I frown, not sure what he’s sorry for.
He rubs tiredly over his face and then sighs heavily. “There was an accident. Your parents… they didn’t make it.”
My parents … they’re dead?
NO! My heart squeezes painfully and then a sharp twinge starts to grow in my chest. I suck in an agonizing breath, but the feeling keeps growing until I’m hollowed out and only filled with the loss of my parents. On my next breath, sobs start to tear from my throat.
They can’t be gone! It’s too soon. I didn’t get to say goodbye.
My thoughts start to race and panic sets into my bones. They can’t be dead … not my parents.
The reality of never seeing my parents again hits hard, an ache so deep it shatters me. An empty feeling overwhelms me, something I’ve never felt before. It’s like a wave that washes all my happy memories away, leaving only a harrowing heartbreak behind.
I’m too scared to say a word, and my eyes beg Uncle Tom to tell me different. I keep looking to the door expecting Dad and Mom to come rushing in at any moment.
They’ll make it all better. They’ll take the emptiness away.
“The nursing staff will look after you. Once you can walk you should leave the country.” I look at Uncle Tom, confused at his words.
Why would I leave South Africa? This is my home.
He lifts the mattress right under my butt, and the movement jars my body, sending a wave of pain through my back. I watch as he shoves a thick envelope under the mattress before dropping it down again.
“Keep that envelope safe. It has a new passport and some money in it for you. I’ve arranged a visa for you to go to America, but it’s only valid for three months. I could only get you a temporary one on such short notice. You can’t stay here. Once you’re in America, stick to the small towns and never use your name again. Forget where you come from, or they will find you.”
They? Who are they? Why would people be coming for me? I don’t understand any of this.
I want to scream as a helpless feeling overwhelms me.
Uncle Tom gently caresses my cheek, a sad look giving his face a haggard appearance. “Leave South Africa, Cara. As soon as you can.” He leans over me and places a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Run, Cara. Run far away and never stop!”
I watch him leave and then I’m left alone in the hospital room with only the envelope and a heart filled with sharp pieces of emptiness that are stabbing at my insides with every panicked breath I try to suck in.
For a moment I can only blink and breathe before the reality starts to squeeze at my insides again.
My parents are dead!
I’m alone?
I start to weep, grief-stricken and distressed by all that’s happened to me.
I’m only eighteen. I don’t know what to do. I want my Dad and Mom.
A nurse comes into the room and smiles warmly at me, but I feel none of the warmth. She gives me something and it starts to soothe the pain that’s clawing at my heart.
I know the relief is only temporary, but I welcome the blissful sleep with open arms.
CHAPTER ONE
CARA
“Time to close up,” Mr. Johnson says with that eerily quiet tone of his. In the beginning it used to freak me out, but you get used to stuff like that if you need money. I’ve done so many different types of jobs in my life, but selling stuffed animals must be my least favorite and weirdest.
Mr. Johnson offered to teach me ‘the tricks of the trade’ (his words, not mine.) There is no way I want to learn how to be a taxidermist. I just need another hundred bucks and I’m out of here. I’ve already stayed here for too long.
I live a lonely life, but I’ve grown used to it. It’s just the way it is. It doesn’t help to question something you can’t change. It’s better to just accept that it’s the way my life is going to be.
I now go by the name of Cassy Smith, my mother’s name. Cassy is short for Cassandra and Smith was her maiden name. That was a nice thing of Uncle Tom to do. I feel closer to her that way.
I still don’t understand any of the things that happened to me when I was eighteen. No, I’m lying. I understand the pain, because it’s the only thing that was real and constant.
I don’t understand what happened on the boat, or to my parents. I don’t understand why I had to leave, and why Uncle Tom left me.
I’ve come to the conclusion that life is not meant to be understood – trying will only drive you insane. Life is just meant to be lived, every day a new day with its own problems.
I’ve been in the US for seven years. Lucky number seven … right? I can’t use my passport anymore. It was only valid for three months, but that was all I needed to find my first job, which was cleaning toilets at a truck stop. It was a shitty job but that’s why they let me work there in the first place. Cheap labor.
I keep moving, just like Uncle Tom said. I don’t stay longer than two months in one spot. I’ve been here six weeks already and I’m feeling the familiar itch to run.
I don’t make friends and I sure as hell don’t grow attached to anyone, and that’s the reason why I had to push Steven away. I could see more with him. If you can see more with someone, it usually means trouble. When you’re on the run, getting attached to another person is like carrying a dead weight around your neck.
I thought it was a good thing to hook up with him for one night, seeing as he was traveling through Scappoose. He only came to hunt some deer, then he’d head back home.
We had sex, nothing spectacular, but it soothed the craving for another human’s touch.
He never left. I’ve seen him hanging around at the local bar, so I stopped going there.
It’s time to leave. I can feel it in my gut.
I shrug on my jacket that’s seen better days and I make sure the heater we keep under the counter is off. This store is already an ice box and it’s not even winter yet.
While Mr. Johnson locks up in the back where his workshop is, I quickly take out my food for the day. The water in the urn is still warm, so I just pour some over the cup o’ noodles and then wait for Mr. Johnson.
He comes shuffling out of his workshop, and I open the front door so he can just keep shuffling by me. I don’t want him to slow down, because then he will find a hundred things to do and I’ll be stuck here longer.
Using my foot as a doorstop, I quickly turn the open sign so it shows closed. When we’re both out of the store, Mr. Johnson locks the door. He waves tiredly at me, before he shuffles slowly down the sidewalk. I guess I should go home, too.
Home.
There is no such place for me. I move from shady motel to even shadier motel. That’s been my life since I ran away from that hospital. I had to run, not for fear of my life, but because I had no way of paying the huge bill. I snuck out like a thief in the night.
I walk slowly and test the heat of my dinner with the tip of my finger. It’s cooled down already. I stick my finger in the cup and stir until it looks good enough to swallow. When you’ve been living off cup o’ noodles for years, you don’t chew, you just swallow so the stuff can fill your growling stomach. Chewing, now that is reserved for tacos, or pizza, or burgers … sigh.
“Hi,” I hear someone call behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Steven jogging towards me.
“Well, this sucks,” I mutter.
He catches up to me and throws his arm around my shoulders. “Where are we going?”
“We?” Oh, buddy, you have high hopes. “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says way too cheerfully, as if he’ll be getting lucky tonight.
“I’m fine by myself.” I shrug his arm away from my shoulders and walk faster.
“Oh, come on, babe. We had a good time the other night.”
I stop dead in my tracks and glare at him. “One night stand,” I spell the words out for him holding up one finger for emphasis. “That’s not happening again.”
&nbs
p; He takes hold of my hand, quite a tight grip, and he starts to pull me into the street.
“I said no, asshole,” I snap, trying to yank my arm free. Alarm bells start to sound through me and nervous tension washes over me.
The cup o’ noodles spills over my hand. “You’re spilling my dinner!” I shriek at him.
He doesn’t seem to care about the loss of my food, and just keeps yanking at my hand, forcing me to move faster.
My stomach drops and for the first time, I actually start to doubt myself.
How well do I really know this dude?
What if he drags me to the park and rapes me? Shit!
What if he’s a serial killer? Shit!
“Okay,” I say a little breathlessly. My heart is racing wildly as panic floods my veins. “You go on ahead to the bar and I’ll meet you there. I just want to go shower the day away.” My voice is pitching. Fuck, he can hear I’m scared.
“Hell no, babe. You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps.
He drags me across the street. I hear the squealing of car tires, and by the time my senses kick into action, it’s too late.
Arms grab me from behind and a piece of cloth is shoved over my mouth and nose.
Cold fear ripples over me as I start to realize that I’m in danger.
A horrified scream tears through my throat as I’m thrown onto a hard metal surface. I hear a door slam closed and an overwhelming sense of danger floods me.
I manage to yank my face away from the sickly smelling cloth. “Let me go!” I scream, while kicking and hitting at anything.
I try hard to push myself up with my arms, but I keep getting shoved back down.
“Go-Go-Go!” Steven yells. “We’ve got the package.”
Something slams hard against the side of my head and then there’s a sharp prick in my right arm. I try to yank away but it’s too late.
My whole world wobbles and spins.
CHAPTER TWO
CARA
The world blurs and at first, I think I’m still dreaming, and that I’m under water, but then I taste the sweetness on my tongue. I always taste the metallic taste of blood in my dreams and this is not it. This is sickly sweet.
My eyes feel heavy but I pry them open, squinting around me. It’s dark and whatever I’m on makes a hollow banging sound as I push myself into a sitting position. I wait for my eyes to adjust but they don’t. Shit! It’s really dark in here, as if I’ve been dropped into a pot of ink.
“Hello?” I whisper, because I’m too scared to say it out loud. There’s no answer, only the harsh echo of my own pathetically scared voice.
I get up slowly, carefully testing the ground beneath my feet, and again it makes the hollow banging sound. I must be standing on some sort of metal sheet ... I think.
My arms stretch out automatically, scared that I’ll bump into something. It’s as if my balance just up and left me, and fear sets in, throwing my senses totally off.
I’m too scared to move, but I know I can’t just stand here. My whole body starts to tremble as if it only caught on now that we’re in a huge amount of shit.
“Come on, Cara,” I try to talk some courage into my terrified mind. “Find a way out. You just need to find a way out. Stay calm and don’t lose it.”
I take small steps forward, my hands shaking terribly. When I walk into a solid wall, my breathing turns to rapid gasps of terror. “No! Shit, where am I?”
I feel my way along the wall, but find nothing but another wall, and then another … and another. The space is so small.
“Fuck! I’m so deep in shit. They’re gonna kill me. Oh, God. I’m dead! How did they find me? What did I do wrong?” Panic sets in, ceasing all common sense. I feel my way to a corner and I slide down until my butt hits the floor. I press back against the cold, hard surface until I’m practically one with it.
Dread makes the dark reach at me with clawing fingers. It makes time slow down and the air thin. The horror of my situation makes my insides quiver and my mouth dry.
Seconds tick over into bloodcurdling, terror-filled minutes.
Minutes slither into what feels like unnervingly scary hours.
I don’t know what time it is. I don’t know if it’s night or day outside. I don’t know who has me, or why.
I know nothing but naked terror.
I’m gripping my knees tightly to my chest, rocking myself, when I hear a loud bang against the one wall. I shriek and press further back into the cold metal. What the fuck was that?
I’ve been going through stages. First panic, then fear. Then I’ll start to reason with myself that I will find a way to escape until I’m calm again. Anger comes last, where I start to plan ways of defending myself until I’m filled with rage and I’m imagining ways I’m going to kill whoever has me.
I go from feeling hot to cold in seconds, from crying hysterically to just rocking myself like some crazy person.
But right now, all I feel is paralyzing fear, unlike anything I’ve felt before.
I keep thinking that any second can be my last second.
I keep worrying that I’ll run out of air. What if I’m buried and I don’t even know it!
I keep imagining dying in this black hole, and no one will ever know.
I hear a key rattle in the door and then light spills into the tiny room. A frightened yelp slips from my dry lips. I quickly scan my surroundings before the light is taken from me. It’s only gray walls, a gray floor and gray ceiling. It looks like a tiny box.
Oh God! They have me in some box. They’re going to bury me!
My chest starts to tighten and it gets hard to breathe. I break out in a cold sweat and my body starts to shake terribly.
I don’t want to die like this.
Hot tears spill over my cheeks but I’m too scared to wipe them away.
The man standing by the door just stares at me, and it’s terrifying the crap out of me. He has a rough beard and shaggy, salt and pepper hair. He’s larger than the average man. Tall, broad and a stomach that tells me that he lives a comfortable life.
It takes me a moment to recognize him, but when I do, relief washes over me, and for a moment I feel faint and giddy.
“Mr. Attridge?” I croak and then the tears come.
I struggle to stand, using the wall for balance. My legs are a trembling mess, threatening to give way any second.
He used to come over to our house all the time. He, Dad and Uncle Tom were real close before the accident.
But then he scowls at me and he looks far from friendly now. It makes my moment of relief short-lived and the tears dry right up as dread washes over me.
“Cara,” he says as he steps into the room. He closes the door and I can’t see him anymore.
My heart rate spikes and I flinch when a match lights up the small space for an instant. The small flame makes eerie shadows jump and dance against the steel walls.
He lights a cigarette and then all that remains is the glowing red coal.
“Imagine our surprise when we saw you walk down the road there by Easy’s bar. You look so much like your mother. May she rest in peace.” He takes a drag and the coal glows brighter, lending a creepy quality to the room. “Stupid changing your name to your mother’s. You made it so easy for us to find you.”
He takes another drag, lighting up his face again in a scary red glow.
“Yeah, that was a real stupid thing to do,” he whispers unnervingly making cold chills race up my spine. “So, unfortunately for you we have a score to settle with your father.” I hear him spit. I’ve forgotten how deep his South African accent is. I don’t understand why he would be here.
I start to shake and fear swells in my chest, until it suffocates me. “I don’t understand any of this!” I cry out when the fear becomes too much to bear.
“I know, my girl. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way things are. You know how it works. Children pay for the sins of their fathers.”
The door opens again and three men
come in. For a moment I can only make out their silhouettes against the sharp sunlight that’s streaming in behind them. One is holding a camera and he fiddles with the thing until a red light starts to flash.
What the fuck do they need a camera for?
The other two move closer to me and my eyes dart to them.
Steven!
Steven is one of them?
The shivering stills and I can only stare. They’ve been watching me. I got so careless! I forgot that I was running for my life.
“Say your name to the camera, girl,” Mr. Attridge snaps.
“Cassy Smith,” I blurt out. I don’t want to make them angry.
“Your real name!” he snaps irritably and I flinch back from the hostility in his voice.
“Cara Ellison.” My heart pounds in my ears.
“Say the date,” he snaps again.
“October ninth.” I try to keep my eyes everywhere at once, but mostly on Steven and Mr. Attridge.
“Who is Ralph Ellison to you?” He growls and my stomach churns with dread.
“He’s my father,” I whimper.
“Only for ten minutes, men. We only need enough on tape to let that piece of shit know we’re serious. After the boys are done with you your uncle will come running to save you, just like he did when I killed your parents. Don’t be angry, Cara, this is just the way things are done. No hard feelings.” I watch Mr. Attridge with huge eyes, as he hands the cigarette to the man next to him. “Here you go, Henry.” And then he walks out leaving me with the three men.
The door closes and a bright light flickers on from the camera, spotlighting me. Everything else blacks out but the bright light. My body starts to shake and I press back into the cold wall.
What’s going on?
What are they going to do?
A million horrible scenarios race through my mind, tightening the cold grip of panic on my insides.
Henry moves first and comes right at me. He looks like a hulking mass of darkness. I scream and duck to the side, but he grabs hold of my arm, yanking me back.
Where I go, the blinding light goes, and the tiny red light tells me that they are recording all of this.
Heartless (An Enemies To Lovers Novel Book 1) Page 15