by Lynette Mae
She tried to go out, but Devon no longer felt anything in common with her old friends and no interest in telling them about her life. Worse yet, the city now held memories of Jillian, something she steadfastly avoided at all cost. One night she went out to a bar and ended up leaving with a cute brunette who was wearing a Penn State sweatshirt, but when the alcoholic cloud cleared her brain, she realized it was not Alex. She stole quietly from the woman's apartment before dawn, too ashamed and confused by her behavior to even face her. So, in the end, she decided that the best thing to do was to come back to her apartment, pack up her life and move forward as soon as possible, leaving the painful memories far behind.
Soon, thoughts of seeing Mac and the promise of a new future turned her anxiety to anticipation as she merged from I495 onto the ramp for interstate 95 south. Devon knew she had been forever changed by her experiences. But, she had also learned valuable lessons that would serve her well in life. The one thing she was certain of now was that she was a survivor, and no matter what, giving in to the demons was not an option.
It was six weeks until the police academy started. Plenty of time to get herself settled, re-establish her workout routine and learn her way around her new home. Yes, that was a great plan. After that, she would busy herself with learning her new career and doing whatever it took to excel from day one. Her road back from hell didn't seem quite as insurmountable as the bright morning sunlight bathed the interior of the jeep in warmth; Devon smiled feeling happier than she had in longer than she could remember.
"Well, here I go," she said out loud. The sounds of Kansas' glorious brand of rock and roll filled the jeep as Devon sped down the highway. The singer seemed to be sending a message directly to her. He was right; hanging on to the past was pointless. "Everything is dust in the wind." Truer words were never spoken.
Epilogue:
August 1989
"Sign here for your belongings." The deputy pushed the form through the slot. After the inmate signed and returned the paper, he slid the drawer open. The inmate extracted a clear plastic bag containing his clothing and other personal items. He was led into a small changing room where he removed the bright orange prison uniform, replacing it with the clothes he was wearing when he came in.
For three years the Florida State Prison had been his home, ever since he was convicted and sentenced on the aggravated battery charge. Outside the gate he handed the taxi driver the voucher the clerk had given him.
"Where to buddy?" The cabbie asked.
"Nearest town is fine. Cheapest motel."
He removed a piece of paper from his wallet. It was tattered from being folded and unfolded hundreds of times. A wallet sized picture of a man in a military uniform fell out of the paper. He looked at the letter and picture. It was all he had left of his father. A suicide note.
That's what they called it. Well, they were full of shit. They killed him just as surely as if they had pulled the trigger of the gun themselves. My father was not a fag. Protecting those bitches, that's what they were doing. His father knew what they were and it was his duty to rid the military of their kind. But they turned on him and drove him to desperation.
Three years he had time to think about them and figure out what he was going to do. The time was drawing near. Oh, yeah. A friend of his father's gave him the information that James was living in Tampa now. She was a cop. A fucking cop. This was turning out to be more poetic justice than he'd ever dreamed.
He stared unseeing out the window as the cabbie turned down the main street. Soon. "I'll be seeing you soon Devon James."
The End…
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Copyright © July 2008 by Lynette Mae. All Rights Reserved
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The Sandbox 101
Lynette Mae - Stories
