by Tina Martin
ACCIDENTAL DECEPTION
Part One of the Accidental Series
Tina Martin
Copyright @ 2012 by Tina Martin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and products are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events is entirely coincidental.
Visit the author’s website at: www.tinamartin.net
Acknowledgements
It’s with deep appreciation that I thank my family and friends for all of their support, for taking the time to read my novels. Thank you for everything.
I owe so much to my sisters – Tesha, Sheila and Daisy. You are the best!
I am very grateful to my readers for their continued interest and praise for my hard work.
I am indebted to my husband who has to listen to me go on and on….and on about these stories in my head. Thank you for being there through this process.
And to Matthew and Mikayla – you can interrupt my writing any time for hugs and kisses.
Accidental Deception
Chapter 1
February 2010
Charlotte, North Carolina
“Hey, are you okay?” Carter asked the woman, almost breathless due to the strong, unforgiving winds that seemed to be much more powerful between the tall Uptown towers. It was incredibly cold out, to the point where he could see his breath hover in front of his face for a moment before quickly dissipating into the stiff, heartless breeze. Too late for regrets about leaving his Kangol on the front seat of the Lexus – he was halfway to his office building and it was way too cold to go back to the car for a hat. Cell phone maybe, but hat?
It was also too cold to be standing idle outside, getting beat up by the elements as he tried to figure out the status of a homeless woman. She was lying face-up on the sidewalk near the curb, wearing filthy clothing, exhibiting no visible signs of life – no blinking, body movements, nothing – just lying there.
Carter, a man who pride himself on his physical appearance, and who was also slightly germaphobic, thought of nudging her with one of his size thirteen Italian leather oxfords, but then realized how callous it would be to practically kick someone to see if they were still alive – something he knew his mother would’ve done without a second thought – but wasn’t behavior he felt comfortable with. Contrary to what estranged family members thought of him, he was not as stuck up, superficial and selfish as his overbearing mother used to be. He was his own person, a thirty-five-year-old businessman with his own distinct morals, and just because one’s mother had some major personality defects didn’t mean those traits were automatically passed down to her children. Right?
Carter, still standing next to the woman seriously pondered for a moment what his mother would’ve done had she stumbled upon this homeless woman. What would Lenora do? She undoubtedly would’ve turned a blind eye and walked away, uttering some heartless expression like “She’s not my problem,” or better yet even crossed the street like the priest and the Levite did in the story of the Good Samaritan. Lenora Williams didn’t have the heart to help anyone, especially if she didn’t foresee how her kind gesture would be repaid or of benefit to her in the future, which is the only reason why she spent an incredible amount of time, effort and money helping to mold Carter into a successful, career-minded man. When she was old and gray, he was the son that would take care of her finances and see to it that she had everything she needed to live a comfortable life of bliss, and boy did she make a good return on her investment. Carter turned out to be a well-respected, successful, six-figure bank executive with all the trimmings. But even after all the money and prestige, something was wrong with a man whose first inclination was to nudge someone, a fellow human, with the tip of his shoe.
Carter checked his watch as he stood there, debating in his mind what to do. It was a quarter ‘til nine. He had a town hall meeting at ten and he knew if he did the right thing and offered some assistance to this stranger, he’d miss the first major meeting of the year. But what exactly would he be missing besides a bunch of bank executives talking about the future of the industry and the foreclosure crisis – a pep rally of sorts – to boost work ethic in a struggling economy, while hobnobbing with people whom his assistant Julie refers to as the higher ups? Still, this was a critical meeting, an integral part of his job function even if it was just for appearances. He was one of the “important people”, phenomenal at his job and he couldn’t miss this meeting to help some homeless woman who’d probably been lying there for days.
Having made up his mind, he turned to walk away despite feeling sorry for her. Even with knowing that she was probably in need of some serious medical attention, he took more steps away, attempting to purge the image of her from his mind, but to no avail. Who was she? Had she purposely made this her temporary home for the night? Did she slip and fall? Not able to get up on her own? Not able to call for help? It snowed a little the night before and the sidewalks were covered with hit-or-miss slick spots. Maybe she fell, Carter concluded.
Town hall meeting or help a homeless woman? Town hall meeting or help a homeless woman? Carter went back and forth and the more he thought about it, the more he leaned towards the town hall meeting. Besides, there had to be someone else who saw that woman lying there. Morning rush hour in Uptown Charlotte was comparable to a day in any uptown (or downtown) area in a major city – people breaking their necks to get to the office at eight by way of light rail, buses and trolleys, men buying their morning coffee from Starbucks, women teetering in stilettos while pulling their black laptop bags like Radio Flyer wagons, police officers perched near the entrances of some buildings staring at folks as they walked by, cars running red lights and bad taxi drivers whizzing by, pumping their brakes like student drivers– no doubt many people saw this woman lying here before he did. Was he the only one who had a W.W.J.D. moment?
Standing at the corner of Trade and Tryon now, watching the walk symbol flash, he didn’t make an attempt to cross the street. He stood as stationary as the four statues there, observing others making their way on either side of the street, even locking eyes with a beautiful brown-toned woman walking in his direction. But his conscience wouldn’t allow him to take a step. Instead, he turned around and began walking quickly in the homeless woman’s direction.
“Crap. What are you doing, Carter?” he mumbled, rubbing his gloved hands together to create some heat from the friction.
As he approached her, he watched others look at her and walk on by like she was a fixture. He felt a hurt in his chest for doing the same thing a few minutes prior. This woman was someone’s daughter or sister, and having lost his brother and mother, he was all too familiar with the painful sting of death. The loss he experienced was unimaginable, something that tore his life apart in many ways, no matter how successful he’d become, no matter how carefree and strong-willed he appeared in public, that hurt was always there, lingering over him like dense fog after a bad thunderstorm.
“Miss…” he said bending over, gently nudging her with his gloved hand, trying to get a response, a sign of life – moving digits, a blink, something.
Anything.
The smell of urine floated in the air around her, the stench so strong that Carter covered his nose and turned away for a second to get a few breaths of fresh air. Her light skin was ruined by patches of dirt here and there, her reddish cheeks chapped like freezer-burnt chicken. Her fingernails were jagged and dirty. Her lips were chapped so severely, the outer layer of skin was peeling off of them. Her mouth was open a little but no sound ca
me out – no responses to Carter’s calls to her. He watched her fragile body shiver, somewhat relieved he got a little movement from her – proof of life – but then felt guilty for being fortunate, having survived the recession with his high-paying gig still in tact, for making way more money than he knew he should have, for being self-righteous and privileged while helpless, homeless folk lay scattered around the city with no help and no hope.
He set his briefcase next to a bench and dropped down to her side. The cold cement sidewalk gave his knees an unexpected chill. Being out in the elements a bit longer than he’d expected turned his nose a light reddish hue. His face was cold, his ears were beginning to ache, and if all of this was happening to him in just ten minutes, he could only imagine what this woman was feeling – if she could feel anything at all.
After raking away cigarette butts and a few pieces of trash from his immediate area, he peeled off his black leather gloves and checked her flimsy wrist for a pulse, instantly startled by the coldness of her skin. Her wrist felt like a Popsicle against his warm fingers, but at least he found what he was looking for – a pulse – a few weak, sluggish thuds against his index and middle fingers. That’s the moment he was certain that her life was in danger. When she stopped shivering, he became more fearful.
“Are you all right?” Carter asked again, holding her feeble, dirty hand, noticing she had on a pair of miserably soiled tennis shoes that were so worn, she might as well went barefoot. Her sockless toes, all a bluish-purple color, stuck out of the holes in both shoes. Even her jeans had holes in them, in the knees, like someone had intentionally styled them that way.
“Somebody help,” Carter yelled out in the street.
He knows this area well. He’s next to her on the ground, near the Marriott on Trade Street between Tryon and Church streets. There’s a Champs Sports Bar adjacent to their location, a Hooter’s restaurant across the way, more faded green benches, a few barren trees and a couple of other businesses he hadn’t noticed until now. There are only a few people on the street at the moment, and even they are seeking shelter from the temperature in nearby buildings. No one comes to his aid.
“Somebody help!” Carter repeated with more intensity. This woman was in more trouble than he’d originally thought. “I need some help over here!”
People pay attention this time. Most are bundled in thick coats, warm scarves and gloves, hats, ear warmers and boots – the kind of winter gear for the Northern part of the country but this year, these articles of clothing are needed for southern comfort. Carter feels relieved to see several women walking briskly in his direction. Finally, some assistance.
“What’s going on?” one of the women asked. She’s an older Caucasian woman, a brunette, with a died-in-the-woods New Jersey accent and he knows he’s seen her in his building before.
“I found her like this…been trying to get her to open her eyes, but I’m not getting anything.”
The woman stooped over, maintaining her balance by placing her hands above her knees, not wanting to lower herself to the ground as Carter had. “Maybe you should leave her here…she’s just another homeless person,” the woman groaned carelessly. She stood straight up again and clenched her bag. “If you hadn’t noticed, there are plenty of those people ‘round here now…lying on the sidewalks and at the bus stop terminals…begging for food and change. The city really needs to do something about this.”
Carter frowned at the heartless woman whose comment made him think of his own mother. She would’ve said the exact same thing.
“Just let the cops handle it,” the woman added.
“I’m not leaving her here,” Carter shot back. “She needs help.”
“Well suit yourself, but you’re wasting your time.” The woman walked away, her heels clicking toward the corner of Trade and Tryon.
The other women followed.
Carter lowered his face near the homeless woman again, telling her to open her eyes if she could hear him or squeeze his hand. He got no response from her.
No, she was not just another homeless person. Granted she was dirty and frail and obviously destitute, but she was in grave trouble. Many of the elite in the area found it difficult to understand that homeless people where human too. They’d rather spend time volunteering only when it was obvious they would get some sort of public recognition and praise for it, or when their company called upon them to participate in perfunctory community involvement events, but in individual cases like this – where a homeless woman is in need of medical attention, food, clothing and shelter – they simply turned a blind eye and walk away.
Oddly enough, Carter was one of those people – a handsome executive in global banking, a man who had it all and felt sorry for those who didn’t – but he didn’t let his status deter him from helping someone in need. Not this time.
She’s just another homeless person…
Carter couldn’t get the merciless comment out of his head as he stared down at the woman. She was a woman who was in need of serious help. A woman whom the Bible refers to as a weaker vessel. Surely she couldn’t fight and survive in the streets as well as a man could. And looking down at her now with the utmost concern, Carter, in his heart, wished there was something he could’ve done to prevent her from getting to this point, feeling something in his chest for this woman whom he didn’t even know but had an unexplainable connection with. A calling…
“Sweetheart, can you open you eyes?” She was obviously too weak to do much else, maybe even too fragile to do something as simple as crack her eyes open.
Carter whipped out his Blackberry and punched 9-1-1. He told the operator where he was, near the Marriott on Trade Street in Uptown. He told her he’d been walking to work and stumbled upon a woman, lying on the sidewalk. Said he didn’t know if she fell and hit her head. Told her she appeared to be homeless. She was barely breathing and her pulse was weak. Her body was shivering violently for a moment, before stopping abruptly.
The operator told him she was sending help and in the meantime, he should keep trying to interact with her so he gave it another try.
Close to her ear, he told her to open her eyes but got no response from her. He tried to get her to speak. Nothing. He checked her pulse again. No improvement. It remained in trouble and she was breathing, just barely.
“Ma’am, ma’am, can you open your eyes? What’s your name, sweetheart?” Carter asked, touching her cold face, reading her expression. For a person in such a bad condition, she appeared to be happy, the look of a person who was at peace with their self and their lot in life. The look of a person who didn’t mind that this could possibly be it – the end.
And that’s exactly how the woman felt as her soul slowly shut down. She went in and out of consciousness then out of nowhere, her eyes sprung wide open as she stared up at the grayish-blue sky, watching well-formed snowflakes gracefully ascend down towards her, smiling at how beautiful this picture was before her eyes now. She’d decided this was the last beauty from God she would see before she perished.
“What’s your name?” Carter asked quickly, seeing her open eyes and awkward smile. “She just opened her eyes,” he told the 9-1-1 operator in a frenzy, relieved but also worried and scared that she would die right there in front of him.
A crowd had since formed after all of the commotion, probably consisting of people who had walked by her, now wishing they’d taken the time to help instead of being judgmental, prideful and uncaring. And while Carter could be described as a person who once fit that description, remembering he’d even walked by other homeless folks without much thought, he was making up for all those times now with this one single act of kindness.
He took off his black overcoat and spread it over the woman’s legs while summoning an onlooker standing nearest to him to give up her jacket as well. When she did, he spread it on top of his coat for extra warmth. He proceeded to take off his suit jacket, folded it and placed it under the woman’s head.
“Sweetheart, can
you please talk to me, please?” Carter begged, but the woman only made moaning noises, her eyes rolling about.
“She won’t talk to me,” Carter told the 9-1-1 operator in a panic. “She’s…ah…she’s breathing and making a few noises, but I can’t get her to talk. How much longer for an ambulance? She’s not saying anything and she’s cold…she’s very, very cold.” Carter waited for a response from the operator, growing more impatient with every passing second of silence. “How much longer for an ambulance!”
“Sir, calm down.”
“Calm down? How can I calm down when this woman is about to die out here? We need an ambulance now!”
“Sir, help is on the way. For now, I need you to relax, okay? Now here’s what I want you to do…I want you to keep her as warm as possible. Try to spread—”
“I’ve already spread a couple of coats on top of her.”
Carter held his Blackberry to his left ear with his shoulder, not paying any attention to what the dispatcher was saying. With both hands, he touched the woman’s face and said to her, “Do you hear me?” He stared at her intently, but there was no reaction. Still, no answer.
The woman’s eyes remained open. She heard Carter, but didn’t say a word. She was numb and cold, drifting into a state of shock, her body violently shivering now. Lips quivering. Teeth chattering.
“She’s shaking again,” Carter yelled into the phone. “Tell me what to do.”
“I need you to keep her as warm as you can until the ambulance arrives.”
“And when might that be? Some time next year?” he said furious.
Carter took a deep breath. Arguing with the 9-1-1 operator wouldn’t solve anything. Instead he focused on the woman, keeping her head perfectly still while her body shivered like she was having convulsions. He made sure her arms and legs were covered with the coats and kept her face warm with his hands.
