The Arrangement. Suzanne Forster

       Who was she?

      Alison had no answer to that one as she plunged her hand in her pocket and grabbed the keys.

       February second, six months earlier

      She liked the black water best of all. A leafy canopy of oak trees blocked the afternoon sun, and something about the tide pool’s glassy surface seemed to smooth all the imperfections from her reflection. She looked serene and peaceful. It was almost a normal face gazing back at her, not freakish at all. The times she bathed here were like a meditation on her own solemn beauty. For a little while, she was whole.

      She was about to rise from the water when a rustling sound caught her attention. She hesitated, crouching down and searching the shadows. A whimper of despair formed in her throat. Someone was watching her. Him. She knew even before she saw him step out of the bushes.

      That bastard. The sick bastard had found her.

      “Ugly slut,” he hissed at her. He crashed into the shallow pool, black spray exploding in every direction. Slowly, as if in shock, she rose from the water and watched him come thundering toward her. She was naked, dripping.

      He was the one who tormented every pathetic moment of her pathetic life. He called her names and crudely groped her. He and his friends chased her everywhere she went, surrounding her like dogs in a pack, laughing and jeering at her disfigured face. Once, they’d tripped her, knocked her to the ground and peed on her, and no one had stopped them.

      He had made the whole town loathe and despise her. And now he was going to rape her and leave her for dead. He would have to get rid of her, wouldn’t he?

       You fucking bastard! I won’t let you destroy me!

      Tears soaked her face. She couldn’t run anymore. Hatred locked her in place. Maybe it was time to die. Time to be free of him—and the crippling shame. He had turned her into a cowering animal.