When she woke up, it was dark. Like the thick dark she hated, until she begged her Grampy to get her a nightlight. This was not her room. It smelled like dirt, sweat, and she could hear scratching in the ceiling above her. She trembled, because she had no idea where she was and her head hurt. When she tried to investigate the source of the pain, she discovered her hands were tied to what she imagined was a bed. The mattress was lumpy and a bedspring was poking her in the back.
She was scared beyond belief. She wanted her Grampy. She had lived with him and her Grammy since she was two years old; since her parents were both killed in a horrific car accident. That was seven years ago, and tears welled up in her eyes when she remembered the day her Grammy died last year. Her tears ran down into her ears, puddled there, so she could no longer hear the scratching above her. She thought about her Grampy now, how he made everything right and good. They would sit for hours on the front porch of the farm and play Solitaire or Backgammon. He was just teaching her how to play chess, but she didn't care for it much. Too boring.
He also taught her how to milk a cow, drive the tractor, fish and shoot cans with a shotgun. The first time they went target practicing, the recoil knocked her on her butt and the ringing in her ears didn't stop for hours. Grampy just laughed and laughed. She stomped off down the hill, mad and frustrated.
One afternoon, they both sat in the hammock that was tied between two centuries old oak trees and he talked about his tour of duty in Vietnam. He shared everything with her. She shared everything with him. She could tell he still had nightmares of his experiences, because she could hear him scream in his sleep, and she would run in his room and he would be flailing around, drenched with sweat. She would gently nudge him awake and he would grab her in his arms and weep.
She heard the door to this dark room creak open and a shadow filled the doorway, with the glow of a flashlight illuminating the floor in front of the stranger that stood there.
"You're awake. Finally." "But I guess I beaned you pretty good." She was too afraid to speak. Her head was pounding. The voice sounded familiar, but also soft. It didn't suit the type of person who would do what he has obviously done to her.
"I want to go home." Her voice cracked, betraying her effort to be brave.
"Not yet, I'm not done with you."
That sent chills down her spine and she could feel herself urinate.
"Who are you?"
"Nobody. Just like you. We're both nobodies."
"I am too, somebody."
"No, you're not. You have no friends, really. Just that old man you live with. No one will talk to you since the accident. Everyone says your Dad was blind drunk the night he killed your Mom and him. Nobody knows what to say to you, so they just ignore you."
"That's my Grampy and he's going to find me."
"No, he won't. Not until way later, when it won't matter anymore. You see, we are alike. Neither one of us matter."
"Yes, I do. And so do you. To someone." Her attempt to distract him failed, because he stood up and screamed, "NO, I DON'T."
"We've both lost the only people that gave a shit about us, now they're gone. That's why you're here, to share our end."
She fought back the vomit that threatened to burn her throat as she felt it come up from her stomach.
"How long have I been here?"
"A few days."
In the beam of light, she saw the flash of a knife blade as he traced the skin from under her chin to her bellybutton. She felt sick again. And terror hit her like a hammer blow. She started to cry.
"Knock it off, little baby, that won't help you. I have this all planned out and you're not going to spoil it. You see, we have no place here. This world isn't good enough for us. It's cruel, and unforgiving, and it takes away those we love. Or used to love. My Mom is a hopeless addict and my Dad doesn't give a shit. He stays away, probably with that little whore I saw him with at the Cash and Carry. He didn't see me, but there they were, hanging and slobbering all over each other. Made me sick. I hate both of them. I only love you.
She didn't know what to say, her mouth dry like dirt. Finally, she got up enough nerve to try to speak.
"You said the people you cared about were gone. Your Mom and Dad aren't gone."
"To me, they are and good riddance. Pieces of shit."
Her fear was intense, she tried pulling at the ropes that bound her wrists, but all they did was tear at the skin. Her stomach growled, painfully. She had no idea when she ate last. Her thoughts were like a slideshow of memories of her parents, school, music camp, her grandparents, Christmases past, the Halloween someone threw a pumpkin at the house and broke the front window. Her Dad flew out the front door, chasing the pirate and Freddie Krueger, vowing to "get them little assholes."
"Do you know what its like, waking up everyday, not wanting to? What it's like knowing you shouldn't have been here in the first place.?"
"No. I've never felt that way. Maybe someone can help you feel better."
She heard him pick something up and sling it at the wall above her head. He started shouting bad words and jumping up and down. He slapped her across the face. Then he reached down and ripped her clothing. He struggled with her jeans and with all the rage of a thousand devils, he thrust something deep inside her. She screamed at the searing pain and fought against him and the ropes on her wrists.
He paced like a wild animal, still yelling words that were unintelligible. She knew he was going mad, ripping at his hair, slamming his head against the wall. She prayed.
"What are you going to do with me?"
"End our suffering." "We are kindred spirits, destined. We were doomed to this the day we were born. I was born to relieve your pain, your loss, take you to a better place. We don't belong here."
"I don't want to die. I want to go home." The fear in her gut was overwhelming, sweat covered her.
"It's time. I can't be here anymore." She sucked air in, and it was sickening, dry, and it scratched her throat.
She saw the knife gleam again. Then, she felt a stinging on her left wrist and then her right. She felt a warmness run down her arms, onto her sides, and finally on the bed beside her.
"We'll be at peace soon."
She began to feel dizzy. As she lay there, losing consciousness, she closed her eyes, and within a soft light, she could see her parents and beloved Grammy holding their hands out to her.
The last thing she heard was a single gunshot.