PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
‘Come on, Raylene, you can do this. Only 6 pounds to go.’ Raylene Harris said the words to herself as she pulled on her running pants. She knew she should be taking advantage of every opportunity she received to live life.
Just over six months ago, at age 27, she had been diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. She should have seen it coming. Both her mother and grandmother had been diagnosed with breast cancer as well, and both had total mastectomies to deal with the threat. Unfortunately, neither Raylene’s father or grandfather handled the situation well. If she was honest about it, both had been real assholes about it. Disgusted looks that weren’t masked well, if at all, and once the drinking started - which was nearly every day - cruel criticisms followed shortly after. And then there were the late nights when they stayed out at dirty bars in the barrio, bars that were filled with prostitutes. Several times, Raylene had heard loud, angry arguments between her mother and father, confrontations centered around his time with ‘las prostitutas.’ As Mexicans, they were (officially) Catholics, so divorce was out of the question. The church’s refusal to accept divorce while turning a blind eye on adultery was one of the main reasons Raylene had given up religion after she turned 18 and started college at Cal State Fullerton.
Even so, Raylene had accepted her fate and had been ready to undergo the surgery when she had been approached by a doctor who was running a clinical study to determine the effectiveness of a new cancer drug, one which seemed too good to be true. An actual cancer treatment drug, one which would not only stop the growth of cancerous cells, but actually kill them off, allowing normal cells to once again live and die, as normal cells do. Seeing an opportunity to literally avoid losing part of herself (especially since she was quite proud of her breasts), she decided to participate in the study.
Amazingly, after six months of treatment, the cancer cells were completely gone. Raylene had been ecstatic, not only for herself, but also for humanity. She’d immediately called her family and friends - none of whom even knew she’d had cancer - and told them the entire experience, including the new ‘miracle’ drug. Sadly, she realized many of them simply didn’t believe her. This bothered her (to be totally honest, it pissed her off) at first, but recently she came to understand: A pill that cures cancer was simply impossible to fathom.
Flying high with a new lease on life, she’d begun living life to the fullest, leaving the couch behind more often, going out dancing with friends again like she had in her youth, buying tickets to plays and musicals coming in the months ahead, and seriously contemplating getting back into the dating scene.
Things were going well until she came down with the flu a week ago, two weeks before she was scheduled to see her doctor to catch up on the immunizations she’d missed as a child.
What followed were six days of what had to have been the worst sickness she’d ever experienced. Extreme body aches that felt as if her muscles were collapsing in on themselves. Chills that left her shivering in her pajamas and terry cloth robe, buried under piles of blankets. A throat that was periodically so sore she literally cried every time she swallowed. (Fortunately that only happened a few times during the week.) Sweating that soaked through her clothes, into the bedding, only to be followed by more chills.
Throughout all of this, she’d barely eaten anything other than saltine crackers, (nothing when her throat was severely constricted), and yet she had recurring bouts of diarrhea that left her weak, dehydrated, and sore (she swore her abs were stronger from all the spasming). Food held zero appeal over that time, and other than crackers and a few diet lemon lime sodas, water was the only thing that didn’t make her vomit.
And yet, this morning she suddenly felt like she was whole again. She woke up early, even before her usual 6:30 a.m. Sunday morning alarm that she set so that she could meet up with her fitness group for their morning hill walk. She felt well enough to not only face the world again, but also to make her group’s scheduled hill walk.
Sipping her coffee, she grabbed her phone and texted her friend Amara.
‘Ready for this morning’s workout?’
‘What? You’re better?’
‘Yes! Feeling great!!’
‘U sure? Don’t push it’
‘Feeling 100. Need to get out of apt anyway. Plus, miss u.’
‘K. Looking forward to seeing u 2’
Putting down her phone, Raylene realized her appetite had returned, and she craved a giant omelette, but she forced herself to return to the diet she’d been so strictly adhering to over the last 2 ½ months. Feeling resolute, she grabbed a small handful of raw almonds to hold her over before heading back to the bedroom to get dressed.
Feeling a bit of extra space in the waistband of her running pants, she decided to check something. Sure enough, the scale showed her the only good thing she’d seen in the bathroom in nearly a week. ‘Wow! One hundred and twenty-three pounds! That’s - ‘ she paused for a second longer than she thought she’d need to as she did the math in her head, ‘- four pounds lost! I guess there was one good thing about that damn flu or whatever it was.’ She realized her goal weight was squarely in her sights, and she quickly forgot about the inexplicable struggle she’d had determining the difference between 127 and 123 as she headed to the living room of her two bedroom apartment.
The place was small, with a second ‘bedroom’ that was oddly shaped and would be terrible as an actual bedroom, but it was the first place she could call ‘hers’ after 5 ½ years of living with an emotionally abusive asshole of an ex-boyfriend. The property also allowed pets, and her little buddy, a small corgi she’d simply named Happy, both for his demeanor and for how he made her feel, made every night’s return to the apartment a joy.
Happy had been whiny about being taken outside the first day Raylene had been sick, but as her sickness wore on, he quietly used the fake grass potty pad she’d placed on the balcony to do his business. The little corgi had shown her more compassion over the last week than her ex had shown during their entire relationship, staying close to her in bed, following her into the bathroom and quietly laying on the rug by the shower while she suffered through one painful bowel movement after another. He’d whined when he saw her in pain, and reached up to lick her hand or leg when he saw her discomfort. Compared to the selfish asswipe who insisted she stay away from him any time she had the slightest cold and never even offered to get her medicine, Happy was the companion she’d come to adore. Even when her head pounded with each movement and the room spun in her vision, she’d forced herself out of bed and into the kitchen to feed Happy his favorite canned dog food every morning and night. Sure, some of the feedings were later than they normally were, but she wouldn’t let her little guy go hungry just because she was feeling under the weather.
With her shoes laced and keys and phone in hand, Raylene reached down and stroked Happy’s fur before opening the door.
“See you in a little while, buddy. I’m feeling much, much better, so when I come back, I promise we’ll go to the park!”
Happy’s short little tail wagged with excitement and licked her hand before she stepped away and through the door, closing and locking it behind her. With nothing to do but wait, Happy went over and laid on his doggie bed, the one that he’d repeatedly dragged to a place in the living room where he could see the front door, and waited.
“Did you hear that Michael got called into the HR office?” Amara asked Raylene, before adding, “Oops. Of course you didn’t. Anyway, that happened last week.”
Raylene smiled and shook her head. She’d always enjoyed talking with Amara, especially when she talked about the culture and traditions that Indians embraced. While she was born in the U
.S. (Kansas, to be exact, which seemed crazy to Raylene. An Indian growing up in Kansas of all places!), her parents had immigrated later in life, having left Mumbai for the United States when they were in their fifties. While Amara embraced American traditions and habits, she had always been required to understand and respect the Indian culture, and she did so with pride. Raylene didn’t know if gossip was part of that culture, but she supposed it couldn’t be solely an American thing.
Tracy, their African-American friend, kept her arms pumping and her eyes forward as she asked, “Is Michael that creepy guy you two told me about who always puts his hand on your shoulder and leans in all close to talk to you?”
Amara and Raylene were the only ones in the fitness group that worked at the same place, having joined together as part of the year’s new year’s resolution. (So what if it didn’t actually start until late April!)
“Yeah, that’s him.” Amara responded before Raylene could.
Raylene felt flummoxed. The response was so simple. Why did she struggle to find the words?
“Well, that’s good. The fucker needs to respect women’s space.” Raylene smiled while Amara looked down and gently shook her head. Amara’d had a hard time adjusting to Tracy’s use of profanity.
On the other side of the spectrum, Raylene found it refreshing. No filter, more likely to be real, in her opinion. And Tracy’s lack of filter never seemed to interfere with her ability to reel in attractive guy after attractive guy. Of all races, too. Tracy seemed comfortable around everyone. Though she was a bit on the heavy side, she seemed to be all curves, and apparently that worked for the never ending stream of men that courted her.
Amara continued, “OK, so the new girl in accounts receivable?”
Raylene couldn’t find the words quickly, so she indicated with her hands, placing each about six inches in front of her breasts.
Amara nodded, “Yeah, the one with the big boobs. Britney’s her name. Well, she put one of those little fisheye mirrors on the top corner of her monitor, and she watched Michael as he walked up behind her. Idiot didn’t have a clue. He nudged one of the other guys as he walked and pointed towards Britney and did what you just did to indicate the size of her breasts.”
“No he didn’t!” Tracy exclaimed. “What the fuck is wrong with men these days? Thinking they can get away with whatever the fuck they want. Disrespecting women and shit.”
Raylene finally found the right words to go along with the conversation: “I know, right?”
The three ladies began working their way up one of the larger hills on their trail. Their breathing was heavier now, but it wasn’t too intense yet. Sweat was running down their backs, though, and even though it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, the heat was burning through the morning clouds pretty quickly.
Amara continued, “So then Michael comes up to her and does his thing and puts his hand on her shoulder and leans in to talk to her. Only she’s using the little mirror to watch his eyes, and sure enough, that jerk is looking straight down her blouse!”
Tracy came to a complete stop. “Are you kidding me? What kind of shit is that?”
Raylene stopped, too. “Yeah, what kind of shit is that?” Words were coming easier now; so what if she just repeated what Tracy said, at least she was contributing to the conversation.
“I know.” Amara gave a sly grin. “But Britney is good. She had her webcam on and recorded the whole thing.”
“Damnnnnnn!” Tracy said, laughing loud and hard. “That girl is all right!”
Raylene couldn’t help herself and joined in, laughing until she felt a cough coming. She held back a bit, keeping the coughing at a minimum. She’d had some pretty epic cough fits over the last week, and didn’t want to repeat one of those.
In a moment of clarity, she asked, “So how is Michael taking all of this?”
Amara shook her head. “Typical wannabe alpha male crap. Acting like he’s the victim, as if that’s possible. He makes a big scene each time he needs to get close to any woman, like in the elevator he’ll be loud and ask ‘is it OK if I stand here? I don’t want to’ - then he does the whole air quotes thing, as if it isn’t real - ‘invade someone’s personal space.’”
“Asshole.” Raylene said. This time Tracy looked at her and smiled.
“Right. I think more trouble is coming for him, too, but then he got that flu thing that’s going around. Must be the same thing you had.”
Raylene thought about it for a second, then grinned and replied. “You know, he might be the ONLY person I’d actually wish that on.” The three of them laughed together.
The trio crested the hill and took long, deep breaths, enjoying somewhat flat land after what seemed like quite a while. They each reached for their respective water bottles and took small gulps before capping them and returning to their normal stride.
Raylene sensed movement behind her and looked back. She saw one of their regular trail companions slowly trotting - not walking - up the hill. The other women saw the direction of her gaze and nodded.
“White shirt, black shorts.” Tracy said. The man they referred to seemed to be there every Sunday they came out, wearing the same outfit, running with headphones, sunglasses, and a camelbak water carrier. What irritated them most was the fact that he was completely cordial - each time he passed them, as if he didn’t realize how demoralizing it was to have someone lap you. The path they followed as their entire workout was the one that he would run at least twice, and once he’d passed them four times.
The ladies focused on the path ahead, unconsciously quickening their pace.
Raylene began to feel really good, and she didn’t understand it. After nearly a week of being bedridden, she should have been weak and easily fatigued. Instead, she felt like the hill they’d just climbed was nothing more than a pitcher’s mound.
Her muscles felt alive, full of strength and power. Her heart pumped blood through her body as she worked her way along the path. Before she realized it, she was a full five steps ahead of her friends. She looked around, surprised; she’d always been the slowest. She cut her pace dramatically to let the others catch up.
Just then, Mr. white shirt, black shorts passed by. “Good morning!” He said, cheerfully. It was obvious he didn’t really expect a response, running with his headphones in. He bounded along the path and up the steep rise that led to the service road which lead to the top of the mountain, where the radio towers stood and the view stretched on for miles. On clear days, you could see the Pacific Ocean.
When the other ladies caught up, Amara chided her, “Easy there. You’re still recovering. Push yourself too hard and you could have a setback.”
Raylene nodded. “I know.” Was all she could say.
Amara reached out and gently rubbed her shoulder. “I missed you last week. Don’t push it.”
They began climbing the most challenging part of their hike: a short but steep rise with loose rocks, both large and small, that slowed most hikers to a near crawl.
To Raylene it seemed like nothing.
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I feel great. I swear, I’ve never felt so strong! I know it’s weird, but I’m barely winded.
“OK, settle down, skinny bitch.” Tracy replied.
At that, all three women began laughing hysterically. Amara’s eyes began to tear as she laughed. Tracy threw her head back and continued: “This girl go and lose a few pounds and all the sudden she thinks she’s a fuckin’ Olympian or some shit!”
This just made them laugh harder. Raylene didn’t feel the slightest offense. It was just Tracy being Tracy. Loud and unfiltered, and funny as hell.
As she laughed, Raylene’s laughter turned into coughing. This time it was coming, and she wasn’t going to be able to stop it. Her cough made her entire body spasm as she bent over, trying to keep it together.
“Are you OK, sweetie? Drink some water.” Amara asked, pleading.
Raylene held up a hand as she continued coughi
ng. She couldn’t stop, and the cough sounded wetter now, rumbling in her throat. Her vision blurred and she lowered herself down onto one knee. She leaned forward and braced herself against the ground with her left hand as her right came up to her chest. The pain was intense, but also confusing. Her muscles felt like they were thrumming with energy, waiting to be released, but her body felt on fire at the same time.
Other hikers had stopped, asking questions of Amara and Tracy, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Tracy’s voice broke through the fog somewhere nearby “Ray Ray?”
Raylene tried to open her eyes, but it was suddenly too bright for her to open them in the light. Where had this damn sunlight come from all of the sudden? She moved her right hand from her chest up to her face, covering her eyes from the invasive light as she tried to orient herself.
And still she coughed. Only now, each cough was a separate, loud, bark, that sounded like she was trying to hack out part of her guts.
What was happening?
Why didn’t she just try home with Happy today? In her mind she could see his little furry face, his squat little body, and his adorable little behind. She missed that little guy so much right now. She’d love to just -
Her eyes opened inside the cover of her hand. Even so, she couldn’t see. At least, she couldn’t see color. Her vision had turned to grayscale in a matter of minutes. She brought her hand away from her eyes, not realizing that blood had run from both of them both onto the hand and also down her face.
Her muscles tensed, coils ready to be sprung.
Amara’s hand gently reached out and touched her shoulder. “Sweetie?”
The woman that had been Raylene swatted away her hand in a flash of movement, with force that couldn’t be, instantly dislocating Amara’s left shoulder from her body while simultaneously digging deep furrows into the skin of her exposed forearm,
Amara screamed, high and loud, as her arm loosely swung from her side, blood flowing from the deep grooves in the meat of her muscle. Blood dripped all around her as the arm flailed uncontrollably. It was too much for her, and she fell backward, collapsing to the ground, where her head hit the side of a rock, knocking her unconscious.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 1
