Fox by Harley Wylde

Prologue

Raven

I hated the dark. I shuffled down the alley, heading for the back of the local diner. My skin prickled and it felt like ants crawled over me. My feet scraped along the pavement as I made my way closer to the dim light over the side entrance door. Not much farther.

The scratching of rats made me shiver. At least they wouldn’t hurt me. I much preferred the furred type of vermin to the two-legged variety. I clawed at my arms, popping open scabs. Blood trickled from the wounds. I wiggled my fingers as the droplets fell to the ground below. Every sound made me twitch and jump. Shadows reached for me.

Nearly there. I paused just outside the spread of light and waited. I listened. Watched. When I didn’t hear anyone coming, I hurried to see if I could find something to eat. I dug through and found half a sandwich. Pulling it out, I took a bite while I sifted through more of the garbage. I found a bruised apple, still whole. I slipped it into my pocket for later and snatched an open half-full bag of chips from the dumpster.

It wouldn’t last long. It never did, but at least I wouldn’t starve tonight or tomorrow. Finding shelter would be the biggest issue. At least a safe place to sleep. I didn’t trust anyone. Not after what the cowboys did to me. I picked at the scabs on my arm again and rushed off, sticking to the shadows as I cleared the alley and nearly ran down the street.

An old parking garage loomed in the distance. I’d stayed there before. Most of the floors had been inhabited by others living on the streets. I avoided those people. Didn’t know who to trust. Quiet as I could, I made my way to the structure, pausing when anyone got too close. Finally, I reached the parking structure and crept inside. I skirted around the people on each level until I found an empty one.

I took off my backpack and shoved it into the corner, using it to cushion me as I crammed myself into the tight spot, hoping to go unnoticed. Light didn’t reach me, and I hoped its absence would keep me safe. I’d finished my sandwich and didn’t dare eat the apple and chips, even if my stomach did still rumble.

Twisting, I unzipped the backpack and pulled out the small notebook and pen. I’d been scribbling in it the last few days. It kept me from losing myself completely. Although, the marks on my arms suggested otherwise. Even if I couldn’t see the blood, I could feel it. The scabs would reform, but what was the point? I’d just open them again. Or make new cuts. It allowed me to bury the pain of what happened and take back a little control.

I didn’t need the light to write. It didn’t matter if it looked pretty. No one would read it. I only put the words on the page as a way to soothe the demons plaguing me. It never worked for long. No sooner would I purge the darkness inside me than more would seep in. I couldn’t escape.

I pondered the bag at my back and stared blankly at the notebook in my hand. It wasn’t entirely true, though. There would be one way to get away from it all. No more pain. No more nightmares. I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone hurting me again. My fingers tightened on the pen.

Don’t do it, Raven.

I wrote a little more, hoping it would be enough to dispel the ugliness brewing in my gut. I couldn’t remember what it had felt like to be happy. Didn’t think I’d ever feel it again. Mom hadn’t wanted me back. Not after what happened. She’d called me a whore. Said I’d gotten what I deserved. That had been the first night I’d cut my arms. Not deep enough to bleed out, but the pain had helped a little. It had soothed the dark voices in my mind.

I poured everything out on the page in the little notebook. I felt the burn of tears as I remembered how I’d gotten here. Each and every filthy thing they’d done to me. The way it had felt when they touched me. The pain when they’d tried to tear me apart. It even eclipsed knowing my own mother hadn’t wanted me.

Alone. Always alone.

Unwanted. Unloved.

The darkness calls to me.

Surrounds me.

It closes in from all sides.

Presses against me.

Fills me.

I welcome the nothingness.

A respite from the pain.

From the memories.

I’m dirty.

Tainted by their hands.

They ripped me from the light.

Now I dwell in the dark.

The shadows.

The emptiness.

Not even death can save me.

I shoved the pen and notebook back into my bag and stared at the glint of silver toward the bottom. The last phrase echoes in my mind. Not even death can save me. But what if it could? Reaching in, I gripped the handle of the knife I’d swiped from an outdoor dining area when no one had been looking. I’d cleaned the blade, but knew it now had the stain of my blood on it. I turned my arm over and took a breath before making the first cut.

The coppery scent hit my nose, and it felt like a dam inside me broke. Before I could second-guess myself, I cut again. And again. And again. Every slice of my skin brought relief. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. The next cut went deeper, and I knew I couldn’t turn back. I managed to cut the other side, feeling a strange sort of peace settle over me.

Dropping the knife beside me, I let my arms fall to my sides and stared into the nothingness. Waiting. Would I go to heaven? Or did the devil have a seat saved for me in hell? Anything would be better than the life I’d been living.

I felt my heart slowing as my blood pooled on the concrete. Everything went hazy and darkness crept into the edges of my vision. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, it would be over.

It never occurred to me someone would save me.

Too bad they didn’t realize they were consigning me to a different sort of hell.

One I didn’t think I’d ever escape from.