The first thing I do when I leave the dress boutique is throw my armload of purchases in the nearest dumpster.
Just while I try to find Ripper, I tell myself. A corner of the pink plastic bag peeps over the grimy edge, now slimed with some sort of rotten vegetable. I tuck it back under the lid.
I can’t be seen on the Strip lugging around thousand-dollar dresses. Besides, they’ll be perfectly safe in the dumpster. I know for a fact that the dump truck only comes around on Tuesday mornings.
No one will suspect.
I self-consciously tuck a stray curl behind my ear and smooth imaginary wrinkles from my dress. It’s the magenta piece I tried on in the store under Hyde’s watchful gaze. One wrong move, I’m afraid, and the whole thing will spontaneously combust and me along with it. But I just couldn’t bring myself to squeeze back into that beer-stained skirt and sweaty top. Those at least will permanently remain in the dumpster.
It’s strange to be walking around without Hyde shadowing my every step. I feel almost...exposed. Which is strange, because Hyde is the furthest thing from a protector I could imagine. And besides, nobody but me can even see him. Nevertheless, I almost wish he were by my side now as I prepare to exit the alley. Just beyond, the street is bustling with rich white women and their squeaky purse dogs. Before today, I hadn’t even known this part of town existed.
It makes me feel a little better knowing these women would probably faint at the sight of the Yellowjacket. I’m stronger than them. I’ve lived outside the bubble of safety.
I can do this.
I throw my head back and strut out onto the sidewalk as if I own the place. This will be easy. Just get back to the Strip and –
All of the sudden I’m flying.
No, not flying. Falling. I trip over my new shoes, try to catch myself, and fail miserably. My arms pinwheel as I tumble to the ground in a graceless heap.
“Oh my goodness, are you all right?”
“Did you hit your head?”
Little old ladies twitter about me, poking and prodding with their body fingers. I sit up, a little dazed. Something hot trickles down my temple and I press my fingers to it. They come away spotted with blood. I must have hit my head on something on the way down.
One grandma rests her shaking hand on top of my head. “Oh, honey, don’t move – ”
“All right, all right,” a deep voice calls over the noise. “Clear out, give her some air.”
The crowd parts to let the speaker through. I look up into the dark gray eyes of a rather attractive young man. He smiles and kneels in front of me. His teeth look a little crooked, but in a cute way.
Or maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.
“Does anything hurt?” the young man asks me, completely serious. He snaps his fingers in front of my eyes, scrutinizing my reaction carefully.
Yeah. My butt. I’m pretty sure the whole thing’s bruised.
“Just my as – er, I mean – my knee?” I quickly cover my near profanity. “Who are you?”
“Jay Walker. Med student.”
I squint at him. “Liar. You’re not any older than me, you bast – uh, Jay.”
The boy pretends not to hear me. He lifts two fingers in a peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Stop it, I’m fine. Bruised ego’s all.” I try to stand but Jay holds my shoulder down.
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HYDE: The Monster Within
Mystery / ThrillerJackie has never been the "good girl". Her entire life she's run in the wrong circles and trusted the wrong friends. So when she tries an experimental drug it's just business as usual. But then that drug leads to the uncannily realistic hallucinatio...
