The Acolyte
Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
Chapter 6
Mena took in a long breath, came fully awake. A dim blue light filtered down into the basement. She was remotely surprised; usually she awoke very disoriented when she slept in strange places, but this time she had known exactly where she was the moment she woke. And a clear head, too. The logic clicked over. This is the first day of the rest of your life. Your real life.
She sat up, wincing from the variety of scrapes and bruises that adorned her body. The monster's big, dirty coat had been her cover for the night, and she laid it aside carefully, as though it were made of silk. Mena pulled forward the blood-stiff remains of her shirt, which was the only thing she was wearing apart from her boots. The shirt was shy all of its buttons now, but she was undeterred, and tied the lower corners together at her midriff.
Helen was curled up on her pile of clothing, mouth slightly open. Mena crept over softly and began rifling through some of the garments at the edge, gently pulled out a pair of shorts. She held them up to herself, judging their fit. They'd be a bit loose, but otherwise wearable. The girl snuck back towards the entrance, stepped into the shorts, and grabbed the bundle containing her personal armory. Soon to grow, she thought with a determined little smile.
Outside the air was cool, still, and moist. A slight mist lay on the ground, just hazing the landscape. Crickets chirped mournfully, soon to be displaced by birdsong. Mena strolled leisurely to her car; its hood was down, the creature's truck was gone. Her lungs filled slowly, deeply, and she just as calmly let out the breath. "A good day to die," she whispered to the crickets, as though letting them in on the best secret ever, one too good to contain. The joy was building in her heart, the joy of an epiphany that she was beginning to understand. All that went before, she could let it go. What was necessary now, was a death.
Knives and gun strapped on, Mena climbed into her Mustang. It smelled familiar inside, like coffee and gasoline and her own sweat. She started it up, savoring the deep rumble and throb for the last time, and caressed the steering wheel lovingly for a minute. Then she gripped the shift knob - her magic wand - and with a sneer of satisfaction roared away.
A remembered flash of landscape had surfaced in her mind, seen for a brief second two days earlier. A peculiar gouge in the mostly flat terrain, visible for a moment to anyone looking in the right direction as they went down the lonely highway. She knew what it was; a steep, deep cut in the earth, wide enough for a set of railroad tracks. Rather than go around a wide rise of ground, the line had been cut right through. Mena had always been curious about such places; they were redundant these days, since most train lines were out of business. A lonely, abandoned channel, unnoticed by the modern world, leading straight to nowhere, a lost destination. Like ley lines, fossil tracks of former power. And I shall make my sacrifice upon it. She pictured the route they had followed before, threaded herself back along the blank, unadorned roads.
The air was becoming pale and warm by the time she reached the stretch where the cut was hidden. Slowing down, she peered sharply at the passing landscape, watching for the dagger-shaped glimpse of sky that betrayed the cut. It flashed in her vision, a tiny spark in the brightening horizon. Her heart thrummed for a moment, and she found a place to turn off the highway into the grassland. No fence barred her way, though it wouldn't have even slowed her down. Mena kept her eyes locked on the gash in the earth. To lose it now meant finding it again by suddenly dropping into it.
The lip of the cut came into view as she drew closer. The soil was shallow; underneath was layer after layer of limestone and shale. Along the walls of the channel ran regular vertical scars, like the clawmarks of some vengeful dragon trying to scrabble its way out of the chasm; the shafts drilled into soft stone for explosives.
The Mustang was now a dozen feet from the edge of the sharp drop. Mena put it in neutral and set the emergency brake. She dug through her console pile of cd's, picked one out with a half-smile and pushed it into the stereo. The pounding music burst to life; she cranked it up further, then popped the hood and climbed out.
The sun broke over the horizon, gilding the shiny blue car. Mena squinted in sudden discomfort. The golden sliver of sun seemed much brighter than it ought. She raised the hood, her eyes locating the gas line quickly, and unsheathed her long knife, slipped it under the rubber tube without hesitation. A hard, quick pull, and she leapt aside as gas began to sputter out.
Around the door, the emergency brake released. She leaned on the doorframe for a few seconds, until the car began to creep forward, then roll in earnest. Mena passed through the thick cloud of gasoline fumes, then stepped back, away from the car. By the time it reached the dropoff it had enough momentum to push more than just the front wheels over, and the Mustang slid over the edge, back end rotating out of sight.
The music became rapidly fainter and then was interrupted by a satisfying crash, a brief symphony of metallic rending and tearing, glass shattering from all windows in unison, tires bursting as they were impaled on steel body.
A respectful silence followed, then an encore began building; a ticking, hissing, becoming threatening and angry, then the eardrum-tearing roar of an explosion. A bubble of black-orange flame rolled up from the ravine.
Mena walked carefully to the lip of the cut. The misshapen and burning remains of her car lay askew on weedy tracks. No one would find this for a while, and when they did, they'd know: Mena was dead.
It feels good to die, she thought with curious delight. Mena lowered her sore body to the scruffy grass, lay down at the edge on her stomach, arms crossed under her chin so her gaze could rest on the burning wreckage of her old life. All of that, gone. Good riddance.
She let it all come back, a funeral procession welcome to march through her mind, and away to its grave.
* * * * *
As a little girl, she had noticed how unhappy people were, how preoccupied with trivial problems and material vanities. Few of them even noticed the smell of fresh water; the lonely color of sunrises; the vast ocean of the universe that rolled above their heads every night. They clung to civilization as though it could save them. She thought they were so shallow, so useless, and vowed never to become like that. Know thine enemy - and in knowing, gain the strength to resist it.
One person was unlike the sad, stunted masses, the one whose contrast to their feebleness was what had thrown it into such sharp relief as to be noticeable to a young girl. Her mother's sister, her Aunt Helen. She lived in a small town in the country, an couple of hours from the city where Mena's home was. To outward appearances, Aunt Helen lived a life enough like her neighbors' to blend in. A small but neat house; a huge yard with big old trees crowding it, turning it into a dark forest where talking wolves and shy unicorns might be found. A job at the library to fit the ridiculously outdated 'quiet spinster librarian' image.
Mena's earliest memories were of Aunt Hel, speaking to her as though she were a rational being instead of a baby. She loved her aunt for that, and subconsciously strove to live up to Aunt Hel's regard, to use her mind and her talents to the fullest.
They had gone on forest walks together, the woman pointing out useful plants, animal tracks, seasonal changes, signs of water. The woman had a pet name for her niece: Menad. "You're my little wild girl of the woods," she'd say with a proud, wide smile. Aunt Hel had gently guided Mena along a separate branch of learning, one that most of her classmates, and even her teachers, she quickly discovered, had no concept of. It was the knowledge of how to live, strong and independent, able and unafraid.
When she was eight years old, Mena had wandered into the den late one night, unseen by her parents, and had watched the movie playing on television. An assault and rape was depicted, and Mena had become angry and confused, still not entirely sure of television's ficticious qualities.
"Why didn't she just kill him!" she burst out, startling her parents out of their easy chairs.
They had attempted to soothe her, told her it was just a show, and one she wasn't supposed to have seen. Mena was insistent, wouldn't take any shushing. "But why didn't she just grab one of those pencils and stab him in the eye?" Her parents were horrified. They spent the next hour making her promise to never, never talk like that again, to anyone. She was utterly flabbergasted.
As soon as her next visit with her aunt, she broke that promise, eagerly and solemnly describing the event and the ensuing chastisement. If anyone would tell her the truth about some strange taboo she'd unwittingly broken, Aunt Hel would, and the girl could ask without fear of reprisal.
Aunt Hel's face seemed to squirm around for a few seconds before the smile worked its way out. She explained in simple but precise words how most people act out their lives as victims waiting to happen, only strong as a colony organism. If separated from the group, or faced with some unthinkable threat from the outside, they find some kind of righteous satisfaction when they prove themselves to be the helpless, delicate tragedy they fantasized. "People love to be frail, to be a low place in the ground where pity will gather." The notion of being strong enough to resist this inevitable doom was seen as laughable, somehow sacreligious - (if our great civilization can't save us, how dare you imagine that you can save yourself?). This abhorrence of self-reliance was what had so disturbed her parents; the notion that violence could be met and dealt with by violence, rather than being accepted as fate.
She said that this fatalistic view was not only the norm, but any variation from it was seen as mental illness. "And you're too young to be fed to the shrinks." Aunt Helen advised the wonder-wide-eyed girl to refrain from saying things that violated this unspoken 'pact of ignorance', and to learn by imagining how an able person could face and resolve various 'tragic' situations. "You don't have to keep it to yourself, you can tell me about your thoughts, but best not to mention it to others. They won't understand the practical value."
From then on, Mena watched everything that went on around her, keeping a careful eye out for what her aunt had called "the herd shuffle". She was the quiet, serious girl with big brown eyes, who stood in a corner listening to all the conversations in the room at once. She noticed the hilarious resemblance to territorial animal behavior that comprised most social interactions. Aunt Hel had chuckled, nodding. "Humans are animals...whether anyone likes to admit it or not, we're just animals with opposeable thumbs and an overblown sense of self-importance." Then she had become more serious, a hard look glowing in her eyes. "The most important thing to remember, Menad, the thing that almost no one believes, is that you should never assume you're at the top of the food chain. People allow themselves to be weak because they think that even when weak, they are stronger and smarter than anything else. It's a foolish and deadly mistake."
Over time, the girl learned to read the signs of people's hidden languages - the words that were implied underneath the spoken phrases; their body language; the subtle or blatant actions that were meant to say this or that without having said it clearly, openly. How a man behaves when he is nervous and doesn't want it to show; how a woman who is angry but doesn't dare act on it becomes a sharp, terrifyingly silent being. Aunt Hel expanded on Mena's descriptions, and helped her understand the motives, hidden to most, behind the often illogical behavior.
Mena idolized her Aunt Hel. The woman was so easily strong, like a lioness in repose. She didn't worry, or whine, or cry doom like most people. It's the only way to be alive - I want to be just like Aunt Hel. Until she was eleven years old, she spent weekends with her best and only friend. She was too young and aloof to realize how bizarre it was.
Then her mother and Aunt Hel had argued over something, and Mena wasn't allowed to spend as much time over there. At first she was only driven out to the house in the country once a month, then it became every few months, or on holidays.
Mena was heartbroken. Her strong friend, her ideal, her 'better mother'; now a brief, rare visit, often sullied by the suspicious eyes of parents. Aunt Hel made the best of it, made Mena promise to practice the things she'd been learning, not to let Them get her down.
For a few years she held to her 'studies', quietly watching the fuss of the world from the outside, as though it were a bacterial colony under a microscope. It was her nature to be quiet and observant, and she didn't make friends well. After a time, the lure and hum of the kaleidescope world began to mesmerize her, drawing her away from her discipline towards the friendly, numbing crowds. She was secretly desperate for companionship, and when a seemingly like-minded group had invited her in, she was swept up in the thrill of the pack. This desperation to fit in dulled her senses to the fact that the semblance of shared interests had been a bluff, a facade. It no longer seemed to matter so much.
At seventeen, Mena was a civilized city girl, belived in the strength of the anthill, the inherent rightness of it. And if someone or something should kick it over? Well, shit happens, but not to me. She loved clothes, shopping, new technotoys, nightclubbing, flirting. Her childhood aspirations were remembered as a charming fantasy, like believing in avenging unicorns.
Aunt Hel had moved farther into the country, too, having found town life too annoying. Mena saw her once a year, at family gatherings. They no longer had long late-night talks between themselves. The woman just gazed at her niece briefly, knowingly, and a little sadly.
A Fourth of July at the lake, hot colorful day, friends moving in a gnat-like swarm among a larger crowd of picnickers. She was princess of the world, cool, pretty. At sunset the dust-sweetened little group of friends set off around the edge of the lake, heading for a prized secluded vantage. For a long while they wove their way through the folding chairs and coolers of families, then the crowd thinned and became a sparse and broken line of encampments. Eventually the crowds were left far behind, and the carefree little group claimed a wide outcrop of flat rock that extended a giant's palm into the water.
It was the best fireworks show she'd ever seen. The huge bursts of searing color had left her heart pounding, her eyes dazzled. After the fireworks was a second show; they sat on their remote bit of shore and watched with smug laughter as the sluggish lines of cars tried to all leave at the same time. It took over an hour for most of the cars to trickle away like cold molasses.
With all the headlights gone it was very, very dark. The group began picking their way back along the shore. Jokes were tossed around, lighthearted giggles and chuckles followed in their wake. The group became a stretched out line as they drew farther apart, stumbling along a beaten path between trees. Mena's heart soared; this was the best night of her life. She fell back, bringing up the rear of the march back to the parking area.
In the space of a heartbeat there was someone standing in her way, someone big. It took her a second to realize with dismay that the silhouette was not that of one of her friends. She took a step back, bumped into another stranger. Her confidence and giddy happiness of moments before was swept away by an emotion she'd never experienced before: true fear. Not the everyday fear that most people commonly suffer - worry - but fear of impending danger, imminent death. When all the world's pretenses of safety come crashing down, that is when you know what fear really is.
The person she'd bumped into grabbed one of her arms, pulled it painfully behind her back, at the same time covering her mouth with a bruising hand. The one in front of her stepped closer... she could see a little better now, her eyes were recovering from the over-bright fireworks; it was someone wearing a letter jacket. A couple of football players by their builds. Oh shit oh fuck. Either of these guys is three times my size, and I don't even have a fucking knife on me! How could I be so stupid?
The boy in front of her spoke to the other, over her as if she were an object. "Let's go in the trees a bit..." The one restraining her snickered maliciously; he knew she was powerless. Mena tried to scream through the hand mashed over her mouth, but she could tell that no one would hear. She thrashed her body around as they pulled her towards the treeline. Her arm was yanked excruciatingly, she stumbled, accidentally stepped hard onto her kidnapper's foot. He swore, drove a knee into the small of her back. "Thought that was funny, did ya, cunt?" Stars swam in her vision; the pain was unexpectedly sharp. Panic and terror, and a sense of injustice at her situation made tears slip freely from her eyes.
Suddenly she understood why the woman she'd seen raped on the television movie had been so gutless. It was fear. Fear had made her weak, helpless, and stupid. Mena was paralyzed by it. Shame at her vulnerability was easily surpassed by the overpowering, uncontrollable fear.
She figured they were either going to rape her, or rape her and kill her. Either way, what did she have to lose by doing as much damage as possible first? Mena was sobbing as she threw her head back hard; it connected with a faint crunch and a surprised yelp. She was able to squirm free instantly. "...by doze! by fucgingh doze..." She threw herself in the opposite direction without thought, just wanting to put as much distance between herself and these two as possible. The wide, still lake was right in front of her; she splashed into the water desperately. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she could never outrun the two boys. Swimming away might be her only hope, even if only because it was so unexpected. I hope they can't swim. I hope they give up. I am such a jackass to rely on hope to save me now...
Mena was far out into the cool black water before she calmed enough to pause and listen. No sound came from the water behind her, or anywhere. Unless they had amazing lungs and were swimming underwater towards her (she panicked again for a moment and thrashed a few feet further on), she was all alone out in the silent lake. Her sobs became almost hyperventilating as she treaded water, her clothes dragging like a scum around her quaking limbs.
A tiny ray of relief managed to dawn on her, but it was followed closely by the truth of the situation; she was out alone in a lake, in the pitch dark, and she couldn't go straight to the nearest shore. What if they were sitting there, quietly just waiting for her to come back? No. Fuck you. She scrunched her face into a terrified but defiant sneer, and kicked off her shoes. A deep hitching breath, then she turned towards the distant shore where the parking area came right down to the waterline. A lot of cars were still there, a lot of people enjoying the evening and in no hurry to leave. It was a long ways off. There was no choice.
Half an hour later she dragged her exhausted body up the rocky shore. She could barely lift her legs, and had to exert even more energy picking her way carefully around the sharp rocks. Mena headed towards the parking area, hoping her friends would be there, waiting for her to catch up.
Just as she sighted the familiar cluster leaning on her Mustang and a couple of other cars, a movement at the corner of her eye made her turn her head. Walking not twenty feet from her, a couple of big football players in varsity jackets. One of them was slightly hunched, holding a hand to a bleeding mess of broken nose. The other one must have noticed her sudden stop, and looked over, saw her. Mena could recognize them now, in the lights of the parking lot. They were the most prized members of the school, top athletes, very popular among students and staff alike. They had a godlike status at the school, they could do anything they wanted, because they were loved.
A slight smile crept into his face, but he kept walking. The boy whose nose she had broken didn't see her, and they continued on, fading into the remains of the crowd.
Mena knew exactly what that smile meant. It meant she was anything but safe. He now held a sword over her, she might never know when or if it was coming. It meant she didn't dare point the finger at the two boys, or every single student, parent, and staff member would turn on her like wolves. No one speaks ill of a hero. No one smears the shiny reputation of the popular.
That night, as she lay awake with the fear still coursing through her, Mena understood that the last few years had been the 'charming fantasy', only more like a bewitchment. Now, almost too late, she could see the traps, the addiction of carelessness, the narrow perceptions. Aunt Hel was right afer all. And I knew it, I knew it and I tossed it away. I've wasted so much time on this useless crap.
Mena knew she had to straighten herself out right away, and get in shape. The life of cafes and boutiques and fashionable wit, it was ephemeral, useless.
There was a problem, though. Her own mentor had warned her of the importance of it. If Mena were to suddenly change, into a whole different personality as they'd see it, all her friends and family (except Aunt Hel, who was far away) would think she'd gone crazy. Or as they said it these days, 'developed psycho-social imbalances'. Even more serious, she would be seen as an enemy, a weirdo, a freak, a literal menace to society. She'd be shunned, locked out, an overnight pariah.
Being cast out of the warm circle of friends wasn't what she wanted; even if they were flippant and inane, she liked their company. Mena would have to hide her true nature for awhile, let it out slowly so they could either get used to it, or give her some warning that they wouldn't accept it. Also, she yearned to continue as she had before; the fun, carefree life. Even though it was useless. Even though it was a numbing, dangerous illusion.
The rest of that summer was spent relearning how to use her body and mind, as well as the practical weaponry to defend herself. She made a small knife out of bone, remembering as she went the techniques Aunt Hel had taught her about carving the difficult material. The knife was very small and sharp, and could be worn under her shirt on a ribbon. It wouldn't set off the metal detectors when school started, and could be explained away as jewelry if necessary.
When she first wore it, a secret strength, Mena felt a strange power; she could now walk without fear. It was more symbolic than practical, a talisman rather than an effective weapon, but she was now the one in charge of her destiny.
Her new perspective became sharper when school started. It was her senior year; the respect and authority that came with being at the top of the heap imparted a certain leeway to behave oddly. In a sophomore it would be labeled posturing, but in a senior it was accepted without too many raised eyebrows.
Mena began noticing the social rituals from an outsider's viewpoint again, but with the advantage of still seeming to be one of the herd. She soon lost interest in many of her more civilized hobbies. Some of her friends accepted this change as an interesting turn, possibly a cutting-edge style in the making. Others rejected her for straying too far from the predictable, the acceptable.
By her graduation, she was a different person. Quiet, cunning, vigilant, hard-eyed. Shreds of her old fun-loving self clung to her, the barnacles of urban life. A small part of her still wished she could return to the innocent fantasy of civilization; it was such an enticing illusion, and the urge to be one of the crowd was shamefully strong. Mena struck a happy medium, holding on to the pleasures and thrills of civilization with one hand, to the knowledge of the underlying world with the other.
A week after graduation was her eighteenth birthday, and she had prepared for it, planning her own private rites of passage. Everything she was now entitled to, she claimed. A large, unhidden tattoo, rather than the small, inoffensive (cute), clothing-hidden one her parents had pleaded with her to choose. A pistol; though she'd been taking target practice for months, it had shocked her family when she brought a gun home. They behaved as though it were illegal, an evil horror. The only person who wouldn't be offended by it was Aunt Hel, and Mena was going out to stay with her for the summer.
Mena felt this would be her true graduation; being examined and approved by her first teacher, her friend, her role model. And she would, hopefully, get to meet Mr. Mysterioso, her aunt's Special Guy, if it hadn't been just a fairy tale told to assuage a young girl's worries. Aunt Hel was not one to make up lies, though; when she said something you could be fairly sure it was so.
* * *
And now she had met him. And now she was able to cast off the last layer of her weakness, like a shell she had dragged around, a heavy shield against the frightening world. Mena didn't need the shield anymore. She believed truly now in her own strength, and would not tolerate dead weight, empty toys of the past. Now I am free. Mena, unleashed.
She smiled broadly. It's true what they say. Your whole life does flash before your eyes when you die.
* * * * *
Helen awoke out of a deep sleep to the sound of the creature's truck pulling up. She took a few deep breaths, glanced over to where Mena was.
Wasn't.
Mena wasn't there. Helen did a double take. A twinge of mingled concern and relief fluttered through her mind. Good, she's up/Where is she?
The creature descended the steps, wearing a different coat and its hat. She croaked out, "Where's Mena?" It looked over at the place the girl had lain, and Helen's heart sank. He doesn't know, either. Shit. This is not good. "Car is gone," the monster rasped, adding to her worry.
"We need to find her, right now." She grabbed the chalkboard, trotted to the stairs. "Can you follow her scent?" The creature trailed her up the stairs, nodded, then cocked its head questioningly. "She might not be right in the head. She wasn't last night." They climbed into the old truck, bounced down the abandoned road.
"Why, why did you fuck her fourteen times?" Helen hadn't really expected an answer, but the monster's bony hand reached for the chalkboard. It set the plank on its lap and scrawled out words as it gripped the steering wheel with the other hand.
litTLE deAtH not STRONG EnougH
tRieD to MAKE LiKe youRs
HAd tO give up Got HUNgRY
A strange gang of emotions turned their faces to her all at once. Helen was quiet for a minute, then arranged her face, said more gently, "Humans aren't built for your kind of... excitement." She turned a worried face to the window. "I'm afraid her mind's come unmoored..."
The monster smeared the chalkboard clear with a forearm, wrote again.
sHe iS yOunG AND StRoNg
It then bent to sniff the vents, and the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon.
Helen wondered for the hundredth time where the girl was. Does she even know where she is? This can't all be going wrong, it was going so well. I didn't make a mistake, bringing her into this. I was so sure. I'm still sure. But I just wish I knew where the hell she is.
Mena had shown such promise, and from an early age. She was bright, intuitive, and practical. Helen had decided long ago not to have children of her own, but Mena had been more than a daughter to her, she had been the future, the one who would carry on the secret, the strength. Helen had known, deep inside, that she was shaping this girl, and not against Mena's own nature, into a weapon. When the child matured, aware of the world and armed to face it, what a surprise for the complacent masses! Mena could be Helen's vengence on a world gone soft and rotton.
The grey monster, part of her world for only five days, had never left her thoughts over the years. Its terrible strength, its ravenous appetite, its good-natured attitude; all were mere facets of something beyond her comprehension. The creature was natural, yet more than natural; magical, terrifying, powerful, ...like a god. She couldn't help it, held the monster in a sort of intimate reverence. It had touched her to the core, and she would forever follow, in quiet awe.
When the young girl had asked if Helen had a true love, she hadn't been able, didn't even consider denying it. She had at that moment looked at her niece, known that if anyone would survive and even enjoy meeting her monster, it would be Mena. The desire to bring someone to her creature, someone not to be eaten, but to meet Mother Nature's hungry son, that desire was undeniable. It was a secret she could never tell anyone, but the girl... She was the one. The monster would enjoy the offering one way or the other, and if the girl died under the teeth and claws of a nature god, well, there were worse ways to go.
As for Mena losing her marbles, that hadn't been in her reckoning. Helen searched the horizon helplessly, even though the creature was having no difficulty following the scent trail. It didn't hesitate, barreled the truck along a road they had taken a few days ago.
A faint column of black smoke rose from the rolling, grassy terrain. Helen let out a trembling moan. Oh my god. It was true, though, the creature was heading right for that dark sign.
The tire tracks were still visible in the dew. They turned from the highway, approached the smoke, which was rising from a chasm in the ground. No no no... As they reached the end of the tire tracks, Helen's heart leapt. Mena was lying on the ground, looking down into the ravine. She crawled across the monster, yanked the door open, nearly fell out in her eagerness and relief, and trotted closer.
"Mena...? You ok?"
The girl looked over her shoulder, a wide smile plastered on her face, still spattered with dried blood. "Yes. I'm... perfect." She scooted back, got to her feet, and strolled slowly to meet her aunt. A face subtly changed greeted Helen. The set of the mouth easier, knowing. The eyes too dark... Her eyes can't have changed color! And yet those dark eyes also seemed to glow with an inner light.
"Mena, your car... what happened?"
The girl glanced back at the thinning cloud of rank smoke. "It had to go. It was the last anchor holding me down to the old life. And besides, it was too flashy and impractical. I need something... nondescript, for hunting."
Helen tried to untangle the various implications of Mena's words. Was she rational, or had her mind gone over the edge with the car? The last sentence made her heart beat faster, though. Hunting. Helen knew what the girl was referring to there. It seemed she was rational enough to have plan in mind.
She drew closer to the girl, spoke in a low, soft voice. "Are you sure you're ok?"
Mena tilted her head, smiling broadly, nodding. "Of course!"
"I was just worried..." Helen glanced at the black smoke. " 'Cause you were, uh, not ok when I got back last night."
Mena looked over Helen's shoulder, saw the monster standing near its truck. A tremor passed over her body, and she made a strange half-laugh, half-sob. Her eyes grew wide and wild for a second, then it passed and she was looking at Helen again, placid yet excited.
"I'm better than ok. I'm dead."
End of Chapter 6
A/N: Ok, give me a break for some technical improbabilities here. I don't know if you could really cause a car to explode by cutting the gas line and crashing it. And I'm not going to test it. Mena could have easily just pulled the gas line out instead of cutting it, and if you cut a gas line, the engine dies pretty damn fast. But hey, suspension of disbelief is not my only excuse. It was MORE FUN this way. So just go eat your Unobtainium Flakes and don't hassle me about it.
What's the song playing as Mena pushes her Mustang into the ravine? What else? Guns N Roses - 'I Used To Love Her, But I Had To Kill Her'.
The Acolyte and illustrations Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
~plagarists will be flayed alive~
redplanet@trinidadusa.net
