In Bloom

Chapter 3: Andrea

Andrea Bancroft had always felt quite modest. This was obviously not true. She was very small but had size where it mattered. Her dreamy brown eyes seemed to radiate pure love. Anyone lucky enough to look into them felt that. These came from her mother. In fact, most of her beauty came from that woman. It was as if her father wasn't involved at all and Laura Bancroft was the sole creator. Her personality however, had surely come from Clayton Bancroft. That man was slicker than oil with a tongue like a dagger. He could talk, walk, and buy his way out of almost anything. Andrea picked up these skills naturally. Her looks were almost deceiving once you found out how lethal her mouth was. One minute she's drawing you with a stunning smile. The next she's busting down your self esteem like a jackhammer on concrete. All of your friends would laugh and you would most likely storm off. Later you would find yourself falling hard for her. She knew about this affect. It was like a little game to her. "Never let them get too close." She always thought. A personal motto of sorts. A cruel one, yes, but It was also a way to avoid showing her own emotions.

She had come to hate the police through the stories of her father. He had been to prison twice and arrested more than a dozen other times. Always telling her never to trust them because they were "dirty piggies". "All they want is to bust your head and a picture in the paper." He said one night after making bail. Later on, she would have her own run ins with the law. The first couple were of her own doing. Mostly petty theft or trespassing. Following in Papa's foot steps some would say. There had only been one time the cops weren't there to arrest her. They wanted to interview her.

It happened during the last day of societal childhood. 18 was just around the corner and patience became non existent. Andrea had been on her way to meet Greg and break things off. She figured if adulthood would begin soon, then a fresh start was needed. No more of these immature children that always seemed follow close. Those would be put in the rear view from now on. Since her father had totaled the 88' Firebird she was so falsely promised, walking was the sole option. She did not particularly like the residents of this tight knit community. It was mostly because of the stares. What she saw in her reflection was much different than what they saw. That painfully green hair pulled into tight little pigtails. Those hunks of silver gleaming from all over her face. To them she was a beautiful young lady wasting her potential. "She could surely be a model without all of that extra nonsense." Many thought.

On the way to Fulton Park you would have to cut directly through town. If the other route was taken, the one through Carcan Alley, then you'd better be prepared for a run. That was "shackville" as Andrea's mother called it. Slang for a homeless community that inhabited the long and narrow pathway. If you were caught alone they could get pretty nasty. You didn't have to get close to know most of them were unstable. Looking from a good distance was enough.

She was approaching the corner of Birch and Francis when a terrible scream rang out near by. Andrea jumped and shot her vision in the direction it came from. There was a man in the street. He was short and pudgy with graying, thin brown hair. In his left hand was the biggest knife she had ever seen. His hand seemed to grip it so tight that it looked like a part of him. Blood fell from the tip. As her sight adjusted she noticed that was not the only place the blood was. It travelled up his arms and streamed across his tattered blue t shirt. As he stood motionless in the street, the door to the St. Henson Post Office swung open. Out crawled Mary Huston who worked there. She was an older woman with dashing silver hair and a smile that rivaled the sun. However, she looked like someone had savagely attacked her. Like someone had stabbed her. The gory snail trail left behind as she crawled was glimmering in the May afternoon. Screaming, she pulled herself out of the doorway. After a few more calls for help her head slumped and met the sidewalk. Her lovely blue eyes frozen in pure terror. The man had still not moved, even as the sirens approached in the distance. He was smiling now. Smiling like Elliot Morris smiled when he nearly killed Terry Crone. His jagged yellow teeth poked out like a rotted picket fence. She began to back away and bumped into the door of Captain Jack's Resale. The greeting bells jingled. The man in the street turned his head almost unnaturally and sent the insane smile at her. She felt as if her soul froze. His eyes were a dead white. She ducked into the alley where she meant to back herself as the police screeched in the road. All the squad cars in town were there. They leapt out with guns drawn. "Drop the fucking knife pal!" Officer Dan Bush bellowed. The other officers repeated this phrase in their own way. The man did not move. He kept smiling. They tried again, but still nothing from the statue. To much surprise, he began walking towards them. Andrea watched in horror as he began picking up speed. The police opened fire all at once. A storm of bullets flew at the man. He was running at them head on now. The lead struck him in all extremities and did almost nothing but slow the charge. Finally, about a foot from the hoods, he went down. Andrea sighed in relief and thought it had ended. She was wrong. He was crawling now, laughing coldly as he did. Pulling himself forward still holding the blade. A final shot was aimed into his skull and he stopped. Lying like Mrs. Huston was back in doorway of the Post Office. Andrea was shocked to her core as tears began to fall. Whoever or whatever that was certainly didn't seem human. Unconsciously, she took a last glance from the alley way. An almost transparent orange mist seemed to exit the man's fresh corpse. It dissipated upward into nothingness. He rested in a bloody pool with a smile on his face.