Saving Ella
Saving Ella
Book One in the Mercy’s Angels Series
For Kylie,
Who keeps me m
otivated!!!!
Love you S.I.L
Contents
Breeze of Life (sneak peak)
Chapter 1
“Dadddyyyyyyy!” The scream that came from my mouth shocked even me, it sounded terrified, more animal than human. Tears streamed down my face, my wide eyes glued to my unresponsive dad. I reached for him with hands that shook uncontrollably no matter how much I willed them to be still. I nudged and pushed at my dad begging him to open those dark chocolate eyes and smile. This had to be a joke...a cruel, horrible joke. Daddy didn’t play those sorts of jokes and that’s how I knew this was real.
“Please
daddy, please, please, please wake up” I begged. His skin was clammy and cold and no matter how much I shoved his limp body, he didn’t open his eyes. My heart was beating too hard and too fast as I looked around the small kitchen for help I knew wasn’t there. Mother had been gone for three days and wouldn’t be home till this evening. Suddenly my mind which had been a scrambled mess of terror became startlingly clear…phone! I scrambled to my feet slipping on the milk which flowed like a white river from the carton on the floor. I headed straight for the phone’s base where the handset should have been cradled, which of course it wasn’t. I clumsily pressed the button to find the handset, forcing myself to be still and listen for the beep, beep, beep of the lost phone. It definitely wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. I didn’t want to leave my dad alone on the floor, I wanted to comfort him, hold his hand and let him know everything would be alright. Ambulance first, comfort second I rationalized. Casting a hopeless glance back to my dad I ran down the hall recognizing the distant call of the elusive phone. A whimper escaped my lips as I stuck my head in my room. Not there. Our small house had never felt so big and endless, the hallway a continuous gallery of photos and memories that were currently no more than an irritating blur, a taunt of happy memories that I somehow knew were coming to an end. Finally reaching the door to my parent’s room I flung it open where the sound became louder. There, on my mother’s perfectly tidy, perfectly delicate little dresser sat the little white device, flashing and beeping with impatience. I grabbed the phone and fumbled trying to find the buttons through a haze of watery tears. My heart still pounded so hard it hurt as I ran back into the kitchen, to the side of my dad’s still body on the cold, hard floor. I almost missed the calm resolute voice that answered, the words twisted into a garbled mess. Emergency was the only word that registered.
I sobbed uncontrollably now. “M-My dad, he w-won’t wake up.” The woman on the other end of the phone was painfully controlled.
“What is your address sweetheart?”
I tried to clear the panic in my mind and think. Address, address?
“20 Pine Hill Road Dunston” I spoke so fast I was surprised the woman on the other end of the phone could understand. I held my dad’s limp hand tightly now barely noticing the unrelenting tears that wet my face.
“Can you tell me if your dad is injured?” The composed voice on the phone asked. I looked at him carefully. He seemed so peaceful, like he was only sleeping.
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay sweetheart. The ambulance is on its way, they will be there soon. I’m going to stay on the phone with you until they get there. What’s your name?”
“Ella,” I sobbed, wishing, praying for the angelic sound of sirens that would soon be approaching our home.
“Okay Ella, I’m Sally. Are you home alone with your daddy?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Mom is away, she won’t be home till tonight.” Mom was always away or out with her friends. In fact it had been almost a week since I had last had a conversation with her. She wasn’t much for idle chit chat with a thirteen year old who had no interest in day spa’s or shopping.
“Okay, I want you to do something for me Ella. I want you to see if your dad is breathing, watch his chest and see if it goes up and down. Can you do that for me?”
My eyes immediately shot to dad’s chest. I had to drop his hand so I could wipe away the tears that blinded me. “I don’t know, I can’t tell.”
“That’s okay. Put your hand on his chest, can you feel it moving?” My hand quickly found my dad’s large sturdy chest. I sat quiet and still praying for movement.
With an unrestrained wail I almost dropped the phone. “I can’t feel anything,” I began to panic again.
“Alright Ella. Was you dad eating anything when he collapsed?” I looked around the room for the answers. Was he? He had been fixing lunch but I didn’t think he’d started eating without me.
“I don’t think so,” I murmured as I thought back to the moment he simply collapsed in a sickening heap to the floor.
“Okay sweetheart, I want you to lay your head on your dad’s chest and see if you can hear his heartbeat.” My dad’s usual warmth seemed to be seeping away from his body, replaced with a frigid, cold that didn’t belong in my warm caring father. My head rested against his cold chest and I tried hard not to cry otherwise I might miss the magical sound of his beating heart.
“Can you hear anything Ella?” The calm resolute voice asked. I listened for a moment more. There…perhaps something…I wasn’t sure but there seemed to be noises, whether they were coming from dad’s heart or not I had no idea.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. Though what I did hear now was a balm to my frantic soul…a siren!
“I think I can hear the ambulance,” I exclaimed, renewed hope surging through my veins.
“They’re less than a minute away Ella. Is the door unlocked?” I knew it wouldn’t be, dad was paranoid about security. I jumped up and ran to the front door. The sirens were close, their wail a beacon of hope. I flicked the latch on the door and pushed it open. Stepping onto the porch I watched the ambulance swing around the corner and into my street. I waved my hands frantically fearful they might miss my house. The lights on top of the ambulance flashed a furious vision of warning, the siren screamed with terrifying urgency.
“There here,” I wept with relief as help pulled into my drive.
“Good girl, you did so well Ella. You can hang up the phone now the paramedics will take care of your dad.”
“Okay,” I said with tears still falling down my pale cheeks as a man and woman in uniform raced up the porch steps. I pressed the little button that disconnected me from that calm, steady voice, watching the solemn looking paramedics as they slammed through the front door with such force that the Christmas wreath we had hung only this morning fell to the floor. I stood quietly in the kitchen watching like a useless bystander as the paramedics pumped on my dad’s chest. The crack I heard every now and again was sickening to my stomach; my hand covered my mouth tightly trying to muffle the unrestrained moans. Somehow my tears stopped which shouldn’t have surprised me. I had cried a river; surely my body was now bone dry. The panic that had consumed me fell away replaced with mindless disbelief as I watched my lifeless dad. Looking about the room I took in the Christmas decorations I had been so eager to set up this morning. I had woken daddy soon after the sun had risen on what was an unusually warm Thanksgiving. While other thirteen year olds were grizzling about how lame it was to have to spend the holidays with their families, I silently looked forward to it. Even though it was usually just me and dad, I loved it. He worked hard all year to make sure the holidays were ours, to do as we wished. Movies, picnics, hiking, skating, drawing, or just simply hanging out at home, we were always laughing and having fun.
The paramedics moved my
dad to a gurney as I continued to watch on numb, my arms wrapped around my stomach. He was gone. Somehow my heart already felt the weight of his loss. Without warning the most important thing in my world had been taken from me and I felt horribly alone.
Ella
‘Hate’ – (to feel intense dislike, or extreme aversion or hostility).
Such a powerful word, such a strong emotion. To live without hate must be bliss. I had lived with hate for four years now, four long years of intense dislike and extreme aversion. So much hate filled my life, it felt like nothing else existed, my heart and soul was filled with it. For the most part I was dead inside and could barely remember the time when I was alive, when I had dreams, hopes…a future. By the time I was thirteen, I had it all planned. Get good grades, study hard, and get a scholarship to study art. Eventually perhaps meet a handsome man who would whisk me away to the most exotic places this world had to offer, and I would sketch. One day I would own a small gallery and all my pictures would hang on those walls. I was going to be an artist, and nothing was going to stand in the way of my dreams. That was until hate came along in the form of Marcus Fairmont. Rich, powerful and my mother’s new husband, I hated him and god he hated me. His fists certainly echoed that hate when they connected with my body, and his eyes confirmed the sentiment. I was fascinated with eyes and had an innate ability to read the truth in them, lust, love, happiness, sadness, hate. I saw it all in the eyes. Where daddy’s eyes had been gentle, full of love and fun, Marcus’ eyes were full of ruthless hate and indifference. For a time I was defiant, fighting every step of the way, refusing to bow to his reign. I went out of my way to find trouble, bad grades, bad boys, shop lifting, drugs, anything that would embarrass Marcus, anything to escape Marcus. I did things I am not proud of. Losing my virginity in a drunken stupor in the back seat of Henry Spanner’s Chevy was not an impressive moment. Snorting lines of coke in the girl’s toilets at school was equally unimpressive, cutting myself repeatedly because I had grown to hate myself almost as much as Marcus, dumbest moment ever.
