A Lost Ghost

Chapter 11: Hate In The Eyes

My eyes pop open as the sound of rustling pulls me out of sleep. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the Chinese soldiers to yank me out of bed. My brows furrow as a giggle comes from the right of me. I flinch, my heart leaping into my throat as a little girl stands beside my bed, my helmet on her head. The helmet is way too big for her. The visor is practically covering her whole face except for her chin. She takes the helmet off and flashes a big, bright smile. Her ink-black hair sticks up from the static. She doesn't look any older than eight. She laughs and runs out of the room with my helmet.

"Hey, give that back!" I call out.

I cringe at how much I sounded like a friggin child, but I don't want some little kid running around with my helmet. I force myself to sit up, wincing as a sharp pain explodes from my leg. A woman shouts something in Mandarin from the hallway. My breath hitches as the door flies open. My muscles tighten as I wait for the soldiers to barge through the door and start beating the crap out of me. But that doesn't happen. A woman stands in the doorway, shouting at the little girl. The little girl pouts as she angrily puts my helmet back on the chair. My eyes flick to the woman. It doesn't take me long at all to realize that she's the little girl's mother. The little girl practically looks like a clone of her. The woman's eyes flick to mine, and I almost flinch with how angry she looks. Her lips slightly curl downwards in revulsion. She looks at me like a bug that needed to be squashed. She shouts at the little girl again. The girl quickly turns and leaves the room.

The mother doesn't take her furious eyes off me. She just glares at me for a solid minute before slamming the door shut. Why is she so pissed? It's not like I asked for any of this. A few minutes later, the mother and the old man come walking into my room. My eyes instantly draw to a white bowl in the old man's hands. My stomach growls as I smell chicken. The man hands me the bowl. Without question, I take it; a little upset that it's only broth and nothing solid, but I don't complain. I put the bowl to my mouth and swallow the hot, salty liquid. I drink until there's nothing left. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to begin with. It's probably because of how little I've eaten in the past few days...or has it been weeks now? The woman and the old man stand at the foot of my bed, staring at me. The old man has a friendlier face. He doesn't seem threatening at all while the woman glares at me with nothing but hatred in those black eyes. If looks could kill, I would've been incinerated. I place the empty bowl down on the drawer next to me. I feel really awkward as the two of them just stare at me.

Aren't you guys gonna say something? Or...are they waiting for me to say something?

"Um...thanks," I decide to mumble.

The old man smiles and says something in Mandarin.

"What is your name?" the woman asks, her voice sharp and laced with hatred.

I open my mouth, about to say Binky, but I quickly stop myself. I want them to take me seriously. That and my callsign was the only part of home I seemed to have left. I want to keep it. To keep it mine.

"Miles."

The woman repeats it back to the old man. The man nods. He points to himself.

"Name Cheung. Cheung."

He then points to his daughter. "Mei-Xing. Mei-Xing."

I nod in response. The old man starts talking again. I stare at him blankly, not understanding a single word that's coming out of his mouth.

"Do you speak any other language, American?" asks Mei-Xing. I get the feeling that was her own question and not Cheung's.

"My mom is Puerto Rican, so I speak a decent amount of Spanish."