Lillian’s tearful smile was impossible to hide now. She had dreamed about this moment for so long. Her mother was finally speaking to her again, so she attempted a hug that was in no way reciprocated.
“Your father wept in the delivery room. We both did.”
“Oh, Mom.” More tears of joy fell down Lillian’s face.
“I knew in that instant that my life was over. I had known it for nine months by then, but it wasn’t real until this thing, this parasite, clawed its way out of me and into the world, screeching and howling, Give me more. This creature wanted to ruin my body. Now it wanted to ruin my life. Hadn’t you taken enough from me already? Had I the fortune to live in another time, perhaps only a hundred years ago, I would have left you in the forest for the beasts.”
Lillian crumpled to the floor, sobbing. It was as if an invisible hammer had smashed the girl flat.
Nisha was frozen, horrified.
Isabelle stood with her fists balled tight. Her skin was a black silhouette against the bar’s lighting, and her eyes were filled with rage and hatred. She spoke through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you chase your father into that cabin? I would have preferred the dog live over you.” She spat at Lillian.
Thick phlegm washed down the girl’s face. It mixed with her tears and the mucus dripped from her chin to pool beside her hands on the floor.
Isabelle continued. “Make no mistake, girl, I despised your father, but I always hated you the most. If you’re looking for love, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
The two burly men approached. They reeked of far too many hours of drink. The more coherent of the two sized Isabelle up and slurred, “How much?”
Isabelle didn’t bother to even look at the men as she replied. “Fifty chits each upfront.”
The men threw down their chits without hesitation. She would charge more next time.
“Mom, don’t do this,” Lillian begged.
“You have no mother,” Isabelle shot back before she finished her drink in one large gulp. She slid the men’s payment into her bag and gave it to the bartender. “Hold this for me,” she said without another word or so much as a glance for her daughter’s benefit while she left with the two men.
Lillian hid her face in her hand like a child—like if she couldn’t see it, this wasn’t really happening. Her other arm was draped tightly across her stomach in a desperate bid to hold back vomit.
Nisha swooped in and pulled Lillian to her feet. “Come on, honey,” she said as she took Lillian into her arms. “Let’s get you out of here.”
~~~
An orange glow illuminated the horizon; the light coming off it rivaled the moon in its brilliance. Haven sailed past Charleston, South Carolina, sometime before dawn; the city was in flames. Large groups of spectators were gathered on every deck and balcony of the starboard side of the ship. Hundreds of people were taking in the spectacle of a city burning to the ground. All afternoon and into the evening, the ship was abuzz with the coming curiosity. Everyone on board knew that Haven would be passing Charleston late in the night; the smoke plume could be seen from a hundred miles away. That much smoke could only be from a fire the likes of which was rarely seen in the modern world.
While the tragedy was nothing more than entertainment for most of Haven’s residents, Trix was taking it especially hard. This once-proud coastal community now consumed by flame brought back a flood of memories for her. The scene before her recalled the fate of Miami, a city she loved like no other. Months ago—after Haven began its journey north—they sailed past Miami in the night, and much like this night, the city was engulfed in flames. An unstoppable inferno tore through the metropolis, destroying everything in its path.
Miami had been Trix’s home for nearly six years before the crisis—before all this, when the most trying part of her day was waiting in line for a coffee before work. In those days, she would laugh off the comments of the drunken late-night customers at the bar she tended; dealing with assholes was a part of the job. But there was always something about that coffee line and the shop’s patrons that rankled her every nerve.
The ones that lived in perpetual outrage and the self-important would-be do-gooders infuriated her. They ran their mouths about this cause and that, all while speaking for unknown and assumed victims. Always offended on someone else’s behalf. They had no idea who Trix was or what life had thrown her way. She would eavesdrop on these conversations and these so-called heroes patting each other on the backs and demonizing everyone who didn’t see the world through their own narrow view. She wanted to shake them and scream, You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about! But she never did; she let them sip their coffee and think that they were saving the world whether it needed saving or not. They hadn’t a clue about what life was like for her.
Fuck them! Miami was her town, and at night, she came alive with it. The later the hour, the more her people rose their heads. The outcasts and those shunned from society—after dark, they were all equals. They were all free to dance and drink until sunrise and sleep during the day when the boring people toiled away at monotony, only to rise again when the moon was high. They were the creatures of the night, and she loved them as she loved that city. Now it was all gone. Trix watched that night as the remnants of some of the fondest memories of her life were reduced to ash and rubble.
Now, with Charleston, she would switch between averting her gaze and piercing the inferno with a cold stare as if her anger alone could douse the flames.
Vanessa stayed silent while she held Trix in her arms; she had watched her own home burn down around her and was all too familiar with the pain. Trix didn’t ask Vanessa to stay up and watch Haven sail past Charleston with her; Vanessa offered.
After Trix had properly said goodbye to Miami for the second time, she and Vanessa retired to her drinking establishment and an empty sofa. Trix’s bar was closed this time of night, so the women sat and talked until well past sunrise. They discussed everything from lost loves to lives as outcasts trying desperately to fit in. The two of them had much more in common than either of them could have imagined until they watched Charleston burn together.
Trix eventually fell asleep in Vanessa’s lap. The hour was already past late, so instead of waking her, Vanessa let herself drift off as well. The two of them could open the bar together in a few hours. Lillian and Cortez would understand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Green Dress
In celebration of Soraya’s return—after she had only been aboard his ship for a week—Captain Kayembe hosted a lavish dinner party in Haven’s main ballroom. Though he had never met the woman, if she meant so much to Miller, he would extend the courtesy. On Kayembe’s insistence and in a surprising departure from the norm, most of Miller’s former road companions were invited to this gathering. It was a reunion and a celebration but formal nonetheless—a black-tie affair—and suitable attire would of course be rented out. The men wore black tuxedos and bow ties while the women were fitted for luxurious gowns and allowed to borrow extravagant jewelry. Haven’s wardrobe was considerable, a benefit left over from thousands of pounds of abandoned luggage.
Radzinski and Damon, who of course had been banished to Underworld, were excluded from the festivities. Likewise, Marisol had Lancaster scrubbed from the list. Nisha declined her invitation—she claimed she wasn’t feeling well—and Isabelle couldn’t be found.
Kayembe sat at the head of the table; his wife, Raeni, occupied the opposite chair. Cortez sat to his right beside Trix, and on the captain’s left were two empty seats reserved for Miller and the guest of honor.
The Pepperbush survivors and Haven’s people filled in the remaining seats around the immense table. The mixed group—some meeting for the first time—were engaged in a conversation that ran the gamut from warehouse work to life on the road, the inner workings of the ship, and more. A group like this from nearly all walks of life that called Haven home rarely came together.
The guest of h
onor entered the ballroom arm in arm with Miller. Soraya was stunning in a long, sleeveless, green sequin dress with a plunging neckline accentuated with bicep-length white dinner gloves. She wore her long black hair down; it flowed to just below the small of her back. Dangling emerald earrings and a long matching necklace with a gem the size of a baby’s fist finished off the look. As she approached the table, the stones glimmered in the dim light.
The other women who lived with her on the road stood as she entered; they were clapping furiously for the return of a long-lost friend. They were adorned in immaculate dresses themselves, each one a different color. Marisol wore brown; she clapped the loudest. Samantha, in red, blotted teary eyes. Casandra was in gold, and Vanessa and Lillian were in blue and yellow, respectively. Aiko wore white. Haven’s tailor was able to work magic for the expectant mother even at seven months pregnant.
They were joined by Ahole and Genevieve and Petrova and Joelle. Simon wore the only white jacket in the room; Kayembe side-eyed him over it but said nothing on the matter. An empty seat was left in respect for Bull, who remained in a coma. Ulrich never attended such things and Alex declined; a night like this was far too fancy for her. She didn’t want to appear disinterested, so she made a point to socialize with Soraya earlier in the day. They would get to know each other well in the coming weeks, she promised. Arnold was also in attendance, and Todd and his wife, Imogen, rounded out the guest list.
The evening’s entertainment was a private performance by the twins, Lixue and Meifeng. One played the violin and the other a cello. Little was known about them, save for that they were twin sisters from Shenzhen, China. Even their names were a mystery for most. They claimed to be famous musicians—the women certainly played like it—though their melancholy choice of tune could have been considered inappropriate for the otherwise merry occasion.
Sweet Lips and the kitchen staff outdid themselves. The spread for this event was borderline extravagant. Sweet Lips dipped into his private stash of goat just for the occasion, as well as serving up three chickens. Goat loin chops, and mutton vegetable soup was served along with chicken breast that was marinated in a lemon garlic sauce. Homemade single-serving chicken pot pies were made for everyone, and a selection of shellfish and tuna steaks were also prepared. Vegetables fresh from the garden accentuated every dish, as well as fresh bread baked just this afternoon. As was his signature, Sweet Lips serenaded the guest of honor with his ukulele and a song about a fisherman lost at sea only to be returned to his family after all hope was lost. Soraya was almost in tears as Sweet Lips bid his guests to celebrate and enjoy their meals.
“A toast,” said Captain Kayembe as he raised his glass. “To lost love found.”
The table followed suit.
“Together,” he continued, “we truly can achieve the impossible.”
Miller nodded at Kayembe in silent appreciation for the captain making the time for him to return to Poseidon’s Rest. That was a gesture that Miller wouldn’t soon forget.
Soraya was seated beside Genevieve, who was all smiles. A gathering like this was nearly enough to make the Frenchwoman forget—if only briefly—the reality of the world they now found themselves in. She leaned in close to Soraya’s ear to speak; the dining hall was loud, even considering the small, private gathering. Much of that noise was coming from her significant other and his tales for those in attendance. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Genevieve said.
“All good I hope,” answered Soraya with a quick peek toward Miller.
Genevieve replied, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Tell me about it,” Ahole added. “Seeing you off the road like this, I may be in the market to trade up.”
Soraya blushed; she didn’t know what to say or how she should feel about the Aussie’s comment. Genevieve and Miller simply shook their heads.
Genevieve helped ease Soraya’s embarrassment by offering, “What my not-so-better half is trying to say is that you look beautiful tonight.”
“I thought that’s what I said?” Ahole clarified through a mouthful of food.
“Thank you, I think.” Soraya stuffed her mouth full of bread to avoid having to continue this conversation.
“You’ll get used to him,” said Miller with a smile. “I promise.”
At the other end of the table, Todd’s wife, Imogen, was exhilarated by all the new faces. Her attention darted from one to the other, and she eyed up each of them frantically. Imogen didn’t get out much—she had become a sort of recluse in the days following the outbreak and spent most of her time alone in their cabin. As such, she didn’t socialize often. At least that was the excuse Todd would use when explaining her drunken behavior.
“I want that one.” Imogen pointed to Samantha; she was all giggles.
“What, my dress?” Samantha asked. “I love it, too. Thanks. It’s not mine, though. I wish it was, believe me.”
“I want that one,” Imogen said again. This time, she slid off her chair and onto the floor.
“Easy, sweetie. Let me help you,” Samantha offered as she quickly attempted to help Imogen rise.
“I’ve got it!” Todd snapped. “I told you not to drink so much.” He yanked his wife up by the arm. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
“Hey, you don’t need to be so rough,” Samantha insisted while she still tried to help.
“Mind your own business,” said Todd as he slung his wife over his shoulder like some sort of caveman.
Imogen waved goodbye to Samantha from the middle of Todd’s back.
Samantha returned an uneasy wave.
Raeni took a seat beside Samantha as she followed Todd and Imogen out of the dining hall with troubled eyes. “Todd has been with Kayembe for six years now as his head of security.” She covered Samantha’s hands with her own.
“Poor thing,” said Samantha.
Raeni continued. “I’ve known Imogen most of those years, and she was never like this. She was kind and helpful. It’s the crisis, dear. We all handle it differently. That poor girl finds her peace at the bottom of a bottle, unfortunately. Todd may come off as gruff, but he’s doing the best he can.”
Samantha remained silent as she watched the troubled couple disappear.
Raeni smiled. “This night is not one for regrets or misplaced sympathy. Imogen has her own demons she must slay. Tonight, we celebrate.” She looked over to Miller and Soraya; Samantha followed her gaze.
Over the course of the evening, the newly reunited couple was in a constant state of questioning and storytelling. Soraya would barely have a fork full of food near her lips when the next diner would ask about her many months in the hotel. She would chew and swallow as best as she was able before answering, always with a smile and the same exuberance in the telling. Whether she answered a question for Petrova or the very same inquiry from Lillian twenty minutes later was no matter; Soraya was happy to answer. The details never wavered, and neither did her zest for life. Soraya’s flailing arms were on display as she graciously painted a picture of transforming an abandoned hotel into a home during those first tentative months with her roommate and close friend, Isabelle.
A sadness washed over her that went missed by most whenever the subject of Isabelle was broached. She desperately wanted to tell Lillian that her mother was fine and that she was just going through some changes, but she didn’t know where to begin. If the girl wanted to know anything, she would be there, but for now, she would leave the subject be
Ahole was doing his best to elevate the story behind the recovery mission and its success to mythical proportions. Sam and the others—not a part of the excursion team—ate up every bit of detail.
The dinner had been a massive success. Soraya was surrounded by curious and happy well-wishers begging for every detail. Miller experienced something similar; his friends from Pepperbush were starving for tales from the road and the story that ultimately led to the return of Soraya.
Captain Kayembe sat at the head of the table, taking it all
in. None of this would have been possible without him; everyone knew it, but none spoke of it. He didn’t ask for recognition, nor did he want it; it would sully the moment. For him, the desired outcome was thanks enough. The captain caught Miller’s gaze from across the table, and a slow, momentary nod between the men was all that ever needed to be communicated on the matter. Kayembe provided Miller with a chance at something that mere words could never adequately express thanks for.
~~~
Lancaster lingered just out of sight on the periphery of the gathered mass of partygoers. He watched them file out of the ballroom through fogged glass while he sipped on a bottle of cheap vodka that he stole from the unoccupied pool bar sometime during the previous evening. It burned his lips, but not in the good way that a nice scotch or brandy did. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, he thought.
The people he traveled with despised him, and no one else would have him. Lancaster had nothing and no one. He made his way to the edge of the ship; the rail held him up. He peered over, and it was a long way down—a very long way. The angle was vertigo-inducing. I wonder how long it would take to reach the water or to drown, he imagined. And would it hurt?
A wandering janitor who was cleaning glass interrupted his thoughts. Time of day, party or not, it didn’t matter. Walter was a stickler for details and cleanliness.
“If there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean,” said Walter with pep in his step as he hurried over to a large bank of windows. “There’s always time to take care of a smudge or a spot,” he said as he wiped down a surface just a few steps from Lancaster.
“What are you babbling on about?” Lancaster slurred. He was full of resentment, and Walter’s presence threatened to reveal that he was eavesdropping on the partygoers.
“I said it’s nice to keep the windows clean and streak-free. No one likes a dirty window,” said Walter as he diligently wiped down the glass. “You can go in, you know.”
The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise Page 32
