by Lee Miller
Grey
A Life Unraveled
(Tapestry of Life Series)
Author: Lee Miller
Editor: Susan Thurber
This book is dedicated to Marcia.
I took that saw and built my dreams.
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.
Copyright © 2016 by Lee Miller
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
Lee Miller
[email protected]
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Prologue
It tossed and turned, bounced and careened in and out.
Its destination unclear, its path obscured.
Constantly it grew, patient, waiting.
Biding its time until its release.
Its life a short one, its brothers and sisters too numerous to count.
An individuality that can only be seen in its depths. The things of the world matter not.
The desires of the flesh pointless.
The envy, jealousy, happiness, never to be found in its ilk; emotions are weak, all that matters is the grey.
The time is upon them. The descent begins…
Twirling and twisting on the winds of fate and change.
Tossed here and there upon the currents of time and space.
Slowly it descends, dropping and rising
Dipping and flittering
Tossed and caressed by the same currents
It falls, plummeting, bounced around and shifted from space to space.
It careens and travels; its path anything but straight.
Until, after its long voyage from above, it comes to rest on the hot moist skin of its victim.
As it sizzles and melts, its short life vaporizing before the unseen eyes of the world.
It takes stark satisfaction in coming from the grey.
December, 31st New Year’s Eve
Sara
Sara stood at the wall window gazing out into the city. The skies had been grey for weeks now. She had watched from her apartment office, as it seemed like the clouds covered every shade of grey one could possibly imagine. She had three loves in her life, music, reading and her husband, Chris. She was currently listening to one while doing the other and thinking of the third. She had a bit to get done today before she and Chris went out on the town tonight, but it could wait while she finished her morning ritual. Every morning she padded around the expense apartment she and Chris had in her bathrobe and bare feet reading the latest column she wrote and researching high society news. Shortly after entering the work force out of college, she landed a sweet job as the Human interest/Society page reporter. Currently playing from her iPod was Within Temptation’s “Faster”. She loved music; it got her through many of the rough days of her life. When things got too tough to handle, she’d put headphones on and listen to whatever music best fit her current mood. As a kid she spread the range from rock to country to rap. She didn’t necessarily like artist she liked songs. It wasn’t until her best friend Beth took her to a Nightwish concert that she really began to enjoy Symphonic metal. In the beginning, she couldn’t get enough of it. She still loved Nightwish, but Within Temptation took over as her now favorite band.
She continued to read the latest news as Sharon den Adel sped up the chorus and the song was coming to its crescendo, she stopped to sing along. As the song ended she made another cup of coffee and read about some old man in Georgia who had grown the largest rose garden ever. Apparently he dedicated his life to it. She sensed a story here. Surely her editor would be sending her out to investigate sooner or later.
She set the paper down to gaze out of the window once more. With a hot cup of coffee in her hands she could still feel just how cold the day must be outside the thermally insulated glass. She stared into the clouds and for a moment and thought she could detect movement in them, a twisting and spiraling on itself, flexing and receding, each layer seemingly at war with the layer above it or below it. The sky was angry. “Huh, glad I’m in here and you’re out there.” She muttered. She stared, transfixed, at the oscillating sky. She knew it was only her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the angry sky growl at her in response. She tore herself away from the window; she had to get ready for the day. She let the music continue, she could hear it in the speakers embedded in the ceiling upstairs in the bedroom and bathroom, as she went to shower and put her face on. Lucky for her and Chris’s need to always be early, it never took her long to get ready. She wore enough makeup to accentuate her natural beauty and her hair, which was black as night and laid down her back in natural curls, never took much to get together.
She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the outside of the bathroom door. She had light blue eyes. Her best feature in her opinion, and the tangled mess that was her hair. She removed the rubber band out of her hair and released it from the ponytail she always kept it in when she ran, either outside on nice days or on the treadmill in the bedroom on bad days. She always liked the way she looked while trying to never be vain about it. Her looks were not of her making, but were by the design of genetics and God. Her height, at 5’10, she got from her now deceased father. Her hair and eyes she received from her mother, the way everything was put together was God’s idea. Still, she liked it. After enough self-analyzing, Sara stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as she could stand it. She began to think about the day, and night, ahead. She smiled at the thought of Chris’s face when he saw what she was wearing tonight for his firm’s New Year’s Eve bash. She let her mind wonder, not to the past, but to her present and the future that had been laid out before her. Turning old and grey with Chris, sitting on a porch swing watching the grandchildren play in the yard, sipping lemonade and enjoying the sunny southern weather she and Chris wanted to retire to. She had always been enamored with the south. She loved the old ways of living. The ease of life, the slow pace southern people seemed to live by. Maybe they would retire to that little town in Georgia where the guy had the huge rose garden, or maybe to Tennessee, or Kentucky. She didn’t care as long as Chris was there with her. First she and Chris would have to have children before they could have grandchildren. Something they had talked about the other day at their weekly park lunch. They were both ready. Even pregnant, she could still work from home and take maternity leave if need be. The apartment had two other rooms besides theirs, if they had more than two kids, then they would need to find a bigger place. Chris was amazed at how much thought she had put into the idea when she voiced all of this to him. “What? I’m a woman. I have the man I love as my husband, it’s only natural I would want to share offspring with him.” She said, stuffing another bite of her bologna sandwich in her mouth. “I know, I know” he replied with a chuckle. “Tell you what, put it in your God’s hands and let what happens, happen” he agreed. She loved him more than anything else, but dismissing her faith was one way to get her Irish temper flaring. “Chris Connelly! Don’t you…” She began, but he back peddled quickly. “Okay, okay, I surrender! I don’t want my beautiful wife going apocalyptic on me and tearing down half the city
in her rage.” He was still laughing as she fumed. “Why is it so hard for you to believe in my faith?” she asked, a little hurt. “Sweetie, you knew when we first started dating and you asked me to go to church with you how I felt, if I come to your faith, it will be on my own, not because I was badgered into it.” He said, his smile now gone. “I’m not badgering you Chris. YOU poked fun at God, not me. I simply asked a question. I want you to come home to Heaven with me when our time is up here, but you’re right, that choice has to be yours alone. No one can make it for you or force you into it.” She said with conviction while finishing off her second sandwich. He looked at her for a long while and smiled. “I love you Sara.” “I know.” She replied back with a wry smile. “So we are agreed, we won’t do anything to help or hurt the chance of you getting pregnant?” He held out his pinkie. “Deal.” she said taking his pinkie into hers. Chris never broke a pinkie swear.
She was brought back to the present when the hot water began to turn cold and Sara knew she had been in too long already. She needed to get going. She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off. Within twenty minutes she was dressed with her makeup done and was on her way out the door. She took the elevator down to the lobby and proceeded toward the front doors. She greeted the receptionist as she went by. A nice young lady with a bad dye job in her hair and seemed to always wear clothes a size too small for her and always looked for any reason to give the guys that come through here a look at her cleavage or her backside by bending over one direction or the other.
Sara stepped out of the door and greeted the elderly doorman. His name was Charles and he always had a kind word on his lips and a friendly smile to greet you. Next week was Charles 69th birthday and she wanted to do something nice for him. She mentally added to her list of things to do today to see about a card and a gift that she and Chris could give the nice doorman. Collecting her thoughts, she stepped out into the biting cold onto the sidewalk. Glancing upward she saw the dark slate grey sky that had been looming for weeks now. It constantly threatened snow, but all it had managed to do was give each day a gloomy feel. As she stared into the grey abyss, she felt a sharp pinprick of cold hit the tip of her nose. Crossing her eyes, she could see the single white flake laying there, sizzling as it died. “Great, here it comes. TAXI!!” she groaned. She knew she had a limited amount of time to get everything done. The major storm the weatherman had been forecasting seemed to finally be coming at them. While she stood there waiting for a taxi to take her to the places she would find herself that day, she looked around. Up and down the busy 5th Ave. She watched the people hustling about, trying their best to shelter themselves from the blustering December day. She began to recall the days of her youth, days that where darker and gloomier than the present day.
Growing up in military towns left her little time to establish and build lasting bonds with anyone. It seemed to her just as she was getting settled in and developing a life, they had to pick up and move again. This was one of the main causes to her inability to trust or care much for anyone until she met Chris. It felt to her like life was a series of heartaches and parting. Life was a roller coaster, with its peaks of happiness that all too often descended into the valleys of hurt and anguish. Life always rushed those in it headlong into sharp curves. Just when you thought you knew where you were going, you get jerked violently into another direction. Nothing was built to last. Nothing was designed to weather the storms of life. Everything fades.
Growing up, her father was an abusive alcoholic who stayed in trouble with his chain of command. Thus, they learned to get by on the very little that his pay brought home. Just as it seemed he would get the next rank, the next pay raise, he would do something stupid to screw it up. His advancement in the Army was not what it could have been. Sara remembered growing up in places like Watertown, NY and Clarksville, TN. She was always the poor kid in school. In truth, though she wasn’t the type to give in to vanity, she knew that if it weren’t for her remarkable stunning looks her classmates would have unmercifully teased her. She has always worked on augmenting her looks with a kind spirit, yet remained detached and distant. She wasn’t going to let herself get hurt again. Not like the night when one of her dad’s army buddies was over drinking and snuck into her room. She could still smell the rank stench of cheap whiskey on the soldier’s breath as he stole her innocence and broke her spirit. He used the excuse that she had been flirting with him so he thought she wanted it. “Asshole” she muttered. She wanted to scream out while he was assaulting her but was far too scared of what may have happened if she did. He kept his hand over her mouth in the less than two minutes it took him to finish what he came for. Even after the fact she was to way too frightened to say anything. She quickly and quietly cleaned up the mess the event left behind without uttering a word. After a few weeks of living in fear of strangers, she finally broke down and told her mother what had happen.
Her mother; a woman who believed so blindly in a just and loving God yet sat by while her drunk of a husband verbally abused their only daughter and also physically abused her at times. She was meek, scared, and timid. Yet she loved Sara like nothing else in the world mattered to her. Sometimes she would catch her mom looking at her and would bashfully ask “What momma?” Her mother’s only returning remark would always be “Just looking at the angel God trusted me with. I love you Sara.” Her dear mother, gone to her grave at too early of an age. Her last parting gift to Sara was her own faith in God and love for Jesus. Her faith saw her through many things, including the rape she suffered at age seventeen. When she finally broke down in tears at her mom’s constant inquiring about her strange coldness and distance from everyone. Sara remembered that night. It was the only time she ever saw her mother enraged, angry, and the only time she ever heard her cuss.
Sara was working beside her mother folding the latest load of laundry. Lost in her own thoughts when she heard that sing-song voice of her mother break through her reverie. “Sara, I swear, the last few weeks you seem to walk around lost in thought. I figured you’d come out of it or tell me what it is that has you bothered so. You haven’t done either. Care to share with your dear, worried mother?” “Crap” Sara thought to herself. I thought I had hid it well. Figures she would see right through whatever façade I’d throw up. Sara gathered herself and put on a pleasant smile before speaking. She couldn’t let her mom know just how bothered she really was. “It’s nothing mom, just got a lot on my mind” she mumbled. She glanced up to see the disapproving look and grim set of her mother’s mouth. She knew she hadn’t bought into her story.
“Sara, I love you. I have raised you since I gave birth to you. I carried you for 9 months. I know you better than you think I do, and I know when something is wrong. I’m not going to make you tell me anything you don’t want to, but if you keep whatever this is bottled up inside you for too long, it will become a part of you and will start to eat away at you. I’ll always be here for you sweetheart, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”
Sara took a long hard look at her mother, the one person who she had no doubts about in her life. She trusted this woman with everything, believed in her, and loved her back unconditionally. Tears filled her eyes. Sobbing over took her. Her knees buckled and she began to sink to the floor when suddenly she felt the most caring and loving arms wrap around her. Her and this kindly lady sat on the floor for what seemed like forever while Sara cried out all the anguish she had been feeling, while she silently relived that horrific night. When she had gained enough composure to speak, the only words she could get out where “He hurt me momma. He hurt me.” Then the blubbering began anew.
A new sense filled the room and Sara could detect it even through her crying and despair. It was a sense of anger. It was a sense of helplessness it was a sense of dread and it was coming from the woman that held her. Sara looked up through her tear-streaked eyes and could see love and compassion in her mother’s eyes, but also saw hate and vengeance. “When you’re ready my sw
eet child, you will give me a name and we will see him brought to justice, one way or another.” The last part of her statement sent chills down Sara’s spine. For a brief and fleeting moment, she almost felt bad for the guy.
Sara sat on that floor with her mom for what seemed like hours. Early afternoon gave way to the sinking twilight sky before she was composed enough to tell her mom everything. As she was wrapping up the telling of the events of that night, they heard the sound of tires on gravel that signaled that her father was home.
Her mother glanced back from the window facing the front yard and driveway and asked in a hurried, hushed voice “Does your father know?” Sara looked at her with a blank expression on her face before the words sunk in. “Uh…no…no I haven’t told him. I’m scared to.” She nodded with understanding. “He’s going to know and he’s going to take care of this.” Sara was used to living in fear of her dad. She had done so ever since she could remember. But this, this was a new kind of fear of him. What would he say, what would he do? She didn’t really want to find out.
“Please momma. Please, don’t tell him!” Sara urged with fear dripping from every letter. The look of disapproval on her mother’s face was almost enough to shut down her pleading, but she continued.
“Dad is a violent person, an angry person. This could go either way with him! Plus, I don’t want him thinking I’m a slut or that I asked for his friend’s attentions.” Sara’s dad had always placed his priorities not on his family, but on his friends and himself. Sara and her mother got what was left of him after everybody else got what they wanted of him. What was usually left was a broken, angry, bitter drunk of a man. She and her mother shared a long look, she searched her mother’s eyes for any sign of relenting and understanding while her mother searched her eyes for the strength and acceptance that this life needed to end, this torment they lived under couldn’t go on any longer. “Sara, please. I will protect you. If your father doesn’t believe in us then why should we sit back and believe in him? Take heart dear child. I should have done this long ago.” As the last words were uttered, the front door banged open.