Out of the Ashes (Marked as His Book 1)

by Rossi, Monica

  Monica Rossi

  Out of the Ashes

  Copyright 2016, Monica Rossi

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

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  This book is dedicated to my sister Dawn

  Dax stared at the old run down building across the street, traffic going in stops and starts in front of him, and the brake lights reflecting off the rain filled pot holes that lined the road. The cold drizzle ran down the back of his neck and he pulled the hoodie up over his head.

  It wasn’t much. A dingy looking two story office that still bore the scars of a fire that happened long ago. Most of the windows were broken and the ones that were intact had graffiti that looked like a third grader had gotten his hands on a bottle of discount spray paint from the dollar store.

  Its neighbors didn’t look much better. In fact, the whole neighborhood was weighed down by a general sense of disrepair and despair. But if he closed his eyes he could see what might be. What he hoped it could be.

  He could see each step he’d need to take to make that ‘might be’ a reality. He just had to let go of his fears and insecurities and do it. Could he though? Could he put everything on the line for a possibility?

  A hand grazed his shoulder, making him instinctively shy away. He looked down sharply where he saw watery blue eyes full of love staring back at him. The kind of love he’d never felt like he deserved.

  “So that’s the place,” she said, nodding at the storefront across from them with the big yellow ‘For Lease’ sign slung haphazardly across the front door.

  “What place?” he hadn’t told her about his plans. He hadn’t told anyone, they were too big, too risky to talk about out loud.

  Her face cracked and a million happy crevices bloomed across the surface, “You spend all your nights making plans and drawing pictures. Leaving notebooks scattered across the sofa, on the table, hell, in the john. Then you call me over here in the middle of the day and expect me to act surprised? Boy, I’m old not dumb.” She smacked his arm playfully.

  He smiled down at her, you couldn’t hide much from Ma, even if he hadn’t left his notebooks out a time or two, “What do you think?”

  Her eyes left him and travelled across the road where she took in the shop while she chewed on her lower lip, a habit she’d picked up since he’d badgered her into quitting smoking.

  He waited anxiously on her reply, knowing he’d give up the idea in a second if she said the word. It wasn’t just his future he was going to gamble with.

  “I think it’s pretty banged up, but I’ve seen what a little bit of love can do for something broken.” Her eyes turned back towards him and he felt emotion well up inside him.

  That must have been how she’d seen him and his little family when she’d first found them all those years ago, barely getting by and living in a motel room. Broken, but not beyond repair.

  “But what if I fail Ma?” he asked, not looking at her, scared of the answer he’d see reflected in her eyes.

  “But what if you don’t?” her hand reached out and took his, her old thin skin not shirking away from the rough calluses made by long hours of work, she’d carried her own marks of labor for most of her life.

  “What if I waste money that could send Sandy or Dex to school?”

  “What if you make enough to send them both to school?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do, Ma.” Dax shook his head, his heart stuck in his throat.

  “There is no right or wrong thing here Dax, there’s trying and not trying. You’re just scared, and rightfully so, but don’t let it hold you back boy. I believe in you. We all do.” Her hand tightened on his.

  She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes and he knew that she was telling the truth. They did believe in him, because he’d always come through for them before. But what if he didn’t this time, what if he let them all down and they ended right back where they’d started. One step away from homeless, willing to do whatever they had to for the next meal.

  A chill ran through him at the thought. No, no matter what, he’d never let that happen.

  She mindlessly began to chew on her thumbnail as she stared down at her list, but stopped herself before she’d done any damage. A ragged thumb nail wouldn’t do at all, she reminded herself, returning her attention to the paper before her. Neat little bubbles ran down the left side of the page waiting to be checked off and she wondered what she was forgetting. There had to be something.

  She looked over at the happy toddler sitting beside her at the kitchen table, a bright smile on the child’s face as she pretended her dinosaur shaped chicken pieces were race cars, zooming around her plate.

  Their glances caught and the baby’s eyes brightened and she held out the chicken like substance that was mashed between her fingers, “You eat Mama!”

  “Oh no, thank you baby, Mama is full,” she smiled and patted her flat belly to show just how full she was.

  “Mama eat!” she demanded, holding the sad excuse for meat out in her little fist.

  Felicity knew she wasn’t going to be able to win this fight, so she took the nugget from the little hand, broke a tiny piece off, and made a big show of chewing before handing the rest back.

  Hopefully, that would appease the precious little dictator because toddler smashed chicken dinosaurs weren’t on her list of favorite foods.

  She glanced at the clock on the microwave yet again. Four o’clock. She still had two hours before Timothy came home. Time enough to get all her things put away and to have supper simmering on the stove when he walked in the door.

  She looked back down at her binder. It had everything she needed in it. A whole new life just at the tip of her fingers. All she had to do was find the perfect time to grab it and go.

  She’d spent months compiling all of the things in the binder. Maps of places she’d set up contacts to use her credit cards when she called, just to throw him off her trail. New IDs and social security cards for her and Catherine. Money, in large and small bills that she’d hoarded away from grocery trips, the cash back feature on debit card transactions was her life saver because every expense she had was mercilessly questioned.

  She even had new credit cards and a bank account set up with her new identity. It hadn’t cost half as much as she’d thought it would to get these things done, considering the people in the movies handed over large stacks of bills, but it had still taken long enough to save up for it.

  Catherine’s whole life actually. Felicity looked at her daughter. Her heart in her throat, filled with love and hopes for her future, their future.

  It had been Catherine’s conception that made Felicity see she had to do something. As much as Timothy had changed during her pregnancy, as much as he’d promised, as much as she’d wanted those words of
his to be true, she knew they never could be.

  If she stayed, he’d kill her one day, and now she had another life to think of. A daughter, the sonogram had said, a daughter that she didn’t want to grow up believing that women were meant to be treated like servants, like stress dolls to be squeezed when a man had had a rough day.

  So she’d made her decision. She had to leave. No matter how hard, she had to do it, she didn’t have any other option. But she had to be smart. Timothy was rich and well connected. She couldn’t just drive away and be done with it. She knew he’d never allow that. It would hurt his pride too much for others to know he hadn’t been able to keep his woman in her place.

  That’s why she had a binder with a plan almost three years in the making. Lists of everything she needed, lists of every number she might need, lists of every person she’d already paid in advance to play their part. Lists of lists she was going to write in the future.

  Felicity was nothing if not thorough. She had all her little ducks lined up in a row. Now she was just waiting, biding her time until everything lined up perfectly, and triple checking things.

  She really didn’t even need to have her binder out, she had the whole thing memorized from cover to cover. Even the fake California driver’s license and her daughter’s new social security number were burned into her brain.

  Felicity just found comfort in flipping through it. Going over it each time, looking at the lists and adding a small note here or there like, ‘Don’t forget to put some of Catherine’s fruit snacks in your bag as you leave!’

  It wasn’t necessary, but it comforted her. Made her feel better, like she had control over something in a world where she was able to change so little.

  Felicity exhaled and sat back in her chair, eyes scanning the state of the art kitchen appliances and ornately carved dark wood of the center island. Her gaze came to rest on her baby sitting in her booster seat at the breakfast nook, still playing with her early dinner happily. She talked up a storm, words half coherent to most people were perfectly clear to Felicity. She was playing trains with her French fries.

  Felicity smiled and rubbed a hand over the child’s sparsely covered head, an action she’d done a thousand times, and wondered yet again how she’d been blessed with such a bundle of joy in the middle of such a miserable life.

  She got up and picked up her binder, ready to put it back in its hiding place until the need to touch it overcame her again, and then her blood ran cold.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing seemed to echo in her ears. Felicity froze, hugging the binder to her chest.

  “Mama?” her baby said, she’d obviously noticed her mother’s fear.

  The sound of keys and wallet hitting the table beside the door snapped her out of it and into action.

  Where could she put her binder where he wouldn’t see it? The sound of designer leather shoes tracking across the reclaimed antique hardwood floors sounded like a heartbeat. A trickle of sweat ran down her neck despite the coolness of the air conditioned home.

  Think. She had to think. She didn’t have time to think. She had to act.

  “Mama?” her baby called again. Her voice higher and less inquisitive than before, she was beginning to get scared. That wasn’t going to help. She had to do something.

  She yanked open a cabinet under the island. Roasting pans and big pots. Whatever, wherever, she just needed to get this binder, her lifeline, her only hope, out of her hands and hidden. Fast.

  And he’d never cooked a day in his life, except maybe a grilled cheese when it suited him. It was woman’s work after all.

  She shoved the binder in the cabinet and shut the door as quietly as possible.

  “Mama?” this time it was almost a screech, she had frightened her baby. The guilt was instantaneous, but she couldn’t help the panic. The footsteps drew closer and closer.

  “I’m home.”

  His voice sounded pleasant, maybe it would be ok. Maybe. Her eyes sought Catherine’s and she saw what must be a reflection of her own inner turmoil.

  A baby, her baby, shouldn’t know this feeling, this dread. The little girl held her arms up and Felicity rushed over, unbuckling her and scooping her up in almost one motion before kissing her brow.

  “It’s ok, baby,” she whispered, “We’re in here.” She said louder for him, hoping her voice sounded normal and not so scared she could vomit.

  “Of course you are,” he smiled at them. His handsome face looking just like someone who wasn’t a monster. A man that housewives might envy and men might emulate. But that’s only because they didn’t know him.

  “Feeding her again? She’s going to get fat before first grade and then we’ll have to send her to some kind of ten thousand dollar a week camp.”

  He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the island and stood directly in front of the cabinet containing the only hope she had of any kind of a life for herself and her daughter.

  “You’re home early, she always eats dinner around this time.”

  “Good of you to notice I was back, I called out and you didn’t say anything.”

  Felicity looked down, it wouldn’t do any good to get him going. He sounded like he was in an alright mood, if she could just not do anything to trigger him then maybe she could get through the evening without any kind of episode.

  “The baby was babbling, I didn’t hear you,” a lie. He could somehow sense lies like old people could sense a storm coming in their joints.

  His gaze drifted over to Catherine, she was deathly silent now, her cold eyes staring him down.

  “Want to come to Daddy?” he made a halfhearted hands out motion. Catherine just stared at him and shook her head. “Of course not, just like your mother, huh? Cold as ice and getting fat.” He laughed at his own joke and reached out to pinch the non-existent roll on Felicity’s side.

  She winced, as always, even in play he had to hurt her.

  “I’ll go get Catherine cleaned up and I’ll start on our supper, since you’re already home.” She shifted the toddler on her hip, a motion that was second nature to moms everywhere, the comforting weight of a baby in her arms bringing a small amount of composure.

  “Don’t bother, just get yourself cleaned up and looking decent. We’re going out tonight.”

  Felicity paused in the doorway, “What about Catherine?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked conversationally.

  “Of course not,” she answered quickly.

  “Then why do you think hiring a babysitter wouldn’t cross my mind.”

  “I didn’t say that, I just asked…”

  “You just thought I might not remember we had a child?”

  There was no right way to respond here. “I’m sorry, I’ll go get ready.” Better to apologize and get out the room than to let him get a good steam going.

  She started up the stairs when his voice rang out, sending shivers down her spine and stopping her dead in her tracks.

  “What were you doing when I came home? Something you weren’t supposed to be? You seemed tense. Were you on the internet again?”

  His sounded chatty, like he was just making small talk, to anyone listening they’d think he was just asking a question, maybe with a little bit of humor, like her answer didn’t matter at all. Like maybe they’d laugh together if she answered sarcastically.

  She knew differently, she knew that how she answered would determine whether or not she finished out the day in relative normalcy, or in the bathroom taking inventory of her bruises and figuring out the best way to hide them.

  “I was just feeding Catherine, that’s all.” She kept all emotion out of her voice, hoping that she wouldn’t betray herself by sounding guilty. Because she was guilty, guilty of planning her getaway, planning to take his child somewhere she’d never see his face again. Planning on making herself and Catherine a life where they didn’t have to be afraid in their own home.

  She waited, tense, listening for a reply. It felt l
ike minutes passed when in reality it was probably only a few seconds.

  “Mmmm hmmm,” she heard him mumble quietly. Not exactly accepting her answer but not prepared to call her out on it. She let out the breath she’d been holding. It wasn’t good but it’d have to do.

  She trudged up the stairs, towards their bedroom to get ready. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  Felicity stared in the mirror at her reflection as she put the barely darker than flesh colored lipstick on. Timothy didn’t like her to look too made up, but he also accused her of not caring about her appearance if she didn’t wear much make up. Pleasing Tim was always walking on a fine line. A fine invisible line, one that kept disappearing and reappearing at random intervals.

  Her black lace dress was modest, yet slinky. Long enough that no one would comment on the length, but with a slit that showed just a hint of thigh when she walked or crossed her legs.

  She picked out her jewelry carefully, a long gold necklace with a sapphire eyed owl pendant. Owls were popular, weren’t they? Or was it diamond circles again this season? She couldn’t keep up with the constantly changing face of women’s fashion, even though she was expected to. It was always, “Didn’t so and so’s wife look classy tonight?” Which of course really meant she’d looked like a hag. Or, “Maybe I should have married an ADPi like Mother told me to, they always seem so put together. Did you see Marcy tonight?”

  She wished to God he had married a Delta, or a Phi Mu, or anyone but her.

  She’d thought he was handsome and charming when she’d met him in college where she’d been going for a degree in Engineering. She had been taken in by his flashing smile and the way he’d always treated her like she was the most important thing in his life.

  And in truth, he still treated her that way, only now he showed her what he really did to the things he loved. He tortured them, controlled them, built them up until they thought they were safe and loved; cherished even. Then, he took his sick pleasure in tearing them down again.