I screamed. When no one came, I screamed again. I wasn’t sure if I screamed a name, or a word, or if it was just a piercing sound. I just remember screaming and knowing if someone didn’t help me, I would be doomed to that pit with the rest of the damned.
I arched my back, taking in another breath to scream when I saw two feet. “Help me!” I screamed at the person.
I strained my head to see who was watching Jake drag me closer and closer to Hell. When they didn’t help, I was sure it was another Evil or a demi-demon.
It was Muriel.
“Muriel! Help me!” I reached out to her.
She stood motionless and watched Jake inch closer to the hole. Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted. She stood with a blank stare and watched. We were almost to the pit. The heat became unbearable. Sweat covered me. It dripped from my hair into my eyes, and I could taste the salty droplets when they landed on my lips. The smell emanating from the pit was revolting, and the sulfur fumes stung my eyes and the back of my throat.
This is it. I have to do something now or I’m done. I took a deep breath and channeled a motto from one of my many self-defense classes. I control my actions. I control my pain. It doesn’t control me. I am strength.
I gritted my teeth against the pain I knew was coming, swung my arms, and jumped to my feet. The movement took Jake by surprise and his grip loosened on my hair long enough for me to duck and jump to the side. My head throbbed from bouncing across the ground, the hits, and from the chunk of hair Jake yanked out that still hung in his hand like a souvenir.
“Not tonight, Jake. Sorry.” I took a fighting stance and watched, gauging his next move.
Jake smiled and let his body relax. “Milayna—”
I bolted. I wasn’t sure I could take Jake in a hand-to-hand fight. I turned the corner of house, but he’d already caught up to me. He grabbed my arm and jerked me against him. I threw an elbow to his gut. He grunted, tightened his grip, and started dragging me toward the pit a second time.
I twisted to the side, trying to punch his face and land an elbow to the ear. But my position was too awkward to connect with any force. I pulled my head back and landed a hard head-butt against his nose. Blood gushed, thick and dark, from Jake’s flaring nostrils.
“Damn it, Milayna! Why are you making this so hard?” He jerked me hard, and I stumbled and fell.
I saw feet round the corner of the house. I pushed up on my elbows and watched through a haze of sweat-soaked hair as Chay ran across the yard toward us and plowed into Jake. He hit Jake repeatedly in the face and gut.
“That’s enough. Son, he’s done. You need to stop.” My dad pulled Chay off Jake. His voice was soothing and calm.
Sirens blared in the distance. Jake rolled to his hands and knees, pushing himself off the ground. Smirking at me, he flicked the blood off his lower lip with his thumb and chuckled. His teeth were tinged red from bloody saliva. “This isn’t over,” he said.
It took Jake three tries to jump the fence, and each time, he doubled over in pain. When he finally was able to climb over, I heard him hit the ground hard on the other side, grunting with the impact.
The ground began to move beneath my feet. I backed away from the pit, and kept backing up until I reached the back deck of my house. Collapsing halfway up the stairs, I laid my head on the step. My breathing was ragged, and my heart raced painfully against my ribs.
Chay sat next to me and whispered in my ear. I wasn’t sure what. I only knew it was over. They were gone, and I was safe.
Until the next time.
One week, four days until my birthday.
I skipped school Friday. Well, actually, my parents let me skip. My face was a beautiful shade of black and deep purple that no amount of makeup was going to cover. Since the bruises would be hard to explain, I was given a free pass to stay home and watch cheesy soap operas all day. I loved those things.
The bad thing about staying home was that it gave me too much time to think. I thought about the pit, the sneer on Jake’s face when he dragged me toward it, the sounds of the suffering and smell of rot and decay.
But mostly, I thought of Muriel. Why didn’t she help me? Why did she stand there, watching? Why didn’t she scream or run and get someone? When I confronted her later that night, she said she was too afraid. That she was immobilized by her fear of Jake and what lay waiting in the glowing pit. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, and I hated that. And while the rest of the group bandaged and iced their wounds, Muriel only had one little bruise. That made me question her actions even more.