by Lee Alan
Free Bird
By Lee Alan
Book 1 of the Anna Series
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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Chapter 1: Escape
Chapter 2: Cuckoo
Chapter 3: Julia
Chapter 4: Fate
Chapter 5: A New Start?
Chapter 6: The Deep End
Chapter 7: The Date
Chapter 8: First Impressions
Chapter 9: Monster
Chapter 10: Clear Water
Chapter 11: Sometimes the Truth Hurts
Chapter 12: The Mask Slips
Chapter 13: Into the Night
Chapter 14: Viva…
Chapter 15: Reunion
Epilogue
Little Bird: Anna series book 2 is out soon!
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Copyright© 2016 by Honey Badger Publishing Limited. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
This book contains scenes of violence, sex and strong language. It is not suitable for readers who prefer a gentler romantic story.
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If you liked Free Bird, you’ll love Little Bird, book 2 of the Anna series. Out soon!
Chapter 1
Anna looked into the filthy bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the pale imitation of the pretty face she used to know.
Mom said I was the most beautiful girl in the whole world.
“Don’t go there,” she whispered aloud, suppressing the crushing grief.
Her fingers touched a softly–rounded jaw line, and then traced upward over thin cheeks. She looked tired and drawn. True, her lips were still full and her nose remained petite. But lines of care had appeared on her youthful features, despite only being twenty–eight years old. They were the depressing reminders of her sadness. Most of them had been earned during the difficult days spent nursing her parents. But more than a few came from her god awful job, and, of course, him.
She steeled herself before the inevitable tears came, determined not to give into raw emotion yet again. Tucking her shoulder–length brown hair behind her ears, Anna gave the reflection a firm stare, and then put the outdated waitress hat back on.
“At least my eyes are still blue,” she said, grimacing at the urgent pinging sound coming from the counter: another order.
She exited the bathroom and marched through the kitchen, passing Alonso on her way. He stood at his station wearing the same grease–spattered apron from the day before, cooking the same artery–clogging crap. Anna continued through grubby swinging doors and into the bustling fifties–themed diner. She sighed inwardly at the sight of Audrey tapping her long, ruby fingernails on the white, plastic surface of the sales counter. The woman’s other chubby hand remained poised over the brass service bell, ready to ring it again.
“Great—that’s all I need,” Anna muttered under her breath, while forcing a smile.
The fake grin formed only part of the method she’d developed for dealing with the nasty bitch. The second element involved trying to imagine which animal the oddly–featured woman most resembled. This week, the new, black perm clinging to her large head gave Audrey a distinct poodle–like vibe. Anna wondered if the hair stylist responsible for the curly monstrosity had done so in a moment of spite toward the old witch.
“Excuse me! Can I get some service around here?” Audrey demanded, making her double chin flap.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I take your order?” Anna replied with a levity she didn’t feel. Audrey’s eyes scanned the menu greedily. A well–done chicken fried steak with extra gravy, Anna thought, filling the tedium.
“I’ll have a well–done chicken fried steak with extra gravy on the side, fries, and a salad with no dressing.” Audrey decided finally.
“Yes, ma’am,” Anna said, scribbling on her pad.
She took the scrawled message to the kitchen and placed it on the order rail next to the olive–skinned Italian chef. As always, Alonso’s thick, black moustache resided in a hygiene net, giving him a comical appearance. His flamboyant facial hair had become a running joke among the staff, who speculated that the net was actually a cage to prevent the hairy little beast from escaping and attacking the customers.
He took one look at the note and groaned. It read a single word: “Audrey.”
The chef had developed a grudge against the woman after she’d complained about the quality of his deep fried treats on several occasions. Each of these tirades ended with an inevitable demand for a free doggy bag.
“One Audrey Special coming up,” he said in a thick Sicilian accent, before removing a pre–cooked steak from the fridge and spitting on it.
Anna had made a conscious decision weeks ago to never ask how the gravy was prepared.
He slung the sad–looking thing into the grimy interior of the microwave and turned the dial. It took all of five minutes for the chef to complete his task, while Anna waited anxiously. More than a ten–minute delay would have ended with more bell–pinging drama.
After only an hour into the shift, Anna’s heels already throbbed; her cheap new shoes dug into the blisters on her heels. She’d put off buying them for as long as possible—mainly, because of the cost, but also in anticipation of the torture she now endured. The fate of her poor feet had been sealed by a throw–away comment made by none other than the wonderful Audrey to the duty manager, regarding “shoddy footwear.”
She carried the order to the dining area with all the grace that someone treading on a pair of cheese graters could muster, then laid it in front of her impatient customer. Audrey sucked her teeth in response, before shoving the plate away.
“It’s not hot enough. Do you want to give me food poisoning? Hmm?”
“But…” Anna stopped herself from completing the sentence, knowing that it would only make matters worse. “Yes, ma’am,” she said instead.
She picked up the plate and headed to the kitchen, while trying to hide a growing limp.
Alonso wiped his greasy hands through his hair, while she explained the issue. There’d been a time when he would have reacted with typical Mediterranean fury, but today he rolled his eyes at the familiar annoyance. He paused, then put the dish back in to heat it further—probably considering one final spit garnish. Instead, he looked up at the kitchen clock and set the microwave. Without speaking another word, he disappeared out the rear door for his usual five o’clock smoke.
Following a mercifully short wait, Anna opened the microwave door and pulled out the steaming contents. The hot ceramic rim instantly burned her outstretched fingers. She hissed with pain, realizing her mistake. After just managing to avoid dropping the food, she placed the hot plate on the sink drainer and then ran her throbbing hand under the cold tap. Her thumb and feet now sang a duet of discomfort.
When the harried waitress returned with the sizzling steak, Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve changed my mind,” her voic
e sounded matter–of–fact. “I want mayo for the salad.”
Although it was common for the fickle woman to later add mayonnaise to her selection, Anna found herself annoyed, regardless. She’d once tried to avoid the problem by bringing a bottle of it with the food, unasked, but the result had been a loud complaint: “the waitress is deliberately trying to ruin my figure.” Most galling of all was the management’s casual dismissal of Anna’s objections to the petty bullying.
“She’s one of our best customers. If you don’t like it, Miss Price, look for another job,” Anna recalled being told. As much as it hurt to admit, with so few opportunities in the small town, alternative work was out of the question. And hanging around the apartment with Tony would be worse.
“Yes, of course. Is there anything else you would like, while I’m doing that for you?” She asked Audrey brightly.
“No.”
Anna made another tortuous round to the kitchen, while clenching her jaw. The pain leapt to an exquisite peak. Worse, she suspected a smirk had appeared on Audrey’s chubby face when she’d hobbled to her table a second time.
The large woman examined the mayo bottle, as usual, searching for any sign of dirt. This was another failing that would guarantee an email being fired into the inbox of Anna’s employer.
“I’ll also have a water with lime,” Audrey declared. “I said lime, not lemon, do you hear?”
Anna sighed, then pressed on in silent misery until her long shift ended.
***
By the time she clocked out, the young waitress felt exhausted and more than a little depressed. It wasn’t the work itself that she minded so much. The pay helped her keep a modest studio apartment—and she was able to sneak extra food home most nights. The real problem lay in the daily humiliation, chipping away at any self–regard she had left. It made her fearful that one day she’d look into the dirty diner mirror and forget to care at all.
It’s the little things that get you through, she thought, as she hurried to an old brown station wagon. The ancient automobile was one of the few things wearier than her. What are those little things, Anna? Can you even remember the last time you laughed?—I can’t, came the depressing answer.
The traffic dragged and it took almost an hour to commute to the sprawling, blue collar housing estate she called home. Her own slice of paradise, the oddly–named Nightingale apartment block, was located just off Interstate 40 in Kingman, Arizona. By the time she pulled up outside the small run–down apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Anna had already stifled several eye–watering yawns. All she could think of right then was a soak under a hot shower, followed by an early night.
With a sense of relief, she stretched and then strode up the same rickety wooden porch stairs she’d been trying to persuade the landlord to paint for years. Anna put her key in the lock of the flimsy, red front door, waiting for the welcome click which would signify the end to a very long day. Unexpectedly, the motion made the cheap wood swing inward. The door was already open.
But didn’t Tony say he started his night shift at the can factory tonight?
Taking a deep breath, she pushed it further ajar and looked down the dimly–lit entrance hallway. The action caused the door to creak. As her eyes adjusted, Anna noticed that the two decorative angels she’d hung in the entrance the previous week had fallen from their hooks and shattered on the threadbare carpet.
The little statues represented the latest in a long line of failed efforts to make the place look less unfriendly. Somehow, they’d only served to emphasize how alien the apartment felt most days.
Is anything in your life not empty? She reflected, too exhausted and in pain to think straight about the unlatched door.
“Well, if it’s a burglar, they can’t torture me any worse than these fucking things,” she whispered, slipping off the shiny, black shoes and kicking them to one side. Anna winced as one of the heels brushed against her raw skin, but the release of pressure felt good.
After allowing the fleeting pleasure to continue for a moment, she focused on her surroundings and crept toward the dark entrance to the living room. She stepped lightly through the gloomy archway, her gaze needing a second to adapt.
The familiar form of Tony lying face up on the couch made her sigh with relief—and then curse silently. He snored in greeting. She stared at the shadowed cheeks and scraggly, brown beard of the once good–looking man, finding it hard to believe that she used to caress those features. The memory made her search harder for any residual sense of affection to cling to. But as her gaze moved over his nose marked by the tell–tale veins of a heavy drinker, her deep sadness signalled that those feelings were long dead.
Of course, she dared not tell him how she felt. There were happy boozers and unhappy ones. Tony was the latter. While she contemplated her burning resentment toward the prone figure, he snorted and scratched his belly. The action caused an empty vodka bottle to roll from underneath his arm and clunk against ill–fitted floor boards. Anna continued to watch, daring herself to build enough courage to confront him, but fearing the consequences. In an attempt to distract her inner voice, she tidied the mess strewn around the room. With little remaining natural light to aid her, she turned on the lamp beside the couch.
Tony bolted upright. Two red–rimmed eyes flicked open and, after blearily orienting themselves, they fixed on Anna. His dark, blonde hair stuck out, giving him the appearance of a demonic scarecrow. Even as her senses registered the danger, she couldn’t help but notice how his presence repulsed her. The glassy, flat quality to his gaze scared her, so she took a step back.
Not good, she thought, as a sinking feeling spread from the pit of her stomach.
“You woke me,” he said in a deathly quiet tone, with words devoid of warmth.
“I’m sorry.” She headed for the bathroom, trying to fake a call of nature, but, with a sinking heart, she heard him rise and stumble over the empty bottle.
“You bring food?” He asked, as she reached the doorway to the tiny facility they shared.
Anna paused at the pointed question, silently cursing her own stupidity. The shift had been so tiring that she’d forgotten about their evening meal. “I’m so sorry, hon, I forgot. I’ll see if I can run and get something. What would you like?” She kept her voice light.
Thudding feet answered her question. Anna felt her head being yanked by the hair, along with the awful sensation of a hand wrapping around her neck. Tony quickly pushed her through the open doorway and pressed her face hard against the bathroom mirror. She got a jumbled, backlit glimpse of bared teeth next to her pale, panicked expression. The putrid chemical stench of his breath invaded her space.
“Stop,” Anna whimpered, as he took her chin in his hand and jerked her toward him.
“You don’t ever forget to feed yourself, huh?”
“I’ll go to the store. Please, Tony…”
His reply came in the form of a fist crunching into her jaw. The terrible impact sent her flying into the shower, where the body wash she’d hoped to bathe with later clattered around her slumped form. Stars danced around her vision, like angry fairies disturbed by an unexpected intruder. Through the swirling haze, she made out the figure of her loving boyfriend moving back to the living room.
A gentle wave of oblivion threatened to take her away completely, then. Anna wondered idly if it was still too late for a shower. She’d been looking forward to it all afternoon.
When her thoughts started to coalesce again, they took the form of an image: Audrey’s fingernails drumming on the table at the diner. It stuck there, floating before her mind, like the beating of a dead man’s heart. The person she’d once loved had hit her, and she couldn’t bear the betrayal. After working yourself to the bone to keep him festering in this pit, here’s your thanks, kiddo. The torment exploded in Anna’s mind, and she rose out of the cubicle and strode through the bathroom door.
<
br /> He’d sat on the couch again. A smile formed on his unshaven face when she reappeared. “You wanna play?” His voice was low, almost a purr.
Tony shot from the couch straight at her. Instinctively, she ran for the kitchen, pulling the portable TV off its stand in passing, hoping to slow the pursuit. Without time to look back, and sensing that the desperate measure had failed, an unbidden sob escaped her throat as she realized they would reach the small kitchen at the same time. Panic struck once again in the shape of an oncoming tiled wall and the certainty of what would follow.
I will face this.
Anna pulled to a halt before she hit the surface and turned, only to be confronted by Tony, who’d already clenched a fist ready. It would lead to an unspeakable act, and, was met by an equal rage in her. She refused to be hit again.
As he reared his fist to strike, she ducked, and his flailing arm swooped over the top of her head. Tony staggered—a combination of not expecting her resistance and the vodka.
You only have a second, hon. He won’t miss, next time.
DO SOMETHING! Her inner voice roared. She reached for the nearest drawer and picked up the first thing she could find.
Tony had regained his balance and now paused to stare at the boning knife she held. He laughed. “Just another weak fucking whore!” He spat the words toward her. “You haven’t got the balls!” He hefted his crotch at her luridly.
He charged, and time itself seemed to slow for Anna. His approach played like a movie in slow motion, from his hate–filled expression to his club–like raised arm. From somewhere within an instinct for survival took over and a detached part of her looked on, as she positioned the blade at an upward angle. In contrast to the previous second, the next became a blur, filled with the overriding sensation of being thrown backward.
Anna lay, panting like an animal in a snare, staring at the grime underneath the white electric cooker they’d never got around to replacing. Once again, however, her will to live refused to give in. She forced her eyes toward the man. Tony stood with an open mouth, looking down at the knife handle sticking out from his crotch