Chapter 1: Nightmare

The chalk screeched against the black board as Professor Nerman wrote Vigilantism in large script. “Now someone explain to me why the recent deaths have become a huge issue in the media?”

My classmates’ stares fixed on his bald head and beady eyes. The silence vibrated through the room, interrupted only by nervous coughs and whispers from the back. My eyes wandered, mentally ticking the seconds away. The walls were a pale sunny yellow, littered with posters for the college’s activities center, tutoring hours, and encouragement for students to “get out and vote.” A part of me was ready for the class to be over, just to get this night over and be done with it, but the other half was terrified of what the coming hours would bring.

Nerman sighed. “Come on you guys, we have a real life Batman in our city and none of you have anything to say about it?”

“Whoever it is can hardly be described as Batman caliber.” The student sitting in front of me drew a laugh from the class.

“Oh, Mr. Andrews, why is that?” Nerman clasped his hands together. The wrinkles in his face relaxed, while his brows raised, opening his eyes.

Andrews shook his head and nervously laughed. “Well for starters, he’s picking on winos and petty thieves.” Sitting straighter, indignation laced his words. “Batman has real bad guys to fight. True evil that needs to be stopped or the whole city goes up in flames. Portland has what? Drug dealers, gangs, and pick-pockets. If it ever gets dry enough, we might get an arsonist here and there, but it isn’t really anything the police can’t handle.” He shruged, sinking deeper into his chair, as a blush crept its way down his neck. An ironic smile played across my lips, sympathetic to his dismissal of enthusiasm. Some things didn’t change with the leap from high school to college.

“If the police can handle it, why aren’t all those people in jail?” A smooth voice chimed in from the back. The whole class turned to look at the pale, attractive man in the corner. His eyes looked down at the notebook in front of him, seemingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Ah, good point, Mr. Knight. Anyone care to comment?” Nerman scaned the classroom catching only the tops and sides of students’ heads, everyone careful not to catch his eye.

“It’s because, unlike the vigilantes, the police have rules they have to follow.” Jonathan interjected from beside me. After a year of dating, his smooth tenor still made my stomach flutter. “Rules that were set up to protect people from being falsely charged and convicted. What happens if the vigilante is wrong? It’s not like he can bring them back from the dead.”

I decided to stir the pot a bit. “What makes everyone so sure the vigilante is a man?”

Jonathan laughed, and I lightly smacked him with the back of my hand. He looked down at his arm, while scrunching his face and mouthing “ouch...meanie”. I couldn't stifle the giggle that bubbled in my throat.

“No scoffing, Mr. Williams. She does have a point. Now Ms. Cooper, in 88% of all homicide cases, the killer is a man, but that does leave a 12% chance that the killer might be a woman.”

I raised a brow toward Jonathan in victory. He silently chuckled, shaking his head.

“There’s no way a woman could take down some of those guys.” The comment came from a muscular student, dwarfing the desk two rows behind me.

Knight snickered from the corner.

“Something funny?” I glared directly at his profile, daring him to challenge me.

A smirk spread across Knight’s face; his teeth were a blinding white under the florescent lights. “Actually, I was just thinking that I know a few women that could more than take down some of those guys.” He held the word those on his tongue a half a beat longer than necessary.

I was taken aback by his support of my lady vigilante theory. His gaze met mine before heading back to his notebook. There was something strange about the color, but his eyes were too quick for me to get a better look. I couldn't seem to stop watching him. The shine of his black hair looked almost blue, the messy strands playing just off his temples. His only movements were the clenching of his chiseled jaw. He looked at me again, and I quickly turned back to the front of the classroom, squeezing my hands to keep them from shaking.

Stealing a quick glance beside me, I checked to see if Jonathan caught me. His head was cocked sideways listening to Professor Nerman discuss what it meant to be a vigilante and why it was against the law. Relieved, I tried to pay attention. I can feel Knight’s eyes on me, but every time I check, he was scrawling in his notebook. I took Jonathan’s hand and give it a light squeeze. He squeezed back, giving me a toothy grin.

Jonathan squinted, looking just past my head. His brows furrowed while his lips curved up at the corners. “I think that guy is checking out my very hot girlfriend.”

“I’m sure he’s just staring into space.” I sat up straight, intentionally not looking at Knight.

“No, I’m sure he’s looking at you. I don’t blame him, but I may have to beat him up if he keeps staring.” He looked back down at me. “For your honor of course.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't keep the smile from creeping across my face. Jonathan was the epitome of a big teddy bear, full of love and the inane ability to always make me smile. I didn't want to imagine where I would be sitting now had I not found him in that late-night diner. For a lack of a better way to put it, he saved me from me.

“Remember class, I want everyone to read the past articles on the vigilante and have a paper written up on your opinion. Is this individual a good guy or a bad guy? See you all on Tuesday.” Nerman finished the class, and I gathered my things.

Grabbing my shoulder bag, I walked out the door holding Jonathan’s hand. The breeze licked at my burning face, as I turned it toward the inky blue sky. I breathed in the moist air, willing the cold to calm my jittering nerves. Forget him, Charisse. I was annoyed by the license my involuntary actions were taking, my heart still sputtering from the exchange with Knight.

Just past the classroom, Jonathan pulled me close, and I forgot all about Knight and his mysterious eyes. Jonathan’s scent was clean-- bar soap and aftershave, the combination turning my stomach to liquid Jell-O. I giggle while he nuzzled my neck with tiny kisses.

“Why, Charisse, I think you’re blushing.” His breath was warm against my skin.

“Necking in the campus hallway can have that effect on a girl.”

He laughed giving me a tight squeeze. Then his face grew serious, and my stomach dropped like a stone.

“What’s the look for?” There was a lightness in my voice that faded from my body.

“Do you promise not get mad?”

Uh oh. “Depends on what you say.” I grew stiff with apprehension. Jonathan pulled away.

“It’s just…” He let out a heavy sigh. “Are you sure you want to go alone tonight? I really don’t mind going to help you with Ernest.”

I gritted my teeth and huffed air through my nostrils, irritation grating on the roof of my mouth. “Jonathan, I told you this was my problem, not yours. Now butt out!"

“But this isn’t your problem. It’s your mother’s!” He shook his head, his gaze somewhere around his shoes. “Charisse, what are you trying to protect me from?”

“This isn’t about you!” I stormed off, Jonathan struggling to catch up.

Having Jonathan with me would have made the night easier, but at what cost? I would not allow him to see my drunken mother, and her equally drunken boyfriend, stumbling over one another, screaming at the top of their lungs on how the other is a drunk and a bum. I would not allow him the experience of begging the neighbors to not call the police with promises to keep the noise down. I would not allow him the knowledge that this is what I came from, who I was. I couldn't bare his pity. Jonathan knew I wasn't squeaky clean, but I vowed from the beginning to protect him from the nightmarish details.

I was almost to the parking lot, when Jonathan grabbed my arm to stop me. “Jesus, Charisse, Will you slow the hell down?”

I shrugged against his hand and he held on tighter, forcing me to turn and look at him. For a minute he said nothing, just stared in my eyes with his big puppy dog brown ones. The fight began to ebb its way out of me; I struggled to hold onto it with my finger-tips.

“You know I’m only worried about you.” His soft voice wormed itself into all the weak points of my heart. “I know that you are strong enough to take care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take care of you.”

“I need to do this by myself.” My voice was just above a whisper.

“Why do you need to retrieve your mother’s dead-beat boyfriend by yourself?” The exasperation in his voice tugs on my fleeting anger.

“I just do, okay!” I ripped my arm from his grasp and continue to my car. I didn’t want to hurt him, but the alternative was far worse.

"Charisse! Don't walk away from me. Talk to me!" Jonathan's voice echoed in the emptying parking lot.

"Look, Don't worry about me, okay?" I risked a quick glance of his eyes. "I'll pick up Ernest, drop him off with my mother, and be back before you know it. Easy."

He nodded, worry creasing his brow. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you too,” I mumbled with a weak smile just before getting into the car.

****

I peered out the windshield, my car now a steady crawl. Glass cracked underneath my tires as I tried to pick out the bar that currently held Ernest. Neon signs barely illuminated the seedy entrances. My stomach turned just thinking how I used to flash a little cleavage with my fake ID and walked into these places like I owned them. Now, I couldn't get far enough away. Bright pink lights highlighted The Leaky Bottle, and I pulled over to the chipped curb.

“Got any change?” asked a homeless man sitting against the building. His eyes were black against the dirt on his skin, his age indeterminable by the harshness of life shown on his weathered face. Automatically, I fished a few quarters out of my pocket and hand them to him. He looked at the seventy-five cents and shruged, like it all really didn’t matter.

Using all of my body weight, I pulled open the door, breaking free the sticky liquid attempting to cement it closed. 'I've Got Friends in Low Places' blared from the jukebox; one woman wobbled by herself in a drunken rhythm. I cupped my hand over my nose and mouth against the heavy aroma of vomit and warm beer. Searching the room for my mother’s wayward boyfriend, I got an up-and-down from the barman. Disgust wiggled from my stomach to my throat. Normally, I would have told my mother where she could stick it, but something about her pleading tone on that voice mail and the way she called me her little Cherrie, I felt like I had to help her. Plus by this hour, she had to be three sheets to the wind.

"Can I see some ID?" The barman asked with a sweet smile.

I could see the wheels turning inside his brain, ready for me to earn my way through the door. "Cool it, Jerry. I'm not here to drink, just looking for someone."

"Aren't we all, pretty lady?"

I was surprised by the few patrons inside. In my darker days this had always been a place for cheap liquor and appreciative stares. Maybe I was like the wobbling woman. I shuddered at the thought. I found Ernest at a lonely round table talking to a man with milky blue eyes and a hard sneer.

“I’m telling you. If you don’t let women know who’s in control, they will walk all over you. Take you for everything you got.” The man grabbed his beer, spilling the liquid on the table before making it to his mouth.

“Too bad they have all the equipment.” Both men laughed at Ernest’s comment. I balled my hands to keep from slapping the back of his greasy head.

“Ernest, Mom sent me to come get you.” I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling at the sleeves of my denim jacket.

“And here’s a good piece of equipment now.” Ernest squeezed my butt, and I smacked at his hand. The stool scraped against the floor; Ernest’s movements were quick for such an intoxicated man. “Listen girl, you don’t lay a finger on me unless I tell you to.” His sausage fingers wrapped around my arm, his muscles flexing under the dirty white shirt.

I winced under the pressure and bit my lip to hold my tongue. Just make it through tonight. I nodded, unable to speak.

He released my arm and shook the hand of the man next to him. “Guess it’s time to get back to the old ball and chain.” Both men chuckled, and Ernest lumbered his way to the door.

I scurried behind, ready to get out, but not wanting Ernest to have opportunity number two on my butt. The light was dim in the bar and barely highlighted the mist of cigarette smoke permeating the room. The homeless man looked up at us, but immediately turned his focus to his dirty finger nails when his gaze met Ernest. Apparently, I was not the only one who has experienced Ernest’s special charms.

I opened the passenger door to my silver Honda and wait for Ernest to get in. He tripped on a crack in the curb and smacked his head against the roof of the car. Glaring up at me, he waited for me to react. “You think you’re so special, huh? So much better than your mom and me? Well, you’re not! You can dress up trash in nice clothes, but it’s still trash.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep the sharp edge of truth from cutting too deep. At least Jonathan isn’t here to see this. The pit of my stomach twisted, and I turned my eyes to the moonless sky, keeping any overzealous tears from making its way down my cheek. My hatred for this man kept my muscles tense and my chin from quivering.

The car shook side to side while Ernest fell into the seat, using several attempts to get his entire body facing forward. I closed the door, taking in a deep breath that I instantly regret, vomit and urine making quite a pungent mixture.

Getting in on the other side, I clipped my seat belt and started the car, not bothering to ask Ernest to do the same. The dashboard lit up, and I let the clutch out, giving it a little gas. The small car revved, and I shifted into first. The interior was clean and smelled of lilacs, courtesy of the tiny air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. I wondered if it would stay that way, sighing. Vomit takes weeks to get out of upholstery. Ernest mumbled to himself. I caught only bits and pieces, and none were flattering.

Keeping my eyes straight on the road, I tried to ignore Ernest’s blatant stare at my profile. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his brown eyes apprising me and it made my skin crawl. “Please, don’t look at me like that.” My heart began to pick up speed in my chest, and I did everything I could to keep my breathing even.

“I’ll look at you anyway I want.” He shifted his entire body in my direction. “You know, you’re a pretty girl.”

I pursed my lips to keep my scathing thoughts at bay. My stomach felt like a ball of led, and perspiration was building around my hairline. I swallowed, watching the road.

“Except for that mouth of yours.” His voice was hard.

My heart free-falls to my stomach. I just have to get through tonight.

“You know, I bet I could come up with much better uses for that mouth.” His hand reached for the inside of my thigh.

I jumped at the contact, pushing his hand away. “Please don’t touch me.”

Ernest glared at my profile, sucking on his front tooth. My hands trembled as the seconds ticked by endlessly. I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel, waiting for what will come next. The light ahead turned red, and I was forced to stop. Without delay, Ernest grabbed my collar and pulls my head to his lap. I screamed, frantically trying to pull away. “Hold still,” he yelled, now holding onto my hair. My hands clawed for the steering wheel for leverage, but he was far stronger.

My head planted in his thigh, he reached for his zipper. I shoved at the buckle of my seat belt, desperate to get more mobility. My eyes stung with welling tears, and I shoved my shoulder into his gut, slamming my head into the passenger door. He grunted and released just enough to allow me to rip my hair from his hands. My scalp burned, hundreds of missing strands wrapped around Ernest’s fingers. My shaking hands fumbled with the locked door, begging it to open.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He pulled hard on the back of my jacket, my nails scratched at the door while my fingers lost contact.

“Please don’t…” was all I managed. He chuckled at me, as if my fear was a fantastic game to him.

“I’m not all bad sweetness,” he leered, both hands full with my jacket. Please, just let me get through tonight.

With a final ditch effort, I wiggled out my jacket, elbowing Ernest in the process. He cupped his groin giving me the time I needed to escape. I ripped the door open and head straight, the night air burning in my lungs.

“Get back here, damn it!” Ernest’s voice echoed through the dirty street, followed by the hard slap of boots hitting pavement.

****

Must keep running! Panic froze my brain. I couldn't stop. I couldn't think. I couldn't reason. I could only run.

My throat was dry and my tongue swollen from my labored breaths. Each time I took in a gulp of the cold night air, it felt like swallowing daggers.There was no moonlight, so I raced from street lamp to street lamp, hoping someone would see me in the eerie yellow glow. Abandoned rotting buildings zoomed past the corners of my vision, fractured only by dark alleyways. Why won't someone help me?

I tried a shattering scream for help, but it came out no more than a breathy whisper.

"No one is going to help you, Charisse." Ernest's voice sent a shock through my body, my heart trying to leap from my chest. I willed my legs to move faster, but they protested in exhaustion.

Why me? I was finally cleaning up my life., my thoughts pleaded.

I came up to a street corner. Large, faded-brick buildings stood tall to my left and right. A sizable park was diagonally across. Police patrol these parks, right? At the very least, the homeless? A jogger? Anyone! Without another thought, I sprinted toward the park, hoping a car might come close to hitting me and stop. No luck.

"Give it up, Charisse. Why do you have to make things so difficult?"

My feet pressed deep into the damp earth. I stumbled, my ankle twisting under my weight. Bone-jarring pain shot through my hands and knees, as I fell hard to the ground. I clawed my way back up, mud and grass clinging under my fingernails, but it was too late. A heavy hand grabbed hold of my long, red hair, then a mind numbing crack-- my head making contact with a solid tree trunk. Black dots dance across my fuzzy vision, while the thick, coppery smell of blood filled my nose.

"Thought you were too good for me huh, Charisse?" My name sounded like bile in his throat. A forceful kick from his worn boot sent sickening pain through me, lighting my brain in reds and oranges. "Not too good for me now, are you?"

His face was twisted ugly with lust, rage, and power, the fear in my eyes warping his brown ones to delight. Lowering his solid body down onto one knee, he reached behind his back. The world blurred together, becoming no more than horrific shapes and colors. He ripped my shirt open, pearl buttons falling silently to the ground.

This is it. I braced myself for what will come next. Something glinted in his hand, but I can't make out what. Maybe I'm hallucinating. But the sharp pain across my cheek was very real. The knife was very real. Taking a sharp intake of air, I choked on my tears.

"No one is gonna want this pretty face when I'm done with it."

I gagged, his breath reeking of sickly, sweet liquor.

Please don't kill me, I wanted to cry. Please don't kill me. Only soft whimpers came from my lips. The salty taste of my tears joined the metallic blood in my mouth. I begged my limbs to move; to defend myself. But my body remained limp, my head slumped at an angle, while a heavy fog began its progression across my brain. My ears were filled only with his labored breathing and my rattling heart beat.

Ernest cut a long jagged line across my chest, pushing deep into my right breast. The pain was a dull flower blooming through me. I continued to choke on my own blood and tears. My body was persistent to survive, but my mind let go, drifting slowly, separating me from the pain below. My mind wandered over my short nineteen years of life. They seemed much longer when there were many more ahead of them. I scoffed at so many wasted years. A steady stream of faceless boyfriends, all attracted like moths to my slender waist and long legs. Nothing serious, nothing permanent, but that had all changed with Jonathan. Jonathan, I'm so sorry.

I barely felt the knife as it carved out his hatred. My legs, arms, and stomach all felt the sharp point of his fury. Thick crimson soaked through my mud-caked jeans mingling with the wet soil under me.

The last thing I saw was my pale foot glowing against the blood and mud. There was a strangled cry, and the knife stopped.

"Is she dead?" a strange but wondrous voice asked.

"Not yet," another responded.

Then blackness.

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