Posts by Dee

*SneakPeek* Fading Shadows: Part 1

Posted on 07/07/2012

Thunder reverberated against the entire bus and Rue shuddered visibly. Lifting a wary glance up at her windshield, she clenched her jaw as the raindrops pattered against the glass uneventfully. Three days now and the rain had not stopped. Every single day in this cursed town. Why hadn’t she listened to the weather forecast instead of her resistant optimism? Even after the last thunderstorm last night, she still had the audacity to forget her umbrella. Although it was worn and practically broken from much use, it was better than getting soaked in the cold rain.

A squeak jolted her from her wandering thoughts as the bus jerked to a stop in front of a canopy at the side of the road. There were a few people standing there, cloaked in dark jackets, huddled under the umbrellas. Smart ones, Rue muttered begrudgingly and tore her eyes away when the driver opened the door for them to enter. A cool breeze swept along the bus floor and brushed against Rue’s bare legs.

Another stupid idea. She wore a knee-length skirt and flats, her favorite maroon corduroy mary-janes. Why hadn’t she checked outside before leaving the apartment? Rue mentally slapped a palm to her face and muffled a groan.

Someone cleared their throat above her and Rue peeked through one eye, jerking upright when she noticed a tall young man with a gray hooded sweatshirt over his head and covering most of his face, droplets of rain leaving dark spots on his clothes.

The young man braced his dark, slender hands on the railing above his head as the bus shuffled on, splashing puddles along the sidewalk. Rue glanced down at the seat beside her and slowly moved her heavy backpack and book. Wordlessly, the man lowered his long frame beside her and Rue shifted in her seat so their shoulders would not touch. Not that she was unsociable. She just loved her personal space and with this giant of a man sitting beside her, his long legs practically squished in the limited area in front, she wasn’t too comfortable.

Rue looked away, a smile twitching her upper lips and she focused her gaze to the dark, ominous sky beyond the window. Another bleak Wednesday, dark puddles of cold rain.

“Who knew another day would be like this?” a deep, heavily accented voice from behind her jarred her back to reality and Rue glanced from the corner of her eyes.

Her heart jumped at the man’s chocolate brown eyes stared back at her, mirth filled in those dark depths. Rue merely blinked at him silently. He’d lowered the hood of his sweater and she mentally traced his strong face that seemed familiar for an odd reason. High forehead, straight brows,  his square jaw was covered with trimmed facial hair, and his parted full lips now curled in a amused smile.

“Uh…” was all she managed to say.

He then shrugged, snapping Rue out of her brief trance. “They say this is one of the rainy cities in the U.S.” His shoulders lifted and lowered in one quick motion and Rue only responded with another silent blink. Giving her a smile, the man finally turned away again, focusing his gaze in front of him.

Rue glanced away and her brow furrowed at the ease of which he spoke to her. His accent seemed familiar but she thought nothing further than that.

She didn’t have much time to delve more on it when the bus jolted to a stop, the tires screaming in protest against the slippery slope. Rue barely managed to stop herself from banging her head against the chair in front of her. The passengers shuffled to their feet and trudged toward the only bus door. Rue stood on cue and the man beside her stepped back so she could pass in front. In response, she kept her head bowed, a ‘thank you’ lodged in her throat.

Once she stepped out from under the shelter of the bus, the patter of rain slammed hard against the cement, welcoming her with loud mockery. With a bleak stare at the passengers whipping out their trusty umbrellas, casting an array of colorful patterns below the sky, Rue reluctantly shifted from the bus.

Bracing herself for the assault of rain, Rue was surprised that only her bare legs were sprayed with the cold water. She snapped her head up and her eyes widened at a dark-green umbrella looming over her head. A dark, slender hand clutched the metal rod and Rue followed the arm to the familiar face from the bus. Him! She swallowed hard at the amused grin on his face and glanced away.

“You did not bring your umbrella?” he asked, amusement hinted in his deep voice. “Well, no matter. I will escort you to your destination.”

Rue frowned and looked back up. “You cannot. I–” His hand rested on her shoulder and gently pulled her away from the ensuing traffic of people shuffling past them, heading for their destination. Her anger outweighed her gratitude for his unyielding chivalry. Who was this man?

He chuckled, only adding kerosene to the flame in Rue. “We go to the same school. It is not a problem for me. I promise.”

The rain slapped against the nylon of his umbrella and it was then Rue realized that the dark spots had grown larger. He was getting wet while trying to be chivalrous.

Rue shook her head and stepped back from the welcoming shelter of his umbrella. “Don’t worry about it. It is my fault for not being prepared. Thank you anyway.”

Chin tilted in a stubborn stance, Rue turned away quickly and stalked across the street before he could protest, evading the oncoming cars. She didn’t notice the widened smile of the stranger, watching her from the bus-stop with his umbrella still held out.

A drenched cat was an understatement for what Rue resembled, dragging her wet shoes into the building. Her braided hair hung like wet rags over her forehead, her clothes dripping and leaving little puddles along the trail she followed. The cool draft from above only sent shivers along her already-frigid body and Rue struggled to keep her lips from chattering. She should’ve accepted that man’s umbrella.

Realizing her stray thoughts, Rue stiffened her spine and continued on. No time for self-pity. There was no time for regrets. She had too many of those and it only weighed her down, affecting her performance.

Just as she pushed open the glass door leading to the laboratory, a clink sound from behind her startled Rue.

“You’re late. And wet. Again,” a voice followed and Rue didn’t bother turning around.

“Yeah, I know,” she merely responded, shuffling to the closet. Opening it slowly, she managed a smile at the sight of her dark-green scrubs, shoes and a nylon bag hanging on a hook at the back.

“Forgot the umbrella again?” the voice was a little closer and Rue merely shrugged. “Idiot.”

Rue rolled her eyes, reaching for the bag and her scrubs. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

Rue turned around, catching the smug look on her friend’s painted face. Even on a rainy week like this and the girl still had time to put on layers of foundation, eccentric eye-makeup and dark lipstick.

Her colleague raised a pierced brow at her. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing…” Rue muttered diffidently and shuffled out of the door, ignoring the sharp retort behind her.

Leaning against a wall of the restroom that reeked of formaldehyde and Lysol spray, she released a heavy sigh. After three months of working here, she was still trying to get used to all of this. Being late, dodging half-hearted insults from her colleague, and not to mention having her favorite shoes drenched and possibly ruined. Living in Kent was not getting any easier by the day.

Forcing her shoulders back, Rue pushed away from the wall and walked to the lockers on the other side, quickly changing into her scrubs for the day.

Work proved to be a great feat, from answering her boss’ barking demands as well as struggling to keep her teeth from chattering loudly. Lunchtime didn’t come soon enough and her hollow stomach let her know it in ten-minute intervals after noon. Somehow, she managed and time gave her grace.

Dragging her feet across the linoleum floor, Rue wandered to the cafeteria, groaning at the hustle and bustle as employees and bosses alike stood in line, talking as though there was no sign of authority or positions mentioned. Friends and acquaintances laughed in a frazzled mess as clinking of dishes and trays against metal echoed along the walls.

Nursing an ensuing headache, Rue merely nodded while her colleague chatted on about her date last night. She, on the other hand, was more concerned with what kind of cheese they had this time. Last lunch break, the cafeteria crew gave their meek apologies for the crusty American cheese. Rue merely nodded and bypassed the entire meal. If the cheese wasn’t fresh, the meal was not meant to be eaten.

One look at the long line told Rue that her stomach would be crying loudly for the next thirty minutes. Tamping down a sigh, Rue picked up a tray and shuffled to the end of the line, peering over a woman’s shoulder to see what was on the menu.

“Smoked turkey and seasoned rice,” a familiar deep voice drifted over her head. Rue’s heart skipped a beat like it did at the bus station and she swallowed hard. The man chuckled. “We meet again.”

Rue nodded mutely, cursing herself for her stupidity. Once was enough. Why must they keep this up?

“What a coincidence that we meet again,” he drawled slowly as the line shuffled on.

This time Rue glanced behind her, eyes widening at his mirth-filled eyes dancing against the fluorescent light. Was he reading her mind?

“I am Hezekiah Gray,” he nodded with a smile as if she’d asked him that aloud. “Call me Gray.”

Rue glanced down for a moment, taking note of his black Adidas shoes before looking up again. “Ruelle,” she answered softly. “Call me Rue.”

“Rue,” he repeated and by the way he whispered her name, his eyes steady on hers made Rue shiver again, this time the cold draft not the culprit. What was it about him that made her unsteady? “Nice to meet you.” His eyes scanned her frame before returning to her face. “I see you made it here safe then.”

Rue’s cheeks warmed and she looked away, grateful the line was now moving. It was a little hard to hear his voice over the noise but she wasn’t about to ask him to continue speaking.

“May I help you?” the cafeteria lady said, her hairnet sagging over her salt and pepper curls.

Rue cast her gaze on the menu above even though she knew what the special was. “Can I have a loaded baked potato with everything but bacon bits? Broccoli on the side.”

The woman nodded and hobbled to the end of the line, dishing out a plate of the pasty-looking potato. Rue glanced behind her again, her cheeks warming when she caught Gray’s gaze. She snapped her head back to face the glass separating her from the warm food. Was he just staring at her?

“Here you go,” the woman interrupted her musings, handing her the plate of food.

“Thank you,” Rue mumbled and stepped forward just as Gray huskily ordered his meal. Deciding to retreat back to her laboratory to eat instead of facing this strange man, Rue shuffled away before Gray noticed.

Unfortunately he did and instead of following her, he merely smiled and looked away, finding a seat alone by the window.

Pressing her back against the wall, Rue waited for footsteps or a knock or his voice. Nothing. Just the constant droning of the air conditioner above her. Releasing a sigh of relief, Rue glanced down at her food and rolled her eyes. The woman had forgotten to remove the bacon bits. With a heavy sigh that reflected just how her day was going from bad to worse, Rue began picking out the offending dried meat.

—-

On the other side of town, the clicking of metal against metal could be heard as the cloaked, dark-haired man stared out the window from the fiftieth floor of his glass paned penthouse. In the background, the soft but resonant voice of the late Pavarotti echoed along the walls of his living room. It was still raining and that was slowly grating his nerves. Plans were delayed. How he hated rainy days.

Just then, a door slammed interrupting his melancholic thoughts and the man threw a scowl over his shoulder. “Can you not knock first–what is it?” he straightened up, pushing the knife in his back pocket.

“The girl, she is here…” a stout, balding man spoke breathless as though he’d just run a marathon and lost miserably. He struggled to breathe before continuing his news report, angering the man in front of him. “Alone.”

A slow smile spread across the former’s face, all remnants of the scowl fading except for the permanent furrow of his brow. “Good…” he murmured, placing both hands on his hips. “Get them ready. We move out tonight.”

The breathless man hobbled out the door to fulfill the order and the other man turned around to face the window. Lifting to his lips a cup filled with a dark crimson liquid, the man smiled with evident pleasure.

<<Cover || Part 2>>

Categories: Fading Shadows

Tagged: , , ,

Strangers of the Past: Part IV

Posted on 06/07/2012

He could still picture the confusion in their dark-brown eyes, the tears welling up as he finally told them about the woman who he called wife from more than eight years ago. Apologizing to the children was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, asking for their forgiveness that he hadn’t told them much about Hannah. They’d sat by the stairs that night when he told Tierra the news…

John tightly closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. Telling himself that Hannah could still be alive, his heart fluttered painfully as his mind pictured her sweet face, a teasing glint dancing in her eyes. His ears twitched, longing to hear that low voice whispering her love for him. How he missed that woman terribly.

“John?” a voice that sounded equally low and prodding as Hannah’s interrupted his turmoil and he snapped his eyes up, heart stuck in his throat. Tampa’s worried eyes met his.

He blinked and glanced down, a pang of guilt overwhelming his nostalgic thoughts of Hannah.

Tampa placed a hand on his shoulder, understanding the look of turmoil in his eyes. “It’s time,” she said gently, helping him to his feet.

The two walked into a dimly-lit room where two men sat opposite two empty chairs. One of them who John recognized as Tampa’s husband, Marcus, gestured silently to the chairs. Both Tampa and John quietly took their seats. A second later, the other man stood and clicked a button that flipped off the lights.

John blinked as a projector light flashed onto the empty wall to his left. All four turned to face the makeshift projector screen that showed an island with iridescent blue waters and a bright green forest surrounding it. John swallowed hard, trying not to remember Martinique and Hannah’s bright smile.

“St. Lucia,” the unnamed man spoke, his voice low and gravely as if he’d been smoking for years. “A volcanic island that has been around for centuries. Home to approximately 1.8 million people, this island in the Caribbean is known for vibrant environment and amazing festivals.”

John shifted his gaze to Tampa who couldn’t stop gazing up at the beautiful pictures of the festivals, the smiling faces of St. Lucian residents and the luscious-looking fruit presented on the slideshow. He glanced over at Marcus who looked equally enthralled by the island’s sights. With a low grunt, John focused his attention back on the screen, hoping he hadn’t wasted his time agreeing to this idea.

“Among those people who call this island their home, there lurks a group that remains unidentified by the government… “ the man started to say, flipping to a picture that had both John and Tampa openly cringing. Tampa averted her gaze immediately and John’s brow furrowed deeply.

He turned to face the man. “What is the meaning of this?”

The man paused, glancing down at the scowling man opposite Marcus’ wife. “Meaning of what?”

Marcus cleared his throat to get John’s attention. “Just wait a little.”

“No,” John stood to his feet. “I thought I made it clear yesterday.” He glared down at Tampa. “I thought you told him.”

Tampa bit her bottom lip. “Just hold on, John. Please.”

“Your family is right,” the man spoke calmly, undeterred by John’s misplaced anger. “Before we head down to St. Lucia, I have to debrief you on a few things about the place.” He smiled patiently. “I wouldn’t want you to be vulnerable in an unknown place.”

John clenched his jaw at the man’s patronizing tone. “I’ve been to neighboring islands in the Caribbean,” he said in a hardened voice to match his irritation with this man. “Why do we have to search for my wife among a bunch of gang members?”

“He’s not saying that,” Marcus muttered. “John, we can’t just enter the country saying demanding for them to hand Hannah over. We have to acclimate ourselves in their culture, get them to trust us so that we can find her easier.”

“That’s if she’s even in St. Lucia. Why do you have to look among gang members like we’re crime fighters?” John snapped back, hating the idea of his loving wife becoming prey to violent men.

Both Marcus and his unnamed partner exchanged bewildered looks. “Who said anything about crime-fighting?” Marcus inquired, bemusement in his voice that had John’s jaw clenched tightly.

“St. Lucia is our first stop,” the unnamed man answered. “We’re going with the missionary team, working with their security and administration team. In turn, they’re offering to help us with the missing people in the local towns all over St. Lucia.” He then extended a hand with an easy smile on his shadowed face. “By the way, I’m Charles Hapta.”

John stared at the man’s hand before he hesitantly held out his own. “I figured that… Jonathan Holden.”

“Figured as much,” Hapta said, grinning openly now. He squeezed John’s hand firmly. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Holden.”

—

A week later and John found himself sitting across Hapta in the compact cubicle of a helicopter, among a few other passengers including Marcus. Tampa stayed behind by Marcus’ request, to take care of both their children and John’s. Also, he worried that if they found Hannah, her reaction at seeing her sister after such a long time could jeopardize their mission. Although John could’ve argued that his reaction would be just as catastrophic to whatever mission these two hardened cops were putting together.

Still he kept his criticism to himself, grateful for the chance to look for Hannah again. After returning home later that night to the questioning eyes of his children and the vivid pictures of St. Lucia, the hope of finding Hannah returned to him in full force. He found himself staying up later than usual, scanning through pictures of the vibrant island, reading up on its culture and reviving the language he and Hannah learned while living in Martinique. By the time Tampa called him the next morning, John himself asking about the earliest flight for St. Lucia with her husband and Mr. Hapta.

More than thrilled by his decision, Tampa didn’t waste any time convincing Marcus that the widower was ready for the trip to St. Lucia. In no time after the call, John waved to Tampa and the bleary-eyed, groggy children before stepping around the divider and handed over his passport and ticket to the flight hostess standing outside the door.

He gave his children one last look, feeling bad for carrying them from their beds to say goodbye but he hoped they understood what he had to do. His heart fluttered, glancing down at his youngest child that clung tightly to Tampa’s hand, inserting the other in his mouth. How old would he and Hannah’s child be if he was alive?

“Mr. Holden, right this way,” the hostess pointed to the open door behind him.

John peeled his eyes from watching his children and nodded, turning away hesitantly. The long walk down the ramp to the plane door was the longest walk he’d taken in a while, he could pick out his youngest child’s cry among the chatter of the airport. Swallowing the hardened lump in his throat, he continued forward and offered a wan smile to the beaming host waiting with a hand extended.

“Welcome to Southwest Airlines, sir.” The host stepped aside and John ducked inside to meet both Marcus and Hapta sitting inside.

A few hours later and John blinked against the light rays shining through the window as he tried to peer out into the vast blue ocean below. There was no land in sight.

“In a few minutes, you’ll see it,” Hapta answered easily, giving the anxious man a smile.

John nodded and turned to Marcus sitting next to him. The man lay back, his mouth propped open as he breathed in and out rhythmically. Tampa’s husband had been sleeping since the plane took off from Florida, their second flight almost five hours ago.

Though the plane had other passengers and Hapta sat in between a sleeping couple, the police officer peered around the snoring woman to openly stare at John. “So have you decided what you intend to do if you see her?”

John shifted his gaze to the inquisitive man. “What do you mean?” his brow furrowed in concern. He hadn’t planned that far.

“Well, it’s not a given that the island doctors we’re going to meet will know anything, but it’s worth a try.” He leaned back in his seat. “Think about it for the next hour… I have a feeling once you see her, it might be tougher then to decide.”

Left alone with his thoughts, John leaned back in his seat and stared out the window down at the blue sea. His heart skipped a beat as the realization dawned on him. He hadn’t expected to meet her right away, anticipating that his stay at St. Lucia would prove unfruitful. His brow furrowed deeper. Why did he feel as though his former prediction of missing Hannah at this island would prove untrue? What if he saw her immediately as they arrived?

A gentle nudge jarred John back to reality and the man swiped at his mouth, opening his eyes to see Marcus smirking down at him. “We’re here.”

From the intercom, a gentle voice informed the passengers now rustling in their seats of their arrival. “On behalf of American Airlines, welcome to St. Lucia. We are now in Hewannora International Airport in Vieux Fort, one of St. Lucia’s largest towns. The weather is 86 degrees Fahrenheit and partially cloudy. Expect the weather to remain beautiful.”

“I can’t wait to scuba dive!” the woman beside Hapta gushed over his shoulder at her equally-beaming husband. Hapta stepped around them and came to stand by Marcus who was tugging his suitcase from the overhead hamper.

John stretched his stiff back and looked up at Hapta, raising a brow at the man’s expectant gaze.

“Had enough time to think about it?” the police officer asked.

“Think about whatever it is after we get off the plane,” Marcus mumbled, pushing another suitcase into Hapta.

John stepped around them to walk down the aisle where his own suitcase was stored.

As the three stoic men stepped off the plane among the excited tourists, they were greeted by a group of St. Lucian residents near the airport’s entrance.

A strong but warm gust of air suddenly swept under John’s feet, stroking his arms and the stunned man felt himself quickly getting reacquainted with the island’s breeze. Taking in a breath of the salty air, a wistful smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he scanned the airport bounded by the dark mountains behind.

By his side, Marcus and Hapta caught notice of his nostalgic expression and shared a smile, knowing they’d made the right decision in convincing him to come with them.

A woman extended a coral, cone-shaped, long-stemmed flower to John and the three men blinked at the strange flower, except John’s eyes filled up instantly. The three men continued inside the airport, a boisterous hallway filled with tourists and residents alike.

Marcus pointed to the flower in John’s hand, having noticed his brother-in-law’s expression. “What flower is this?”

“Ginger Lily, a local flower,” Hapta said matter-of-factly.

“It was one of Hannah’s favorites,” John said simultaneously and the two officers shared another look over John’s head as the man pressed his nose against the petals of the strange flower.

—

Ameya smiled to herself as she bent over a bed of herbs, plucking a handful and placing them in the basket pressed in the crook of her arm. Her eyes scanned the perfectly green plants, her fingers stroking each petal before she cradled a plant and gently pulled it from the earth. A gentle warm breeze swept around her, tugging at the hem of her shirt. Except once the air passed by, the tension behind her didn’t.

With a soft chuckle, she peered over her shoulder and smiled lovingly at the child holding onto her shirt with the other hand near his mouth. His piercing slate-colored eyes blinked at her, causing her heart to ache at his sorrowful expression.

“Tomas…” Wiping her free hand on her dark linen pants, she tugged at his arm until the young boy’s thumb slipped from his mouth. Clucking her tongue, she pulled him onto her leg and kissed his soft, warm cheek. “Ti mamay…” She gently asked if the child was hungry to which he nodded, leaning against her shoulder.

Giving him another kiss on his brow, Ameya stroked his downy hair and rubbed her thumb along his temple. “Where did you go play?”

The boy ducked his head shyly, not wanting to answer her.

Ameya twisted her lips and peeked down at him as he nestled close to her. Shifting her legs so that she could sit a few steps from her carefully-groomed herbs, she placed the half-full basket of herbs beside her and focused her attention on the mute child.

“Tomas? Ou byen?” Her brow furrowed at his warm temperature but before she could prod further, a voice over the small mole hill called out her name.

Straining to look behind the tall reeds of grass and two bent palm ferns, Ameya answered back. “Isit!” Her hand gently stroked the quiet boy resting in her arms, her eyes watching for the person calling for her to emerge from behind the trees.

“Ameya, te vini!” A lanky, dark-skinned man clad in a simple white shirt and pants gestured her forward.

With one look at the boy in her arms, Ameya nodded at the man who walked over to her side. Handing Tomas to the man who positioned the boy onto his back, Ameya bent to pick up her basket. “Mèsi!” she called her thanks and sprinted with her basket to the truck sitting at the bottom of the hill.

With one glance at her dear son being cradled by Frances, her housemate, Ameya put the car on drive and maneuvered the car along the bumpy terrain to the narrow street. Up ahead, she zoomed past the sign stating Hewannora International Airport was 10 miles further. Most times she ignored the sign, having passed it often on her way to work but her work now awaited her at the coastal airport.

Signaling Ameya stepped on the accelerator and made a left turn onto a wider street full of cars. With a quick glance at the blinking clock on her dashboard, she held back her sigh of impatience and trucked forward to make it for her next assignment with the newest band of tourists that had just arrived from Florida.

<<Part 3 || Part 5>>

Categories: Strangers of the Past

Tagged: , , ,