by Luna Carrol
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Tease Publishing LLC
www.teasepublishingllc.com
Copyright ©2007 by Luna Carrol
First published in 2007, 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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The Love of Her Death
Book One of Soulful Journeys
By
Luna Carrol
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TEASE PUBLISHING
www.teasepublishingllc.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Love of Her Death
A Tease Publishing Book/E book
Copyright© 2007 Luna Carrol
ISBN: 1-978-934678-19-0
Cover Artist: Stella Price
Editor: Heather Spence
Interior text design: Stacee Sierra
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Tease Publishing LLC
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Swansboro, North Carolina 28584-0234
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Tease Publishing LLC. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Donnice Jordan sat on the most uncomfortable bench in the world. To make matters worse, she had been there for two and a half hours now! She looked at her watch.
"Where the hell is that bus?” She strained her neck to look over the heads of the other waiting people without standing.
The younger woman sitting beside her pulled her headphones off, which resulted in the blaring of her music or what some people called music. Donnice rolled her eyes and settled back into her seat.
These bus stops were getting way too crowded. She looked to a tall brown pylon that read “McPherson Square Station.” Well, she could take the Metro.
She shuffled through her purse. Oh God! Had she remembered her farecard? How much money was left on it? That didn't matter since she couldn't find it anyway. She closed the flap on her purse and sighed in a defeated manner.
"Relax. We got nothing but time.” The younger woman with black lipstick smiled. Perhaps her teeth should have looked more white than yellow. Hell, maybe the whites of her eyes shouldn't have that yellow tinge.
"Yeah.” Donnice leaned back. Truth was she didn't have all the time in the world. She had to get to work. As much as she hated the place, she couldn't afford to lose this second job.
The gothic woman laughed. “You're all wrapped up in the real. Relax."
"I have bills to pay. That's the real.” Donnice looked at her watch once more.
A sound much like a cat hissing through its teeth came from the woman now. “People often die from cancer or some totally avoidable disease because of that kind of tension."
Donnice wanted to laugh. She had to be kidding. The woman was turning yellow where she should be white! Now, she wasn't a doctor, but that had to mean cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, or all of the above. Whatever it was, it wasn't healthy. Donnice's eyebrows rose on their own accord.
"Oh, I get it.” The woman stood and stretched. Her black skirt reached her knees but still looked obscene because of her torn black fishnet stockings.
"What do you get?” Why the hell did she ask? What difference did it make? Where the hell was that bus?
"Your type.” The Goth looked down at her, her black-circled eyes and black bangs almost blending. “You think you've got it all together. You take one look at me and think I have no idea what I'm talking about."
"Huh?” She was right, but there was no sense in letting her know that, especially if it meant admitting to being rude. Maybe if she just played dumb, then the possessed creature would get mad and leave.
"You took one look at me, and your nose curled.” She shrugged. “It's okay. I'm used to it, but you're prejudiced and extremely stressed. Probably to the point of hurting someone else?"
Donnice tried her best to look appalled. “I'm not, and I certainly wouldn't hurt anyone."
"Fine.” Sarcasm alert. She knew it all too well. “You like the way I dress. You aren't late for work and worried about how you're going to pay your Lowe's credit card payment this month."
How the hell...? “Fine. I am concerned about a credit card, but it's not Lowe's.” Donnice looked away. How many single women shopped at Lowe's? “It's a Belk's card."
The woman laughed. “You really need to get out of that drab world you're living in. I bet you own nothing but practical pants and shoes."
"Some of us have to work for our clothes. When you can't afford but one or two new pair a year, you tend to buy what will work the most for you.” Okay, she was raising her voice at a total stranger now, and one who may very well have a knife hidden in those ridiculously high black boots. Just look at them. They were clunky to say the least.
The gothic woman put her hands on her hips and smiled. “You know, I bought these clothes."
"Really?” Donnice looked her over slowly. “I could have sworn they were donated."
The Goth laughed. “You're a bit of a bitch, ain't ya?"
Donnice gave her a smirky look. “Thanks for putting it kindly."
"It's the best I could do. What do you say we get a drink while we wait?"
She had to be kidding. Drink with her? What if someone she knew saw them? Donnice looked around at the crowd. No one she knew could be seen, but still...
"Come on. You've been here for over two hours, and you haven't seen anyone you know."
Donnice straightened her neck to hide the obvious fact that she'd been looking around for someone.
"I'll buy you a Coke-A-Cola.” She said Coke-A-Cola with a wide, silly grin.
"Fine.” Donnice picked up the brown purse, which matched her sensible brown shoes. “But I want a Pepsi, not a Coke.
"Hey. How do you know how long I've been here?” The weirdo could be stalking her. That thought quickly flew from her mind. No one would stalk her. She wasn't the type that someone stalked.
She laughed. “I'm Patricia. Patricia Stone."
"Donnice Jordan, but that doesn't answer my question."
"Damn, your name is original. I would have thought your name would be something boring, like Jane."
Donnice followed her into a little bar not far away. The bar was popular with most of the Capitol Hill crowd and not a place Donnice often frequented. The room had several round tables that stood around four feet in height and had tall stools around them. Sitting at the table, Donnice waited while Patricia went to the bar to order their drinks.
Great. The place was just warming up for the night, and a table of men looked in Donnice's direction. She quickly lowered her head and stared at the napkin on the table. To those men, she would be nothing more than an appetizer. She knew their type. They were too important to have a real relationship with anyone not fortunate enough to work in politics or able to further their career through family ties. Nope. Best just to ignore them and hope they did the same to her.
One of the guys stood and walked in her direction.
Oh God, no. Let him walk on by.
She lowered her eyes in shame. He hadn't even been looking at her. The man continued out of the bar without a backward glance. Talk about feeling like a fool. Those guys hadn't been interested in her in the least.
"So, you going to work?” Patricia sat directly across from her.
"Yeah. It's actually my second job. I work this one about three nights a week."
Patricia shook her head. “Two jobs and this one at night. You are burning the candle at both ends."
"What do you do?” She probably works at the local music store or maybe a hooker. Damn, she was cranky. She'd feel ridiculous if the woman said she was an art teacher or something. She looked at Patricia again. Nah, no way.
"I work where I want for as long as I want. I get bored with things easily."
Donnice smiled. Safe. No more humiliation today. “You're doing little to prove me wrong about you."
She cocked her head. “Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"Aren't you? That's why you invited me here, right? And how did you know...?” Patricia interrupted her before she could repeat her still unanswered question.
She shrugged. “I was thirsty and saw someone waiting for the bus. Changing your opinion about me wasn't on my mind. Funny how you think others are concerned with your opinion of them."
Man. She really needed to lighten up. This woman hadn't done anything to her. She sighed. “Sorry. I guess I am a little stressed. It's just that I'm going to lose this job if I'm late one more time."
Patricia smiled. “I used to be like you. Overworked and worried about what others thought of me."
No freakin’ way.
"I'm serious. Wipe that look of shock off your face. I was just like you. Except I had the Lowe's card."
Donnice shared a smile with her.
"I used to work at a bank.” Patricia smiled at the young man delivering their drinks. She looked back to Donnice. “Sure did. I worked from nine to five."
"What happened?” This conversation was getting way more interesting.
"I got wise. I woke up one day, and, POW, it hit me."
"The drugs?” Oops. Total tongue slippage.
Patricia laughed. “Hell no. They didn't hit me until about a year ago. I finally reached that point where nothing made any sense anymore."
Donnice gave her “the look.” The one she reserved for people whose thinking stretched the boundaries of reality. Patricia was bordering on the ridiculous now.
"I got tired."
"Oh, that I understand.” Donnice sipped her Pepsi.
"Yeah. I'd say you're there. When you're just as likely to scream at your boss as you are to walk out and never come back.” She lowered her brow and smiled. “Or even get even with them?"
Donnice had thought of both actually. Sometimes she fantasized about cussing her boss out or leaving just when the lines for customer service were at their longest. Oh yeah, that was a good fantasy. They'd be sorry then. Of course, she had even given thought of exacting some worse form of revenge, but that was beyond sane. “Umm ... no."
"You know what you need to do?"
"I can't imagine what you're going to say."
Patricia laughed again. “You should quit."
"Right. And do what about that Belk's card we were talking about? I can't just do what I want. I have things to think about. Responsibilities."
"Cut it up and make payments."
"Yeah.” She gave Patricia a “duh” look. “That's why I need the job."
"Do like me. Work when you want to. I bet you would really like the lifestyle."
Lifestyle? That word usually referred to things her type didn't do. Things people did behind closed doors or in special bars, but certainly not the type of people she associated with.
"I can't just do that.” She continued drinking her Pepsi while Patricia drank what had to be a whiskey or some other amber colored drink.
"I did.” She cleared her face of emotion, but Donnice knew she expected her to comment.
"I better not say anything.” But she could think it. Patricia could certainly be one of those people who filled the six o'clock news.
Patricia smiled. “You're learning."
Donnice's only reaction was the rising of her brows. Sounds like a good opportunity to be sarcastic, but she would resist. “Say, how did you...?"
"Okay, why don't you just push the edges of the envelope a little?"
Donnice tilted her head and stared at the woman for a long moment. “Excuse me?"
"You know, dress a little different. Spend your money a little different."
Oh, here it comes. She's finally getting to the point. She's going to hit her up for some money. That's how she did it. That's how she got by with ignoring “the real” as she put it.
"I could help you."
"I bet you could. I'm not giving you any money. I don't have any to loan out.” She pulled her purse closer.
Patricia pulled back. “I'm not begging you for money."
"Sure.” You call it what you want. Panhandling, bumming, borrowing. It all comes down to the same thing. Hard earned money blown on drugs or alcohol.
"You really are a snob.” Patricia the Goth actually had the audacity to sniff at her!
"I'm not a snob. I just work hard for my money, and I don't feel like just handing it out."
Patricia sighed and, for the first time, looked like she was giving up. “All right, let me put it to you plainly. I will help you live a little. Jazz things up for you. I can even help you find a new job."
Donnice shook her head emphatically. “I don't do drugs, and I am most definitely not hooking!"
"You are impossible. You're hopeless. Your entire life will be spent trying to buy the most practical shoes and paying the minimum on your credit cards."
"And what makes you the guru of life? I met you at the same bus station."
"Ahh. You met me at the same bus station, but I'm on my way to a killer place to party. Totally different destinations."
"No doubt.” Sure. The Goth was heading to “a killer place” on a bus going to Capitol Hill, but she had to work till closing. That about sums it up. She would always be a loser.
"Come on. You know you're going to be late to work. Now, if you're a truthful person, you're about to lose your job anyway, and you don't really care."
That was a depressing thought. She didn't even get to tell her boss just what she thought of him. Not once did she tell the man how horrible his breath really was and ask him to speak to her only from across the room.
"I can see you with jet black hair."
Donnice touched her brown hair. “I like my hair."
"It matches your shoes."
"What?” Donnice looked down at her leather pumps. My God. Her hair and her shoes were exactly the same color. “Well ... they're coordinated.” Even she didn't buy that one.
"Good. Then, black will work with anything. Then, we'll catch the Metro."
"Why?"
"Why the color, or why the Metro?” Patricia laid a five on the table. “Cause I prefer both."
"Why would you care?” She already knew better than to wonder why Patricia liked black hair. Rolling her eyes, she decided to let that one slide.
"Hell if I know. Normally, I wouldn't, but maybe it was your sunny personality. Maybe it's because I know a like soul when I see one."
Donnice laughed. “Maybe I should do something different with my hair, but I don't know about black, and I know we're nothing alike."
Patricia shrugged. “Okay. Have it your way, Donnes. Still think you'd fit in well in my line of work."
"Donnice."
"Uh huh. Relax some. We'll pretend Donnes is short for Donnice.” She stood. “Do me a fav, Donnes."
"What?"
"Hold my stuff while I go to the bathroom. I'll meet you at the escalator for the Metro.” She laid a large, multi-colored knit bag on the table before Donnice.
"Why would
you trust me?” Donnice looked at the bag, wondering if she should really touch it.
Patricia laughed. “Isn't that how you're supposed to feel about me?"
Donnice narrowed her eyes. “I've heard of people trafficking drugs by making unsuspecting people carry their bags for them, and you know they have cameras in the Metro."
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?” She shook her head. “I'm not trafficking drugs, Ms. Practicality."
"Why wouldn't you just carry your bag with you?” She couldn't bring herself to touch it. The bag itself could be stolen; then, she would be found holding it!
Patricia rolled her eyes. “Uh, honestly.” She dumped the contents out on the table. “I just don't like taking it to the bathroom because I don't like sitting it on the floor where lord knows what has happened."
"Oh.” Donnice was starting to feel real bad now. “Okay. I'll meet you at the pylon.” She watched as Patricia shoveled her belongings back into her bag—lipstick, wallet, miscellaneous papers. Nothing suspicious.
"Okay. I'll be there in a few.” Patricia left without even looking back.
Donnes sighed, walked to the pylon, and read it once more. At least they killed a few minutes. She checked her watch for the millionth time. As she leaned against the pylon, she watched the busy people pass by. Some were on dates while others were alone and in a hurry.
She waited for what had to be several minutes. Where was Patricia?
A crowd of people exited the tunnel. More people pushed past her on the sidewalk. Damn. Where did all these people come from? She looked down the escalator and saw what looked like Patricia disappearing into the crowd.
Holy crap! How did she get past her? Donnes stepped onto the escalator. Patricia's head bounced in and out of view. It had to be peak time. Stepping to the left of the escalator, she started walking down the steps instead of just riding it.
Chapter Two
Donnice reached the faregates. Shit. She forgot about her farecard. Now, she had to take the time to find it. She sighed as she began rummaging through her purse. Finally! She slipped the card into the faregate and pushed beyond the crowd of people standing around waiting for a train.
