~Hawkins~

Straight into danger I go...

~Hawkins~

My name derives from the Greek deity of bloodshed and war, and like Ares I have no problem smearing my hands with filth. I once broke three fingers on Tommy Tale-Witt's left hand because he called me an ugly duckling when we were ten, and had it not been for his tall, shrill shrieking banshee of a mother, the rest of his digits would've been broken too. A year later I went toe to toe with my middle aged, middle school science teacher Mr. Crow-a short, wrinkling man with leaps of facial skin and beady brown, wilting eyes. He threatened to tell my mother about my...unsavory language in class that day, but later paid a hefty price for his insolence. Letting the matter go crossed my mind more than once, but the instant the sleek, shiny cerulean Porsche caught my eye, it was over. Mischief beckoned to me like a starved plant for the bright rays of the sun, and with a crafty snicker at the tip of my lips I let my naughtiness leak. The thrill I felt when I slashed his tires and thrashed his windshield was as fresh as the day I did it; who knew a Cop's daughter could be so bold and mischievous. My attitude towards the citizens of Little Central made me a premature legend, but this force of nature attitude I have carried for so long is seconds from crackling and crashing to the floor.

A calm coolness sweeps the hallway, and it is a direct contrast to the whirlwind of emotions battling for dominance in my veins. The only sliver of light illuminating the third floor corridor comes from the round ceiling lights that flicker to life one instant, and dies the next. It emits a soft buzz, and sounds like an annoyed bee trying to communicate its displeasure to its fellow nectar collectors before swooping to the next flower for nectar.

On off, on off. It grates on my nerves.

The moss green, slippery substance running down the wall almost wrings a curse from my lips, to this day I can't understand why my mother chooses to live in this stink hole. Instead, I bite my tongue and think it best to keep my comments to myself. Liquid thick in copper floods my mouth, but I swallow it as if it is the last thing I'll have to drink. I hate living here, but my sweet, angelic mother refuses to seek sanctuary in a more...proper environment.

So I am stuck. I am akin to a pigeon imprisoned in a thick, rusty steel cage with a lock the size of the world keeping me captive. A slow, conventional death full with toil and suffering will be mine, and no one will know...or hear me scream. Thick, black flints of dust and a legion of spider webs mar the low, wooden ceilings and beams, and I blink to make sure I am seeing right. Eight long, nimble legs glide from a beam at the pace of a snail and inches around a small web. The oncoming beast ignores the fat, red moth struggling in haste to escape the stringy prison and halts above us. Fear as numbing and cold as the arctic winds whip in my stomach when eight, beady eyes land on me, its crimson depths swimming at the sight of fresh prey. My lips dance and twitch in a brave effort to stand up to the russet spider; part of me hopes it is enough to discourage the arachnid from approaching.

The beast fails to move.

It is a battle of wills as mortal and killer drink in the motionless stance of the other-one in murder, the other in fright-as if trying to decide who will take the first kill shot. But long, bony fingers curl around my arm, and I tear my eyes from the small predator. "You're hurting me." My futile attempt to wrench my scrawny limb from mom's hold squeezes a fresh frown from the petite woman.

"I wouldn't have to hurt you if you didn't try to run, wouldn't I?" Our sides meet in a tender, lover's kiss when she yanks me close.

"I wouldn't have to run if you didn't drag me here!" Anger gushes from my booming voice like rushing water, and heat burns my cheeks. "This is child abuse!" To emphasize my point, I raise my shackled hands. A pair of silver handcuffs hold my small wrists at bay, imprisoning me like a scumbag criminal. The handcuffs have an old, longstanding history; Lottie says the Red gang pried it from the hands of a former cop years ago when he was their hostage deep in the slums. I don't want to believe her, but the man's dark, crimson blood still coats the chain.

"I wonder how D.H.R. will take this information." No twitching exists on Lottie's face; my feeble attempt to spark a negative reaction and drive her to release me from my premature capture fails.

"What information? The fact that I put you in your place when it's needed? Baby, that's what being a parent's all about. You'll find out one day when you have a child of your own."

My eyes find the wall. "No thanks, I don't want brats. I don't even want to get married."

"Why?" Her chocolate eyes drown in fresh tears, gloom and despair stain her pretty face like paint. A notorious thief I am; I swiped her attention from the matter of my captivity in the blink of an eye, but I don't desire loot. I want freedom.

"Do you have to ask?"

Her lips quiver, "Ares, your father and I---"

"Drop it."

Happiness burst in my stomach at the thick, uncomfortable silence that follows my chilling, bitter tone. But it does not last long. Lottie Hawkins's fingers grow tight around my bony arm, and the short-lived peace shatters like glass. Sharp pain tingles around my arm, a hiss slithers from my lips fast. Lottie's perfect nails cut into my skin like a knife slicing butter; the possibility my scarred, caramel skin turning black and blue later rises to a new high. The golden halo circling mom's head turns a dreary shade of gray, the air circling her thick and stifling. Her silence speaks volumes; the physical assault she is evoking on her only child sinks in and leaves a toxic mark.

Rapt indecision churns in my stomach as we face the chipping, goblin-green door to the apartment. The rusty 'Todd' name tag glints in cold malice, mocking my hesitation. I suppose it is stupid; I am rooted like a tree outside the killer's abode, and bile bubbles and burns my throat. Saliva spring sour wells in my mouth, and my spine tingles as cold dread freeze my insides. If I go inside now, then my life is over. There is no other way to say it.

"I solemnly swear to haunt you for eternity."

Lottie snaps her gaze to me, her eyes glinting with ice. She clasps her lips to a thread of a line, and I admit I'm surprised I don't burst into flames from the raging fire she directs at me. "Stop it now, Ares!" She scolds in a thick, tension filled voice. "We're not doing this again."

"Again?" I repeat. My body quakes with anger and I try to keep my voice down. It will do no good for the neighboring third floor occupants to get wind of what the Hawkins' argue about this time. "We wouldn't have to do this at all if you'd just agree to not go through with it. I'd rather die!"

Mom leans in close, a smug smile stretching her cherry lips. "Then I guess you'll have to wait and die inside his apartment."

I bite my tongue for a second time, and flinch as white-hot pain soars through my mouth. "I can't believe you're doing this to me!" I say, swallowing blood. "This isn't fair!"

She rolls her eyes. "Stop already." She taps the door with a tight fist, dismissing my protests. "Do you know why I'm taking this job?" She prompts, but doesn't give me the chance to answer. "So I can support you. I'm doing this for you." She raps on the door a second time, and sighs. "You're getting older, and you're an expensive child. Those designer shirts you wear don't come cheap. Do you know how hard I have to work to support you and your brother and pay bills?"

I dismiss my mother. I trail my gaze to the chipping, white paint hidden under the mossy wall of the hallway, and wishes it is the putrid, yellow wall of our shared bedroom. I'll give anything to be in the small apartment this moment, but at the rate my mother is going, there will be no telling when I will set my sights on the age-old place again. It is a run-down piece of junk (like the couch), but I'd rather be there, than here. A wave of homesickness crashes in my stomach, and I watch the yellow door down the hall, wanting to break from my maternal guardian and seek refuge inside its warm depths.

"Mom." I whisper, not daring to take my eyes off the door least it vanish in the blink of an eyes, "Can't you just...trust me? I'm fifteen; I'm perfectly capable of handling myself. I don't need him."

Lottie's nose flares. "You set the stove on fire yesterday."

It's funny how she can throw that in my face. "I was trying to cook you supper."

"My point exactly." She says with a smile, "We now don't have a stove because of you. If I didn't come home when I did--"

"I'd still be here. We don't have a fire extinguisher in the house for style lady." I hope to get through to the stubborn woman yet. "You act as if I was intentionally trying to commit arson. I'm not that stupid!"

"I don't care!" She hisses like an angry snake. She shakes me like a ragged doll before gripping my chin hard enough to leave a bruise. "I don't care what you were trying to do, my word is final. You will not be staying by yourself."

I grind my teeth. "Mom," I try to interrupt, but her fingers tighten around my chin.

"No, Aressa-Sierra," She calls me by my full first name, "I will not argue this with you anymore. Mr. Todd is going to watch you while I'm gone, understand?"

I yank my chin from the woman's hold and glower at the floor. The hollow, lifeless echo of Lottie's fist rapping against the door hits the narrow hallway like a tidal wave, and I cringe, hating the simple sound with each second that ticks by. A soft, energetic squeal screeches following the silence that settles after my mother peels her fist from the door, and I can't help but glare at the simple digit as it continues to move on the rusty nail. The longer my eyes stay fixated on the blasted thing, the more heated my anger. I have the urge to reach up and pull the small thing apart with my bare hands until it crumbles to dust, but I settle for clenching my shackled fists and gnashing my teeth. I try for one last, desperate plea.

"Can't you pick someone else?" I ask, raising my hands to point at the door. "Does it have to be him? Mom, I'll bunk with Mrs. Stone before I willingly place any part of my body in his vicinity. He's a killer!" I blurt, having no choice. I have to let my mother know the danger surrounding the man; I have to convince Lottie to let me stay away from him.

"What?" She gives me her attention. "No he's not. Who told you this?"

"No one, I just...know."

She raises her eyebrows. "So, you just know that Mr. Todd is a killer? That's an awful thing to say about him."

My shoulders quake in frustration. "It's true!" I say, swiveling to her. "I've seen him kill people!"

Lottie rolls her eyes again, dismissing my words for good. "I don't want to hear it, alright?"

"But mom, he's a killer! He's someone's hit man, and he's a freak!"

"And you're not?" She throws at me.

My mouth snaps shut. I am tempted to fold my arms across my chest like a child, but again, can't. "No, I'm not." I can't believe the gall of my own mother. Here I am trying to forewarn the woman that the man she thinks is a kind next door neighbor is a killer for hire, and now she's changed the whole story, turning everything around on me.

"Why would I be a freak?"

Lottie laughs, but it isn't nice. "You wear black."

"So?"

"At all times. You've turned into a complete recluse and you've gained the personality of a delinquent."

Red sparks in my eyes. "Fine!" I bark my temper close to the boiling point. "Just because I choose to look and act like I hate society and everything else that comes with it does not make me a freak! It's called being different mom!" I wrench my arm free of the skinny woman's herculean grip, and glare at her. The rage simmers quickly. I am getting so upset with my mother that I want to march down the hall and make a swift getaway into town-and nestle into one of my most infamous hiding spots just to spite her. It will make me feel so much better, and it is better than waiting for the man to appear. It feels like my mother is offering me up to the man on a silver platter-I am his dinner for the next couple of days, and the woman refuses to believe anything I say. I am right about him…I’m not lying, or making any of it up.

"If you paid attention to me these last couple of years, you’d understand why." The whispered words hang thick in the air.

Her eyes widen and she looks away fast. She can’t hide the water flooding to her eyes…I see it all before she hides her face.

Good.

Perhaps it is a cruel thing to say, but I don’t care. My mother is offering me to the lone, sadistic wolf-throwing me to the ocean as bait for the ravenous shark-the least she can do is listen to me moan and groan about how unfair life is…or how horrible it is going to get…

"Ares, I---"

The door in front us jerks open, and the man I am dreading appears. In retrospect, I will admit that Mr. Todd is good-looking in a strange sort of way. He clocks a good six foot, and has a lithe, athletic build. Slivers of the man’s pale flesh peeks from legions of tattoos liquored from his right wrist to his shoulder, and in an instant my eyes glue to them against my will. Strange symbols decorate every inch of his arm, and at one point I think I see a small, circular, elaborate drawing inked just under his elbow move.

That is impossible. I shake my head, dispel the image and trail the rest of the man’s body; I’m not sure if the twinge tugging my stomach is out of fright or pain. Embedded deep in Mr. Todd’s chest is a large, jagged, hideous wound; it looks as though a knife or dagger mistook it for the Thanksgiving turkey. It spans from his collarbone to his hip, the flesh about the wound tinted a perky pink. It is the type of battle scar one gets after they've been in a knife fight to the death.

…and it looks very fresh.

I am so dead. I force the lump in my throat down with difficulty, and force my eyes to his face. I really wish I hadn’t.

Mismatched, emotionless eyes sits still under a tuft of curly, jet black hair now soaking with water, and I follow a bead as it glistens, and trickles down the side of his stubble-infested face. Mr. Todd has a strong, angular jaw with fat, chapped, pink lips, and as they sink in a heavy frown, I notice the left corner looks busted.

A fist fight, perhaps?

A soft sigh comes from beside me, and I snap my gaze to my mother-and ice-cold horror churns in the pit of my stomach. Her eyes are large and bright, and a dark, rosy hue spreads across her cheeks like wildfire. Her thin, crimson lips tilts upward in a pretty smile, and with a quick flutter of her eyelashes, she closes he distance to Mr. Todd. The air is crackling hot, and tense, and before I know it, my mother tiptoes to the man and plants her body in his personal bubble. It is far closer to him that she should be, far closer to him than I want. Lottie, then, tilts her head to him-he tilts his head to her-and in slow, agonizing motion, and to my utmost fear, their lips meet in a soft, chaste kiss. It is such a simple, innocent action for the adults, but for me…it is the start of my destruction. I have been keeping such a close eye on the man for the past few months; when did this happen?

"Ares!" My eyes pop open (I don’t remember closing them) at the sound of my mother’s voice, and I note quick that I am the prime suspect of both adults.

"Honey, are you okay?" She inquires.

I still as my mind tries to catch up. My shoulders sag with relief, I’m glad it is only a freak daydream and not reality. I’ll go crazy if that ever comes to fruition. It will happen over my dead body. I clear my throat and shrug before daring to eye the man again…and the urge to wrap my bony hands around his thick throat grips me. His blue-green eyes glazes with amusement, his chapped, busted lip twitches, almost as if he wants to say something smart, but keeps them shut. He leans against the doorway and crosses his muscled arms on his water-beaded chest. A white, fluffy towel is snug around his hips, and it is then understanding comes to me. I know why she brought me here. She is attracted to him. She has to be.

"Mr. Todd," Lottie says in a happy tone, "good day to you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…important." She stares at Mr. Todd, a dreamy look overtaking her face, and I know I hit the nail on the head. My mother likes Mr. Todd.

The man snorts, finding humor in her careless statement. He surveys her with the same enthusiasm she has showered towards him and shrugs, brushing it off. "It’s a ‘right." His voice is deep, dark and singed with an accent so dense, America is nowhere on the radar. It gives away nothing of what he feels, and irritated for no reason, I fist my shackled hands to tight balls. I want nothing more than to wrap them around the man’s long, thick neck.

"That’s good." Lottie murmurs. She spares me a sidelong glance, as if to reassure herself of what she is about to do. "I have…" she starts, and chews her bottom lip as if it is her next meal, "I have a small favor to ask of you."

Mr. Todd’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He unfurls his arms, pushes off the door, and motions to his lair. "Will you come in, Ms. Hawkins?"

"It’s Mrs.," I say, talking for the first time in minutes, "She’s married."

Those mismatched eyes slide from Lottie's form and land on me with a quiet vengeance, almost as if he forgets I am standing there. He graces me with a cool, uninterested gaze, and his eyes rake over my form before settling on my face. A dark, somber shadow flits across his eyes and they darken in pain, as if he is remembering something exponentially tragic, and a frown mars his face. He narrows his eyes at me when I try hard to return the frigid gaze with one of my own.

"Ares!" Mom snaps, tapping my shoulder hard. "Be nice young lady! Use those manners I drilled into your head."

I turn my head and chew my cheek.

"No thank you," She says to Mr. Todd, "that’s very kind. I’m sorry about this thing." A smile accompanies the apology, and she points to me. She then regards the man for a long second, glances at the watch holding tight to her wrist and sucks in a deep breath. "I’m afraid I don’t have much time…and you’re the only one I can afford to trust."

"The only one you want to trust." I mutter in a dark, low voice. But Lottie ignores me.

The man’s eyes swim with instant suspicion. "Trust with what?"

Lottie tries to smile, but it comes out more of a grimace, and she pushes me toward the towering man. "My daughter."

Mr. Todd’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and he blinks in confusion. He looks to me, then to my mother, not a single word or sound uttering from his thin lips.

Mom, seeing his momentary speech impairment, hurries to explain. "I have to leave town for a few days, and I have no one to keep tabs on my baby."

"You want me to…babysit your child?"

"Keep her out of trouble."

He eyes me. "Can she not look after herself?"

"Oh I can," I speak quick, "She just doesn’t trust me."

He stares at me, unblinking, looking as if won’t trust me either.

"That’s far from the point." Lottie says through clenched teeth. "She’s a danger to herself. I just want to make sure I have a child to come back to." She whispers, and I look back, not believing her at all. The petite woman’s eyes fill with unshed tears, and she sniffs, a dry sob escaping the confines of her lips. I shake my head in disbelief, disappointed my mother is willing to stoop to such lengths, never mind the fact the man will not fall for her weak act.

"A’right."

I stare at him with wide eyes. He fell for it! A snort passes through my nose. It is obvious he is too soft; otherwise my mother’s fake sadness would’ve never phased him.

"You will?" She asks with hope in her voice. "Are…are you sure? Cause---"

The man waves her off. "Yes," The S is strong and stressed, like a hissing snake, "I’m sure. My job is flexible, so I’ll have plenty of time to devote to your child. Don’t worry Mrs. Hawkins," He glares at me, "I’ll take damn good care of her. I’ll not let anything happen to her at all. Anything." He places heavy emphasis on the last word, and I gulp, afraid. His words sound sinister in my ears, and I think about running away as fast as I can. Instead, I swallow my fear and replace it with anger. Anger always makes things better.

"I hate you already."

His lips twitch in an eerie smile, and his eyes glint with mischief. I am weary of him now. I steal a glance at my actor uncertified mother. "Are you really going to leave me with him? What if I’m right?"

Lottie scoffs. "Oh Ares," Her tone is tired, "the tales you come up with sometimes." She spares Mr. Todd a fleeting glance, muttering kids beneath her breath.

The man smiles, not bothered by my reluctance to staying close to him. I know he isn’t at all innocent as he seems, and if I want my mother to believe me at all, I’ll have to do some major digging. The problem is, I am about to walk into enemy territory, and I am sure-by the unreadable look on his face, that Mr. Todd is going to keep a very, very close eye on me.

Fantastic. I am now an undercover spy going behind enemy lines. I am doomed from the very start.

Mr. Todd drops one hand to his hip. "Well," he says, his accent thick, "take as much time as you need, little Hawkins."

"Ares." Lottie answer, telling the man my name without my permission.

"Ares." He says, mulling the name over his lips slow, before a strange smile etches across his face. "Shut the door on your way in."

Shut the door on your way in. I stick out my tongue in mocking as the man walks away, his wet feet slapping against the wooden floor. I turn to my mother, not sure of what to say.

"I can’t believe you’re doing this to me." I say after long, painstaking minutes. I make sure to scrunch my face in distaste.

Lottie sighs loud, already foreseeing the reaction. "I just want you to be safe."

"With him?" I motion behind me, staring at my mother. "Mom, what makes you think I won’t be better off on my own?"

"Because I know you." She presses her lips together, and takes a step towards me. "And it’s only for a few days."

I am silent for what feels like an eternity, but in reality is thirty measly seconds. "I hope I’m not dead when you get back. If I am, then I get the privilege of unsettling you for the rest of your days."

My mother cracks a wry smile. "Never going to happen." Lottie grips my shoulders, and pulls me close. "You’ll behave, won’t you?" she asks, her hands trailing to my shackled wrists. She digs one hand into the tatty brown purse hanging loose from her shoulder, and seconds later her hand reemerges with a small, silver key. Slow, her eyes never leaving my face, she jabs the small piece of metal into the minuscule slot allotted into each cuff, and a small click sounds as I achieve my freedom. I can’t help but pull my hands to my chest, savoring my well-earned freedom after being a hostage by my dictator of a mother for the past half-hour.

Lottie gently yanks one hand from my chest and pries open my palm. She drops the key in the center, and push my fingers together, closing my fist. "You might need this." She says, watching me close. "You won’t set him on fire, or break any of his bones, will you? He’s a good man; I don’t need you calling the cops on him either-and don’t tell any stories about kidnapping. Mark won’t be happy about that."

I snort, and look away. Mark Thatcher is the current chief of police for little central, and a moderate old man that knows me well. At least, he only knows what everyone else tells him. I met the man twice in my life, and I hate his guts to the core. Truth told, I am already plotting the ways I could cause problems for both Mark and Todd, I’ll have to reevaluate my plans, Lottie is on to me already.

"Who knows," Lottie breaks me from my thoughts, "give Mr. Todd a chance; you might actually make your first friend."

I grimace. Mr. Todd and I, friends? That will happen when hell freezes over. Still, I eye my mother and try my best to put on a brave front-one that will reassure Lottie Hawkins of my good, impending behavior. The woman will never believe me, but it is the mere thought of my innocent, angelic stature that matters.

I hesitate. "I’ll try." I say, it is all the woman is going to get from me. There is no possible way I am going to promise something of that magnitude to the soon to be absent woman, especially concerning that man.

A watery smile stretches her face, and her hands retreat from my wrists. "My goodness," she says, her fingers tracing the contours of my face, "you’re getting beautiful." She whispers, "and you look so much like you""

"Don’t." I warn hotly. The tender moment between mother and daughter is broken just as quick as it came, and I pull away from my guardian, and grip the strap to my shabby backpack. "Don’t you dare mention him!" My voice is cold, and I back away fast, not liking the close contact so much.

"Ares." Lottie tries to interject, but I hold up a hand, stopping her short.

"Just go, okay? You’ll miss your bus."

Her eyes swim with unshed tears. She purses her lips, retreating into herself, and wipes her eyes free of the telltale evidence. "Right," she mutters, holding her purse. "I’ll see you in a few days, okay?" Bending to grab the suitcase handle, she pulls away from Mr. Todd’s door, but halts her steps quick. "I love you, Ares."

Mirroring those three words is impossible. I nod to the woman with anger and hurt in my heart, and watch as Lottie Hawkins turns and descends the narrow hallway. The small lights in the ceiling blink fast, struggling to stay alive"before going out. My heart pounds with fear in my chest, and a cold shiver travels down my spine. The darkness swims free in front me, and my hands start to quake. The eerie echoes of my mother’s footsteps cease to exist, making my heart almost stop its frantic beating in my chest. I know the woman hates the darkness, yet why isn’t she freaking out? I expect to hear cries of horror and calls for help-a sure sign Lottie Hawkins is approaching a panic attack-but nothing treks to my ears.

The silence almost cripples me with raw fear.

At once the lights flicker to life. Instead of seeing my panicking mother desperate to plaster herself to the nearest wall, the corridor is empty.

Lottie Hawkins is gone.