Page 73 of Ordinary Girl

Clutching a small bunch of daisies, I stop at the gates of the cemetery and take a second. I’ve never been here alone, since Mama died: since I found myself in this crazy, messed-up world. I haven’t been anywhere alone, not really. And it’s actually a little weird knowing I’m not being trailed or watched or… maybe I still am, I don’t know. I guess the paranoia is never going to go away.

It's a beautiful day today. The sun is shining, there’s barely a cloud in the sky, and I look up and smile and remember how, on days like this, when Mama would take a rare day off, we’d go into town and have lunch at a pavement café and people-watch for hours. We’d talk about music and fashion and I feel my stomach ache when I think back to those days. She never let me see how worried she really was, how much stress she was under, and I feel guilt and sadness swamp me, so much so that I have to lean back against a tree for a moment to catch my breath. I wish she’d told me. Maybe things could’ve been different. Maybe…

Clutching the daisies tighter, I finally make my way into the cemetery, walking slowly along the pathway that leads to the spot where my mama is buried. And I don’t even know if that was something she wanted – to be buried. It wasn’t something we’d ever talked about: death. Why would we have? I’d thoughtMama was always going to be there, losing her wasn’t something I’d ever thought about.

I swallow hard and blink back tears as I approach the pretty little area where Mama’s body lies. And no matter what I think about the Vikings, they spared nothing when it came to getting her a beautiful headstone, which just serves to confuse me even more. What they are, and what they can sometimes be is jarring, which is why I often don’t know what to think. What to believe. And then I think back to that fateful night, when Mama was shot: what happened to me, and I know nothing good can come out of who those men are. There’s a level of evil that runs through all of them, there has to be, I can think of no other reason why anyone would choose to live this life. A life I’ve chosen to live…

I take another second. Another deep breath. And then I start to walk over to Mama’s grave, but as I catch sight of it, I stop. Because someone is already there. A man. He’s alone, crouching down, his head bowed. He’s dressed in a suit, so he’s not somebody from the club, maybe he’s a friend of Mama’s…?

I don’t know what to do, so I wait another couple of minutes: watch this stranger as he stands up, slides his hands into his pockets, his shoulders sagging. I start to walk toward him, and then he turns around, and I stop again. Should I be scared? There’s something about this stranger that unnerves me a little. But then his expression changes, and he smiles, he must be a friend of Mama’s.

“Are you… are you a friend of Sofia’s?” I ask, my fingers clinging even tighter onto the small bunch of daisies.

He doesn’t reply. He just keeps staring at me, which unnerves me even more, and now I’m wishing I was still being shadowed by club members. I’m wishing one of them was within shouting distance.

I turn back around without even thinking about it, I just want to get away. But then…

“Ana!”

How does he know my name? How…?

“Ana, please…”

I don’t want to stop, I want to keep on running, but for some reason I come to a standstill. But I keep my back to this man, my heart beating wildly, my breath catching in my throat as I feel for my phone. Why did I stop? I’m willing my legs to move again, to take me away from this situation but it’s like they’re suddenly made of lead. And I can hear him coming toward me, which causes my heart to beat even faster, it’s like I can’t breathe.

“Don’t be scared, Ana. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

I close my eyes, say a silent prayer, clutching the daisies with one hand and my phone with the other. Is this it? Is this the danger Skip warned me about? Am I going to die, like Mama…?

“Ana…”

I slowly open my eyes. His voice is soft, there’s no hint of menace there. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t seeking to harm me.

“Look at me, Ana. Please. Look at me.”

I don’t want to. I don’t want to turn around, don’t want to look at him, I just want to run, but if I do that: if I run, is he going to shoot me? Are there others waiting, somewhere, to grab me if I try to escape? My throat feels like it’s closing up, tightening to the point where I can’t breathe properly, and I know it’s a panic attack.

“Ana?”

My legs give way beneath me and I fall to the ground, or I almost do, because this stranger catches me before I hit the grass.

“Ana, are you alright?”

He’s got me. There’s nowhere to run now. No escape. So I keep my eyes closed and wait…

“Come on. I’m taking you someplace safe.”

And that’s when I find my voice. When I find my strength. When I fight to get away from him, but he’s too strong, too determined to keep hold of me.

“Ana, please, I’m not going to hurt you.”

I don’t believe him. I don’t. “Just let me go!”

But even I know that’s a weak and pointless protest. A request he’s not going to honor.

“Please, just let me go.” I hadn’t wanted to sound weak, but pleading with him might be the only way to go, because I’m scared. So scared. “Please.”

He pulls me to my feet, and the last thing I want to do is look at him but I can’t stop myself from doing just that. He doesn’t look like a biker, but that doesn’t mean he’s not part of a club. An associate. Someone the Hawks have called in to do their dirty work for them?

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