The Last Girl Read online

The Last Girl

  Laura A. Ellison

  Copyright 2011

  Books written by Laura A. Ellison can be obtained by through select, online book retailers.

  *****

  Part One–FriendsRing

  Chapter One

  “Go ahead,” the boy’s father said. “Touch her...”

  The boy, no older than five, was standing knee-deep in the icy cold, brackish river water, which was soaking through his jeans, making him shiver. His father stood behind him, leather jacket zipped up, long hair whipping in the breeze.

  The April afternoon was gray, the clouds fat with rain. The boy’s mother had returned to work after staying home for weeks, her grief over the baby subsiding. The boy had grown used to her being around, he felt safe in her presence. With his father, he was always afraid, because the man was unpredictable and selfish. Sometimes, he would be gone for days, and the boy would go with his mother to his grandmother’s house. The boy would play with her poodles in the yard and color in her old coloring books as she crocheted. She would pick him up from school, her warm presence as steady as a rock. Then his father would return, and the boy and his mother would go back to the other house, of coldness and silence.

  The boy looked down at the face in the water, his father’s hand at his shoulder. The boy bent over and looked closer at the dark hair, crusted with mud and brown leaves, the lips bloated, the eyes swollen shut. She was naked, turned on her side, one arm covering her breast, the curve of her hip obscured by branches.

  He took a step back, but his father‘s grip tightened.

  “Touch her. Don’t be afraid.”

  The boy knew that if he touched the dead white skin, his father would let him leave. They could go home or to the club-house, where Rhonda, Dirk’s old lady, would make him a hot chocolate.

  The tips of his fingers dipped into the water, the cold going up his arm, through his coat. He quickly brushed his fingers against the doughy flesh, then he pulled his fingers away as if burned.

  His father laughed; the same husky, almost choking, sound he made when he was smoking and drinking at the club-house. Sometimes, his dark eyes would get wet with laughing tears, the once-handsome face aging hard, but all of the brothers were wild, and the boy knew to be careful around them.

  He felt nothing but relief when his father let go of his shoulder. “Come on; let’s go to the club-house. But don’t tell any of them what I showed you out here. Got it?”

  The boy did not miss the tone in his father’s voice. “I won’t tell anyone, Dad.”

  *****

  The blaring of the alarm clock yanked Sonya Neslund out of a deep sleep. In minutes, she would forget her dream of walking through the hallways of Marine General Hospital’s Cancer Center, the white walls and gray floors turning into a maze as she called for her mother, Carolyn.

  She opened her eyes, realizing that she was sleeping in the attic at her Uncle Bill’s house.

  Her new bedroom.

  Sonya slammed the button on the clock. She was slow in the mornings, and her father, Aron, made her set the alarm an hour before she was to go to her bus stop.

  He’s going to make sure I never miss a day, she thought.

  She put her terry-cloth robe on over her summer nightgown, an extra-large T-shirt. She took the short ladder downstairs to the bathroom.

  After her shower, she blow-dried her thick, orange-red hair, keeping it loose as she dressed in new jeans and a gray T-shirt with navy-blue jersey sleeves. She wore no makeup on her fair, freckled skin or around her green eyes, the lashes almost pale.

  She entered the kitchen, but Aron and Bill were nowhere in sight. Bill’s dog Helga was also gone. Sonya approached the counter and found the yellow Post-It note:

  ‘Went out to find B. Go out to bus stop at seven-thirty.”

  Aron did not sign the note, but Sonya was no stranger to these messages; Bill had wandered off in the night before, Helga following him. Sonya had even joined in the search, the neighbors well aware that someone with Alzheimer’s disease lived on their block.

  Sonya still had fifteen minutes, so she ate a piece of toast, unenthusiastic about her first day of school.

  She knew no kids at East Marine High School; a different district, her friends from Stark Junior High would be going on to Oakwood High School. When Sonya moved in with her father and Bill, she knew she would be going to East Marine. She would be a new kid in her freshman class.

  Sonya grabbed her backpack, deciding to go out early.

  *****

  She could see the yellow school bus in the distance as she stood at the end of the driveway.

  The morning was humid but cool. A few leaves were changing color already, birds chirping inside the maple tree.

  Sonya slid the backpack off her shoulder, a few notebooks, pens and pencils, laptop, and cell phone inside.

  She looked down the street, certain this was her bus. She checked her watch. Seven forty-five. Classes would start right at eight.

  She was going to be late.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when the bus turned the corner, completely ignoring her.

  The school was miles away; even if she caught a ride, she would be late. She could imagine the look on Aron’s face. He was already disgusted with her about last year, when she almost flunked, her grades dropping as her mother fought the lung cancer that would take her life by April.

  Aron had been a teacher for over ten years by the time Sonya was born, and education was how he had earned a living in the U.S. after moving from the Netherlands by way of Canada, where he attended college in Ontario.

  “The only reason you passed,” he said, “was because your teachers felt sorry for you, and so did Cal. But you won’t get away with that living with me.”

  Sonya went back into the house. She pulled out her cell phone, knowing she should call her father. Instead, she decided to wait awhile.

  *****

  “What are you doing here?” Aron asked.

  “The bus never came.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Bill and his Helga, the white and brown Boxer, had followed Aron into the house, Bill wearing the same tired, annoyed expression he always showed after wandering off. He was still in his pajamas, the brown fabric bringing out the pale blue of his eyes, his thick head of white hair sticking up, a layer of growth on his face.

  Sonya did not answer her father, and Bill raised his eyebrows. Aron shook his head, the auburn hair also messy. His green gaze, so much like Sonya’s, along with his wide forehead, hooked nose, and strong jaw, made more than one woman think the Neslund brothers were the most handsome men in the area.

  “Sonya,” Aron began, “why couldn’t—”

  She jumped from the chair, yanking her backpack from the table. “Cal used to drive me to my first day every year! Not that you’d know—”

  “Get in the truck.”

  “I’d rather walk!”

  “I’ll go with you,” Bill said.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” Aron replied.

  “Okay. I’ll be all right.”

  Aron reached over, opening the tiny window in the medication organizer on the counter. “Take your meds.”

  *****

  The ride was silent and cold, Sonya’s face turned towards the window as she tried to gulp down the lump in her throat. Aron drove as fast as he could, slowing down when he reached the parking lot of East Marine High School, a sprawling one-story building constructed in the 1960s. The buses were gone, everyone inside.

  Sonya exited the truck, slamming the door shut without looking at her father.

  He saw her walk away, her head down. He noticed the sun shining on her red hair, remindin
g him of Carolyn for a moment. In spite of himself, he smiled. “Have a good day!”

  Sonya ignored him, opening the front door.

  *****

  She found her home room, trying not to hear the giggles or see the finger pointing, as Mrs. Morrison handed her some paperwork. Sonya sat at a long table, not making eye contact, the hard look on her face was enough to keep anyone from speaking to her.

  The wait was long before Sonya and the other students were handed their schedules. She could feel her mood lift, her gaze moving from the refrigerator and ovens, drifting to the magazine picture cut-outs of food stapled to the walls against construction paper. However, no smiling faces greeted her within the shaggy or choppy haircuts. There were also girls who wore tight buns, as if they were gymnasts or ballerinas, along with a few black-haired Goths, wearing nose-rings and pale makeup against red lipstick. A junior ballerina was chewing gum, popping pink bubbles against her pink lip gloss. She even wore a pink sweater. One boy, whose bloodshot eyes made him look stoned, brushed the dust off his new sneakers. Another boy kept staring past Sonya, then would look to the girl in the pink sweater, as if he wanted her opinion.

  “When I get home, I’m going to hang myself.”

  Sonya thought the words were coming from a girl next to her. She turned and took in the blond-haired boy, his hair cut short above the ears and parted to the side, the bangs covering the forehead. His features were small, blue eyes impish. He wore a loose red neckerchief with a white T-shirt, sporting Boy George and Culture Club in black, red, blue. His jeans and sneakers looked new.

  He was wearing red nail polish.

  “Cheer up,” he said. “Half of them won’t be around for graduation day.”

  “Did you go to the middle school?” Sonya asked.

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say.”

  “I went to Stark Junior High.”

  “I went there for part of sixth grade. My name is Bobby Chambers.”

  “I’m Sonya Neslund.”

  Bobby frowned as he took in each of his classes on the sheet of paper. “Are you taking algebra in the morning, Sonya?”

  “Yes. First period.”

  He rose from his chair. “Then let’s go meet Mr. Yates.”

  *****

  “Bobby! Wait a minute!”

  In the crush of students in the hallway, gray locker doors slamming shut, Sonya could barely hear one single voice, but Bobby turned around. “Hey, Princess.”

  Sonya could feel the girl come up behind her, long blonde locks brushing against her arm.

  “Sonya Neslund,” Bobby said, “this is Piper Jones.”

  The first thing Sonya noticed was how closely Piper and Bobby resembled each other; they could be brother and sister, except for Piper’s impressive height.

  Piper Jones was almost five feet, eight inches tall. A healthy tan and blue eyes complemented her hair and blue sleeveless T-shirt and jeans, red pumps on her feet. She wore a silver heart-shaped locket and diamond studs in her earlobes. Her big smile and high cheekbones were highlighted by only a little makeup. She was carrying a red Chanel bag with her backpack in a matching shade.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Bobby asked.

  Piper playfully smacked him on the arm with the red bag. “Don’t let him fool you, Sonya. He loses his charm by lunch.”

  Bobby straightened his kerchief. “I never lose my charm. Where are the other future Desperate Housewives?”

  Piper waved her hand. “All around. I spoke to Kelly and Anna and Courtney—”

  “Piper!”

  A girl with brown hair in a ponytail, wearing a red and gray argyle sweater twisted through the crowd. “Are you going to History?”

  “No. Biology.”

  “So is Anna. Have you seen Jessica? They all Tweeted me but her.”

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  “Hi, Bobby.”

  “Hi. This is Sonya. Sonya, Kelly Watkins.”

  “Hi, Kelly.”

  Kelly nodded a hello, but kept her eyes on Piper. “No one I know is in my classes.”

  “Are you in Honors English?”

  “No. General.”

  “I think Courtney is in General.” Piper turned to Bobby. “I gotta find the lab. See ya, Kell. Nice meeting you, Sonya.”

  Piper turned left down the hallway, and Sonya continued to follow Bobby.

  “Kelly is one of those types who would die if she had to eat her lunch alone,” Bobby said.

  “Does Piper have a lot of friends?”

  “Yes, she does, although she was the new kid at the middle school last year. She used to go to the Crandall Academy in North Marine.” Sonya was not going to ask, but Bobby answered the question. “She got expelled.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess they don’t like girl-on-girl at Crandall.”

  Sonya stopped just steps from Mr. Yates’s classroom door. “Piper is gay?”

  “Proud, but not out.”

  “Oh.”

  “Who wants to be gay in high school, right?”

  Sonya shrugged. “I can understand—”

  “Oh, well, it’s not like I could hide it. By the seventh grade, everyone knew I was the gay kid.”

  “I don’t care what everyone thinks.”

  “Can’t make friends that way.”

  “Then why are you talking to me?”

  “I like the non-conformist types.”

  She opened the door, excited voices blaring from the classroom. “Then you’re going to love me.”

  *****

  Jessica Holden had also been running late that morning, but she knew where to wait for the bus, along with a few other students meeting at the end of her block.

  She was in the kitchen, fully dressed, drinking orange juice when the glass slipped from her fingers, juice splashing on her white, short-sleeved blouse. With only a few minutes to change, she grabbed a T-shirt off her bed. Jess was still tucking it into the waistband of her jeans as she ran out the front door.

  The driveway was short, but trees surrounded the ranch-style house, leading to the road. Jess would have walked faster, but she was wearing the wrong shoes. She heard Piper was going to wear red pumps, so she wore the same.

  The driveway was not paved, and the pumps’ heels dug into the ground with each step, Jess regretting her choice as the back of the shoes rubbed against her bare heels.

  I should have worn socks, she thought. Now I’ll have blisters.

  Jess was half-way down the drive when she heard footsteps in the trees behind her, to her right. She continued to walk, putting more urgency in her steps. She was almost past the trees when she was tackled to the side and knocked to the ground.

  She landed on her back, his knee pinning her down at the chest. Jess took in the black sweatshirt and old jeans and boots, a black ski mask covering the face and head.

  His build was slight, but Jess felt like a turtle on its shell as she tried to wiggle away. He pressed his other knee into her right elbow, one hand digging into her thick brown hair, keeping her head in place.

  Jess had a few seconds to realize she was not breathing, and she needed to calm down to think. Her left hand was free, and she grabbed at him, but she felt the cold, sharp blade slice into the flesh of her inner arm below the wrist.

  Her screams began as squeals, his hand sliding from her hair, over her nose, covering her mouth.

  The blade found her right cheek, then the left. Deep, quick slashes, then over the bridge of the nose and up to the forehead, a clumsy horizontal line going into her scalp.

  Jess continued to squeal and wiggle, blood soaking from between his fingers to her lips and mouth. The metallic taste spread over her tongue, and she stopped moving.

  The blade left her face, his right hand pulling back. He looked down at her for a moment, her brown eyes wide with fear, focused only on him. She tried to suck air between his fingers and the blood.

  He was slow ge
tting off of her; one knee, then the next. She stayed still, hoping he would go away.

  He ran back into the trees seconds later, Jess only aware of her breathing and the pale blue sky. She was in shock, the cuts on her face and arm numb until later, although some blood remained in her mouth.

  The red shoes were still on her feet, the backpack underneath her. Like most students at East Marine, she would not be allowed to use her cell phone on campus, but could carry it with her.

  She heard the ringtone, Culture Club’s ‘Karma Chameleon,‘ although she made no move to get the phone out of her backpack.

  The song was half-way through (every day is like survival...) until Jess thought about getting off the ground. She had no choice; one of her friends could be calling, someone would want to know why she did not make it to school.

  “...red, gold, and green. Red, gold, and green...”

  She only chose that song because Bobby already had “I’ll Tumble 4 Ya” on his phone. She would have preferred something by Rihanna or Lady Gaga.

  I’m going to change it, she thought.

  The phone stopped. She turned her head to the side to spit out some blood, and she felt the first stinging sensation of pain in her cheek. Later, she would not be able to open her mouth to talk or eat without the cuts sending pain all over her face, the nerve endings needing weeks to heal.

  The scars would take years.

  No one came looking for Jess right away. The school did not reach her mother at work until hours later. By then, Jess had called 9-1-1 on her own. When the police found her, she was sobbing, sitting up in the driveway, rocking herself back and forth. The blood had dripped from the slashes, soaking into her clothes and hair. She had taken off her red shoes, placed next to her backpack.

  Chapter Two

  Sonya managed to get on the right bus home, which was driven by a Mr. Wells, who was close to retirement. During the route, Sonya received a tour of the several blocks around her neighborhood, situated near busy Farm Road, also known as M-32.

  Marine, a city of almost one hundred and seventy thousand, sprawled across the westernmost edge of the Lake Michigan shoreline. The low standard of life made natives move away; a job at McDonald’s or Wal-Mart could not support a family, so only some sense of guilt or obligation could make the young stay. Bill, who was forced into retirement because of the Alzheimer’s, had worked in Maintenance at Michigan Paper Products for almost thirty years, but good wages were a thing of the past for most Mariners, the remaining manufacturing jobs paying less than nine dollars an hour.