Chapter 39 #4
She laughs, although marginally weaker this time. The smug girl licks the top of her teeth and I’m nearly compelled to position a box over her head, just so I didn’t have to look at her.
“When Nicholas recruited me… I was more than on board to ruin your pathetic excuse of a life. Getting paid was just a bonus.”
Nicholas? My Uncle Nicholas hired her to do this?
Lost in thought, she catches me off guard. Managing to free her once pinned arm, she sinks her nails into my forearm, like the savage little bitch she is.
The gun is too far, while there’s not much else in reach without chancing Jada getting loose from my hold.
On the counter above us, sits an industrial sized roll of green, stretch-plastic for shipping.
I suck in through my teeth as she manages to dig her nails into me even more.
“Ah, fuck!” Little swells of blood appear, preceding trickles of crimson, dancing down my arm. Goddamnit! What would Tony Soprano do?
“You don’t deserve it! I should be the manager!
The guys were mine, way before you ever showed up!
Who would want a defective, flat-chested girl like you?
!” she spits attempting to squirm out from under me.
Her words are like venom. Jada's hold on me is relentless, showing no sign of being released.
Clearly, she has no intent of letting me walk away from this.
With my free arm, I reach toward the heavy-duty packing material, wiggling my fingers till the wrap gives way.
I yank toward me, allowing the roll to unravel its stretchy contents.
In my peripheral, the idle shop owner is now lying in a pool of his own blood.
I won’t let that be my fate. With the opaque plastic, I make quick use of it by swinging my free arm around Jada’s head.
Finally, her nails rip free from my arm, as she attempts to remove the wrapping from around her face.
My arm burns but I know she can hurt me with only one free hand. Lifting my knee, I shift my weight to her chest, then settle once again on top of her. With one arm still pinned behind her back, she switches between pulling the plastic from her face to clawing at my jeans.
Jada battles to free from her airways.
I want… no, I need to be the one to survive this. For Theo. For myself! Extracting more of the stretch-cling from the roll, I tirelessly make wide circles, encompassing her entire head.
Her trashy stiletto nails claw at the suffocating layers, but it’s puncture proof to ensure packages are nice and secure.
Good luck breathing. I don’t know how long I’ve been wrapping her, but I hear the hollow tube spin as I reach the end of the roll.
I can’t help but glance back at the shop owner.
There’s blood everywhere. I grasp the clingy wrap on either side of her head and push downward, so it’s flush with her skin.
Tiny rivers of blood flow down my arm as I press with all my might.
Her body bucks and arms flail, but it's no use. I have her pinned to the ground. A fragment of the microSD card sits next to us. It was the last thing I had of my brother! The only way to prove he didn’t take his own life!
I inch upward, onto her chest with my full weight.
“AHHHHHH!” I scream, and it becomes my battle cry.
I scream at her, at my family, I scream for Theo.
They’re supposed to be my family. Why? Why all the lies?
! I strain, fantasizing how I’m able to extract all the answers from those who have wronged me.
Finally reaching retribution. Drops of my blood eventually make it onto the green plastic, just as the fight leaves her body and her arms fall to the sides.
Everything is still. Mouth fully open, her eyes seemed to bore into me, despite the egregious layers of translucent emerald film.
I reach for the counter and pull myself up.
Another dispenser catches my eye. Peeling off a sticker from the reel, I slap a “Fragile” sticker over her creepy stare.
I chuckle to myself, “Who’s breakable now?
” My hands shake, clearly adrenaline still surges through me, and the room wobbles.
I lower myself to the floor and crawl over to the shop owner. Remarkably, his chest is still moving.
The bell above the door jingles.
Oh fuck! Someone’s here! What if it’s Nicholas? Or worse… Mairead and her father!
I curl up in a ball. I’m going to jail. Shit.
I can’t just sit here. I crawl closer, peeking through a small crack in the partisan, where I find a wild-eyed Dax, taking in the scene, just past the counter.
He takes out his phone, appearing to be typing something, then puts it back in his pocket.
By the time I realize I can’t see him through the seam any longer, he is next to me.
Extending a hand, he helps me to stand, taking in my bloodied arm.
His eyes darken, looking murderous over my minor injuries, heedless of the carnage around us.
Leading me through a back door, we exit into an alley where I find his car.
He doesn’t stop, as if not allowing me to overthink what just happened.
Ripping from Dax’s hold, I try to make it to one of the trash cans, only to come up short, emptying my stomach onto the cracked concrete beside.
A hand gently presses to my back. Small circles soothe me as the other holds back my hair, just ahead of another wave of sickness pouring from me.
This time, bile speckles my shoes. I must be a sight.
Gross and disheveled, however Dax handles me like I’m something precious.
Carefully, he escorts me to his vehicle, helps me in, and buckles my belt.
Next, he rounds the Camaro and turns on the car.
We drive smoothly away from the scene, although my body still quakes.
His hand rests on my thigh, as if saying, “it’s going to be okay,” all without a word.
Multiple blocks from Mail Haven, an ambulance rushes by as we head toward the interstate. Did he call for an ambulance?
I’m glad the store owner was still alive, but can he survive such an injury? Too rattled to actually speak… I close my eyes, only to visualize a body surrounded by a growing ruby puddle. My eyelids pop open.
“Where are we going?” I ask, voice hoarse.
He removes his hand from my thigh to bring his fingers and thumb together, to form a flat “O” shape. Pressing his hand beside his mouth, then moving slightly upward toward his ear, touching again at the top of his jawbone, with the same closed hand. Home, he signs.