Finding Home: A Club Dark Novel (2 page)

“If you would like, you can shake my hand as it’s just a friendly gesture to show you I mean no harm,” he explains. I place my hand in his. His big hand completely swallows my little one as he circles his hand in mine, giving it a tiny squeeze before releasing it. I stare aimlessly at the concrete, not knowing what to do with my hands now or even myself. I place my hands back in my lap where I begin to fidget with them, doing whatever I can to try and remain calm.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want my mom and dad back. I just want to get back in our car and head down the road to wherever it was that we were going.

Why did we have to stop anyway? Shivers rack my body. I feel chills down to the bone, despite the warm temperature outside.

“Sweetheart?” The nice detective tries to get my attention— his voice is gentle and calm, but I ignore him. I don’t want to talk to him or frankly anyone else right now.

“Can you try to explain what you saw happen? I know it’s hard, but you are the only one who can help us catch these bad guys,” the detective urges me.  As much as I don’t want to recall everything I have just witnessed, I want these policemen to catch the men who did this.

Through tears and pain, I give the detective my story, reliving the entire scene in my mind. He waits patiently as I remember every detail from inside that bathroom, and I tell him every feeling I felt.

“Thank you, sweetie, you did great. This information will help us apprehend these men and then you can be given the justice you deserve.” He speaks the words casually as if he didn’t just take a statement about a girl who lost both of her parents’ to death.

An old lady wobbles up to us, and my eyes skim over her body. She’s tall and thin, and her hair reminds me of snow; it’s white and fluffy and styled neatly around her ears. She looks as if she could be someone’s grandma, except she’s dressed in a suit. I thought only men wore those? She gently places her hand on the detective’s shoulder.

“Good evening, Detective,” she says, “Is this Miss Carter?”

Recognition takes place in the detective's eyes just as he starts to speak, “Ahh…Mrs. Andrews, nice to see you, although I wish it were under better circumstances.” He frowns. “Yes, this would be Lacey Carter.” He gestures toward me.

“Miss Carter, this here is Mrs. Andrews. She’s with Cherokee County Family and Children Services. She’ll take good care of you while we find you some relatives to stay with.”

Family and Children Services? What does that even mean? The moment I realize I have to leave this place without my parents’, is the moment I let the fear get to me. I’m so scared, so afraid of what is going to happen. All I want to do is go home, back to where Mom, Dad, and I live.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lacey.” Her voice is warm as she does nothing but looks me over. I’m so thankful she doesn’t try to touch me; her soothing voice alone is enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I cannot believe this is all real… It can’t be.

My mom and dad can’t be gone, not when I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

***

Over the next three years, I’m tossed around from foster home to foster home. My original caseworker, Mrs. Andrews, checks up on me often, but it’s usually by phone since I’m back in my home state of North Dakota. I spent about six months in Iowa while the authorities tracked down my closest relatives. Nobody wanted me, and my parents’ didn’t have a Will appointed so I was forced into the system, never being in one home longer than a couple of months.

The loss of my parents’ was very hard on me in the beginning. I went through a brief stage of depression, and I wouldn’t talk to anyone. Until one day, anger and rage took over me. Conveniently, that was when I was placed in a home where my sights immediately fell on a group of girls who had trouble written all over them. They just needed someone to help them break loose, to help open their wings up.

We would all sneak out of the house late at night when we were sure the adults were asleep. Most of the time, we’d do juvenile things like toilet paper the neighbors houses or put shaving cream in their car door handles— just small fun things to keep our morale up. That all changed one summer night, though, as one of the girls decided we were going to rob the rich couple that lived next door. That move landed all of us—including myself— in a detention center for the weekend. I wouldn’t really recall it as a bad situation, not when it was the most effective way at getting my mind off the horrid situation I was dealt; that and I was only in that home a few weeks before I was once again rehomed.

I learned to calm down and deal with my emotions and the pain I was feeling in a different way. Since then I’ve come to terms with the life I’ve been handed and the loss of my parents’.

Today I get to meet with my new caseworker, and from the sounds of it, she’s found me a more permanent home; the only downfall being that it’s in Montana— a state I’ve never been to.

The biggest question of all now, is am I truly prepared to leave my hometown behind, and all the memories that surround it?

My life has been full of bad luck since the moment I lost my parents’.

That’s all I can think as I’m sitting at my favorite coffee shop, O'Reilly's,

sipping on a caramel latte, contemplating my next move. It’s been thirteen years since that horrid night and ten since I was placed here in Montana.

At thirteen, I was given a choice— a big one at that. To stay in my hometown, where I grew up and had so many loving memories, or move to another state where I would have a fresh start at life. I went with the move and was placed with a nice family until I was eighteen, and given the chance to move out on my own.

During my time with the Arnolds, my foster parents, I was able to find happiness again. They welcomed me with open arms and so much love, and apart from the nightmares that came from time to time I truly had a great life. As I got older, I learned to let the nightmares go and since then they came less frequently.

With the help of the Arnolds, I was able to enroll in high school shortly after the move, and that’s where I met my now fiancé, Aaron. He was the first to welcome me in, and we became fast friends, close friends. At the time, he was just as awkward as I was, and bit on the short side, but really skinny.

His face was covered in acne, but that never seemed to bother me because he was always sweet to me, and always so caring. We spent most of our free time together that first year of high school. Mostly at the local arcade our parents would drop us off at while they were right down the street having their weekend brunch.

During the summer between ninth and tenth grade, he just disappeared. I didn’t see or hear from him, and he wasn’t there the first two months of school. I had worried that he just up and moved away and just wanted to make a clean break, until he just showed up at school. I knew immediately it was him, but boy had he changed; everything had changed.

In the time he was gone, he had grown at least six inches, putting him well over six-feet tall. Clearly, he had also been spending a lot of time at the gym; his arms looking to be twice the size of mine, and he wasn’t even flexing them. His face was free of the acne that once riddled it, and his eyes were a deep shade of blue, deeper than I could remember them ever being.

He’d grown his hair out some, reminding me of that crazy hair craze going around, where the guys have to constantly swoosh their heads to the side to keep it out of their eyes. It looked good on him…it looked really good on him.

I felt drawn to him like a magnet, but even then something felt off. He had a sort of dark aura about him that I never could place my finger on. He never told me where he went for those four months, but I knew that wherever it was, it had changed him; not only on the outside but on the inside too. Aaron was no longer the gentle soul I had first met upon moving here. No, he was darker, meaner, and rawer.

Shortly after his return from wherever it is he went, we started dating. Life was going great and amazing things started to take place. We were both announced as Prom King and Queen our junior year of high school, and we both graduated with honors not even a year later.

After graduation, we enrolled in online classes at our local college together. I was going after a business major in journalism and Aaron was getting into architecture, already having a job under his father as a carpenter. However, Aaron was always telling me that he had dreams of one day owning his own business building sky-scrapers.

As soon as my 18th birthday arrived, Aaron found us a place to live. We rented an apartment together in the city and with me finally out from under the state of Montana’s thumb, I was able to move in with him.

Things were going great, and we both only had three years left of college. Aaron started to move up the ladder in his dad’s company, and I had been doing small articles here and there, as well as web page design whenever someone needed it on the side. Money was tight, but we had each other and that was all we needed, right?

On my twenty-first birthday, not long after we graduated from college, Aaron invited a few of our closest friends out to dinner. His friends, Ryan and Matt, along with my two best friends, Rory and Allison, all joined us at my favorite restaurant, Olive Garden. I was a sucker for Italian food.

It was there that he got down on one knee and proposed to me. I could never forget the day; it was one of the best days of my life, and I didn’t think it could get any better than that.

Since then two years has passed, and I’ve come to the conclusion that a lot can change in just two years.

Still, I had to see it for myself just last night.

About a year ago, the local newspaper hired me on as a temp to do occasional interviews with different people for different things, depending on what type of audience they were targeting at that moment. I’ve done a few things from interviewing a cafeteria lady at one of the elementary schools, to going on the local radio, even to having my own self-interview.

Which was both a strange, exciting, and emotional experience.

Which brings me to the current issue: a coworker and I got to do a segment at the local bake shop that turned out to be a lot of fun. The chef had killer skills in the kitchen, and he invited us over to have a more hands-on interview. Needless to say, I was covered in flour by the end of the hour.

It was then that I decided to swing by our apartment. The apartment that Aaron and I had been living in together for about five years. All I needed to do was change my clothes so that I could head back into the office. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t even notice Allison's little red Mercedes parked out on the curb.

I could tell something was off as soon as I stepped thru the door. There were articles of clothing strewn everywhere. Aaron’s jeans laid in a puddle on the kitchen floor along with a red silk top that was lying on the counter. As I started to cross the threshold and enter into the living room, I found a pair of lace panties thrown across the back of the couch.

It was at this point that I knew what was going on. Still, nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. I felt like I was stuck in one of those movies in slow motion where you can see the train coming, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Standing outside of our bedroom, the place where we fell asleep together every night, every fiber of my being was screaming
Do not open that door!
With shaky hands, I grab the knob and push the door open.

I was momentarily speechless before my anger kicked in full force. “What the hell is going on?” I screamed. I could see it with my own two eyes, but still the scene be-fore me didn’t quite make sense. My mind didn’t want to register the fact that the man I loved and my best friend were in my bed naked together. I saw red as rage took over me. Without a second thought, I stormed over to the bed, wrapping my hand in a tight grip around Allison's long, red hair, and pulled her to the floor. There was a huge amount of satisfaction as I watch her plop to the ground.

“How could you?” I yelled, not really sure which one of them I was asking, just needing to get the anger out somehow. I threw my leg back and landed a hard kick to her ribcage, enjoying the loud grunt of pain I heard fall from her lips.

“What the fuck, Lacey?” Aaron jumped up out of the bed to stand between me and Allison. “Look, I’m sorry! You weren’t supposed to be home, and we didn’t plan this.” I slapped him hard across the face. I won’t lie, I felt immediate satisfaction as I watched him bring his hand up to rub at his cheek.

“Let me guess,” I began, “she just fell onto your lap? Save it, Aaron, I don’t want to hear your excuses.” I cut my eyes down toward Allison. “You can have him. I just hope he was worth it. I hope that a few lousy lays was worth ruining our friendship over.” I turned around and headed straight to the door. I couldn’t be here anymore. I couldn’t watch the two of them together for another minute.

Maybe it’s because I’m a glutton for punishment or maybe it’s because I wanted to believe Aaron wouldn’t do something so stupid. I could still be living in the happy place inside my head, but he had to go and fuck that up.

So now I’m here at O'Reilly's— my favorite coffee shop— scouting a new place to rent so I can finally move on with my life. I currently reside in Golden Valley, Montana. Population, around one thousand. A place where everybody seems to know who you are. There are no secrets to be kept in this town. Can you see why I need to get away from Aaron and little miss steal your boyfriend? Especially seeing as they brought out a side of me I’m not proud of.

Seattle, Washington looks promising. Definitely more than enough people to get lost in and far enough away from Aaron and all the memories we made together. I’m heartbroken, I know it, and I know it’s truly the understatement of the century.

Aaron was my first love, and I truly believed he would be my forever love. We were friends long before we were lovers. Sitting here reminiscing over broken love is not getting me anywhere, and the fact that I’m house hunting because of that asshole makes it that much harder to forget or forgive him. I’ve been searching for hours, and I’ve finally stumbled across an ad looking for a roommate. All it states is a college grad looking for a female roommate for her two-bedroom apartment, completely furnished, in Seattle, Washington.

I feel drawn to this ad and hope I’m not too late. I have some savings stashed away and the rent is cheap enough to get me by while I find a job. I pull out my cell and dial her number before I lose my nerve. She picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” she says.

“Hi, my name is Lacey, and I’m responding to your ad for a roommate; are you still looking?”

The line is quiet for a second— too long, then she asks, “Do you smoke or do drugs?”

“No!”

“Are you clean, as a person?”

“Umm…yes?” What kind of question is that?

“Great, it’s yours. Bedroom comes equipped with a bed and dresser; you supply your own clothes. You will also have your own bathroom, but we will share the kitchen and living area. Now, I’m headed off to work and don’t have time to chat; when can I expect you?”

I’m a little shocked at this point. “You don’t even know me nor have you met me!” I state the obvious.

“As I said, I’m headed out to work. I lead a very busy life. So do you want the room or not?”

“Yes, yes of course,” I say before she has a chance to change her mind.

“Great! Again, when can I expect you?”

“Two days.”

“Perfect. If you are calling from a cell, I’ll text you the address tomorrow.” “Sounds great,” I say.

“I’m Amber, by the way, I’ll see you in two days.” Before I even get the chance to respond, she hangs up. Now, my heart’s racing, and I don’t know if it’s from excitement or dread. What just happened? I called with the intentions of getting some basic information, like where is she located, how the area is, how big the space she is renting, who is she and what does she do for a living? I got answers to none of those. But on the plus side, I now have a place to go.