#3 Bailey

   I don’t think I will ever forget the first thing Shaniqua ever said to me.

   It was our first day of kindergarten and we had both just turned five during the summer. To me, an only child, school was a novelty. I had barely even heard of it before my first day, but to Shaniqua, with her three older brothers, school was a nightmare that she had dreaded for her whole life. I didn’t know that though, until many more years had passed.

   Even at five, Shaniqua had somehow managed to possess the most stunning beauty. With her coffee coloured skin and her waist length jet black hair, she had a sense of love and innocence that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

   I think that’s what made me walk up to her that first time, confident young lass that I was, and introduce myself.

   “Hi,” I said, a smile dancing on my lips. “I’m Bailey. Who are you?”

   Instead of replying, she just stared at me, brown eyes wide open, as though I was some sort of novelty.

   I was naturally uncomfortable. Unsure quite what to do in such an odd situation, I stared back at her, and we both experienced what was probably the strangest and most intense moment in our short lives.

   Finally, she spoke, still clearly confused.

  “Are you sick?” she asked.

   If I had expected her to say something, it wasn’t that.

   “No!” I answered indignantly. “I had a runny nose last week but my Mom said I’m all better and I can go to school and I’m not sick!”

   “Oh,” she said, but she kept staring at me, with an almost sympathetic expression, as if I had some kind of fatal disease which she knew about, but I didn’t.

   She walked off then, and sat down, alone, on the ground, with her legs crossed and her hands limp in her lap. About an inch of her hair grazed the rough blue carpet as she sat.

   Feeling awkward and a lot less confident than I had been at first, I too sat down, also by myself, as far away from that girl as I could. Squatting on my knees, I let my eyes search the room, perhaps looking for another pretty girl with which to try my luck, and that was when I realised something about my class. Every single person except for me had dark skin.

   It shouldn’t have been a surprise to me. Living in a city where 85% of the population was black, the fact that I was the only white girl should have been a given. But looking around at my kindergarten class, I felt lonely. All of these people had something to hold them together, but I was the odd one out. I was the one who looked like I was “sick” and had people who didn’t even know me feeling sorry for me. All of the excitement of my first day had worn off. I just wanted to go home.

   When my teacher called the class to come and sit in front of her chair, I went unwillingly, dragging each footstep as though I was trudging through mud. I sat down, purposefully at the very back of the group, leaving a large space between myself and the boy who sat in front of me.

   Shaniqua stayed exactly where she had been since she left me, a silent statue which everyone simply milled around, barely noticing its existence. I didn’t particularly care what people thought of her, though. After all, she was the one who had defined me as what I now thought of myself: different.

   Mrs Smith, her large bottom jiggling unattractively in her stereotypically flowery dress, sat in her throne with a thump, making a few of the boys sitting in front of me giggle.

   Mrs Smith ignored them, and instead smiled out at us all, a warm, welcoming smile that made me feel that there might be some hope for my school life after all.

   “Hello!” she exclaimed, her expression immediately taking on an air of excitement. “We are going to have an amazing year boys and girls! Now, normally I would tell you some of our important rules, before we start with the fun stuff, but today, I think we should get to know each other a bit first, don’t you?”

   There were a few nods, and a few ‘yes’s, and then she was standing up again, her eyes filled with a youthful merriment.

   “How about,” she decided, “we all stand up, and walk around the room as fast as we can! You can look at all of the things we have to do, and talk to all of your new friends!”

   Without any further ado, everyone except for me was flinging themselves into the air and zooming around like fighter planes, mostly ignoring the word ‘walk’. I just sat there, avoiding the dancing feet, and fingered the hemming of my purple tee-shirt. It was strange, I thought, how enthusiastic people could be about the stupidest of little things, when they had someone to share them with.

   The stubbornness that got me into so much trouble later on in life must have kicked in early, because when Mrs Smith came over and asked me if I’d like to stand up and have a look around, I replied firmly,

   “I don’t want to.”

   Instead of pushing it, she simply walked away, leaving me feeling strangely worse than before. It wasn’t that I didn’t want friends; I just didn’t think that they would want me, so I was very surprised, when miss black haired beauty made her careful way through the zigzagging kindergarteners and sat down beside me, cocking her pretty head to gaze questioningly at yours truly.

   “Are you sure you aren’t sick?” she asked, the innocent question piercing my heart for the second time in less than twenty minutes. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

   “I’m not sick,” I muttered. “I’m just a different colour.”

   The next question was a logical one, but it left me speechless.

   “Why?” she asked. “Why are you orange?”

   “Ummm...” I blushed, and for a moment I wondered if perhaps she was right after all. Maybe my whole family and our next door neighbours were all sick. Why else would we be the only ones with such strange complexions? I didn’t tell her I had thought that, of course.

   “God made me orange,” I confessed instead. “So I could blend in with... well... oranges, I think. My Mom didn’t tell me yet.”

   “Ohhhh...” Shaniqua smiled, happy with this made up explanation. “I’m Shaniqua. Wanna come draw pictures with me?”

   I wasn’t 100% sure whether that question meant that I was accepted, but I wasn’t going to risk saying no.

   “Sure.”

   I smiled at her, and off we went.

#2 Bailey

Bailey

   Yes, I was scared.

   Yes, I was freaking terrified.

   Yes, the fact that Shaniqua was dead was probably my fault.

   No, I didn’t kill her.

   I should have. I wanted to! But I didn’t. Doesn’t that count for anything?

   I was locked in a dark room. It was literally pitch black. I couldn’t see anything –even when I put my hand straight in front of my eyes I saw nothing.

   Room probably wasn’t even the right word. I could touch the metallic walls on either side of me without stretching my arms. Thank God I wasn’t claustrophobic.

   *

   When the cops came to my house, I was sitting on the front porch, swinging on a little rusty red porch swing.

   There were two of them, both in their late twenties. They were both white.The first one was medium height with a tan complexion and striking black hair. The second was rather tall, with floppy blond hair and a much lighter skintone.

   “Are you Bailey Tanner?” the black-haired one asked, perfectly calm and expressionless.

   I nodded, of course. In Gary, Indiana, where I lived, police knocking on the door isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.

   Honesty, I knew from experience, usually paid off. How was I to know they were going to do this to me? How was I to know that anything like this could possibly happen?

   The other gave a little nod, and before I knew what was happening, the first guy was holding a pair of handcuffs expectantly in front of me.

   “We have a few questions to ask you,” he said grimly. “I'm afraid you're going to have to accompany us to the station.”

   I stared at the handcuffs. They didn't look comfortable. They looked sharp, painful, and relentless. A few questions? I was pretty sure that normally when the police ask you a few questions, they don't drag you off in handcuffs. My pulse began to quicken, as that little switch went off inside, the one that alerts you when something isn't quite right.

   “I haven't done anything wrong...” I said hesitantly. It was a lie, a sentence that not one single person that I knew could tell without some dishonesty, but I wasn't about to get myself locked up. Surely I hadn't done anything to handcuff level?

   The tall one took a step forward. “Look, ma'am. We're not accusing you of anything, but we'd like you to come with us before things get messy.”

   This wasn't what I was used to from cops. I mean, I know a threat when I hear one. That was definitely a threat. And sure, it wasn't that uncommon for cops to get rough, but I was a sixteen year old girl, not a raving lunatic.

   I still held my hands firmly at my sides, but I stood up, realising that there didn't seem to be much chance of getting out of this, whatever it might be.

   “What am I being questioned about?” I asked cautiously, praying that it wasn't a crime which I had actually committed.

   They shared a glance. The tall cop crossed his arms, stereotypically staunch. “I already told you, you're not being accused of anything. When you get to the station, you'll be filled in on the situation. If you are unable to help us, we will escort you home. It's very simple.”

   He face screamed, “liar!”

   I didn't need to be a genius to know that I hadn't been filled in on the whole truth. Why was it that they were so carefully refusing to tell me what the fuck was going on? I was starting to feel kind of pissed off. Their voices, so calm, dark and cold were infuriating. They were like something off of a TV show. No one in real life talked that way. At least, not in Gary. What was with all the “ma'am”s and big words? I honestly felt like I was being spoken to by someone from a different century.

   I quickly assessed the situation. I was pretty sure that there was some law about minors being questioned without an adult present, but having dropped out of school at thirteen, I didn’t know enough to say anything. My mom wasn’t home, and most of the houses along the street were abandoned, or simply unoccupied. If I chose to fight the authority, there was no one there to back me up.

   “Okay,” I said finally. I glanced down the road, but I couldn't see a single car.

   I still didn't hold out my wrists. Call me an idiot, but I really didn't like the look of those things.

   “Do we have to use the... handcuff thingy's?” I looked at them with dislike.

   Once again, the men shared a look.

   “I'm afraid it will be a necessity.” The tall one, clearly the leader, told me, without any change in his tone.

   Seeing no way out of it, I reluctantly held out my wrists. He shook his head. “I’m sorry ma’am; you’re going to have to turn around.”

   He was asking me to hold my hands out behind me, as opposed to in front.

   I looked at the handcuffs. I looked up at the man holding them. I looked at my scarred wrists. I looked back at the man.

   I’ll never know what it was that kicked in then. Adrenaline, maybe, or some sort of foolish haughtiness. Suddenly, I didn’t plan on going anywhere.

   I put my hands on my hips, and stood up to look at him, full height.

   “Tell me what I’m being questioned for,” I said coolly, or I ain’t going nowhere. And you sure as hell are not putting those fuckers on my wrists behind my back.”

   Funny how the country part of me always seemed to kick in when I was pissed off. Probably from watching way too much True Blood.

   Still no change of expression. Jesus Christ these cops were creepy.

   “Ma’am.” he sounded bored. “Do yourself a favour and make this easy.”

   I should have. I should have obediently turned around, held out my wrists, and let them take me away. Hadn’t they said I wasn’t being accused of anything?

   I had often broken the law in my life, without really thinking about what the consequences would be if I got caught. It wasn’t until the police were standing on my doorstep ready to take me away, that I realised just how much I really did care. As bad as Gary might be, it was a damn lot nicer than prison. By that time of course, it was already too late.

   The two cops kept waiting, bored expressions illustrating their emotions.

   I knew that they expected me to come with them, whether straight away, or after a bit more coaxing and possibly some more threats. For some reason, it pissed me off. They thought that they had some sort of power over me. Sure, most cops used it for the greater good, or whatever, but these guys were different. They scared me, and that pissed me off more than almost anything else they could have done.

   So I did something stupid, something so stupid that even Shaniqua would surely have winced.

   “Look, officer.” I glared the tall one straight in the eye. “I haven’t done anything, and I’m not touching your fucked up cuffs. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you want me to answer any questions, you can ask them right here. I’ve lived my whole life in this fucking place and I may not have finished school, but I’m smart enough not to get in a car with a stranger.”

   Tan cop raised his eyebrows. “What car?”

   He was right, of course. I had noticed before that the only car anywhere nearby was an old abandoned Toyota, still wrapped painfully around the power pole it had crashed into almost three years previously. It wasn’t going anywhere.

   Kind of like me.

   I shrugged. “No difference to me. I wouldn’t ride a horse down East 14^th with a stranger.”

   Neither cop said anything. It was kind of frightening, how they seemed to be so perfectly in tune to each other, without a single word spoken between them the entire time they had been there.

   After almost a minute, I broke the silence, saying nonchalantly, “Do whatever you want. I’m not your momma. But I got things to do, so I’d be ‘bliged if y’all would stay off of my property.”

   It didn't occur to me until later, just how childish and immature I must have sounded. It was so obvious that there was nothing in the world that I could do to help my situation. Instead I was making things ten times worse, and making a fool of myself in the process.

   Finally, the dark-haired cop took a step forward, so that his pointy nose was mere centimetres from my forehead. I could smell his warm breath, a minty smell as though he had just brushed his teeth. It was surprisingly pleasant, yet somehow every nerve in my body squirmed at the sensation.

   I wanted to take a step back, but pride and possibly ego kept me firmly in place. My hands remained stoically on my hips, and I looked him in the eye with as much attitude as I could muster, which was quite a lot.

   He didn’t flinch. He returned my glare with a cold satisfaction and said grimly, “Wrong answer.”

#1: Daniel

Daniel

The first thing I noticed about the room was that it was cold. Very cold. Cold enough that even though outside the heat of the sun had been blaring down with unrelenting intensity, suddenly I was regretting not following the advice of my wise old father.

   “The weather can change in a moment,” he used to say, giving me a shrewd look that I knew better than to argue against. “If you have any brains at all in your head, boy, at least take a sweatshirt with you when you know you’ll be out for a long time.”

   I wondered as I gazed at the metallic walls surrounding me, the ugliness seeming to reflect the cold temperature, had I finally proven him right?

   One hand on each side tightly gripped my shoulder. It hurt more than it should have. I wanted to ask them to loosen, just a bit, or at least to take a different grip, but something held me back.

   If I was going down, there was no way I was taking my pride with me.

   At the far end of the room stood three men in suits, all around the age of thirty, leaning against the wall. I didn’t recognise any of them, but if the cold looks I was being given were any indication, they sure as hell recognised me.

   I grimaced. Something told me this was going to be painful.

   The hands gripping my arms yanked me to an abrupt stop. The jerking motion on my shoulder joints was almost more than I could physically bear. Tears were beginning to form in the backs of my eyes but I vowed to myself that I would never let them show.

   A rough shove from behind sent me crashing into the one piece of furniture in the tiny room. It was a table. Wooden, old, and covered in meaningless scribbles, it wasn’t exactly what I would have expected. It was sturdy though, and welcomingly caught me as I slammed my hands into it to hold myself up.

   The men at the wall watched this occurrence with indifference. Their icy expressions breathing unjust hatred never wavered.

   I was on my own here. It was me against all of them, and I had little doubt that there were a lot more of them than the ones that I knew about. Where did they all come from?

   Something Shaniqua had once quoted to me, years ago, something I had never really thought or cared about, suddenly made sense.

   “Shadow people are the brightest of all. You just don’t see them.”

   She was right, as usual. Having been a so called shadow person myself, I should have known better than to underestimate them, as she surely would have pointed out, were she able to see me right now.

   Ironic, I thought bitterly, that if I had paid more attention to some of the things she said, I might not be in this situation. Shaniqua and her philosophical quotes. I was never going to escape from them.

   I heard a loud bang behind me, and spun instantly around at the sound, no doubt to the satisfaction of my enemies. They fed off of my fear.

   A man and a chair were attempting to shove their way through a narrow doorway together. A swear word, a sharp sound like snapping wood, and then the one man I dreaded the most stood before me, a look of grim displeasure clouding his already unattractive features.

   “I thought I’d find you here,” he said, and my blood ran cold.

This is told from two points of view, so the chapter thingys alternate between Daniel and Bailey. Enjoy!