Shattered Innocence

A Fateful Encounter

I continuously check my rearview mirrors for any sign of that SUV. There's something off about it that doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't look like a regular mourner's vehicle, and its presence still lingering raises suspicions. The SUV has no license plates, and its windows are completely blacked out. It's definitely there for a reason. Is it watching me? Trying to find me? Could it be him? Damn it, I shouldn't have gone. I knew better.

I step on the gas pedal, speeding back to the hotel to seek refuge and lay low. As I turn onto the busy road, I notice the SUV skillfully maneuvering through traffic, weaving in and out of cars to catch up with me. Determined, I lower my visor and increase my speed. It's my turn to navigate through the congested lanes, disregarding the honking and swearing from other drivers. I push myself to go as fast as I can. Glancing back, I see the SUV relentlessly tailing me, matching my every move. It's clear that they are following me. Damn it.

Realizing I won't be able to outrun them, my mind shifts into survival mode. The road widens ahead, leading to an empty path that stretches towards the outskirts of the city. I know I must either lose them or find a place to hide. They could easily knock me off my bike or ram into me at any moment. Despite the risky maneuvers I attempt, they manage to keep up, never losing sight of me. They don't strike me, but I can feel the heat and the growl of their engine. f**k.

Finally reaching the hotel, I swiftly park my bike and turn, ready to confront them. But to my surprise, the car is nowhere to be seen. I scan the road outside and the empty parking lot, finding no trace of them. s**t, am I overthinking things? I wipe my face, taking another cautious look around before heading upstairs to my room. My heart pounds as I climb the stairs, sensing an unseen presence watching my every move. The spot between my shoulder blades tightens and beads of sweat form as if there are eyes fixated on me.

I make it to the second floor when I hear a faint scuff of a boot on the floor. The silence is otherwise deafening. There are no footsteps, but I know they are following me. I keep walking, trying to discern their position. I can feel their presence behind me, but I risk a quick glance without their notice. There they are—five guys, the same ones I saw at the funeral. I notice the concealed weapons they carry, the tension in their muscles, and the determination in their eyes. They are armed and dangerous. f**k, I was right, and now I'm trapped.

Turning a corner intentionally, I draw my gun and wait. As they stomp around the corner, I silently slip behind them, aiming my weapon. "Who are you?" I demand. One of them starts to turn, but he spots the gun and freezes, causing the others to begrudgingly raise their hands. "Who are you?" I repeat, glancing behind me, ready to leap from the two-story balcony and make my escape. These men must be connected to my father, involved in whatever business he was a part of. It's no surprise he would keep tabs on me. Stupid, Nora.

"We're friends," one of them reluctantly responds. "I don't have any of those," I snap, beginning to back away. They hear my words, even though I've been silent, and turn to face me. The one who spoke takes a step forward, and another one grins.

"Well, that's lonely," he teases. I swiftly point my gun at him.

"Laugh at me again, and I'll shoot you in the balls." He laughs and looks at the others. "I like her; you were right."

I scan their faces, realizing I want no part in whatever is happening. Although I'm skilled in combat, these men are highly trained, and I can sense when a situation is becoming dangerously unpredictable. It's time for me to escape and regroup. Keeping the gun trained on them, I slowly back away while they leisurely advance. Once I reach the railing, I holster the gun and smirk at them. "Tell the old bastard that if he's still alive, he'll have to kill me if he wants me."

With those words, I grab the railing, hoist myself over it, and leap to the ground below. Rolling as I land, I hear them curse in frustration. Getting back on my feet, I glance up to see the others rushing down the stairs, except for the largest one who takes a daring jump off the balcony to pursue me. s**t. I start running, aware that they are skilled and won't be easily shaken off. Riding my bike is not an option since the time it would take to mount it would cost me, and their car clearly outpaces me. It's better to lose them on foot, especially since there are more places to hide.

I navigate through backstreets, around buildings, and over fences, with them hot on my heels the entire time. I'm usually the fastest, leaving everyone in the dust, but they manage to keep up. Running and hiding aren't proving effective, but I despise that choice anyway. So, I decide to confront them head-on. I turn into a street, disrupting traffic and causing cars to honk as I select the alley I want. It's a dead end, preventing them from sneaking up on me, and it gives me a better chance of turning the tables.

With my gun firmly in hand, I position myself at the mouth of the alley and wait. My heart rate slows, my body relaxes, and a numbness sets in—as it always does when I'm in a fight or flight situation. I stay focused, eyes open and unblinking. In the blink of an eye, a head pops around the corner. Taking a slow breath, I fire, forcing them to retreat with a curse. I wait for the next one to make a move. I can keep this up all day.

"f**k!" someone yells. "She almost got me."

"Did I miss? What a shame. I won't miss with the next shot!" I call out with a smug grin. "She's crazy," I hear someone mutter, the words carrying on the wind.

"Absolutely right, so just leave, and I promise not to kill you for the insult," I retort. A silence falls upon us, broken only by a hand appearing around the corner. I shoot, and it recoils with a groan. "Wait! Just wait and listen!" comes a stern order. The hand reemerges, slower this time, holding a white piece of fabric that appears to be underwear. "See? It's a white flag. We don't want to hurt you—"

"What a shame. I wanted to hurt you," I interject, hearing a laugh before a smack and a groan followed. A slight twitch forms on my lips, and my hands start to shake from the strain of holding my shooting stance. I can't keep this up much longer. I either need to take action or relinquish my gun. And I know which option I'll choose. I'll only drop this gun when they lie dead at my feet or if they shoot off my f*****g arm.

"Still alive, hotties?" I taunt with a grin. "Yep! Just thinking about your ass in that leather—" I fire a shot at the wall, eliciting a chuckle. Then a deeper voice asks,

"What will make you drop the gun?"

"Nothing you possess," I reply casually, though I know that if I keep shooting, the police will arrive, and that's not what I want. It seems they don't want that either because I hear them hastily conversing among themselves.

"Look!" one of them shouts. "We know you. Your name is Nora Blake. You're twenty-seven years old." I freeze at the mention of my name. "That's public knowledge!" I shout.

"Your father wasn't the man everyone believed him to be. He conducted experiments on children... on you. He hurt you. I bet he even imprisoned you. Am I right? Does that shock you? Test you?" I remain speechless, unable to form a coherent response.

"He did the same to us. He performed countless experiments that merged together in our minds. I despised him so damn much, hated what he turned me into, what he forced me to do."

"Who are you?" I demand. There's a moment of silence before a man steps forward, confident that I won't shoot him. And he's right.

"We're like you. Experiments. We are the other children." My arm falls to my side as I gaze at him in disbelief.

"Other children?"

"Did you honestly think you were the only one?" he asks, raising an eyebrow while the others fan out behind him. Their expressions remain grave as they stand in a line, observing me with the understanding that only someone subjected to my father's experiments could possess. "There were others, Nora, countless others. They're all dead now... except for us."

"What do you want from me?" I demand, my voice trembling. My mind is overwhelmed with questions and concerns, but I focus on what I can control and swiftly choose the most important question.

"Why have you been following me?"

"Because we need your help to finish this and put an end to what your father initiated."

"He's dead; it's over," I hesitate.

"You know that isn't true," the spokesperson asserts. "It will never be over until all the research and facilities are destroyed. We can't achieve that without you, Nora—"

"Nora. Call me Nora. Only he called me Noraleen," I snap, and he raises his hands in surrender, flashing a smile.

"I'm Zack. That's what one of the few kind nurses used to call me, long before your father got his hands on me. So, Nora, are you in? Are you done running and ready to confront your past? Or are you, not the woman we've been told about?"

Well, f**k. I lower my gun and lock eyes with him.

"Fine, but you're buying me dinner while we talk."

"Deal," he smirks.