Sheltered
Title Page
Preface
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
SHELTERED
by
Debra Chapoton
Copyright © 2012 by Debra Chapoton
All rights reserved www.bigpinelodgebooks.com
Smashwords Edition
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Preface
This novel touches on the following themes: homelessness, self-mutilation, schizophrenia, suicide, and the occult.
In America more than 1.3 million children are homeless at some time each year.1 This is a sad statistic and one that needs a bit more publicity. 1 in 8 youth under the age of 18 will leave home and become homeless and in need of services.2 12-17 year olds are at more risk of homelessness than are adults.3 Nearly 20,000 youth are emancipated from foster care each year.4
According to TeenHelp.com it is estimated that in the U.S. one out of every 200 girls between the ages of 13 and 19 cuts herself regularly. This number is rising.
Schizophrenia is a major psychiatric illness. It often first appears in males during their late teens and early twenties, a little later for females. Symptoms include distorted reality, hallucinations, suicidal thoughts, delusions, anxiety, and odd behaviors. Worldwide as many as 50 million people suffer from schizophrenia.
The Centers for Disease control report that suicide is the third leading cause of death for young people aged 15 to 24. There are several different factors that may cause a teenager to take his or her life, but the most common is depression. Hopelessness, anxiety, and feelings of being trapped in a life that one can't handle are also contributors to teen suicide. In many cases teenagers believe that suicide is their only option.
The occult, including witchcraft, mysticism, astrology, and even the current fad of vampires and werewolves, feeds a craze that has flourished for thousands of years. Demon possession and exorcism are Biblical and historical.
Take all five of these themes, stir well, add a few American teens, and the paranormal will seem normal.
1 Ellen L. Bassuk, M.D. and Steven M. Friedman, Facts on Trauma and Homeless Children (Durham, NC and Los Angeles, CA: National Child Traumatic Stress Network, 2005): 1.
2 C. Raleigh-DuRoff, "Factors that influence adolescents to leave or stay living on the street," Child and Adolescent Social Work Journal 21(6) (2004): 561-?572.
3 J. Ensign and M. Bell, "Illness experiences of homeless youth," Qualitative Health Research 14(9) (2004): 1239-1254.
4 U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Administration for Children and Families, Children's Bureau. AFCARS Reports #6-10 (Washington DC: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2005).
Prologue
Next Wednesday
Emily knew the precise moment that Ben returned, she felt him in her scars. She watched him carry some things to the house, heard the door close; she smiled when she heard him call out that Santa was here. He did that once before, in early December, insisting that she accept the gift he held out, not wanting her to wait until Christmas to use the mittens he knew she needed.
She went toward her door now, wondered what he had brought, and then heard Megan’s voice below. Oh no, he probably brought something for her. She scuttled back to her nest by the window and stared outside, was still staring fifteen minutes later when she saw them walk down the street, Ben shouldering a shovel, his other hand knotted with Megan’s.
She touched the skin on her arms, lightly at first, making it tingle. The image of Ben with Megan multiplied across her mind in broken mirrors, a repugnant picture that reflected her own self-loathing. She scratched at her scabs, felt the pricks of pain force away the ticklish sensations. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them she saw a figure standing at her door.
“Who–?” she started, but the figment waned to less than a shadow. Still, though, there was something at her door.
She rose slowly and held her hand out.
Its face was more womanly now, friendly, motherly. Yes, she knew this face. Its pearly white skin so shocking against the ruby lips, the stringy hair a match to her own. Her mother.
She stretched her fingers toward the face. The hallucination faded then sharpened. The eyes began to blaze. She drew her hands back to her own face. What’s wrong with me? The delusion grieved Emily; all around her fluttered a longing.
And a deadly fear.
“Mom?” Emily sank to the floor and watched the face change to a silhouette, fogging away with a Cheshire grin, and then, at last, evaporating.
Leaving scattered crumbs of turmoil at Emily’s feet.
Friday
Chapter 1
Smoke curled past the woman’s eyes; she squinted at Ben. He held out the money and repeated his offer. “It’ll only take five minutes. Just say ‘nice to meet you, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need and then ask me to drive you to the store or a meeting or something.” He wiggled the money in the crone’s face. “I’ll bring you right back to this bar,” he promised.
The woman kept her eye on the wad of bills, figuring out the extra number of drinks she could buy later. Ben could tell she was reaching the decision he hoped for. He raised the money to eye level and smiled his honest, dimpled grin, the grin that all the females in high school fell for, even the teachers.
Her hand shot out, but Ben was quicker. He held the money back, peeled off the top bill, and handed it to her. “I’ll give you the rest after you convince her that you’re Mrs. Kremer. Agreed?”
He half expected her to tuck the bill down her blouse, but she opened her purse, dropped it in and closed it. She took a final puff, crushed the cigarette butt under foot and grabbed the passenger door handle to yank it open. This probably wasn’t the first time she had gone home with a stranger, but perhaps it was the first time she had entered a teenaged boy’s littered sedan. He sensed her judging his face, his good looks, dark blond hair, and clear blue eyes. She might not be the best judge of character, so he tried to make himself easy to read – innocent. He told her the address to where they were going.
***
Megan walked three blocks from the Main Street restaurant where she worked to the address on the letter. Bundled up against the January wind she clutched the borrowed duffel bag to her chest. Nearly half of her belongings were inside the bag. She used it like a shield against the sharp, dry crystals that attacked her bare face. She liked snow; she liked the Michigan winter, but she hated these burning whips of frozen rain. She pulled her scarf across her cheeks and nose with one hand and hurried on.
If this worked out she could get the rest of her things out of her friend’s house and not have to go back to the Hall. It had been wonderful living with such a nice family. They had been there for her, gotten her a job, driven her to the court appointed visitations
, and would have adopted her if that were possible. But now they were moving away; they had to leave because of the economy. And Megan would never, ever leave. Not without Simon. And if she and Simon left the state they’d be chased, found, separated. She’d be locked away for sure in a place worse than the Hall.
Megan stopped at the corner and checked the address on an old city house. She was missing a secret visit now by coming here, but what choice did she have? If she could live in a rooming house, finish high school, get a second and maybe a third job, then eventually, sooner or later, she and Simon could be together.
She walked past one more house and found the right address. It was a narrow two-story brick home with a driveway that led to a ramshackle one-car garage tucked in a small yard behind the house. A blue sedan blocked another car in the partially shoveled drive. Every light was on inside and she could see the flickering glow of a TV in the living room. The left window revealed a dining room chandelier over a table piled with books. Two figures stood in the doorway to the kitchen beyond. A boy. A woman.
The sidewalk to the front door was un-shoveled. Megan debated her options. She didn’t want to embarrass whoever forgot to shovel the sidewalk for her, but she didn’t want to be too casual by showing up at the side door. Yet the porch light was on at the side. She made up her mind: instead of plodding to the front she walked up the trampled side path and knocked on the kitchen door.
It seemed to take longer than it should for one of the two people inside to answer her knock, but she waited without complaint, her head turned from the wind. She rested the duffel bag against her nervous knees. An old fashioned mailbox, bolted to the bricks next to the door, caught her attention. The metal lid was flapping in the same shivering rhythm as her legs.
***
“Hi! You must be Megan.” Ben practically pulled her into the small vestibule as he grabbed for her bag. “Did you walk? I thought you’d get a ride.” The fact that she had shown up on foot was unexpected and threw Ben into a flux of quick planning. He showed her where to hang her coat and leave her boots while his brain went into overdrive. He changed his plan, kept smiling, and carefully dropped her bag on the kitchen floor.
“I’m supposed to meet a Mrs. Kremer,” her voice lilted up in a question.
“Right. I know. I’m Ben, by the way. I live here along with Chuck . . . and, uh, Adam.” He saw her eyes get a little wide and he added, “But we’re in the basement. You’ll be on the second floor with Emily and Cori. Mrs. Kremer’s room is on this floor. She’s the buffer, in case you were bothered, uh . . .”
“No, that’s okay.” She followed him through the kitchen, puzzling where the woman had gone. “Is Mrs. Kremer here?” Megan’s long brown hair sprang out with the static from her wool hat. She fingered through it and pulled it straight.
“Yup, she’ll be out in a second, but I’m supposed to show you around first.” He flashed her another of his famous smiles and waited for her to smile back. She did. She was cute. A tad shy. “Are those all your things? Were you planning on moving in tonight?”
“No, that’s about half, but I only have the one bag to use, so I thought if I could, you know, I’d leave these things and bring the rest tomorrow.”
Okay, Ben thought, maybe he could go back to his original plan.
“Sure, that’ll work. Well, this is the dining room . . . where some of us study.”
Megan merely nodded and took in the light green walls, the old blinds and the cheap pictures. They passed the tiny front entry.
“That door’s always locked,” Ben said. “We hardly ever use it.”
The living room was small but bright; the pictures on the walls were dull. Ben flicked off the TV.
“Cori probably left that on.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if they were conspirators, “She’s kind of a bitch. You don’t want to cross her.”
Megan glanced down the hall. “Is she here?” she whispered back.
“No,” Ben chuckled, “but the walls have ears. You never know who’s listening.” Another grin.
There were four doors off the short hallway in the center of the house. Ben pointed, “Bathroom. Mrs. Kremer’s room. The den. The door to the second floor.”
He paused at Mrs. Kremer’s door and cocked an ear, felt Megan’s stillness beside him. There wasn’t a sound in the house now that the TV was off. He knew the bar lady was in there, but she was too quiet.
The sound of a dresser drawer being pulled out broke the silence. Ben cleared his throat. “Uh, Mrs. Kremer?” The drawer slammed. Ben started to reach for the door knob and then stopped himself. “Ma’am?”
The woman from the bar coughed. “Yes?”
“I’m gonna show Megan her room now and then we’ll come down to the living room.” He waited a beat. “Okay?”
“Okay.” There was a creaking sound, as if all her weight settled at once onto the bed.
Ben turned and opened the door to the second floor.
Ben was conscious of how steep and narrow the stairs were, the walls lined with peeling wallpaper. The landing at the top featured a small dirty window he wished he had cleaned. A single bare light bulb lit the hallway. There were several doors, all closed but one.
Ben ticked off the occupants’ names, “Cori’s in this one, Emily has the second one. That’s the bathroom, linen closet, and . . . here ya go,” he went to the only open door, “your room.”
He flicked the light switch and stood at the entrance while Megan peered in. She was close enough for him to smell the fragrance in her hair. He stared at her profile while she inspected the space. He mentally measured her; she was an inch or two shorter than he. He liked everything about her, found her intriguing now that he could stand so close.
The room was small with one window that faced the neighbor’s brick sidewall. Snow and ice accumulated along the outside edge and there was plenty of condensation on the inside sill. Megan’s face fell when she saw the single twin mattress on the floor, no sheets, no blanket, no pillow.
“Oh,” she said, “I guess I’ll have to buy some sheets.”
“Nope,” Ben ushered her all the way in and closed the door. A small corner chest was visible now, stacked with all that she would need. “Everything’s washed and ready. Compliments of yours truly. The machines are in the basement.”
“You?”
“Yeah, and I’m sorry there’s no bed frame. I keep checking the thrift stores, so . . . eventually . . .”
Megan’s brow furrowed. Ben hoped he didn’t give the impression he was odd; he didn’t want to make it sound like this was his boarding house and he was running the show. He watched her move toward the closet and turn the old glass knob. The interior space was small. There might not be enough room for her things.
She looked back at Ben and smiled. “This is great. I hope Mrs. Kremer will accept me. Twenty-five dollars a week is incredibly cheap.”
Ben’s dimples stood out. “I know, she’s really generous. But you have to do some chores. We all do. And then there’s food.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I hope you can cook. Emily does most of it, but we all chip in for groceries.”
“Sure,” Megan began, “but I usually eat at the restaurant where I work. One of the perks.”
“Right.” Ben leaned against the door and watched Megan pull her fingers through her hair again. She was better than cute, he thought, she was pretty. He liked the splatter of freckles across her nose. She looked . . . nice. He had learned the truth behind the rumors about her situation and that was why he sent her the phony note. He wondered if she’d tell him that truth if he asked. “So . . . uh, what’s your story? I mean, Cori got herself emancipated at sixteen. Incorrigible, her parents said. She likes the label. She’s all gothic and ornery. Emily was homeless; she has a mom and a brother living in a shelter somewhere. You’ll like her, but she’s pretty quiet and shy. Chuck and, uh, Adam, are nutcases. Well, Chuck is, anyway. So, why do you need a place to stay?”
Megan folded her arms across
her chest and leaned against the closet door, mirroring Ben’s stance. “Well, I guess you could say my parents divorced me. I’ve been fending for myself pretty much since the summer before tenth grade, so, about a year and a half now.” Ben detected a sudden nervousness, didn’t expect it, but out of the blue he saw that she was fighting to hold back the tears. Her eyes watered. She looked up at the ceiling and tried to blink them away. “Cool ceiling.”
Ben looked up, too. The ceiling was plastered with little glow-in-the-dark stars that looked dimly green. He flicked the lights off. “Huh. I didn’t notice that before.” The stars glowed faintly. “This must have been a little kid’s room once.” He could have kicked himself for the stupid statement. The house had seen a century’s worth of people; of course this had been a kid’s room. He turned the lights back on and noticed that Megan was gripping the closet door knob.
***
Megan loosened her grip. She didn’t know what to think of this Ben. He seemed charming, but she was startled when he darkened the room. She wasn’t sure if this room was directly above Mrs. Kremer’s room or not. Would the lady hear her if she screamed? Ben was flashing a dimple now. Megan relaxed and stepped forward; she felt silly for her brief anxiety. A loud noise from below made her stop and give Ben a questioning look.
“Wait here!” Ben said. He reinforced his order by closing the door behind him.
Megan listened to his feet pound down the staircase then looked around the room again. A mattress and a dresser. Not much, but all she needed for now. She had been contributing most of her earnings to her friend’s family’s expenses, but at only twenty-five dollars a week here she should be able to save enough. Enough to run. And run she would as soon as she graduated.
She sat down on the mattress and stretched out. From this angle she could see the dust on the floor. That would bother her; she’d find something tomorrow to clean the floorboards.
Sheltered Page 1
