Part Three:
Summer, ’96

All the lights were off when Lexine jumped off the back of Cole’s motorcycle in front of her house. She walked down the front walkway while Cole waited on the bike. At the front door she pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket and stuck one into the lock, turning it quietly. She eased open the door, stopping it before the hinges had a chance to protest. Lexine shut the door behind her and made her way to the stairs in the darkness. She had memorized the layout of the house when her family had moved here from New York City, knowing it would be profitable to be able to move around silently in the absence of light.

At her bedroom door Lexine undid the three locks and stepped inside. She grabbed her knapsack, which held a change of clothes, an emergency magick kit consisting of assorted candles, stones, and incense, her portable CD player, a flashlight, a novel by L.J. Smith, candy, and one hundred dollars. She always kept this bag packed in case she ever needed to leave for a while and there was no time to get anything together. She slung it over her shoulder and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Halfway down the steps the upstairs hallway light went on. Lexine stopped and turned. Her stepfather stood at the landing wearing ripped sweatpants and a worn T-shirt. A moment later her mother appeared, blinking sleepily.

“What the fuck are you doing tiptoeing around in the dark?” Jacob Grant bellowed.

“I’m not tiptoeing,” Lexine answered. “You just didn’t hear me.” She continued to descend the stairs silently.

“Where in hell do you think you’re going at three in the morning?” Jacob followed her down and through the living room, turning on lights as he went. When Lexine ignored him he reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her back roughly. “I asked you a question, girl. When I ask you a question, you answer me.”

“Why the fuck should I answer you?” Lexine retorted. “You ain’t my father. You’re nothing to me. Now let go of my fuckin’ arm.”

Jacob shook her – hard. Her bookbag fell to the floor and Lexine grimaced when she heard a clang. There’d be hell to play if her Discman was damaged. She stared into Jacob’s dark eyes. Evil eyes, she thought. Monster eyes. Someone that evil didn’t deserve life. She yanked her arm out of his grasp.

His cold black eyes widened. “You think you’re big all of a sudden?” he asked. He shoved Lexine’s shoulder and she almost tripped over her bookbag as she stumbled backward. “You think you’re old, that you can just do what you want?” He slapped her and she fell to the floor. “You’re just a fucking kid! And a girl, at that. You don’t count. You can’t think for yourself. You need someone to make decisions for you. I decide where you go, and when. Not you.” He smacked her across the face again when she got up. “You got that?”

“No, I didn’t,” Lexine answered as she picked up a lamp and smashed it into his face. “Care to repeat it?”

“Stop!” Lexine’s mother cried from the foot of the stairs. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist against the pain Lexine knew she was feeling. “Jacob, stop it right now! Don’t hit her. She’s just a child!”

“Child, my ass!” Jacob roared as he reached for Lexine. She dodged him and snatched her bag from the floor. She threw out a kick that hit his chest and knocked him into the wall. Then she turned to dash for the front door.

She heard him behind her a second too late. His hand grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her back. She saw his fist and a moment later pain exploded in her arm as she fell. He tried to kick her in the stomach but she rolled out of the way and was on her feet in a second. She grabbed the nearest blunt object – which happened to be small wooden end table – and swung it, knocking him away from her. China figures and old mail fell to the floor. He grunted and doubled over, and Lexine took this opportunity to sprint for the door. She flung it open and raced out into the cool night air. She heard Jacob yelling back in the house, but she ignored him and flung herself onto the motorcycle behind Cole. The bike roared away from the curb and down the street, turning the corner and leaving the scene of Lexine’s broken home behind.

Five blocks later Cole brought the bike to a stop outside of a deserted playground. Lexine’s head rested against his back; her heart still pounded against her ribcage. She fought to control her breathing as she lifted her face. He turned to look at her and his eyes widened. Lexine twisted to catch a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. She raised her eyebrows and studied her reflection. Her lip was bleeding, and she could see the beginnings of bruises along her hairline. Her hair was a mess and her shirt was ripped, adding to the pitiful picture she made.

She glanced down at his back. “I got blood on your shirt,” she observed hollowly. “Sorry about that. I’ll wash it out.”

“Lexine.” Cole got off the motorcycle and took her face in his hands, examining the outward wounds her stepfather had inflicted. “You have to get out of there.”

“Where will I go?”

His cobalt blue eyes met hers. “Come home with me.”

“But your father—”

“Will not pose a problem. I’ll take care of it.”

He looked so sure. Lexine wanted to believe him. She needed to believe in him – in anything, really. There was no one she could believe in at the moment – not even herself. Did she dare…?

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”