FINDING ALICE
By Andrea DiGiglio
FINDING ALICE
Andrea DiGiglio
Copyright © 2011
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 1468007270
ISBN-13: 978-1468007275
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my family and friends. Thank you, all of you for being there for me. Mom, Dad, Sis, Bro, Melissa, Danielle, Sarah, Carol, all of you for your constant encouragement. Thank you to all those who helped make this book happen.
Special thanks to Charlotte Koehler, Megan Grant AND Russ Turner. Thank you to my amazing son, for allowing me to create this world. And Colin, for the inspiration of the characters and the world they inhabit.
I love you all dearly.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Book art-cover, photography by Russ Turner
Model: Natalie Jenkins
MUA: Deaette Dwyer
Final design by Russ Turner
Editor: Megan Grant
Contributor: Charlotte Koehler
CONTENTS
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
About the Author
PROLOGUE
I never knew love, not in any form. Unwanted at birth, I was abandoned by the very people who were supposed to love me the most. The truth is I never really minded it that much. When you grow up never knowing what love is, you have no idea what you’re missing. I used to hear them say that I was damaged goods, un-savable. I lived in four different foster homes before I ran away. Stupid thing was the last couple, Jill and Robert, they were so happy and they tried to be loving. That lasted only a few months.
CHAPTER 1
There I was sitting in a small room that looked like it was meant for integration, slurping on a juice box like a six-year-old. The social worker told me this was my last chance, but she had said that before. Twice. Most teenagers with behavioral issues don’t get placed, let alone with a fourth family.
The door swung open like saloon doors in an old western as the social worker let in a homely looking couple. They were in their late thirties and the wife seemed more than nervous. She sat down across from me while her husband stood behind her. Her hair was the kind of blonde that looked like it was bleached from the sun. Her face was slightly rounded with almost no makeup. Just a little eye shadow that reminded me of what people wear when they are heading out for a special occasion.
“Hello, Jane. I’m Jill and this is my husband Robert.”
“Hi,” I said with a fake smile.
They seemed loving and I overheard the social workers talking about how desperate they were for a child. I did my best to make an effort but had learned that I’m usually a family’s last resort. Getting attached isn’t an option, nor really a consideration.
“Can I hug you? It’s okay if you aren’t ready. I’ve just always wanted a daughter.”
“Okay,” I nodded and let her hug me. I have to admit it felt good and I thought that maybe this would be different.
Jill let me paint my room whatever color I wanted, so I went with a slate gray. As long as I kept up my grades and didn’t break curfew, I could wear almost anything I chose. Along with decorating my room how I saw fit, the freedom to be who I was, whatever that meant, was refreshing. Every morning, Jill poured me a glass of OJ and wouldn’t let me leave until I finished it and took some sort of pre-made breakfast with me. She needed me and I eventually gave in to the fact that I liked her, and I finally enjoyed my life. Money was always tight but they did everything they could to give me the best life regardless of my past. She always said that my life began when I walked through her door, that God gave me a chance to be reborn and what I did with that was my choice.
One sweltering summer day, I believe it was the middle of July, she found out she was pregnant. And then I saw what real love is. I mean, here were these two people showing this immense love to something the size of a pea and it wasn’t even alive or born yet. And that’s when I realized they didn’t really love me. I was just there to fill this empty space until their own child arrived.
We lived in a small two-bedroom house on an acre or two of land. I remember one day when I skipped school and went back home, not that I had any friends or anywhere else to go. So I snuck into the basement and drew in my sketchpad to pass time. Robert had taken the day off work (which he rarely did) to take Jill to the doctor. I thought they were so happy, but I was wrong. When they came into the house, the sound of the door slamming shut startled me. They were always so calm and, well, perfect, I guess.
I sat at the bottom of the stairs in the basement listening, not that it was hard to hear them. They were screaming at each other so loudly the walls trembled. That’s when I realized I really was damaged goods, that nobody wanted me, and that everyone lies. Robert picked up extra shifts to help out for when Jill was off work for maternity leave. But we were already having trouble making ends meet. Jill kept yelling, “We have to move. She is our daughter! We cannot just get rid of her.”
He replied, “We are just her foster parents; we can’t afford a three-bedroom house.”
It was nice that Jill was fighting for me. It was so strange; it was the first time that I had ever cried. I don’t think I would’ve even known that’s what I was doing, but I felt something wet touch my lips and it tasted like salt. And that’s how it was always described to me. It was then that I understood they weren’t even my tears; they were Jill’s.
I remember a social worker telling Jill and Robert that I had been through a lot and I was basically an emotionless teenager. That if they were patient, a “better kid” would come along. Most foster kids act up, and those that do get deemed a bad seed for good. I remember at my last foster home, the seemingly nice husband who was actually an abusive drunk went after my foster mother. Normally, I just listened to my music loud in my room; out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. This time, I was sitting right there at the kitchen table. I don’t even remember what they were fighting about; I just remember feeling so angry. And the more he screamed at her, the more enraged I became. And that’s when he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall. My entire body quivered in this unexplainable panic. I was fighting between her fear and his anger. It was the first time I felt true emotion and it wasn’t even mine. I was concentrating so hard on calming myself down, I barely realized I had stood up and grabbed a wine bottle off of the counter and smashed it over his head. It happened so fast that my foster mom barely saw it, or so she said. I was taken out of their care the next day, not because he was abusive but because I at
tacked him.
Back in the basement, I heard the door slam, jolting me back to reality. I was relieved knowing it was Robert leaving for the night shift. I snuck upstairs quietly as I could to my room and I packed my things. It wasn’t much—just a few tank tops, my coat, a few thermal shirts, socks, underwear, my hairbrush, a stick of deodorant, and my sketchpad. I was already wearing my only pair of jeans and army boots, which Jill hated. I hid my bag in my closet and sat on my bed, doing my homework until dinner. Jill called me down as usual at six-thirty. We had leftover chicken Alfredo from the previous night. I helped her do the dishes, did my chores, finished my homework like she asked, and then went up to my room. I waited until Robert came home and went to bed. When I was absolutely sure they were both asleep, I wrote a quick note:
“Thank you for giving me a home, but this room is better suited for the baby. I think that this is for the best for all of us.”
I signed it:
Love,
Jane
I left the note next to my homework at the foot of the bed. I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the window. It was a pretty far drop so I went from the ledge to the garage before jumping off, which was surprisingly effortless. And then I walked toward the dark woods and off into the night.
My foster parents filed a missing child’s report, which I’m sure my social worker told them they had to do. Once the baby was born, they forgot about me. It was pretty easy to reinvent myself. I didn’t have any friends or family to catch up with me. I made up a new name, not the one my so-called birth parents gave me. Alice. I changed it to Alice. You have no idea how easy it was; after basically paying for my diploma online and forging all the basic documents. I was officially somebody. I moved from town to town for a short while, working random jobs just to pay for my next move, until I found a place that felt like home. It as a really odd feeling for me, never having felt that before, but this place just drew me in like a magnet. This, for most people, would seem like lunacy. No sane person chooses Michigan.
I found a hole-in-the-wall bar just outside of Hell, Michigan, and convinced the owner to hire me. By “convince,” I mean I played him in a game of pool for it. He was actually pretty good—must come from owning your own bar—but I hustled him. I’ve been working there for over a year now. I spend most of my day reading or drawing, and sometimes I work extra shifts just to pass the time.
This is where I met Camille. She was absolutely stunning to look at. She had brown hair with highlights that looked golden and her skin was pale but flawless. Her legs looked longer than they were due to her overly short shorts and the tower of heels she wore. She definitely didn’t belong in a bar like this but just the same, she loved it here. She went to a community college and came here to get away. She says she works better with a few drinks in her. Somehow she convinced me that I should go back to school, that I was too antisocial and needed to get out of this town every once in a while to mingle with real people, or something like that. I used to just laugh at her, but I began deeply considering it.
We became friends, almost like sisters after this really bad bar fight a few months back. An overly large biker came and challenged one of our regular drunks to a game of pool. I’m assuming it was for a decent chunk of change, because when he lost to Jake, he almost killed him. There I was minding my own business at the bar when this giant ass of a man pulled out a pistol. Camille flew out of her seat, attempting to run toward the door, but this guy shifted his aim at her, stopping her dead in her tracks. Jake just stood there blank, refusing to give in to him, pushing Camille behind him protectively. I heard the click as the biker readied his gun. Next thing I knew, I was standing next to him with his gun in my hand, pressed against his cheek.
“How about you get your fat ass out of my bar?” I barely recognized my cold voice leaving my lips.
Everyone stood in shock, but it was Camille’s face I noticed. I watched her eyes busily recalculating the last few seconds. I felt all the other patrons watch in terror. He spit on the floor, threw his hands up and left. Jake let out a sigh of relief and hugged me, flashing one of those “Way to make me feel like a pussy” grins. I pushed away from the hug quickly and noticed Camille leaning toward a single black feather on the ground. I snatched it up and stuffed it into my pocket. I watched for her reaction but she didn’t even notice.
The most amazing thing was Camille never asked me how I got there so quickly, how I grabbed the gun without anyone seeing me actually do it. That is why we are such good friends. Well, that and she is so rational, I don’t have to deal with her emotions overloading my mind. I couldn’t explain it to her even if I wanted to. I couldn’t even explain it to myself.
CHAPTER 2
College. What was I thinking? I pulled my hat down to cover my eyes. I was a good twenty minutes early. I walked to the back of the classroom, pulled my chair closer to the wall in the corner, and sat down. I don’t know how I let Camille convince me this was a good idea. I only signed up for two classes, though I could have handled fourteen credits worth of classes easily. First class, History: Early Religion. I’m not a devout person. To be honest, I don’t think I really believe in anything, but it sounded interesting enough. I sat drawing in my notepad when suddenly, my fingers became extremely hot, like a fire was lit right through them, almost as if I was washing them in boiling water. I dropped my pencil, massaging my fingers and inhaling deeply, trying to imagine the pain leaving with my breath. Then the most bizarre thing happened: I smelled the sweetest smell. It reminded me of the ocean. Salty water and a wisp of sand. It completely distracted me and the pain I was just feeling vanished.
I opened my eyes to find the room in a standstill, as if someone had pressed pause on a movie. There in front of me was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen; he was stunning. His hair was as black as the night with slivers of dark brown dancing throughout it. His eyes were intensely amber. Chiseled jaw exactly like the rest of him. I realized I was holding my breath and exhaled. As I did, everything in the room seemed to speed back up to present time. I felt my heart thumping quickly in my chest; I could even hear it in my ears. He sat in the chair in front of the nerd next to me. When he turned and looked at me, it was like he was burning a hole into my soul, almost as if he could hear my heart pounding against my chest.
My concentration broke when Camille bustled in and gave the nerd a nudge to get out of “her seat.” I was almost grateful she snapped me back to reality.
“I am so excited you decided to take this class with me, Alice,” she said with a smile. Her attention turned to what I was apparently staring at. She stared at the back of his head and mouthed, “He’s hot.”
I just rolled my eyes at her and thought to myself, Yes he is hot. Glancing at his perfect profile, I watched him smile to himself. There was no way he could have heard that. Did I say that out loud? I looked at Camille to check and make sure I hadn’t actually uttered those words. She was going on about something, so no, I hadn’t. I didn’t even notice the teacher, a short man with a terrible comb over, had entered the classroom. My brain was in hyper-overdrive. I attempted to focus on what Camille was saying but was completely distracted by this gorgeous guy and…how the hell did I do that?
I’ve tried time and time again to pass these weird circumstances off as nothing more than quick reflexes. I have even blamed it all on adrenaline. Neither one has ever been the case. I nodded at Camille with no idea what I was agreeing to. The teacher started introducing himself and what this course would cover over the semester. He wrote his name on the board in a horrible version of what I believe was supposed to represent cursive. Mr. Riley. I turned the page in my notebook to write notes on the main points, like tests and essay due dates. A few lines into the syllabus, I drifted off as I tend to do, writing down every moment I ever, well, stopped time. It was about three or four instances down when I felt a wave of heat hit the side of my face. I looked up in the direction it was coming from to find Amber Eyes burning into me. He said somethi
ng but it was hard to make out.
“Hello? Do you have an extra pencil?” He looked at me alarmed. He must have thought I was retarded or something. His voice was so mesmerizing, it took me a moment to respond.
“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled.
“Pay attention, Alice. The teacher’s staring,” he whispered in my ear, but he was too far to whisper so quietly in my ear. It sounded like he whispered in my head.
“What did you say?” I blurted out. I stared at him and he just looked at me even more confused. He reached for the pencil and I released it.
Mr. Riley cleared his throat while staring directly at me. I smiled a half smile filled with apology. What the hell was that? I must be going out of my mind. The smirk that rose on the corner of Mr. Chiseled’s mouth made me consider otherwise. I took a deep breath and began actually taking notes.
“I’m going to let you go early today, class, since it is the first day. Please take a printed syllabus on your way out. You will be reading excerpts from the Book of Enoch. This is one of the many early religious works we will discuss. Remember, you will have to choose a subject from one of our readings for your final essay. Yes, there will be a quiz next week. Now get out.” The pudgy man wiggled back to his desk and put his glasses on.
I shut my notebook and slid it into my sling bag. When I looked up at Camille, she was already on her cell phone; I didn’t even see her dial. She smiled, pointing at her phone, and waved me in her direction as she headed to the exit. I waved her off and mouthed “Later.” She smiled and blew me a kiss, obnoxious. I grabbed the syllabus and shoved it in my bag. I looked to the back of the classroom to find no one was there, just my pencil on the desk that had kept my attention all class. I walked back over and picked it up, sighing almost in relief he wasn’t still there.
Finding Alice (Alice Clark Series) Page 1
