by Danae Ayusso
Regardless, I liked it much more than I should, and it was a nice change.
“You are hilarious,” he finally said, an accent flaring slightly in his speech, shaking his head in honest amusement. “Please tell me you are not a tourist.”
I shrugged, not entirely sure what that means exactly.
“I’m just passing through.”
He smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “But you are not a tourist, no?” he surmised with a heavy French accent.
“How can one be a tourist if there’s nothing of pleasure to see or experience other than seemingly moving woods?” I countered, making a face, and looked around to make sure that I wasn’t smoking crack and forgot. “Seriously, what are you doing out here? Looking for young virgins to suck dry?” I asked before hissing at him, bearing my missing fangs…
No more Sookie for me.
Again he laughed, shaking his head. “I was taking a walk, and that walk led me to you,” he said, the accent gone.
“Or my ass backwards sense of direction led me to you,” I retorted, and he nodded his agreement. “So if you aren’t going to kill me, shove a finger or another appendage in me, can you at least show me the way out?”
A weird look washed across his face, one I’ve never seen before and it confused me: amusement, relief, happiness, intrigue, contentment…
I’m not sure if any of those are the right word for it, but they are the only ones coming to mind at the moment.
Eventually he sighed; it wasn’t a sigh of aspiration or frustration as I was accustomed to getting. Instead, it was one of contentment as if the weight of the world was suddenly lifted off his shoulders.
I envied him.
“Just go the way you came,” he suggested—condescension noted—motioning behind me.
“Real funny,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that? In case you hadn’t noticed, the way I came,” I said, looking over my shoulder, “is right there. What in the...”
Behind me, clearly visible through only a thin row of trees, was the train station.
“That wasn’t there,” I said, turning to the smug jerk in front of me, but he was gone. “Okay, what in the hell is going on?” I mumbled, looking around, nervously cracking my knuckles. I looked at my hands and they were fine: no blood or painful abrasions. “Did I fall down the rabbit hole?” I whispered.
This... No.
No?
This wasn’t... Huh?
What’s your deal this time?
“I hate Montana,” I grumbled under my breath.
Chapter Two
Welcome Home
The handcuffs were expected, we can all agree on that.
The duct tape on my mouth was a bit of an overkill, but not entirely unexpected.
However, being tossed in the back of the Bronco like a slab of meat?
Yeah, that sucks and is completely unprofessional.
When we reach wherever Cinder Dick is taking me, I’m filing an official complaint and suing the crap out of him...oh wait. Justice assaulted him while resisting arrest.
Oops, my bad.
Damn it. I really need to think before I let you act. That little hiccup in better judgment of yours has cost me a few possible lawsuits against the man where I would never have had to worry about money again.
Again, my bad.
Once again, my Philly side’s problem with authority rears its ugly head and our rational head gets screwed.
The drive shouldn’t have taken that long, and I’m sure Cinder Dick’s driving in circles; we’ve passed the top of the same turn of the century courthouse twelve times now. Either he’s trying to wear me out so he can kill me without a struggle—which isn’t going happen; he’ll lose his other testicle for his effort—or he’s lost. Or possibly this is his overly amusing way of giving me a tour of town without actually showing me the town.
Obviously, he’s butt hurt about getting his ass handed to him by a girl. The mumbled complaints have yet to stem from his lips, and more than once he’s called me the ‘bitch faced daughter of Satan’.
Personally, I’ve heard worse and his poor attempt at a burn and his desecration of the art of talking smack is greatly amusing.
What would Jesus think of him using such language?
Okay, that one’s funny.
“Jesus doesn’t live here anymore.” That’s what Mom told me when we were kicked out of the mission on Christmas Eve because of overcrowding.
There’s nothing like spending Christmas on the street in twenty degree weather, shivering, teeth chattering, no jacket or snow boots, in snow that goes up to your knees, waiting on the side of the road while mom made some money in the back of an Astro van.
I was barely seven years old, and a tiny part of me wanted the guy to be a psycho that would take her away and dump the body somewhere.
Instead, he was a family man with a sexless marriage and a van full of presents for his kids. The jerk didn’t even give me a second glance. He tossed two crumpled twenties at mom as she pulled her pants back up and drove off. Instead of getting a room at the hourly rate hotel, Mom opted for some garbage heroin. Thankfully, the smack house was warm. Not so thankfully, I was left to fend for myself.
Not that it matters now.
The only thing that matters is I’m being held hostage, in essence, by some pissed off U.S. Marshall that either wants to kill me, rape me, hide my body—living or dead he hasn’t decided yet—or something weird is going on and I should be scared.
Speaking of…
No. I’m not talking to you. You left me to fend in the woods by myself. I wasn’t imagining it. The trees were thick as hell. The train station was nowhere to be seen. I fell. That dude was there and then he wasn’t.
Dude?
I’m not talking to you!
None of this makes sense. I know that my knuckles were cut up. The smell of blood nearly overpowered the smell of the ferns, trees and moss, my fingers stung from the abrasions, and my hand and fingers are still stiff from the fall. That type of... I mean, am I imagining things again? That smug jerk didn’t look threatening, and he didn’t attack me. He laughed at me, a few times, but he didn’t hurt me.
That was different.
I hope I’m not seeing stuff again.
We never stopped.
True, but I was hoping I left that shit in Philadelphia.
When have we ever been known to have luck?
The jarring change in terrain pulled me from the la-la land in my head, and I rolled over, trying to look out the back window, but I was being thrown around with each bump and pothole Cinder Dick was purposely trying to hit. It may have only been seven, maybe ten minutes at most, but they were the longest minutes of my life.
When the Bronco came to a brake-slamming stop, my body smashed into the back of the seat, and I had to shake the flashes of light from my vision.
“Where in the hell have you been?” someone demanded.
Oh crap, it’s a group thing!
“What happened to your face?”
“That little bitch-” Cinder Dick started, but it was cut off and followed by the rocking of the Bronco from something being slammed against it. “Get off of me. She broke my goddamn nose!”
“And why did she do that?” the other man snarled.
“I don’t know.”
He’s so full of shit his eyes are brown!
The back of the Bronco opened.
I sat up and looked at the two men standing there: Cinder Dick and who I can only assume to be, since we look nothing alike, my father.
“Billy,” the other said, “you have until the count of three to get as far away from me as possible before I kill you.”
Billy?
Cinder Dick growled and hurried away.
“I am so sorry,” the man apologized. “You have to... You know what? There’s no apologizing for your uncle. He’s a bit of an ass, obviously, and handcuffing and duct taping you was a bit much. I should have never allowed him to
escort you. I’m so sorry. Can you slide over, and I’ll help you out?”
Wait. Cinder Dick is my uncle? Why didn’t he say that!?
Prick.
I continued to sit there, staring at... I’m not sure whom I’m staring at. I’m assuming it’s Mr. Simoeau, but I can confidently say that if this is my father, my mom was an even dumber bitch than I had initially given her credit for.
Not to sound creepy, but this man is hot....
Ew, you just called our father hot. You have so many issues.
I agree.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m Price Simoeau, your father.”
Okay, creep factor aside, how could the crackwhore up and leave that? Price is a very attractive man: tall, tan skin, very soft dusting of freckles, multi-tone brown hair that is slightly shaggy but has that bargain-bin romance novel cover windblown look that matches the perfectly manicured stubble on his face. He isn’t big like a body builder, but he isn’t skinny either. His muscular chest is visible through his partially buttoned white dress shirt, enough that you can appreciate it even through the thin coat of chest hair.
You sound like you’re crushing on him. Ew!
I think I can see some resemblance. His wide jaw and mouth are shaped the same as mine for the most part, and the shapes of our faces are the same, oblong, but it works with our features.
“Are you okay, Mikhail?” he asked, his smile falling.
No, not really.
I nodded and maneuvered to the edge then threw my legs over.
“This might hurt,” he warned, and I gave him a look.
That has to be the most obvious statement anyone has ever made in history.
Stop being a bitch.
Carefully Price pulled the edge of the tape off and cringed before he quickly ripped it away.
“Ow,” I complained.
That never gets better, no matter how many times it’s happened.
“Did you leave any of my lips on there?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, again.
That joke went over his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, forcing a smile, but it quickly fell. “At least he didn’t tase me. That hurts like a sonuvabitch.”
Price nodded. “I know. I’m still sorry that your uncle did that to you. He... You have to understand that he doesn’t trust you because he never trusted your mother.”
That explains much.
“Yeah, I never trusted the train pulling whore either.”
His mouth fell open. “What did you just call her?”
“Do you really need me to repeat it?” I asked, slipping out of one of the cuffs I’ve been working on since they were put on and pulled my hands around to the front of me, and rubbed my raw wrist. “You know, you didn’t have to take me in. The courts would have emancipated me, and you wouldn’t have had to bother. You could have saved yourself the inconvenience, even if you managed to avoid it for the past seventeen years,” I coldly added the last part.
“Mikhail,” he said softly, the pain in his tone making me cringe, “it isn’t an inconvenience. If I would have known, I would have done something sooner!”
Wait, what?
“There she is!” a woman’s voice echoed across the rolling green hills surrounding the small house we’re parked in front of. “Why is Billy hidin’?” she asked, appearing next to Price, and she smiled at me. Her aged, tan skin looks like leather from exposure to the elements, and it made her appear ancient, but the life and energy in her large brown eyes is youthful and seemingly sparkled in the setting sun. Long, silver and white hair was braided, framing her face, and the bandana she wore would have gotten her shot on the wrong block back home. “Are you all right, Sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and warm, and moisture rimmed her eyes.
“Mikhail, this is your great-grandmother,” Price said. “Everyone calls her Ellie.”
I forced a smile. “Ma’am.”
Her mouth fell open. “Don’t call me ma’am! Do I look that damn old?” she gasped.
I quickly shook my head even though she does.
Ellie looked at my wrists and her eyes narrowed. “I’m kickin’ that boy’s ass from here to Billings and back. That dirty little bastard! Why did he handcuff her?” she demanded, turning to Price.
“I broke his nose and kicked him in the balls,” I said with a shrug, “possibly breaking one, if not both of them, in the process,” I explained.
They both looked at me with wide eyes.
Eventually Ellie nodded. “That’s my girl. That little shit needs a beat down and then some. Just because he has that goddamn, shiny badge doesn’t mean he gets to treat people like shit. He ain’t a badass, regardless of what that government issued extension of his cock might tell him.”
I smiled wide. “Ellie, I think you and I are going to become friends in no time.”
She clapped her hands together, hip checking Price out of the way. “Come on, Sweetheart, dinner has been ready for hours. I honestly don’t know what is wrong with that boy. If he weren’t my grandson I would have drowned him years ago.”
“Dinner sounds good,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie. I’m starving, feeling very exposed and awkward standing here with these two strangers, one who I’m pretty damn sure is going to become my new best friend if she isn’t bullshitting me about her outlook on law enforcement.
Ellie offered me her hand, and my face dropped.
“I’m sorry. I don’t like to be touched,” I mumbled, tucking my hands in my back pockets.
Price nodded. “Will you excuse me? Ellie will escort you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, and quickly turned on his heels and stormed off around the Bronco, disappearing over one of the hills of swaying green.
“Did I do something wrong?” I whispered, watching his retreating form.
Ellie smiled. “Not at all, Sweetheart. You have to put yourself in his shoes. A week ago, he found out that he has a daughter, a seventeen-year-old daughter. That tends to... Well, everything that you don’t wanna talk about, and have been through, especially what happened that brought you here, he feels absolutely guilty that he couldn’t protect you from it all.”
“He...no, that’s impossible,” I argued. “Mom said that he didn’t want... I mean, he didn’t want me. That was the only thing she ever told me. My father never wanted me, didn’t want her!”
Ellie shook her head. “You two need to talk, but not right now. Let’s get you settled in, fed and cleaned up. If you want, I’ll hold your uncle while you hit!” She smirked, and I laughed. “It’s going to be okay, Mikhail, I promise.”
I’ve heard that one too many times, but for the first time in my life, I wanted to believe it.
“Maybe,” I said and waved her towards the tiny house.
Mom lied to me. I shouldn’t be surprised. The woman even lied about her own goddamn name! But what if Price is lying? Why would anyone want to be stuck with that whore, high school sweethearts or not? She wasn’t a smart woman by any means, and was a real self-centered bitch that always put herself first, even when she wasn’t drunk or strung-out on something. Her self-loathing ways are what got me a one-way ticket to Montana.
Ugh! This is giving me a headache already.
When Ellie walked around the little house, I started to ask where we were going when I rounded the corner, and that was when the house came into view.
Three stories of cedar shingles, stone, solar panels and glass sat on top of the largest hill in the rolling estate. A large, five car garage that matched the beautiful home sat off to the side, connected by a long breezeway, and the closest barn, which is twice as big as the house, matched, appearing like a second home with large, sliding barn doors. The massive hilly estate is surrounded by a corral that seemingly keeps the encroaching woods back—thank God, I hate those damn woods already—and some horses were running around in the far pasture, playing in the red light of sunset.
I came to a stop in f
ront of what was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
A large water feature marked the center of the roundabout driveway in front of the house. Symmetrical rocks that are taller than I am stood in the center, each of the slightly shorter rocks catching the overflow from the three tallest rocks grouped in the center, water rolling from the top of each. The collected water trickles over a retaining stone wall, like a waterfall, leading to another collection pool. That pool has a small, free falling waterfall and two small babbling brooks of stone off to the sides of it. The large pond at the bottom is surrounded by tall, swaying grass and smaller jagged rocks that apparently hold the grass back, and it breaks off into a stream that cuts through the pastures. A stone and cedar bridge, that completes the roundabout, crosses over the second tier of the water feature, making a beautiful architectural marvel to see in a private home.
It is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.
I’m sure it cost more than a hundred grand.
Shut up. I’ve never seen anything like it before other than on television.
The cascading water is the perfect background music to the picturesque place I now called home... I think it’s my home, at least I hope it is and not some place to meet more assholes like Cinder Dick before going to an apartment or trailer.
“Are you okay, Sweetheart?” Ellie whispered.
I nodded, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Sorry. I… I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I admitted.
Why are you crying?
I never cry!
“Ah,” she said, wiping her eyes as well. “Sweetheart, this is all yours now. Your father made the fountain as part of his final for school. He also renovated and completely remodeled the house, adding the third story. It has been in the family for generations.”
“He’s a builder?” I mumbled.