Falter Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One - A Brand New Day

  Chapter Two - In The Eyes of Strangers

  Chapter Three - An Eye Opening Experience

  Chapter Four - A Thin Line Between Crazy and Insane

  Chapter Five - Just A Mark, or Something More

  Chapter Six - Beware of the Changing Tides

  Chapter Seven - An Inconvenient Visitor

  Chapter Eight - Where In The Hell Is Archard?

  Chapter Nine - Premonition

  Chapter Ten - A Moment of Weakness

  Chapter Eleven - Death As You Know It

  Chapter Twelve - From Fire Below To Water Above

  Chapter Thirteen - A Whole New World

  Chapter Fourteen - Friend or Foe?

  Chapter Fifteen - The Devil Is In the Details

  Chapter Sixteen - I Don’t Need No Stinking Babysitter

  Chapter Seventeen - A Choice to Be Made

  Chapter Eighteen - Who Am I?

  Chapter Nineteen - The Big Guy Upstairs

  Chapter Twenty - Book-Keeping Is Hard Work

  Chapter Twenty-One - So That’s How It’s Going To Be?

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Against My Will

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Teach Me A Lesson

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Depths Of My Soul

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Lesson Learned

  Chapter Twenty-Six - A Minute Too Late

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Making Plans

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Full Circle

  About Haven Cage

  FALTER

  A Faltering Souls Novel

  Book 1

  By

  Haven Cage

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  All artwork, on the cover and within this publication, was created by Haven Cage.

  Photograph is courtesy of John Merwin.

  Copyright © 2016 Haven Cage

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-9973811-1-5

  Published by Haven Cage, LLC

  United States

  To the husband that stood by my side throughout my journey and still loves me, without you I’d have nothing,

  To the son that inspires me to beat the resistance, may I teach you that it’s okay to think outside the box and struggle in life if it means you will achieve great things in the world,

  To the mother that gave me strength and a mind of my own, I hope my perseverance shows you that your trials were worth it,

  To the grandmother that watered my roots and nurtured my soul, may my spirit be as steady and faithful as yours one day.

  In loving memory of the father that was never my own, but was me more than I could have ever asked for.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Through the ups and downs of my journey, and the endless waiting to see if I actually got this thing launched, these wonderful people have supported, loved, encouraged, and advised me along the way. There are a ton of faithful friends and family who have stood behind me along with those listed below, who I owe thanks to as well. Without them, you would not be reading this massive jumble of words. There is not enough gratitude in the world that could ever repay those souls for what they have given.

  R. Dixon K. Mullins B. Olson C. Levesque J. Hatten P. Lucas

  L. Grubbs C. Gleave C. Okey J. Brown A. Padgett

  D. Slesinger N. Bell R. Lesslie

  My lovely betas:

  Diana Quiett Ashley Bodette Michelle Hughes Dina Alexander Tammy Bencraft Kerri Meng

  I want to give special thanks to authors Renea Mason and Rissa Blakeley. They answered an abundance of ridiculous questions through this process, taking some of my newbie anxiety away. Please look them up if you are looking for more great books to read.

  In appreciation of the author photos on my website, this book, and my profiles, I want to thank John Merwin.

  Lastly, I want to address my editor, Jaclyn Lee. Without you, this book would still be in an insufferably passive state. Thank you for making me a better writer and fueling my dreams of becoming an author. Your help has been invaluable.

  In the love of others, I have found the freedom to love myself.

  —Haven Cage—

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Brand New Day

  I sucked in a sharp lungful of oxygen. My tongue was too dry to swallow, and my teeth ached from the cold air rushing over them. An overwhelming dread yanked me from sleep too soon.

  My eyelids fluttered open, but snapped shut again. The tiny bit of light sifting through my lashes was more than my senses could handle right now. My fingers twitched next to my face, but that was the only movement I could muster. The residual heaviness of a dream weighed me down against the dank pavement and left me feeling like I was tied to a cinder block, plummeting to the base of a lake.

  I clenched my eyes shut tighter, willing the dream to stay fresh in my mind, but the more I tried to hold on to the fleeting shadows of my slumber, the quicker they slipped through the cracks of my flimsy memory.

  “Dammit,” I whispered in defeat, allowing my eyelids to relax.

  The nightmarish visions were coming more often lately, yet none of them wanted to stick. My brain couldn’t commit a single horrid image of the animations to memory, but they sure left an impact on my emotions. I awoke feeling like a truck hit me and my heart had been dragged to the depths of Hell…every time.

  I licked my dry, rubbery lips, chasing the taste of cat shit from my mouth, and lay motionless on the cold ground with my eyes closed, listening to the city awaken. It beat its eager rhythm into the new morning like a dying heart jolted back to life.

  From somewhere down the street, the shouts of a paper man broadcasting the arrival of his fresh stack of newspapers resonated against the buildings.

  “What the hell does he know? I run this company!”

  I jerked, startled by the woman on the street corner yelling into her cell phone.

  “Taxi, taxi,” she screamed while reprimanding the person on the other end of the call.

  Drawing my legs closer against my chest, curling into a ball, I silently begged for just a few more moments of rest. The pungent odor of diesel, pastries, and coffee blowing down the narrow walls of my alley squashed my attempts to fall back asleep, though.

  I covered my nose with the frayed sleeve of my shirt, hoping to lessen the strong mixture of aromas reminding me how hungry I was. My stomach growled and ached from the teasing undertones of food filling my nostrils. It had been two days since my last decent meal, and my body definitely felt the deprivation.

  The constant patter of designer heels and children running to meet their busses drove away any chance of silence; however, it did help take my mind off my hunger—it was impossible to focus on anything but the noise.

  So much noise.

  I lifted my hand and pressed it over the ear that wasn’t already smashed into the book bag under my head. I desperately tried to muffle the uproar, but failed. There was no getting away, considering every little sound echoed off the surfaces around me.

  An obnoxious siren shrieked as it barreled past my block. My sore body cringed at the sound. It was my version of an alarm clock, and it insisted that I wake up—regardless of how hard I fought.

  Releasing a frustrated growl, I slapped the pavement—because, naturally, it was the pavement’s fault I couldn’t sleep longer. I peeled myself off the cool, wet ground. Bits of grit abraded my skin as I rubbed the dampness from my face and yawned. I leaned back into the brick wall behind me, wincing at the stiffness in my joints, and stretched against tigh
t muscles to massage a knot out of my left shoulder.

  A cloud of smoke from last night’s fire wafted down the alley toward me. “Great,” I mumbled. Not only were my clothes damp, thanks to the evening drizzle, but I would smell like a campsite and the burnt steel of a fire barrel. I didn’t even get to enjoy the delicious heat that radiated from the barrel the night before—and not for lack of trying. The greedy beggars from the south side of town found their way to our alley yesterday and crowded the barrels as soon as Frannie lit the fire. From what I could tell this morning, the rain dwindled the flames down to nearly extinguished during the night.

  Pouting about the newcomers that stole my chance to be warm, I tugged my tattered blanket closer to my body and attempted to ward off the breeze grazing my neck and arms. I peered out over the gathered fabric covering my nose and mouth, cautiously watching the old, hopeless drunks stumbling a little too near for my comfort. They grumbled about the chill and their sad lives as they slowed to circle around the cooling fire barrel a few feet away. Thankfully, they ignored me and, instead, tried to savor the last flickers of flames lapping through the rusted holes in the steel drum.

  I peeked up at the sky from under the fire escape I used as shelter and tuned out the complaining, old men. The sun shined high against a clear blue background, but the tall buildings surrounding me stopped the light from touching this end of the alley so early in the morning.

  Three brick buildings joined to create the thin rectangular corridor I called home. The west wall of a museum stood as one side of the long, narrow lane, and I was leaning against the east wall of the restaurant which formed the other side.

  The restaurant wasn’t anything remarkable. It was a family owned business that served the usual southern fried foods. In reality, it was torture for people like us to be so close to the aroma of such comfort food, but this was the only alley that wasn’t riddled with gang kids, and it was fairly secluded.

  The museum, however, was remarkable to me. Funded by the state and free to the public, it supplied displays that ranged from Vincent Van Gogh’s works of art to complete teachings of how the body functioned. I visited their new exhibits every week, and in the last thirteen years, they served as a solid foundation for my education.

  The back wall of the library butted up against the museum and restaurant, dead-ending the alley. This wonderful building was my other source of education. Since I didn’t get to attend school, I soaked up all the knowledge I could from there. I spent hours hiding in the old, musty books, determined that I wouldn’t allow my mind to wither away because of my situation. The librarians watched me struggle in the beginning and then became quite eager to teach me the necessities of life once they saw my hunger to learn.

  I was very fortunate that the workers of those businesses accepted me knowing I lived on the streets. They could have easily turned their heads or removed me, hindering my chance to learn. Luckily, they admired my refusal to be ignorant.

  Engines whirred as morning drivers challenged each other in a race to their jobs. I squinted, directing my sleepy eyes toward the busy street-end of the alley. Subtle morning light reflected off the steam escaping the restaurant exhaust. Blurs of color from the passing cars blended with the rainbow of droplets spraying into the air. I stared at the pretty hues through the vapors and let my eyes lose focus.

  I noticed a plump figure entering the alley on the other side, disrupting my hazy color show. The round man stepped into the warmth spewing from the exhaust and shivered under the abrupt temperature change. He hesitated in the heat for a moment then continued to my side where he plopped down on the ground next to me.

  “It’s a new day, Nevaeh. Wake up so we can get started. I need to look for a new pair of socks today.” The old man took off one beaten, leather shoe and pointed to the bare pinky toe lodged through a hole in his tube sock.

  I smiled at George. He seemed almost proud to have worn the pair of socks to smithereens, like it was something he needed to accomplish before feeling good about a newer pair.

  “First thing’s first, we need food.” George jerked his chin toward the restaurant. “Jenna’s workin’ today, she can probably lift us something for breakfast,” he said, sliding his shoe back over the holey sock.

  “First of all, I’ve been awake.” I motioned to my face and opened my eyes as big as possible to exaggerate exactly how awake I was. “Second of all, Jenna shouldn’t risk her job just because we can’t find one.” I always felt guilty having to ask people for food.

  I gathered my belongings and hoisted myself off the ground. After shoving the stray hairs from my face and straightening my shirt, I slung my dingy book bag of clothes—enough for two day’s change—over my shoulder. That and the well-used pink blanket my grandmother knitted were about all I had in the world. The only other thing I owned, my most valuable possession, was the one thing I kept on me at all times.

  My necklace, which once draped loosely onto my chest, pulled taut around the base of my neck now. George laughed and teased me, saying that I might as well use it as an anklet because it had grown so tight, but I refused to take it off. There was still room to breathe and swallow, so what was the big deal? I cherished the fact that I’d grown into it.

  My hand found its way to the small, silver pendant, lifted it from the divot between my collarbones, and rubbed the tarnished surface as I often did. The rose engraving was barely detectable under my fingers due to years of sweat and constant fondling. I gripped my mother’s locket and dragged it back and forth across the short chain as I watched George bundle up the pack he’d stowed under a broken crate.

  The locket protected the last picture my mom and I took together. That day was a faded, almost nonexistent, glimpse of my past. She held me tight as she smiled and kissed a younger, giggling version of me. I stared at it every day and compared myself, as I am today, to the memories of when I was five. I’m a little rougher around the edges than I figured I should be at twenty-three.

  “Come on girl!” George yanked my arm and dragged me down the alley to the grand civilization that existed around our small community of vagabonds.

  I lived in this community, but I tried very hard to avoid the incriminating habits associated with street life. Stealing and lying was mostly against my nature. Unfortunately, some things were unavoidable.

  George and I worked whenever we could, whether it meant cleaning store windows for a day or doing the dishes at a low-rated restaurant. Restaurants were the best, though. Sometimes they traded food for payment, especially if they were in a pinch. In the end, we always shared whatever earnings we got.

  George was my only family, and I owed my life to him. He found me beneath a boat dock when I was around ten years old, while he was looking for a hiding place from the winter sting. He stumbled upon a girl under that dock, sopping wet and unaware of the world around her. I had a knot on my head, he says, the size of Texas. That was the beginning of my life as I know it.

  I have some early recollections of my childhood—my mother before she died, and my grandmother who raised me after her death—but most of my memories from the time I was five until the time George found me were a blank. Five years of my life just missing, as if someone tipped me over like a teapot and poured out what they didn’t want me to remember. I do remember that my father died before I was born; my mom told me stories about him all the time before I lost her too.

  The tarnished necklace and a stain-ridden blanket were the only mementos of my past he’d found with me. Being so young in the memories I had, and sustaining a fair amount of trauma to my head, I didn’t remember my address or much about where I came from. There was no way of getting back to where I started. I wasn’t even sure if my grandmother was still alive.

  Every once in a while, something sparked a flashback to a time or place I couldn’t quite recall, like little breadcrumbs leaving hints about who I was before. However, they are only bits and pieces—never enough to fill in the holes.

  “Come o
n, we’ll be late gettin’ the day started, and all the good work’ll be taken,” George called out. “Bill was talkin’ bout a position opening at Joe’s Café last night. Maybe it’s a waitressin’ job and you’ll get it. You’re pretty enough. You can make some good tips.” I followed as he clumsily weaved his way down the streets.

  George was right. I was pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Smart enough, too. It’s just very difficult to convince someone to hire a young woman with no past, no social security number, and no address.

  “Let’s make a stop at the Banquet Hall. They have nice bathrooms and those soaps that make me smell like lavender.” I smiled with delight. I almost caught a whiff of the sudsy perfume just talking about it.

  He looked back at me, rolled his tired eyes, and chuckled. “I really don’t think it matters how you smell as long as you don’t stink like ya do now, kid!”

  George winced when I skipped to his side and playfully punched his arm.

  “Man, I don’t understand how a small little thang like you can punch like the back end of a mule.” He rubbed circles over his shoulder and cowered away from my reach.

  “Aw, it didn’t hurt that bad. I guess I’ll have to take it easier on you from now on, old man.” I grinned and jogged past him backwards, provoking a race.

  George’s pout curved into a sly smile, then his still-spry bones kicked into gear, pounding the sidewalk in an attempt to catch up. I led us farther into the city, turning this corner and that along the way. Heavy breathing and an occasional raspy cough warned me that George wasn’t too far behind.

  We reached the Banquet Hall minutes later and stopped at its steep steps to take in the impressive facade. Tall, stark white pillars stood in regal contrast to the classic, red brick building. White shutters and baskets of red and blue pansies decorated each large window. To most, the Hall was the epitome of old, southern charm, and what it held within only supported those feelings.