Angels of Anaheim
Author's note: This was written by a dream I had. THIS IS REVISED!! It's not the same as the original, so... Show full author's note »
Chapter FourI moved into Dad’s house. It was a normal house. He hadn’t remarried. It was just him. Two weeks into the stay, he came home with a present; a dog. Wait, I shouldn’t say dog. Horse is more fitting. He brought home a Saint Bernard. Into a small house. In Anaheim. I was starting to think he was doing meth, too.
The dog - a male - came with the name Bear. They should have named him Clydesdale. He was my buddy, though. We’d stay up late and watch TV together, and go for walks. I told Erica about him when she called to check up on me. “I’m gonna make Mom smash her head so I can get a dog, too!” she joked. I didn’t think it was that funny.
Things shifted one night, though. I was getting so aggravated with Dad. I wasn’t just mad because he left me with Mom, but I was also mad at myself for not doing something. I couldn’t take it anymore. I blew up. I then did what most kids do when they’re mad at their parents; I ran away. It wasn’t the mature thing to do, but I did it anyway. Rules didn’t apply anymore. I just couldn’t take it.
The one fault I made was the city I lived in. Anaheim at night is a whole different ballgame than it is during the day. Ballgames that weren’t in the same league, for that matter. Every alley, shop, and house looks the same. You could pass ten different places, and they all would look the same. Figuring that I was lost, I sat. I just breathed, and waited for the police sirens to get closer, and see them come for me. I wasn’t gonna go back. They couldn’t make me. I belonged to the street now.
Things get scary in Anaheim at night, too. You see shadows that can be anything from murders to rapists to dealers and users. You have to be aware of every single one. I was getting more frightened with each minute. I curled into a ball, and closed my eyes. Things were moving around me. A bang here. A knock there. They may seem innocent, but at night, they’re guilty of every crime.
The one that bothered me was the voices behind me. I stood up. “Who’s there?” I called. No answer. “Anybody?” Deathly silence. Then a noise, this time from what used to be in front of me. I whipped around. Nothing. “Whoever you are, you’d better leave,” I said. I looked around and found a lead pipe. I held it like I was a baseball player. Noises would shatter the silence every now and then, and they’d get closer and closer. I just waited.
I backed up, then turned, and then turned around again. I wanted to make sure I was aware of things. The last time I turned, I came face to face with a person. I jumped back, and held the pipe like I was going to give it all I had. It was a man. He looked okay, except for one small detail; orange eyes. If they were contacts, they were the weirdest ever made.
“Who are you?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but cocked his head like a puppy does after he does something bad, then looks up at you. He acted like I was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He was the funniest thing I’d seen. He took a step forward, and I raised the pipe higher. “Get back,” I warned. He made a face.
“Why?” he asked.
“Get. Back,” I snarled.
“I asked you a question,” he said.
“And I said GET BACK!!” I snapped. He furrowed his brow, and then smiled. And he was gone. Disappeared. I lowered the pipe slightly, and waited. He reappeared right next to me. I got to him first. I swung the pipe like I was trying out for the Major Leagues. The pipe bashed into shoulder and arm bone, shattering it, and tearing muscles and tendons. He made the most unearthly and inhumanly screams ever. His eyes fired up like embers being sprung to life with lighter fluid.
An arm came out and knocked me to the ground. My lungs failed me, and I was in hot water. The pipe hit the ground with a clang! He held his massacred arm, and literally growled like a dog.
“You little…little brat! You’re dead,” he snarled. He picked up the pipe with his good arm, and held it like he was getting ready chop a log in half. I was the log. I closed my eyes, and waited for the end. I was ready for the angels to greet me. And Andrew. Especially Andrew. He brought the pipe down on my head as hard as he could. His hand being covered with blood by holding his torn arm, the pipe sailed down the alley after it struck my head.
All I can say is that you don’t see birds and stars like Wylie Coyote does. You don’t hear birds, either. You feel pressure, and then a thousand nerves are smashed and send messages to your brain that don’t say pain, but have various colorful words. You feel your ears fill with blood. If you try to move, blood from your wound rushes over your eyes, and you’re blind.
Blood rushed from my nose and I began to feel my brain swish around like an ice cube in a cup of tea. My eyes were like light bulbs getting ready to burn out. On, off. On, off. I rolled over on my belly, trying to protect my face in case he hit me with something else.
Then, the night was shattered. A scream came out. It wasn’t mine. It was the sound of a lion, a hawk of some kind, and a human scream, all rolled into a scary casserole. I lay still, not wanting to provoke anything. I could hear what sounded like the audio from a Saw movie. I heard someone partway scream, then it was sickeningly cut off, and the sounds of tearing flesh and bone snapping commenced. I could hear liquid hitting the ground, and I didn’t want to think of what it was.
Then it was silent. Nothing at all. All I could hear was my heart pulsing blood out of my nose and in my brain. Footsteps shook the ground. They came closer and closer to me, and I froze. I felt a hand gently grip my neck. I involuntarily flinched, and he hand whipped away. The feet moved closer to me, and the person attached to them shifted down to my level, which was flat on the ground. A finger tapped my shoulder. I didn’t move. I don’t even think I breathed.
“Can you hear me?” a small, male voice asked. I didn’t answer, mostly because I didn’t think I could.
“Madison?” he asked. My heart skipped a beat. He knew my name. It didn’t sound like anybody I knew. I didn’t know who it was. It could have been a stalker for all I knew.
I felt hands gingerly grip my wrists. My hands had ended up on the back of my head. I figured shattered fingers were better than a shattered skull. I tried my best to not move at all. I tried to command all muscles from moving. My hands were moved to the side of my head. I was grabbed on my sides and rolled over. My back was supported by someone’s arm, and my arms lay limply at my sides.
I kept my eyes closed, partially because I couldn’t see anyway. My head throbbed. He shifted my body to where he could wipe some of the blood off my face.
“Can you open your eyes?” he asked, “Madison? I know you can hear me.”
Keep playing it, my pulsing brain said. “I need to know that you’re okay.” I was just smashed in the head with a lead pipe. I am not okay. He laid me back down on the ground. He sighed. “Alright,” he said, “If we’re gonna play games, we’re gonna play mine. And you’re gonna lose. One more chance, Madison.” I laid there. I wanted to lose. That way, he’d get mad and leave. I hoped.
“Alright. You asked for it. Game over.” Consciousness was lost instantly