Table of Contents
Excerpt
Kudos for Marilee Brothers
Affliction
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
His cheek scrapes across mine,
his mouth just inches from my lips. “Look at me, Minnie,” he whispers. “Tell me what you see.”
I lift my gaze and stare into his eyes, fully expecting to see my own face, possibly streaked with bits of sticky syrup and framed with flattened helmet hair. Nothing scary. Just something I’d rather not experience right now. But someone changed the channel.
My breath hitches in my chest. “Fire,” I say. “I see a smoldering fire.”
Billy’s mouth grazes my cheek. “Smoldering, huh? Let’s make it burn hotter.”
His lips touch mine, tentative at first, until I wrap my arms around his neck and try to climb inside his skin. He deepens the kiss, his silky tongue slipping into my mouth. I’m transported to another place. My world consists of all things tactile. The sound of our breathing. The smell of his leather jacket. The warmth of his body against mine. The softness of his lips. The heat spiraling through my body like wildfire. More. I want more.
I’m brought back to earth by the sound of a honking horn and a raucous shout, “Hey, you two, get a room!”
Embarrassed, I push away from Billy and stare at the ground, trying to get my breathing under control. Billy grabs my hand and kisses the back of it like an errant knight wooing a fair maiden. This strikes me as hilarious and I snort laugh. Also embarrassing.
Billy releases my hand and tilts my chin back. “I’m not leaving until you look at me one more time. I promise you, it’s safe.”
Kudos for Marilee Brothers
Winner of First Place
in the Booksellers Best Contest in 2012
Affliction
by
Marilee Brothers
The Soul Seekers Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Affliction
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Marilee Brothers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by RJ Morris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0620-9
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0621-6
The Soul Seekers Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To all my wonderful friends and readers
who have encouraged me,
supported me, and lifted me up
when my writing journey hit some bumps in the road.
I appreciate you more than I can say.
Chapter One
April 2010
Slightly buzzed, I stagger out the door into the warm spring air, redolent with the odor of orange blossoms, a sweet relief from the musky smell of weed permeating the party house. I’m a cheap date. At one hundred and five pounds, getting buzzed requires only a single beer. It’s not like I had a date. No way. But it is the reason I’m a few minutes late following my best friend, Dani, to her car.
Dani is my ride home. But, I’d hesitated when she was ready to go. I thought I had a chance with a cute guy I remembered from school. Long story short, I didn’t. A willowy blonde chick named Heather beat me to the punch. I’m not a good loser. Disgusted by the fickleness of the male species, I decide to split.
Pausing for a moment outside the door, I notice a black BMW with tinted windows parked next to the curb, engine running. I try to clear the fog from my brain. Where the hell did we park the car? I’d just stepped off the porch when I hear muffled cursing and a yip of pain. Female pain.
“Get your hands off me, asshole!”
Dani’s voice. High pitched with fear and rage.
Two figures emerge from the shadows. The smaller one jerks free and runs for the street. Her much bigger pursuer covers the ground in three strides and grabs her as she reaches the sidewalk. He wraps both arms around her and lifts her off her feet.
“Dani!” I yell, racing after them. “What’s going on?”
At the sound of my voice, the guy holding Dani turns to face me. I recognize him from the party. He and his friend were sharing a joint and looking around the room with bored expressions. I’d glanced into his eyes, didn’t like what I saw and steered clear of him. Should have warned Dani.
He looks at me and sneers, “Get the fuck outta here. We’re having a little disagreement. Nothing major.”
“Bullshit!” Dani cries, struggling to free herself.
“Let her go.” I reach for my cell phone. “I’m calling 911 right now.”
“Go ahead.” He tips his head toward the BMW. “We’ll be gone when they get here. We’re going for a ride, aren’t we, sweetheart?”
He gives Dani a little shake and starts toward the car. “You’re going to learn not to be such a prick tease.”
No time for 911. I jump in front of him. “Let her go. Now.”
The guy grins down at me, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “Who’s gonna stop me, pipsqueak? You? I don’t think so.”
Nobody calls me pipsqueak. I double up my fist and swing from the heels for his perfectly shaped, aristocratic nose. Because of the disparity in our heights, I miss. Instead of his nose, my fist plows into his throat. Gagging, he drops Dani, clutches his throat with both hands and stumbles backward. His knees buckle and he crumples. The back of his head bounces off the curb. Wide-eyed, Dani and I watch in horror, willing him to move. He doesn’t.
The door of the BMW swings open and his friend pops out.
“Call 911. Your friend’s hurt,” I yell.
; I grab Dani’s hand and we run like hell.
*****
May 2014
The baby’s soul is spotless. Unlike her mother’s. I have to save her. If I don’t, her soul will soon be stained with fear and pain like her three older siblings. I have a plan. Yes, it’s half-assed, but a half-assed plan is better than nothing…right?
I’m at the end of my shift as a nurse’s aide. Visiting hours are over. I check the nursery window for proud daddies and grandparents. Nobody. Still in my scrubs, I slip into the nursery and call to the overworked nurse on duty, “This one is needed in the lab.”
She nods. I tuck the tiny baby girl in my right arm and hold her close to my body, similar to a running back clutching a football. Head down, I step out into the hall and walk to the door leading to the stairs.
“Hey, you!” Male voice.
My heart leaps in my chest. I stop and turn. Stan, from the janitorial staff, pushes his mop down the hall in pursuit of a cute, young LPN who gives him a coy finger wave. I take a shaky breath and slip through the door.
I gallop down the stairs and stop on the second floor landing. Breathing hard, I use a fingernail clipper to remove the baby’s ID bracelet. She opens her eyes and, I swear, she smiles at me. It’s not a gas smile. I know the difference.
“Okay, baby girl, let’s do it,” I murmur, trotting down the remaining stairs.
The lobby is milling with people. Good or bad? Too soon to tell. I straighten my shoulders and try to behave like I’m acting in an official capacity. That’s the thing about hospitals. There’s a bajillion employees going hither and yon. If you look like you know what you’re doing, nobody bothers you.
I can see the front entrance. It’s so close. I pray Lydia will be parked at the curb, an important part of the plan. My friend, Lydia, can’t get pregnant and really wants a baby. She has a pretty good soul. A little spotty from past indiscretions, but whose isn’t? Plus, it’s waaay spiffier than the soul of the kid’s lazy, abusive mother. Lydia has a good job and a steady boyfriend who will be a good father. Win-win situation.
Such was my thinking at the time. My mother often says, “Honor Melanie Sullivan, things are not always black and white.” To which I always respond, “They are to me.”
A scant five steps from the door, I hear, “You with the baby. Stop!”
I look over my shoulder. Mary Lou Schwinn, Director of Nursing, is closing in fast. Damn nurse shoes. Never heard her coming. I send a silent apology to Lydia and hand over the kid.
*****
My mother, Sandra Sullivan Morales, and I sit side by side in hardback chairs across the cluttered desk of my probation officer, Stan Abbot. Despite the warm weather, a cardigan sweater is draped across Sandra’s knees. The sweater’s purpose has nothing to do with style or warmth.
Abbot’s office chair creaks in protest as he leans back, studying my file with a puzzled frown. A bit of his plump, hairy belly protrudes from a gap in his buttoned dress shirt. I avert my eyes but know I can’t unsee the image. It’s burned into my retinas.
He glances up at me. “Honor Sullivan,” he intones.
“Stan Abbot,” I reply, earning a reproachful look from my mother.
I wonder what his frown indicates. Is he trying to connect my face to my name? Or, does the frown mean something more ominous. Like maybe he found out what happened at the hospital. Doubtful, since the hospital bigwigs decided not to press charges. Technically, I was still inside the hospital when Schwinn stopped me and, upon questioning, I told her I had no intention of leaving with the baby. More importantly, the hospital doesn’t want folks to know how easy it is to snag a kid from the nursery. They settled for my resignation and promise to never darken their door again.
Abbot clears his throat and places my file on his desk. “So, Honor, this is our exit interview. After today, you’ll be off probation.”
Okay, he doesn’t know about the incident. I nod.
“Just a few questions and you’ll be free to go.”
I nod again, fixing my gaze on the file folder.
“I see you’re still not making eye contact. Are you taking your meds for Aspergers?”
“Yes,” I lie.
My mother squirms in her chair. Technically, I don’t have Aspergers. My so-called affliction is something entirely different. From age six, I could look into people’s eyes and read their souls. Most of the time, I don’t like what I see. Consequently, I stare at the ground a lot.
“Clonidine for impulsivity…right?” Abbot says.
“Me? Impulsive?” I joke, risking a quick glance at Abbot’s face. I really don’t want to know what is in his soul. He holds my future in his hands. What if I see something truly awful? Then, I’ll have to leap from my chair and karate chop him across his thick neck. Okay, it’s possible I may have a touch of Aspergers.
“It’s in your psych report.”
Is this the first time he’s read my psych report? I decide to test him. “What else does it say?”
Obviously unprepared for the question, he compresses his lips and scans the paper.
“It says you had a language delay and received special services in the first and second grade.”
Sandra speaks sharply. “Does it say why? You do know she’d just witnessed the death of her twin sister?”
A buzzing sound fills my head. Not a good sign. Sandra’s hand creeps under the sweater and grips my leg, grounding me.
Abbot continues, “It says she and her sister communicated in their own language, and Hope was struck by an automobile when the twins were six.”
He lifts his gaze from the report. “Hope and Honor, huh?”
I cover my mother’s hand with my own and take a deep breath. Let it out. “Hope is dead. So is Honor. I go by Melanie now. Mel, for short.”
Sandra says, “I believe my daughter has met all the conditions of her probation. Do you have further questions?”
Abbot ignores her, opens my file folder and extracts a sheet of paper. “It’s been four years since Adam Boyle’s untimely death, Mel, which makes you now twenty two years old. Since you were eighteen when this occurred, may I remind you how lucky you are not to be sitting in a prison cell?”
My mother bristles, slowly morphing into Mama Grizzly.
I fix my gaze on Abbot’s wobbly double chin. “May I remind you he was assaulting my friend? Yeah, I punched him, but when he fell, his head hit the curb. That’s what killed him.” Adam Boyle was a damn bully. So I punched him a little harder than I meant to. Karma.
My mother adds, “If Adam hadn’t been Senator Boyle’s son, the incident would have been a non issue.”
Abbot peers over his half glasses at my mother as if assessing the danger. Finally, he sighs. “Frankly, Mrs. Morales, if not for the psych report and diagnosis of Aspergers, your daughter would have been incarcerated. You should count your blessings.”
“Count my blessings,” she repeats, her eyes flashing with anger.
My turn to remain calm, I squeeze her hand and murmur, “Let it go.”
She snatches her hand away and gives Abbot the stink eye. “Are we done?”
“Almost,” Abbot says. He shuffles through the papers again. Extracts a single sheet, peruses it. “So, Honor, er, Mel, how’s your job going? You’ve been at the hospital two years now?”
“Fine,” I say. “It’s going fine.” Operative word: Going. As in going, going, gone.
My mother pinches her lips together.
After a single knock, the door flies open and the secretary who guards Abbot’s door appears. “You’re way behind schedule, Stan, and you’ve got a lunch meeting in five minutes.”
Abbot mumbles, “Got it.”
He closes my file folder and stands.
Are we done?
Abbot says, “Your job evaluations have been excellent. So, as long as you are gainfully employed and stay on your meds, you’re good to go.”
I glance over at Sandra and rise from my chair. “Okay.”
; Strike one. No meds. Strike two. No job. One more strike and you’re out, Honor Melanie Sullivan.
Chapter Two
The sky is black as pitch at five a.m. Sandra reaches up into the cab of the massive eighteen-wheeler and hands me a cooler packed with enough food for five hungry truckers, even though there are only two of us. Jimmy, the driver, and yours truly. Jimmy drives for my stepfather, Abel Morales, owner of Able Trucking for which my mother is a dispatcher. I’ve chosen to ride with Jimmy because his soul reinforces my notion he’s a good guy who won’t try to feel me up on our 600-mile journey north to Redding. I will disembark there and hitch a ride with Brett for the second leg of the trip, Redding to 3 Peaks, Oregon. I’ve chosen stud muffin Brett for the exact opposite reason of the first.
What can I say? For the last few years, Sandra has kept a tight rein on my carnal desires. And, frankly, my previous sexual experiences are nothing to brag about. In other words, I’m still looking for the big O.
Sandra’s brow is crinkled with worry lines. “I wish you didn’t have to go, but you know it’s for the best.”
I drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Yep. New start. Time to get the hell out of San Berdoo.” I use the slang term for my hometown, San Bernardino, California, birthplace of the Hells Angels and considered by some to be “the armpit of California.”
“You’re sure Dani knows you’re on your way?”
“Yeah, I emailed her.”
The fact I hadn’t heard back from Dani, now living in 3 Peaks, would remain my little secret.
“Give the baby a kiss for me.”
“I will.”
“And don’t try to steal her.”
I check Sandra’s expression and determine she’s kidding, so I grin. “I’ll abort my kidnap plan.”
“You have your résumés?”
I pat my backpack. “All four of ’em.”
My mother has a shady side. She created a set of impressive résumés to assist me in my job search once I arrive in Oregon. She now has a designated cell phone to receive calls from prospective employers. I expect rave reviews.
“Gotta hit the road, kid,” Jimmy says.
My mother climbs into the cab and wraps me up in her arms. I feel the warmth of her tears against my cheek. A wave of sadness sweeps over me. It may sound strange, but the two of us have never lived apart. I was more than ready to move out at eighteen. Then, Adam Boyle happened. Good old Stan Abbot decided it would be best if I remained at home under Sandra’s watchful eye.
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