Red Ochre Falls

by Kristen Gibson

  Red Ochre Falls

  Kristen Gibson

  Redline Motive / Detroit

  Copyright © 2015 by Kristen Gibson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Publication Data

  Red Ochre Falls/ Redline Motive. —First edition.

  ISBN 978-0-9909058-0-6

  eBook ISBN 978-0-9909058-1-3

  1. Mystery—Fiction. 2. Romance—Fiction. 3. Self-defense—Fiction. I. Title.

  DEDICATION

  To John, Abigail, and Connor for making every day a beautiful adventure. Thanks go to family and friends who helped create this book.

  In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to out future.

  —ALEX HALEY

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  i

  Prologue

  ii

  Chapter 1

  1

  Chapter 2

  3

  Chapter 3

  8

  Chapter 4

  14

  Chapter 5

  23

  Chapter 6

  34

  Chapter 7

  49

  Chapter 8

  55

  Chapter 9

  65

  Chapter 10

  72

  Chapter 11

  88

  Chapter 12

  92

  Chapter 13

  99

  Chapter 14

  112

  Chapter 15

  118

  Chapter 16

  134

  Chapter 17

  160

  Chapter 18

  171

  Chapter 19

  182

  Chapter 20

  194

  Chapter 21

  200

  Chapter 22

  207

  Chapter 23

  214

  Chapter 24

  218

  Chapter 25

  223

  Chapter 26

  227

  Chapter 27

  230

  Chapter 28

  239

  Chapter 29

  243

  Chapter 30

  253

  Chapter 31

  271

  Chapter 32

  277

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to the following people who encouraged my writing career and helped shape this story: Susan Rose, John Gibson, Bev Gibson, Ron Gibson, and Debbie Sears for their belief, enthusiasm and/or editorial skills; to the officers, insiders, and krav maga masters who offered help and information; the many incredible teachers and writers who’ve inspired me to become an author; to my husband and children for cheering me on, and smiling despite the countless hours of work and convenience meals it took to make this book a reality; and to my mom and grandma for sharing their storytelling gifts. Hope you enjoy the book and will overlook any mistakes.

  PROLOGUE

  My hands were tied so tight there was no wiggle room. My desperate wrist contortions only made things worse, and the strap dug deeper into my skin. Breathing hurt and the pain seared from having my hands bound behind my back so long. I needed to get out of here. I tried talking, actually reasoning with him, but could only croak out a weak appeal. He was in charge, and wasn’t interested in listening. He wanted the stage all to himself. Speaking was a performance to him, like he held some imaginary audience captive, not just me. He moved closer. My gut clenched as the smell of his cologne mixed with the damp odor of the place. The single light bulb hanging from the grey ceiling cast his face with monstrous shadows. I searched the room for another way out. Nothing. Absolutely nothing came to mind. I braced myself, closed my eyes and thought, we all come from somewhere. Then he knocked me out. Cold.

  CHAPTER 1

  We loaded the last boxes into an el cheapo version of a U-Haul and I piled a bunch of clothes into our car. Being neat was the last thing on my mind. I’d had it with boxes, and packing, and moving. I just wanted to close my eyes and forget this ever happened. Unfortunately, this was only the beginning, if you could call it that. It felt more like an ending—a big, fat disappointment of an ending. I was getting mad again. I needed to keep my emotions in check if we were going to survive the long drive ahead.

  I sucked in a breath and turned to look back at our home. Then it hit me. It’s not ours anymore.

  We loved this house. We worked hard to make it our own—from the pastel tulips and sweet magnolias in the yard to the sheer butterfly curtains in my second-story room, and the built-in shelves in mom’s office filled with books. We made a good life here. Now, we had to leave. Why us? I wondered. Because it was what was best for now, mom had said.

  Pressure rose in my head and I stopped breathing for a minute. The sky beyond the house glowed with pink streaks as day gave way to night. The light was so intense I could barely see anything for a while after.

  “At least we’ll have a roof over our heads, Mattie,” mom whispered as she touched my shoulder. “We should consider ourselves lucky.”

  I wanted to resent her, and her comment, but I knew she was right. We were lucky. Other families didn’t have half of what we did, even though it didn’t feel like much right now. Mom had suffered a heart attack, we’d lost grandma, and our move felt like defeat to me. It would take some time to adjust. I didn’t know if I could handle it.

  Tears flooded my eyes as the hugs and goodbyes tore at my heart.

  Once the send off crew started to wane, we prepared for takeoff.

  My foot hit a crusty mat, and the truck creaked as I stepped up into the Faux-haul. The cab reeked of fast food, gas, and a few worse odors. At least it started.

  Neither of us wanted to leave, so we took our time doing final checks. I programmed our destination into the plug-in navigation box my Aunt Eileen gave us. The note she included made us laugh, but it was a touching sentiment: Never will you be alone; with this you can always find your way home. We waved goodbye and headed toward our destination.

  Mom drove the old beater, I got the rental. The truck shocks worked about as good as the as the old AM/FM radio—which came without knobs or power. If this was any indication of the trip ahead, I was in for a bumpy ride.

  CHAPTER 2

  After a couple hours, the rush of hitting the open road wore off. Driving felt like a chore—a tailgating Camry and a near collision with a semi didn’t help. Plus, nature called, so I signaled for us to pull off the highway.

  We stopped at a gas station. I nearly fell out of the truck. My legs reluctantly uncurled and a shiver shook me. I pulled out my phone. Another text from my friend Jocelyn.

  I met Jos when we were kids and coveted her tan skin and stuffed animal collection. Growing up, we got into and out of tons of trouble.

  Jos had been eager to hear about our new place, but I kept most of the details secret, even from her. I just didn’t have the stomach to get into it with her over the phone. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say to anyone about what happened and where we were headed.

  Mom walked over as I finished texting Jos back. I told my friend I’d let her know when we got in, and we’d catch up later.

  “You need anything from inside?” Mom offered.

  “I’ll go.” I shook again and stuffed the phon
e back in my pocket. I’d make time to find a jacket after my pit stop. “How about some snacks?”

  “Sure. Pick up a Lotto ticket while you’re in there.”

  I would have said something, but she already knew my response. See, I used to think it was fun to pick numbers. We’d play our birthdays, and a few random numbers on a whim the years mom had a job. I think our biggest jackpot was fifty bucks—not bad, for a one-timer. We hoped to win enough she could quit her job, travel, and pay for college. Since mom got hurt, and left her job, money’s been tight, so the lotto wasn’t as much fun. Sometimes, I humored her.

  “You never know, we might get lucky,” she said and handed me a twenty.

  I smiled. If it was one thing about my mom that stayed true through this whole mess, it was her belief something good would come of it. Despite her genuine concern about keeping us above water—doctors told mom to leave her high stress job, or risk another heart attack—hope remained. I felt hopeful too, but figured we needed more than a little luck to get back on our feet.

  Guzzle Mart was bright and stocked with everything from donuts to shoe polish. They even had stuff I hadn’t seen in a long time, like Corn Nuts, Big Slurps, and rotisserie hot dogs. I’d sworn off gas station meats ever since a finals week episode left me praying over a porcelain altar.

  “Five on the Lotto.” I piled everything, plus a car freshener on the counter.

  The clerk looked as enthusiastic as a pit bull. He had dark hair, a bunch of strange tats and a nose ring.

  “You wanna kicker with that?”

  “No thanks.”

  He scanned the items, took the money then handed back my change, the tickets, and a bag filled with water, pretzels, and Corn Nuts. I couldn’t resist. With food, drinks, and music, I felt ready to tackle the road again.

  When I got back to the truck my phone buzzed. I was just about to turn it silent, when the text caught my eye. It was from Chloe, my college roomie:

  M – seriously need UR help, call me soon – C.

  I should have called, but changed my mind when I saw how tired mom looked. The purplish color under her eyes indicated we needed to finish this trip so she could rest. My phone went silent.

  I crunched some salty Corn Nuts and plastered a smile on my face. Mom needed me to be strong through this, and that’s what I intended to do. I hugged her and watched her get back in the car, then hoisted myself up into the moving truck.

  The car freshener was so strong, even in the plastic it scented the cab. The smell wasn’t great, but it overpowered the sweaty feet just enough to seem like an improvement.

  Wheels rolled and we pulled back onto the highway. My thoughts focused on mom, then navigating semis and lane changes. The truck didn’t have a working radio, and once I’d run out of songs to belt out a cappella, it was easy to get caught up in figuring out why Chloe texted me. Or why my ex had texted me the day before. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Like it or not, the people and past I tried to forget wanted my attention—I’d weigh the pros and cons, and maybe call them later.

  Back in school, Chloe and I took a lot of the same classes, lived together in the same house, and shared a love of music. Between the two of us, and a great sound system, our room became a local hotspot. For a while, we were inseparable. Things changed when she met Tab, a nickname he earned in prep school because the guy never paid for anything. Tab made a habit of convincing people to pay his bills, college was no different. He thought he was God’s gift, but he was less than average every way it counted. Once they started dating, Chloe picked up a lot of Tab’s tabs just so we could keep hanging out at our favorite places.

  Jos and I didn’t like the way he treated her. It started with insults. Then he hit her. Chloe tried to convince us it was just one time, and an accident, but we begged her to leave him. She wouldn’t. It damaged our friendship since I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to abusive jerks, and she’d denied the problem for months.

  One evening, Chloe claimed to need rest and backed out of dinner. Our friend Nina was really concerned because she’d overheard an argument, so a few of us went to check on Chloe. We approached the room and overheard a struggle. I tried the door, but realized it was locked. We never locked our room. The girls living there kept the house locked, and only our housemates had keys. I knocked on the door. Nina called to Chloe and we heard a scream. We banged on the door and warned Tab to stop. Nina begged Chloe to get away from him and unlock the door. I searched the hall table for the skeleton key to see if we could get her out. Then the door opened.

  Chloe answered red-faced, hair a mess with a bleeding lip. She winced when she tried to smile. Nina and I forced our way into the room as Tab zipped up. He smiled and shrugged, barely able to stand. The jerk reeked of whiskey. We were pissed, and he knew it. If I could have lifted his lousy butt, I’d have tossed him out the window. Instead, Chloe defended him. “We were having fun, things just got a little rough,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  Nina and I looked at each other. We didn’t believe it. Just then Jocelyn came back with the Resident Assistant (RA) who’d been cramming for a test in the basement while all this happened.

  Our RA stood firm and told Tab it was time to go. He grabbed his shirt and, grinning, looked back at Chloe. “I’ll see you soon.” I hated him—we all hated him—for hurting Chloe.

  Nina, Jos and I marched Tab downstairs. We shoved him out, locked the door and turned out the porch light.

  After it was over, we sat down and talked to Chloe about what she’d been through. She wouldn’t listen to anything we said. She made excuses for Tab even after we pleaded with her to see how dangerous he was and to cut him off completely.

  Not long after that incident, Jos told us Tab and Chloe cozied up at the library. I’d had it. So, I made every excuse not to be in my own room until late nearly every night. My work suffered; I skipped classes just to rest in my own bed and try to take the edge off.

  The whole thing strained our relationship. My life became about avoiding the people I called friends. So, I didn’t tell anyone about leaving school until Ethan showed up to help me pack. I left and didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back.

  Why Chloe would call me after our long silence eluded me. Maybe she wanted to talk about school, or friends, but my gut told me it centered on Tab. Whatever it was would have to wait, I had bigger issues to tackle right now.

  After a few more Corn Nuts, and more butt-flattening time in the truck without a radio, we approached our exit.

  Welcome to the jungle. I could see grit and guts in the dark corners and stone mammoths, icons from decades past, that contrasted hip, renovated establishments—signs of Cincinnati’s revitalization.

  There was something about coming back at night—lights shining over sleeping buildings, with buzzing pockets of energy below—it looked breathtaking. While we had a rocky past, the city felt familiar. This was the happiest I’d been about the move, or anything, in the past few weeks. I hoped the ending would be different this time.

  We took 5th Street to Vine and wound our way though town until the voice on the Nav directed me to a side street. I made a series of turns and mom followed me uphill.

  A mix of old historic homes and businesses, some still neglected, lined the street. The truck engine moaned. I hoped we’d make it where we were going soon. A guy in a red Beemer behind us must have felt the same, because he honked his horn like he was irritated. Guess he thought the truck would speed up if he annoyed it long enough. But it ignored him.

  Mom and I passed a market, a few shops, a bar, and a bus stop—all the stores you’d need, and some you didn’t. The bulls-eye on the screen showed we were close, so I slowed a little. The idiot in the Beemer laid on the horn, and made a hand gesture as he sped past. Classy. We’d almost reached our destination. We needed to cross oncoming traffic to park, so we waited for an opening. I cranked the wheel and pressed the gas to get up into the lot when a panel van nearly creamed me.

  Tw
o massive columns flanked the blacktop drive. A proportionately smaller iron lamp sat atop each painted white mass—I guess to light the way. Just to the side of one of them was a shorter marble sign etched with the business name: Mackenzie Funeral Home.

  Above the columns I could see some parking spaces, blacktop, and the front steps. A newer, but slightly mismatched burgundy awning covered the entrance and two glass doors. As I gawked at the size of the place, the truck slowed. I hit the gas harder to get up the incline. The engine shift jolted me forward and the tires squealed. I pulled between two yellow lines near the side entrance and shoved it into park. “Good enough,” I mumbled, and turned it off.

  We parked at the side of the building in front of a massive brick wall painted white. Somebody really liked white. No windows on such a large wall made me think dark and mysterious stuff went on inside. It looked out of place, like a later addition to the main house. If you drew it on paper, the side of the house we faced would start from the left as a normal three story Victorian, with lovely windows and trim. Next, would be a standard-size door serving as the side entrance, followed by a white brick fortress plunked onto the back half of the house.