Hope For Garbage (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

The nightmare was always the same.  Trevor flew over a large grassy field, frantically flapping his arms, trying to stay up in the air.  A man dressed in black ran on the ground below him, reaching up for him, trying to catch him.  Every time Trevor stopped flapping his arms, he fell closer to the man’s clutches.

His arms were so tired.  He couldn’t keep this up much longer.  As he fell closer to the ground, he could hear the man-in-black singing.  Trevor couldn’t make out the song at first, but then he recognized the familiar tune: “Welcome to the new age…to the new age…Welcome to the new age…”

Trevor sat up in a cold sweat.  His cell phone was buzzing and playing the “Radioactive” ringtone.  He looked over at the red numbers glowing on the clock—5:47 a.m.  Flashing on his cell phone was the name
FRANK.  He flipped it open, “Jesus Frank, why are you calling me at five in the morning?”

“I know, sorry kid.  I had to call before my shift starts.  But you’ll be thanking me later.”

Trevor yawned, “OK, what do you got?”

There was excitement in Frank’s voice, “Honda HRX, really nice. It won’t be out there long.  You’ve got to snatch it up.”

Trevor threw off his cover and sat up on the edge of the bed, “Where?”

“Well that’s the thing.  It’s up in Harbor Village, on Lakeside Avenue.”

Harbor Village was one of the wealthiest suburbs outside of Cleveland.  It was also a place where residents weren’t fond of outsiders snooping around.  He sighed, “Frank, you know I can’t go up there.  Uncle Gary will kick my ass.”

“Kid, I’m telling you it’ll be worth it.  He doesn’t have to know where you got it.”

Trevor was thinking it through.  He wasn’t physically afraid of his uncle.  The fat slob wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a fair fight.  But he didn’t like the idea of losing the roof over his head either.  Still, these opportunities didn’t come around very often…

“Hey kid, I’ve got to get to work.
” Frank sounded impatient, “Are you interested, or should I make some other calls?”

He knew he might regret this.  “Give me the address.”

***

As quietly as he could, Trevor took a quick shower and got dressed.  The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Uncle Gary.  He threw on his usual outfit of Levi’s and a hooded sweatshirt and tip-toed down the stairs.  An atomic bomb probably wouldn’t be enough to wake hi
s uncle, but Trevor didn’t want to take any chances.

He opened the back door and let Jip out.  It was supposed to be in the fifties today with lots of sun—balmy for May.  And thanks to Frank, he now had a jump on a hot lead.  Maybe today would shape up to be pretty decent.

While Jip burned another yellow spot in the grass, Trevor grabbed a granola bar and a Pepsi.  The clock on the microwave showed 6:18.  It was going to be close, but he should be able to make it to Harbor Village and back by 7:30.  He had to leave now and he had to be fast.  There’d be hell to pay if he didn’t get Uncle Gary’s truck back in time.

Grabbing the keys off the kitchen counter, he said goodbye to Jip and hurried out the back door.  He got into the truck and headed north.

The posh suburb of Harbor Village bordered a three mile stretch of Lake Erie coastline.  It was a picturesque wooded community, filled with sprawling houses, quaint shops, and plenty of rich people.  Just thinking about the place made Trevor cringe.

As he reached Lake Avenue, he began looking for the address Frank had given him.  The front yards of most lakefront mansions were vast, and the homes sat far back
from the street.  Address plaques were usually posted somewhere along the road—on a gate, a boulder, or a post.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, and Trevor’s eyes strained in the darkness as he scanned the address numbers.  He drove along the street slowly, as Uncle Gary’s muffler spewed exhaust fumes over the perfectly manicured lawns.  He could only hope he wouldn’t draw attention.

Finally, he came to a large statue of a swan sitting atop an ornate stone pillar.  The numbers 12399 were engraved below the swan.  This was it.  As he expected, the home was set far back and hidden by an expanse of towering oak trees. He couldn’t see what the house looked like, but he really didn’t need to.  All he cared about was the prize.

The aging pick-up slowed along the curb to a stop.  No one in sight.  Trevor got out and hurried across the tree lawn, avoiding the dim glow of an overhead street light.  As he approached the end of the driveway he stopped dead in his tracks.

At the top of the drive, a car door slammed and an engine suddenly came to life.  Bright red break lights appeared in the blackness and started moving toward him. 
Shit, they were backing out
.

Trevor spotted a row of dense hedges at the end of the driveway; it was his only place to hide. He crouched down in the bushes and pulled his hood over his head, as if that would make a difference.  He felt ridiculous sneaking around and hiding like a child, but it was necessary in a neighborhood like this.  Peering through the thick leaves, he watched as the car reversed at a painstakingly slow pace. 
C’mon grandma.

His eyes were focused on the car when he heard a rustling sound in the bushes next to him.  He slowly turned his head to find two glowing eyes staring back at him.  A high-pitched hissing sound followed, and before he could react, something jumped out at him.  On pure instinct, Trevor shielded his face with his arms, falling backwards onto the wet grass.  Tiny claws thrashed out at him—the damn thing was attacking him!

It was vicious, squealing and scratching so furiously, it ripped right through his sweatshirt.  Trevor could feel the razor-sharp claws cutting into his flesh as he fiercely tried to fling it off.  But the animal was in a frenzy, and it took all of his strength to finally push it away.  Only seconds had passed, but the damage was done.  Warm red blotches of blood were seeping into the sleeve of his right arm
.  This was not how it was supposed to go...

Light-headed and a little dazed, he staggered to his feet.  Getting the hell out of there was his only option now.  Just as he turned toward the truck, he heard someone approaching from behind. 
Shit.
  His mind began racing.  How would he explain this? 
Think Trevor.

He wouldn’t turn around.  He would just bolt—he would run to the truck and take off.

“Hey!”

Trevor froze when he heard the voice.  As if his feet had a mind of their own, they pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees towards the voice.  Out of the shadow of an oak tree, a figure emerged.  And it wasn’t a grandma; it was a girl.  A really cute girl.

In the early morning light, he could see her hair was black and cut short—shorter than his—and her skin was pale.  She kind of had the Goth look going, except for the clothes.  She was wearing a school uniform, complete with a blazer and one of those little plaid skirts.

“Are you okay?”  She cracked a smile, showing a set of perfect teeth.  Her eyes moved down to his arm and he tried to cover the shredded sleeve.  But the blood was everywhere, and he could see the concern cross her face.  He needed to explain himself fast.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine…” He reached out and offered his left hand.  He didn’t know what else to do.  “I’m Trevor.”

She didn’t move.  Her eyes were still fixated on his bloody arm.  He took off his hooded sweatshirt and hurriedly began wrapping it around his arm.  “It’s not that bad—really.  It looks worse than it feels.”  The truth was it hurt like hell. 

Silence hung in the air and Trevor couldn’t find any words.  He could feel the heat from his wounded arm rising up to his face.

Thankfully, s
he broke the silence, “Well what happened?  I heard a screeching noise.  It sounded like a wild animal or something.”

Trevor made a feeble attempt at a smile.  “Actually it was a wild animal.  I think it was a raccoon.”  He needed to get out of there, but he found himself unable to move.

Goth girl was looking him up and down as if she was trying to decide something.  He didn’t know what she was thinking, but her gaze was making him uneasy.  Would she call the police on him for trespassing?

He wa
sn’t going to take his chances.  He was about to turn and leave for a second time, when she suddenly stepped forward.  “That looks really bad.  Why don’t you come in the house and I’ll get you a bandage or something.”

“Uh…” 
Jesus, say something!

She stepped forward again until she was only inches away. 
Pulling back a piece of the shredded sleeve, she examined his arm, “I think you really need to get this cleaned up.”

She was so close, he could see the sprinkle of freckles on her nose.  She had bright blue eyes and pouty lips.  Her face was flawless.  Trevor felt something stir inside of him.

He thought about her offer for another half a second, “Okay, yeah.  Thanks.”

For some weird reason, he didn’t care about the Honda anymore.  He didn’t care about his bloodied arm.  He didn’t even care about getting
his ass kicked by Uncle Gary.

All he cared about was following her into that house.

CHAPTER
4

Goth girl turned toward the house and Trevor followed her up the driveway.  The closer they got, the more uneasy he began to feel.  Her house wasn’t just big; it was massive.
  It had a traditional red brick exterior with enormous stone pillars framing the front entrance.  He could count at least eight giant Palladian windows spanning the front of the house.  In the center of the front lawn stood a fountain, encircled with more swan statues. Someone obviously liked swans.

She put a key into the enormous front door and pushed it open.  The inside of the house was no less impressive.  Trevor had never been inside a house close to this size.  A large foyer led into a great room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking the lake.  He would guess that one room was probably as big as Uncle Gary’s entire house.  One wall was covered by a vast stone fireplace,
flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.  The soaring ceiling was beamed with a rich dark wood that matched the floor.

“Holy shit,” was all he could manage to utter.  This girl was loaded.  Talk about someone from the other side of the tracks.

A huge portrait hung over the mantel—a mom, a dad, and a girl in the middle.  It took him a few seconds to realize the girl in the portrait was Goth girl.  The face was the same, but the hair was completely different—long and blond.  In fact, the whole family looked like they came straight out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.  They all wore big smiles and coordinating plaid outfits.  Her mom was an attractive blond and her dad sadly, the same.

Goth
girl’s voice echoed as she walked away, “I’ll be right back.” 

What the hell am I doing here?
  Trevor knew coming here was a dumb move, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.  Maybe he should just turn around and bolt out the front door.  Maybe he should say goodbye first…

Before he could decide anything, she appeared from the hall, a box of bandages in her hand and a big smile on her face.  Again, he felt the unfamiliar fluttering sensation in his chest.  His face felt hot, but it wasn’t anxiety, at least the anxiety he was used to
.  What was happening to him? 
Trevor quickly pointed to the portrait, “Your parents?”

She barely glanced up, “Yep, that’s them.  One big, happy family.”  Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Nice place.  What do your parents do for a living?”

She sighed, “Well, my dad’s some kind of investor.  I’m not exactly sure what he does, to tell you the truth.  And my mom owns a few salons in the area.”  She couldn’t sound less enthused.

“Wow.” It was all he could manage as he looked around.

“Yeah.  Wow.”  One thing became immediately obvious.  She didn’t like to talk about her parents.  He and Goth girl definitely had that in common.

She sat on the couch and smiled at him.  “Okay, come over here and let me take a look.”  She patted the spot next to her.

He walked across the gleaming wood floor and sat down next to her.  The couch was more like a loveseat, just big enough for two.  Their knees were touching, and as she leaned in closer, he could smell her citrusy perfume.

She pushed up the sleeve on his shirt and Trevor felt himself break out in goose bumps.  She gently dabbed at his cuts with a wet cloth.  It felt like a thousand bee stings but for some reason, he didn’t care one bit.

He tried not to be obvious, but he couldn’t stop looking at her face.  She really did have pretty eyes.  And he noticed she was wearing shiny pink lip gloss.  Did she just put that on for him?

He wanted to know more about her—a lot more. 
Shit.
  He just realized he had never asked her name.  “Hey, you never told me your name.”

She looked away and began searching through the first aid box.  “It’s Bea”.

Not the most common name he had ever heard, “Just B?  Is that short for something?”

She began dabbing some clear goo on his cuts. “Okay, well my real name is Barbara, which I hate.  I think I may have been named after Barbara Bush, if you can believe it.  My dad is a big fan of the whole Bush family.”

Oh God no.
 

"When I was a kid, everyone started calling me Barbie.”

At that Trevor had to bite his lip; this was getting pretty funny.

She was blushing, “I know, right.  The only name I hate more than Barbara is Barbie.”

The more she talked, the more he liked her.  “So one day my friend Kate started calling me Bea and it kind of stuck.  But to my parents, I am still ‘Barbara Eleanor Stewart’.  Just my friends call me Bea.”

“Okay…so I guess that means were friends?” he
asked.  He could feel his face get even hotter.

“I guess so.”  Bea carefully wrapped a mesh bandage around his arm.  She would make a great nurse.  He definitely liked being her patient.  “So Trevor, are you from around here?” she asked.

Something inside him did a somersault when she said his name.  His heart was beating so fast!  He suddenly couldn’t think straight.  “Uh, no…I’m from Westwood actually.”

She stopped taping the bandage and looked at him, “Really?  I’ve never been there.”

No surprise there.  Why would someone like her to venture into shitty old Westwood?  “It’s okay I guess.”

“So, I have to ask.  What you were doing out here?”  She didn’t sound accusatory, just curious.

Trevor’s mind started racing.  This was it.  The moment of truth—or the moment of lies—which was it going to be?  Before he could say anything, Bea lifted up his bandaged arm and kissed it.  “All better,” she said grinning.

He didn’t want to lie to her.  He would tell her the truth…well, most of the truth anyway.