Monsters

Unsettled

        "Hanna!" a high pitched voice called out through the street.

        The other students walking to school turned to see who the voice was yelling at. All eyes landed on the girl and she sighed, tired of going through this every morning. She took a deep breath and pulled on her usual mask.

        "Hey!" she turned around, hiding behind a smile as the caller caught up to her.

        "Last night was amazing wasn't it?" the voice continued, "There's always a lot of guys when you're around..."

        The girl nodded and laughed along, not really listening to what the voice was saying. After all, all they every really wanted out of her was her pretty face and the attention she drew. While the high pitched whining and squealing continued, her mind drifted onto more interesting things, or more specifically, the latest reports on her newest escapade. It was always thrilling to see her perfect handiwork on TV, particularly so when the police are unable to pinpoint her age let alone her identity. It was like a game of hide and seek that she was confident she could never lose. 

        The TV reports were always a beauty to wake up to. The clear look of horror on each of the reporter's faces sent pleasant shivers down her spine. That look was the fuel to her flame as with every report, that look would appear over and over again without falter. It was proof that she was the one to pulling the strings now: she was the one controlling their fear, their anxieties, their nightmares. The overwhelming feeling of triumph encased her in a childish glee, as if she had won a game.

        "What so funny?"

        The voice persistently continued to interrupt her pleasant morning.

        "What are you talking about?" the girl replied, suppressing her annoyance with another fake smile.

        "You've been giggling non-stop for a while now and I don't think anything I'm saying is that funny," the bothersome voice pushed on, refusing to let the girl slip back into her daydream.

        If she knew that she wasn't saying anything pleasing why won't she just stop talking and let me be? Her annoyance was starting to turn into anger she gritted her teeth behind her false grin. She clenched and flexed her hands trying to defuse her emotions. She musn't lash out; not at something so stupid. One slip and all her efforts to stay out of suspicion would go down the drain. She covered her mouth and let out a long breath, releasing the pent up tension.

        "I just remembered something fun I saw on TV this morning," said the girl recovering her composure, knowing through experience that ambiguous truths were much easier to deal with than outright lies.

        The voice broke into a shrill laugh, "So you basically didn't hear anything I just said, did you?"

        The girl imitated the noise, hoping that it would shut up now that it knew the truth.

        "That reminds me," the irritant continued causing the girl to stomp aggressively to inconspicuously express her chagrin, "I saw some interesting news this morning too, although I wouldn't exactly call it 'fun'."

        "What was it?" asked the girl absentmindedly, trying to recall the slight trembles in the news anchors' voices as they reported her deeds.

        "Did you hear about the serial murders that happened over the break?"

        The girl seemed to snap into attention; her eyes suddenly glimmering with interest. Then she quickly pulled back, realizing the noticeable change in demeanor.

        She calmed herself down and replied, "No I haven't. I've heard mentions of some serious crime, but I haven't heard any details."

        "Oh," the person sighed dejectedly, "then I guess you aren't interested."

        The girl flinched; her cold demeanor had backfired. She wanted to hear the details again and see the shock and terror live. Hoping she didn't sound too eager, she egged the person on.

        "No, go ahead! It would be good for me to know about something so important."

        She fixed her eyes on the innocent's face, waiting for the subtle twists of disgust fold over it. Before it could start talking, the girl felt herself smack into something solid in front of her.

        "Oh, sorry," a gruff voice rang over her head as two strong hands gripped her shoulders to help steady her.

        An instinctive terror gripped her heart as the sudden, familiar strength reminded of her own tiny and frail body. She pulled away violently, trying to break free from the suffocating grasp. The hands quickly let go.

        "I'm sorry," said the deep voice once again.

        The girl looked up to see a tall, well built man towering over her. She quickly looked away to avoid meeting his eyes.

        "No, I'm sorry. Please excuse me," she said before scampering past the him.

*****

        The detective looked curiously back at the girl running away as her friend scrambled to catch up to her. He looked down at the hands that held her with an odd sense of déjà vu. She felt familiar, and he could almost swear that he could have recognized her if he had gotten the chance to properly see her face. He wondered if he should call out to her retreating figure to confirm this but it was evident from her odd reactions that she did not want to talk to him. He shrugged off the feeling and continued on his way.

        He had seen many young girls in his job, most as scrawny runaways, so it wouldn't suprise him if she was one of them. Her brash actions suggested that she did not like larger authoritative figures, which supported his reasoning. His mind started to wonder off, speculating the causes for her awkward behaviour and trying to figure out which case she might have been from. As he fumbled through his memories, the shocking image of the first Wolverine victim flash past his eyes. He shook his head, clearing away his thoughts. He had to focus on his current case; there was no time for stray thoughts. There must have been at least some witnesses, some evidence, some lead that he could grasp on. Every second that passed reminded him of his first case, his first failure. He became a detective to protect, not to watch on as other were harmed. He must be thorough; one mistake might end in more pain.