Burning Ember Page 2

  I pass the dining hall on my way back and watch as the volunteers stand behind tables dishing out food. Just the mere thought of food has saliva pooling in my mouth. But I need my bag before I can get in line, so I head into the room designated for women.

  The cots have been folded up and put away. The bunks pushed against the walls. Most of the women are gone, leaving the middle of the room bare.

  A sick feeling grips me when, I don’t see the old woman or my duffle anywhere.

  My duffle, the one holding all my worldly possessions not currently on my body. Like my wallet. My extra clothes. My money . . . my scrapbook. The one I made that has my only pictures of Willow and the drawings she’s made me over the years. Things I’m quite certain I can’t survive without.

  I scan every inch of the room twice, three times, hoping I’m wrong. That she’s here somewhere.

  I whirl around in a panic and set off to search every inch of the shelter. People stare. And it only ratchets up my irritation more. Are they silently laughing at me? Did they know the entire time what the old woman was up to?

  How could she do this to me?

  Heat crawls up my neck and face. I grind my teeth and ball up my fists, ready to punch someone or something.

  Why do I trust the wrong people? Why can’t I see them for who they really are? My mom. Sundown. Warner. How many people will I let take advantage of me before I wise up?

  Falling back against the wall, I cover my face with my hands. Then push my fingers into my eyes lids as I physically and mentally fight the need to cry. I can’t let the pain tear me apart right now. I can’t afford to. I know this, and yet I slowly slide down the wall and bring my knees up so I can hide my face.

  Steps thud on the linoleum. They stop right in front of me. “You all right, Red? You looked like you were trying to poke your own eyes out.”

  In a droll, bitter voice, I respond, “That’s because I was.”

  Ivy exhales a long breath. “I tried to warn you.” She sounds close, almost as if she’s standing over me.

  She tried to warn me? How? There’s more than one wolf in this forest? Really? Could she have been more cryptic?

  “Can you please just . . . let me fall apart in peace?” It comes out muffled. “Or is that too much to ask ‘round here?” I purposely mimic the old woman and put as much sarcasm behind my words as I can manage.

  I’m not in a good place right now. At times like this, my temper tends to get the best of me. I try to bite my tongue. But it doesn’t last long, especially when the next thing I hear is her laugh.

  I raise my head a little. Did she really just laugh? Like this is funny to her?

  Black boots with blue snakes painted on the toes come into my line of vision. I’m shaking. No doubt, my cheeks are flaming red. I feel the words bubbling up and I know I’m about to snap and do what my mother always referred to as “spitting venom.” Fitting since this girl likes snakes.

  “WHEN? When did you try to warn me? Did you come right out and say, ‘Hey, just a heads up, that old woman is going to steal your stuff.’? Or was I supposed to understand some vague Red Riding Hood reference?”

  “Damn, Red, chill. No need to get all jazzy. The world’s not ending or anything. At least not today.”

  I smack my head against the wall behind me. “Just go away.” My voice drops to a defeated whisper. “You don’t get it. She took everything.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Glaring up at her, I snap, “Seriously? Just go away.”

  Instead of doing so, she slides down the wall to sit beside me. “Sheesh. Guess it’s true what they say about redheads then, huh?” After a minute, she adds, “At least with Helga you’ll eventually get some of it back.” She taps a finger over her lips. “Maybe . . . probably . . . most likely the clothes, but not the money. The money’s, well money, and that’s as good as gone.”

  “Where can I find her?”

  Ivy crosses her legs Indian style. “She won’t be back here for a few days. Knows you’ll be looking for her. And sadly, that woman has lived on these streets for longer than I’ve been alive, so she knows her way around this city. Best wait for another rainy day. You’ll be able to catch her here then.”

  I pull in a sharp breath. Dread circles in my belly. “What am I going to do ’til then?” I let out a long exhale and look over at the girl next to me. Again, I’m taken aback by her youth and unique eye color. She’s already pretty, but she’s going to be quite something when she grows up.

  Ivy shrugs. “It could be worse, right? You could have been raped last night by Crack Joe.”

  Against my will, my frown lessens. “Yes. There’s that.”

  “Other people will always beat you down, but they don’t win unless you give up, and quit fighting. My dad used to tell me that. He’d also say, ‘It can’t rain all the time.’ He wasn’t a poet though, just thought he was. That was a line from his favorite movie, The Crow.”

  The Crow. Dark thoughts immediately enter my mind, but I beat them back.

  “He was always spouting off something like that. Always yapping my ear off.” She laughs almost silently.

  I watch her and notice how her mouth twists into a small smirk.

  “You know what the last thing he told me before he . . .” She shakes her head. When she tells me, her voice has a fake, cheery quality to it, as if she’s trying hard to mask her feelings. “He said, ‘Find your perfect, and hold on to it.’”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Your perfect?”

  “Yeah, you know, it’s different for everyone. Could be a family, a home with a picket fence. A guy or a girl, if that’s what you’re into. A job. School. Whatever it is that’s going to make you happy.”

  My thoughts immediately go where they shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

  “How old are you?”

  The corner of her mouth kicks up higher. “Old enough.” Then her hand bumps mine and I look down. In her palm rests a five-dollar bill.

  A spark of hope flutters through my chest.

  “It’s not much, but it’s what I can do. I should’ve warned you better about what she was gonna do. I just . . . don’t sleep very good when I stay here and well, I guess I woke up in a bitchy mood this morning.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  “Yeah, I do. My father taught me to look out for those in need and girls like us don’t have a lot of options. I mean, not that you’re a girl, because you’re a bit older than me, but . . . here . . . take it.” She turns her face away and plays with the bracelets on her wrist. “Find a way to earn money, Red, before a way finds you. Buy yourself some protection. The last thing you need is to pick up some nasty, or get pregnant by some Joe.”

  “Ivy, I can’t do that.”

  She lowers her head and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Yeah, and I hope you don’t have to. But out here, you won’t find a lot of ways to earn money fast without using your body. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  I try to hand it back to her.

  “No, you need it more than I do. Plus, I know where I can get more.” Her words sound loaded with meaning. She stands and takes two steps, then says, “I’ll tell you what, though. One day, when you win the lottery, you come find me, huh? Repay the favor. Consider this an IOU.”

  “Ivy—”

  “Keep breathing, Red, and watch your back because nobody is gonna watch it for you. Even if they say they will, watch it anyway because people lie.” With that said, she strolls away.

  I watch her go until she’s gone and close my fist around the money.

  Ivy’s right about there being something in life worth fighting for. There’s a reason I didn’t stay with Warner and wait for the next punishment he was sure to deliver.

  I wanted more. Needed more. Deserved more.

  I have a future pictured in my mind. It’s not anything spectacular, but it’s normal, secure, good, and something I’ve never had.

  Ivy called it, my perfect. But after fighting through w
hat feels like a maze of thorns for the last few years, it might be more appropriate to call it my secret garden.

  The one thing in life I’d do just about anything to find.

  Sometimes all that’s left to choose from are bad choices. The variance of how bad determines how far we’ll fall . . .

  My eyes travel back and forth from the pumpkin necklace in my left hand to the box of condoms in my right.

  The necklace caught my eye, reminding me I have one other option. I can call Sundown, my sister, for money. But as I stare down at the small jack-o-lantern with a happy face instead of a scary one hanging from a silver chain, I know I can’t.

  Won’t.

  Taking some of the little money Sunny earns waitressing and receives from the state to support Willow, my niece, isn’t an option, no matter how desperate I become. Plus, no way do I want to put them in danger by contacting them.

  Will is the only person in the world I love wholeheartedly, absolutely. I could never take from her or put her in harm’s way.

  It’s mid-August, which means she’ll be starting school any day now. Her first day of kindergarten . . . I bet she’s nervous, but also excited. I picture her strutting around wearing this necklace like a badge of honor, proudly telling her little friends her aunty gave it to her. I would have done it if I were home.

  My stomach turns when I think of all the days of her life I’ve missed.

  And will miss.

  But I have to push those thoughts aside. They’re not helping me right now. I can’t keep focusing on the past when I need to be worried about my immediate future.

  I have five dollars to my name. That’s food for two, maybe three days tops. But then what?

  My gaze swings back to the condoms.

  Can I really do what Ivy suggested? Sell myself? Pleasure some stranger for money?

  I don’t want to. After everything I’ve been through, I don’t even know if I can.

  I’ve walked the entire day from store to store. I’ve tried for weeks to find a job, practically begging for one. But without ID and looking the way I do, no one will hire me. And I can’t work just anywhere, since I have to keep a low profile.

  Warner’s father, his contacts, and half the world are undoubtedly looking for me by now because of the media coverage about the fire and my disappearance. I knew with Warner’s father being a state senator, it probably would make the local news, but I didn’t know it would spread further than California.

  Three weeks ago, while I was hiding out from a hot day inside a super store, I froze in my tracks. Warner’s face was on one of the large high-definition TV’s. He stood behind a podium and pleaded with the public to call the eight hundred number on the bottom of the screen if they had any information about my whereabouts. I watched horrified as a picture of us popped up. I was smiling in the photo, so it must have been taken a few months ago when we first started dating. Back when I was blissfully unaware of who he truly was. The camera zeroed in on his face showing red earnest eyes, and his frown. All fake of course. Then, in a shaking voice that made chills rush over my arms, he said, “Em, I love you. If you can hear me, come home.” He shook his head, acting as if he was suddenly too choked up to talk and leaned forward. In a whisper soft voice, he said, “Please help me bring my girlfriend home. Thank you.”

  I don’t know why I’m surprised he’s free and not being treated as a suspect in my disappearance since blood was all over the crime scene. And nothing’s been mentioned about his twisted and demented proclivities either. His father must have thrown his money around and paid everyone to keep quiet like I feared he would. It was the reason I didn’t go to the authorities in the first place. Warner always bragged how his father was untouchable; he had cops, lawyers, and even a judge in his pocket.

  The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and calling the cops.

  There’s not a warrant out for my arrest. But I am wanted for questioning regarding the fire. Although that may be just a ruse to get me to turn myself in so they can turn around and lock me away or hand me back to Warner. And if Warner gets a hold of me, there’s no doubt in my mind, I’ll pay dearly for burning down his house, and putting a spotlight on him and his father.

  I exhale and tuck my hair behind my ear.

  Ironically, selling myself isn’t a far cry from what he put me through. One big difference is I’ll walk away with money for being used instead of sore limbs, marks, and bruises.

  Even in my own head, it sounds so callous. Is that who I am now? A callous, bitter girl? Is that who he made me into? Someone who no longer cares about love or dreams about being with one man who will love me for me for the rest of my life? It’s what I used to dream. Before Warner.

  “Excuse me, sweetie. Do you mind?”

  I spin and find a woman curiously watching me. The woman is stunning. She wears minimal make-up and has pretty, blue eyes and Angelina lips. She’s somewhat of a cross between a beauty queen and a rock groupie with the most amazing chestnut-colored hair. It’s beautiful, thick, and shiny like hair on those hair product commercials. She’s dressed to the nines in designer skinny jeans, black kick-ass heels, and a red and black shirt showing off her ample cleavage.

  I’m instantly envious of her natural beauty and clean, trendy clothing because clearly, this woman isn’t scraping by like I am. For the millionth time I wonder what it would be like to not constantly be aware of the lack of money in my pocket.

  Slowly but surely, I beat back the green monster rising inside me. I hate jealousy. I hate seeing it and I hate feeling it. It’s like a disease that festers if you feed it, so I don’t. I learned long ago I needed to appreciate me for me, and not make myself sick envying others.

  A hard feat when you consider I grew up with Sundown who looks like a modern day version of Pocahontas with blue eyes.

  “Do ya mind if I just . . . reach past you, pumpkin?” The woman gives me a warm smile and gestures forward.

  “Pumpkin?”

  She points to my right hand.

  “Oh, right,” I say.

  After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, she motions toward my hand again. “Cute. For your daughter?”

  For some reason I can’t explain, I hide the necklace behind me. “No. I-It’s for me.”

  Her smile fades a bit as if she can sense the lie. She adjusts her purse over her shoulder and her gaze roams over me. Our eyes meet again, as she asks, “Are you okay?”

  This time I want to tell her the truth. But I don’t. I nod and say, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then realizing I’m still standing in her way, I sidestep. “Sorry . . . I’ll just—”

  She waves me off. “No worries.”

  She steps up and scans the condoms. Like a homing beacon, my gaze zeroes in on the boxes her hand hovers over, and then nearly pop out of their sockets as she drops not one or two, but five large boxes of condoms into her basket.

  Different kinds and sizes.

  My throat thickens up as if filled with cotton.

  Seeing my face she explains, “Um . . . they’re not all for me. My uh . . . friends wanted me to grab them some too.”

  “Oh. Right.” But even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

  After a long pause during which she studies me, she hikes her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

  “Sure, me too.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nod.

  Then I just stand there and watch her leave. At the end of the aisle, she turns back, graces me again with her smile, and gives a somewhat hesitant wave.

  After she’s gone, I sigh, and trudge off in the opposite direction.

  For a moment, I’m caught up in the ‘what if’s’. What if my mother hadn’t left? What if Sundown had been able to support Will by herself? What if I’d finished school? What if I hadn’t been so desperate for help? Would I have fallen for Warner? Or was this always my path?

  I don’t regret Will for a second, I’m happy to be a part
of her life. I take pride in the fact I helped raise her. Supported her. Hell for a long while there, I’d been acting as her mother. But I still wonder if things could’ve been different? Did I make a wrong decision somewhere?

  I hear static first, a split second before I run smack dab into a beefy chest. My eyes travel up over a black uniform, a fit torso and I quickly survey the badges and the patches on his arm.

  Fear rushes through me like a freight train.

  A cop. A city cop. But a cop nonetheless.

  For a few seconds I’m paralyzed.

  “Whoa, pretty thing. Look where you’re going. You could’ve hurt somebody.” I meet his eyes briefly, which are focused on my face. The side of his mouth is kicked up in a polite smile.

  His nametag reads, “Officer Davis.” He has mouse brown hair cut in a flat top, and his ears stick out a bit. He looks like a drill sergeant. He’s not handsome per se, but not unpleasant looking either. His uniform is impeccably ironed. I’m close enough that I can smell the starch on his shirt.

  Or at least I am until he bends down and reaches out. He stands and holds out a box of condoms to me. It’s not until then that I realize I dropped them.

  “Uh . . . thanks.” I quickly grab the box and hide it behind my back. I attempt to scurry past him, but he catches my arm at my elbow and stops me.

  A spike of fear runs my body. No. Please no.

  My eyes slide over his utility belt and land on his handcuffs. Memories like on a film reel flash through my mind. It took hours to get out of the last set of cuffs that were around my wrists. I doubt I can do that again.

  “You look familiar. Do I know you?” He examines my face.

  My breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

  Stop looking at him I scold myself. I need him to forget about me after this moment. Not haul me off or remember my face. Looking down, I say, “No, I don’t think so.”

  Heels click on the vinyl flooring.