Silence (Serial Killer Story)

Chapter One
As a Guns -N- Roses song played in the background of the pub, my father put out his cigarrette in the ash tray to his left and sighed. "The usual, Stan?" The bartender asked from over the bar while cleaning a glass. My father nodded and said his thanks.

"Daddy," I ask, swinging my legs so my feet hit the bar. "Can I have a Sprite and nachos?"

"Sure thing, Chyanne." The bartender, Pat, said, answering for my father, who seemed unusually depressed, and it wasn't even Monday yet.

My father rubbed his chin, where he had a little beard growing. Pat sat my dad's Bloody Mary in front of him. "You feeling okay, Stan? You're looking more down than usual. Wife make you sleep in the garage again?" I could hear the little laugh in Pat's voice. He layed my Sprite and nachos down while I thanked him. I could feel my headache subsiding as I drank my Sprite. Dad put down the money he owed on the bar counter while he finished his drink in one gulp.

"No," Dad said, also with a tiny laugh, then he returned to frowning. "I got layed-off again. This is the second time this month. Either I'm too good for the job, or not good enough." He put his elbow on the bar and rested his forehead in his palm. "Not good enough, I guess. I could never hold down a job for too long." Yup, Dad, that's right. Now you're just drowning yourself in your sorrow.

"You want to work here?" Pat asked, just before a fight broke out. My dad didn't get a chance to answer; Pat had already jumped over the bar and ran over to two drunk men fighting over a table, trying to break them up.

My dad took off his wedding ring as a rather attractive woman sat down next to him. She had tan skin, long, medium colored brown hair, and a red, tight low-cut dress that went to her knees. "Hey, handsome," She purred, crossing her legs and flipping her hair. "You here alone?"

"Back-off, lady, he's here with me!" I said in a serious voice while hopping off my barstool and standing in front of the woman. I puffed out my chest and managed to look tough. I'm 8 years old and 5'1 and a half. Be intimidated, skank, I thought.

The woman only smiled and said, "How cute. Is she your's?"

"No, she's not; she's my sister's. I just volunteered to watch her while she was in the bathroom." Dad answered, standing up along with the woman. She took his hand and smiled seductively as they walked off somewhere in the pub.

"You douche!" I shout, stomping my foot on the tile floor. "I hope you get herpes!" I growled and walked out Pat's pub in rage. How dare he leave me for another woman?! I'm freaking 8 in a bar with single 45 year olds looking for a good time. What if I got kidnapped or something? Oh, wait until I tell Mom. She'll be royally ticked. If he wasn't my ride home, I'd key his car, or crash it into a pole.

I rummaged through my pockets. Nothing but a pocket knife and lint. I sighed and slumped against a street light that was outside the pub. Now what am I going to do while Dad's commiting adultery? It's night outside, I'm standing on a corner by a busy street, and I look like a fourteen year old, but with non-existant boobs. I wondered if people in cars would start hitting on me. The wind started to pick up, the cold October air lashing against the back of my neck. I zipped up my Aerosmith jacket even more and put my hood up.

I looked across the street in front of me and saw a cat crossing it. "Kitty!" I shout, running into the street and picking up the cat who almost got ran over. I panted as I slowed to a halt on the sidewalk. I looked at the streetlight hanging from a wire and it turned red. The cat meowed up at me as a thank you. I'm guessing it was a girl cat. She had blue eyes, was all white except for an orange patch over her left eye. "You're welcome," I say smiling, setting her down. "Be more careful next time, okay?"

She meowed at me as a response and sat down next to me. I turned around and faced the street I had ran across. It was way too busy now. I didn't bother to cross it again, because I knew I wouldn't get across it alive. I sighed. What now?

A car pulled up to the curb beside me. The driver rolled down the passenger window and eyed me. Ugh. He looked like a scum bag. He had a five o'clock shadow, sunglasses, a grease stain on his shirt, and messed up dark brown hair. "Hey, hon. You wanna come with me? I got chocolate and glitter." He said, lowering his sunglasses.

"What do you take me for, six?" I scowled, spitting in his face. I started to walk away down the street. "And take off those sunglasses; it's night time, idiot."

I heard a car door slam behind me and the sound of running footsteps. Frick! I thought, and started running. Much to my surprise, I ran into the alley in front of me. Stupid, I thought, mentally kicking myself. Only the dumb blondes run for the alley! You've seen too many horror movies to know that getting into these kind of situations is a really bad idea! I kicked down a trashcan as the guy who tried to pick me up a minute ago came towards me.

"Oh, why do you gotta be like that? I won't hurt you." He sneered, stepping over the trashcan.

"Like heck you won't! If you come closer, I'll kick the crap outta you! I know karate!" I shout, hoping someone could here me. The man got closer. "Dammit, bastard, I said stay back!" I reached for my pocket, taking out my dad's pocket knife. I took a step forward. "Stay. Away. From. Me." I ordered in a dark voice.

The man wasn't intimidated. "You're just a kid, what can you do? You know I could just overpower you." He kept coming towards me.

"Yeah, I know, but, that's what they all say." I said, in a low, cold voice, hurling the pocket knife at the man's throat. The man made a chocking sound as he fell backwards. Blood sprayed from his neck and I smirked at the sight. He squirmed for about 3 seconds, then went still. Not wanting anyone finding the weapon I had used, I forcefully yanked the knife out of the man and cleaned off the blood with what looked like a shirt sleeve that was on the ground.

With the the thought of killing someone still fresh in my head, I walked back across the street when traffic had stopped. I couldn't help but feel a little giddy about what happened. It was self-defense, why should I care? Then a thought occured to me: normally, my aim sucks. Why would it suddenly get better?

"Meow." The cat I met said, looking at me when we got in front of Pat's pub.

"I know, that was bad what I did, but that guy had it coming." I felt a sudden burst of confidence. "No one messes with me and gets away with it.

The cat started hissing. I heard a jingle coming from behind me, which meant someone had opened the pub door. My dad was standing no fewer than 10 feet away from me. "Where were you?!" He shouted, his words were slurred. Great. He's drunk again.

"Where were you?" I spat, crossing my arms. I emphasized ''you''.

"Answer me!" Dad shouted, stepping a little closer.

"I was walking up and down the street," I said, staying calm so he wouldn't know I was lying. "It's your turn to answer me."

"Are you getting smart with me?" Dad pushed up his glasses and glared at me.

"No, I'm not. I just want you to answer my question." I paused. "No, wait. Don't tell me. I think I already know the answer. You followed that chick out to the parking lot to her car and you screwed 'er, am I right? The answer's written all over your drunken face."

Dad clenched his teeth and fists and tightened his jaw. His face turned red with anger. Dad finally noticed the cat sitting next to me. "Where'd you find that?" He asked bitterly.

"I saved her from getting hit by a car." I say bluntly.

Dad's eyes widened. "You what? You ran out into the street?" I nodded. "Dammit, Chyanne, do you want to get killed?"

"No. Not really. Can we take the cat home with us? Please? I could really use a friend, Dad."

He shook his head. "No. You have friends." He started walking toward the parking lot. "Let's go."

I picked the cat up and followed him. "No I don't, Dad. Those are just kids who throw rocks at me. You may think they're playing a game, but they're not. I got hit in the eye a couple times. Please, Dad?"

Dad's shoulder twitched a couple times. "If I say yes, you won't tell your mother what I did, right?"

I frowned and nodded. "You can keep the cat." He sighed, and unlocked the driver's door of the car when we got to it.

"Yes," I say happily, getting in the car. I sat the cat on my lap and she looked at me. "Hm . . . . your name will be," I stopped to think. "I've got it: Fiona."

The cat's eyes lit up and she meowed in response. "I'm guessing you like the name." I grinned at her.

"Fiona?" Dad scoffed, jerking the steering wheel, avoiding a car. For a drunk man, Dad doesn't act like one. Years of practice I guess. "Why that?"

I put my head down. "I watched Shrek a couple days ago." I mumbled.