Bruises

Prologue-Knight in a Shining Helmet

All I knew was that I had to get away.

The tears filled my eyes, rolling down my cheeks and tripping onto my nightshirt. I felt like I was living some fiendish nightmare, something no nine-year-old should ever have to experience.

I ran in my slippers through the dewy grass, slipping and sliding but not caring. I couldn't stop. That was the only thing I kept telling myself, as if by some nonsensical way never stopping would take me far away from all my fears.

The moon was high in the dark, clear sky. It must have been around midnight. I had never snuck out before, but I had to leave. I couldn't bear to be in the same house as that man. That murderer.

My father.

My ears still rang with the screams, mind haunted by the visions I couldn't erase. I rubbed furiously at my eyes, crying out as my foot caught a dip in the sidewalk and I was sent tumbling. I rolled across the concrete, coming to a painful stop. My leg and arm stung, and when I looked down I saw that the friction had rubbed a hole through my pajama pants and left a red scrape over my elbow. Blood soaked through the silk over my leg.

I cried hard, wrapping my arms around my stomach and drawing my knees into my chest. Life was so unpredictable. And cruel. And unfair.

A cold January wind sliced through, reminding me that I had been stupid enough to run outside in pants, slippers, and a t-shirt during the middle of winter in Maine.

"Hey!"

I snapped my head up, alertness and caution sweeping through me as I saw the figure on the skateboard looming closer. I wanted to shrink away, but any sudden movements had my leg pulsing with discomfort. All I could do was watch warily as the tall figure skidded to a stop, about ten feet away. I stared up at him through my tears, waiting for something; anything. It struck me as odd later, when I would think about it, that a kid would be out skateboarding so late. After all, he hadn't looked any older than early high school.

"Are you okay?"

I flinched, chin trembling as I shook my head. He was a total stranger and I should have been remembering all the stranger warnings they had taught me in school, but I didn't. Something about him-his face, his smile, the simple fact that he even bothered to stop-didn't alarm me. I wasn't scared.

He placed his skateboard in the grass and knelt before me, resting his forearm on his knee. His eyes were the softest, most expressive brown I had ever seen, with bits of gold in the irises. "Why are you crying?" he asked gently.

I sniffed, turning my head away. "My mom told me not to talk to strangers."

He chuckled. "But you just did."

My cheeks tingled. "W-well-I didn't want to be rude."

A lopsided smile twisted up his lips, his eyes sparkling. They dropped from my face and trailed to my arm. I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers brushed over the smarting flesh. And then his eyes narrowed when he saw my bleeding leg. "I'll take you home," he offered.

"No!" I cried, fear churning through me once more. He pinned his intense gaze on me, questioning. "I-I mean, please don't. I c-can't go back there. Please."

I thought he would question it. Any normal person would have reason to question why a little girl crying outside in the middle of the night didn't want to go home, but he didn't. Instead he scooped me up and held me against his chest, and stepped on his skateboard. I should have been afraid, should have probably asked him where he was taking me, but I didn't. I just felt safe, truly safe, for the first time in my life, which was crazy because this person was a total stranger.

He ended up taking me to what I deducted was his house. He walked straight through the front door, leaning his skateboard and helmet against the wall in the foyer. It was dark inside. He took me into a kitchen and flicked on the light, sitting me on a table. He said nothing as he retrieved a first aid kit, and I chose to sit silently as well.

"Here," he murmured, a bottle of cream in one hand as he stood in front of me. "This might sting a little bit."

I nodded, wincing as he applied the salve to my leg and arm. He grabbed a strip of gauze and tore it with his teeth, dressing the wounds. They did feel better when he finished. I watched him, still having not said a word, as he went about putting away the kit.

"It's Sam, by the way," he voiced suddenly, back facing me.

I pressed my lips together.

When I said nothing, he spun back around to look at me. A warm, disarming smile was on his face as he approached me. "Do you have a name?" he asked.

"N-no," I replied.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You don't?"

I shook my head.

"But, surely you do." He tilted his head to the side, regarding me. "Everybody does."

I sighed. "Elsie," I mumbled.

"Ah, pretty name for a pretty girl," he winked, and I flushed again as I dropped my eyes to the floor. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

I shook my head again. "I'll find my way back."

"Are you sure, Elsie?"

I hopped off the table, trying to hide the grimace from the pain. "Yes."

"Okay." He ran the faucet, washing his hands. "It was nice meeting you."

I left his house, hobbling down the sidewalk toward my own home.

I never expected to see him again.

But I did.

Over the next two years he was always just there, at the right time, the exact moment when I needed him. He became a familiar comfort, and within the first week we were friends. I learned more about him, like the fact that he was almost fifteen. I wasn't sure why he bothered with a troubled girl like myself, but he seemed to find some satisfaction with speaking to me and helping me through my problems. The months following my father's arrest for murder were undoubtedly the hardest, and I wouldn't have been able to get through them if Sam hadn't been there.

Months passed and our friendship grew closer. I began expecting him, when times were tough. It was like he just knew, like he had Elsie senses or something. He became my best friend.

Until one day, just before the start of middle school for me, two years later, he disappeared. I walked to his house-we sometimes met and made sandwiches, and watched TV-and it was empty. There were no cars, no furniture, no telltale sign of human life.

That was when everything really went to hell.