Monochrome by H.M. Jones Page A

other residents about, not surprisingly. It wasn’t the sort of place one wandered. She stood under the showerhead, not wanting to mingle with Monochromian residents. She continued to rinse herself, fighting the urge to peek out of the stall and see who entered the bathroom. Even though the water was getting colder by the second, she now had to wait until the other person left before getting out of the stall.
    Five minutes passed and she was getting frigid and impatient. Maybe the other woman left already and she didn’t hear her exit, over the sound of the water. She shut off the now icy water, rubbing warmth into her arms. She pulled back the thin black curtain a crack, in order to check to make sure the bathroom was clear, and was shaken to see she was not, in fact, alone.
    The man with the grey hair stood by the sink where she laid her clothing. He winked at her and held the dress up with one hand, pretending to offer it to her.
    “Looking for this? We’ve been waiting for you.”
    Abigail’s whole body shook from fear and from the cold water sitting on her skin. “We?” She was annoyed her voice was shaky and weak. Another stranger stalked into view.
    This man was younger, but just as desperate, as the grey-haired man. His eyes were the same pitch black, his brown hair stringy and unwashed. He bit a chapped lip, staring at her head, peeking out from behind the curtain.
    “If the rest is as pretty as her face, we’ve hit the jackpot, Chuck.” He addressed the grey-haired man, but didn’t take his eyes from her. “Where’s the man she was with?”
    Chuck shrugged. “He’s not with her. He’s a Guide. I’ve seen him before. I didn’t see him out there, so he must have his own room, right baby?”
    The last question was aimed at her. All she knew was these men looked like the type who killed for what they wanted, and she didn’t want Ishmael’s death on her hands.
    “He’s sleeping. The room next to mine.” Her voice shook as badly as her frigid body.
    The grey-haired man ambled towards her. “You’re cold. Come on out of there, beautiful. We’ll warm you up.”
    Her years of self-defense and martial arts hadn’t prepared her for the fear that disabled her right now. It paralyzed her body and mind.
    “Give me my dress.”
    The brown-haired man snorted. “Come get it.” He laughed the same sick laugh as his friend when she and Ishmael passed him in the bar, and, for some reason, that angered her.
    “Don’t laugh at me,” she warned the man.
    Her anger amused both the men and they laughed more boisterously. Her body shook even more ferociously, but not from fear. The last six months of stress and tension overcame her, staring at these slimy perverts, waiting to force her, to take away her power and her say.
    Too often, she felt like her life was not her own, and she wasn’t about to concede to this violation. If they wanted her, they’d have to fight for it. If there was one thing she was good at, it was hurting other people. She pulled back the black curtain and stepped out of the shower.
    The men stopped laughing and both leaned in, their greedy, dead eyes taking in her body. The element of surprise was on her side. With one hand behind her back she gripped the black shower curtain. With the other hand she beckoned the greasy men towards her.
    The grey-haired man prowled towards her, his eyes locked on her body, not her hands. In one fluid motion, Abigail ripped the black shower curtain off its plastic rings and tossed it over the head of the grey-haired man. He was a couple inches shorter than her, so it wasn’t difficult to cover him with it. Blinded, he flailed under the curtain.
    Abigail took advantage of his momentary blindness and landed a powerful kick to his face. The man groaned and fell backwards, hitting his skull against the hard tile floor of the bathroom. She heard a crack and grimaced, but quickly faced the other man. The brown-haired man dropped the dress he was still