A Girl in the Shadows

Chapter Three

Clean. Getting myself clean was most important at the moment. Once this obstacle was behind me, I could search for Molly. Plastic bag and baseball bat in hand, I ascended the narrow stairs and looked through the peephole I made in the door. No one was waiting in my direct view. Slowly, I cracked it open. The hallway was dark, and no breathing or footsteps could be heard. I looked both ways and stepped out of the minaret, then lowered my sunglasses before entering the bathroom just across the way.

I moved over to the sinks and placed my bag on the floor by my bare feet. In the mirror, a normal reflection stared back at me. My dark hair which once fell in beautiful waves had become a knotted mess. A few leaves from the bushes were still entwined in it. Drops of blood, Molly Fitzpatrick's blood, were around the neck of my white college shirt. It didn't faze me much, as it had been almost a full day. Her family and friends are probably sleepless right now, you selfish—

I turned on the water to try and cancel out the voice, then reached into my bag, pulling out the bottle of strawberry shampoo that I smuggled from the convenience store down the road. I dunked my head under the faucet and poured a glob of pink shampoo into my tangled mess. It took a great amount of effort to scrub out the dirt, the knots, and the leaves. Once I was finished, I pulled it back so that it could air dry. The rest of my body was cleaned with wet paper towels and soap from the dispenser, just like always.

I reached into the bag again and pulled out three objects: my grimy yellow toothbrush, the tube of minty paste that was squeezed flat, and the silver file. I put a green dot on the brush and shoved it into my mouth. The mint finally washed away the last remnants of Molly's blood. I moved on to the metal file and stood by the mirror, shaving down my fangs to give the appearance of somewhat normal teeth. This was a frequent occurrence. Unlike New York where I was just another freak on the sidewalk, pedestrians in Tampa didn't take too kindly to girls in fangs on the streets.

My last duty was taking care of the dirty clothes. I wet them in the sink and scrubbed them with the shampoo since I had no detergent. When I got back to the minaret, they were hung on the rungs of the ladder to dry. I removed the dry outfit hanging higher up, changed into it, grabbed the cloak, and sat down in my sketching corner. My mind now clear and refreshed, I worked on a quick sketch of Molly from memory before leaving.

Outside, students made their way too and from their evening classes, their faces blue as they engrossed themselves in their new smartphones. As I walked, the sky so clear, the weather in the mid-seventies, which was typical for early October, I let my hair down. Since it fell to my mid back, it still wasn't completely dry. On the sidewalk, a small lizard scurried in front of me and into the grass. It was easy to scoop it up and into my mouth. I was never a fan of their textured skin, but you can't sink your teeth into something that's an inch wide. My fangs slid over its tiny bones; the cold blood leaking over my tongue.

Just imagine if you were smart, Tali. Think on that. Had you cut her head off when you were supposed to, she'd be dead. You'd be in your corner, sketching and hating yourself, and not on the street putting yourself in jeopardy. What a fool.

Light posts flickered in the park near the pharmacy. This was the homeless haven of the city. It was right near all the intersections where they could stand with their signs, and around the corner from the burger joint the students loved, so they made good money off the ignorance of teenagers. The benches had not yet been redesigned with the arms in the middle, so they could sprawl out for naps whenever they wanted. If only it was more secluded. I'd have easy meals for months.

I took the folded-up sketch out of my pocket and approached the first bum snoring on a bench, covering himself with a week-old copy of the Tampa Tribune.

"Hey, you there," I said. No response. I kicked the side of the bench and yelled, "Wake up!" He yelped and nearly fell to the ground. His tired face scrunched up when he saw me. I held out the sketch. "You. Have you seen this girl? She last had on a blue dress and had scraped knees."

"Nah, she don't look familiar," he said through a mouth of missing teeth.

It was a similar story with each homeless person in the park. I walked all the way back in the other direction, to the art museum that overlooked the river and had a direct view into Proctor Park. Students sat in the dark, some kissing, the rests with faces lit up only by the butts of their cigarettes. Perhaps she ran in the other direction, towards the bad side of town?

She could be anywhere, fool. You lost her. You have no chance of finding her.

"I have to," I said.

With the sketch still in my hands, I searched the rest of downtown's alleys for homeless. There were a few here or there, none that recognized the girl in my picture. As the night raged on, I found myself walking across the bridge on Cove Street, questioning if my own artwork was failing me. Down the street, the neon sign of The Cove Street Pub, the most popular student hangout, light up the dark corner. Molly seemed like the kind of girl who would go out on a Sunday night. I got in line, slipped the man at the door the five-dollar bill stolen from Molly's wallet, and went inside.

Groups of rowdy, underaged kids slurped from plastic cups, filled with liquid they poured out of pitchers. They laughed at themselves like they'd never had a drink in their lives. I found an open stool at the bar and took a seat. Even at times like this—especially times like this—I wasn't going to miss CSP's Super Sundays with dollar drinks. I placed more of Molly's money on the counter and ordered something to ease my nerves.

You sick little bitch. You put that down and keep looking for the girl you turned. I downed the cup and ordered another. I'm sure you haven't forgotten what it was like the day you were turned.

"No, but I appreciate the reminder," I said. The boy's sitting next to me looked over. "My apologies. Please, go back to your conversation."

The two looked back to each other, nodding their heads towards a group of girls on the other side of the room. I took the next cup a little slower, sipping and glancing around the room. Molly was not present. Just imagine that little girl, sick and scared somewhere, confused and vulnerable. I bet you feel awful. I bet it's tearing you apart, like it should.

I finished the drink and made my way down Cove Street, which looped around to the back side of campus. There had to be at least two hours of darkness left, and there was another bar past the back of the far end of campus, about a thirty-minute walk away. Twenty if I picked up the pace, but just like everything else, I would have to face an obstacle in my path. My hand went to my pocket knife in my jeans. I slid it out. Two figures were ahead of my on the sidewalk, one much bigger than the other. As I got closer, I realized I was not the target of this encounter.

"I told you, I don't have any money on me!" said the smaller one. The larger one mumbled something back. I saw a wallet go from one hand to another. "No way! I already gave you the wallet!"

"You said you've got no cash, man. Hand over the phone."

"Piss off!"

My mind went blank as I watched the handgun emerge from the man's sweatshirt. I rushed him and jumped onto his back. The smaller figure, a charming student with light hair and dark eyes, took off down the street. The burly man grunted and tried to shake me off, the gun still in his hand.

Would you hurry up and break the neck already? What are you waiting for?

My arms were locked around his neck in a chokehold. The gun started going off. One bang. Two bangs. I moved my hands to his head as he thrashed around. Three bangs. A head twisted to the side. The man fell under me and I held my bleeding shoulder, looking up to see that the college boy hadn't run far, just across the street, and he'd witnessed the entire thing.