Rogue Alliance

FIVE



Shyla’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. She pulled the covers tighter over her head and prayed that just this once he would leave her alone. Sinking into the soft bed, she imagined that she was growing smaller and smaller. Maybe if she willed it hard enough, it would be true. She would shrink and shrink until she was as small as he always made her feel.

It was pointless; it didn’t matter if she was small or not. He would come for her just the same as he always had since she’d turned ten. Four years had passed since that first horrifying night. But like a bad dream that wouldn’t quit, Dad would make his Friday night visit. Mom would work her night shift.

It was his night off. He would start drinking at dinner, then head out to the bar. She would go to bed and start praying. Then, when he thought she was asleep, he would sneak in.

Her whole body shook. She lay on her side, both sweaty hands tucked between her legs, and waited.

“Shyla,” he barked from the kitchen.

She clamped her mouth shut, pretending to be asleep.

“Shyla. Get your skinny little ass out here.”

He usually came straight up into her room. Maybe this time really would be different. Should she go out there? Yeah. Then he might not come in at all. She sat up and slipped out from under the thin covers. Barefoot, she sneaked out of the room.

“Shyla,” he bellowed, “Get out here now!”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m coming.”

She peered up at him, glaring against the fluorescent kitchen light. He swayed. His eyes were glassy.

“Hey kiddo, what’s this mess?”

He waved an arm toward the counter. Only a steak knife and the tub of butter were out.

“Oh, sorry. I must have left it out after I made a snack. I’ll clean it up.”

Shyla hurried across the cold linoleum and tried to hide the trembling.

“Good. I shouldn’t have to come home to a mess. And use a butter knife next time for Christ’s sake. I don’t need you cutting your damn finger off and costing me an emergency room bill.”

Shyla opened the fridge, leaned in, and placed the butter in its designated spot on the middle shelf.

“What kind of ridiculous get-up you got on, girl?”

He was slurring heavily but he sounded less angry. She thought that was a good sign.

Shyla shut the door and glanced down. She was wearing a baggy pair of Tweety Bird sweats that her friend, Stacy, had given her. She thought they were ugly, but they were comfortable, baggy. They covered everything and hid any curves.

“Nothing. Just an ugly pair of pajama pants that Stacy gave me.”

“Damn right, they’re ugly. Take ‘em off. Now.”

“Um, okay.”

Shyla started to walk out of the kitchen.

“Where you goin’?”

“I’m going to my bedroom. To take them off.”

“No you’re not. Take them off right now.”

Oh, god. She just couldn’t take them off right in front of him, with the light on. At least, before, they had always been in the dark, where she could close her eyes and pretend it all away.

He stepped closer, but almost lost his balance. He stopped, wavered, then lifted his finger.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” he warned, “take those damn things off.”

Not wanting to make a scene, Shyla pulled them down as quickly as she could in one smooth motion. With a jerk of her leg she shook them aside and stood before him shivering.

It was not because it was cold.

A sick gleam lit in his eyes. When he got closer, she could smell the whiskey and beer on his breath. Her stomach lurched. When he put his hands on her she closed her eyes out of instinct. Trying to back away, she bumped into the counter behind her. She reached behind to grasp the edge and her fingers came into contact with the handle of the steak knife. Her skin crawled as his hands slithered over her skin. Her mind dulled and pulled away from the moment as if watching from a distance.

She didn’t think of her actions. She wasn’t consciously aware of how easily her palm gripped the knife.

The next thing she remembered she was sitting silently in a police car outside her house. It was pitch black outside except for the red and blue lights which lit up the neighborhood like two-toned Christmas lights. She shivered. A woman, someone she didn’t know, spoke to her. Her hearing was muffled, like she was swimming under water.

She shivered again and the woman wrapped a scratchy, wool blanket around her shoulders. She felt something crusty at her fingertips and looked down the front of her shirt.

Dark red blood; a gruesome sight which reminded her of a scary movie she’d watched at Stacy’s house a few weeks back. Like now, there had been so much blood.

She started screaming.



*



Shyla woke up with a scream in her throat. She bolted upright but it wasn’t enough; she had to get out of bed. Pacing, pacing, pacing. She had to walk it off.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said into the dark of her bedroom. She turned on the light. The dream had been coming since that night. It was always the same. It never varied. It never lessened in its intensity or ability to shake her to the core.

Fortunately, it hadn’t been coming as often the past few years. It wasn’t surprising that the idea of going back home, to where it had all gone down, was conjuring it up again.

Shyla sat on the edge of her bed and took three deep breaths, seriously contemplating whether or not she could actually follow through with the move.

“God damn it all to hell.”

She stood up and marched out of the bedroom. Opening up her liquor cabinet she took three hefty swallows straight out of the bottle of Patron, her favorite tequila. She was damned if she was going to give up the case of her lifetime. Yeah it was in Redding, but she was either a good cop or she wasn’t. No matter where she was. She would do what it took to take down Victor Champlain.

She took another long slug. It burned so nicely. Her heart rate slowed. She would just take the bottle back to bed with her. She was going to go back to sleep. She was going to sleep through till morning without dreaming about that night. She was going to move to Redding, Californian. And she was going to wrap up this case nice and tightly and send the bad guy to jail. It was what she had trained for.