Yin 10: A Knight in Soaking Armour

A new character is introduced.

Rain fell drearily from above, drizzling in a most depressing manner.

 

Alice paid no attention to the slowly-building downpour. In fact, she quite liked the dark atmosphere; there was something comforting about the thunderstorms and the rainfall that accompanied them. Most people would consider it unnecessarily annoying and a major inconvenience, but not Alice. She appreciated the life-sustaining sky water, and enjoyed watching it patter against her window.

 

The young Caucasian woman didn't have to watch it from a window at home right now, however, as she was racing out of the Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children, intent on catching the last train homebound. She was running late, having opted to stay at school after hours and prepare, and she hadn't brought her umbrella. She thought that today was going to be clear cast well into the night, but apparently she'd been dead wrong.

 

Cursing her lack of foresight, she dashed through the streets of London, heading towards King's Cross station. She needed to be there within ten minutes, or she'd be stranded. Alice was already drenched, her short blonde bob haircut plastered to her face, sticking to her  pale cheeks and covering parts of blue eyes. The slim pencil skirt was sticking to her in most uncomfortable ways, and she was quite sure that her underwear was somewhere it had no business being. She had to hightail it home, and soon.

 

Round the corner, across the street, and past the distinctive, cobblestone driveway, and she was there. Steam was pouring out the smokestack, and it looked like it was ready to leave. Quickly making her way over to the door, she felt a tug on her skirt that took her by surprise. A dodgy-looking man with a top hat in a drenched trench coat grinned at her with crooked and yellow teeth, his hand still on the hem of her pencil skirt.

 

"What's the hurry, luv? You looking for a good time?"

 

Alice yanked on her skirt, but he didn't loosen his grip. "I'm not looking, thanks," she said coolly, slowly backing away in hopes he'd get the message. "I've got a train to catch, so if you'd excuse m--"

 

"C'mon, luv, you can cop a ride with me, we'll go for dinner and maybe do it in the loo, if that's to your fancy."

 

"What's to my fancy," Alice began, really starting to get angry, "is getting on this train and going home. Let go of me, you bloody wanker."

 

"You hear that, mates? She wants me to let go. And she called me a bloody wanker. What have we to say to that, mates?"

 

Alice's eyes widened as she saw more men come forward, at least half a dozen men all wearing trenchcoats and bowler hats for some reason. The man with the top hat was quite clearly their leader -- was this some sort of gang? What did they want with her?

 

"Are you such manky prats that you've got to have this many men to threaten a woman? You lot are cowards. Bloody wankers!"

 

The man laughed hoarsely. "There she goes again, boys, calling me a bloody wanker. It's like she's asking for it." He tugged on her skirt tighter, lowering it the tiniest bit, bringing his face closer to hers. "Bloody wanker, am I? If you'd like, I'd show you a bloody wanker." He grabbed his crotch and gave it a tug, grinning menacingly at her all the while.

 

Alice was utterly revolted, her face conveying her dismay at the situation rather bluntly. Just as she was about to retort, she was cut off by the intercom system buzzing on to relay an announcement.

 

"All aboard the train at Platform 9, all aboard, last call. The train will depart in five minutes."

 

Desperation began to claw at Alice's conscience. "I need to get on that train right now, let me go!"

 

"Let you go, you say? Alright."

 

The man yanked her by the skirt, pulling her closer, and grabbing her by the wrist. He turned, dragging her along the platform towards the front of the train. She struggled against his grip, but it was iron-tight, and she couldn't escape.

 

"Let go!" Alice repeated, stumbling behind him as he yanked her along. He ignored her, dragging her without a glance backwards, his grip on her wrist bruising. "What're you doing? Let go of me, let go, let go! Help me, somebody, help!"

 

She was pleading to the people on the train, but no one so much as acknowledged her. Two women, prim and proper in appearance, glanced out their window to the spectacle below, but made no move to help her; in fact, they seemed to be gossiping about it.

 

He dragged her to the first platform at the front of the train. He then pushed her, until she was wheeling dangerously between the tracks, trying to regain her balance on the slippery platform, held up only by her grip on his calloused hand. He then looked at her desperation, and smiled, almost sweetly. “What am I doing? Why, just what you asked. Letting go."

 

She realized what he meant a moment too late; he had let go of her hand, and she had begun falling. She opened her mouth to scream, as though the futile effort would save her, but she never got the chance...

 

...Before a hand snatched her by the wrist, and pulled her back onto the platform. Her scream turned into a gasp of surprise, her mind not even having time to process the action. She collapsed onto her hands, knees splayed out as she coughed and spluttered, eyes on the ground, shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body as a result of the near-death experience she had just lived through.

 

Alice didn't know why she was still alive. Why did the man save her? Was he toying with her all along? No, she didn't think so; he had already established himself as a cruel and remorseless man. If such a person could be called a man, and not a monster, that is. Was he saving her just so he could do it again, to torture her psychologically some more? What kind of monster was he, to do this to strangers?

 

A chill was starting to grip her; she'd been out in the rain too long. She finally glanced up, bracing herself for the sight that awaited her: no doubt, she'd witness an ugly, close-up look of the man's face, his crooked yellow teeth serving to make his jeering grin all the more infuriating.

 

What she wasn't expecting, however, was all seven men, including the top-hat leader, sprawled out on the ground, groaning in their unconscious states. There was another man, a new one, who glanced down at the leader with something akin to hatred. His gaze was furious, truly a fearsome sight to behold.

 

'Why was this man so protective of me,' Alice wondered. 'He doesn't even know me.' She then realized that someone doesn't have to know another to help them in a time of need. Perhaps the man just found the unconscious man's act utterly reprehensible. But even then, he seemed too...furious, for someone who was just passing by.

 

"T-thank you," she choked out, voice hoarse from shock. He didn't seem to hear her, seeing as he didn't acknowledge her. The whistle on the train blew, and the doors began to close. The train was about to depart, and she got up, dashing into the nearest car just as the doors closed. She was dripping wet, but it didn't matter; she'd made it.

 

Her sodden appearance earned her a few derisive glances from the prim and proper ladies on the train, eyeing her with disdain for daring to drip water all over their compartment's floor. Alice simply glared, displeased with them. Did they expect her to control the weather around her? She shook her head, murmuring angrily to herself, as she plodded along the compartment until she found an empty seat in the last car, facing the back and with a window to boot.

 

Plopping down in the seat, Alice sighed in relief. It had been a close call, she'd almost lost her life trying, but she'd got onto the train and now all she had to do was wait. She most assuredly caught a cold, no doubt with how drenched she was by the rain. She may have had to call in ill from work for a few days, provided she would be sick as she suspected.

 

Brushing her straggled blonde bangs away from her eyes and tucking them behind her ear, she glanced out the window, watching the rain pitter-patter relentlessly against the compartment. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and a frightening bout of thunder cracked through the air seconds later.

 

"It's not that far then, is it?" she mused to herself, glancing towards the heavens. Dark, stormy clouds brewed about, hovering menacingly above them all. It was times like these she was torn between whether or not to believe in God. On the one hand, the heavens raged a fearsome sight, and it was quite startling to think a divine entity could lose its temper and have storms result. On the other hand, thunderstorms were like fevers: they had to get worse before they got better. Thunderstorms were scary, angry phenomena to most, but it also brought about much needed precipitation and sometimes, if they were lucky, a beautiful rainbow became visible as well. Perhaps thunderstorms were Mother Nature's way of being cruel to be kind.

 

Her thoughts wandered to the events of her day. She had her students create paper cards to commemorate the upcoming anniversary of one of their classmate's death, a little eleven year old girl. Her name had been Cassandra Wulford, a sweet little child who was a bright student and had a magnetic personality. She could charm and entertain all of her classmates, and displayed a similar ability to enamour her teachers as well. This was all despite her inability to hear, and her ability to interact with her surroundings and understand people despite such a handicap had always impressed Alice. As Alice recalled these events, her mind began to drift...

    ***

 

Cassandra was a small girl, but, much like her deafness, that hadn't stopped her from getting her point across. She was always so spirited, so lively, always knowledgeable and a born leader. Her ability to communicate had often led Alice to question why she was in the Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children, as she demonstrated communicative skills that seemed to exceed even those of her age group who weren't afflicted with a disability. She had such a great future ahead of her, the charisma, potential and personality of a leader, but that had been ripped away from her with her untimely death.

 

Cassandra -- she had insisted on her full name, disliking the diminutive Cassie -- had usually been picked up by a man whom she later revealed to Alice was her older brother. She would tell Alice that she was more than capable of handling herself, and if she got into a spot of trouble, she'd just talk her way out of it as usual. That had made Alice smile; she knew it to be true.

 

What Alice didn't know was that Cassandra hadn't exactly been truthful when she said that her brother had finally broken down and given her permission to go home alone. Just to be sure, Alice made Cassandra wait an hour with her after all the other students had been picked up by their parents around 6 PM. Sure enough, her brother did not show up, so Alice figured her words to be true. She would've double checked with Cassandra's parents, but given that they never answered their phones and that they never came to pick her up in person, Alice had no idea what their situation was.

 

Offering to escort Cassandra home herself, the girl refused, saying she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Alice knew that to be true, but she still felt hesitant. After a little more wheedling from the girl, Alice gave in, unable to resist Cassandra's persuasive charms. Cassandra had been ecstatic and dashed off, leaving behind her Pokémon backpack. Alice had discovered this after the fact, and she very well couldn't have run off after her and leave the school unlocked, and yelling after a deaf girl wouldn't have exactly yielded her desirable results.

 

She had learned the news the day after. The police had arrived at the school, knocking on the door brutally; she had opened the door and questioned what purpose they had, and why they were so inconsiderate, disrupting the students' education.

 

"The little twats won't know the difference," one of the constables said, giving the students a rude glare. "They're deaf, ain't they?"

 

Alice's temple twitched violently. "They're little twats, are they? What does that make you? You're making a scene in front of my students. Bugger off."

 

She made to slam the door, but one of the constables placed his big boot in the doorway, preventing its close. He forcibly yanked the door open, and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her out. "You're under arrest, as you are suspected to be in connection with the murder of Cassandra Wulford."

 

Whereas she had been struggling before then, all the fight went out of her at the mention of Cassandra's name. She felt as though all the air had been knocked out of her, and she felt an emotional disconnect from the world for a few moments. All she could feel was numbness.

 

"Murder...Cassandra...?"

 

"That's right. Little Cassandra Wulford got herself murdered last night at around 9 PM. Our sources say you were the last known person she was with, when you released her from the school unaccompanied. We could charge you with neglect or misconduct. You're coming with us."

 

Alice had bristled at that comment. "'Little Cassandra Wulford' got herself murdered? What the bloody hell do you mean by that? That was the act of a murderer, killing her, not her fault."

 

"It was her fault for being stupid enough to go out at night by herself. And if not, it was your fault for letting her, if not both your faults. Now shut up and get in."

 

"Wait, these kids need supervision. We have to wait for the other teacher."

 

"Oh, suddenly you're all about supervision? Ha, what a laugh. Not like these kids are going to miss anything. They're lost causes anyway, what's a delay in their 'learning' going to do?"

 

Alice gave him the most vehement glare she could muster. "If they are as you say, then I'm the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. Now we will wait."

 

They did as she asked, waiting as a teacher on the floor up would come and substitute Alice's class as well. Alice swore she'd never forget the humiliation she endured after being dragged away to the police station with her students watching on. The constables shoved her in the back, as well, and the deaf children just watched on, silent and wide-eyed. The other teacher, an older lady named Ms. Nym, ushered them back in, casting a worried look over her shoulder to Alice. Alice shook her head, telling her not to worry, and held her head high, before a constable grabbed the back of it and shoved her into the back.

 

She really hoped the children didn't see that.

 

At the station, they had questioned her, subjected her to interrogations -- the style with a good cop and a bad cop -- and even forced her to take a lie detector test. The entire time she maintained her innocence. The results were clear: while she had let Cassandra out by herself, she had taken pre-emptive steps required and expected of her, such as offering to take her home and waiting a certain time for Cassandra's guardian to show up. Upon being questioned whether or not it was true that Cassandra had told her that her brother gave her permission to go home, the lie detector determined Alice had been telling the truth when she said that. Much to the bad cop's dismay, Alice hadn't displayed complete and utter neglect, nor performed enough of an error for it to be considered misconduct. Warning her gruffly to keep in town and that she was to cooperate with the investigation, she was let go.

 

Instantly, the good cop, a rookie cop by the name of Quint, offered her a ride home (and a winning smile). She considered declining, because she didn't want company right now, especially with a cop, because she was torn up with guilt over Cassandra's death. Even if she wasn't the cause, she felt responsible -- she had been the one who let her go, she had been the one who hadn't insisted on accompanying her, she had been the adult in the situation. She found herself justifying her behaviour by noting Cassandra's persuasive charm, and caught herself -- it had been her fault, not Cassandra's for being people-savvy. And the fact that she had even tried to shove the blame onto the girl, even if not outloud, made her hate herself.

 

However, if she wanted to be alone and not deal with other people, then it would be a prudent idea to take a conveniently-offered mode of transportation other than the bus, especially since there would be even more people than the one person driving a car. She accepted, and he led her to the parking lot, gesturing to a covert, black Ford Focus. Alice raised her eyebrow.

 

"What, no fancy cop car? No abuse of authority? No showing off?"

 

Quint chuckled to himself. "What do you take me for, a git? Off duty, I'm just like everyone else." He held the door open, and she eyed him warily, before thinking she should show more 'lady-like' courtesy, thanking him and entering. She mustn't be rude -- he was doing her a favour giving her a ride, after all.

 

Quint got into the driver's side, opening the right door and entering. He closed the door, and started up the car, smiling politely all the while. "And, now that I'm off duty, mayhaps you'll do me the honour of going out for a cup of coffee, or any beverage you'd like? Perhaps dinner, if you behave yourself." He winked, clearly playing with her.

 

'Mayhaps?' she thought idly, questioning why he was using such an old phrase for 'maybe'. "Mayhaps not, thank you. I'm not exactly in the mood for socializing when I just learned my star pupil was brutally murdered."

 

His eyes flicked away, but she caught notice of it. "....She was murdered, wasn't she? That's what you lot told me."

 

Quint began fidgeting. "Oh, yes, she was murdered, no one's doubting that. It's just..."

 

"Just...?" she said, prompting him.

 

"She was more than just murdered. She was also...raped."

 

Alice's eyes shot open. "No...why? Why would they do that?"

 

Quint shrugged, putting the car in gear. "Why would they murder an eleven year-old? These people are nutters, off their rockers. If you're going to harm someone, why not go all the way?"

 

Alice felt sick. "She was eleven. Eleven."

 

"The world is hardly fair, I know. She was eleven, deaf, and killed so young. I gather she had much potential."

 

Her eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over. "She was my star pupil." She noted her use of the term 'was'. She hated it. "She was the most clever little eleven year old girl you'd ever meet. You'd have never guessed she had an auditory disability."

 

"It's a shame."

 

They were silent for the rest of the journey, which took a surprisingly little time. It was only when they pulled up to her house did Alice think to question how he knew where she lived.

 

He sensed her question before she asked. "I'm a cop, remember?" he asked, laughing. "I have access to this sort of information."

 

She nodded. "Right. Well, thank you for the ride. And tell that rude bloke, your partner, that he needs to get shagged, and soon. I reckon that stick shoved up his arse isn't quite doing the job."

 

Quint had a good laugh at that. "Will do, Ms. Anberlin. Hold on," he called out, scrambling around in his car for a scrap of paper. He found one in the glove compartment, and took the pen off his dash and scribbled on the scrap, trying to see if it would work. When it didn't, he shook it vigorously, testing again, to no avail. He licked the tip of the pen this time, putting it to the paper and scribbling a bit. Black ink appeared on the paper, and let out an appreciative "Bloody hell, finally!" while scrawling down some digits. He handed the paper to Alice, who viewed the entire thing with an amused expression on her face.

 

"Just in case you get in trouble, or need a friend to talk to, or decide that you need to go out for coffee to get your mind off your miseries. Again, I'm sorry for your loss, and wish you a wonderful night. See you around, Alice Anberlin."

 

She gave him a little salute, watching him leave, before heading in for a cry before falling asleep...

                                                   ***                                             

 

Alice sat up, startled. The train's gentle rocking had woken her up. She figured she had fallen asleep during her mind's wandering; no wonder she had been able to recall everything with such vivid detail. She had been asleep. Glancing out the train's window, the rain still fell, and she recognized a familiar landmark and realized she hadn't been asleep for long; twenty minutes, at most. Thankfully, her stop was ten minutes away from the current location, so she didn't miss it.

 

Sighing in relief, she turned away from the window, glancing at the passengers. An elderly man snored openly, head lolled back in sleep, the lady next to him, presumably his wife, inspecting a newspaper. Behind them were a couple of teenagers, three boys and a girl. The guys were making crude jokes, and the girl seemed uncomfortable. Getting up out of her seat, Alice stalked over to berate the boys.

 

They saw her coming, and sneered at her. "Who's this slag?" one questioned, his rat-like face jeering at her. "Your mother, Chels? She does look a bit like you, yeah, what with her being a minger and all."

 

Alice promptly punched him in his face.

 

The boy grasped his nose, blood seeping out between his fingers. "You bloody slag! Who do you think you are?"

 

Alice punched him in the face once more.

 

The teen passed out from the pain, eyes rolling up as he lost consciousness.

 

"Who's the bloody slag now?" she demanded, glaring down at the boy. "I'll give you a hint: it's not me."

 

She turned her gaze on his companions. The other two boys were afraid, their jeering attitudes long gone. They grasped their unconscious friend and disappeared, scurrying to another compartment like dogs with their tails between their legs.

 

"Wankers," Alice murmured. Turning to face the girl, she asked, "Are you alright? Chelsea, is it?"

 

The girl nodded, eyes wide and doe-like. "Thank you," she whispered, disbelieving of what occurred.

 

Alice nodded. "Right. Next time those blokes bother you, if they do, that is, just punch them real quick. They're nothing more than cowardly dogs, with their bark far worse than their bite."

 

The girl nodded in response, and Alice got up, looking about. The two women who had been gossiping earlier as she had been assaulted glanced towards her frightfully, whispering in hushed tones amongst themselves. Alice gave them a glare, and immediately they tilted their large, flowery hats, hiding their eyes from view to impede their eye contact. Alice smiled. It seemed even those two who had seemed so shameless before weren't utterly such. She glanced about some more. Aside from them, no one seemed to care. Her eyes caught those of a man, unique silver ones, and she froze: she'd seen him before.

 

He was the one who saved her from those predatory men at the train platform. Her eyes flicked away for a second, before flicking back. He was watching her intently, and she suddenly felt awkward. What should she say?  She had said thank you, though he hadn't responded. Perhaps he hadn't heard her? Perhaps she should thank him again? Right, that seemed the proper course of action.

 

Turning to face him, she waved a bit, smiling slightly as she said "Thank you very much." His eyes pierced her as she held his gaze, and he said nothing. After a long moment, he nodded.

 

She understood herself to be dismissed. Slightly bowing once more in appreciation, she walked back to her seat, avoiding eye contact with him despite the fact her seat resulted in her facing his direction. How had she not noticed him earlier? The entire situation was awkward.

 

A few minutes passed, in silence thankfully, before her stop was called. She got off and glanced towards the sky. It was still pouring rain. Pulling her damp cell phone out of her skirt's pocket, she noted it was nearly midnight. She probably shouldn't have stayed behind so long, but she did not regret it: it had been to prepare for the one-year anniversary of Cassandra's death, so she would've stayed longer if the janitor hadn't sent her home with worries about her health.

 

Sighing, she began the long trek towards her house. When traveling by train, as she did every day, she had to navigate through a graveyard, a particularly abandoned and desecrated cemetery. Naturally, it was more terrifying at night than it was during the day. Even during daylight hours, however, it had a rather creepy aura about it. Legend had it that during the witching hour, the deceased were able to rise from their graves and commit atrocities. Seeing as it was a minute to midnight, she really hoped the old legendary wives' tales weren't true.

 

Walking quickly through the eerily silent graveyard, Alice refused to let her thoughts drift; paranoid as she was, she didn't want something to happen when she didn't suspect it, supernatural or not.  The only sounds that lingered in the air were those of the crickets chirping creepily, and the leaves crunching rather loudly. She figured that it only sounded louder than usual because everything was deader than usual, resulting in silence.

Despite being alone, she felt a weird presence -- it felt as though she wasn't alone. It was like something was lurking, just out of sight, watching her in silence. She stopped, the cemetery silent except for the crickets. There was no movement, aside from some leaves blowing in the wind. Resuming her pace, almost instantly her heel got caught in the muddy ground. Glancing down, her eyes widened, as she realized that her heel was stuck in something; it was grasped by someone.

 

A rotting, bony hand reached out from a decrepit, unmarked grave. The dirt around the opening began to shift, and out popped a partially flesh-missing head, straggles of white hair clinging to the skull. The eyes were sunken, one rotting eye left deep in the left socket. A few teeth remained in the mouth, horrible gaps between those that had in which the half-disappeared tongue now poked through. The skin was a bluish-gray, rotting, and utterly terrifying.

 

Alice stared at the creature in disbelief. Her heart nearly stopped from fear, staring at horrific sight in the moonlight. She wanted to scream, she wanted to yell, she wanted to make some sort of noise and hope for help, but terror took the sound before she could make it. She wanted to run, to move, but despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins and her mind racing, she was paradoxically paralyzed to the core. The creature gazed up at her, its horrific gaze looking at her right in the eyes.

 

She was well and royally screwed.

 

More graves began to shift, and more hands pierced through the burial mounds. More bodies surfaced, and more and more reason for Alice to drop dead from fright appeared. An unnatural, low-hanging mist had begun to swirl about them, obscuring some of their movements. Alice could do nothing but watch, horrified, as the zombies closed in on her, shuffling towards her, a menagerie of nightmare fuel. Closing her eyes, she finally found it in her. She let out a blood-curdling scream.

 

Thudding sounds popped up all about her, and Alice collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her knees and muffling her scream. More thuds sounded, lingering in the air and Alice heard grunts of effort. Raising her head, she saw a sight she hadn't expected. The man who had saved her earlier was repeating his feat again, this time downing the undead as though they were mere paranormal puppets. Kicks and punches and throws resulted in body parts falling apart, holes being punched straight through their chests, heads being kicked off and sent flying. One such head flew through the air, rolling to a land near her. Its eye rolled in its head before focusing on hers.

 

She kicked it away, sending it scattering into a grave stone, crushing its skull in the process.

 

Alice got up, terror and adrenaline shaking her limbs, as she watched the man destroy the zombies with ease. Who was he, and why was he so powerful? Why was he so fearless? Where did he learn to face death like that, in a literal fashion?

 

The guy did a double spin kick, sending the torso separating from the waist with the first kick, and the unorthodoxly-decapitated head flying into another gravestone, where it exploded upon impact. The remaining portion of the zombie, from the waist down, staggered for a moment before falling backwards.

 

He turned his gaze on Alice, his eyes bewitching, as he held out a hand to her. She took it, cautious, gazing around at the dismembered zombie carnage all about her. Was it wise to take the hand of someone so powerful? Then again, he had saved her twice now...

 

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep, but had a calming quality to it. He was being gentle, she realized. It was an odd contrast, to how powerful and furious he had been moments before. His hand was also soft, unlike the creep with the top hat from before, whose hand had been calloused and rough. It was a comforting difference.

 

Alice nodded. 'Yes, I'm...I'm fine." She glanced around, gesturing to the body parts. "What was that?"

 

His silver eyes held her gaze, a powerful look. "It's the witching hour. It's not wise for a woman to be outside at such a late hour, witching hour or not."

 

Alice bristled. "I can take care of myself."

 

"Perhaps, but it's not wise regardless. Though two events today seem to disagree with your estimation of your abilities."

 

Alice held her tongue from saying the worst things she could think of. She settled for, "I never asked for your help."

 

His gaze seemed to become even heavier than it normally was -- why was it so captivating? "You don't need to ask for my help for me to give it. It's what my father would've done."

 

"Father teaching son chivalry, is it? Bollocks. Chivalry is dead. Why're you following me?"

 

"You're interesting. Plus, you needed saving."

 

"What're you, my knight in shining armour?"

 

He shook his head. "No, I'm your knight in soaking armour."

 

She chuckled at that. He was clever, she couldn't deny him that. Her laugh stopped mid-breath when she saw a creature rise behind him, one that hadn't risen from its grave yet. He had taken care of the rest of them, she felt the need to protect him for once. Fumbling in her pocket, she fished out her small bottle of mace, the pepper spray being incredibly concentrated. Flipping off the cap, Alice pointed at the creature over his shoulder, and pressed the button.

 

A huge burst of pepper spray went airborne, far more than she had anticipated; it was the first time she had thought to use it. Unfortunately, the spray managed to blast all over the face of the man, and a generous amount managed to get in both of his eyes. Screaming in pain, the man doubled over, hands protectively cradling his eyes, rubbing vigorously with bottoms of his palms. This only served to get the pepper spray deeper into his eye, and caused him further agony. He dropped to his knees, one hand fumbling about for purchase before grasping onto a tombstone, the other hand rubbing vigorously at his eyes.

 

The zombie advanced, and Alice saw there was no choice left. Raising her fist, she drew it back before letting it fly, knocking the zombie's head straight off. It flew in a large arc, and tumbled out of sight into the darkness, hidden by the slowly-dissipating graveyard mist.

 

She rushed over to him, giving him a supportive hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, cursing loudly. Alice tried to apologize, but he didn't seem to hear her. She knelt to steady him and help him up, but he stumbled, shoving her off him.

 

"I'm deaf!" he shouted, waving about, trying to feel for her. "I'm deaf, and now you've taken away my way of interacting with the world!"

 

Instantly, Alice understood the gravity of the situation, and felt horrible. So that's why he hadn't responded to her thanks earlier, he hadn't heard them. But then how was he able to interact with people solely through sight?

 

Even when blinded, he seemed to know what she was thinking. "I can read lips! That's how I understand you, but now I can't see anything."



So that was it. Alice paused for a moment, before picking him up again. It would do no good to explain what she planned to do, he just needed to trust her. She grasped his hand holding onto the tombstone, and gave it a comforting squeeze. He got the message, and allowed himself to be picked up and she placed his arm around her shoulders and her other arm around his waist. Rising, she continued the trek towards her house.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were inside her apartment, and he was placed down on the couch. His hands instantly began to feel about the surface, taking in the texture and shape of the object upon which he was sitting, to figure out what it was. Alice sat down in front of the computer by the door, researching counteractive agents to pepper spray. Some sites said that things like milk would be soothing to the skin, nullifying the itching and burning sensation. Other sites said there was no better counteractive agent than time.

 

"Bugger that," she said aloud, squinting at the screen. "I don't have time for time."

 

She fetched some breakfast milk and a cloth. Dampening the cloth with the milk, she pressed it to the man's face. He gasped, surprised at the sudden cool sensation, instinctively turning his head to the side to avoid it. His tightly shut eyes twitched, and he turned his face back to face her again, and she smiled. He was incredibly protective of his eyes, and foreign to outside touch, that much was clear. Touching his face tenderly with her free hand, she angled it up, bringing the damp milk-sodden cloth back, blotting his face gently with it. He sighed, this time in what seemed like relief, and she took courage in that, working more quickly and efficiently. It wasn't long before his eyelids and face weren't that patchy, blotchy red it had been twenty minutes ago. She sat there, sitting across from him, arms and legs crossed, passing time. The internet had said that the effects lasted about forty-five minutes, and forty seven had passed. She waited an extra three minutes before going up to him, tapping him on the eyelids, silently urging him to open them.

 

He hesitated for a moment before slowly opening his eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to regain his focused vision. His eyes were bloodshot and red, and his silver eyes seemed weak somehow, not at all in their usual commanding state. That was to be expected, however, seeing as she had inadvertently sprayed him in the eyes, arguably his most important sense, with her misaimed pepper spray.

 

He seemed to have regained his vision well enough to look at her, his silver eyes regaining their composure and commanding status. He blinked, however, confused.

 

"You changed."

 

She glanced down, eyeing her light blue sweatshirt hoodie and sweatpants. Her hair was now in a short ponytail. "You're observant, for someone who just had their eyes attacked by a horde of angry pepper particles."

 

He didn't seem to find that funny.

 

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "Just trying to lighten the mood. Now, if I may ask, why were you following me?"

 

"I told you. You're interesting."

 

"Serial killers are interesting, and I somehow very much doubt you follow them."

 

He said nothing.

 

"You...don't actually follow serial killers, do you?"

 

"No."

 

"That's a relief. Why me?"

 

"You're important."

 

"To whom?"

 

"To me."

 

"Why?"

 

He paused. "Because you were important to her."

 

"...Her?"

 

"My sister. Cassie."

 

Alice gasped. "Cassie? You mean Cassandra Wulford?"

 

"The very same. She would've been twelve today."

 

"Wait, she died on her birthday?" Alice felt horrified. How fair could the universe be? How could God let such things happen, if He truly did exist? "That's horrible."

 

"No. It was horrible, not is. It's over now." He glanced out the window. She shifted in her seat, feelings of guilt riling up in her again. She had buried those feelings behind an invisible wall, isolating it from her mind. The dam that kept all those feelings in check, however, burst open with this new revelation. Cassandra's birthday had been the day she had died. Her birth was on the anniversary of her death.

 

"Oh how cruel," she murmured. "How utterly cruel."

 

"Fate is cruel." His words startled her; she hadn't realized he'd turned his gaze back on her, and hadn't expected him to speak because he shouldn't have been able to know what she said if he hadn't been facing her.

 

"So that's why you saved me? Because I was important to her?"

 

He nodded, his gaze unflinching as his eyes held hers. "You were her favourite teacher. She shared everything with you, and she trusted you above all others. Cassie loved you to death." He seemed to realize his word choice, and snorted, annoyed with himself.

 

Cassie loved you to death. Was that a subtle jab at her? Was he blaming her for Cassandra's death? No, she was just being paranoid. He also kept calling her Cassie. "She didn't like that, being called Cassie. She'd always tell everyone to call her Cassandra."

 

A ghost of a smile threatened to tug at the corners of his lips. "That's right. I was the only one allowed to call her such. She liked it when I called her that. It was my nickname for her."

 

She sat there, fingers fiddling as she avoided his gaze now. "About how she...how she died. She told me that you finally let her go home on her own, and I waited with her for an hour. No one showed up. I assumed her words to be true, but I offered to take her home myself. She declined, and you know how she could get." She smiled slightly, reminiscing. "She was a clever girl, no one could deny. Anyways, I'm...I'm sorry. I had no idea what would happen. I certainly never expected her to get...to get..."

 

"I understand. I don't blame you. The teacher she loved so much would've never knowingly put her in such danger, willfully or neglectfully. As for why no one showed up, I had intended to. However, a call from my mother brought me to the hospital instead. I suspect Cassie had manipulated our mother into calling me at that time, I don't know how, but I think that Cassie had something to do with it, probably to lend some authenticity to the claim she fed you. I intended to pick Cassie up after I was finished at the hospital, but I never got the chance.

 

"The police came to our house at 9:30 PM. One moment, I was looking out the window, wondering where she was, and the next, I felt it. I felt something within me go missing, and I knew she was gone. When I saw the police pull up from the window, it confirmed what I had suspected."

 

Tears leaked down Alice's face. "So she inadvertently ensured her own death. If only she had let someone take her home. She would still be here with us, she would still be happy and smiling and living life and having all that untapped potential." She looked out the window, towards the heavens. Her voice took an almost vindictive tone, nearly cracking when she next spoke. "She could've been celebrating her twelfth birthday today."

 

"You mustn't blame God. She is safe now, with Him. Life may not be fair, but that's what makes it life. It's not the same without her, but it's what we have to deal with. She's in a better place now, even if how she got there wasn't the best of ways. I miss her, but I mustn't mourn for her death. Instead, I opt to remember and celebrate her life. I'm sure Cassie would've preferred it that way."

 

Alice supposed he had a point. She was still questioning if, supposing a divine being existed, how it would let a little girl suffer such tragedies. She glanced at his silver eyes.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Vladimir Wulford. I prefer Vlad."

 

"Alright, Vlad. I'm Alice."

 

"I know."

 

"Ah, yes. Cassandra would've told you. Why didn't her parents ever pick her up?"

 

"It's a long story."

 

"The night is young, and so are we."

 

He nodded. "My mother is a nurse. She's busy, almost all the time. My father was a cop, but he was injured on the job years ago. Took a bullet to the brain. As a result, he lies in a catatonic state in the hospital. My mother tends to him every day, but I don't have the heart to visit him in such a state. He doesn't even know about Cassandra's death. I only visited him once, to tell him. Mother was crying heartbreakingly, and I've never visited the hospital since. I can't stand to see both of them like that. I don't want to see them hurt."

 

Alice glanced down, twiddling her fingers. "My own parents weren't really there for me either. My father was neglectful, more interested in his business than his only daughter. My mother had to deal with the stress of being the wife of a successful businessman with political aspirations, and this resulted in her dabbling in drugs." She let out a soft, broken-hearted laugh. "She went straight for the hard drugs. Before she knew it, she was addicted to crack cocaine. Mother became a junkie, appearing in and out of the house and father simply desperately tried to prevent tabloids from making a mockery of him through mother's behaviour.

 

"My father finally had to put mother in a rehabilitation program, where she remains now. Father's come to dislike any sort of weakness, and pressured me into becoming "Daddy's Little Soldier", ensured to not embarrass him the way mother did. His strict regimen and controlling aspect resulted in my disliking his views on weakness being a bad thing; I considered it being aware of one's limitations. Subsequently, I decided to dedicate my life to helping out those who were considered 'weak' or 'disadvantaged'. That's how I wound up working for Blanche Nevile School for Deaf Children. And I'm glad I did, because I got to meet Cassandra there."

 

Vlad watched her intently throughout her entire confession. "It seems we're more alike than we had initially thought."

 

She looked away, eyes downcast. What did he mean by that? "Cassandra was a great loss. I pity you, for losing such a wonderful sister."

 

Vlad rose suddenly, catching Alice by surprise. "I don't need your pity." His words were like steel, and they cut her more than she'd like to admit. She was taken aback by his sudden forcefulness, and she watched him stride towards the door.

 

"Wait!" Alice called, leaping from her chair and standing her ground. "Can I call you sometime?"

 

The commotion behind him had caused him to turn around in time to read her lips. After a moment's pause, the silence in the room nigh-unbearable, he simply said, "No."

 

He strode from the room, closing the door behind him with a slam. She wondered if he even cared, since he couldn't hear it. She rushed to the window, looking out onto the rainy street. He hailed a cab in, and gave one last glance to her window with his eerie, beautiful silver eyes, before sliding in and disappearing into the night. She watched the cab pull out and vanish into the darkness, the after image of the tail-lights being the last thing she saw.

 

She turned back to her sofa, where had sat moments before. An object on the bed caught her eye: a scrap of paper. Scribbled on it was a phone number. Three words were scrawled underneath it: Text me sometime.  It was then she smacked her forehead, noting her ignorance.

 

"Stupid Alice. He's deaf, obviously he'd say I couldn't call him. He can't hear anything, what would be the point? Sometimes, I think you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulder."

 

She added his number to her cellular device, texting him so he received her number, and then tossed it onto the sofa across from her, slumping back into her seat. She gazed out the rain-splattered, dreary window once more, listening to the pitter-patter of rain drops tapping against the window pane. She let the silence reign for a few minutes before breaking it.

 

"Happy birthday, Cassandra," she whispered, eyes fixed on the rain drops. She imagined them as all the young people who had died quick, untimely deaths, so many children who died before they could grow up or have families or leave some sort of impact on the world. Any one of them could've been the one to cure cancer, to foster international peace, to usher in knowledge and expel ignorance. All of them could've been great. All of them could've been like Cassandra. "Happy Twelfth Birthday."

Author's Note

Any reviews welcome!