Disrupt

by Ella Fox

  Disrupt

  Ella Fox

  DISRUPT

  © Ella Fox 2018

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-945399-19-0

  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 Ella Fox, except in the case of brief quotations or teasers embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events 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.

  Editing: Gemma Rowlands & Ellie McLove

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Playlist

  Click HERE to check out the Disrupt playlist on Spotify

  The Eagles- Take it Easy

  Cheap Trick- I Want You To Want Me

  Jackson Browne- Somebody’s Baby

  Fall Out Boy- Thnks Fr The Mmrs

  AFI- Miss Murder

  Louis Tomlinson- Miss You

  Imagine Dragons- Whatever it Takes

  Stone Temple Pilots- Sour Girl

  Tom Petty- Free Fallin’

  For my mom. Thanks for letting me go on and on about this story while I worked the plot out. You’re the real MVP.

  Contents

  Author Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Ella Fox

  Author Note

  After you read Disrupt, I’d be super grateful if you’d leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not spoil what Donovan’s exact issue is in the review. I am literally begging for a spoiler-free review where that is concerned. I think the book has more impact when readers go in blind.

  Xo

  Ella

  Prologue

  Donovan

  7 years, 6 months, and 14 days ago

  Everything and everyone around me is so fucking loud I can barely contain the desire to yell for everyone to be quiet. Shut the fuck up, I think. Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up.

  Shut.

  The.

  Fuck.

  Up.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I recognize the person as being familiar, but can’t recall exactly how I know them. The words are no different than the dozens of people who have come before, nor are they different from those who will come after. There’s very little variation to what is said.

  I nod and say thank you for what feels like the millionth time, which is the sum total of what I’m able to do right now. Nod, say thank you, and blank everything else out. My eyes go to the mahogany grandfather clock against the wall across the room. The brass hands rest on eleven and five, telling me that it’s just before eleven thirty. I look away, surprised to realize I’ve only been standing here for nearly two and a half hours. It feels like it’s been two and a half decades.

  When the stink of roses burns my nostrils, I realize I forgot to continue breathing through my mouth. This stench? The roses? If I never smell anything rose again it’ll be too fucking soon.

  “…here if you need us, any time.”

  I swallow against the creeping wave of nausea working its way up my throat as I nod and say thank you, again.

  “The tragedy is unimaginable. There are no words…”

  Then stop fucking talking, I think. I’d kill to be anywhere but here—but I won’t leave. It’s not like there’s anywhere I want to go anyway. There’s no escape, but I don’t know how many more times I can listen to people say I’m praying for you or I’m sorry or my least favorite of all, stay strong.

  Stay strong? No. Whatever comes after this, strength is not something I possess. I am nothing but an empty shell with a stubborn heart that continues to beat, even though it should’ve stopped five days ago.

  It’s likely that if a bomb went off in the middle of the room, I wouldn’t even blink. The urge to throw something and yell ebbs and flows, but I manage not to give in to the desire to break every piece of antique furniture in the room. Fuck mahogany, fuck cream and gold patterned carpet, and fuck the stupid guest book at the back of the room. Who wants that? There are no mementos needed of this day.

  I’m not conscious of moving, yet I must’ve, because now I’m in the back of a limousine.

  “Here, drink this.”

  I reach out automatically to accept a glass full of dark liquid. Without asking what it is, I bring it to my lips and drain every drop in four giant gulps, only stopping when the ice clatters against my teeth. I think it was a very weak Jack and coke, but I can’t be sure since I didn’t actually taste it. All I know is that it was too light on the alcohol.

  “Another.”

  “You really shouldn’t—”

  “Heavier on the booze this time,” I snap. My voice sounds like I’ve got a throat full of gravel.

  After a pause, the glass is handed back to me half full of amber colored liquid. I want to gulp it but force myself not to. Only when this is over and I’ve done everything that’s expected of me will I allow myself to break.

  1

  Eden

  My stomach is in knots as I park my Jeep in the lot of Miller’s Efficiency Units. Instead of preparing to go back to college the way I have at this time of year for the last few years, I’m starting a whole new life. Looking around, I’m happy to see that the small, pixelated photos on the overly simplistic website didn’t do this place justice at all. I’ve been preparing myself for something that might be a good fit for a location of the next Norman Bates movie— something surrounded by spooky trees and death traps for stupid people to trip on as they run from the murderer— but I’ve worried for nothing.

  I imagined the single-story thirty unit building would be small and kind of blah. Instead, it’s both larger and far more welcoming than I’d thought. The lower portion of the building is red brick while the upper is khaki colored vinyl siding. Every room has a large window accented by black shutters, and beneath each window is a seating area with two wooden Adirondack chairs with a small table between them. I count a dozen massive terracotta planters strategically placed around the front, each full of impatiens in shades of white, fuchsia, and light pink. This fresh and cheerful landscape carries throughout the property. At the start of the drive that leads down to the motel, there’s a business sign beneath which is a freshly mulched garden full of impatiens that match those in the planters. The shrubs are so perfectly shaped I’m wondering if the landscaper uses a level.

  It’s beautiful here—and very peaceful. All of this is better than I ever could’ve hoped, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity, I feel as though it may be possible for me to get some wind back in my sails. Wiping my hands against my jeans, I take a deep breath and head toward the office. The next chapter of my life starts now.

  “
And here’s your room,” Margie announces in a cheerful tone as she turns the key in the door and opens it about an inch. The light breeze flutters through her shoulder-length blonde hair as she turns and smiles at me. The gentle wind reminds me that it’s fifteen degrees cooler here than it was in Jersey City. Although it’s only mid-August, now that the sun is going down I’m realizing the weather will change up before it would have there.

  “We’re not Buckingham Palace,” she continues, “but it’s clean, comfortable, safe, and all yours. I would’ve given you the room closest to the office, but we rent to a trucker with OCD who requests that room when he comes through each month. I reckoned it wouldn’t matter much to you since all the rooms are the same.”

  It doesn’t. A room is a room, really. I smile at Margie warmly and tell her the God’s honest truth. “I’m just happy the room is a job perk.”

  Left unspoken is how desperately I need the no-cost accommodation but since we talked about it back in the office, I sense she wouldn’t want me to go on and on about it. Margie is very relaxed, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Already, I can tell we’re going to get along great since she’s the same in person as she was during our phone calls and email exchanges during the interview process.

  “Alright then, I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “You’re on nine to six tomorrow. I left takeout menus for the three places that deliver out here on the table in your room and the Wi-Fi password is on the desk. Give a holler if you need anything at all. I’m less than a mile away.”

  I nod, remembering that she’d told me that before. Margie and her husband Ron moved up here and bought the motel and then a house as close as they could get to it, seven and a half years ago.

  “Thank you so much for everything. I’m really looking forward to starting in the morning.”

  She grins and pats my arm. “Thank you for being willing to relocate up here to take the job, Eden. Your being here frees our daughter up to go back to school and that’s a big deal for us. Not everyone knows what they want to do when they graduate high school. It’s taken three years, but she’s finally got some direction, and her father and I couldn’t be happier. Things work out in mysterious ways—had she gone before we wouldn’t have had the job for you now. I think you’re going to like it here. It may not be the most exciting work, but it is steady. Since summer is almost over we’ve only got one more really busy week, which will give you time to settle in.”

  I think I am too, so I tell her as much. After another minute or so of conversation, Margie takes her leave. With one last wave over her shoulder, she leaves me to explore my space. Opening the door all the way I’m greeted by the fresh scent of lemon cleaner. Getting my first real look, I let out a long sigh of relief. Just like the situation with the exterior, the interior looks better than it did online. Margie was correct— it’s not fancy, but it is clean, spotlessly so. Closing the door behind me, I smile. This is more than I could have hoped for.

  Even if it weren’t, I’d still be thankful because there’s a roof over my head that I don’t need to pay for and that’s what really matters. The small living area consists of an overstuffed earth-toned couch, two oak end tables and a matching coffee table that’s situated on top of a small area rug. Across the room, there is an oak TV cart with a flat screen television on top of it. I make a mental note to ask Margie if the televisions in every room are like this. If so, I want to add that to the update of the web page I’d like to do right away.

  Looking to my left, I see a compact three-seat table beneath a half-wall that divides the space. The top of the half-wall is made useful by the navy colored counter on top. On the other side of said counter is a small kitchen tucked into the left side of the room. Like the living room, the kitchen has an oak looking laminate on the floor. I smile when I notice the appliances are bright white, something I haven’t seen since my grandparents’ home in Jersey sold. One of my fondest memories is of staring into the little window at the front of the oven to watch my grandmother’s maple sugar cookies bake. Thinking of that scent makes my stomach growl and I realize I haven’t eaten since the crappy lunch I shoved down at a turnpike rest stop. I think pizza is in my future because for me cheese is always welcome.

  After calling for dinner, I make six quick trips to my car to get my stuff. Back inside I head toward the bedroom, passing through a paneled wall that’s been painted an inviting denim blue color. Although the wall isn’t thick, it very effectively breaks up the space. This area has tan Berber carpet to make it feel homier, which is nice. There’s enough room for a king-sized bed, two side tables, a long dresser with a flat screen TV mounted on the wall above it and a small corner desk with a rolling chair. The navy blue coverlet on the bed looks about as cozy as every other motel comforter—which is to say it could be significantly more plush. On a positive note, there are four fluffy-looking pillows and I’ve got the comforter from my college apartment with me. It’s a full size which means it’s not big enough for the bed, but it will definitely keep me warm.

  I press down on the mattress with my hand, surprised to feel that it’s good quality. Lifting back the linens, I find that the mattress and box spring look brand new. I make another mental note to find out if all of the rooms have this type of mattress, because it’s something that should be mentioned on the website. Humming to myself, I head into the bathroom. It’s basic but spotlessly clean, which is all I really care about.

  The toilet, sink, and tub are all blinding white, as is the ceramic tile on the wall. The grout is crisp and clean and absolutely nothing looks dingy or dirty. It’s very apparent that the maids and maintenance staff here at Miller’s take their jobs seriously. Looking around, I am struck again by how very lucky I am to have landed here.

  After using the facilities, I stare at myself in the mirror while I wash my hands. As I wash I take the time to really assess my tired and run down appearance, something I’ve not allowed myself to do in weeks. My bright blue eyes have dark circles beneath them that speak to my lack of sleep and my once rosy complexion seems washed out because I spent the summer stressing out as opposed to lounging by the pool. Instead, I’d hidden from my friends because I didn’t want to talk about what Dad did. Letting people know would make it real and even to this very moment I still desperately want to find out that it’s all been a misunderstanding. I know it’s foolish, but he’s my father and I’ll never stop wishing that some magical explanation will make sense of this situation.

  Exhaling slowly, I pull a hairband from my pocket, put my shoulder-length brown hair up into a ponytail and head back into the bedroom to unpack. It doesn’t take long since everything I have, came out of the small apartment I’d been renting back at college with three roommates. The larger wardrobe I’d left at home is gone now, likely in a landfill somewhere along with everything else I’d been foolish enough to leave there. Feeling the tension as it starts to build in my body, I take a deep breath and let it out. I’ve cried enough over spilled milk and it’s gotten me exactly nowhere. Tears can’t change cold, hard facts.

  I’m a twenty-one-year-old college dropout, stopped in my tracks with only one more year to go on a hospitality degree I desperately want. I did everything I could do other than sell my body to come up with the tuition but there was too wide a berth between my reality and the money needed to complete my degree. I’d been so desperate that I’d come close to selling my car, but in the end, I couldn’t bear to part with it. Call me sentimental, but with everything else I’ve lost, I couldn’t give that up, too.

  No financial institution will take me on without a co-signer because my credit is jacked to hell and back—a heartbreaking fact I only discovered after I tried to get a loan. That’s when I discovered a list of open credit cards in my name, each and every one maxed out and behind in the payments. Since I’ve never opened a credit card in my life, I immediately knew I’d just been stabbed in the back—again—by my father and his lovely bride, Sharon.

  All things being e
qual, the credit cards are a drop in the bucket. I could’ve handled that blow, had it come on its own. The hardest blow came from the discovery that the bank account I had, the one that held the remainder of the life insurance money I inherited after my mom and grandmother were killed by a drunk driver, was gone. That money and the money from the sale of my grandparents’ house had been set aside for my education—and every last cent is gone, along with the house I grew up in. Dad and Sharon have moved on to God only knows where. The house was foreclosed on, my college money is gone, and my father has disappeared off the face of the earth.

  I should have known something more was going on when I didn’t hear from him any of the times I called after I went back to school at the conclusion of my ten-day visit during winter break. I’d foolishly categorized his absence as being Sharon’s fault. How could I not? They’d dated for six weeks before they got married and in the ensuing two years, things had taken a turn I’d never seen coming. My relationship with him had become strained because of her and although it hurt like hell, I’d assured myself I’d take the bull by the horns and sit down with him to talk it out once my spring semester ended. I’d felt like I was losing my dad, but I’d had no idea how total that loss would be.