Fan Fiction ❯ Fade to Black ❯ The Next Morning ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter 4: The Next Morning

I was awakened by the dull sounds of birds echoing from the factory floor. Must've flown through a window or hole in the roof, or something, I thought. I opened my eyes and looked down. Sarah was awakening in my arms. She gripped my hand and looked up at me.

"Good morning," She smiled sweetly. She had a beautiful smile. I could probably live in it...

"Hey," I replied. She rose stiffly and stretched. I rose and did the same, adding a yawn to the routine.

"Want to get some breakfast?" I asked her.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. But it's so late that technically it's lunch," She said, slipping her Korn shirt on and adjusting her hair. I went and changed into my clothes and we walked out of the office, noticing John had already left. His cot was folded neatly and propped again the wall. I grabbed a padlock and chain from the floor and we walked downstairs and out the front double doors. I chained the two together and slipped the padlock on, not wanting the guy from last night to have an open door to get in if he remembered any of last night and wanted to repay me. I pulled my coat off and offered it to Sarah. It was a little cold out (northeastern Pennsylvania gets like that in November) and she gladly took it. We went around to the garage and got into my truck. John's car, of course, was gone. I threw it into reverse and backed out. I stopped, jumped out to close the door and jumped back in. I put the truck in gear and we drove back to the main road. Sarah tuned the radio to some station that was playing Radiohead's Idioteque. She sang along with the techno and I tapped my fingers to the beat. We reached the road and headed for town. Sarah said she wanted to stop off at her house to shower quickly and change. She said it would take no more that twenty minutes. I took her back to Lee Street, parked across the street and watched her go inside. She walked in a strange, nervous way. Kind of like a death row inmate walking towards the electric chair, knowing something was going to happen but remaining detached at the same time. I shrugged it off as her just being tired from last night's party. It was quarter after twelve and I yawned slightly. Only five more minutes, if she keeps to her word. Ten minutes later she wasn't back, but I figured she was just making sure she had what she wanted. Five minutes later I walked up to the door to see if she was alright. I reached the porch and heard crying inside and breaking glass. I quickly moved to a window and peered in. I couldn't see shit, so I moved to the next window. What I saw was just awful. Sarah was backed up against the wall, taking blow after backhanded blow from her stepfather. She was trying so hard not to cry, but the tears kept coming. He was screaming something about her not being home earlier and she tried to explain she was at a friend's house all night and forgot to call. He just kept hitting. I couldn't take it. This motherfucker would pay. I went around to the back door and pushed it open. I smelled bourbon as soon as I was in the hallway. I walked towards the sound of the screaming. He was still hitting her. Game time...

I walked up and pulled him off of her. He looked suprised, but that was probably the bourbon. He wasn't much bigger than me and I knew he was in no condition to fight. He swung at me and I ducked, then pushed him back lightly, not wanting to crack the drunk motherfucker's head open.

"Back off, assfuck!" I screamed," Or you might find yourself on your ass picking up teeth."

"Who are you? Jesus....I'm...I'm gonna kick your ass, buddy," He turned to Sarah," Get off the floor, bitch, and show this trash to the front...door." He could barely make out the sentence. I punched him in the mouth and busted his lip. He punched me back and this time caught me in the stomach, knocking my breath away. I gasped and pushed him back and he fell into a couch. I caught my breath and held him by the neck, squeezing his throat.

"Listen, asshole. You don't call her a bitch, alright? And this is the last day you'll ever hit her. Because if she so much as has a scratch on her face or tells me you hit her, I'll beat your ass up and then go to the cops and turn your sorry ass in. Do you understand, or do I have to diagram it for you?" I was raging now. I didn't like to see bad people running things. And I didn't like to see my friends get hurt. And Sarah was my friend, maybe more than that.

"Yeah, Jesus Christ. If find out where you live I.....I....I swear to...." He managed before he passed out.

"Come on, Sarah," I said, sticking my hand out. We went into the kitchen and I looked in her freezer for some ice. There wasn't any. Dick-for-brains probably used it all in his bourbon, I thought. I grapped an Icee Pop I found in the back and handed it to Sarah. She said nothing and pressed it against her wrist.

"I jammed it when he pushed me in the upstairs hallway," She explained.

"Do you have a bag packed or anything? Cause you are not staying here this weekend. You're staying with me," I said, still angry at what I had just witnessed.

"I was packing one upstairs when he came into my room and started this shit. The stuff is still laid out because I ran after he started yelling. I was trying to get to you so you could get me out of here, but I didn't make it. It's all still there, first door on the right at the top of the stairs," She said softly. I went over to her and kissed her forehead and told her I would be right back. I walked quickly up the stairs and into her room. Posters of Marilyn Manson, Kittie, and even k's Choice were adorning the walls. I smelled incense and Sarah's perfume. Nothing outstanding, just a few dressers, a closet, her stereo. I looked at her bed and threw all the clothes there into the bag neatly, not looking at them. My anger was fading. I went downstairs and into the kitchen. I noticed for the first time Sarah had her short hair let down neatly and she was wearing a long black skirt, the kind goth girls wear, and she had on a gray sweater. Just a simple little outfit that looked gorgeous on her.

"Are you ready to leave?" I asked.

"Fuck yes," She replied getting up and going out the front door. I carried her bag for her. On the way out she stopped and punched her stepfather twice in the ribs, hard.

"The asshole will feel it later," She said angrily. We moved across the street and got into my truck. I set Sarah's little black bag beside me and started the truck and drove off towards the diner on the other end of town. They served breakfast until one o'clock on Saturdays.

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We sat in the small diner. She was across from me in the booth, eating her ham-and-cheese omelet and sipping her coffee. I was chewing a bite of my Mexican omelet, and watching her eat. She looked so damn cute when she ate. Girls always managed to look cute when they eat. What an extraordinary talent... I gulped down the rest of my coffee waved for another cup, black. I always drank my coffee black. I liked the taste, it was different. Sarah looked up at me from across the table. Her eyes were so deep and big....

"Jo, thank you. Thank you so much for helping me today, it means a lot to have someone....care about me," she said. Her eyes looked watery.

"No problem. I just wanted you to be safe, I guess," I looked up at her and she looked at me in silence. She reached for my hand and my heart raced. I cared about this girl so much, it was amazing. I would do anything for her. Her hand closed over mine from across the table. We stared into each others eyes for a few minutes then Sarah smiled and turned back to her breakfast. We finished fifteen minutes later and left the diner. It was two o'clock and we had nowhere to be so we drove to the elementary school and pulled up next to the playground. Sarah and I layed on the grass in the field behind the playground for close to two hours, just being with each other. We left at four o'clock and just drove around town before going to the factory to change the ice in the coolers and drop off the food we bought on the way there. After we had put all the food and stuff away, Sarah asked if she could lay down on the couch and get some sleep.

"Sure," I said. I had something to do anyway.

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While Sarah napped, I went down to the second floor. I soon found myself in the dark, dusty room staring at the racks of weapons. I picked up a Tommy gun and felt its weight. I lowered the gun, pulled the bolt back and let a bullet into the breech then let go of the bolt, which snapped back forward. This gun had a drum magazine instead of a box magazine. I walked outside, holding the weapon at my hip. When I got around to the back of the factory, I leveled the submachine gun at some old, rusty machinery by the wall. I figured these submachine guns could come in useful, as sort of a last resort. I clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger.

A staccato burst of gunfire filled the air. I kept firing, casings running out of my gun like water, bullets ricocheting off of the machinery. The gun kicked back into my shoulder. The tinkling of brass hitting the pavement was a mesmerizing sound. Pretty soon the fifty round drum was all used up. I sat there and watched the smoke rise from my gun. I stared down at the casings on the ground and watched them twinkling in the bright sunlight. It wasn't as loud as I thought it would be. I enjoyed firing that gun. I walked back into the armory, as I decided to call it and I took out the drum and tossed it onto the desk. I rummaged around in the ammo cabinet and found old, musty-smelling boxes of .45 caliber cartridges and a stack of ammo drums in the back of the deep and amply stocked cabinet. I put the drum into the Tommy gun and racked the bolt. I clicked the safety on and laid the gun on the desk. Then I spent a while reloading the first drum I had used with new cartridges. When I was done, I closed the cabinet and found for the first time that the keys were in the lock on the handle of one of the doors. I guess I didn't notice them because the doors were already open when we found this room and we didn't bother to look. I locked up the cabinet and turned. I saw lying on the floor a sling for a gun of some sort. I picked it up and examined it's cracked, leather surface, then slipped one end loop around the muzzle of the submachine gun and had to widen the loop to get around the forward handle. When I had finally finagled the sling past the forward handle, I tightened the loop and slipped the other end loop around the stock and slung the weapon over my shoulder. It was a comfortable fit.

I walked out of the room and took a left into the closest room. In it I had seen a medium sized bookshelf when I had ransacked this floor almost a year ago. It took about fifteen minutes, but I pushed the shelf in front of the door to the armory and practiced sliding it away from the opening and dashing in. It slid away pretty easily, but when it was in place you would never know there was a room behind it. Nice...