Little Bird [-hs]

005 - under the table

Double Update! Chapter 1 of 2!

Trigger Warning:
Rape and Sexual Assault

NAOMI

I wonder if I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

All I can really say is once I get in that car, I can't get out. I remember last night, how fast the lock disappeared in the frame of the door. Last night I held a gun to a man's head, this night who knows. But one thing's for sure, I'm not falling back into that helpless place I was.

"Stop thinking, get in the car." He narrows his eyes.

He can see right through me. He reads my body language so easily, reads my mind. I understand his role in all of this now. I see his value in a world like this. I remember how he held his composure when I aimed the gun at his head. Harry's extraterrestrial, superhuman. Someone as perceptive and smart as him shouldn't play so lightly with death. That's how a god is made.

I chew on my lip, and I fix my feet firmly on the asphalt. He crinkles his nose, patiently waiting out my challenge. Then his hand falls and he steps forward. "Naomi. Get in the car before I make you."

"Where are we going?"

"Planet Fitness," he relinquishes a bit of information. I feel how intently he's observing my reaction. Like a bug under a microscope yet again, he's performing a sort of scientific experiment. Seeing if that's all it really takes to get me into the car.

"I'm not killing anyone."

"You won't be asked to." His eyes track my facial expression. "You'll be safe." He picks each word carefully. When I don't move, he leans back against the frame of his car and crosses his arms. "Do I scare you?" He whispers. It's so much quieter out here, and the question carries all throughout the parking lot.

My hands freeze against my bag handles. My heart jumps to my throat. "No."

He smiles. "Then get in the car."

He drives us west. We pass my neighborhood. Downtown dwindles into a dark, suburban borough. Out here, it's not so much black outside, but a very dark green. Streetlights expose singular cones of shops and houses. The car carries the odor of cigarette smoke. It permeates from the fabric, and after a few miles it gets difficult to sit in. I shift in my seat, building up my courage. My lips part in a nervous breath. "Who was with you in my dressing room?"

He takes a right turn. "Rick," he says. No other words follow. I rack my mind for any other context clues, but come up empty. He pulls into the empty, dark parking lot of a Planet Fitness. The lights are white and sterile through the windows. My arm hair stands on end. He climbs out and slams his door shut. It leaves me in the stale air of the dead car.

I'm so lost.

A strange deja vu overtakes me, but I climb out of the car and follow him into the building. There's not a soul inside. The lights flicker, some equipment is rusting, and the mirrors look like they haven't been cleaned in several years. Harry breezes through the space, back to a gray metal door against the wall. He opens this next, ushering me in first. I dart past him and look around the new room.

There are no windows.

Rows of fluorescent lights line the ceiling. The room shines pale and sickly. In the center is an elevated boxing ring, roped off with red velvet and everything. It sits empty. The smell of the sweat and blood on the mats wafts into the air.

To its right is a group of people. I recognize the woman from last night, the rings looped through her bottom lip. Half of her head is shaved. Next to her is the hooded figure that actually killed Charles Greever, but his hood no longer hangs over his face. His hair is black and grows out of an old buzzcut. His arms are crossed. He listens to the third person intently.