ISOLATION: Child Support 911

by Tabitha White

  Isolation

  By: Tabitha White

  A TRAJECTORY BOOK

  Published by: Ten Story Books

  Grand Rapids, Michigan

  The author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication. Neither the publisher nor the author assumes responsibility for errors, or changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher has no control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2015 by Tabitha White

  All rights reserved.

  No reproductions, of this book, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form are allowed without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  First edition: February 2015

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Most Ten Story Books are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, or educational use. Special books, or book excerpts, can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, contact the editor at: csbh911@gmail.com

  Frank Sinatra once said, “Success is the best revenge.”

  Contents

  Isolation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 1

  February 5, 2012, 12:01 P.M.

  “If anyone knocks on the door Lance, don’t answer it! The infuriated neighbors want justice, vigilante style!” Angie said leaning forward with a stiffened neck.

  With the auctioneer’s microphone electrified a metallic screeching sound sealed Angie’s fate - the end.

  Amplified and ready to commence the auctioneer said, “Check 1-2, check 1-2.”

  “It’s getting packed out there. I thought the six inches of snow we received last night would keep people away. The temperature hovers at four degrees and they still came out in droves.” Angie said peeking out the window.

  I can’t face those people I have no answers, Craig and Martin did this.

  The auction spectator’s footsteps fell on crisp snow and emitted a thumping sound that pecked away at Angie’s frail nerves. Rioters filed in for a shot at the house once owned by the prick that held them hostage in their insurance policies.

  “Mom what’s going on? Lance said creeping away from the window.

  Amid a crowded lot of angry rioters, the auctioneer began, “First up today the Freeman home. Do I have eight thousand dollars?”

  The crowd settled while the tone of their angry banter softened, however, no one offered the auctioneers’ starting bid.

  “I’m at eight thousand, n I wan eighty five hundred, bid on eighty five hundred, I’m at eight thousand n I wan eighty five hundred, I’m at eight thousand bid on eight five hundred. Can I get eighty five hundred, do I have eight thousand?”

  Voices dropped to whispers in the crowd.

  “Eight thousand!” jeered a voice while holding up his paddle.

  “Sold to paddle number 314 for $8,000!” said the auctioneer.

  Heads turned to see who bid on the home and found a man, shrouded in black, exiting the scene with light footsteps that echoed in the crowd’s ears like an ax to lumber.

  “Does anyone know that guy?”

  The day Craig Freeman allowed the auction gavel to fall on the family he’d abandoned, provoked Angelina Steadfast-Freeman to vow she’d see him wasting away multiple sentences. Craig and Martin Freeman, both in their mid-twenties, swindled longtime friends and neighbors out of their homes and livelihoods, robbing Angelina of her of dignity.

  “Lance your dad and Martin have stolen those people’s means to survival. They want blood; our blood because we’re here in the house of the man who robbed them!”

  The neighbors reviled her ex-husband, Craig, and his brother Martin. He and his business-partner brother had written their workers' comp insurance policies and bullied them when need for making a claim arose. Out of fear of raised premiums policy owners settled with the injured employees out of their personal savings bankrupting them. Both brothers appeared stout in stature, and exuded an obvious love of food and drink. Craig sported brown locks, Martin with heavy thinning blonde hair that formed a horseshoe on the lower third of his head. Craig enjoyed a love of cigarettes.

  “Mom, if they’re angry why don’t we give them what dad and Uncle Martin took from them?” Lance asked.

  Angie and her eight-year-old son Lance found themselves homeless and alone. Lance appears as a confused and restless eight-year-old with a bottomless-pit for a stomach. Angie, lanky at 5’9” with wavy brown hair she always pulls back on the upper one third of her head, carried the cross of justice on her back.

  Nervous, Angie peered out the window and said, “Honey it’s not that simple, I wish we could son, I wish we could. Why aren’t they leaving?”

  Looking toward the ceiling amid rigid muscles Angie said, “Lance do you hear that?”

  “Hear what mom?”

  “Shh stand still. Do you hear that? Footsteps! They’re on the roof. That angry mob wants revenge! We need to leave before all hell breaks loose!”

  Each sound ramped up Angie’s nerves.

  “Of course Craig eludes responsibility and I’m left holding the bag before the angry mob.”

  Angie jammed what little dignity she had left in a gray tweed suitcase. Had Craig show up to gloat, she would have shot him at point-blank range. This would have negated her chances of collecting the $50,000 in child support arrears. If Craig had paid the arrears it would have saved her home from judicial foreclosure. Besides, shooting a man went against her religious upbringing.

  Angie eyed their lone option and said, “We need to make a quick exit out the back door Lance; pay attention. When I open the door, run! We need to leave!”

  “Run where?” Lance asked.

  “The car. Your father ripped off those people out there; he stole their dignity! Brilliant, a hard-life lesson discussed with an eight-year-old! Do you have everything? You hold on to my hand tight and when I open the door run as fast as you can to the car.”

  “You’re scaring me mom.” Lance said as he began to cry.

  Angie glanced at his eyes, then away again and said, “Honey
it’s okay. We need to leave and we need to do it right now. We can do this together, okay. It snowed last night and a thin layer remains over the ice; please try not to slip Lance!”

  “Okay I’m ready. I’m scared though mom.” Lance said.

  “Okay ready here we go.”

  Angie grasped Lance’s hand with her right hand and with rigid fingers held on to what remained of their existence in her left.

  A sharp adrenaline spike charged through Angie’s body as they exited normalcy. Reaching for the half-handle on the door of her Buick with no time for prayer, she tugged on it like a gentle giant.

  “Lance put your seat belt on now! Those people out-front want blood. Your father built his company on the sweat of their backs while ripping them off and we stand as the lone prey in their crosshairs right now.”

  Lance looked at Angie with curious eyes and asked, “What does that mean?”

  “To hell with it you’re not in your seat belt that’s just fine with me, it’ll have to wait! We’re getting out of dodge before they bust out my car windows.”

  In the neighbors eyes Angie was guilty due to guilt by association. They all turned their backs on her and Lance during desperate times, leaving them homeless amid a fierce blizzard. A February Arctic cold snap hung low over Farmington Hills, Michigan paralleling the indignation on Angie’s face.

  “We’re leaving! That angry mob may torch my car. Shit! Lance hold on! Bald tires don’t fail me now!”

  Slamming it in reverse Angie and Lance slid sideways down the steep driveway and caught the vengeful clan off guard. The rioters swarmed toward her car as she bolted down the street before they could demand restitution or worse yet retaliate against them.

  Craig and Martin committed the crimes; not Angie; yet many questioned how she did not know about Craig’s unscrupulous business dealings.

  “We made it mom! Lance said.

  “Hang on baby! We’re getting the heck out of dodge.”

  The neighbors came out in droves and jeered on seeing a foreclosure notice taped to the door. The auction sign, pounded into the frozen dirt sealed their fate with many sharp clanking whacks blow-by-blow with a twenty-pound sledge.

  “Where do we go? I don’t know what we should do.” Angie said as anger welled inside her.

  Lance, mindful of trouble lurking inside his house, as his father, absent for some time, saw less and less food each time he looks in the refrigerator. Furniture in the house became firewood. Their professionally decorated home, a traditional two-story, boasted marble windowsills and fine linens. Currently, rooms echoed in loneliness, except the living room which boasted a fireplace.

  “Mom can we go somewhere and eat? I’m getting hungry.” Lance said repositioning his eyes toward the floor.

  “Give me some time to figure this out Lance; what should we do? We need somewhere to stay tonight.”

  Angie appeared guilty because of her insensitivity and determination. Aiding this falsity were subtle truths that she’d grown up fast orphaned young. As a young adult, Angie shutout the volume of the ruckus and focused inward. Her introversion and reliance on acute senses saved her during dark formative years.

  “I can’t see anything because of the blizzard?” Lance said.

  Short on patience Angie said, “Please give me some time to make sense of this right now Lance. I can’t even see the road right now.”

  A light wallet aided in Angie’s doubt as she tugged on her bottom lip. The windows on the Buick began to frost due a leaky heater-core clouding her judgment even further. Her slumped posture spoke volumes of her few choices. Angie felt responsible for the neighbor’s financial demise, as she encouraged Craig toward the insurance business.

  “Can we go to a restaurant Mom?

  Damn it! Two paychecks to pay the back taxes and the jerk didn’t uphold his end of the bargain and pay the house payment! Lance and I skimped and managed to survive until Craig stopped paying child support. Craig, the saboteur and Martin the maniac; drew the line in the sand long ago. Hell they’d of had us executed to avoid putting any child support money in my hand.

  Pounding her fists on the steering wheel Angie said, “Craig you and Martin’s actions equate to terrorism! You both have evilness running through your veins?”

  Craig and Martin Freeman you will both pay for what you’ve done to us!

  Amid tightening muscles, Angie drew her head back, while thoughts bounced about like the checks Craig had written. Desperate for a solution to their current dilemma Angie shook her head in denial.

  I never thought I’d have to say it. We’re destitute! Where will we go?

  “Hello earth to mom. I’m getting hungry, let’s eat.”

  At first glance, Craig looked a bit rough around the edges. Motorcycles occupied the primary position in the hierarchy of his life. He’d disassemble an Indian Cruiser, reassemble and listen to it purr within a day. Craig’s extrovert personality resembled a savage politician that tried to disguise the hurt lying below a complicated shell.

  “Sister Luvia and a shelter; we’ll go to a shelter. How does a warm mean and comfortable bed sound?”

  At fifteen, alcohol sent his life careening out of control as his uncle had succumbed to it. His picture-perfect life shattered right before his eyes. At that point, his life spiraled out of control. Motorcycles became simple. Craig thrived on complex challenges. The complexities and intricacies of the insurance world proved a good distraction and created a business magnate, Craig.

  “That sounds good to me mom.” Lance said smiling at Angie.

  Driving to the shelter the eerie sound of the ice-encrusted-snow began to haunt Angie. Her judgment, rather poor right now, one might even say a bit irrational reflects the unrelenting Michigan winter bringing about scarcity of beds in the shelters. Misery, shown by plentiful belt holes, reminded Angie she needed to bridge the gap. However, her religion frowns on stealing.

  “One step at a time before we celebrate. The weather service said a blizzard will encompass this area. Which means, the homeless people will flock to the shelters. Scarcity of beds spell trouble for us; we will have to sleep in the car.”

  Worry invaded Angie’s thoughts while driving, as the landscape became more claustrophobic, with thick lines of people gathering around the shelter. This part of town, ripe with rickety fences, granted her the dismal sight of a three-legged dog. A product of owner’s abuse, the dog scavenged the dumpsters for food.

  “We’re going to see Sister Luvia; good. She’ll get us some good food, she always does, right mom?” Lance said digging for answers.

  A distant stare with lowered brow overtook Angie’s eyes. Her pride lay crushed on the floor like a heap of metal at the junkyard. Recognizing her reputation in the community now resembled a shattered mirror, she ceded for the night.

  “Okay Lance we’re here. Let’s see if they have room.”

  Angie paused as her muscles jumped under her skin while her thoughts fixated on their source of suffering, Craig. She continued to clear the snow caked side windows and again paused. Her thoughts centered on the snow and its fickle qualities. Removing her glove, she picked up a handful of snow and stared at; in an instant, it melted from her hand’s warmth.

  How ironic, this snow melting before my eyes mirrors our seemingly feeble existence.

  Chapter 2

  “Mom where will we sleep tonight a shelter or the car?” Lance asked.

  “Unfortunately it’s a car night. I know I’m not happy about it either. Shelters only allow people to stay every other night.” Angie said.

  Craig failed to pay Angelina child support even though a $120,000 inheritance from his father’s passing left him capable. Legal methods had run their course as Craig now had a corrupt judge on his insurance-racket payroll. Angie knew change of venue would only happen if she could bribe the judge.

  “Can you drive faster mom? I have to go pee.”

  “Hold on Lance.”

  Angie worked at a bakery and looked for
odd jobs to help keep food on the table and the utilities on. However, since foreclosure and the auction have occurred, larger problems loomed.

  “Please hurry mom I have to go to the bathroom and it's beginning to burn.”

  “I’m doing my best. We can go in the angry mom has left.” Angie said, reassuring Lance.

  They bolted from the car to the door. Inserting the key into the lock, it did not turn left or right. Angie tried again, it did not open.

  “I don’t believe this! Come here Lance.”

  Angie rounded the side of her home and made haste to the back door. As she approached, she realized the former gold appearance of the doorknob and bolt lock now appeared matte silver.

  “Shit! That prick changed the locks!”

  “Mom I have to go pee. Can you open the door?”

  “Lance your dad changed the locks on us. You’ll need to urinate in the bush. I’m sorry son.”

  Angie repeated the word ‘no’ as if the anger imbued in it would feed her strength. Thoughts spun about in her head as she lowered herself to the snow covered wooden porch beneath her and asserted Craig a momentary victory. With a gleam in her eye, Angie managed to pull in a deep breath and became preoccupied with conquering Craig.

  “You vile human being, you got me this time. I promise you I’ll get you back in ways you can’t imagine.”

  As daylight transformed to dusk Angie’s palms began to sweat thinking about the impending snowstorm forecast for the night while staring point-blank at their sleeping accommodations; the Buick.

  We’ll stay warm; she’s never failed me yet.

  Thoughts danced in Angie’s mind about breaking the window to gain access however, a light wallet precluded her from this choice.

  A bit annoyed Lance asked, “Mom we need to get in; do you have any ideas how we can get in the house?”

  “I don’t know Lance your dad has changed the locks and he’s not answering my calls. Looks like we’re sleeping in the car again. Sorry son, I don’t have money for a motel.”

  “I need my snuggle blanket. You know I don’t sleep well without it?”

  Angie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her chest tightened as her eyes changed dance partners between Lance and her feet.