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It was like déjà vu when I pulled up to the abandoned convenience store and visions of the massacre flashed before me. I clenched my gut as nausea knocked me for a loop. I was undead, how was I able to feel what ails a human? It was one question that Franklin, who seemed to know everything, would never answer.
I slid off the bike and removed my helmet, placing it inside the sidecar next to Emilie’s helmet. Out of curiosity, I opened one saddlebag, expecting it to be empty, but Ezekiel made sure I had everything. Well, everything except weaponry, which he was adamant was something I didn’t need on this venture; I beg to differ. I didn’t need a gun to look for the child unless I wanted to scare the crap out of her. It was dark outside, so common sense told me a flashlight was the only thing I needed.
No sooner had I grabbed the flashlight, then I heard the shuffling of feet and rustling paper coming from the other side of the store, certain it was Emilie.
Finding the child was easier than I thought it would be.
Cautiously, I crept to the side of the building, so as not to frighten Emilie away. Though, much to my disappointment when I shined my flashlight toward the dumpster, the source was only a couple of raccoons rummaging for food. They weren’t even frightened and stared at me with their tiny paws as if they were begging for food.
“Have you two seen a little girl?”
What was I doing, asking a couple of feral animals if they had seen Emilie?It wasn’t like they were going to point and tell me where they’d last seen her. “Look guys,” I tucked the flashlight under my arm and held out both hands to show they were empty. “I have no food.”
One raccoon hissed and continued digging through the dumpster.
My thought was if Emilie was hiding inside the dumpster, the raccoons wouldn’t have been that bold to rummage for their dinner. She was certainly tiny enough to hide behind or underneath the dumpster. I crouched down and pointed the flashlight, only to see no sign of the child.
I prowled to the back of the building and pulled on the door, not surprised it was unlocked. There was nothing left in the store to steal anyway, so why take security precautions.
“Emilie?” I called out quietly and pointed the flashlight around what used to be the storeroom. Someone was camping out here and left behind a worn blanket and clothing they used as a pillow, but I came up empty once more. No sign of Emilie or a giant pink bunny.
I wasn’t about to stop there and walked toward the front of the store, only to see shelves toppled over and empty packages from food the derelicts consumed. “Emilie Dillon? Are you hiding in here?”
A streak with dark hair and a pink bunny tucked at her side, ran across the store and out the front door. I chased after her, but this kid was fast as hell, and she was nowhere in sight the moment I stepped outside. Of course, if the shelves and garbage didn’t act as barriers, I could’ve gotten to her.
Franklin mentioned I had super speed, so I could use it if only I knew which direction Emilie had run off to. I wasn’t familiar with the area and canvassed what other open businesses were close to the worn-down neighborhood she lived in.
I rushed to the bike and rode slowly around the neighborhood, heading to the Dillon house first. The neighborhood was still, and every soul was safely inside their homes, either fast asleep or binge watching whatever on their devices.
After ripping off the yellow caution tape that blocked the front door, I turned the knob, only to discover it locked. “Fuck me,”I mumbled and did the irrational thing and kicked the door in. I underestimated my strength, and the door broke off its hinges.
The overwhelming smell of death combined with bleach hit me and I covered my nose and mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. Even though I was a former Deputy Sheriff, I still had a weak stomach and some of these crime scenes I literally couldn’t stomach.
When I walked into the kitchen, where the shitshow took place, it was pristine, except for empty packages strung about, which was a sign Emilie had camped out here until the food ran out. She must have believed in the saying, waste not, want not because there was nothing left in the refrigerator, except for a bottle of hot sauce and one bottle of beer. I helped myself to the beer and nursed it while looking for Emilie.
Calling out her name a few times didn’t help, she wasn’t in the house. Even though the food was gone, surely you’d think she’d sleep in her own bed. Hell, I wouldn’t want to sleep in a house where a mass murder took place. It would only lead to a slew of nightmares, which I am certain this child had.
There was nothing more to see here, and it seemed she would not return home, so I left and continued circling the area on my bike.
After what seemed an eternity, though it was only fifteen minutes, I spotted the child heading toward the dumpsters at the Dairy Queen. Maybe I should start calling her Raccoon Girl, but I didn’t know her, and she may take offense to the name.
I parked the bike, removed my helmet, and using my super angel speed, caught up to her, standing right behind her. “If you’re hungry, I could buy you something to eat.”
Emilie stood frozen and continued to look forward while pulling her bunny closer to her. “I won’t hurt you. I know you’ve got to be hungry.” She shuffled her feet, moving to the side, no doubt to make her escape. Emilie ran but didn’t get too far as I blocked her.
“Let me go,” she yelled out and kicked at me. “My mommy is calling me.”
I kneeled to her level, and her eyes widened as if she recognized me. “You remember me, don’t you?” Emilie’s eyes glazed over, and she was on the verge of tears. “You’re Emilie Dillon?” She hesitantly nodded. “Are you hungry?” A slight grin appeared through her tears.
“I’m starving, Mister.” Emilie was so quiet it was hard to make out what she said, but she didn’t need to announce it. She was starving. She was filthy and needed a bath, as well as a comfortable, warm bed to sleep in.
I ordered everything on the menu for us and this child tore through the food like a tornado blowing through Oklahoma. There was nothing said between us. “Do you have any friends or relatives around here, Emilie?”
She shrugged and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth before she’d answer the question. Her eyes darted around the dining room and every once in a while, she’d shyly look in my direction.
“I’m Jensen,” I answered before I bit down on a French fry. I’m not sure if this food was just terrible or if my taste buds changed when I died, but to this child, it was heaven to eat a hot meal.
“Jessen?” She asked with a meek voice, still afraid to look in my direction.
