PROLOGUE: On The Edge
A brisk wintry breeze gently lapped at his long blonde hair, sending spider webs of it's greasy strands whirling about his round, acne scarred face.
"What am I doing?" He asked. The trees, bedecked with Spanish moss and shelf fungi, deigned not to answer. So he asked again. This time there was an
answer, The Voice, it's tone both malign and syrupy sweet. "You know why you're here ,Vik, because you are a human trash heap with nothing to live
for. Everyone hates you. Your parents, all the kids at school. This'll show 'em Vik. This'll finally teach 'em. Maybe they wont miss you, but
they'll have to at least acknowledge the fact you had the balls to do it."
Vik looked over the edge of the cliff. It was a good hundred feet of sheer rock that lead to a spiky growth of winter-worn tree tops, each naked
branch a talon reaching out for weak prey. Well... prey they might have.
"Just jump already, you pansy!" Said The Voice.
"F***..." whimpered Vik, "I don't wanta."
"You have to teach them a lesson Vik."
"I know." He moaned.
"I got to." Vik said, feeling molten tears begin to well along the rims of his dark azure eyes. His mothers eyes. She would never see them again.
"I gotta teach 'em." Said Vik clenching a fist so tight his tooth-trimmed nails bit into the flesh of his palm. It didn't hurt, why should it?
"Juuuuump." The voice sang wickedly.
"Okay." Said Vik, jumping.
The tree claws almost seemed to catch him. Then the world went first black then a red so sickly Vik's last waking though was of old, sticky blood.
PART I: The Lost and Found Boy
"Shut up you tool! I said gimme the freaking phone!"
Vik handed over his phone. When Marshall Lando was in a mood like this it was best to comply.
"This is gonna be hilarious." Marshall giggled, tapping away on the phone's screen. Laughing, Marshall handed Vik back his phone.
Just as he thought. Marshall had updated Vik's Facebook status.
It read: 'I love you long time, Mrs. Gansky.
"And you better not f***ing delete it either." Marshall slapped Vik's head to the side, not playfully the way adolescent boys sometimes do but not
hard enough to actually hurt him either and strutted off down the crowded, locker lined linoleum highway.
The Voice had made up Vik's mind right there. Vik knew he was lost.
Vik stood in the front office after school, waiting for Mrs. Gansky to come and unlock the lost and found crate. It was the end of November, time to
clean it out. All the stuff that was lost but never found was sent to the Salvation Army thrift store where it was sold cheaply to raise money for
poor people, or something like that.
Vik really didn't care. He took every opportunity to stay after school, for reasons that he hadn't been able to admit to himself. It was Friday too
and that would mean Dad had gotten paid which meant he would be drinking tonight.
Mrs. Gansky arrived. She had in her hand a large key ring with what seemed to Vik like every damned key in the school, which, Vik thought stupidly,
was probably the case.
"Its pretty full Viktor. Apparently with the holidays right around the corner your narcissistic colleagues seem to think they can just abandon their
old s*** wherever they want." She sighed, "Whatever, it will probably take you an hour or so to bag it all up and bring it out to the car. You sure
you're up for it?"
"Yeah, I don't got anything else to do."
"Well... I'll be in my classroom grading papers. Let me know when your done."
Mrs. Gansky shuffled off down the hall, her high heeled shoes clacking sharply all the way.
Vik began rooting through the box and bagging up coats, undershirts and other articles of clothing.
Mrs. Gansky was right, the crate was pretty full. Vik continued his cycle of rummaging and bagging for a good hour before he finally saw the bottom of
the crate. He grabbed up the last few articles of abandoned clothing, a deflated football and an old necklace and bagged them.
As he was cramming the last items into a bag something fell from a coat pocket and clattered across the floor, sliding beneath a filing cabinet. Vik
dropped the bag and went to his knees, fishing beneath the cabinet.
At last his hand closed around a small, cold object about the length of a finger. Vik opened his palm to inspect the trinket. It looked like a little
miniature angel figurine but this angel did not seem at all pleased. The fetish chilled Vik for some odd reason and filled him with a sense of longing
and nostalgia, a strange sort of dejá vu.
As Vik stood staring at this strange object in his hand, Mrs. Gansky had come back to check his progress. Seeing he had finished she said, "Right on
time, Viktor, I was just getting ready to head home. You need a ride?" She asked.
"No. Can I keep this?" He asked showing Mrs. Gansky the strange little knickknack he had come across.
"What is it?" She asked.
He held it out to her, "A little angel, I think."
"Oh. Yeah, sure, you can keep it Viktor."
As he left the school, pulling his hood over his head, he was thankful that if she had heard about the Facebook post, she was nice enough not to