Copyright © 2015 Isabel Lucero
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Resurrecting Phoenix
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
A note from the author
Acknowledgments
Books by Isabel Lucero
About the Author
Excerpt of WAR by Isabel Lucero
To my mother, for finding strength in despair.
You inspire me.
I love you.
To our brave officers who put their lives at risk in order to keep us safe, and to their families. Thank you.
“HEY, BABY,” I say when I answer the phone.
“Gordon,” she whines. “When are you coming home? It’s our anniversary.”
I can almost see her standing there with her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. A smile comes to my face as I gaze out the window of the car. “I know, but you know I have to work. Anthony and I got put on this disturbance call and we’re about to check it out now, but as soon as we’re done, I’m coming home to you.”
“Okay. I have dinner staying warm in the oven, and your dessert is all ready to go.”
“What’s for dessert?” I ask.
“Me, of course,” she answers seductively.
“My favorite,” I say with a smile, ignoring Anthony’s looks.
“Hurry home, baby. I miss you, but be safe.”
“Always. I love you.”
“I love you, honey.”
As soon as I hang up the phone, Anthony speaks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be out of the honeymoon phase by year three?”
I hit him in the arm. “Shut up, man. Don’t be mad because you and Marissa have been married for seven years now. What’s that called? The seven-year itch?”
“Ha ha,” he says dryly. “Me and Marissa are fine. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“I know, man. Let’s hurry and get this over with. I can’t wait to get home.”
He turns the vehicle down a dark road, lit only by one streetlamp in front of an apartment complex.
“This is just a noise complaint. An elderly woman says her neighbors aren’t letting her sleep, so it should be quick and easy.”
“All right, good.”
We both exit the vehicle and make our way up the stairs that lead to the upper level apartments. When we get outside the apartment that’s being complained about, it’s eerily quiet.
“Maybe they went to sleep,” Anthony shrugs.
“We’ll see,” I reply, knocking on the door.
We wait several seconds and don’t hear any movement. Anthony tries to look through the window, but it’s closed up pretty well. I rap even louder against the door and wait for movement.
“Breckshire Police,” I announce.
Several seconds later we hear some sort of commotion inside, but nobody comes to answer. I hit the door with another loud series of knocks.
“We know you’re in there, just open the door,” Anthony states firmly.
A few seconds later we hear a woman scream before it’s quickly muffled. Anthony and I make eye contact, and while he puts his hand on his gun, I begin to radio in.
The next few seconds happen so fast. The front door flies open, and a man who looks like he’s strung out on drugs appears in the doorway.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to,” he repeats.
Anthony draws his weapon at lightning speed. “Get down on the ground, sir.”
As soon as the man notices the gun pointing at him, he lifts his own gun into view. A gun I didn’t even see before. It must’ve been tucked into the long sleeve of his sweater. In an instant, he shoots Anthony, causing him to stagger against the wall. As I’m pulling the gun from my holster, he whips around and fires.
The pain is immediate.
It burns.
I fall to the ground and hear footsteps running away. The blood pours out of my neck, warm and potent. I can feel it leaving my body with every pump of my heart. I lock eyes with Anthony; he’s still alive and trying to get to his feet.
The last thing I envision is my wife’s beautiful face. She’s waiting for me. I’m supposed to be home with her, celebrating our anniversary. Instead, she’ll stay up waiting for me, and I’ll never show. I know I won’t.
My eyes close, and I see no more.
THE LIQUOR FALLS down my throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It burns, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. After a while, I won’t even feel it anymore. Pushing the shot glass away, I grab my vodka and tonic and swallow it down.
“Another?” the bartender asks.
“Not yet,” I reply.
I spin around in my seat and prop my elbows on the bar behind me, watching the patrons in the bar as they laugh and have fun with their friends.
A blonde walks up to her boyfriend and kisses him on the lips before he dips her, deepening their kiss dramatically in front of everyone. Two guys slap each other on the back as they win a pool game against another two guys. A group of college-aged kids sit around a table taking shots and laughing about god knows what.
The door opens and a man about my age walks in alone. He doesn’t look familiar at all, so I’m assuming he’s new. In a town as small as Breckshire, you tend to figure out who’s from here and who’s not. He walks to the other side of the bar and takes a seat, but his eyes catch mine before I can look away.
Turning my back to him, I spin around and watch as a woman scowls at the man pleading in front of her. It looks like he’s apologizing, but she’s not giving him the time of day. I want to rush over there and slap her across the face. I need to tell her she better talk to him, listen to him, and give him her attention, because he might leave this bar and never see her again.
I don
’t say anything, though. Of course I don’t. Nobody told me to not take advantage of my once perfect life. And now I sit here alone.
Facing the bartender, I signal to him for another drink. A minute later, he’s in front of me with a shot glass full of Patron and another vodka and tonic. I tip my head back and pour the warm liquid down my throat before chasing it with a large swallow of my other drink.
It’s my third round and I know Max isn’t going to allow me to have much more. The man’s always trying to look out for me, but he should know that today of all days, I need to drink. I need to forget. I need to be someone else.
“How many more you think you’re gonna drink, Nix?” he asks, giving me a look full of pity. I hate it.
“As many as it takes, Max. You know that.”
He shakes his head and moves to the new guy at the end of the bar. My mind is finally starting to get fuzzy. Hopefully after another drink, any cohesive thoughts will be gone and I’ll be able to go home and pass out. With that idea in mind, I down the rest of my drink and stand to go to the bathroom.
I sway slightly when I get up but gain steady feet and find my way to the ladies room. I look into the mirror and instantly notice my blood-shot eyes. That’s not all from the alcohol, I’m sure. Lack of sleep, abundance of tears, you name it.
Pulling the rubber band from my hair, I comb my fingers through the somewhat messy brown locks, and pull it into a tighter ponytail at the back of my head. After using the bathroom, I splash water on my face before cupping my hand under the faucet, drinking some of the same tepid water.
Now that my body’s in motion, the liquor is taking effect and I know I need to get home. Luckily, I don’t live too far away, so the walk won’t take that long.
When I get back to the bar, I don’t even bother sitting back down, I just wait for Max to notice me and walk over.
“Max, give me one more shot and then I’m gonna leave.”
“I don’t know, Nix. You’ve had enough for tonight,” he says, shaking his head again.
“Max, I’m fine. Come on. You know me. One more shot and I’m leaving right after. It won’t even take effect until I’m home. Please, Max. I just want to get some sleep,” I plead.
He huffs and runs a hand over his scruffy face, regarding me as he thinks. Max is probably in his late forties, handsome in a non-conventional, rugged kind of way. This past year he’s been like another father to me. A father who hasn’t given up hope on me yet.
“Nix, you need to go straight home and then call me when you get there. You understand?”
“Yes. Thank you, Max.”
He pushes a shot glass over and I swallow it down in one quick gulp before placing some money on the bar. A drunk guy slithers up next to me and shows me his yellow teeth in a wide smile.
“You out celebrating something, girl?”
I look at him. “Yeah, my anniversary.”
He laughs. “Where’s your other half then?”
“He never showed up,” I respond before walking out of the bar.
“Call me, Nix!” Max calls out.
I don’t respond. I exit the bar and am greeted by a cool breeze. I close my eyes and enjoy the fresh air for a few seconds before turning on my heel and heading home.
Everything around me blurs slightly, and I feel like I’m walking in zigzags, but I still know I’m almost home. As soon as my house is visible, tears threaten to spill out.
Climbing the two front steps, I pull the house key from my pocket and unlock the door. The house is dark.
Quiet.
Lonely.
“I’m home, Gordon,” I mumble.
Silence answers me.
I step on the back of one shoe until it comes off and repeat the process with the other. Climbing the stairs slowly, I hold onto the railing and find my way to my bedroom through the darkened halls.
Not bothering to turn on any lights, I pull my jeans off and leave them in the middle of the floor before flopping onto my bed.
“Why didn’t you come home to me, Gordon?” I whisper into the dark room. “Why aren’t you here? I’ve been waiting for you. I’ll always wait for you,” I say as the tears begin streaming down my cheeks.
Today marks my fourth anniversary, but my husband isn’t here to celebrate with me. Today also marks the first anniversary of his death.
A LOUD NOISE coming from within the same room startles me awake. Well, not startle completely, as I can barely lift my head from the bed, but it wakes me up. It shrieks again, causing me to groan in annoyance.
I turn my head at a snail’s pace and notice light coming through my bedroom window. Now, both the light and sound are making my head throb even more. Slowly, I get off the bed realizing I never covered myself last night, and go to my rumpled jeans on the floor.
My phone rings again, and when my eyes finally focus on the screen, I cringe knowing I’m about to get yelled at.
“Max, I’m fine,” I croak.
“Jesus Christ, Nix. I’ve been calling you all fucking night. I even went by your house and rang the bell once I got off. What the hell?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my head. “I fell asleep. I’m fine.”
Max huffs and puffs on the other end of the phone while I walk to my bathroom. If I thought I looked like shit last night, that’s nothing compared to the hellish creature looking back at me now.
“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later. I’m glad you’re alive,” he says, then I hear him hiss. “Sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Okay. Talk to you later,” I reply before hanging up the phone.
I turn on the hot water in the shower, and while it’s running I brush my teeth to get the terrible taste of stale alcohol out of my mouth. Once in the shower, I spot Gordon’s body wash. It’s not the same one he had a year ago, but it’s the same brand. I buy the body wash he used and use it from time to time to be able to smell him again. Just to feel like he’s close to me.
I used it yesterday, so I’m not going to use it again today. After I finish, I make my way downstairs and get some coffee started. My phone shrieks again, and I make a mental note to put it on vibrate for the rest of the day.
When I look at the screen, I notice it’s Marissa. She’s been calling a lot the last few days, and I know why. She wants to make sure I’m okay. She wants to check on me, and pity me, and make me feel even worse. Not on purpose of course. It’s not her fault that I feel that way, but it is the way I feel. I ignore her call once again and tell myself I’ll call her back soon.
While I drink my coffee, I curl into the corner of the couch and stare out the window next to me. Ms. Johnson from next door walks by, doing her usual walk around the block with her dog. A few minutes later, a couple of kids race by on their skateboards, followed by a bored-looking teenaged girl texting on her phone.
I look further down the street and notice a couple of moving trucks. That house down there has been empty for about eight months now. A few men walk back and forth, carrying boxes and furniture, and after a while they all stop and sit on some dining room chairs on the lawn. They begin pulling food and drinks from a large cooler, enjoying their break time.
A woman comes out of the house and stops to talk to them before getting in a car and driving off. The men sit there for fifteen minutes before getting back to work, and I just sit here and watch.
This is my life now. I watch people. I take notice of others and what they’re doing. I want to know how people are living their lives, because my life is no longer interesting, no longer important, and no longer fun.
A man begins walking down the street in my direction. As he gets closer, I notice it looks like the guy from the bar last night. I’m assuming he and his wife just moved into town.
He passes my house and I watch him as he gets to the end of the street and turns the corner. When he’s out of sight, I get up from the couch and pour another cup of coffee. My phone vibrates and Marissa’s name flashes across the screen again.
With a huff, I turn the phone off completely and settle into the couch in front of the TV. After watching mindless television for about forty-five minutes, I realize I don’t even know when I’m supposed to be in for work.
I open the front door and walk to the jeep to grab the schedule from the passenger seat. Before heading back inside, I stop by the mailbox since I haven’t checked it in a few days.
Sifting through the envelopes as I slowly walk back to my house, I don’t notice the man from down the street is coming my way until he’s right next to me.
“Excuse me,” he says politely.
I look up and realize I’m right in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, sorry.”
When he sees me, he tilts his head and then says, “You were at the bar last night, right?”
“Yeah, that was me,” I reply, taking a step into my grass.
“I’m Evan,” he says, extending a hand. “I just moved here.”
I look down at his hand before gazing into his brown eyes. He notices my hesitation and pulls his hand back, but plays it off. “Sorry, you have your hands full there.”
I feel bad, so I give him a small smile. “Sorry. I’m Phoenix.”
“Like the bird?” he asks with a grin.
“Yeah, like the bird,” I answer. “Usually, people say, ‘like the city’?”
He shrugs. “I like the bird better.”
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Evan,” I say, moving back towards my steps.
“Yeah, you too. Guess I’ll see ya around.”
I look over my shoulder and force a smile before closing myself back into my house. Little does he know I don’t get out much anymore. I don’t leave my house unless it’s to go to work or to go to the store to buy liquor. Being at the bar last night was the first time I’ve been there in a while. I don’t hang out outside and chat with the neighbors. I don’t attend BBQ’s or parties. I stay home and watch others as life passes me by.
I unfold my schedule and realize I don’t even have to go to work until the day after tomorrow. That means I have a long day and night of nothing to do. Great.
Going to the kitchen, I pull out a bottle of vodka and orange juice and begin my drinking a little early today. Yes, I drink fairly often, all in the hopes of forgetting my shitty life. It’s one of the reasons why I’m not a teacher anymore. I now work at a rinky-dink little travel agency and wait for people to come in and book a vacation, and that almost never happens.
Resurrecting Phoenix Page 1
