Isla was making me a little uncomfortable.
After our initial talk on the bridge, we made a plan to move to a diner situated on the main road cutting through Bronwynn Forest. While it was far, we both agreed that it would be the least likely place that the Demons would find us, while also not being so far south that we couldn’t go back into the northern part city at any time.
The only issue was getting there. The bus that cut through there only ran on weekends, and it would take us hours to go on foot.
“We’ll take an Uber,” I decided. “Then we’ll figure it out from there.” I was actually planning to contact the caller to let him know where to pick her up, but I didn’t know if mentioning that part to Isla was a good idea right now.
She nodded with a neutral expression, but I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me- the fire. I mean literal fire. Miniature flames blazed in her eyes whenever she looked at me. Part of me wondered if I’d see her burst into flames if I kept angering her.
She’s hot. Literally and figuratively.
I- can you shut up?
All I’m saying is, I like her way more than Sophia.
I groaned, and Isla looked at me in confusion, the flames dying out.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “I’m going to call it when we get up to the road. Can you walk up the slope with your ankle like that?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Isla said, wincing as she got up. “You still haven’t told me the reason that you’re doing this.”
“We don’t have time for that,” I told her. “Let’s get to the diner and we can talk about it.”
Isla clenched her jaw. “Alright.”
The steep slope up to the road was grassy and slippery. Isla didn’t say anything, but I could tell from her face that her ankle was giving her grief. At the top, she slipped and almost fell, but I grabbed her arm with one hand and the sidewalk’s metal guardrail with my other hand.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
“So you do know how to be nice,” I said, helping her over the railing.
Isla glared at me, and the flames in her eyes grew brighter. “Just call the damn Uber.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled out my phone, and suddenly, I felt a literal crawling sensation on the back of my neck, making me tense up, every hair on my body standing on end. Anxiously, I whipped my head around, scanning the buildings on our side of the bridge and the buildings on the opposite, but I couldn’t place the source of the feeling, which wasn’t good. Even worse, I felt like it wasn’t just one set of eyes, but multiple.
“...Michael?” Isla prompted.
“We’re being watched,” I muttered. “By a group of people.”
“What?” She looked around as well. “But there's basically no one here.”
Isla was right- there were only a few sparse pedestrians on the sidewalk, and all the cars that were parked or had passed by weren’t suspicious. But even though I couldn't explain exactly how I knew, I just knew. And I also knew what happened when I ignored my 'instincts.'
“You can’t run, right?” I said.
“I-I can probably manage, but-”
I took a deep breath and stepped towards her. “Don't punch me.”
“What’re you- hey!”
I scooped her up in my arms and started to run, sprinting down the street. Isla, flustered, demanded I put her down, but I ignored her, looking for a place for us to hide. There were too many small, publicly open spaces- restaurants and clothes shops that we’d be easily spotted and cornered in. Our best bet would maybe be a rooftop, if we could get up unnoticed. We’d also have a high ground advantage for scouting and fighting, if it came down to it. But how would I get Isla up there with her ankle sprained?
The apartment building, down the road. There’s an alleyway besides it.
What? We’d just corner ourselves.
It’s the oldest looking building here. There’s probably a fire escape you could climb up. She can manage a ladder.
I sprinted for the alley. Sure enough, hanging above us was an old metal fire escape. The ladder wasn't low enough for either of us to grab, but I spotted a release lever at the top of it. Lowering Isla to the ground, I looked around for something to climb on. At the end of the alleyway was a glowing blue dumpster on four wheels.
Okay, well, it probably wasn't actually glowing in reality, but the glowing did the job of catching my attention. I immediately knew to run over and start pulling. Thankfully it wasn't loaded to the brim with trash, so I was able to position it underneath the fire escape ladder. I scaled the dumpster, standing on top of its black lid, and gestured to Isla.
“I’ll boost you,” I told her.
Isla briefly hesitated, then climbed up the dumpster. She took a step on my hands, then my shoulder. Once she’d grabbed the ladder, I pushed her legs up and she went up the ladder. She reached the top, her hand drifting for the ladder release lever so I could climb up.
Pop!
The bullet hit my left thigh. I stumbled and fell off the dumpster, slamming into the ground with a thud!
Ouch.
“Michael!” Isla screamed.
At the end of the alleyway, the shooter examined his pistol- a silenced .22, which explained why the gunshot had been so quiet. “Hm. I was tryna shoot you in the nuts, but I guess I gotta practice with this thing a bit more.” He grinned, flashing his yellowed teeth. “Oh, well.”
Vincent and his group crowded the entrance of the alleyway. Instead of it just being Vincent, they were now all wearing black leather jackets, alongside red shirts to match- the signature colour theme of the Demons.
Despite the situation, I laughed. “Matching outfits? You guys are so cute.” I glanced at the entry wound. As far as I could tell, the bullet hadn’t gone through my femur or my femoral artery, which meant I wasn’t immobile or bleeding out anytime soon. It just hurt a hell of a lot.
Vincent leveled the pistol at my head. “The cute ones are you guys. Not in a million years would I have imagined the two of you becoming fast friends.”
I sat up and pulled down my bandanna. It wasn't going to fool him, anyways. Taking a deep breath, I focused on my leg. The pain slowly faded away, and I exhaled in relief. “We’re not friends. This is more of a business relationship."
What a coincidence. Me too.” Vincent glanced up at Isla. “Your dad told me to bring you in alive at any cost. It’s up to you if that cost includes this fucker. I’m generous, so I’ll give you ten seconds.”
Isla’s hair covered her eyes. I couldn’t properly see her expression, but her hands were balled into fists. Her whole body was trembling.
“Get to the spot we agreed on,” I called up to her. “I’ll meet you there, I promise.”
“Five seconds,” Vincent said.
“Isla, go!” I yelled.
“Three… two…”
Taking a deep breath, Isla pulled the ladder release lever and began to climb down.
“Fuck…” I muttered. “Did I start speaking a different language or something?”
She dropped down in front of me, wincing as she landed on her ankle. Glaring at me, fire in her eyes, she spoke. “As much I don’t like you, I am not leaving you behind. So do me a favour, and shut up while I fight."
Vincent applauded mockingly. “Wow! How very heroic of you.” He nodded towards his lackeys. “Get her.”
Isla turned towards them. She was still trembling.
Scared. Bruised. Exhausted. Outnumbered. And up against impossible odds. But instead of falling apart, Isla stood strong, letting go of the fear- or converting it. It was then that I could see them- the bright orange, yellow, and red flames rippling off her arms, legs, and hair, a manifestation of her wrath. She raised her fists in a boxing stance, getting ready to fight.
“You want me, assholes?” she roared. “Come get me!”
With grins on their faces, the Demons began to approach, and I sighed in exasperation. In that moment, I knew I didn’t have another choice.
…Hey, other me.
Yes, dear? How can I help?
It’s time to swap.
Aw, I don’t know. I’m a busy guy…
No killing. But… do whatever you want otherwise. I don’t care.
Ha. Haha.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Isla turned around to look at me me.
“...Michael?” she asked, freaked out by the laughter.
One of the little runts closed in, knife in hand. The girl whipped around, ready to swing, but in an instant, I lunged forwards, grabbing him by the face and sticking my right leg behind his left. I slammed him in ground, then punched. And punched again. And again. And again, until the kid’s face was a swollen, bloody mess.
“Finally...” I rose slowly, a wide grin spreading across my face. Blood dripped from my knuckles onto the ground besides the kid’s unconscious body. “It’s been a while.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Piss-teeth glared at me. “Gut him,” he ordered the rest of his friends.
I began to stretch my arms, walking towards the approaching group. “Interesting.” I looked at the chick behind me, who was staring at me in shock. “Oh, right. Uh… honestly, I forgot your name, but do me a favour and wait here. Wouldn’t want you to get in the way of my fun.”
The girl opened her mouth to warn me. “Behind y-”
I ducked, the collar grab going above my head. I spun around and punched him straight in the throat. As he gasped, clutching his throat, I kicked him back into one of his friends, knocking him both to the floor.
One of them charged me with a yell. He brought his arm back for a wide slash, but I pounced forwards into him and caught his arm, wrapping my right arm around his. With my left hand, I put pressure against the back of his elbow.
Crack.
He screamed, dropping to the floor, clutching his broken arm. I scooped up his fallen knife from the ground.
Two down, five to go. I was already feeling a little disappointed at how quickly they were going down. Maybe I could get them to call for more people?
No. Finish this up.
Say please.
Oh, for the love of- please finish this up.
The two I’d kicked down earlier got to their feet, and trailed behind the other two as they approached. Instead of backing up, I ran to the side and jumped up onto the dumpster. Piss-teeth followed my movements with his gun and put his finger on the trigger, ready to fire.
I glanced at the muzzle. Left shoulder.
I dodged, the bullet whizzing past me, and threw my knife. It sank into the shooter's thigh and he screamed, dropping his gun and falling to his knees.
Two brats began swiping at my legs with their knives, but I had the higher ground and better control of distance. I stomped on one’s hand, forcing him to yank away his knife, then soccer kicked the other in the jaw, dropping him for good.
I leaped over the disarmed Demon and kicked one of the two behind him. He slammed into the wall behind him and crumpled like a sack of potatoes.
Hey, if I turn them into vegetables, does that count as not killing them?
…
I’ll take that as a yes!
The other two charged me at once, one going left, one going right. I backed up against the wall and got ready to dodge to the side, but at the last second, I felt a pair of hands grip my right leg, preventing me from moving. The sack of potatoes hadn’t turned into a vegetable just yet.
Uh oh, I thought, my grin widening.
The stabs came at the same time. I managed to grab their wrists, but they pressed their full body weight against me, trying to sink their knives in. The points edged in closer, and closer, and closer…
Using my free leg, I threw a hard kick into the left attacker's knee, and he instinctively backed away. When he tried to close the distance again, I kicked him in the stomach. He stumbled backwards,, falling on his ass and throwing up from the sudden impact. I threw a rapid fire flurry of blows to the other’s jaw, and as he tried to pull away, I yanked him towards me and slammed my forehead into his nose, breaking it.
As he fell to the pavement, I stared down at Potato Boy, who slowly released my leg and raised his hands in surrender. “H-hey man, I just do what Vincent tells me to do.”
I pressed my foot against his face and slammed him down into the ground, sighing. “Disgustingly weak. This is the next generation of Demons?” I shook my head in disappointment. They hadn't even scratched me.
I turned around and started walking towards the yellow-toothed brat- Victor? Vinny? Whatever his name was, he was still struggling with the knife stuck in his thigh. As I approached, he reached for his pistol, but I slammed my foot onto his fingers, and he screamed in pain.
“You fucking-”
I slammed my fist in his nose, and he fell backwards, clutching it as blood streamed out.
“Did you know?” I said. “Apparently, the femoral artery can have a flow rate of up to around half a liter of blood per minute. Which doesn’t sound like a lot, considering the average person has around 5 to 6 litres of blood.”
“Didn’t ask,” he snarled.
I crouched down, curling my fingers around the knife’s grip. “Around 20% of blood being lost leads to hemmorhagic shock.” I began tugging upwards and he gritted his teeth. “Around 30 to 40%, you’ll become disoriented, maybe pass out. And at 50%...” The glint of the knife’s blade was now showing, with more and more blood pouring out.
“Okay, okay!” he yelled. “Fuck! What do you want?”
“From you? Nothing.” The knife was now loose. “Just thought I'd do a little science experiment..."
Alright, that’s enough. We’re swapping back.
What? Already? But I-
No buts. You did great. Good job and whatever. Now let me take it from here.
I sighed, and slowly closed my eyes.
You're the boss.
----------------------------------------
Isla didn’t know what to think.
She’d resigned herself to one final struggle before being captured. She didn’t care for Michael in the slightest, but she refused to sacrifice him like a pawn for her escape. She’d drowned out all her fear and pain with defiant anger.
Then Michael had changed. His posture, his movements, his expression- all of his. He’d turned maniacal, taking on all seven of Vincent’s posse, defeating them without a scratch. It was exactly the kind of thing you saw action movie heroes do. The only difference was that they had all the plot armour they needed. This was real life.
The most disturbing part was how much he’d seemed to be enjoying himself. As the fight wore on and he caused more and more damage, his grin only grew wider, his eyes more crazed. Only after the fight had concluded did Isla realize that she had goosebumps.
It was almost as if he'd become a different person.
Isla hadn’t actually thought he’d pull out the knife, but he came damn close. Just as he was about to, his body went limp, and he fell over, sinking the knife back in at the same time and making Vincent screech.
“Oh, shit,” Isla murmured. As fast as her ankle would take her, she hopped towards the entrance of the alleyway. She was about to check his pulse when his eyes fluttered open, and he sat up with a groan.
“My leg feels like shit,” he complained. "I need some Tylenol."
Isla blinked, then laughed, partly in relief. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”
Michael cracked a smile. “Yeah, I know.” He looked towards Vincent, who glared back. “At least he looks way worse off. Should we finish him off?”
Isla shrugged. “Hm, maybe.
She walked over to the gun and examined it closely. “You know, I’ve never used one of these before. You shoot out of this end, right? But what’s this big tube for?”
“...You know what? Maybe you should give that to me,” Michael suggested.
“Or me,” Vincent said dryly. "So I can end both of you."
They both gave him the finger.
Michael took off his bandanna and firmly tied it around his leg as a sort of makeshift tourniquet. He pointed at Vincent’s waist. “Take off your belt and tighten it as much as you can around your leg. Then, after we’re gone, call an ambulance. I don’t give a shit what you do after.” He grabbed Vincent by the collar. “I was never here, and neither was Isla. Do you understand?”
Vincent looked away. “Lo siento, no hablo inglés.” (Sorry, I don’t speak English.)
Michael grabbed him by the chin to bring them face to face again. “Dije, ¿me entiendes?” (I said, do you understand me?)
Vincent exhaled. “Sure, dipshit.”
“And stay away from my sister,” he snapped. “Or next time, I’ll be pulling a knife out of your throat instead."
Isla had wanted Michael to head to the hospital while she figured it out on her own, but Michael insisted he could easily patch himself up. Since the bullet wasn’t stuck inside him and it was a low caliber bullet, apparently he knew how to patch it up with just a simple medkit. After quickly dropping by a nearby pharmacy to buy one, they took an Uber towards the diner in Bronwynn Forest.
“Are you… sure you guys don’t want to go to a hospital instead?” the driver asked. "Or the police?"
“Let's make a deal,” Michael proposed. “You forget you even drove us today, and I’ll give you a twenty-dollar tip and five stars.”
The driver shrugged. “Works for me.”
The diner was an 80’s retro diner named Bliss Dinner, with bright neon lights and posters advertising authentic milkshakes. There were a few cars in the lot, but after scoping the place out through the windows, they concluded that there were no Demons inside.
As they sat in a booth, Michael sat down with a wince. “Alright, your turn to pay.”
“Wow, you’re not chivalrous at all,” Isla commented dryly. “No wonder Sophia ended up dumping you.”
As soon as she said that, she felt a little bad. His expression remained neutral, but she could clearly see the pain in his eyes as he stared at the table.
"Uh, sorry," she muttered. Though, the whole thing had been his fault anyways, so why was she apologizing?
Michael sighed, shaking his head. “It’s whatever. Besides, we never dated, so she didn't dump me. More like... we had a slight misunderstanding."
"A slight misunderstanding," Isla repeated. "That ended in her boyfriend going to the hospital."
"Okay, maybe it was bit more complicated than that."
Isla studied him. Outside of what happened in the fight, Michael seemed so normal- incredibly annoying, definitely, but not the horrifying terror that Northeast Academy had made him out to be. But if she did include what had happened in the fight... it all made a lot more sense. Just what exactly had happened to him in that alleyway?
“Don’t ask,” Michael told her. “I’m not telling you.”
Isla stiffened. “What?”
“About what you saw during the fight. I know you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m that obvious, huh.”
Michael nodded. “Oh, very obvious. I can read you like a book.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms.
“Yup. For example…” He blinked, then reached into his pocket, producing his phone. “Sorry, I've gotta take this. Order whatever you want."
Isla watched as he hobbled out the diner. She wondered if it was his parents checking in. It was getting pretty late, but thankfully the diner didn’t close until midnight, so she could stay here until then. But Michael would have to go home as some point, and she’d have to fend for herself again.
The thought depressed her.
That’s Sophia’s worst enemy, she reminded herself. Think about what he did. You’re better off alone.
But maybe it wasn’t that simple. She’d only ever heard Sophia’s side of the story. Not that she had any reason to doubt her friend’s honesty, and even if she did, there had been a ton of witnesses who had corroborated her point of view. But maybe there were still pieces of the puzzle that were missing, pieces that most people didn’t know about. It wasn't like she didn’t know how it felt to be misrepresented, to be made out to be someone she wasn't.
There's no way, she thought. You saw how he fought, how he acted.
Isla found herself wondering what was inspiring this newfound sympathy for a guy she'd hated since freshman year. Maybe it was because when she looked at him, she...
She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice the waitress until she waved a hand in front of her face- a middle aged lady with chocolate skin, salt and pepper hair tied back into a bun, and a red dot between her eyebrows- a bindi. Isla was taken back by how pretty she was.
"Rough night?" the waitress asked her.
“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry,” Isla said, embarrassed. She glanced across from her and saw a coffee and pancakes sitting at Michael’s spot, which confused her considering it was this late. He had mentioned he was a regular at this diner, so maybe the lady had just given him his usual order?
The woman smiled warmly, instantly making Isla feel a little better. “Don’t apologize. Did you want to order a drink?”
“Just water is fine, thanks.”
The lady returned a few seconds later and filled her cup. “Can I ask how you and Michael know each other?”
“Uh…” Isla frowned. “We just met today. We’re classmates.” She grabbed the cup and took a big swig of water. After the stress of today, she’d forgotten how thirsty she was. There had barely been any time to rest.
“I see.” The lady paused. “Are you interested in him?”
Isla choked on water and began coughing- such a stupid cliche, but that had genuinely caught her off guard. “Wha- no-”
“Mrs. Bliss!” Michael ran up to the booth from the entrance. “Can you not mess with my… my friend?”
Mrs. Bliss chuckled. “Sorry, Michael. It’s just, she’s so pretty! I honestly couldn’t believe it when you walked in here with her.”
He scoffed. “And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”
Isla laughed, her face a bit red. “Thank you. But I wouldn't be caught dead being this thing's girlfriend."
Mrs. Bliss nodded slowly. “Makes sense."
"Glad to see you guys get along," Michael grumbled, sitting back in the booth. He started to drown his pancakes in maple syrup.
"Anyways, both of you, order whatever you like," Mrs. Bliss told them. "It's on the house."
Isla's jaw dropped, and Michael coughed, almost choking on his food. He swallowed and shook his head in refusal. “No way, I can't keep on letting you-"
“Don’t,” she warned, looking annoyed. “You really made me mad when you left that hundred dollar bill last time you came."
He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed in defeat. “Alright, fine. I'm sorry.”
“Good." The waitress' smile returned, and she turned to face Isla. “Now… what can I get for you?"