Silent as the grave, she slipped the knife from her belt. She walked down the side of the slope, careful not to loose any rocks over the edge. His shadow fell across the face of the rock, huge and unyielding. She edged closer and closer, her pace slow and determined. As she neared the edge of the hill, she took a deep breath. Then she was gone, her shadow making the deep dive over the edge.
ONE
“And-uh, how old did you say you were again?” The short, bald man asked.
Flora shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The scent of his cheap cigarette was suffocating. “16.”
“Right,” he murmured, kicking out his foot. It landed with a thump on the table in front of her. “Don’t you think you’re a little young for this business?”
“Don’t you think you ask too many questions?” she retorted. She kicked her foot out as well, pushing his over the edge. “I need the money and you need the numbers. Shouldn’t we be done by now?” She pulled out her phone and tried to make it respond. The broken glass glared back at her like an omen. “Know what time it is?” she asked, frowning and stuffing it back into her pocket.
“A quarter to six. Why, you got a date or somethin’?” he asked with a laugh. He took another puff from his cigarette and let it sit between his thick index and middle fingers, slowly tapping off the black muck on the end of it.
She smiled. “No, a client. I’ll be back by midnight. I hope you’ve made up your mind by then.” She snatched her leg back and got up from the stinky sofa she was reclining against. Before she left, she slipped the cigarette from his hand dropped it on the floor, stomping it out.
He gave her an angry grin.
“Those things’ll kill you before anyone else gets a chance to.”
She pushed the wooden swinging door open and found herself in the local liquor store. On her way out she grabbed a bag of Skittles and threw a dollar bill on the counter. Then she was outside, breathing in the cool night air.
Flora turned the corner, taking the alleyway route onto the main street. She crossed the road as soon as it was clear, then traipsed up the stairs of the old apartment building looming over her. She leaped up two at a time, and opened her bag of Skittles. After eating a few handfuls, she knocked on the door of apartment number 108.
After a few seconds, her aunt’s familiar face peered out of the doorway. “Flora! Come in! You’re just in time for dinner.”
Flora smiled and entered the small kitchen, setting the Skittles on a counter and removing her leather jacket. She pulled down the sleeves of her baggy sweater over her hands, a bad habit she had never been able to shake. After she hung up her jacket, she walked further into the tiny apartment and sat at the dinner table in the middle of the living room.
On the table were grilled chicken and rice and salad, as well as some cranberry juice and two glass cups. Her aunt followed her in, carrying two plates under her arm. She set the down in front of them and took her place at the other end of the small table.
She ladled Flora some rice and then placed a hunk of grilled chicken on her plate. She served herself, and then poured juice into the cups. “How have you been?” she asked, her wide brown eyes anxious.
“Better than you have, apparently,” Flora said, not unkindly. “I asked you to move out of this place over a month ago, Aunt Lydia.”
“I asked you to visit more often. I guess we both got screwed over,” Lydia said with a small smile.
Flora rolled her eyes, laughing slightly. “I hear Uncle Randy’s in town. You gonna go see him?” she asked her aunt, innocently digging into her chicken.
