by Lia Kane
“I love you, my baby,” I heard Alyssa Drake say once more.
It was enough to give me hope that one day, I might hear those same words again from my own mother.
Chapter Twenty
SIX WEEKS AFTER I was hired as the executive director Hope House, Agnes sat down with me to do my orientation at the kitchen table in Paul’s newly restored home.
Over the course of a month, a professional fire restoration company had worked the entire house from foundation to rooftop, and had done an amazing job. It looked brand new.
And Paul had added a few adjustments of his own. He removed all of the video cameras from the house and installed playground equipment in the back yard.
All of us Hope House residents, as well as Paul, had spent the entire month of the restoration in the four-bedroom suite at the Holiday Inn. It had been a nice, extended stay and we had started to take some of the benefits of hotel living for granted. The forty-some channels of cable TV had us newly addicted to shows that we had never watched before. Claudia was hooked on sappy tearjerker movies on the Lifetime channel, while Sarah couldn’t go a day without watching reruns of Oprah. The school-age children were strung out on American Idol and clamored to the phone at the end of each episode to vote for their favorite contestants.
I enjoyed escaping to the outdoor hot tub at night as it was almost always empty, and I loved having it all to myself. Paul swore that the free coffee in the lobby was the best he’d ever tasted. Although we would miss the little luxuries of the Holiday Inn, it was good to be home again.
So much had happened during those four weeks that they flew by in the blink of an eye. Dealing with the media had easily taken up half of my waking hours. I had given more than a dozen interviews to newspapers and news stations from all across the nation. People were calling me a hero for saving the children from the fire, uncovering the truth about Alyssa’s disappearance, and helping recover Kelly from the hostage situation that she’d lived in for nearly a month. I hadn’t wanted to be a hero; I just wanted the truth to be known. If our story had moved anyone to be a little more understanding and tolerant toward VAMPs – or anyone, for that matter, who is different – then my time spent in front of the news cameras and talking to reporters had been well worth it.
Kelly had been treated for dehydration at the emergency room after being freed from Victor’s basement. She came to see the children, Sarah, Claudia and Lucy, and gave them all a proper goodbye. I asked her if she wanted her job back, but she said that all she wanted to do was go home to her family in Norfolk, to take some time to recuperate and make a fresh start.
Aside from the demands of the media, I was interviewed and re-interviewed countless times by the police, who wanted to make sure they had their i’s dotted and t’s crossed before closing the many cases that intersected with the fire. I had to admit, it was quite a heavy load. Arson, multiple attempted murders, kidnapping, a seven year-old murder and concealment of death, harassment and intimidation, fraud… I came to the conclusion that Victor was lucky to be a dead man. Had he lived, he would have never again seen the outside of a prison cell.
In the case of Victor’s death, the district attorney decided that the autopsy report validated my story after dental impressions were taken to confirm that my new fangs were the weapon that took him out of this world. Although I had killed him, readily admitted to it and had no regrets about it, his death was considered involuntary manslaughter. Because I had acted in defense of myself and a dozen other people, I was not charged with any crime.
My canines, by the way, had grown so long the night of the fire that no one could dismiss them as just elongated teeth anymore. It was official, I had fangs, and I had made peace with them. They were the longest fangs that any of the Hope House residents, including Paul, had ever seen. The novelty factor ran high with the school-age children. They loved to stare at them and made it their mission to keep me smiling and laughing so that they were always visible. It was going to take some work to learn how to live with them, though. I had already bit my lips and tongue several times and had chipped my left upper canine while simply talking. In spite of the rough adjustment, I refused to have them filed down by a dentist. They had saved our lives, after all. They were here to stay.
After the media and police interviews, I took what little time I had left each day to just enjoy being with the people I loved. Whitney and I finally made amends and I went to visit her as often as I could. I even joined her and her parents for dinner a couple of times. No one seemed bothered by the fact that I was sipping blood from a mug while the rest of them dined on Sandy’s superb cooking.
I played with the babies every day and helped Claudia rock them to sleep when they were fussy. I gave spelling tests and read stories to the school-age kids, and jumped on the beds with them when Sarah wasn’t around to fuss at us.
On the rare nights that Paul hadn’t been working or on-call at the hospital, we went out together – just the two of us. Twice to the movies, and once to the bowling alley. He’d slept on the sofa most nights that he spent in the suite, but the last week of our stay at the Holiday Inn, I invited him to spend the night with me. We shared a bed every night since then. Even though we could do nothing more than hold each other while we slept, it was somehow enough.
One day, I went to my mother’s house and knocked on the door. Although her car was in the driveway, she didn’t answer. I left her a note, which read:
I miss you Mom. Neither of us can change the past, but we can decide on a different future for ourselves. I won’t apologize for who I am, but my door will always be open to you, should you decide that you would like to be a part of my life again. I love you, and always will.
Your daughter,
Jerrika
I almost went back to leave a follow up note, to explain that I was leaving Blue Sky to move back in with Paul in his restored rental house, but stopped myself before I could. If she wanted me, she would easily be able to find me.
Now that I was finally there, in what everyone was calling the ‘new and improved Hope House,’ I was amazed at how easily and quickly everyone had fallen back into their daily routines.
And at long last, Agnes had arrived to give me my orientation to my job.
Thirty minutes into it, I was overwhelmed and could feel my eyes glazing over. The countless forms and manuals and flow charts that she shuffled in front of my face were starting to jumble together into nonsense. She spent another three hours throwing information at me, and seemed relieved for the both of us when she was done.
“We all just know you’re going to do a great job, dear,” said Agnes. You already have, in fact. Do you have any questions?”
“Not right now,” I said, staring at her like Bambi caught in the headlights. “But I do have one request.”
“Yes, dear?”
“No offense, Agnes, but if you could… just lighten up a little on calling me ‘dear?’ It makes me feel like a child when someone calls me that. I just want to be taken seriously, you know?”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Agnes said as she clamped her hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry. I guess it’s just so ingrained in the vocabulary of us southern women, I don’t even give it that much thought when I say it anymore. But I do respect how you feel. I’ll do my very best not to say it quite so much, Jerrika, dear.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
I guess there were much worse things that my boss could have picked to call me.
• • •
Whitney parked the car but didn’t cut the engine. In the passenger’s seat, I wrung my hands nervously. We stared at the building in front of us, a modest one-story brick house that had been converted to a meeting hall. The door was open.
I turned toward her, baring my teeth. “Do I have lipstick on my fangs?”
“No,” she said. “You look great. But are you sure you’re ready for this?” Her eyes were filled with concern when they met mine.
“Ready as
I’ll ever be.” I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for the ride, Whit.”
I got out of her car and boldly walked through the door, passing underneath a large banner with the words VAMily Reunion printed on it. To my complete surprise, I came face to face with Agnes Rhodes.
“Jerrika,” she said with a smile.
“Agnes?” I said with surprise. “You mean you’re –”
“I am indeed,” she said with a smile. “Retired schoolteacher, grandmother of five, President of Hope House, and yes, my dear, I’m VAM-Positive too.”
“I had no idea.”
“Ahhh, no reason why you should have.” She shrugged and gave me a sassy wink. “We’re glad you could join us this evening. Come on in.”
Agnes took me by the elbow and led me into the meeting hall. A few dozen or so people of all ages were gathered in the middle of the room, sharing happy conversation. She waved to Janice and Geneva, who were chatting together in a corner. “Look who’s here! Jerrika has joined us!” said an excited Agnes.
The two elderly ladies waved at me. I waved back.
Scanning around the room, I found Naz. When our eyes met, she smiled with recognition and rushed to my side. “Miss Rand, Miss Rand, I want you to meet someone,” she said, pulling me aside. She hooked arms with a wholesome-looking teenage boy. “This is Toby,” she said. And with a slight blush, added “he’s my new friend. He’s a VAMP too. I met him here at the last meeting.”
“Hello,” said Toby, and politely shook my hand.
“This is Miss Rand,” Naz told him. “She’s been an angel to me.”
“Rand?” A familiar voice spoke my name from behind me. “Did I hear someone say ‘Rand?’ As in, Jerrika Rand?” I spun around, and came face to face with my retired high school principal.
“Mr. Collins,” I gasped, barely able to contain my surprise.
He opened his arms and embraced me. “Welcome Jerrika,” he said. “I remember you well from your high school years. I knew you would make us all proud.”
When he pulled away, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around to find Officer Bishop grinning at me. “Welcome, young lady. Aren’t we honored to have a local hero join us!” He gave me a friendly hug, while I reeled with surprise.
Next in line to greet me was Betty Wilson, who had been my Sunday school teacher throughout my youth.
“Jerrika,” she said, “we’re so glad you could join us.”
“You too?” I said.
“I’ve been VAM-Positive for five years now, sweetheart.”
I blinked as if I couldn’t believe my eyes. “I remember you, Betty! I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen you!”
“Not that long,” she said. “Every time I go in our old classroom, I can still smell the Play-Doh that you ground into the carpet all those years ago.”
I laughed. “I remember that! We were supposed to be making flower pots, and you told us to put them on the window sill to harden so we could plant seeds the following Sunday. Only I didn’t want to wait till next Sunday. I wanted to take mine home. So I put it in my back pocket, but it fell out when I sat down. And when I got up, I crushed it under my heel.”
“Well my dear, it’s still there,” she laughed. “You should come by sometime and see the mark that your artistic vision left on our church.”
My smile faded to a frown. “I don’t know if I’d be welcome.”
“All are welcome in the Lord’s house, Jerrika. It’s the same place you came every Sunday as a child, and the same people who loved you then are still there now.”
“Not my mother.” I lowered my voice and stepped closer to Betty. “We haven’t spoken in years. I wouldn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable by showing up. She still comes, doesn’t she?”
“Not as often as she used to. Don’t let that keep you away, Jerrika. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I believe that anyone who comes seeking God’s grace and mercy will receive it.”
“I don’t know if that’s what I’m seeking,” I said in a hushed voice. “After all that I’ve been through, I don’t even know what I believe anymore. Do you think that a loving God would unleash the VAM virus into the world and let all of us suffer as much as we have? Are you still a believer, Betty? ”
“More so now than ever before,” she said with a smile. “After I heard about the fire, and the way that you saved those children, it made me think of the Exodus of the Israelites. They were persecuted, and they suffered too. But God loved them, and He sent Moses to deliver them. Just like he sent you to deliver the orphans from evil. You saved their lives. I’m standing on holy ground in your presence, Jerrika, and I’m proud of you. I’m so very proud of you.” She opened her arms and took me into them.
“I’m scared, Betty,” I whispered. “There are people who still hate us, and think we’re evil. Is it always going to be this hard?
“It may be. We were never promised an easy existence. Everyone has a burden to bear in life, and this VAM disease – this is ours. I can tell you, though, it’s a whole lot easier if we surround ourselves with people who can share it with us. We’re empty when we’re alone. The love of others is crucial to our survival. We need it to make our lives whole.”
“I do need it,” I gasped, and wept on her shoulder.
And the others gathered around me, placing their hands upon me, whispering words of encouragement, and reminding me that I was loved and accepted, and not alone.
I was not alone.
I blinked away the tears that were clouding my eyes and looked up once more at the banner hanging over our heads.
VAMily Reunion, it read. And underneath it, in smaller lettering, the group’s tagline:
Blood is Thicker Than Water
I had to laugh at that. Sure, blood is literally thicker than water. Ask any VAMP who drinks blood to survive, and she will tell you just what a tremendous difference there is between the thickness of the two. But the expression wasn’t meant to be literal, as I learned when I in sixth grade.
I remember seeing those very words – blood is thicker than water – in a young adult novel that I was reading for a book report. I asked my teacher what it meant. She told me in a very stuffy, formal tone, “blood represents the love and the bond of a family. Blood relations are stronger ties than love shared between friends or casual acquaintances.”
Perhaps it is true for some in this world, but not for all. Not for me.
I live in a house full of children who, just like me, have no relationship with their biological families. Yet they have become brothers and sisters to each other. They have mothers in Claudia, Lucy, Sarah – and me as well. They have Paul – their doctor, their protector, and a father figure for the first time in their lives. There is no shortage of love under our roof. We are a family.
And now to my great surprise, my family grows even bigger. I am surrounded by people who want to be a part of my life, for no other reason than just that they know my pain and they share in my struggle. They aren’t my blood relatives, but if this isn’t love – then what is?
Love is thicker than blood. It is thicker than family. Love is the blood that flows between those of us in the world who are lonely and hurting, and forges us into families where none existed before. It is the source that feeds us when we are hungry, strengthens us when we are weak, and restores hope when the light has gone out in our souls.
It is the power that transforms and saves us when we have lost faith in ourselves. It is the one beating heart, feeding every vessel in the body with the promise that we are intricately bonded and connected. That we are not alone.
And it is the truth behind this wonderful little secret that I have finally discovered; that home is not really a place, but more like a feeling.
At long last, I have it.
I have come home.
Acknowledgments
It took an all-star team to bring this novel together. First, I owe a great deal of thanks to my editor, W
ayne Beamer, who helped make ‘A Sucker Born Every Minute’ the best story it could be. A freelance writer, editor and social media professional living in central Texas, Wayne has worked with an array of media companies from AOL to Top Shelf Productions to sole proprietors. Liked what you read here and need help polishing your writing? Contact Wayne at [email protected] for a free consultation.
Thanks also to Robin Kae, who designed the cover art for my book. She is a talented graphic designer and a true professional! You can view her work and contact Robin at her website, http://coversbyrobin.deviantart.com.
I am also very thankful for the assistance of Brett Battles, who formatted my manuscript into an e-book and gave very helpful guidance along the way. Check out his website at http://digitalbinder.wordpress.com. And Brett, by the way, is also an award-winning novelist. You can find out more about him and his books at http://www.brettbattles.com. I’m a big fan of his writing!
I am very appreciative of the reviewers who took the time to read this story and give feedback: Lyn Keating, Sandy Meek, Kathy Merrill, Melanie Pridgen, Ellen Stowers and Laurie Williams, thank you! I am in your debt!
And I am so grateful for my incredible family and friends. They know that I’m happiest when I’m writing, and will go to great lengths to make sure that I have my butt in a chair and my fingers on a keyboard.
Thank you, God, for all of the blessings you have given to me – especially this burning desire to write.
I’d be lost without it.
About the Author