Allysonn's Destiny

by Eryn Ryans

  Eryn Ryans

  Copyright Ⓒ 2019 Eryn Rayns & Moonlight Writers Publishing. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To my husband, you were my destiny from the start

  My life changed that fateful day, I had come home to find my house engulfed in flames. The newspapers, for days afterward, all reported the same approved cause of the flames. My father had fallen asleep on the couch smoking a cigarette. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as the local authorities were concerned. I, on the other hand, could not be convinced that something more had not happened.

  He and I had never seen eye to eye for a moment in my seventeen years. Always pushing me with his biting words I found myself gone any time he was home. That day was no exception, so I was not at our single story shack that barely qualified as a home when the fire started.

  We had kicked off the day with another big blowout fight, no surprise there. Knowing I didn’t want any part of his wrath as the day wound on I had opted to leave as I usually do on the weekends and spent the night at my best friend's house. Sam’s house right up the small tree-lined street from my own felt more like a home to me than the four walls of my house ever had.

  When I heard the screaming wail of their accent I knew. Crashing down the small two laned street toward the only home I had ever known after I listened in shocked silence as the fire engine’s screeching siren flew past Sam’s window. I can’t explain it I just knew. Those life-saving sounds were headed to my house and something was very wrong.

  Leaping up from where I had sat on Sam’s floor lamenting my life I threw myself out of the very same window that I had entered earlier that day in my attempt to get away from home for a few hours. As my feet crunched in the leafy debris beneath the window sill I ran without abandon back the way I had come. Down the small street that had separated my house from the sanctuary that was Sam’s I flew.

  Rounding the tree line I was breathless when I took in the sight of the flames licking over the roof line. Everything that I had known to be home glowed in the red-grey smoke of the fire. The small house was surrounded by what felt like the entire fire department. Men were shouting, fighting the flames back as I watched in horror as smoke billowed skywards from the smashed windows. My heart raced in my chest as I crept closer to the source of chaos.

  Wait. Let me backup for a bit. That day had started like any other weekend. The sun rose in the east with all its blazing glory every morning. I had gotten up early so I could get in my early morning run. Trekking the empty streets at daybreak is very peaceful for me. I love the smell of the dew on the leaves and the chirp of the animals rising for the day as I race through the blissful neighborhood.

  Showering that morning I wallowed in the comfort of my morning rain shampoo and conditioner, those scents always brought out a semblance that everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t right now. The mystic waters body wash rejuvenated my spirit as I dried off. Dressing in a pair of shorts and a tank top I made my way toward the back exit through the kitchen. It may have been early September, but it was still warm even early in the morning and I wanted to get out before it got too hot.

  Sliding my ear-buds into place I turned on my Country music line up as I pushed through the kitchen door ready to start the day only to be pulled up short by my father. Weekends were the worst because I was home from school and he was home from work. Taking one look at his rumpled form leaning against the kitchen table I knew he had already started drinking.

  “What are you doing up this early?” The slurred words slipped forth like lazy rivers of accusation as I rounded the table toward the door. Maybe he had just kept drinking from last night and that was why he looked like a poisoned raccoon splayed on the wooden table top for balance?

  “Going running, just like every morning Dad.” Not holding back the bite of those words I slipped my mp3 into my pocket as I stretched my arms behind my back.

  “You are not a normal teenager...” Rolling my eyes at the idea of my drunken father yet again slurring at me about being normal I decided we were done here.

  “What would you know about what a normal teenager is?” Holding the snark to a whisper I turned toward the door to leave.

  “What was that?” Finding the strength to sway in his chair he shouted at me as I exited the kitchen, more than ready for our chat to be a thing of the past.

  “Nothing Dad, I’ll be back after my run.” Shouting over my shoulder as I pulled the door closed behind me I felt that long healed wound at the strike of his words itch again. I had learned at an early age not to argue with my father when he had been drinking, but nothing was going to stop me from running.

  The only freedom I got from the loneliness of being an only child to the beat up shell of a person that my father had become was when I flew down the streets in the early morning. Having really only one friend in school wasn’t much of an escape and being stuck in my room all day made me stir crazy. My shoes pounded on the chilled cement as I followed the streets twisting and turning a path through the neighborhood I grew up in.

  When I had gotten back from my near mile run, I quickly showered again. Washing all the sweat and grime off of me I dressed for comfort as I would be doing everything I could to stay out of the house while Dad slept off his post-Friday drunken stupor.

  Slipping on my soft red t-shirt and my favorite jean skirt, a pair of red bobby socks and my favorite sneakers to complete my outfit I smiled at my reflection in the cracked mirror in my bedroom. One day, when I can buy my own clothes I will dress exclusively in soft shirts like this one I had found in a clearance bin at the local store. Grabbing my book off the stand by my bed I tucked the letter of recommendation I had just gotten yesterday from my English teacher inside its hardcover.

  Sam was not going to believe the news I was bringing to him in just a few moments. Having scraped together the application fee over the last few months I had gotten the letter in the mail yesterday just as Dad pulled in from work. The fat envelope rested in my hands as he wandered down the path with his twelve pack in hand ready to binge the weekend away.

  Accepted. The words still rang around my brain unfamiliar. I had never been accepted into anything. Not parties, not friends, and certainly not a normal life. Yet in my hands was a crisply folded acceptance letter to an Ivy League school. For me going to a good school was a rag to riches daydream I could only hope would come true.

  I knew it was a mistake when I held the letter up to show him. Any other father would have been proud. Any other father would not have cracked open a beer before he got to the front door. Any other father would have said anything other than the words that he spat at me upon reading the neat words written on the manila paper.

  “No daughter of mine is going to go no Ivy League school and become a snob.” His gruff words hit me like a Mack truck. A snob! What?

  “Dad don’t be so unreasonable, they are offering me a full ride scholarship, room and board included. Books too! You won’t have to pay for anything.” Spitting at his irate response my ire grew as I hoped to make it clear that my decision was made about the matter.

  “I said what I had to say and that is final. You will go to the community school here in town and you will be fine with that.” He commanded as if I would listen to anything he had t
o say on the topic of my education past high school. Irritation ate me up as I glared at the beaten up form of the man who raised me. The man who shouted at me for trying to better myself. How dare he!

  Stomping through the hall to my room I thought of all the days I had spent picking up cans to make the money for this application. All the hours of working on my essay while he drank away his brain functioning with Pabst Blue Ribbon. When I got to my bedroom door couldn’t keep it in any longer. Turning to him I screamed back down the white, cracked lined hallway.

  “I HATE YOU!!!!” Slamming my door shut never felt so good. Throwing myself down on top of my creaky old bed the tears started before I could rationalize them away.

  Calculating my chances I didn’t wait long before I knew that I could not stay in the same house as my father. He would keep me here with him while he drank himself into oblivion. Grabbing my only large bag I began to make my plan. Shoving it full of clothes and a few knick-knacks I decided that today was it. I was done. At seventeen I had taken all I could take of my father being a grade A jerk. Throwing open my crusty paint-chipped window I let the bag fall like I had done a thousand times before. I was going to go and stay at the one person’s house who truly cared for me. My best friend in the entire world. Sam would understand why I had to get away.

  Sam and I had become best friends in the first grade. I had just moved to Ashbourne with my Dad, back then he was just an absent father and not a drunken wreck. I was sitting alone at my new desk, not sure what to do with my hands in my anxious state of uncertainty. Sam walked up and laid a cracker in front of me on my desk. It sounds silly when I think about it now but that cracker was a symbol. Taking a seat at the desk next to mine he smiled his broad grin at me and I knew.

  Casting him a weak smile I hoped he would be my friend as I was too shy to go talk to any of the other kids. Then we sat there eating crackers silently. We have been best friends ever since. We spent almost every waking moment with each other, or at least as much as either of our parents would allow us.

  Freshly showered I slipped out the window with my book in hand. Grabbing the bag from the ground I vowed that this was the last time. The last straw. My father would no longer command me like I was some child from him to keep at home forever. Marching my way to Sam’s house in the bright Saturday morning light I felt the resignation inside me settle.

  “Ally, I’m sure when your Dad is sober, he will see that you going away to school will be the best thing for you.” Sam softly chided me after I had tapped on his window waking him up. His attempts at trying to get me into a better mood were useless. I knew that nothing would sober Dad, he was bound and determined that would never happen.

  “You know my Dad Sam; do you really believe those words?” Cocking an eyebrow at my sandy-haired sweet best friend I recalled the time we had tried dating. To say it had been awkward was an understatement. Nah, we were much better as co-conspirators than lovers any day. Resting against his postered wall I watched him rack a hand through his rumpled hair as he thought about my question.

  “No, I guess you are right,” breathing out a sigh of disbelief he continued, “so how are you going to get away?”

  Pointing at my bag I replied sarcastically “I’ve already gotten away. You're looking at a fresh-faced runaway.” Eyes wide he stared at me like a three toed sloth. “I know, I know but it is the only way I am going to be able to get the education I deserve Sam, and you know it.” The brokenhearted silence surrounded us as we took in the implications of my being a runaway.

  Sitting in companionable silence we listened to songs on his computer for a while after that. No one knowing what to say that would make this situation better but not wanting to make it worse by talking about it any longer. It was during the break in songs that I first heard the sirens. First off in the distance, and then getting closer.

  “Sam, do you hear that?” I questioned as the guitar to another tune struck up.

  “What the fire engines? Yeah, the Rollins’ have probably set their garage on fire again. It’s nothing,” he said nonchalantly.

  Making my way to his window I gazed out the opaque glass feeling uneasy. Somehow, I didn’t think it was the Rollins this time. Eyes tracking the engines I began to feel the first pangs of panic when the first red engine rushed passed Sam’s house. Sirens blaring as they whipped by something inside of me instantly knew they were headed to my house.

  “Sam, it’s not the Rollins’ house they are headed to. It’s my house!” Panic rang loud in my ears like the boom of a cannon. “I have to go back and check on my Dad.” Quickly gathering my bag I leaped out the window I had entered in just hours before.

  Racing down the street I didn’t feel the weight of my bag bouncing against me or the sweat dripping down my back. All I knew was the all-consuming fear that something was wrong. My feet propelled me forward to the only home I had known just as another fire engine showed up. Flames eating the building filled my sight as I wandered forward. Dad! He was still in there. Arms bound around me as I tried to get to the house.

  “Young lady you can’t go in there.” Words that sounded reasonable came from the arms around me, but my head was beyond reason.filled with panic, I screeched, “He’s in there, I have to get him out.” Pinning me to a sitting position on the truck the deep voice of the helmeted fireman reached my ears as I gazed in wonder at the crumbling structure behind him.

  “If he is in there my men will get him out.” Disbelieve coated everything I knew as he went back to the team shouting commands. Knees weak I watched as the house burnt slowly away.

  Feeling every ounce of muscle within me was helpless I watched the fire roar on knowing there was nothing I could do. When the firefighters exited the house with my father’s limp body, I ran to him. Struggling past the hands that tried to stop me I threw myself next to where they lay him trying to resuscitate his pale ashen form.

  “Dad talk to me. Dad, please just talk to me.” Tears slid down my cheeks as he lay not moving under the hands of the skilled firemen. Oxygen mask on his face I called to him to come back to me with my very being.

  “I’m sorry miss, but your father didn’t make it.” One of the firefighters softly patted my shoulder as I broke inside. This man was the only family I had in the world, sure he was a drunken mess but he was my entire world.

  “No that can’t be, he has to make it, give him some oxygen. Get him breathing again. Please do something.” My words echoed hysterically around the gathering of people. In my mind, I knew they had. They had done everything they could but in my heart, I hoped for a miracle.

  “There is nothing we can do. I’m sorry.” The words fell on deaf ears as I stood shaking, the ground crumbling beneath my feet as the entire world I had known broke to pieces before me.

  Two weeks had passed since I was taken away in the white van to Sage Hallow. The long an winding highway taking me from everything I had ever known in the small town of Ashbourne. Every day of the last seventeen years of my life I had spent wishing things would change in the sad days looked now like a dream I was waking up from.

  Fourteen days had flown by as I shuffled from place to place meeting people in nicely pleated suits who determined that while I was nearly eighteen I wasn’t quite an adult yet. Not an adult and with no family to be spoken of I was sent to live with a foster family that would watch over me for the next few months until I aged out of the Child Protective Services case load.

  Three hundred odd hours had passed since I had run down the street feeling the panic eating me up inside. Knowing that something was wrong and not being able to stop my life from shattering around me. The fires still light up the back of my eyes every time I closed them. Smoke coated my hair for hours after I was taken away from the smoldering pile of my former home.

  Only the roll of stamps in my bag kept me tied to home. Sending letters to Sam as I stayed in motels while the case workers tried to find me a family to take care of me. Pouring my thoughts out onto the paper felt so c
lose to talking to him. Now that I was settled into my foster home I could put a return address on the envelopes and he would reply. Hoping I could read his sloping script any day now I thought about all the time I had spent sneaking off to his house or to the neighborhood just to get away. He was the only one I had left in my little broken world any more, the last link to who I had been when I was just a daughter to the town drunk.

  The family I was staying with seemed to be okay, for a suburban couple who wanted nothing more than to take care of the hooligans they had been given. Pam, the wife was a sweetheart at her core. She had already asked me if I was comfortable here more times than I could count. It was hard to not roll my eyes but I knew she meant well.

  Rodger, who spent most of his days at work, was a cool guy. Tall as a telephone pole the guy was everything my Dad had never been. It felt strange watching adults do responsible things like wash the dishes and cook dinner for the group of kids. The two seemed to be really in love, or at least in love enough to put up with the sass their group of teenagers supplied in full force.

  When I was placed in a foster family I had envisioned small kids and a dog. What I didn’t think of was five teenagers, three about to age out of the system.

  Aaric, who seems to be almost eighteen like me, acts like an outcast. Always standing toward the wall and leaving the room as his first opportunity. I haven't been able to say two words to the guy but that is fine. It’s not like I’m staying here for long and I need to know any of them very well.

  Then there was another girl about my age. Brooke, I think they said her name was. She is a bit of an airhead. Always talking Pam’s ear off about some school drama or another.

  There was Janie, who is about fifteen, I like her the most. She sits quietly and listens to the others talk. We share smiles when the youngest one, Scotty makes jokes and foolish pranks. He’s thirteen and one fourth. I only know because he told me with in the first few moments of meeting him. For a younger brother he’s pretty cool.