Deadly Secrets

Chapter 25: The Pawn Shop*

Wednesday. Ten days left. Not like Zara was counting or anything.

She was a prisoner to fate, wasting what time she had left before her execution in trivialities that would do nothing to set her free. One of the voices insisted that all her efforts were in vain, that she was searching for a needle in a haystack. Another told her to keep going, to keep fighting until the very end.

Then, there was a third one, which was almost as loud as her own internal voice. It was causing Zara problems, that part of her that was a goody-two-shoes; it had been a while since she had taken full control, and for a good reason. Whenever she did, it was a nuisance, because Zara's black-outs interfered with her plans. Even though it was her weaker side, it made her lose hours of her life that she would never be able to get back. Her dominant side—the rebel—thankfully always managed to reconquer its territory.

Like today, if only for a couple minutes, she opened a window into the part of the world that was unbeknownst to her. Her mind was a puzzle with only one corner completed—on the school bus, she had punched Robert in the face. The why wasn't clear, but she did remember the commotion, Aurora's pleas, the sensation of her knuckles against Robert's face; had she been herself, she probably could've broken his jaw. 

Dirty bastard. Zara wrinkled her nose at the thought of him.

Robert had been in a relationship with Aurora in freshman year, back when the cliques from middle school solidified, and those on top of the social hierarchy were revered. The gang had been only a trio—Orion had yet to transfer—so there wasn't much Saffron and Zara could do when Aurora started getting courted by the best baseball player in school. The pair were social outcasts, 'weirdos' who would never have a chance of being part of the 'popular crowd', comprised of people similar to Aurora; rich, beautiful, and, moreover, apathetic towards their academics.

Robert Waters was, and still is, a sly, manipulative demon, who preyed on girls with low self-esteems like Aurora. In a society where male entitlement is embedded in everything, he got away with everything he did to her—he saw Aurora as a lesser, an object that had no use other than satisfying his requests. Robert was the one that introduced her first to the life of partying and drug use; dragging Aurora out of the rut without any outside help had been hellish, to say the least, especially since everyone had their own problems to deal with in addition to hers.

Even now, despite Aurora being seemingly 'normal', sometimes she still reverts to her old habits.

Zara zipped her jacket up to her chin and dug her hands into its pockets, keeping her walking at a controlled pace. The sky was murky and overcast, promising rain that afternoon; she hadn't planned for it since the day had been relatively sunny. Good thing she was about to go indoors soon, even if it was one of the places she hated the most: Igor's pawn shop.

Located in Harlem, in a beat-up old building, it could only be accessed through a network of back alleys. Because of its illegality, it had to be kept on the down-low as to not receive any unwanted attention from the cops, who had recently begun to come down on these pawn shops in the effort to truncate the demand for stolen jewellery. The owners hence had to be very methodical about who they let in and out.

Zara had never undertaken the journey on her own, but she had with the others on countless occasions; she knew the way so well, she could travel it blindfolded.

Once she reached the first alley, she gave her surroundings a quick look around before she slipped inside. The distance between buildings was no more than two feet in length, so it was a tight squeeze. The air was musty with the smell of cat piss, and every once in a while, water droplets dripped on the crown of her head. Zara took a left, then a right, the turns mechanic as her mind was everywhere but on the destination ahead. It wandered to the night before, to the fruitless encounter at the diner—the only thing even remotely of interest was the phone number left behind by the pair. Who it belonged to, Zara didn't know, but she felt the need to conserve it anyway. She needed all the help she could get.