Seven years later

I knocked lightly on the surface of the door to my parents’ room. I waited a beat, but got no answer. The ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs was quicker to answer me, and would sooner ask me how I was doing. Keeping my sigh to myself, I spoke through the door loud enough so he’d hear me. “Dad, I’m going now. I’ll be back later.” I waited doubtfully, and I didn’t get a response just like I’d expected. Giving up, I turned away and left, taking the stairs down to the front door. I locked up behind me and got into the truck that my dad had once used to drive to work, backing out of the driveway and tearing out of my neighborhood while music roared through the speakers. I was upset 80% of the time, and his behavior just made it worse.

My name is Mia. I live with my dad, a man that has never been the same since the disappearance of his wife, and I go to school at a four-year college where I also happen to work as a teacher’s aid on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and as a librarian every weekday after three. I avoid coming back to the house as much as possible because of how much it’s changed as well, too uncomfortable to even refer to it as my home anymore. To be fair, I’ve changed too, but at least I leave my room.

I don’t hate my dad, by the way. I’m just disappointed in him and his behavior because it’s like I lost both parents and not just one.

Also unlike my father, I haven’t given up the hope that my mom is still alive somewhere. I can’t even begin to imagine where she could be, but despite the circumstances, I still hold the faith and pray that she’s healthy and waiting somewhere, waiting to be found.

Waiting to be found by me.

The cops gave up a long time ago, writing off the case as a gang’s kidnapping, even going as far as to tell my dad and me that she was most likely dead. I refused to believe that, however, because I was positive I already knew who had her.

Silver eyes and sharp teeth came to mind as I drove to school, the face of the man from seven years ago branded into my memory. He haunted my nightmares every night, invaded my hate filled thoughts every day, and starred in my sadistic fantasies. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d imagined tearing his throat out in that grocery store, instead of running away from him like a little coward. I blamed myself for my mom’s disappearance, and because of that, I refused to let myself rest. If my mom couldn’t, then why should I?

It was my cross to bear, and I was determined to keep on living if only to find out what really happened that night seven years ago.

When I got to school, I attended my early-morning classes, then finished off my lessons with the class I was an aid in, sitting near the back with papers I would need to handout, also working the computer with which I was controlling the presentation the professor was going off of. I wasn’t a huge fan of biology, but it gave me a better understanding of things that were both human and inhuman alike, so I tried to retain as much knowledge as possible for my bright and sunny future. Not.

Before switching over to my shift at the library, I stopped by at the students’ café and got myself a toasted bagel and a mocha milkshake, opting for a snack instead of a real meal to tide me over in the meantime. I still wasn’t very hungry anyway, due to my odd schedule.

I was more used to eating later at night as I walked around in my nightly search.

I’m not super helpful in my second job. I tend to stay away from people and stick to sorting and putting away books, avoiding students as much as they avoided me. I’m not diseased or anything, and I don’t try to be mean, but because I dress the way I do, and use eyeliner a little more generously than the average girl, they tend to thank I’m too sad to be of any help, if you catch my drift. All just because I wear black and have a few piercings in my ears; at least my nails and hair have blue to level out the multitude of black. I admit that I sometimes wore black lipstick to definitely keep them away, though. However, not everybody understood that I just wanted to be avoided, and chose instead to harass and mock me; once again, human nature proved to be quite cruel to that which is different.

I was just about finished with the cart of books I’d gone out with onto the third floor when my usual tormentor showed up with her regular gaggle, her fastidiously plucked eyebrow raised with acidic, pretentious amusement. She scoffed a little, flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder out of what I knew was habit, and stood with her hip cocked to the side. She ran her gaze up and down over my person, already judging, and I ignored it all like normal. It didn’t keep her from harassing me, though, because Jenna was not a quitter. She was already going five years strong, bugging me since high school, so she wasn’t going to stop now. “Wow, gloom-and-doom. I see you chose to be extra morbid today.”

“I was only hoping to repel you, but I guess you just can’t live without me,” I muttered with disinterest, looking up at the shelf where I’d need to stow the next book, observing the numbers carefully before I tucked the text in with casual care where it belonged.

Jenna scoffed, shaking her head. “I’m waiting for you to disappear, goth girl.”

I turned to look at her finally, raising my own eyebrows. “You came specifically towards me, and you’re giving me all this attention and importance. Unless you want to read about ually transmitted diseases, I don’t even know why you came to this aisle.”

She smirked, choosing to walk away before I really started to defend myself. “Get some more vitamin D, freak,” she sneered, already moving with her entourage.

I fought back my laughter, upsetting her further. “Nice one, Jen, you really got me with that classy comeback.”

Done with me, I guess, she started down the stairs with her chicks following behind her. I shook my head to myself, amazed that they were actually actively acting out the stereotypes from TV and movies. Alone once again, I resumed what I was supposed to do, mellowing out with the familiar routine.

I was starving by the time nine o’clock rolled around, and with my bag’s strap slung over my shoulder, I made my way over to my dad’s truck and hopped in, already planning to get some fast food from a drive-thru and walk around the park my mom used to take me to when I was a kid.

I had the hope of finding her again, and it didn’t ever go away despite the chances of succeeding being slim to none. I didn’t know where to look, and I didn’t have the resources to really search. I only hoped that going by familiar places would be enough and that one day, by some miracle, I’d find her sitting on a bench, or walking down a rocky path leading towards me.

Every year, that was my wish.

“Happy birthday to me,” I whispered, and trudged by the old playground I had run around in as a child.

I sat down on the bench just off to the side, the same one my mom used to vacate when she was watching over me, and pulled my legs up and tucked them under me. Finished with my birthday food, I bundled up the garbage and tossed it into the trash bin some feet away from me, making it in out of sheer luck since the bundle bounced around and only happened to roll in. I was still looking at the garbage can, my head turned to the side, when I felt the sudden sting in my neck. I jumped and my hand flew to land with a smack over the side of my neck. I brought my hand down and stared at it, staring at the spots of dark liquid that stained my palm. That must have been one huge mosquito, I thought to myself, wiping what I thought to be guts and blood from the pest off on my pant leg.

“You could have shared, you know,” a deep, husky voice murmured right by my ear, making me shiver and leap off of the bench immediately.

Whirling around, I came face to face with a dark-haired young man with fair skin and a heartbreaker’s smile. Tilting his head to the side, he continued to smile at me with all the charm in the world. “Happy birthday, Mia. My name is Jekyll. It’s nice to finally meet again.”

After he spoke, a hand came around from behind me and covered my mouth, robbing me of the chance to scream.