Authors: LM Preston

Thundering Luv (11 page)

BOOK: Thundering Luv

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For all the old man’s craziness, he was like a father to Peter—maybe even worse than a father when it came to being over protective. Pastor Finn was like a savior, parent and jailer all wrapped up into one mean package. Pastor Finn’s warnings didn’t spook him though, so with a shrug, Peter stretched.

Taking a deep breath, Peter knelt on one knee, let out a growl and pulled on the metal ring of the thick wood door in the cement floor. The cellar was Peter’s secret treasure, and a way to steal some freedom. His heart beat furiously in his chest at the anticipation. He pushed the heavy door back. It landed with a slam and bump. Deftly, he swung his legs over and climbed down the ladder.

The cellar was dark, damp, and quiet, just the way he liked it. A torn twin mattress was in the corner,
his corner
. He’d been the only kid to ever be sent to the cellar. Mainly, because he knew how to piss off Pastor Finn. Truth was, he got a kick out of seeing the man all keyed up. Did it on purpose really, as a test to see how far the preaching man would let it go before he’d pawn him off on someone else. But the old man never did, at least not for the time Peter had been at the orphanage.

Peter kicked the mattress, and lay down until it was safe to roll out. Counting the minutes silently for a while, Peter hummed to the beat of a rap song he’d heard. The club he hung out at on his escape excursions was an outlet for the one thing that seemed to help him escape from his sucked up life—dancing.

Minutes elapsed. It was lights out upstairs. Finally, it was time. He jumped off the bed, refreshed, and kicked it out of the way. The small, slightly rotted wooden door it covered was the key to his temporary taste of independence. He sat back and with two hard kicks, the door opened. Peter squeezed his thick, muscled frame through the space and shimmied out onto the flat cement pavement.

Staring briefly into the clear starry night, he took the jagged, broken steps two at a time. The warm summer breeze teased his loose curls while he cleared the stairs. He ran quietly the quarter mile to the garage.

“Damn!” he muttered. The light was on above the garage that held Pastor Finn’s babies. He really wanted to take a motorcycle tonight, but there was no way he could get one without being seen.

He consumed a deep breath, and ran the two miles to the first city street that put him in the upper South West side of Washington, DC. As he broke through the wooded area just in front of the city block, he slowed his walk to a casual swagger. He slipped a hand in his jean pocket and grasped the forty dollars he’d lifted from Remmy. And chuckled. Remmy had beaten up and stolen money from at least four kids at the orphanage. Money they earned for doing chores that Pastor Finn doled out. Most of the kids were thankful for the bit of cash they could use for candy when Pastor Finn’s assistant went out to the store.

The city was fairly tame that night. Although there were people walking past him to get to the various nightclubs that littered this part of the city, it wasn’t half as crowded it usually was on a Saturday night.

He’d made it out three times this month—getting in trouble just came easy to him. The teen club that opened earlier that summer was his favorite spot. He liked to dance, but only planned to chill and listen to the music instead of mingling. Getting in through the back was always easy, and his only option since he didn’t have an ID. Although, Pastor Finn had taught him to drive every kind of vehicle he owned, for some reason the old fart wouldn’t let him get a license.

Whatever. It wouldn’t stop him. The club was tucked between several tall office buildings. A small neon light proclaimed the name—JAM HOUSE. Kids mulled around waiting in line. Peter slowed his stride to watch for the security guard that went periodically to the back to make sure the alley stayed clear.

“Petah! Petah…” A soft but insistent call closed in from a distance. Rapid steps tapped behind him.

Peter groaned and shook his head when the tingling on the back of his neck started.
Not her…not tonight.
He should’ve never given her any money. For some reason, him being a sucker for a hungry, dirty, crazy fourteen-year-old girl gained him an unwanted pest. He’d been avoiding her for over two months. Unfortunately, this night she’d tracked him down. Probably wandered around, haunting the spots she knew he frequented.

He hunched his shoulders and quickened his steps, glancing back angrily at the club he wouldn’t be able slip into now. The nutcase spoiled that for him. Peter stepped briskly, hoping the girl’s short legs wouldn’t allow her to keep up with him. She walked with a slight limp. The handicap was one of the things that kept her from following him in the past. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to find him on his nights out.

Peter glanced back, and was surprised at how well she kept up. Her greasy, long, brown hair swung around her shoulders like a cape.

“Petah! I see….you! You wait for me, Petah. My fri…end.” Her hand waved at him.

He questioned how she’d survived on the streets for so long. “Kiss off. I don’t have no food for you today. Leave me the hell alone and go home!”

Peter pivoted, looked across the street before he stepped off into a jog just as several cars were plowing down the street. He hoped the girl wouldn’t cross the street to catch up to him. The cars would deter her. He jetted in front of the first car in the cluster of speeding vehicles rushing to beat the yellow light. Someone honked, and cursed at him while they swerved around him. Peter didn’t look back. He wouldn’t look back at the girl’s pale, sad, and desperate face. Peter had problems, issues of his own. Taking on hers, was just not something he could do.

As his foot touched the curb, he heard a blood-curdling scream.

“PETAH!!!!!!!!”

A sickening thump made him jerk around. His face crinkled with fury. The car threw the sparse girl’s body upwards into the air, and sped off down the street. She bounced several times on the pavement. Peter ran and knelt beside her. Blood dribbled from her lip. And he felt like garbage, being the cause of her injury.

She smiled at him. “Petah. I…knew you would come.” Her dazed eyes never left his face. “Take me home, Petah.”

He shook his head and searched around. Surprised the street was now deserted. Tendrils of guilt filled his chest.
Another one…my damn fault. My fault.
He slid his arms under her frail form and picked her up. Her broken body was light in his strong hands. Peter expelled a cough, choking on his shame.

“Where’s your home? Your family?” His eyes watered and he blinked to keep himself in check.

“No family. Dead,” she sang. “All dead. But Petah…my friend.” Her hand lifted and she caressed his cheek.

He searched around briefly and hurried across the street. It didn’t take long to spot a deserted, boarded up house. There were many that littered this side street of the city.

“Please don’t let there be no meth addicts in here,” Peter mumbled, and kicked at the window on the side away from the alley.

The girl groaned and then released a broken giggle.

Peter shook his head. “Only somebody crazy would laugh right now.”

“Crazy? My name’s Hanna…n-not crazy.” She snuggled her head against his chest.

Peter bent slightly and squeezed them through the broken window, careful not to cut Hanna or himself. He laid her on the dusty wood floor and took a quick glance around to make sure they were alone.

“Why did you do that? Follow me?” Peter demanded. He ran his hand down her twisted arm and dirty blouse to check for injures. His eyes closed when he realized that pieces of bones stuck out at odd angles from her arm. Not to mention, her leg was a tortured mess of bones twisted with meaty red pieces of her bleeding flesh.

“I had to… They told me,” Hanna whispered. “They said to protect…” she coughed out blood, “protect…Petah.”

He coughed back the stale taste of vomit and gulped at the red dribble down her chin. “Girl, you crazy! Your arm is broken, you’re bleeding. Don’t that shit hurt?” Tingles of shivers rose the hairs on his arms, and made him tighten his fist when he realized the girl could die. Right here, and all because of him.

“I don’t feel it. They take it away,” Hanna hummed. “All pain…” She gazed passed him and reached up her hand. “Can I g-go home now? So, beautiful you are…so bright. I go,” she whispered, seemingly to no one.

“No! No! Don’t die. God…you can’t.” Peter grabbed her chin and forced Hanna eyes to meet his. “Look! Hey, I’m sorry. Damn. I shouldn’t have run from you. Why the hell did you keep following me? Why?” His hand shuddered as he ran it down his face.

Her eyes fluttered closed, then slowly opened. “To give you this…my gift.” Hanna wiped at the blood on her face. She grasped Peter’s hand with strength that belied her condition. And with her index finger drew a circle, and a squiggle of lines within it. “It is done.” With a gurgle and a cough, blood spurted from her mouth and she went still.

LM. Preston was born and raised in Washington, DC. An avid reader, she loved to create poetry and short-stories as a young girl. With a thirst for knowledge she attended college at Bowie State University, and worked in the IT field as a Techie and Educator for over sixteen years. She started writing science fiction under the encouragement of her husband who was a Sci-Fi buff and her four kids.

Her first published novel, Explorer X - Alpha was the beginning of her obsessive desire to write and create stories of young people who overcome unbelievable odds. She loves to write while on the porch watching her kids play or when she is traveling, which is another passion that encouraged her writing.