AFTER YOU SAVED ME // ZESSA

Chapter 25: Donna

Zed's POV

By the time we get to this mysterious street Hardin remembered, the sun is almost setting. We pull up to the end of a crowded cul-de-sac in an area of town I had always made sure to avoid.

The houses are run down, with brown patchy grass and overgrown trees adorning each lawn. Even though the homes are in rough shape, there is clearly life behind the cracked old windows and rusty front doors. Some have dozens of children's toys cluttering the front lawns and driveways, while others were filled with fixer-upper cars held up on jacks – all missing a tire or two.

"You used to meet Dan here?" I ask apprehensively, my eyes landing on a dark home with a few seedy looking people on the porch smoking out of a pipe – eyeing both of us suspiciously.

"I did what I had to for some good weed back then," Hardin says quietly as we both get out of the car. "That's the house," he says, pointing to the exact house I was hoping to avoid.

"You want us to go talk to them?" I ask incredulously, noticing the deep bruises on the inside of their arms – clearly junkies. Though their lack of outerwear at the end of October already gave that away, along with the dead look in their hallow eyes.

"They're harmless. A mere gust of wind could take them out at this point," he says, British accent unusually thick as he walks up towards the house.

I follow of course, though it is not the situation I was hoping to find – but knowing Hardin past I do not know why I expected anything else.

"Hey there," Hardin says, shooting them a friendly smile.

Two guys and a girl look up slowly, as if they are on some sort of delay, even blinking slowly.

"What do you want, cutie," the very skinny looking girl, about our age, asks Hardin with a smile. I swallow a bit in repulsion when she flashes us her nearly brown and black teeth, the skin around her mouth scabbed and dry.

Hardin falters for a moment as well, then continues his charismatic display. "I'm looking for someone. A guy named Dan. Used to sell out of this house – brown hair, about this tall," he says, holding a flat hand a couple inches above his shoulder.

"I don't know any Dan's, but I would like to know you better, Mr. Harry Potter," she says, her dark matted hair nearly covering both eyes as she makes fun of Hardin's accent.

I practically choke on my laugh as Hardin glares back at her.

"Do you know anyone who might know him?" Hardin presses, no longer smiling and growing more agitated, his hands tensing at his sides as her smile fades.

"Please, we need to find him," I chime in, trying to ease the atmosphere.

"Maybe," she huffs with an annoyed grin. "Hey Mikey, a few guys are asking about a Dan," she yells into the house behind her.

A moment later, a large, tattooed man in a white tank top and jeans emerges from the doorway. He does not look sick the others – his huge muscles and well-fed physic evidently on display. I almost take a step back I find him so intimidating – this man could easily take on both me and Hardin.

"Who wants to know?" the man named Mikey asks in a deep voice, the tear drop tattoo on his cheek catching my attention. He must be in his 30s, maybe late 20s by the looks of him.

"I am. I need to find him," Hardin says, his eyes serious as I shoot him a warning glance.

"Don't we all. That fucker still owes me money. You friends of his?" he asks, sizing up both of us as he cracks his knuckles.

"NO," Hardin and I say in unison.

Mikey makes an amused face, entertained by our clear hatred for Dan, as the girl with the matted hair giggles.

"I guess no one likes this Dan guy," she smiles, biting her lip as the skin around the corner of her mouth cracks and bleeds.

"Go inside, Tammie," he says without looking at her.

Her smile drops and she reluctantly heads indoors.

"I don't know where he is, but I know where his mother might be," Mikey says casually.

"His mother?" Hardin asks, thrown off by Mikey's statement. "Dan never mentioned his mother. I didn't even think he had one if I am being honest."

I try to think back to any conversation I had ever had with Dan, and he never mentioned his family once.

"He does, though I'm pretty sure he hates the woman. Not even sure they still talk," Mikey says, picking at something in his teeth.

"Can you tell us where to find her?" Hardin asks bluntly.

"Let's see... it's Friday, so she should be at Cindy's Pub," he says, scratching at the scruff on his face and straining to think.

Hardin is off in an instant, not even bothering to say goodbye to the man.

"Her name?" I ask, not wanting to make an enemy of this man by being blatantly rude.

"Donna. And if you end up finding Dan, remind him he owes Mikey his money," he says with a wink.

"Sure, thanks," I say with a nod, before heading to Hardin's car.

-

Cindy's Pub is only a few minutes from Mikey's place, which is a relief as the sun has already set and I do not want to spend too any longer in this area after dark than needed.

We pull into a shabby looking parking lot in front of the bar and park next to the front door. There are only a couple cars in the lot so finding her should not be too hard as long as she is here.

We walk up to the doors, careful to avoid the broken beer bottle on the ground and enter the questionable looking establishment.

"You think they check ID's here?" I ask sarcastically, nodding towards the clearly underage couple making out in the corner.

Hardin merely glances at me then heads towards the bar.

An older woman, maybe in her 60s, is tending the warn down wooden bar area when we approach.

"Hello, I'm wondering if you can help me with something?" Hardin asks, once again putting on his fake, but effective, smile.

She stops cleaning the beer glass to look up at us, her eyes shifting from Hardin to myself. Looking down, she returns to her work and says, "And I'm wondering if you can help me with something – it's called my bills. Order a drink," she says tactfully, looking up at both of us.

Her voice is raspy, like she has been smoking a pack a day since she was 10 – and the wrinkles covering her face and neck only increase my suspicions.

"Fine, he'll have a jack and coke," Hardin says, clearly annoyed.

I smile at her and take the drink, not wanting to upset either of them by refusing.

"Now, I was wondering if you'd ever heard of a woman named Donna, maybe seen her around here?" Hardin asks through gritted teeth.

The bartender is just about to answer when another, deeper, raspier voice behind us says, "I'm Donna, who's askin'?"

Turning around, we see a larger, clearly drunk woman with Dan's exact facial features aged about 30 years standing in front of us.

Assessing us with her eyes, her face contorts into a scowl as the deep wrinkles crease on her forehead, "This better not be about my idiot kid." 

A/N: Now that the holidays are over, I'll be back to posting 2-3 times a week Monday - Friday. Happy reading  =]