The Future Diary 2: Blood Of The Past

Catcall

Dalton walked across the promenade, past the small shops on her way to the parking garage. She tried to keep her head high, to make her thoughts have meaning, to be confident, to believe in herself, to do all the things that people told her to do but she couldn't do it. She sobbed in defeat as thoughts raced through her head like electrical pulses.

She kept bringing herself down, no matter what people said. That was her curse. She hated the way she was, and from that she hated herself. She hated everything about herself, and that pained her. What did she do to deserve that? She knew, deep down, that she could only blame herself for what happened to her. She couldn't blame any of them. Dawson was right, they were just trying to help.

But he wasn't right. He had no justification to talk to her that way after what he had done to her. He had no right to say any of those things, or act the way he did. At that moment, she realized the truth. Dawson was a wolf. He wore the mask of the likeable, generous guy, but below the facade of his smile was a selfish man, a wolf that used others and had no regard for anybody, much less her.

"Hey babe," a scratchy voice called. "You look sad, can I help you?"

"Leave me alone, please," Dalton shouted to an empty plaza. She started walking faster.

A hispanic man wearing a black hood emerged from one of the alleyways. "Come on, girl, I think I can help. You lookin' fine tonight, you don't need to be so sad."

Dalton brushed past him. "I'm not interested, sorry," she said. She needed to stop using the lie that she was married. Dawson didn't deserve the accolade of being her husband.

"Whatever you say. Just be careful. You never know what people could be doing out so late."

The man laughed as Dalton walked faster, past another alleyway. She was getting closer to the parking garage, she knew. She could see the concrete layers and all of the cars in the distance, just one more alleyway away. She longed for the taxi ride home, and the comfort of her son's tiny grasp as she cradled him in a hotel bed.

She turned right into an alley, walking towards a back lot in the shadow of the skyscraper. She could faintly hear the music throbbing from above, and the distant din of people's voices. She wondered if they were thinking about her. Talking about her.

She heard footsteps. Just two of them, silent, muffled footsteps. She stopped, looking all around her, as panic clogged her throat. She felt the icy breeze of the wintery night sting her teary eyes, as her heart pounded voraciously in her chest.

She ignored it and kept walking. Her footsteps bounded off the walls, echoing in the heavy cold of the night. She heard them, the footsteps, that were her own, layered with someone else's.

She quickly turned, seeing the knife arch down at her, and she screamed. She threw herself into the brick wall of the alleyway, as the Calico Killer glared up at her with their deep, black eyes, and voided mouth that was twisted into a scream of terror. She ran, her feet scraping against the pavement as the rounded the corner, the killer tumbling to the ground as they ran behind her.

They raised the knife, advancing. Dalton screamed, her breaths sharp as the screams stung her throat.

The killer ran as Dalton stumbled backwards over a bench, falling flat on her back. The killer jousted down at the bench seat, then sprung over it, landing knife-first into the ground next to her.

She kicked the figure hard, sending them reeling. She got up, looking far across the lot where she came, at an emergency exit on the side of the skyscraper.

She ran, not willing to look behind her. Her breaths became jagged as she grew closer, shaking with every step.

She came to the alleyway, grabbing the handle of the door and pulling it violently. It was locked.

"What did I tell you," the hispanic man said, walking down the alley. "You could've gotten hurt."

"Leave me the fuck alone, you psycho!" she yelled, backing away.

The man smiled, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a revolver. "Right where I want you."

The door swung open. "What's going on?"

Three shots slammed into the metal frame, as Dawson ducked for cover. Dalton ran, as the man sprinted down the alleyway away from her.

Dawson was escorted by two security guards, both armed with pistols. One of them leaned into their radios. Dawson walked over to a quivering Dalton.

"It's okay," he said, but Dalton turned away.

Police sirens blared in the distance. The night went on.