Adapt (I)

SCARLET

When I was eight, I was approached by my first recruiter. Her name was Racheal, and by all merits, she was kind and soft and inviting.

But at the raw age of eight, experiencing these feelings of blood lust that I did not understand, Racheal was seen as nothing but an enemy.

She found me at an underpass, in the little homeless community in the city. The older homeless people always shared their soups with me and gave me shelter in their little dens. Looking back, I’m surprised that none of them reported me to the authorities. The government don’t just let children go homeless.

I think they knew that there was something about me that wouldn’t fare well in the system. So, they hid me when needed. they taught me how to scavenge and beg. They also used me to steal things that an adult could never get away with. That was probably the other reason why no one reported me. I was useful.

Racheal found me whilst I was un-stuffing little packets of crackers out my puffy jacket that did not suit the seventy-six-degree weather. I was placing them in the communal pile that this camp had. When it came to food, there were certain things that were shared, and certain things that weren’t. If anyone had a surplus of anything, we piled it behind our ersatz leader, Nona’s, tent for distribution. I had just been caught in my attempt to take some cold cut meat from a local deli, but not before I managed to stuff my jacket to the brim with individually wrapped saltine crackers. These would be great for safe keeping when someone gets sick, or to bulk up a meal of watered-down broth. It wasn’t the mother-load, but they were useful.

“Crackers aren’t much of a meal.” Racheal said. Her words made me jump ten feet in the air. After just being chased down two blocks for the food that I stole, my immediate thought was that I had led a police officer right to my home.

I spun and looked at her. She had her hands in her black leather jacket pockets. She glanced around, a half grimace on her face, at the makeshift tents and propped up walls against the concrete columns.

Like a bolt of lightning, cold jars coursed down my back, through the lines of the scar, telling me that this was not a human standing before me. Instantly my eye twitched at her, signalling my change from fright to blood lust.

She cocked her head to the side, not really noticing my change in demeanour. “What’s your name?”

I didn’t bother to answer her. I started stalking toward her, the blade that materialized in my hand pointed at her. I lunged toward her with all the finesse of an eight-year-old.

Racheal didn’t take the confrontation well. She easily overpowered me but she didn’t think to restrain me. Once I rolled out of the skirmish, I jumped to my feet and bolted. I ran so fast that, when I recall the event, I am surprised that I didn’t trip over my own feet. Racheal tried her best to keep up with me, but I knew the city, and I had the benefits of being small and more agile. I ran to the street mall, ducking and diving between people, allowing my slight, short body to give me an advantage. By the time I broke through the edge of the crowd, I knew that there was no way that she would have been able follow me.

For the next couple of weeks this pattern continued. She would approach me when I was alone and attempt to capture me. Each time she would let small pieces of information slip while she grappled with me. She called me things like ‘A hunter’. She told me to just relax and come with her to ‘Head Quarters’. She even noted how strong I was for my age. All of this was practically useless information to my young mind.

I didn’t make any attempts to fight her after the first go, knowing that she would have learnt from the first time. She was an adult, and I was a kid. I might not have known much, but I knew that I couldn’t win against her now, without the element of surprise.

It didn’t stop until one day, I managed to burry my dagger in her inner thigh. She cried out and fell to the ground. With my dagger still in hand, I watched her as she looked up at me with pure surprise.

Eight years old is young to have stabbed someone, but this was not my first time. My sickening bloodlust had forced my will many times before, taking me on a journey that usually ended with my dagger being ripped from the body of peculiar beings with glowing eyes and snarls on their tongues. I knew a stab like this from the dagger in my hand would kill one of them. Racheal wasn’t dying. She just seemed in pain. Her eyes bargaining with me, asking for whatever help I could give. For some odd reason the lust subsided in that moment. I knelt beside her, my hands waving over her body in an attempt to do something, anything, to help her.

“I’m sorry.” I whimpered, my whole body shaking with the tears I was holding back.

She took a pained breath, clutching at the wound in her thigh. “It’s okay, it will heal.” She said through gritted teeth.

I swallowed, still unsure of what I could do.

She leaned her head back against the concrete sidewalk behind the convenience store, where she had cornered me. “Can you just tell me your name?” She asked, through still gritted teeth.

“Scarlet.” I said automatically.

She gave what could have been mistaken for a smile. “That’s a pretty name. I’m Racheal.”

I nodded and looked down at the wound. It still poured blood, pulsing through her black jeans and saturating the denim.

“It’s okay, our blades can’t really hurt us.” She said. Her expression told me that the pain was receding.

I didn’t know what to think of her words. I looked down to the blade that was resting on the pavement beside me.

“Listen, Scarlet. You are not alone. I know you think that you are some sort of freak, but you are not. There are people out there just like you, that want to help you. I am one of them.” She gulped down a wave of pain.

I didn’t know what to think of her words. What she was saying both made sense, and none at all. I got to my feet, unsettle by this feeling, and started to back away.

“No!” she said suddenly, knowing I was just about to bolt. But her words were too late, I was already around the corner and out of sight.

I never went back to my homeless camp under the over pass. I knew she would always be able to find me there. It took Racheal years to find me again. I was older then, able to ask questions. She answered all of them, hoping that it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back, persuading me come with her. But her attempts failed over and over and over again. Each time I would evade her, like water through finger tips.

The clicking of a pen brings me back into the present.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

CLICK!

I reach over the desk and snatch the pen out of Eric’s hand. I press my thumb into the centre of the shaft and snap it in two, rage bubbling in my veins.

Eric stops what he is saying about Calculous, mid-sentence, and looks at me in shock.

I hold my fist out over the top of his note book and let the pieces of plastic rain down.

“What the hell?” Eric asks, picking at the remains of his dead pen.

I unset my jaw and take a deep breath, realizing I had just majorly over reacted. “I’m sorry.” I said, wincing at the mirrored words from my memory.

He looks up at me with his sad puppy eyes that just have a touch of confusion in them. He glances back at his pen and then sits back in his seat. “That was my last pen.” He huffs out.

I reach into my bag and pull out a capped pen, placing it on the desk for him. He takes it and immediately starts drumming it on the desk.

My teeth grind together.

“I don’t want to be a bitch, but could you not? Chew on the pen like a normal person.” I growl.

A small smile plays at the corner of his lips, but he stops. “Man, you are a grouch today.” He says, amusement drenching his tone.

My shoulders relax and I bend my neck from side to side, trying to relieve some of the unwelcomed tension. “Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

His lips pull to one side, questioningly. “Are you sure? Because you have been in a mood for the last three days and I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Boe, who also arrived three days ago. Do you guys know each other or something?”

Or something, I want to say. “No.” I shake my head. “Just insomnia. Exams are coming up and I’ve been cramming everything into my head. I’m not even sure it’s working. I feel like all of the facts are just grains of sand and my head is a shiv.” I rub my temples. I mean, it is half true. Between staying up late and tracking Jack, and practice with Trent, I feel like everything I have been learning at school is just washing away. I have no idea how I will do in my exams. And the insomnia is true enough too. When your dreams feel as real as mine, sometimes it is more restful to be awake.

“Mm-hmmm.” Eric hums clearly not convinced by my half-truth. “Well, I don’t like him. Is it just me or does he seem too old to be here?” Eric looks down, all of the playfulness gone from his tone.

I snicker a little at his jab at Boe. “He definitely has spent too much time at the gym.”

“He’s a bit of a know it all, too. The way he talks in IT Class. You would swear he designed the software on the Mars Rover.” Eric is looking over his notes, pretending that he is less annoyed at Boe than he is.

My brows lift. “Really? I would have assumed he would be more interested in taking a PE class.” As I say the words, I remember his phone that was like a universal remote for alarms.

“You know what they say, ‘to assume makes and ass out of you and me’.” Eric grumbles. “It’s just annoying. The rest of us are really trying to learn this stuff. We aren’t all natural-born computer technicians. But the only ones that can keep up with Boe is Miss Ritta and Chandler.” He smiles a soft smile. “Actually, Chandler managed to beat Boe today with a question about hardware. Not even sure what the question was, But Chandler corrected Boe, and I have never been prouder of that little guy.”

I smile too, pleased with the idea that Boe wasn’t always the smartest person in the room. “Well, I don’t think that you will have to put up with him for too much longer.” I say.

Eric gives me a quizzical look. “What makes you say that?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t seem like the type that stays in one place for very long. And by the sounds of it, he needs a school that can challenge him a little better. I wonder if MIT high school has any openings mid semester.” I joke.

Eric frowns. “Anyways... are you coming to the party tonight?”

If I could roll my eyes out of my head, I would have right now. “Caron is dragging me along. You know I love parties as much as I love a hole in the head.”

He let out a suppressed laugh. “Come on, parties aren’t that bad. If you let yourself, you might actually have fun.”

I laugh too. “Yes, inebriated teenagers trashing a small space with nothing but chips to eat, and a high risk that someone’s vodka orange juice ends up in my lap. Sounds like fun!” I say flatly.

He shrugs, still smiling at me. “Yes, we all know your version of fun. One triathlon and one extra cheesy supreme pizza.”

My expression softens. “Aw, Eric. You know me so well. But a perfect night would have been one triathlon and one rib eye streak and a baked potato.”

“And a round of bare-knuckle boxing.”

My hands go to my heart. “Oh, do that and I would be yours forever!” I dramatically say, then laugh.

Eric laughs too, light dancing off his dark brown eyes. “I’ll remember that.” He says.

“You better.” I threaten. “Now, what were you saying before?”

Eric doesn’t hesitate. He launches right back into his monologue about calculous. For the rest of our study period, I allow myself to get carried away with the numbers and theorems. Eric and I are a good match for studying any of the Mathematical subjects. Whatever he doesn’t get, I am able to explain, and vice versa. There is little wonder why we both contest for first and second grades in the subjects we share, save English.

The rest of the day goes off without a hitch, other than my annoyance at Boe’s presence in my English class. On the other side of the room, he and Chandler sit, sharing notes and discussing the text. Thankfully I can get carried away enough in the class that I all but forget that he is there. If it weren’t for the way his voice carries across the room, I probably could have forgotten that he was there, entirely.

When English finally finishes and the last bell rings, Caron, Eric and I all file out of the class, making our way to the street where our cars are parked.

“Hey Scar, can I get a ride?” Caron asks.

I shrug. “Sure. Where’s your car?”

“Dad had to take it to work this morning. There is something wrong with his truck.”

I shrug again. “Okay.”

Eric reminds us that he will see us later at the party, waving as he makes his way to his truck. Caron calls back her confirmation, while I grumble under my breath about this stupid party.

We slide into my Jeep. I gun the engine to life and ease it out onto the street. Before I am completely out into the lane something black flashes by, leaving the hum of an engine in its wake. I slam on the brakes and bark out insults at the lunatic that is speeding away at the sound of light, on his shiny crotch rocket of a bike.

Caron laughs. “This party is going to do you a lot of good. You are wound to tight that the slightest pluck at your strings is making you sing.”