Chapter 1 - LAST Installment

No sooner had they pulled away, Mr. Mapleton crossed her yard with Parker in tow.
"Parker why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll talk to your mom about that Bar-B-Que."
Parker looked at his mom with concern and only moved when she smiled.
"Thank you for taking him to your house. I guess they were talking to everyone about Travis Myers." Deborah hoped she sounded as though she believed it was casual questioning.
"Yes, I heard about Travis. They talked to just about everyone in the neighborhood. What did they ask you?" Mr. Mapleton seemed suspicious of the police, not her.
"Routine questions, I guess. When did I last see Travis, did I have any visitors last night, and did I have a gun in the house."
"Wonder why they were questioning folks this far from the river?" His dark face seemed to get older with each word. "Odd, them just showing up at Mrs. Parson’s out of the blue this afternoon. Next thing ya know, they are asking everyone about a black truck, how often you have company, and did anyone see you leave in a black truck last night."
"What are you saying Zach?" Deborah became scared. She wanted to believe that she was asked the same questions as everyone else. Evidently, everyone else was asked about her. This meant the police knew something.
"I ain’t saying anything. But, I would like to know if you got all your burning done today."
"Yes. M-pa, what are you getting at?" Upon rare occasion, and only when in a very concerned or emotional state did she refer to him as M-pa. He was the closest thing she had to a father after hers left, and as far as she was concerned, Mr. Mapleton was the better of the two.
"I just wanted to make sure it was done, that’s all child. Now, how ‘bout you call Annie and we have some food. Been awhile since we had any of her potato salad." And with that he headed into her back yard.
Deborah stood frozen for a moment before she headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Her hands were shaking and her head was pounding. She tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Someone saw a black truck outside her house. But they never said they identified it as Travis’. She was very careful when talking to the detectives. If anyone saw her in Travis’ truck they would have flat out asked her if she saw or rode with Travis last night. Mr. Mapleton’s questions were probably a result of the police asking around.
She looked long and hard at herself in the mirror. "Stop over reacting. Start acting like an innocent woman. Start believing it. You can convince yourself of anything. Even this. Pull it together and move on."
She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Hitting Memory 1, she waited for Annie to answer.
"Hey Girly, I’m on my way." Annie must have used her caller I.D. before picking up.
"How did you know I was going to invite you over?"
"Mr. Mapleton called around 2 o’clock today. Said he thought it was about time for another Bar-B-Que. The potato salad is chilled and ready to go. Need anything else?"
"Uh, no. I have everything else. Guess I will see you in a few."
"Choi." Annie chirped and hung up.
Deborah was surprised at Mr. Mapleton’s forwardness. He usually let Deborah handle these things. She went into her normal routine and gathered the usual items for dinner. Hot dogs, corn on the cob (grown in Mr. Mapleton’s garden), beans, strawberries and watermelon (also grown in Mr. Mapleton’s garden) and buns. These little feasts were so common, they had perfected it. Once the weather was nice enough, they fired up the grill at least once a week.
Annie pulled into the driveway and let herself in.
"Howdy!" She sang as she walked to the back of the house to join Deborah in the kitchen. Her fiery red hair was highlighted with large chunks of blonde. She wore a bright pink tank top and jeans that bore a thousand or so sequins around the cuffs.
"Love the hair." Deborah smiled as she took the bowl of potato salad from her and handed her a plate of aluminum wrapped corn instead.
"Not too wild is it?" Annie modeled for inspection.
"Of course it is. Which is why you did it, and why I love it." Deborah picked up the plate of hot dogs, the pot of beans, and headed out back. Annie followed with the corn and a small brown paper bag.
Mr. Mapleton had the grill ready to go. Deborah placed the beans on the far corner of the grill and set the hot dogs down on the side table for Mr. Mapleton to handle.
Annie gave Mr. Mapleton a hug and handed him the corn. Then she turned to the yard and whistled at Parker.
"Hey cutie, I got something for you."
"Hey Annie! What is it?" He ran towards her with a large grin on his face.
"Well it’s candy of course. But you gotta give me some sweetness first!"
Parker rolled his big eyes and gave her a huge hug. Annie took a tight grip and began to tickle him. Parker squealed and wiggled away.
"Got a little girlfriend yet?" she teased as she handed him the bag of candy.
"Noooooooooo!" Parker looked at his mom as if to ask if he could eat the candy now and slumped his shoulders when she mouthed the word "no".
"Good, none of them are as cute or as fun as me anyway." Again Parker rolled his eyes and went back to chasing the ball around the yard.
"So, I tried to call you a zillion times today about Travis. Then I hear that the police were in the area asking questions about a truck and stuff. What the hell is going on?"
Mr. Mapleton shot a look at Deborah, then focused his attention on cooking dinner.
"I don’t know really. It’s all so scary. Finding out about Travis, then the police hounding everyone. It’s … surreal."
"Everyone thinks he got caught with someone’s girl at the river and some guy did him in. Sounds about right to me. ‘Course, he left enough scorned women behind, it would be possible that some chick did it." Annie was just reacting the way most people would. But talking about it made Deborah very uncomfortable.
"I don’t know. I really don’t like talking about it in front of Parker though. Let’s change the subject ok?" Deborah went inside to get the place settings. Mr. Mapleton cleared his throat and Annie just shrugged.
After dinner and dishes, Mr. Mapleton told the girls he had baked a pie and left it cooling at his house. Seeing their eyes light up, he offered to run next door and retrieve it. He cut through the back yard and headed out the back gate. Parker had just run inside to get the plates and forks, when Mr. Mapleton hurried back through the gate and motioned for Deborah to come over. Annie sat and watched curiously.
"What is it Zach?" She could see the panic in his eyes.
"There are about five police cars pulling up to your house right now. I think I ought to take Parker next door again." Deborah nearly passed out. Mr. Mapleton held her up. "Hold it together Deborah. Ya hear me?" His voice was stern. He yelled across the yard to Annie. "Get Parker over hear now."
"What’s the matter?" Annie stood hastily.
"Just get him, now!" Mr. Mapleton demanded with urgency. Annie ran inside and grabbed Parker. "Now, you listen to me Little Miss, you remain calm, no matter what. And don’t you worry none about Parker. I’ll keep good care of him."
Deborah nodded and tried to get a grip on the reality unfolding.
"What’s going on?" Annie almost whispered as she joined them with Parker at her side.
Deborah bent down and took Parker by the shoulders. "Parker, Honey, I need you to stay with Mr. Mapleton for a while."
"Why Mom? What’s wrong?" She could tell he was scared. She wanted to take him and run. She wished she could swoop him up and disappear.
"Well sweetie, I am going to tell you something very grown up okay?"
"Uh huh." His brown eyes were filled with fear and expectation. Deborah could hear the doors on the police cars shutting.
"Remember today when you heard about the man who died?" She paused long enough for him to nod. "Well, he didn’t just die, someone killed him. And the police are here right now because they think I can tell them who did it."
"Can you?" he whimpered.
"No baby, I can’t. But they think I can, so they might get upset when I don’t. But don’t you worry okay? No matter what, you know that mommy loves you and I will come get you as soon as I can. Okay?"
"Mommy, I’m scared." Parker began to cry.
"Oh honey, don’t be scared. They are not going to hurt me. They just want to talk to me. Now you go with M-pa okay?"
Deborah heard the door bell ring and a multitude of voices travel from the front yard to the back.
"Ok Mommy. I love you." He said though gulps of tears.
"I love you too my love." Deborah held back her own tears and gave him a hug and a kiss. She didn’t want to let go, but the doorbell rang again and was followed by pounding.
She ran through the house and threw open the front door. She stood face to face with Moxy and Detective Miller. Over their shoulders she could see at least four other officers, all carrying bags and wearing gloves.
"Deborah DePianno, I have a warrant to search your home." Moxy stated firmly.
"On what grounds?" Deborah demanded.
"On the grounds that I hold a warrant for your arrest!" Miller shouted, proudly holding the warrant up for her to see.
"What?!" She was not faking the tears of shock this time. She looked back at Moxy. "Moxy, what’s going on?"
Miller slapped his meaty hand on her shoulder and spun her around.
"Deborah DePianno you are under the arrest for the murder of Travis Myers."
"This can’t be happening." Deborah shook her head as if trying to gain focus.
"Oh it’s happening alright missy. Now place your hands behind your back." Miller took tight grip of both hands and Deborah winced as the cold metal cuffs dug into her little wrists.
"Wait, please, let me talk to my son …"
"Where is the minor?" Miller snapped.
"He is in the back yard with Mr. Mapleton and Annie."
"We will notify Mapleton of the situation. Officer Phillips, I will walk her to your car, and then you can take her back to the holding cell. I will execute the search warrant and join you later for the booking."
"Can I at least take my purse, it has my attorney’s number in it." Deborah nodded towards the purse next to the door.
"Sorry, no personal contraband allowed …" Miller began to deny her request, but Moxy reached over to the small table and retrieved the handbag. Miller glared at him in disapproval.
"Everyone has the right to an attorney." Moxy said quietly.
Miller lead Deborah outside towards Moxy’s car. Everyone within three blocks of her home was stationed along the yellow tape that now decorated her front yard. Their eyes transfixed on her, their jaws ajar.
Biting her lower lip and letting her thick hair fall around her tear stained face, she tried to ignore Detective Miller’s grandiose production of arresting her. She took her seat in the back of the squad car and scanned her front yard and porch to make sure Parker did not see his mother leaving in such a humiliating and shameful fashion. To her relief, he was no where to be seen.
Deborah lowered her head as Moxy put the car in drive and used the siren to move people out of his way. She sat quietly on the way to the station, and began constructing "Plan B" in effort to change her reality so that her son could live in peace. She did it once eight years ago, and she would do it again.

END CHAPTER ONE


- posted by Cindy @ 9:06 PM (1) comments |

 
Chapter 1 - Eighth Installment

Parker was barely seated when Deborah started the engine. She pulled out of the park so quickly that Parker had not had enough time to buckle his seat belt.
“Mom! Wait, my seat belt!”
“Oh! Honey I’m sorry, but hurry ok? Mommy really needs to get home.”
“Is it because that great man died?”
“Yes. I mean no. Well, yes a man died, but who called him great?”
“Everyone. They are all crying and stuff. They said he was a hero and that his family are very important people.”
“Well, they are important people in this town. But this is a small town. But they are no more important than the rest of us. And he was not a hero.” Deborah struggled with her words.
“Then why are you crying?” Parker asked puzzled.
Deborah adjusted the rear view mirror. She had tears running down her face. “Because, anytime anyone does it is sad. Even if they aren’t a hero.”
The rest of the drive home was done is silence. Deborah gathered her emotions and refocused her energy on planning for the next few days. Things would be very unsettled around town, and people would be doing a lot of gossiping. It was important that she appear as shocked as they were, and equally saddened.
As she pulled into her driveway, she realized the shock was not going to be difficult to display. Mr. Mapleton was waiting for her with a desperate look on his face. She knew it was obvious that she had been crying, but his movement to the car seemed urgent. Before she could even put the car into park, he was reaching for her door.
“You have company.” He said sternly. It wasn’t until that moment that Deborah noticed the two men standing on her front porch. “I am going to take Parker to my house for a bit.” Mr. Mapleton wrapped his arm around Parker’s shoulders with a great display of protectiveness.
Deborah recognized the men immediately and concentrated on not throwing up. Although one was in plain clothes, she knew them both to be police officers for Willsonville. And with the haste in Mr. Mapleton’s departure, she was sure that men had made it clear that this was a business, not a social, call. In fact, it was clear that several neighbors were apprised of this information, as they stood close by gawking.
Deborah willed herself to gain control of her nerves as she approached the men.
“Deborah, I am Detective Miller, and this is Officer Phillips.” The older, and much plumper of the men announced as she joined them at her front door.
“Yes, I know who you are Mr. Miller.” Deborah had grown up with his children. She turned to Officer Phillips, “Moxy, it has been a long time. Is there something I can help you with?” She made a point of calling him by his first name rather than his title. She hoped this would remind him that they had once been friends when they were much younger. She had even kept a life long secret for him.
When they were only ten years old, he wet his pants watching a scary movie at her house. Her mother was gone on a church retreat, and her father allowed them to stay up late and watch a movie that was usually forbidden. Moxy begged her not to tell anyone, and she never did. In fact, she never even mentioned it to him again.
“Officer Phillips and I would like to take a moment of your time to ask you a few questions.” Miller said with a hint of offense, undoubtedly annoyed that she had not addressed either one by rank or title.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked as meekly as she could manage.
“Actually, I wanted to ask you that. It looks as though you have been crying.” Moxy took a very professional tone and stance. He had always been thin and wiry looking, but the uniform made him appear more impressive.
“Of course I have been crying,” Deborah lowered her head “I just found out that an old friend drowned in the river. I am sure you are shocked and upset, even if your job doesn’t permit you to show it.” She tried to play on the nostalgia of the situation.
“We are all upset, and actually, that is why we are here.” Miller piped in.
Deborah began unlocking her door. “You need to talk to me?” Opening the door slightly she turned to them timidly.
“We just have a few routine questions. We have talked to most of your neighbors already. Can we come in?” Moxy stated more than asked. She knew it was well within her rights to decline. Yet, she also knew that would be like hanging a “guilty” sign above her door. She nodded quietly, and led them into the house, once again feeling invaded.
She silently began prepping herself for the interview. Telling herself to remain calm, no matter what, and not to offer any information. To answer questions with questions. She reminded herself that she did not know what they knew. That their questions would be leading, and offer her just enough rope to hang herself with. She told her self to avoid lying if at all possible. That it was better to be vague than a liar.
Miller stood at the coffee table and Moxy took a seat in the wing back chair. Miller pulled a tape recorder from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. Deborah stared at it. “Oh, don’t mind that.” He said as he ran his fingers through his curly, and somewhat greasy, gray hair. “It just saves us from having to write everything down. It is much more efficient too, I don’t write as fast as I used to.” He tried to act simple and casual as he took a seat at one end of the couch. Again Deborah knew she could protest, but that would make that guilty sign above her door flash like a neon light. Afraid her voice would crack with fear, she just smiled and shrugged.
“So, I gather you know about the death of Travis Myers?” Miller suggested as he gestured for her to sit down as well. She was much more comfortable standing, but she knew that sitting was a submissive and less threatening position. She took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, where she could see both men, the front door, and the out the front window.
“Hasn’t everyone heard about it by now?”
“I suppose in a town this small, everyone has. What do you know about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you know how he died or where?” Miller’s eyes resembled that of a hunting dog, focused and determined.
Deborah reminded herself to be very careful with her answer.
“Oh. Well I heard he was found in the river. I guess I just assumed he had drowned.” Deborah forced a couple silent tears.
“Well, that’s odd. I am surprised you didn’t hear. He was shot.” Miller waited for a response, and Deborah gave him one.
“Shot! Marcy didn’t tell me that! Was he really shot?” Sitting up very straight she looked back and forth from one man to the other. She hoped this appeared like shock and disbelief. She also wanted to look at Moxy. He had been silent ever since he took a seat. He just sat there, stone cold.
“Yes he was. So it seems odd to me that news like that fell short of your ears. Who told you he was dead?” Miller acted as though had just picked up a scent.
“Marcy. Marcy Peterson. She told me he was found dead in the river. I just can’t believe he was shot. Was it a hunting accident?”
“No, it was no accident. It was an intentional act. It was homicide.” Miller said, almost appearing excited.
“Who would …” Deborah let her voice trail off, realizing asking the question was a mistake. They could easily turn it around on her. Miller seemed disappointed at the missed opportunity to do just that.
“When was the last time you saw Travis?”
“I can’t really recall the time when I last saw him.” That wasn’t a lie, she had no clue what time it was when she left the river.
“MmmHmm… and where were you last night?”
“Ummm, when?”
“Last night.” Miller stated more sternly.
“Yes, I know, but when last night?”
“Did you go somewhere last night?”
“Parker and I went to get ice cream after dinner.”
“And then?” he pressed.
“And then we came home and played cards for a little while. I sent him to bed around 9:30 and I did the dishes. I went to bed sometime after that.”
“Did you have any company over?” Miller tilted his head, eyebrow slightly raised.
“Do you mean a house guest?”
“Yeeesss.” He practically hissed at her. Or maybe she was just nervous.
“No. Parker had a play date today with Peter Peterson, but no one stayed the night last night.” Deborah began to answer with more ease, noticing that she was doing well in avoiding direct answers.
“What I mean is, did anyone stop by last night, say around 10:30 p.m.?” Miller was getting irritated, and tipping his hand a little.
“Who would drop in that late?”
“You tell us.” Us. Deborah almost forgot Moxy was in the room. He remained silent and still.
“No one I associate with would.” Still avoiding a lie, and trying to seem clueless, she almost giggled at Miller’s change in posture. He slumped back in the sofa and gave Moxy an exasperated look.
“One of your neighbors thought she saw a truck parked in front of the house last night.”
“In front of my house?”
“Yes, your house.” Sweat began to bead at Millers temples.
“What kind of truck?” Deborah tried to sound as if she wanted to be helpful, but had nothing to offer.
“A black Ford.”
“Really? What time?”
Moxy suddenly stood up and walked to the front door. It startled Deborah, and there was no hiding it. “Excuse me, I have been paged. I’m just going to step outside for a moment.” Deborah had not heard a pager.
“Don’t be silly. You can use my phone in the kitchen.” Deborah hoped to keep him in her earshot. Moxy just waved her off and closed the door behind him.
“Oh, he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, need to use the little boy’s room. Do you mind?” Miller got up and pointed to the middle door as if to ask if that was the bathroom. Deborah nodded. She knew that he would conduct a little unofficial (and illegal) search of her bathroom. She also noticed he left the recorder on. Which meant that Moxy would return and start a little friendly chit-chat.
Right on queue, Moxy entered again. “Sorry about that Deborah.”
“Well I suppose pagers and cell phones are issued with the badge these days.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t referring to that. I was talking about Detective Miller. He is really abrasive at times. I just sit here and let him do his thing.” Like a light switch, Moxy flipped from old acquaintance, to long lost friend. “So how are things other wise Debbie? I hear it is still you and the little guy.”
Deborah looked deep into Moxy’s eyes, trying to find his angle.
“Yes, but we manage just fine.”
“I hope this shooting doesn’t scare you too much.” His dark eyes seemed a little softer, but still held her at a distance.
“Well it seems to leave an uneasy feeling doesn’t it?” Deborah began to twirl a lock of her strawberry hair around her finger, wanting to present a meek and slightly frightened demeanor.
“I know, and being alone in this house at night too. I mean that had to have you concerned, even before the shooting.” Moxy leaned forward and placed his bony elbows on his knobby knees.
“I suppose. But I feel relatively safe here.” Deborah was still searching for his real agenda.
“Well, just lock your doors and windows at night. Especially until we get this thing solved. Not that I want to scare you, but do you have any kind of protection?”
Deborah almost clapped when she caught on to where he was going with all of this.
“Do you mean the baseball bat next to my bed?”
“Sure like that. I suppose that could be effective in the right circumstances. But do you have anything more … aggressive?” He was trying hard to lead her into his web.
“Like what?” and she was trying hard to let him think he was succeeding.
“Like a firearm of any kind. A lot of single women keep one in their night stand these days.”
“A gun in my house?” Deborah acted slightly horrified by the idea. “You know I have a small child Moxy. Why on earth would I keep a gun here?”
“I believe the question was do you, not would you.” Deborah jumped in her seat as Miller’s voice boomed from the hallway. She hadn’t noticed him come out of the bathroom.
“Detective Miller, you startled me. I didn’t hear you return.” Deborah tried to sound embarrassed by her reaction, when really, she way praying it didn’t shed more suspicion on her.
“Do you have a gun or not?” It was apparent that he was catching on to her evasive manner, and was less than pleased.
“I’m sorry. I do not have a gun in my home.” Again, not a lie, as it was no longer in her house.
Moxy squinted as he rose from his seat. “Thank you Debbie, I think we have all we need.” Deborah stood and waited as Miller retrieved his recorder. She led them to the door and held it open for them.
“Detective, don’t forget to turn that recorder off.” She stated flatly as he passed her. He turned around abruptly, unable to disguise his surprise. “I would hate for you to run out of tape during your next routine questioning.” She tried to hide her sarcasm with a sweet tone, but his viscous approach at the end had set her Italian blood boiling.
“MmmmHmmm. Well thank you.” Miller mumbled in disappointment. Moxy followed Miller down the front steps and shot Deborah a hard glance over his shoulder.
Deborah stood in the doorway and tried to appear friendly as they departed. But her heart raced as she observed more neighbors gathered in various yards, talking and staring.

- posted by Cindy @ 11:10 PM (0) comments |

 
Chapter 1 - Seventh Installment -

Deborah bid Mrs. Pierce good day and headed into the back yard. While gathering the supplies for the burn barrel she began to feel nauseated. Just the thought of what she was about to do was almost too much to bare. The night’s events came rushing back to her and she began to feel dizzy. With each graphic memory, the world around her seemed more and more off balance. Her head felt light and her knees weak. While trying to reach the bench that sat along the shed wall, she stumbled.
She yelped in fear when she felt a hand grab her arm. See looked up and tried to focus on who had a hold of her. Mr. Mapleton looked down at her with great concern as he guided her to the bench.
“Deborah are you alright?” The affection he felt for her was obvious in his voice. She was the closest thing to a child he had ever had and his love for her was as tender and protective as any father.
“I think I stood up too fast after bending over to pick up my gloves. I’m fine.” She covered the truth with as much calm as she could.
“Are you sure you are alright little miss?” He had called her that ever since she was a young girl. His stare was strong as he waited for an answer.
“Yes, yes I’m fine. It was just a head rush, that’s all.”
“Good.” Suddenly his tone changed and he crossed the back yard to the gate. “Because there is a lot to do today.” And then he simply left.
Although it bothered Deborah a great deal that he was acting so strangely, she was glad that he had not offered to help with her yard today. But as soon as she was done with the duties planned, she would find out why he was acting so unfamiliar.
Deborah focused on the wood box that held her darkest secrets and felt almost like a zombie as she gathered her weeds and leaves for burning. It was like being in someone else’s body as she filled the burn barrel and set it ablaze. There was a small amount of shrubbery to burn, so she quickly added her clothes and shoes. Then, promptly added the shrubs Mr. Mapleton had left near the back gate to the top of the pile. Still afraid that the leather and rubber soles would not burn, she added some wood from the wood box as well.
Deborah stood there, transfixed on the flames and smoke that seemed to carry all her pain and fear. Slowly she began to cry, then weep. Years of silent agony began to spill out of her. She fell to her knees and buried her face into her gloved hands. Her whimpers were full of anguish and anger. Nearly a decade of suffering tore through her body, racing to be freed.
Deborah could no longer hold inside the bitterness and sorrow that ate at her soul for so long. The flood of agony and guilt she was releasing caused her to choke, and she began to vomit. With each convolution, her body was released of a great weight. And when it stopped, she felt lighter, freer, and even cleaner.
She remained on her knees for some time. Her body was weak, and her muscles ached. She just sat there, listening to her own breathing. She took her time getting up. And after checking that the fire was doing its job as it slowly dwindled down, she headed inside for a glass of water.
Deborah stood at the kitchen sink and washed her tear stained face. She noticed that it felt as if she had just wakened from a very long sleep. She felt groggy and sluggish. Turning to the clock, she realized that over three hours had passed since she began burning.
Deborah rushed through the yard, putting the lighter fluid, matches, and gloves away in the tool shed. She checked the burn barrel and noted that although the rubber and leather were not disintegrated, they were, for all intense purposes, unrecognizable.
While returning the wheel barrel to Mr. Mapleton, Deborah noticed another set of neighbors from across the street in deep conversation. Deborah waved, but received what appeared to be a stern glare instead. Perhaps it was the bright sun that caused them to frown.
Mr. Mapleton greeted Deborah at the gate to his backyard. “Finished?”
“Yes. Zach, is something bothering you today?” she asked with great concern, being sure to use the shortened version of his first name, Zacharias, the way only family did. He looked her straight in the eye and twisted his mouth as if he was unsure how to answer. After a long pause, he simply shook his head.
“Are you sure? You seem … well, distracted or something. If there is something you need to talk about, I …”
He interrupted, “Nope. Sometimes things are better left unsaid.”
She noted the finality in his tone. “Oh, okay. Well I guess I will be going then.” The concern and rejection was equally notable in her voice.
“MmmmHmmm.” Was all he offered.
Not knowing what else to do, she retrieved her purse and keys from inside the house and drove to the store.
The store was very quiet, almost eerie. Deborah picked up a few needed items and headed for the check out line. While she waited, she watched a group of people gathered at the pharmacy desk. The feeling around them was dark and unapproachable. They were talking in hushed voices and she couldn’t help but stare.
“What is going on around here today Trish?” Deborah asked the check out girl, whom she had graduated high school with.
The two were not friends. In fact they were nothing, if not civil to one another. They had led to very different lives and had nothing in common.
The obviously bored and less than observant clerk blew a bubble with her gum and shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno.” Her long bleached curls bounced slightly as she rang the items up and placed them into a paper bag.
“Haven’t you noticed how strange everyone is acting?”
“Ahhh, those old blue hairs always got something to whisper about. I stopped paying attention a long time ago.” She hit the total button. “$17.32.”
Deborah handed her a $20.00 bill and noticed that through out the entire process, Trish never once made eye contact with her. When Trish handed her back the wrong change, Deborah simply rolled her eyes and took the loss.
She found it pitiful that no one ever took the time to notice how uneducated Trish was, despite her diploma. It was apparent that as long as they had a cute, blue eyed, well built, blonde to ring them up, no one cared. She served a purpose, and there was no value in giving her the keys to unlocking her potential.
As Deborah scooped up her grocery bag, Trish finally looked at Deborah. “Hey Debbi, don’t forget your purse.”
Deborah was a little confused, as she had not began to walk off with out it.“Uh, thanks.” She responded awkwardly as Trish held eye contact until Deborah turned away to leave.
Deborah waited at the park for nearly fifteen minutes before Marcy arrived with the boys. When they finally pulled up, Deborah walked to greet Parker. But Marcy grabbed her instead.
“Oh isn’t it awful? Just horrible? I am in shock, complete shock. I just can’t believe it!” Marcy was one decimal from a shriek.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You mean you haven’t heard? My word! You haven’t. It’s Travis. Travis Myers. He’s dead! They found him in the river about two hours ago!”
Deborah went ash white and almost fell to her knees.
“I know! Isn’t it just shocking? Especially it being Travis. He had so much going for him. It is such a waste.”
Deborah grabbed Parker’s small hand and raced towards her little car. She faintly heard Marcy calling to her.
“I'm sorry Marcy, but I need to get home. I am not feeling very well.” Deborah called over her shoulder while getting into the car.
- posted by Cindy @ 1:24 PM (0) comments |

 
Chapter 1 - Sixth Installment -

As Deborah strolled towards the front door, she bent to pull a few weeds from the flowerbed that lined her small patio. She didn’t have much, but what she did have, she took great pride in. She loved her yard and found peace while tending to it. So, while her house was small and her car was old, she had a yard that many envied.
“Going to do some yard work today dear?” a sweet and familiar voice called from the yard to the left.
“Good morning Mrs. Pierce. Yes I am, but in the back.” Mrs. Pierce and her husband were a kind elderly couple that had been living in the house next door for over fifty years. They were never intrusive, and always had kind things to say. “I’m afraid I have neglected it for a couple of weeks now.”
“Well, dear, I am sure it looks just beautiful. You are not one to let Mother Nature go unappreciated. You have the touch that makes her glow.” Mrs. Pierce complemented with a genuine smile.
“Well, I guess you would call my work today a facial then.” Deborah laughed and turned as another voice joined the conversation from behind her.
“Deborah, did you have any burning planned for today?” Mr. Mapleton asked in a strong but gentle voice. Deborah had known the large man nearly all her life and thought of him with deep affection. She usually welcomed his presence with a smile, but his inquiry caused fear to stir deep inside her. Maybe he saw her this morning after all.
“Yes I was, why?” she almost whispered.
“Because I have a barrel full of shrub to burn, and my permit just expired. Can’t see driving all the way to the dump for one barrel of shrub that can easily be burned.”
Mr. Mapleton was a man of reason and logic. One of only seven black men in the community, he found it better to do things quietly and simply.
Although Willsonville was a peaceful town, it was not with out its faults. The color of Mr. Mapleton's skin pre-determined his role in the community, and he was often forced to make a decision between making a living and taking a stand. Being the only son of a widowed mother of five, he took on the role of provider at the age of thirteen. Barely finishing the eighth grade, he worked hard to give his sisters and mother everything they needed.
He was a talented wood craftsman and did well in the small community. And even though he faced a passive aggressive form of bigotry on a daily basis, he chose to stay where he knew he could continue to provide for his family.
Deborah had always been drawn to the man. As a child, she would sit outside his woodshop at the end of Main Street, and listen to the gospel music coming from his beat up radio. At the age of ten, she spent an entire summer on his stoop, listening to sermons and soul music. As she got braver, Deborah would ask questions about the people and topics she heard mentioned. She wanted to understand the topics the voices seemed focused on. Things like repression, racism, bigotry, and equality. Mr. Mapleton always answered her with kindness and honesty. And, although he appreciated her desire to understand, being twenty years her senior, he knew he had to be careful what he said in this small town, especially to a young white girl.
But Deborah’s parents never objected to her time spent outside the shop, and after her father left, she came around much more often. Mr. Mapleton gave her a job sweeping saw dust and washing windows. She would have done it for free, just to get away from her hysterical mother, but Mr. Mapleton insisted on paying her for her labor. As the years went by, their friendship grew stronger. And with out either one realizing, he took on a father like role in her life.
One of her favorite childhood memories was the first time she heard him laugh out loud. Because of his disposition, his chuckles were often quiet and controlled. But late one afternoon at the age of eleven, Deborah made Mr. Mapleton release the restraints he held on his emotions.
Sitting on his stoop, with her feet tapping to the rhythm of the Jazz music humming in the shop, Deborah could not help but thinking out loud.
“Once, I heard Mr. Cross say that a black man’s blood may run red, but it is still different from ours. Now I know what he meant.” Mr. Mapleton looked curiously at Deborah waiting for her to finish. “You all got music in your veins.” Mr. Mapleton chuckled, just as he always did when she was around. But then she added, “Do you think you could give our Choir leader some of yours?”
With that, Mr. Mapleton threw his head back and laughed. He had a hearty laugh that caused his shoulders to jump and his knees to bend. And although she was not sure why he was laughing, she thought it was the greatest sound in the world.
“Lord child,” he had wheezed, “I have often thought that myself!” and he went on laughing, his dark eyes full of tears.
Deborah sat gleefully and listened. Never had she felt so pleased with herself. And to this day she glows when she hears him laugh.
But this morning he did not appear to be in a laughing mood. Deborah was curious as to why.
“Well, I am sure that one more barrel full won’t be to much trouble Mr. Mapleton. Just wheel it on over and I will get to it later.”
“Thank you. I will just leave it by the gate. But I have a lot to do today, and will be needing the wheel barrel back right away, so if you wouldn’t mind starting off with it this morning.”
His request struck Deborah as odd. He was not usually pushy, especially with favors.
“Of course, first thing.” Deborah tried to smile at him, but it felt awkward and out of place.
“Good, I’ll be right back then.” Mr. Mapleton did not smile back as he turned and crossed the yard. He was built like the tree his name represented. With broad shoulders, strong physical build, and the determination in his movements and face, he could be very intimidating.

- posted by Cindy @ 10:44 AM (0) comments |

 
Chapter 1- Fifth Installment

Deborah's two hours of sleep were not restful. Her dreams amplified the horror of the night's events. Travis' limp body lay before her minds eye, his gaping mouth would suddenly start trembling, with blood flowing freely from it's corners. His eyes, open wide, would turn to her and become larger as he began to whisper the name of Parker's father. Due to exhaustion, Deborah was not able to fully wake from her dream, and thus it repeated over and over again. Finally, around eight thirty in the morning, she was awakened by the meek and unsure voice of her little boy.
"Mom? Mom, are you ok? Mom?" Parker was understandably confused.
"Morning Honey." Deborah tried to sound casual.
"Why are you in my bed?" he asked bewildered.
"Well, I had a really scary nightmare and thought it would help to crawl in bed with you. You know, like you do when you have a bad dream."
"Did it work?" His green eyes lit up with the possibility that he had fought off his mothers bad dreams, just as she had done for him so many times before.
"It sure did! You're a great little dream warrior." She gave him a quick squeeze.
"Cool!" Parker's face twisted with concentration. "I wish I could remember what I did so that I could fight my own bad dreams."
"That would be great, but until then, you just keep crawling into bed with me. I kind of like it." Deborah tussled his hair and got out of bed. "You know what today is?"
"Pancake day!" He leaped from the bed and ran into the kitchen. Deborah took a deep breath, then followed him, reminding herself that she had to go on with life as normal, however difficult.
When she reached the back of her small, square house where the kitchen was placed, she found Parker setting out all the ingredients for homemade pancakes. She paused at the end of the counter and watched quietly, with a smile on her face.
Pancake day was a tradition her father started when she was around two years of age. She remembered cracking the eggs and pouring the milk. Her father never got upset about the eggshells in the mix or the milk on the floor. He would just laugh and hand her the beater. The tradition carried on until he left when she was ten. It was one of the few things she carried from her father to her son.
"Mom can we add chocolate chips today? Pleeeaaassseee?" Parker laced his fingers in begging fashion and batted his long lashes with evidence of far too much practice.
"Sure"
"Yes!" he shouted triumphantly, jumping once and running to the small pantry for the chocolate chips.
Deborah looked at the small dry erase calendar hanging on the refrigerator.
"Oh! I forgot!" She blurted out as she turned to look at Parker. "Today is your play date with Pete."
"Oh yeah! Cool."
Deborah was flustered at first, for reasons she could not explain. Then she calmed as she realized this would give her the chance to attend to the burning with out worrying how to distract Parker.
After breakfast Deborah sent Parker to get ready for Mrs. Peterson to pick him up. She reminded him to wear jeans with out holes and a shirt with out a stain. She felt a need to make sure Parker presented himself well when he went to play with Pete.
Marcy Peterson was the type of house wife that baked cookies, prepared little gourmet sandwiches for the children's lunches, hemmed her husband's pants, cooked a well balanced breakfast, and read her daily scripture, all before the kids or Mr. Peterson were even out of bed. Frankly, Deborah thought her annoying and often found herself gritting her teeth when in her presence.
Deborah always found a way to provide for Parker, and with little help from anyone. She took great pride in the small house she had managed to buy, and the limited luxuries she provided. She worked full time as the office manager for the joint office of the town library and recreation department. Her wage was just above minimum, but did offer health benefits and a retirement plan.
However, working full time, caring for a home and yard, and raising a child alone left little time for fancy meals and tea time at the Woman's Club. Half the meals were prepared in a microwave or out of a box. The house was clean, but would not pass the white glove test. Parker's clothes fit, but were well worn and far from designer.
And she rarely spent money on herself. Her wardrobe was a mix of office attire found at discount and casual wear. Her jeans often came from the second hand store and her shirts usually came from last season's sale rack. She wore her hair long and natural, because there was no room in the budget for regular styling and fancy coloring. In fact, it was her best friend, Annie, who cut her hair.
Annie was a flirty hairdresser at the only beauty salon in town. She and Deborah had been friends since the second grade, when Annie's family moved to town. Annie was one of the only people who stood by her through all the turmoil she faced at eighteen, and Deborah was very grateful to have her.
Their "Woman’s Club Meetings" consisted of Chinese take out and a movie rental. Sometimes they would do childish things; like painting each other's nails and giggle about who was hot and who was not. If either one of them was having an especially bad week, they would add a couple of beers and a few tears to the mix. But they always ended up laughing and saying good night feeling better.
Annie was always complementing Deborah on her parenting and hated it when she compared herself to Marcy. Deborah spent most of her life feeling judged, and Annie was always there to point out her qualities and successes. Deborah was sure to return the boost whenever Annie got down about her weight problem or her lack of male companionship. The two were each other's support group and biggest fan.
"Mom, where's my mitt?" Parker shouted above the sounds of toys being shuffled in his closet.
"Well, how would I know? I was not the last one to play with it." She called back from the kitchen sink. Parker’s room sat at the front of the house, next to the living room. Her room sat at the back of the house, next to the kitchen, with a small bathroom separating the two bedrooms. There was a small laundry room just at the back of the house, off the kitchen. On the right side of the laundry room was a door that led to the back porch. The porch cornered the house, and ran the length of the kitchen.
"Mooooooommm!" he cried impatiently.
"Okay, Okay! Did you try the back porch? The last time you played catch was in the back yard."
Parker ran by in a blur, letting the screen door slam behind him. Deborah watched from the window above the sink as Parker looked right past his mitt. She gently tapped on the window and pointed to the mitt that lay near the wood box.
She felt her heart race as she realized he thought she meant to look in the wood box. Panic hit her knowing that he would see her clothes and question why they were there. But her fears were quickly calmed when Parker tripped over his mitt as he raced to the wood box.
Her nerves on end, she decided to take Parker out front to wait for Pete and his mother. They tossed the ball around a bit and ended up playing tag. Just as they fell to the ground in a playful tackle, Marcy pulled up in her shinny new sport utility vehicle.
"Well good morning Debbie!" Marcy chirped as she jumped out to open the door for Parker. Deborah propped herself up on her elbows and felt her jaw tighten.
"Good Morning Marcy. Thank you for picking him up." She did her best to smile, and prayed it did not look as fake as Marcy's.
"Oh, no problem. I know your car is on its last legs, no reason to push it."
"Well I appreciate your consideration." As she stood to walk Parker over to the SUV, she could actually hear her teeth grinding. Once they reached the door, Deborah bent to kiss Parker's forehead. Much to her surprise he pulled her down for a hug.
"I like our car better, you can’t eat ice cream in hers." He whispered.
Deborah smiled and hugged him tight. She felt a lump in her throat as she realized what an observant and compassionate child he was.
After Parker sat down, Marcy immediately reached around to buckle him in. He rolled his eyes, and Deborah returned the annoyed look in silent agreement. She waved at Pete who looked embarrassed by his mother's compulsive behavior.
"So we will meet you at the park around four o'clock then?" Marcy perked as she closed Parker's door and hopped into her own seat.
"Well, with my car, all I can say is I will try." Deborah heard Parker giggle at his mother's sarcasm and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when Marcy took out a piece of paper and wrote her cell phone number on it.
"Just in case."
"Thank you. Have a good day." And she waved to Parker as they drove off.
- posted by Cindy @ 8:36 PM (0) comments |

 
Chapter 1 - Fourth Installment

Deborah moved along the narrow path as quickly as she could. Again, she could hear the little creatures scramble away from her, except this time it was she who felt intruded upon. It was intensely dark, and extremely cold. With every sound she wanted to drop and hide. She had to control that urge and keep moving forward. It was too late to back down to fear and guilt now.
When she reached the truck she used her T-shirt to wipe the door handle, both inside and out. She paid close attention to the seat belt and buckle. She looked around the cab of the truck one more time, and closed the door with a graceful bump of her hip. Her pulse was racing and her nerves were raw. She half expected to hear someone yell “Freeze!”
She quickly headed down the dusty road towards town. She had not gotten far when she heard voices. Pausing, she determined that they were the voices of the teens Travis had passed on the way in. Either these kids had no curfew, or did not care. Deborah quietly slipped into the shadows of the trees and moved silently through the tall, dense grass. She slowed her pace considerably for fear of being heard, but as she put distance between herself and their little party, she realized they were far too intoxicated to notice her.
Once she reached the highway, she stayed just inside the tree line, approximately twenty yards from the side of the road. She did not want to risk being seen by anyone if a car should pass by. She kept her pace at a safe, but fairly quick jog, as she made her way into town. The terrain was difficult and cumbersome, but she focused on her son’s sleeping form and sweet face, and pushed on as quickly as she could.
Just inside of town, she made the decision to take a detour from her previously determined route home. Although costly on time, it would later prove imperative to her survival. She turned and carefully made her way through ally after ally, and through several ditches. She avoided any signs of life and all forms of light. She completed the last task and headed for home. Over two hours after she left Travis at the river, Deborah reached the empty field behind her home.
A short barbwire fence guarded the pasture that ran the length of the entire neighborhood. Deborah tried to use her leather coat as protection as she climbed through a hole in the fence, but snagged her thigh none the less. She bit her lip to avoid yelping as the rusty thorn tore into her flesh.
Deborah knew that it would be daylight soon, and one of her neighbors was an early riser who liked to drink his coffee on the back porch every morning. She would have to run past his back yard to reach her own, and the pasture offered no cover in which to hide. Taking a deep breath, she ran at full speed through the field to her back yard. She carefully placed her foot into one of the holes in the lattes fence she had put up to create more privacy in her yard. It was only five feet high, but covered the barbwire, preventing Parker from getting hurt while playing. It proved helpful this morning. When she finally reached her back porch, she did not slow down, though her body screamed for rest.
Instead, still standing on the back porch, she stripped to her underwear, and placed all her clothes into the wood box to be burned later that morning. Deborah knew that if she was ever a suspect, she could have no evidence of being with Travis. Burning her clothes was the safest option. She had seen to many movies where some idiot had tried to wash out the stains of their sin and failed. She also knew it was silly to look to Hollywood for assistance in planning a cover up, but she had nothing else to go by.
Deborah took her keys out of her jacket before adding it to the pile in the wood box and meekly stepped into her kitchen. She quietly made her way to Parker’s room. He was sound asleep, and showed no sign of ever being awake. Deborah thanked God for keeping him still and safe.
She then proceeded to take the second longest shower of her life. The water was near a boil as she scrubbed and re-scrubbed every inch of her body. She used a nailbrush and methodically attended to every nail. And although she did not find any blood on her, she decided to scrub the shower too.
Once out of the shower, Deborah inspected the wound on her right thigh. It was fairly deep, but superficial. She treated it with the medicine that Parker hated so much. He was right, it stung like hell. Deborah threw it away and swore to never put him through that pain again. She also promised to pay more attention to his opinions, as he obviously had a justified and knowledgeable view on things.
After dressing in her nightclothes, she went around the house, checking that things were as they should be. She placed her keys back on the hook, and moved Parker’s photo from the table where Travis left it, and placed it back on the mantle where it belonged.
Feeling that everything that could be done, had been, she slipped back into Parker’s room and leaned over his bed. Deborah hurt all over, more now with fear and love, than pain and fatigue.
She pulled back his covers and carefully crawled into bed with him. Cuddling his small form, she thanked God for him and asked for forgiveness. She buried her nose in his auburn hair and repeated her prayer over and over again. Slowly Deborah drifted to sleep, exhausted and resolved in the belief that she only did what had to be done.

- posted by Cindy @ 12:53 PM (0) comments |

 
Chapter One, Third Installment -

Some time later Deborah came to. She was unsure of how much time had lapsed. But the pain stemming from the back of her head explained why time had escaped her. Unlike movies she had seen, Deborah was not groggy. She immediately remembered everything until the point of pulling the trigger. She turned her head to confirm what she already knew to be true.
The mud was cold on her cheek as she stared at the lifeless body of Travis Myers. His eyes and teeth glowed like beacons unto the heavens. Slowly Deborah rose and stood over him. She was poised ready to defend herself. She was afraid he would jump up and attack her. She was equally afraid he wouldn’t. She desperately wanted to close his gaping mouth. But, oddly, his sharp blue eyes starring blankly ahead did not disturb her. His eyes were as dead in life as they were now.
His right arm was floating in the tide pool at the river’s edge. Deborah suddenly worried that the water was too cold, then chastised herself for such a foolish thought. She shifted her eyes to his face again. The color was gone and for the first time, Deborah saw him as pale and weak. Her gaze followed his frame slowly, searching for the lethal wound.
It was difficult to find, as her gun was small and his shirt was maroon in color to begin with. She almost missed it, yet, just over his heart, his shirt shimmered in the moonlight. Deborah stared, with open jaw. How she was able to strike such a vital target during such a close and short struggle baffled her. She did not remember taking aim or even where the gun was when she pulled the trigger. Still, there it was, a direct shot into the chest.
A calm terror struck Deborah. She stopped shivering and froze like a deer in the headlights. She had to make a decision. What she did now would forever effect her life and especially the life of her son. Once the choice was made, she would have to follow through with, and stand by it for the rest of her life.
Should she turn herself in or try to cover it up?
If she contacted the authorities, would they believe that is was self-defense? He was the hometown hero that could do no wrong. His family was the most influential and wealthy in the county. Would they allow someone to claim their dear sweet son had attacked her, thus forcing her to shoot him? Could she even explain what happened? Could she justify having a gun with her? Even if they believed that he attacked her, would they believe that she had not intended to harm him when she put the gun in her pocket, or when she aimed it at him. She would have to tell them why she brought the gun. Which would ultimately produce the truth about Parker’s father.
No matter how she tried to angle it, she could not see the police or Travis’ family coming to any other conclusion but murder. And, to add to the horror, the secret of Parker’s father would be revealed.
It was a no win situation. She would go to jail, and Parker would be left behind, with the whole town hating him for his mother’s transgressions. His whole life would be destroyed, and she came here tonight to prevent that.
The fear of losing her son overwhelmed her, and Deborah made her decision. She told herself that she could do anything for Parker.
“Even this.” And with no further hesitation, Deborah went into action.
First, she did her best checking Travis for any of her clothing, hair, or blood. She wore no jewelry and was not missing any buttons. She scooped up the gun that laid between them when she awoke, and put it in her pocket. It seemed heavier and more dangerous now. She checked three times to assure the safety was on.
Deborah knelt upstream from Travis and washed her small, shaking hands and thin face. It was as much for her sanity as it was for her security. She knew that footprints would be impossible to make out among all the rocks and weeds.
As Deborah took one last look around, she stopped again over Travis’ limp body.
“Damn you Travis.” She cursed him for past hurts, for coming to her home, for threatening her son, and for attacking her. “Damn you!” Then the air caught in her throat. She realized she was cursing the man she had just killed. She had taken his life and was now damning him. Finally, tears fell from her tortured eyes.
“I’m sorry Travis. So sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I swear. No matter what you have done, you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to …” she covered her mouth and looked away. Deborah could not endure thinking about it any more, let alone looking at him. She had to focus on what needed to be done, not what she had already done. There was much to do yet, and she guessed there were precious few hours left before daylight.

- posted by Cindy @ 7:05 PM (0) comments |

 
Chapter One, Second Installment -

“Ready?” Travis piped. For a moment Deborah thought of running back inside, but she turned and locked the door instead. Facing Travis again, she approached the steps of her cheery little home. As Deborah passed him, Travis took her coat from her.
“Allow me.” He offered and readied it for her to slip on. When she did, he let his hands slide down to her hips. “Glad to see that child birth didn’t effect your little waist.” He spun her around and allowed his gaze to linger on her chest. “And I love the effect it had on your breasts.”
Deborah pulled away from him in a jerk. “You know, I really don’t need a ride Travis. So why don’t you feed this crap to some of your flunkies down at Tiny’s Bar?” Spite filled her words.
“Like I said, I want to talk about Parker’s daddy.” He retorted, knowing it would intimidate her. Deborah lowered her head. “Shall we?” he smirked as he tucked his thumb into the waist of her jeans. When they reached his oversized truck, he abused the opportunity to allow his hand to rest on her rear while helping her in.When Travis rounded the truck, Deborah closed her green eyes to hold back the tears. She refused to cry, especially in front of him.
As they drove away from her safe haven, her thoughts lingered on her son’s well being. Travis turned the radio on full volume and headed across town. It was late and quite cold, so the streets were all but empty. She didn’t bother making up some phony location for him to take her to. She knew where they were headed, and there was no way to avoid it. If not tonight, then some other, he would taker her there, just as he had done so many years ago. “But this time will be different.” Deborah vowed deep in her heart.
Travis drove to the edge of town, turning onto the old highway. He drove at top speed until the large oak marking the entrance of a long dirt road appeared. He slowed just enough to make the turn, and then gunned it again, racing towards the river. He left several cars parked at the make out spot covered in dust and gravel as he blazed by. He continued until he reached his “special spot” as described to many of the girls he took there.
He backed into the nook she remembered all too well. Travis waited for his song to finish before he turned the engine off. While waiting for him to make the next move, Deborah wiped her damp hands on her black jeans. With each moment she gathered the courage she needed to face him. After what seemed like hours, she turned and confronted him. “What the hell do you want Travis?”
“A lush, a slut, and a potty mouth!” he chuckled. She turned away in frustration. Her green eyes were not filled with tears, but fear and confusion. “Let’s go for a walk baby girl.” He demanded rather than suggested.
“Damn him!” Deborah thought as he jumped out. She used the opportunity to slip the purses’ only content into the right pocket of her jacket. One way or another she was leaving here secure in the knowledge that Parker’s father would not invade his life. She slid out of the truck, and with great resentment, allowed Travis to guide her along the narrow path to the river’s edge.
He already had her six miles from town, a total of nine from her home and son. She tried not to linger on the question as to why. Instead she focused on her footing. It was very dark, and the area was damp and over grown with vegetation. Deborah could hear small animals scurry due to their intrusion.
Suddenly, Travis stopped, turned around, and kissed her, hard. Deborah just as swiftly slapped him, hard.
“You’ve gotten feisty with age! I kind of like that.” He barely acknowledged the sting she left on his face.
“Damn it Travis, what do you want? And what do you know of Parker’s father?”
“Well, just suppose I know who his daddy is and think it is about time to reunite boy and dear old dad? Being as how he and I are sooo close and all.” He sounded like a seedy mobster.
Deborah’s head was spinning. “Bull.” She tried to call his bluff. “You don’t know who his father is.”
“Oh yes I do baby, and I think it is about time he gets to know his kid.” Travis stated smugly.
“I won’t allow it. Ever. No visitation, no letters, no phone calls, nothing.” Deborah looked him square in the eyes to make herself perfectly clear.
“Not just visitation Debbie, custody.” He returned her stare.
Deborah felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. She began to feel slightly dizzy as she tried to process what he was saying. Then, suddenly, she realized where this was going. “What’s your price Travis?”
“Who says there is one?” He almost appeared to be dancing with excitement as he realized his game was coming to climax.
“There always is with you, so name it.” She said with a face of stone.
He looked at her with hunger in his eyes. “You.”
Deborah was not expecting that response and froze in shock. He read that as a signature on the dotted line, and lunged. Instincts grabbed Deborah before Travis did. She fought him off with a few quick blows she learned at the community center eight years ago. The night grew darker around them. The anger in Travis’ eyes was pure evil, and Deborah turned equally cold.
“It’s you or the boy.” he snorted.
Deborah reached into her pocket and placed her hand around the handle of a small gun. All she could think of was her son’s sweet face and his future. “Over...” she began.
“What? Over your dead body?” He flashed his sly grin one too many times.
“No Travis,” she pulled the gun from her pocket and held it at arm’s length, ”over yours.”
Shock and disbelief distorted his tan face.
“I will not allow you to destroy the life I have struggled for. And there is no way that I will let you destroy the life of my son. So you have two choices …”
“You bitch!” and again he lunged. Deborah stumbled back and lost her footing on the mossy rocks. All she could see was Travis’ large frame and cruel eyes following her to the ground. But the chaos filled her ears. The weeds and twigs breaking, thunder rolling in from the distance, rocks and gravel giving way under them, and Travis growling.
Deborah pulled the trigger and everything went black.
- posted by Cindy @ 8:56 AM (0) comments |

 
Chapter One

She gasped. The knock at the door was loud and intrusive. Deborah dried her dish water hands on her warn black jeans. As she headed towards the front of the house, she passed by Parker’s room and quickly glanced inside. Her eight-year-old seemed undisturbed by the noise. She quietly closed his door to assure he stayed that way. The second rap on the door hurried her step. She quickly pulled the door open and the cold night air hit her face hard. But it was already frozen. She stared into the piercing blue eyes of Travis Myers. It wasn’t until he spoke that her focus shifted to the smirk that was famous around the small town of Willsonville.
“Well I knew you would be surprised, but I wasn’t expecting awe struck.” He ran his long fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. “Although, it a response I am getting use to.” He moved his well formed body towards her, and ran the back of his fingers along her slim arm. She couldn’t speak or move, although she desperately wanted to.
“After all these years, I still give you goose bumps.” he gloated huskily. Every nerve in her body was raw and she felt as if she may vomit. Her knees began to buckle and she finally moved her small frame backward a couple of inches.
She took in his full form. The well fitted jeans, the shirt that was too tight, the snakeskin boots with matching belt. All of it was obviously new. And of course the thick gold chain baring the “TMT” emblem, hanging around his neck, just as it had since Jr. high school.
“Well aren’t you going to invite me in?” Again he flashed his signature grin.
“
You’re back.” She whispered in disbelief, although she had thought of this moment a million times.
“That’s right Debbie baby, the home town here returns.” He brushed past her and into the small living room. She spun around on one heal slowly, grasping the door behind her for support.
“When?” Deborah barely managed.
“Just this morning. I surprised my parents for the 30th anniversary.” No wonder she hadn’t heard of his return, she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t expecting him.
Travis sauntered over to the quaint fireplace and took a photo of her son off the mantel. “I heard.” he remarked with a sigh.
Again she froze, her blood running cold. “What?”
“That you got knocked up right after I left. It sure didn’t take you long to replace me.” He turned to face her, his look stern.
“Replace you?” Deborah’s voice cracked. She spoke barely above a whisper, but it seemed much louder in her small, still house.
“Yeah. And with a drunken one night stand. Hell, you sure rocked this town!” He laughed too loudly and placed the frame on the coffee table. “I’m surprised that there wasn’t a headline that read “Missionary Mary’s Daughter Turns Town Slut!” printed on the front page of the town paper.” Again he shook with laughter.
But his joke wasn’t far from how the town had responded to learning that she had gone on a drinking binge and ended up pregnant. The whispers were more like side walk broadcasts. The most common comment was “Like father, like daughter.” despite the fact that her father had been gone for several years. After some time, the gossip stopped, but not before it drove her mother to an early grave.
At ten she lost her father to another woman, at eighteen her innocence on a riverbank, and at nineteen her mother to shame and heartbreak. Small towns like Willsonville thrived on juicy gossip from stories like these. Unfortunately, her family had produced more than its share of carnage for the feeding frenzy.
Travis’ voice jerked her back into the present, “So where is the little tike?” His eyes shifted to the doorway across the room. She bit her lip and after a slight hesitation instinct took over.
“At a friends house.” She lied.
“Damn, I wanted to meet the little sport.” Travis pretended to pout.
Deborah prayed that Parker wouldn’t wake at the unfamiliar sound of a man’s voice in the house. “Well he isn’t here.” Deborah stated flatly, trying to hide her fear. But she knew he was aware of it. After all, that is why he brought it up.
“Just as well,” he shrugged, “I wanted to catch up, and talk about old times.” He moved closer to her, taking the room in three long strides. She stood glued to the open door.
“Actually, I was just headed out.” Again she lied. It had become easier over the years. Deborah didn’t want him in the house. She had worked hard to build a safe world around son and self, and Travis’ mere presence threatened that.
“Oh really? Well then I’ll give you a ride.”
“That isn’t necessary.” she blurted out. Deborah had no doubt it was clear that she wanted him to leave.
“No, really,” he placed his hand on her slender cheek, “I insist.” She shivered as he twirled a lock of her dark blonde hair around his index finger. “I wanted to talk to you about Parker’s daddy.” His eyes danced in anticipation of her reaction.
She thought of her sweet little boy in the room next door. He was sleeping soundly, safe in some beautiful dream, unaware of the threat that had just been made. She had never left him unsupervised before.
“Okay, just let me get my things.” She tried to sound casual.
“Great!” Travis gloated as he strutted out unto the front porch.
In a trance, Deborah reached into the closet, past the purse that carried her wallet, and above the top shelf. She balanced on her toes to reach the purse stuffed into the small space behind a loose panel in the wall. She grabbed her black leather jacket, and shut the closet door. Retrieving her keys from the hook next to the front door, she looked over her shoulder towards her child’s room. Deborah listened for a moment and envisioned his sleeping form. “You are my life and I love you Parker.” she whispered. Then she turned and closed the door behind her.
- posted by Cindy @ 7:54 PM (0) comments |