The Middle of the End

Chapter two

Chapter Two: Same Faces, Different People

(NOTE. 'This is Sign Language.'

Uncle Paul died on Daryl's fourteenth birthday but I didn't find out until a week later during one of Will's drug-induced rages. Daryl was at school; I'd made him promise me he wouldn't drop out. He was my only outlet to the outside world. I couldn't even leave the backyard.

At some point I think I'd developed a small crush on him, knowing nothing would happen because I wasn't pretty like the girls I sometimes saw on TV. I wasn't smart, or talented. I had no redeeming qualities. No one would ever love someone like me. I was told every day. Mama and Shane probably gave up on me, because they never came for me.

The only way out was death.

After my second failed suicide attempt, Daryl promised to get me out. Now that Uncle Paul was gone, Will was too drunk to keep tabs on me all the time. I could run to the police. And tell them what? I couldn't hardly talk anymore. My writing was so horrible it was hard to make out.

"Cal? You here?" Daryl called, throwing his school books in his room like he always did. I knocked twice on the closet floor. Will had locked me in before he left this morning. Daryl undid the various locks and opened the door. He gasped, "What happened?!"

"Got in the way." I whispered, slowly standing up. my head had been smashed through a window and dried blood made my hair stiff. We were used to seeing each other bruised and bloody, so I didn't understand why this time was so different.

"I'm gettin' you outta hare. C'mon." We'd barely gotten to the door when Will stomped in, eyes bloodshot and twitching angrily.

"The hell ya goin', boy?" he inched his way closer, beer belly jiggling like a bowl of jelly. I couldn't control myself and laughed. "Somethin' funny? Huh, lil bi.tch?!"

"Don't call 'er that, ya worthless fu.ck!" Daryl nudged me towards the couch. They were going to fight and I knew who'd win. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be over. I opened them again and what I saw shocked me. Will was out cold, slumped against the fridge. "We need to find Merle. He'll know what to do."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I remember almost nothing after that. I was found on a beach down in Florida by an elderly couple, who took me to the police station. I had a note pinned to my bloodstained shirt, explaining who I was and where I came from.

It took a couple days before I was able to leave the hospital and Mama was contacted. She brought Shane along, and he cried the moment he laid eyes on me. He was so much bigger, more stronger, than Will or Daryl.

"Careful. She seems almost afraid to be touched." An officer told them. "She won't talk, either. Doc says it's post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Oh, my poor baby." Mama cried and Shane hugged her. They took her out of the room to talk, and Shane sat in a chair across from me. He looked so much like Daddy.

I burst into tears.

"Hey, don't cry!" he handed me a box of tissues and I stared at it, willing myself to stop crying. Before I was punished for breaking the precious rules. I wanted Daryl. Why did he have to leave? He promised he would always be with me, no matter what.

Liar!

Mama and Shane took me home early the next morning. The front lawn was packed with news reporters with cameras, and I cried when they took pictures. One woman tried touching my arm and I freaked out; Shane had to carry me inside kicking and screaming.