Out of the Wreckage

by CeeCee James

  Out of the Wreckage

  CeeCee James

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Jason, Sixteen Years Old

  2. Summer-Present day

  3. Summer

  4. Summer

  5. Summer

  6. Jason 16 years old

  7. Jason 16 years old

  8. Summer Present Day

  9. Summer

  10. Summer

  11. Summer

  12. Summer

  13. Autumn

  14. Autumn

  15. Autumn

  16. Autumn

  17. Autumn

  18. Autumn

  19. Autumn

  20. Autumn

  21. Autumn

  22. Autumn

  23. Autumn

  24. Autumn

  25. Winter

  26. Winter

  27. Winter

  28. Winter

  29. Winter

  30. Winter

  31. Winter

  32. Spring

  33. Spring

  34. May

  Copyright

  Dedicated to my family- my beauty from ashes

  Chapter One

  Jason, Sixteen Years Old

  The water drummed off Jason’s scalp and down his naked back. He stood, hands against the shower wall, head bowed under the hot spray as it dripped off his lower lashes. Yeah, sure it’s just water, he thought. It was pointless looking for shampoo. There wasn’t any. Like everything else, money was running out. Instead, he reached for the bar of soap and ran it through his dark hair.

  After a minute, he reluctantly turned the faucet off. The water stopped, taking the comfort of heat with it. Get moving. They could be coming soon.

  Stepping out, he quickly toweled dry, and used the towel to wipe down the shower stall. He wrapped the wet soap in a plastic bag and hid it under the sink. Hurrying downstairs, he stashed the wet towel in the dryer.

  Jason moved quietly, not wanting to break the ominous stillness permeating the house. In the kitchen, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table. The ticking of the clock broke the suffocating silence. It was his grandma’s favorite clock, the one she’d brought over with her from Ireland.

  The clock chimed the top of the hour, and he jerked. Crap, I’m late. The teacher’s going to yell at me again. Mrs. Garret had stared down her nose when he’d been late last week. “Using your last excused tardy? Still have a long way to go this sophomore year, young man.”

  He tipped the bowl and drank the remaining milk. After rinsing it at the sink, he put it away. Quickly, he checked the kitchen to make sure every surface was wiped clean of his presence.

  Jogging upstairs, he poked his head into the bathroom, just like he had every day for the last seven weeks. All clear.

  He opened the door to his bedroom and grabbed his backpack. After shutting the door again, he pulled a piece of fuzz off of his sock and balanced the tiny piece of lint on the knob.

  Invisible, unless someone were to look for it.

  On his return trip, Jason took the stairs two at a time. He grabbed a second backpack—his emergency pack—from the hall closet and hoisted it onto his shoulder. The weight of it dug the strap into his flesh.

  He couldn’t leave by the front door. A steel lock box hung from the knob. Instead, he headed out the slider. He slid it closed and then carefully rocked the door a fraction in its track. The latch caught, locking the door.

  Jason raked his hand through his hair and glanced up at the brightening sky. The sun lit the horizon with a pale peach line. Birds were waking up and chirping from the trees. The day was going to be beautiful.

  Rounding the corner of the house, he stowed the emergency pack under the hedge by the driveway. He kept his head ducked as he hurried down the street, blending in with the many teenagers walking towards the high school.

  * * *

  “Jason.” The principal stopped him in the hall. She hesitated a moment then continued. “I’m sorry about your grandma. Things going well at your uncle’s?” She reached out to touch his shoulder and he shifted uncomfortably. “Anything I can do?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

  He shook his head and shuffled the books he was holding. The students in the crowded halls split around the two of them like oil and water. A few kids glanced back, curious, then pressed forward in a rush to make it to class before the bell rang.

  “I’m hoping to meet him. Did he get the letter I sent?” she asked.

  Jason’s heart pounded in his throat and he swallowed. “Yeah, uh, I got to get going.” He jerked his head towards the classroom.

  The principal pressed her lips together and dismissed him with a nod.

  Why can’t they just leave me alone? His hands were sweating as he opened the door, almost dropping his books. Just one more period to go. Keep your head down and nose clean.

  After his final class, Jason jogged home, tossing furtive glances over his shoulder, careful not to be noticed. He sidled into his grandma’s yard and snagged his emergency pack on the way to the back of the house. He dropped the pack, flinching at the sound of it thudding onto the patio floor. Like he had that morning, Jason rocked the door back and forth; eventually the lock unlatched. Slipping inside, he wiped at the sweat beaded along the top of his lip. When he returned the pack to the hall closet, he noticed his hands shaking. Calm down dude. Everything’s fine.

  Jason pivoted slowly to survey the living room. Dust motes floated in the light from the uncovered window. He wandered through the rooms, examining closely for anything out of place, anything that had been moved. Upstairs, the lint still sat balanced on the doorknob.

  He fell face-down on the bed. The house was like his heart. Empty, cold.

  Alone.

  A groan escaped from the back of his throat. He needed to get his homework done, but depression had him in its grip. How much longer can I keep doing this? “No.” he whispered. His fists clenched. “No!” Jason dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups. Not satisfied, he added a clap at the apex, eventually switching to one arm. His arms threatened to collapse, his body heat and sweat burning and washing the sadness away.

  That night, he sat in the dark living room eating spaghetti out of a can. His math book lay in front of him, visible only under the rectangle of orange light that fell across the floor from the streetlight outside. He squinted at the page and wrote the problem in his notebook. Finally, bone weary, he gave up and went upstairs to bed.

  * * *

  The sound of a key in the lock jerked Jason awake. Every muscle in his body froze for a second as he struggled to remember where he was. His muscles spasmed again. Someone’s coming.

  He heard voices in the living room.

  “As you can see, the carpet will need to be replaced. But the seller is very motivated. I’m sure we can work that into the purchase contract.”

  Jason jumped out of bed as though shocked by a cattle prod. He snatched the blankets up and smoothed them flat, moving faster at the sound of their voices on the stairwell. Breathe. You’ve got time. Be cool.

  “New paint will be needed, too.” The agent’s confident voice continued. “The woman who owned this house lived here for forty years.”

  “How long has the house been empty?” a male voice asked.

  “About two months.”

  “Did she die here?” A young female this time, with a high giggle. “That would be sort of creepy.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. I’d have to look into that for you.”

  Jason felt a burst of fury bubbling its way through his veins. No time for that. His gaze darted around the room for a place to hide. The bed’s too low. He spun in a circle. They’re definitely going to check the clo
set.

  In his search, he paused at the window. Time’s up. Quietly, he eased it open and looked down. Beneath the window lay a narrow trim board, running the length of the house. He could see the porch roof further below.

  The voices stopped outside his door. He levered his body over the windowsill, his pulse pounding. His fingers turned white as he clenched the window trim. His bare toes scraped on the wood as they sought space on the board. He shimmied along the trim before reaching the end of the house. From there, he dropped to the porch roof, landing with a loud crash, before rolling off to the ground.

  Jason lay in the grass trying to catch his breath. From upstairs, he heard the real estate lady say, “Well, that’s weird, the window’s open.” His heart thudded at the rasping sound of the window being closed and latched.

  He jumped to his feet, steadied himself, then hurried behind the rhododendron bush bordering the driveway. The branches scratched his face as he crouched. Through the leaves he saw a black Escalade in the driveway.

  A chill ran down his back. I left my schoolbooks in my room. Will they notice?

  Adrenaline pumping, Jason zipped out of the yard, opening the chain link gate with a clang. He glanced up the street and didn’t see anyone. Even though the street was empty, he ducked his head. Just be cool. He breathed slowly, trying to calm down.

  The street ended at a T, guarded by a large maple tree. He pulled himself up into the branches. From his perch, he had a clear view of the road and his driveway. Shivering in just a t-shirt, he rubbed his bare arms, and settled back against the trunk to wait for the Escalade to leave.

  Fifteen minutes later a police car turned up the street, lights flashing but no siren. Jason leaned forward, eyes wide as it pulled into his driveway. His emergency pack was still locked tight in the hall closet. He slammed his palm against his forehead. You’re such an idiot. What are you going to do now? He heaved a deep breath. Don’t freak out. They’ll see nothing was stolen.

  In less than ten minutes, the police car headed back onto the road, followed by the black SUV.

  That was too close. What if they’d caught me? No freaking way I’m going into foster care. I can take care of myself.

  Jason watched the vehicles turn on to the next street. As unobtrusively as possible, he hurried back to the house.

  At the back door, he rocked the slider. When it unlatched, he ran inside for his emergency backpack, refilling the water bottle with fresh water. Heaving his pack onto his shoulder, he grabbed his jacket and took one last look around the room. His gaze stopped at his grandma’s picture on the wall. Jason kissed his hand and held it to the picture. His lip trembled and he bit it to make it stop.

  “Goodbye, Grandma.”

  He jiggled the slider locked one last time, then headed down the street.

  Chapter Two

  Summer-Present day

  Miranda rinsed her cereal bowl and glanced up as her eighteen-year-old sister groaned from the couch. “Hey, did you know Dakota Fanning chopped off all her hair?” Cassie asked, looking up from her cell phone.

  “Are you on your gossip sites again? I’ll bet that hair cut is cool for summer.” Miranda ran a hand through her own thick, dark hair and lifted it off her neck, continuing to study her sister. Cassie’s cheekbones were highlighted by the sunlight reflecting off the cell phone’s screen. Miranda flashed back to the night of the horrific phone call six months ago: Get down here now, There’s been a car accident. Your sister might not make it. The memory of the car twisted like tinfoil–-it’s roof peeled back by the jaws of life–-was burned into her mind. For weeks her sister had lain in a coma, Miranda clutching her hand and willing her to wake.

  Miranda made a soft noise in memory of the pain.

  Cassie’s cornflower blue eyes turned towards her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Hey, what do you think about going to the mall today?”

  Waggling her sneakers up and down, Cassie arched an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Mrs. Subtlety?” She pulled at the front of her t-shirt, faded and stretched out. “Are you insinuating that I can’t rock this Care Bear shirt? I’ll have you know Amanda Seyfried has this same shirt. ”

  “If anyone can make it work, you can,” Miranda said. “I was just thinking it’d be nice to get some new clothes.” She finished the breakfast dishes and wiped her hands on a towel. “You’ve been through a lot. I’d like to spoil you a little. Now come on, get dressed.”

  “Miranda,” Cassie rolled her eyes. “I am dressed.”

  “Oh, I knew that.” Miranda quickly spun away to hide her smile. “Well, get in the car already, lady.”

  * * *

  Entering the department store, Cassie broke off and headed towards the junior’s section. At only five foot two, just her blonde head of curls could be seen bobbing above the racks.

  “Hey, what do you think about these?” Miranda pulled a pair of jeans off and held them up.

  Cassie stared at her and snapped her gum. “Sis, I love you. But let me do the picking.”

  Shrugging, Miranda put them back. She’d have loved to be able to fit into those. At twenty-two, Miranda was still slender, but her junior figure had long since been replaced by adult curves.

  Cassie seized another pair and grabbed the tag to read the size. “All right, these might work. I’ll be right back.” She headed for the changing room with Miranda following close behind.

  A few minutes later Cassie came strutting out like she was on a catwalk. At the mirror she flicked her hair and struck a pose. Spinning around she asked, “Well? Do they make my butt look big?”

  Miranda shook her head. “No way. Not even close.”

  “What?” Cassie exclaimed, her eyes widening frantically. “I hate them then!” She stormed off into the dressing room.

  Miranda raised her eyebrows at her sister’s retreating back. What the heck?

  A mother waiting across from her smiled, a look of sympathy etched across her face. “Wrong answer,” she said to Miranda.

  “I guess so.” Miranda shook her head.

  Cassie stalked out of the dressing room with the offending jeans draped over her arm. She handed them over to the attendant and resumed her search. Miranda settled back on one of the black-and-white checked vinyl couches outside the dressing room. She pulled a wisp of her shoulder-length brown hair and examined the tips for split ends, frowning as she found some. Need a haircut.

  After a minute, Cassie reappeared with two more pairs of jeans. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered, a little grouchily,

  “I’ll be here,” Miranda gestured at the bench with an eye roll. She pushed up the sleeves of her Henley and crossed her legs.

  Cassie came out a minute later with a big smile nailed to her face. “How about these?”

  “Oh man!” Miranda exclaimed. “Those make your butt look so big.”

  “Really?” Cassie squealed.

  “Yeah.” Miranda nodded. “Huge even.”

  The mother on the other bench turned her head to hide her smile.

  “Awesome! I’ll take them!” Cassie twirled around in front of the mirror again, admiring her slender frame from every angle. She shot a grin at her sister, before dancing back to the dressing room.

  After finding the pants, the two sisters rifled through racks of shirts. Every one Miranda pulled out, Cassie wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “I give up!” Miranda threw her hands in the air.

  “Don’t feel bad. You’re just not into my style.” Cassie said, holding a pink off-the-shoulder shirt up to her chest. “I like this one.”

  Miranda’s hand touched her mouth. “Kind of low cut? Huh?”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mom.”

  “Whatever, Cassie. I’ll always worry about you.”

  “It’s okay, I get it. You can’t help your nagging ways.”

  Miranda groaned. “Get your shirt and let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”

  * * *

&
nbsp; Miranda paid for the clothing, and Cassie scooped up the bags.

  “Thanks, Sis.” She flashed a grin at Miranda. “That was fun.”

  “What will be more fun is if we can get a table at the Cheesecake Factory. I’m starving.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  They meandered out of the store. Cassie froze for a second, and Miranda glanced to see what was wrong. Across from them was a display of baby clothes. Cassie swallowed, and looked up at her sister with pain-stricken eyes. Miranda wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders, giving her a soft squeeze, and led her out.

  They wandered down to the other end of the mall. In an attempt to cheer her up, Miranda pointed out a cellphone cover that said, “I love my nose job,” at a kiosk. “I should get one just so people would say how natural my nose looks.”

  “Or they might say the doctor really botched your job, and have you considered suing?” Cassie countered, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

  “What are you talking about? You have the same nose.”

  By the time they arrived at the Cheesecake Factory, Cassie was smiling again. The restaurant was crowded but the hostess was able find them a booth.

  “So,” Miranda asked, after the waiter took their order. “How are you doing?”

  “What do you mean? You see me every day.”

  “I know, but back there…I mean, how are you really doing?”

  Cassie pursed her lips and rested her chin in her hand. She blinked dark eyelashes, thick and full without the need for makeup. “I still can’t believe Leif is in the army. I miss him.”

  Miranda nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I bet you do. Have you heard from him recently?”

  Cassie shook her head. “Nothing since he’s been sent to Afghanistan. I know it’s good for us though,” she murmured as if to convince herself. “He finally has his career he’s always dreamed of. And I can go to school. ”