133. I Need A Prayer

Hollow Creek, present day...

Michaela scrambled to her feet and ran. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she had to put some distance between her and the dead boy behind Waylon’s Haunt, the same boy she didn’t remember killing.

She hit the main street and bumped straight into a small group of early commuters, rushing to start their day. They stared at her curiously, silently wondering about the blood stains on her face and t-shirt. But they didn’t question her about it and she was grateful for their lack of interest. She wouldn’t have known what to say to them if they’d asked.

Michaela followed the group of workers. Her gut told her they’d lead her to a cab or some form of transportation at least.

Trying her damnedest to ignore her chilling flashbacks, she slowly trailed behind the group. She caught snippets of their conversation; the one in the check dress was worried about the rent, her family was going to be kicked out if she didn’t come up with the money by the end of the week. Her friends sympathized with her, but said nothing helpful. No one ever did in such situations.

They took a few more sharp turns, passing one rundown building after another, Michaela stuck with them, keeping a safe distance, hoping she wasn’t wrong by following them.

Ten minutes later she smiled her relief when she saw the bus station.

At the entrance, she mentally bid the group farewell, wishing the other woman good luck, the one with the rent money problems.

Inside, she headed straight for the ladies room. She had to get cleaned up, and collect her thoughts. And decide what to do.

The moment the bathroom door snapped shut, the flashbacks she’d tried so hard to ignore, took free reign and she burst into pained sobs, watching her tears mingle with the mascara and the dried blood of the boy she’d killed.

She really had no recollection of killing him. The last thing she remembered about her crazy night was the smell of nachos on the guy’s breath fanning her face, and how much she’d hated it. Her mind drew blanks each time she tried to move past that point.

She heard the door to the gents’ toilet open and close, heard muffled voices talking too, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. It wasn’t important. But it made her realize she wouldn’t be alone for long. People were waking up; soon the bathroom would be teeming with activity. She had to get a move on.

She took off her gloves and cap and threw them at her feet. Dazedly she opened the tap and listened to the water gurgling along the pipes before it gushed out, splashing all over the basin and her shirt, reminding her of the rain earlier and her rude awakening.

For what felt like eternity, she rubbed her hands feverishly, watching her prey’s blood swirl down the drain.

Every time she thought she was done, she’d see another red spot she’d missed and she’d start the ritual all over again. She moved on to her face next and scrubbed it till it was sore, removing all traces of her blood fest. She wished getting rid of her guilt was just as easy.

“Okay,” she sighed shakily as she forced herself to look in the mirror. She gasped, and stepped back, trying to hide from herself but she was fixed to the spot, unable to move or look away.

Horrific was the only word to describe her reflection. She knew the face belonged to her, but she just didn’t recognize herself. She felt strangely removed from her body, like her soul was floating out there, refusing to be reunited with the body of a killer.

The horror in her eyes triggered her second meltdown. She cried again, sobbing loudly, retching over the basin, convinced any minute God would send one of his avenging angels to strike her down. She wouldn’t fight it. She deserved it.

The door opened. Someone walked in, looked at her, hesitated for a brief nanosecond before rushing inside one of the stalls to take care of business.

Michaela remained frozen over the sink, feeling too weak to move away, and too tired to think up a plan.

“Are you okay?” The same person who just took a leak, asked. Michaela, still doubled over the basin, groaned an affirmative.

“You don’t look okay. Honey, do you want me to call someone for you?” The woman enquired.

Michaela shook her head. She really wanted to be left alone. “I’m fine, thanks,” she mumbled, pushing past the elderly lady, into one of the stalls.

She locked the door behind her and sat on the pan, waiting for the Good Samaritan to leave.

When she was alone at last, she pulled out her cell phone and called her uncle.

He’d know what to do. He’d been in a similar situation.

Krisis’ phone went straight to voicemail…

Continued in Ch. 134...Read More