Page 103 of Death Wish

As the lull of sleep entwined me like a serpent, images floated to the surface of my mind.

I was a boy no older than six, looking at my face in the reflection of a river’s shallow edge. My skin was the darkest shade of brown and perfectly smooth in my youth. Although I knew from some distant memory I had been told to stay away from the waters that had been flooded from a recent heavy rain, the desire to jump in and ride the current was overwhelming. Especially since I was being teased a lot from the other village children for not knowing how to swim. At least, that was what they claimed. I thought I could swim just fine. And I was determined to show them they were wrong.

But the moment I stepped my muddy bare feet into the icy water, the world around me shifted. The forest vegetation and river were lost to a blur of colors.

When the picture before me reformed, a crowd of angry faces stared back at me. Men, women, and even children sneered my way. Some cursed, calling me a harlot and witch in another language. Something hard struck the side of my face. I cried out as sharpness sliced across my cheek.

A rock? Someone had thrown a rock at me?

When I tried to tug at my wrists, I found them bound behind my back and tethered to a pole. Even more horrifying, I was sitting on top of a pile of wood and straw.

These people were going to kill me. And watch my death for entertainment.

As a scream crawled up my throat, the faces before me blended together, and the scene changed again.

This time, I was running. My bare feet flew over a forest floor, my breathing coming out in short, frantic bursts in the frigid night air. I kept glancing over my shoulder. A giant lumbering man followed me, and it seemed no matter how fast I ran, he was closing the distance. There was something in his hand, too. Something long and solid. A branch? A bat? Who knew what he’d grabbed this time in his drunken rage.

Like with the other visions, bits and pieces of information came floating back from the recesses of my memory. This man wasn’t a stranger. He was my stepfather, and like he did when he drank too much, he wanted do things to me that weren’t allowed. But now that I was older and getting stronger, I fought him. Mostly, I ran or hid. But that made him mad, and his anger had turned physical. Brutal. Deadly.

The absolute fear churning inside told me that this night wasn’t like those other nights. This time, if he caught me, he’d kill me. If I could just get to our neighbor’s house down the hill, I could ask for help. I could be safe.

In my panicked thinking, I misjudged my next step and tumbled down, down, down the steep angle of the hill. Everything spun. Sticks and rocks bit into my skin all over. It felt like I was falling for eternity, but then I suddenly stopped.

Everything hurt. My fingertips on my right hand were numb. The pain radiating from my shoulder down was excruciating—dislocated, I assumed, but I knew despite all my pain, nothing would compare to what my stepfather would do if he caught up to me.

I looked up at the glowing lights and smoking chimney of my neighbor’s house like a beacon from God. So close. Salvation was just a few feet away.

I just had to get up and knock on the door.

The crunch of boots by my head tensed every muscle in my body. The pinching, sour scent of liquor confirmed all my fears. And his voice sent chills all over my skin.

“I tol’ you not to run,” he slurred, but I could make out the threat to his words just the same. It was my fault. Everything he did was my fault.

A scream bubbled up my throat, but before any sound escaped, the scene went black again.

Then, like rapid fire, faces passed in front of my eyes. Women, men, children of all shapes, skin tones, sizes, and ages flashed across my mind in quick succession, like someone was flipping through one of those old flip books or clicking through a vacation photo reel too fast to really see the pictures. Who were all these people? And why did they feel familiar to me?

Why was I seeing them at all? That was the biggest question.

Was this like the old saying? My life flashing before my eyes? But I was seeing other people’s lives instead. Not one or two. Dozens—no hundreds, all flying by in rapid succession.

I didn’t understand. What were they trying to show me?

“Jade?”

My name floated to my ears from a distant place. A voice I knew, too. It was a kind, gentle voice, but one ebbed with concern. Like a mother coaxing a child to their side. Or a friend.

Was this another vision?

“Jade, please wake up.”

No. Not a vision. This was real.

Recognition tingled at the nape of my neck. Friend. It was a friend talking to me now.

Kay?

“Is she dead?” Another voice chimed in—a male’s, also familiar. A bit shaky with nerves but sweet nonetheless. His name snapped forward. It was Laurence. “Can reapers…die?”

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