Chapter Twelve: The Maplewood DeliA Chapter by Not here“I don’t know who you are, or why you took her, but I’m going to get them both back.” Michael knelt on the ground, crumbling dirt between his hands and thinking to himself. The others had gone their separate ways about ten minutes ago, leaving him alone in that same spot, where they said their goodbyes. Now he whispered to himself, directing his thoughts towards the lady who took her, somehow hoping it would make a difference and give him the resolve needed. Getting Lilly back would take strength and smarts and hope, none of which he could offer right now. His friends, they would help, but could it be enough? After all, they were all only teenagers… only teenagers caught in a disaster; a brutal disaster that reached close to the heart. His mother certainly was not going to be of any aid. In the handful of days since Lilly had... been gone, his mother began a quickening, steady path into depression. Suicide was not an option, and he knew she would never do that and leave him alone, but some things stung almost as much. Seeing her suffer, wishing he could help, and knowing her pain was different than his, unreachable... some days death seemed more comforting. Despite her wishes to not leave him, she had done exactly that, giving her body as a constant reminder of the mother he had lost. Brushing off the grass stains as best he could and stretching the soreness away, he rose, hiking over to the stone pathway. It ran all through Pine Tree Park, winding and twisting snappily in a different direction, before turning yet again. All in all, it was pleasant to walk or even ride on a bike, but, like everything else, it seemed different to Michael. Things that once were joyful and beautiful now turned sinister and evil. Where to go now? That was the question, and only one choice presented itself to his grumbling stomach: food. There was no going home, yet. Home is where the heart is, but heartache will follow you eventually. Going back now, his mother would be there. A house once full of cooking and preparations for the midday meal now would be enveloped by depression and loneliness. It was an empty home: a house lacking a daughter, a dwelling lacking a sister. But for now, it was lunchtime, and there were a few diners around Hardy worth visiting, although the less people the better, no matter what quality the food happened to be. Walking north, up 1st Street in the direction of Main, there was bound to be some restaurant which caught his eye. Nothing snatched at him, however, and so he walked miserably. With a sudden thought, Michael crossed the street and began walking back towards the park, although on the opposite sidewalk. If he followed 1st Street south, it would eventually lead him towards the lower end of this cluster of streets. Right near the bottom, City Hall Boulevard would take him for a nice walk, passing all sorts of strange buildings and people, until he came to a place vaguely remembered from his childhood. On the sidewalk, he veered to the side slightly so a young, vibrant couple pushing a stroller with twins could pass by. Both were redheads, and both were sleeping. Their parents conversed in hushed voices, savoring each romantic moment. When he was younger and an only-child, his mom pushed him in a stroller similar to that. They would go on long walks around Hardy, meeting all the people and chatting with older folks who had lived there a long time. While the memories were very cloudy, and more of a distant dream from years ago, still he remembered, or half-remembered. And there it was now, one of the sites from that past. The Maplewood Deli. The building was low and shabby, and he wondered whether it had ever been something worthwhile to look at. His memories failed him, and so he inspected the beaten-down, worn building as if seeing it for the first time. It was not unusual for a building to have dilapidated into this state, and yet this one seemed unique. It was part of his past. Only one older man was inside, behind the counter and waiting to serve others food. A sign above it read Maplewood Deli: Sandwiches and Sodas in old-styled, curly letters. The wooden words seemed ancient, and yet much like everything else there was an air of familiarity. He had seen this before; it had been newer and brighter, but there all the same. When he pulled it open, the door shrieked mercilessly against the tile ground. Walking inside, each step brought a fresh breath of air with a much different feel than that outside. It was cooler in there, smelling of meat and bread. Only a handful of tables were scattered about, with four chairs at each one. The counter was plain white, as were each of the walls, although marked with dirt and grime from years of children wiping their hands on and adults leaning against it. “What’d ‘ou like ter eat, boy?” the older man asked, grabbing a bundle of sandwiches from underneath his obsessively-cleaned counter, which still had smudge marks covering it. “Um, how about whatever meat you have and some cheese?” Michael asked. “Just simple.” “Yessir, that’ll do.” The man nodded contentedly. A few moments later, he had slapped down plenty slices of meat and bountiful chunks of cheese. “All I got’s ‘merican.” “That’s fine.” “This ‘ere’ll be seven dollars ‘n’ ‘ifty cents.” A little on the pricey side of things, good Lord. Not long after, Michael was sitting at a table by himself, finishing up the remains of his sandwich. While not altogether filling, it had made a nice lunch, and he was not very hungry before anyways. He never was nowadays. Looking up at some of the marks on the windows, Michael noticed a figure across the road, hood drawn up over the face, standing just behind one of the small wooden benches. It was a female, if he was any judge. She was not leaning on the bench in any way; just holding herself perfectly erect and staring at him. Was she looking at him, though? She could have been reading the sign above the door outside, maybe contemplating a sandwich she longed to order. But then she waved, and all doubts were erased. “Hey, um, sir?” he called out, turning around in his seat to look back at the counter. The man was gone, back into some dark corner of the room behind no doubt. Michael was alone. Turning back towards the window, the figure still stood there. Her hand had relaxed, now lowering itself to her side, but stopping midway. The pointer finger extended, like a knife in his direction. With a quick movement, the other hand reached up and yanked the hood down, revealing a wrinkled face and long, white hair. Michael sprang up from his chair and immediately dashed out the door, racing across two lanes of slow but dangerous traffic. Dashing around a car, his breathing was painful but he continued. When he reached the other sidewalk, Michael leaped over the bench, but by that time the woman was gone into the alley. Still, he did not give up. Puddles splashed under his feet and sprayed around him while the chase went on, into the alley. She turned a corner up ahead, so he raced after. Dank smells lifted to his nostrils while the cold air burned his eyes. The woman jolted to a left turn he knew went to a dead end. Excitement raced as his footsteps grew louder and quicker in the chilly alleyway. Then he rounded the corner, coming face to face with the horror he had so long sought after, the one that took his sister. Except she was not there. Neither of them were. Only a short, dead-end alleyway, ending at a brick wall, covered with slime. He had missed her. This was his chance to get Lilly and Grace back, but he lost the chance. Unable to believe his eyes, he walked forward, closer to the wall. Confused, pained, and depressed, he walked forward, one hand meeting the slime, which oozed under his fingers. He hardly felt it, though; it felt like the slime was covering his heart inside, much thicker and worse. Leaning against the wall, head throbbing and heart stomping, his breathing came out in short bursts, steadying to a normal rate with time. The alley was colder, and cold chills racked his body violently. “You’ve lost. I’ve got her.” He felt the breath on his ear, while her face neared his before pulling away with a jerk. Spinning around, he saw nothing, but could hear her feet clapping down, spraying water and speeding away. Where was she going? He would give anything to know, because there, too, would be Lilly. The first thought in his mind was not about how she had remained unseen, or if she was dangerous. It was about his only, beloved, lost sister. His Lilly. He heard the voice in his head, raspy and wicked, repeating itself like a machine gun rapidly firing into his skull. Feeling his legs go weak and a rush of weariness sweep over him, Michael fell to the ground, kneeling there as if awaiting execution. I’ve got her. I’ve got her. I’ve got her. I’ve got her…. © 2015 Not hereAuthor's Note
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