Hannah on TOP~Chapter 1

First Kill

Seventeen year old Hannah reached for the change of clothes in her locker and smiled. Her best friend Amy had talked her older brother, Chad, into a ride to the mall in his convertible. Hanna had been crushing on him for a long time. Sweet blue eyes, coal black hair, six-pack abs. Amy knew it too.

So why was she standing here daydreaming? She needed to get changed. Her cheerleader uniform wasn’t going to impress him any.

Something cold and hard pressed into her bare lower back.

“Do what I say and I won’t kill you,” a deep voice whispered in her ear.

Hannah shuddered. “What do you want?” her voice cracked.

“Be quiet, do as you’re told, and everything will be fine.” Gloved fingers stroked across her cheek, pulling a stray wisp of hair away from her face. “I have a surprise for you in the showers.”

Her heart pounded. This shouldn’t be happening. This was the girl’s locker room. “I….”

The cold metal pressed deeper into her flesh. “Hush,” the voice whispered. “It’s time to go.”

The hand that had been so eerily gentle on her face moments before caught her upper arm in a vice-like grip. She jerked away from her locker and stumbled forward as the man behind her pushed her toward the tiled opening at the end. Steam billowed from the entry, and Hannah’s breaths quickened and her legs threatened to buckle.

Amy had already gone to take her shower.

“Where’s…”

The cold tile of the wall met her cheek. The man’s weight pressed against her, and she stared into the barrel of his gun.

“I told you to shut the fuck up!”

She nodded, ever so slightly. A sob escaped her body, but she remained stone still.

“Good,” the voice said. “Now, move!”

Once more she was shoved toward the showers. This time she stumbled forward and didn’t say a word.

The hall twisted, opening into a larger area where water from one stall near the back splashed against a foggy plastic curtain. Muffled cries echoed from behind it, and Hannah burst into tears.

The man rested his gun on the bench that lined the back wall, and then gripped her wrists and pushed her roughly against the cold tile. Hannah tried to yell, but he cranked the faucet and shoved her face under the spray.

“Uh, uh, uh. Good girls aren’t loud.” He fumbled with his pants. Hannah fought for a reasonable amount of air under the heavy pelting of water, but couldn’t find her voice to scream.

A length of rope wound round her wrists. She struggled a moment, but he shoved her again into the wall, knocking the wind from her and sending a ringing through her ears. He fumbled at his waist again. Hannah cried. Tears ran down her face. His large fingers shoved a thick damp cloth into her mouth, and she tried to bite him.

“Feisty little bitch, eh?” he asked with a laugh, and secured the gag firmly around her head.

Massive hands rested on her shoulders and shoved her to the floor. Calloused flesh ran over her legs, and gripped her feet when she tried to kick.

“Now, now,” he said. “Little girls must play nice or suffer the consequences.” He wrapped another section of rope around her ankles and tied it tight. “Much better.”

He stood, then, tall and muscular, his face covered by some odd patchwork mask, pieced together haphazardly as though by an amateur.

“First, your friend. Then, you.”

He turned and jerked open the curtain. Amy knelt there, arms bound to her legs, head resting against the solid surface of the wall at a weird angle. He tilted his head in a way that matched hers, and Amy whimpered. In one swift motion he leaned down and snapped her neck.

Hannah tried to scream and nearly choked on the gag. “Too much of a fighter,” her captor said, as he unfastened his pants and knelt before her friend’s dead body.

She closed her eyes tight and fought the bonds. Her wrists ached, her arms hurt. She struggled to tune out the grotesque grunting coming from uncomfortably close. Her thumb popped out of joint, and her heart soared at the thought of freedom. She did the same with the other. A stupid hereditary fluke, some silly weekend party trick, and it may be the thing that saved her ass. The rope held fast, but Hannah wriggled her wrist and gently eased her hand from the bonds.

Opening her eyes, she almost retched, but then she saw red. She lunged for the gun, gripping it firmly as she turned toward the man who swiveled at her movements and faced her with eyes wide over his pathetic mask. He threw himself toward her, still exposed, arms reaching for the weapon.

The gun bucked in her hands, she jerked back and the cold tile caught her and cradled her body, as a hole appeared in his forehead and a trail of blood ran down his face. She pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun into the man. Even then, she didn’t stop trying to kill him.

Gentle arms gripped hers. “Hannah?” She turned, and stared at the concerned face of her coach.

Her friend’s dead face appeared, and then the man’s face, with the bloody holes and empty eyes. Hannah retched.

* * *

Hannah turned herself off after that. She didn’t live, she functioned. Counselors tried, therapists, her parents even talked about committing her. Hannah didn’t really care.

On the day of her eighteenth birthday, a somber businesslike woman pulled Hannah from her classroom into a private meeting and said, “I’m with TOP, and we want you on our team.”

For the first time in almost a year, Hannah felt something stir inside. “What’s TOP.”

The woman smiled. “We can’t talk here. If you want to know, come with me.”

She stood and walked out of the principal’s private office.

Hannah followed.