Sparks

Chapter 3

The fear that crossed her face was obvious and he hated that he had prompted her to bring up such bad thoughts. But he had to know, for sure,  what the cause was  for her being alone on the bench and for her nightmares. He wasn't sure that her nightmare was going to reveal anything but something told him to ask. So, he did.

"I- I was running and I had this bag thrown over my shoulder. I don't know what was in it but it was heavy and it was slowing me down. I could feel the weight pressing down on me. Behind me two men with angry, dark faces were chasing me and they had guns. They shouted and hollered. Around me the world seemed to be blowing up. Everything was broken. Wood and glass was flying through the air and I kept having to dodge it." She stopped to catch her breath after spewing all that information out in what seemed like a single second.

He just stared, unsure of what to say after hearing of a dream like that.

"It was so real," she whispered, seemingly more to herself than him. Her blue eyes glazed over and he realized that she was fading into a memory. And from the emotions that played across her cheeks, he determined it couldn't be a good one. Even knowing that, he didn't know what to say. Sure, everyone had wildly, crazy bad dreams. But the way she talked about hers made it seem as though she was worried it might actually happen.

"Is someone after you, um. . ."

"Pagatti. Pagatti Aston," she whispered, looking up at him from her hands, "And yes, I think there might be someone after me."

The pause was there. The perfect pause for the perfect onslaught of tears. He waited for the waterworks, bowing his head to watch her from a different perspective. But the tears  never came. Instead, she twirled her thumbs mercilessly and looked anywhere else but at him, as if she were embarrassed that she had told this stranger of her problems.

But if she was embarrassed, she didn't act it for long. She finally lifted her blue eyes to meet his  dark ones and he was shocked to find that she was calm and collected.  

"I'm scared," she whispered, causing him to lean forward to catch the words. He wasn't surprised by that statement, more or less by the statement that followed, "What if he kills me? Or Lacy?"

"Who is Lacy? Who is he? Did you go to the police?  Why were you in the rain? Where are you from? How old are you?" His questions came pouring out before he could stop them and she visibly shrunk back, obviously taken back by the suddenness of his questioning.

"Lacy is my little sister, she's five. He is Sander, my neighbor who attacks me when my mom leaves the house. No, I didn't go to the police,  they wouldn't believe me over him. He was why I was in the rain. . . What else did you ask?" She couldn't remember. She felt proud that she had remembered that many of his questions.

"Nevermind," he waved them off, returning to the silent, brooding, mysterious man that he was supposed to be. ALthough, he now knew he couldn't just toss her to the street. How rude would that be? Besides, he knew he was already in too deep. He knew she was for sure attacked, abused, among other horrible things that he was sure she wasn't admitting.  Besides she had confided in him and she was obviously dealing with some heavy stuff.

"How old are you?" He returned to his gruff nature, once again settling into the rational adult that he was.

"Eighteen," she murmured. She once again seemed to be closing in on herself.  He needed to get them out of the house, he decided. He felt like they were suffocating with the thick emotions bouncing around the room.

"Come on," he said, pushing from away from the table. "We're going on a trip." Then he led her from the kitchen to the garage and into his car, even though his brain was shouting that this was a bad idea. He couldn't stop.