For the Hopeless

Chapter 7: Monsters

I suppose I do look a bit better, Bailey thought to herself as she leaned over the sink in a gas-station bathroom. Her reflection in the grimy mirror was a bit deformed, but her nonetheless. In only the hour since she'd left home, her cheeks had regained a more natural appearance, the dark circles under her eyes had begun to disappear, even the sickly pallor of her skin had started to vanish. The face in the mirror was one that hadn't been hers for weeks. High cheekbones, beautiful reddish-brown eyes, pretty pink lips, and unmarred, porcelain-white skin. It was incredible how quickly she could recover after going psycho and crying a bit.

I still don't understand it, was her next thought. She bowed her head, her fingers tightly clenching the dirty white edges of the sink. She'd never recovered like this before. Usually, she was sickly for a few weeks, then the problem just seemed to work itself out. Was that what happened? Had her natural recovery simply coincided with the release of her dark side? Whatever.

She sighed and turned from the mirror. Standing here, staring at herself, wasn't getting her anywhere. Then again, this entire stop at the gas station wasn't getting her anywhere. But where exactly was she supposed to be going? It's not as if she'd left the house with a plan, with a destination in mind. She'd left the house because of her emotions. She'd left the house to escape.

She slipped out of the bathroom and past the cashier at the front of the store. The only people here so early in the morning were a few truckers and a couple of guys in suits stopping for some coffee. Or, at least, that's what she'd thought. But when she made it past the normal crowd and out into the parking lot, she found herself unpleasantly surprised.

Only feet from the door stood a man with a gun. It was shiny, silver, the barrel glinting in the grayish light of early morning. And it was right in the face of a young woman. Why was it always a woman?

"I know what you are." The man's voice shook, but it was loud, the tone sure. He believed every word he said. "You're one of them, one of those Novie." The woman shook her head vigorously, already beginning to take a step away from the man, but he barked, "No! Don't move!"

"She doesn't look like a Novie," Bailey remarked, taking a slow step forward. The man spun to face her, but his pistol remained trained on the girl. Bailey's eyes flicked to the man for a moment, then wandered back to the woman. "And even if she is, she can't be older than eighteen. Why would you want to cut a stranger's life so short?" Her eyes darted back to the man, searching for some change in his demeanor, but she found none. If anything, he was even more sure now.

"If she's one of them, she deserves to die young. She should've died younger." Without another word, he turned back to the girl, his finger already pulling back on the trigger.

Bailey felt a power coursing through her that she'd been unable to feel for weeks. It wasn't mere strength, mere adrenaline, the simple thrill of the fight. It was her power, her true power. With a flick of her fingers and a red glow to her eyes, the gun spun, jerking from his fingers and hovering in midair. It was pointing at his face when a bullet finally emerged.

"Are you a Novie?" Bailey asked as the bullet embedded itself in the man's forehead. He crumpled to the asphalt, blood squirting from the fatal wound, and his gun fell to the ground before him with a loud clank. And his fingerprints were the only ones on the grip.

"N-no," she stammered, taking three quick steps away from the man's corpse. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the gore. "I'm a h-human." Bailey gazed at her for a long moment, trying to decide whether she was lying or not. But if she were lying, wouldn't she have said the opposite?