narrowing.

'And you were so loose lipped about your family,'� said Teresa. She smiled nicely, but there was little warmth there.

'Yeah,'� said Jessica, 'Okay. I don't know why I care, but,'� and with that, she shrugged, 'I want pie and ice cream first.'�

'Done,'� said Teresa, sitting up straight to look for the woman behind the counter.

The memories were real, now, and the taste of hot pie and cold vanilla ice cream were still vivid and delicious. It was the memory that still lingered with vitality. It was more real than if she had the dessert in front of her. They would taste bland and dull. It was as if the memories were fantasies and nothing would ever compare to heavy flavor that lingered in her mouth, there in the twilight.

This was actually very true.

'My father was a bastard,'� said Jessica. 'He needed to control everything. It wasn't fun for him, however. It really was a need. Almost tangible. I know everyone in the family could feel it.'�

'How many were in your family,'� asked Teresa.

'Luke and John were the oldest,'� Jessica said around a mouth full of caramelized apple and crust. 'They were most like my father. They were much older than me, but they also were more . . . up here,'� she said, tapping her forehead with a crumb covered fork, 'more devious. They could hit just as hard as my father, but they didn't do it just for kicks. They always had other motive for their violence.

'What happened to their mother?'� asked Teresa.

'She was in and out of prison, so my father raised them without her, in his own brutal way.'� Jessica swallowed, then whispered under her breath, 'He never wanted to be a father.'�

'What?'� asked Teresa, tilting her head forward to hear Jessica better.

'Nothing,'� said Jessica, 'Just something I never really considered before.'� Teresa leaned back with a hint of a knowing smile on her face as she figured out what Jessica had said.

Jessica continued. 'Their mother was always selling drugs in her half-assed, paranoid way. She died in her cell, lonely and scared, overdosing on something that wasn't what she thought it was, smuggled in from outside those high walls and chain link fences.

'The twins, now, they were thugs.'� Jessica sat back and crossed her arms, defiantly. 'They weren't very smart, but man, were they big. They taught me an important lesson, though.'� Jessica was silent, remembering the lessons and the victories. The defeats all blended together in a montage of bruises and humiliations, so they weren't worth dwelling on. But, the victories, they were something, for a little girl in a big family.

'They were stronger,'� Jessica said, smiling, 'but I was always faster. Even as a little girl, I could remember getting away from them. My mother wouldn't let them near me until I was older, and I had learned quickly how to escape their small minds.'�

'Where did they come from?'� asked Teresa.

'Andy and Drew,'� said Jessica, 'that was my father's idea. Their mother was a poor, stupid beauty that never had an idea of her own. She left after the twins were born, when my father decided the honeymoon was over. It only took one hit, though, so she couldn't have been that stupid. She ended up marrying a rich doctor on the west coast. I never knew why she hadn't tried to get her children.'�

Jessica finished her ice cream and drank some water. 'Then there was me, then Michael.'�

Everything became very unreal to Jessica as she said Michael's name. The smell of dessert was gone, as if washed away by the water she remembered drinking. The smell of blood was strong, and the memory of rage. Jessica struggled to stay in the memories, to stay with the sanity. Since there was no one remaining to feel her rage, she was afraid it might turn inward, back on herself.

She took a deep breath, sitting there between the kitchen and the living room, in the darkness of her mind, but, since breath was no longer needed, it didn't help. She clamped her eyes shut tightly against the outside world and pushed through the memories, dragging them to her, pulling them around her like a fortress against the nightmare on the other side of her eyelids.

Teresa spoke, but Jessica didn't hear. She looked over at Teresa and Teresa repeated her words. 'Tell me about Michael.'� There was a curious smile on Teresa's face, but Jessica felt the command in her voice.

'Our mother seemed to be able to stand up to my father without sustaining any bruises,'� said Jessica. 'I never knew why, but I remember her, beautiful, angry, and defiant. When I was eight years old, she went away. My father was very upset and beat Andy and Drew. They never looked the same after that.'�

Jessica remembered her pie and finished it, licking the small plate to get every last crumb of crust. She wiped her face with a paper napkin, then continued, all the while, looking down at the empty plate.

'After that, the twins were cruel and hateful. Being mean wasn't just fun for them, anymore. It seemed like they had a purpose. They rarely got a hold of me, but Michael, he was younger by five years. I had to watch out for him. I wasn't always there, though.'�

Jessica's eyes watered, so much she couldn't see. She kept her breathing steady by sheer force of will, something practiced over many years.

'They were cruel,'� she said, 'He ''

Jessica couldn't continue. The tears streamed down her face. She held back the sobbing, but the anguish was all over her face. She hugged herself tightly, and winced when Teresa put a hand on her shoulder.

'You left without him,'� said Teresa, softly. Jessica nodded. 'You are a survivor, Jessica. Your survival is your core. We are the same. We have to make sacrifices to survive, and those sacrifices will haunt us for the rest of our days, but we have those days, because of the sacrifices.'�

Jessica blinked through the tears and looked at Teresa. 'Is that what happened to your companion?'� asked Jessica.

Teresa pulled back and blinked. Her friendly demeanor faded into a cold, stony façade. 'Yes,'� she replied. Jessica could feel the dangerous place she was treading through. Teresa's voice felt like the grip that stopped Jessica's punch from landing.

'And that might happen to me, if I join you?'� asked Jessica.

Teresa nodded, solemnly. 'Or me, if you are as tough as I think you are.'� Jessica furrowed her brow and tilted her head slightly. 'I will teach you to be the best survivor you can be,'� said Teresa. 'And sometimes the student surpasses the teacher. As I said before, my life is not safe and cozy, but it is free.'�

After a long moment of silence, Jessica said, 'Tell me about ''

'No!'� said Teresa, sternly. The danger had faded, but the teacher was still there. Then, she returned to the friendly stranger. 'Not yet. Finish your story.'�

Jessica pursed her lips and wanted to tell Teresa to leave her alone, but the desire to finish overcame her. It was like a confession, a cleansing. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed the older couple was gone. The lights were out in the kitchen area, and the waitress was nowhere to be seen.

Teresa saw Jessica looking around and said, 'Go on, tell me your story. Finish what you started.'�

This struck a cord in Jessica. It was then, that the end had started. It was those two sentences that lead Jessica to sit in a darkened bloody house.

'Things started to get weird,'� said Jessica, 'when I was fifteen.'�

'How do you mean, 'weird','� asked Teresa.

'I think I started to remind everybody of my mother,'� said Jessica. 'My father often stared at me with different eyes, mournful eyes. Luke was good at hiding his feelings, but John watched me with cold eyes. The twins stopped looking at me altogether. I could still feel their hatred, though.'�

'What about Michael?'� asked Teresa.

'He was always my little brother,'� said Jessica. There was along moment of silence before Jessica continued. 'I tried running away when I was sixteen, but the police found me and dragged me back home. I ran after an argument with my father, but once I was out of the house, it seemed like the right thing to do. I lost something, though.'�

'Your connection with your father?'� asked Teresa, 'Or, with Michael.'�

'Actually, I think my father realized how much like my mother I was,'� said Jessica. 'He didn't punish me after I returned. In fact, he let me alone, watching, but never interfering. I think Michael felt betrayed. I didn't just leave the family, I left him. I was only gone for a week, but when I was back in the house, he wouldn't speak to me for another week.'�

'Did he fall victim to the older brothers?'� asked Teresa.

'I don't know,'� said Jessica, 'He wouldn't tell me what happened.'�

'Did your relationship with Michael ever improve?'� asked Teresa.

'It was never the same, but the family settled into sort of a routine,'� said Jessica. 'Michael was getting better at dealing with the twins. My father spoke less and less. In fact, Luke seemed to be in control, with John as his second in command.'�

'But the situation was still weird,'� said Teresa.

'Yeah,'� confirmed Jessica, 'and when I turned eighteen, nothing could bring me back, not even the law, so I left.'� She paused, her chin trembling. 'I remember standing outside Michael's window, watching tears roll down his face. Part of me wanted to believe I would see him again, but I also knew that a bridge was being burned. Behind the glass, I saw him mouth the words, 'bye-bye, Rabbit,' as if he were giving me permission to leave. That's when I turned and walked away.'�

'What did he mean by that?'� asked Teresa.

'Rabbit was a secret nickname he gave me,'� explained Jessica. 'It is from some movie that mixed cartoons and real life. There was this character named Jessica Rabbit, and she was beautiful. It was Michael's favorite movie.'�

'He knew you couldn't stay,'� said Teresa.

'Yeah,'� said Jessica, 'By the time I was eighteen, everybody in the house knew I couldn't stay, but nobody said a word. I mean, it wasn't like I could just slice their throats in the darkness of night.'�

'Why not?'� asked Teresa, rather calmly.

'What?'� Jessica sat up straight, horrified at the thought, then her eyes went wide, remembering what she had done only a few hours ago. 'They were family!'�

'Hardly,'� said Teresa. 'I know blood enemies that have more compassion for each other than your brothers.'�

Jessica started to object, 'But-'� And Teresa held up a hand.

'Come with me,'� said Teresa. 'I need your help, before sunrise.'�

'With what?'� asked Jessica, off-balance, unsure of what to do with the stir of emotions she was feeling.

'Follow,'� said Teresa with a mischievous smile. She stood up, only to sit on the counter, swing her feet over, and land on the other side. She walked towards the kitchen entrance and nearly reached it before Jessica moved. Jessica scrambled over the counter and followed Teresa through the swinging door.

Teresa stopped at the back entrance to the diner near a panel of light switches, and gestured for Jessica to go out back. As Jessica went through the door, Teresa shut off all the lights in the diner, then followed Jessica.

Jessica saw a nasty smelling dumpster, a water hose, and a shovel, laying in the dirt. On the other side of a tree line, there were piles of junked vehicles. Before she could turn to question Teresa, who had walked up very close behind her, Teresa pinned Jessica's arms with one of her own, and pulled her head back with her free hand. There was a moment of pain that melted into ecstasy, then darkness.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...