The Face of Death

devised.

But Sarah had recently seen the future, and it had changed her view of things. She'd found out what happened in the dorms of the older girls. Here, she was being asked to hand over a pillow. There, she might be asked to hand over herself.

The idea of this tapped into something in Sarah, something unyielding and angry and stubborn. Sarah had spent a lot of time observing Kirsten. She realized that the older girl relied entirely on her size and strength. There was nothing skillful about her attacks. She always-- always--went for the slap first. Sarah had received enough of them. Teeth-rattling, bone-jarring, raising bruises that could last a week.

Now was no different. Kirsten stepped forward, cocked her arm back, and sent her hand whistling through the air toward Sarah's cheek. It was the kind of attack that only worked on opponents who were too afraid to fight back. Sarah did what anyone would do if they weren't afraid--she ducked.

Kirsten's hand passed through the air above her head. A look of pure surprise crossed the older girl's face.

Now, while she's off balance!

Sarah's life was simple. Wake up, shower, eat, school, and then back to the dorms or common areas. It gave her plenty of time to think about things when she needed to. Consideration had revealed to her that a closed fist was superior to an open hand. She stood up, cocked her arm back, made a fist, and punched Kirsten in the nose as hard as she could, her whole body behind it. The impact shocked her.

That hurt!

It hurt Kirsten too. Blood burst from both nostrils and the bully stumbled back, falling, landing on her butt.

Now, finish her. Don't let her get up!

Sarah had seen girls oppose Kirsten's reign of terror twice before. She'd noticed in those instances that Kirsten wasn't satisfied with a slap or two. One of the girls had been kicked unconscious, and then Kirsten had shaved her head. The second girl had her arm bent behind her back until it broke with a horrible, audible crack. Kirsten had stripped her naked while the girl screamed, and then had locked her out in the hallway.

Sarah knew that this defeat would have to be just as decisive. Kirsten was already struggling to get back up. Sarah kicked her in the face. Her foot caught Kirsten in the mouth, causing her lower lip to split open. Kirsten's eyes bugged out, she screeched in pain, and there was blood everywhere.

A dark and savage joy began rising in Sarah. This wasn't waiting for something bad to happen. This wasn't waking up from one nightmare to find yourself living another. This was better

This was under her control.

She kicked Kirsten again, this time catching her in the nose. The older girl's head snapped back, and the blood sprayed, a brief but satisfying fountain. Kirsten looked up at Sarah in terror. Sarah's nostrils flared at the sight of it.

More. Don't stop.

She jumped onto Kirsten, pushing the girl onto her back, and she began to punch her, over and over and over, until her fists went numb, and then she stood up and kicked Kirsten in the stomach, arms, chest, legs. The older girl curled into herself, trying to protect her face. Sarah didn't feel out of control. Just the opposite. She felt detached. Joyous, but detached. Like she was eating a particularly delicious piece of cake in a dream. She stopped when Kirsten began to sob.

Sarah stood over her for a moment, catching her breath. Kirsten was sobbing, her arms curled around her head. Sarah caught glimpses of bleeding lips, a crooked nose, an eye that had begun to swell shut. You'll live.

She got down on her knees and put her lips up to Kirsten's ear.

'If you ever try to hurt me again, I'll kill you. Do you hear me?'

'Y-y-yes!'

A thunderclap inside her, and the anger was gone. Just like that. Something her mother had once said came to her.

'If you can turn your enemies into friends, then you'll live a better life, babe.'

She hadn't known what it meant at the time. She thought she might, now.

She stuck her hand out.

'Come on. I'll help you get cleaned up.'

Kirsten peeked an eye out, still fearful. She gave Sarah's hand a distrustful look.

'Why would you help me?'

'I don't want to be your boss, Kirsten. I just want you to leave me alone.' She leaned forward, wiggled her hand. 'Come on.'

After a few more seconds of disbelief, Kirsten uncurled. She sat up, eyeing Sarah with a mixture of fear and interest. Her hand was shaking as she reached out to take Sarah's. She winced as she stood up. Kirsten's face was a mess.

'I think I broke your nose.'

'Yeah.'

Sarah shrugged. 'Sorry. Do you want me to help you clean your face in the bathroom?'

Kirsten regarded the smaller girl for a moment. 'Nah. I'll go myself, and then I'll go see the nurse.' Kirsten tried to smile, failed, and shrugged instead. 'I'll tell her I slipped and fell on my face.'

Sarah watched as the older girl limped off. Once she was gone, Sarah sat down on her bunk and put her head in her hands. Her adrenaline rush was over. She felt shaky and a little sick to her stomach.

She lay back and looked up at the bottom of the bed above her. Maybe things are going to get better now.

It had been two years. Two years since her parents died and Theresa killed Dennis and she came here to this violent, friendless place. The Stranger still visited her dreams sometimes, but less and less.

She was only eight, but she wasn't an innocent anymore. She knew about death and blood and violence. She understood that the strong survived better than the weak. She knew what sex was, in all its guises, though she had (thankfully) not yet experienced it firsthand. She'd also learned to hide her emotions, or evidence of them. She had three objects, three talismans, whose meanings she kept hidden from the other girls. There was Mr. Huggles. There was a family picture of her, Mommy, Daddy, Buster, and Doreen. And there was the photo of Theresa's mother.

She'd grabbed it from its hiding place underneath Theresa's mattress. She intended to return it to Theresa someday. She thought about her sister a lot, sometimes. She knew she'd always consider Theresa a sister, that she'd always remember that one safe night of Go Fish and laughter. She knew she'd never forget why Theresa had done what she did. Sarah understood all of that, now. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the picture of the beautiful young mother. Sarah ran her fingers over it, smiling at the laughing eyes and chestnut hair.

She knew that Theresa was in juvenile detention until she was eighteen. Cathy Jones had told her.

Three more years, and she'll be free.

She put the photo back, and laced her fingers behind her head. She'd tried writing Theresa once. Just a short, silly little letter. Sarah had gotten a two-sentence response back:

Don't write me while I'm in here. I love you. Sarah understood. She fantasized sometimes about Theresa turning eighteen and coming to adopt her. Silly dreams, she knew. She couldn't help it.

Cathy Jones came to see her every three or four months. Sarah welcomed her visits, though she was curious about the woman's reasons. Cathy was very hard to read. Whatever. Just don't lose her card.

Sarah had begun to think like a survivor. To classify things as assets or liabilities. Assets were important. Cathy was an asset. Cathy could find out about important things, like Theresa, or the fact that Doreen had been adopted by John and Jamie Overman. Things like that. Other than Cathy, Karen Watson had been her only contact with the outside world. Sarah grimaced. She understood what Theresa had meant by 'pure evil' now. Karen Watson wasn't just uncaring--she despised the children she was responsible for. She was one of the few people Sarah really hated.

A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. She sat up. Janet poked her head into the room.

'Sarah? Karen's here to see you.'