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.

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