Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 (12 page)

I returned his smile; surprised by his
gratitude. “You can thank me by being honest with her. She deserves
to know.”

“
Bu—”

“
No. You’re wrong.
She’s stronger than you think. And who says
you
get to decide which
truths people hear? I realize that your experience with the truth
is lacking, since it can be quite elusive in courtrooms. But truth
is not a thing to be twisted or manipulated at your will and for
your benefit. It’s the truth, and
your
daughter
has a right to it.”

Connor leaned back like I’d slapped
him. Then his intense, dark eyes locked on mine. “You’re not like
anyone I’ve ever met.”

“
Considering that you frequent court
rooms and date plastic women, I’ll take that as a
compliment.”

He smiled. “Touché.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I STARED INTO the empty ice cream container,
willing it to refill itself. I didn’t remember eating the whole
half-gallon last night, but the details preceding my sugar-induced
coma were still a bit sketchy. Eying my furry roommate—the only
other possible suspect, I asked, “Did you eat my ice cream,
Kiana?”

My dog rolled over and waited for me to
scratch her belly, in a surefire admission of guilt.

“
Uh-huh.” I scratched her
belly with the toe of my slipper. “Someone’s getting
chunky.”

My own bulging belly caught my eye. I’d been
out of work for months, and last night’s ice cream overindulgence
was only the latest of my depression related binges. If I didn’t
find a job soon, I’d need a forklift to get me off the sofa.

“
That’s it, fatty. Tomorrow
we’re going on a diet.” The name “fatty” was universal, referring
to my dog as accurately as myself. Kiana closed her eyes and
ignored the insult.

Wrapped in my fuzzy, blue bathrobe and
slippers, with my curls sticking out in every direction and serious
dragon breath, I struggled to understand why no man had scooped me
up yet. As I glanced in the mirror hanging above my couch, I
noticed that my excessive junk food consumption was also causing a
massive pimple invasion.

Depression is not my color.
I sunk into my favorite spot on the couch, ripped
open the ice cream container and started licking it clean. “Ugh.
What am I doing?”

Kiana raised her head and stared at me.

“
Okay, that’s it. We start
the diet today.”

I could have sworn Kiana rolled her eyes
before she went back to playing dead.

The container was tossed into the garbage in
an effort to derail the temptation train. I slid back onto the
couch and waited for the coffee pot to finish brewing. A tap of the
remote control snapped my thirty-six inch television to life.

“
Sexual harassment,
automobile accidents, wrongful death cases, if you’ve been wronged,
we can help.” I groaned at the image of Connor Dunstan promoting
his law firm. “That guy is slimy with a capital S,” I told Kiana
and changed the channel. Since the cable had been turned off, my
options were limited to Daily News on NBS, Sunrise with CBA or
Sesame Street on PBP. I’d had about all the disheartening reality I
could handle, so I decided to spend my morning with the Muppets in
their imaginary world.

The Count was just about to help Oscar the
Grouch tally piles of trash when a special bulletin interrupted my
morning entertainment. I flipped through the channels to avoid it,
but the report monopolized all three stations. Options removed, I
decided to see what all the fuss was about.

“
And what did you say
brought this on?” The female reporter stared into the screen,
looking concerned.

The camera switched to a man who the bottom
of the screen labeled as “Neil Hovich: Live in Washington D.C.”
Background noises of crying, screaming, and confusion drowned out
the man’s voice. He wrapped his hands around the mouthpiece, trying
to muffle the surrounding chaos and started speaking again. But my
eyes and ears had deemed him unimportant. All I could see was the
grisly scene behind him, and all I could hear was terror. Riot
police and soldiers used firearms and tear gas in an attempt to
control the situation. Americans killed Americans in a gas and
smoke clouded scene in front of the vague outline of the Capitol
building.

More meaningless words came over my speaker,
and then the screen switched to “live footage” in Los Angeles, New
York, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Denver, and Atlanta. Death everywhere.
Riots. Fires, weapons, smoke. Bodies. I stared; unblinking. It had
to be a mistake. This couldn’t be real. Not my country. Not my
people. No.

My television went black. The coffee machine
stopped and my kitchen light flicked off.

The horrifying sounds that had been coming
from my television were now live in Vancouver, Washington.

The nightmare was real and it was just
outside my door …

* * *

When I awoke, I felt raw. My heart and mind
kept trying to heal, but each memory ripped the scab off
prematurely. Too many nightmares. Too many memories. Sleep had
exhausted me, leaving my eyes gooey, and my head pounding. I missed
my dog. Memories of her battered the walls of my mind. She had
hated baths, but I bathed her once a week so she would smell like
expensive dog shampoo. Nothing or no one else that I’d killed had
been so innocent. So trusting. Her big, dark eyes stared up at me
as I ran the blade—

No. Don’t do this. Do not give in.

I took a deep, steadying breath, pushed back
the tears, and stood up, refusing to be sucked into the black hole
of despair. Ashley and Connor were not in the room, but I could
hear them moving around downstairs.

Get dressed and join them. That’ll help.

It was a great suggestion, and probably
would have worked had the top of the dresser not been crowded with
pictures. Smiling faces surrounded by a wide variety of frames
watched me as I approached. Happiness. My eyes kept drifting to the
wedding photo in the center. The bride’s strapless wedding gown
hugged her curves, and the tiara she wore made her look like
royalty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tan, beautiful. In the picture
beside it, her family knelt before a lit-up Christmas tree. Big,
toothy grins surrounded by presents. There were other photos:
vacations, camping trips, Disneyland keepsakes. My eyes once again
sought the bride.

Gone, but where?

There was a lump in my throat making it
difficult to breathe. The woman stared at me, begging me to save
her.

Stop staring at me!

My hands shook as I quickly laid each
picture face down. I grabbed a flashlight from my pack, slipped
into the walk-in closet, and closed the door behind me. After
winding the flashlight to renew its charge, I clicked it on. The
light revealed a full closet of colorful clothes. I ran my hand
down the row, feeling each fabric between my fingers.
Soft, silky, smooth. Calm.
Then I saw
it: the perfect little black dress; complete with spaghetti straps
and a slimmer-waist.

“
Grandma used to say nothing chases
away the blues better than a new outfit.”

Dropping my flashlight, I shed my clothes
and pulled the dress over my head, wiggling as it slid over my
hips. The fit was perfect. When I spun around the fabric flared. My
reflection caught my attention and I gazed into a full length
mirror on the back wall of the closet.

The beam shone on my lanky legs. I stared in
disbelief at how much meat they’d lost. Muscular, well shaped legs
that used to love to shoot hoops and play volleyball had become
shapeless sticks. That was depressing, but I was determined to find
the positive in this so I picked up the flashlight and studied my
midsection. Turning to the side, I searched for the body part that
had always been the bane of my exercise routine: my bottom. It was
missing in action, and had left behind something too small to be
natural. I patted my flat stomach.

Now that’s better.

But then another semi-circle turn
highlighted my deflated chest.

“
He was right. I
am
nothing but skin and bones.”
Just one good ice cream binge and it’ll all come
back.
Feeling resigned to my new body, I slowly raised
the flashlight. In the light’s glow, my normally auburn curls
appeared strawberry-blonde and frizzy. I paused, staring into my
face. Only the face staring back at me wasn’t mine.

My breath caught as I was confronted by the
face of the bride in the photos. I dropped the flashlight and
muffled a scream. The flashlight tumbled, creating an eerie
strobe-light effect as her hollow, blue eyes stared back at me.
Guilt and fear shook through my body, causing my knees to give way.
I landed hard on my bottom and the flashlight came to a stop,
facing the mirror. The woman was gone, and my own image watched me.
Eyes sunken and haunted were surrounded by dark circles. The bones
in my face, arms and shoulders protruded, making me look gaunt,
like a walking corpse.

Why fight it? I’m so tired
of fighting to survive. And for this? Is this what survival looks
like?
I felt my composed façade slip away; exposing
all the fears I’d tried so desperately to conceal.
Can’t do this anymore.
The desire to
curl up in a ball and die was overwhelming. Misery flooded the very
essence of my being as I was attacked; spiritually, emotionally and
mentally. I struggled for each breath; asphyxiating on my own
depression. Gasping until loud, wretched sobs ripped through my
body. The mental walls I’d labored so hard to build crumbled at the
feet of madness.

I glared at the twenty-eight year old zombie
in the mirror, furious at the defeated look in my own eyes. Feeling
the weight of all my inadequacies, I prayed that God would end my
life.

Instead, the closet door burst open. I
knew it was Connor and Ashley, but didn’t turn around. I wanted no
witnesses when I hit the big, red self-destruct button.
Leave me alone. Let me die
. My tears
turned to manic laughter as I felt their eyes burrowing into the
back of my head, no doubt wondering what to do with me. I glanced
at the mirror and saw the worried expressions I knew they’d
bear.
No. Don’t worry. Just leave me to
die.
Kneeling on the floor between sobs, hiccups, and
frantic laughter, I grieved for all the things I’d lost.

“
I miss … my black dresses.” I
sniffed. “And my heels.” I picked up a black pump from the floor of
the closet; smooth and sleek. “And my sister. Oh, God she’s dead!
Her whole family … dead. And I think they did it themselves. She
gave up! And it’s so unfair that she gets to give up and I can’t!
I’ve … killed people. I didn’t want to, but I had to. I had to,
dammit.” My fingers traced the lines of the black, leather pump in
my hand. “Do you think God … do you think He’d intervene had I not
defended myself? Because He didn’t! Where was God when I was
holding that gun? I can’t … I can’t hear Him anymore. I want to
die, but I don’t want to go to hell.” My shoulders shook as tears
ran down my face.

When I looked back into the mirror, Ashley
was gone. Connor leaned against the closet door looking nervous and
unsure. I sympathized and tried to steady my resolve. The worries
and fears I’d suppressed so long became chisels, chipping away at
my sanity.

What if we get to Canada and it’s just as
bad there? What if my mom and Jen are dead? How can I escape to
Canada’s safety when I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead?
Will I ever see them again? Am I losing my mind? What if I am not
strong enough to protect Ashley? Can I really trust Connor? Can I
trust myself with Connor?

Connor crept forward like he was
approaching a feral animal; hands up, palms facing outward, no
sudden movements. He moved in and sat down Indian style beside me.
His apprehensive stare formed deep lines in his forehead.
Have I baffled the Amazing Connor Dunstan?
The idea suddenly seemed funny. I burst into a fit of
laughter that only
darkened his expression. He clearly
didn’t see the humor in it. A glance in the mirror justified his
concern. I looked deranged, displaying red, puffy eyes and blotchy
skin, as an abundance of snot ran down my face.
The very definition of sexy.
I used my discarded
shirt to wipe away the dripping mess. “Just leave me alone. I don’t
want to care about you,” I told him.

Feeling detached, like a spectator
witnessing a fatal car crash, I stared at my reflection. Captivated
by the horrific sight, I couldn’t look away. Anger battled sorrow
and became my predominant emotion. I scowled at the offensive
mirror that had caused my meltdown. One clear thought escaped from
the blurry mess of my mind: the mirror is obviously possessed and
needs to be destroyed.

I lunged at the mirror. My fists shattered
glass, but I didn’t stop. I hit it again and the pain cleared my
head, pushing out unnecessary emotions that would compete with my
body’s warning. Shards of glass tumbled around me, blending their
delicate symphony with my roar of fury. Connor grabbed me around
the waist as I made one final blow.

Life is joy, love, and peace. None of which
are possible without pain.

And oh man, did my fists hurt. Connor
scooped me up onto his lap as blood flowed from the multiple slices
in my hands. He took off his shirt, shredded it, and wrapped the
strips tightly around my hands. Once I had been doctored to his
approval, his embrace hid me from the world.