He sat in his apartment building, starring out of the window to the streets below. Streets, he thought, that once were filled with happiness and laughter. People worked and enjoyed what they did. But now, now it was all different. Things were bleak. People were angry. The rich segregated themselves from the poor. No, not necessarily poor, just not rich. Not the right class.
He was trying to fix all of that, to make it all right again. But there was the snobbery of the rich and the savageness of the under privileged. He wondered if people really wanted to go back to those good times. He knew though, that there were.
Enough people wanted to see things change, to see the fighting vanish. He was appointed to be their advocate, to spread the word, make others understand. And it was working. People believed. But those damn Socialites!
Just then he thought he heard a sound from behind, coming from inside his home. He turned, looked around, saw nothing. “Tyrone, is that you?” His lavishly decorated office was in shadow, only a few lights were on.
Another noise in the kitchen. He began to fear that it was not his son. Ben Richardson reached into his desk drawer for a gun. Even before the fighting had erupted he had always kept one.
“Who’s there?” He crept around the corner to see that his apartment door was open by a crack. Through the small frame he could see the fallen body of one of his bodyguards. He cursed under his breath.
“Socialites.”
Ben stepped back to his window to see if any of his men were outside on the street. They were, but not standing.
“Damn it!”
He glanced around at the chaos that had consumed this city. His eyes closed as he whispered a small prayer to himself. They were making good on their threat.
“Praying won’t do you any good.”
Ben swung around from the window, his gun drawn and his eyes open to the shadowy figure that stood only feet away.
“What do you want?”
The mystery man chuckled. “You knew this was coming, Ben.”
“All I want is for things to go back to the way they were.”
“You and your people are the ones that started this fighting, not us.”
“No, you just wanted to turn half the population into slaves.”
The shadow brushed his eyebrow in thought. He then held out his hands in truce and did a full turn about. “I’m not armed, Ben. I just wanted to talk.”
“Yeah well, judging from the body at my door and the ones on the street downstairs tells me other wise.”
“What can I say, it’s turned into a bad neighborhood.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to laugh. “You people are all alike. You’re a bunch of condescending pricks that take no responsibility for this.”
“Sure we do. That is why I’m here. To ask you to stop what you’re doing. Stop the preaching, Ben. You’re just making things worse.”
“For who? You?”
“For everyone. People look up to you, Ben. Comply with our ways, and they will follow.”
Ben shook his head. “Same old shit.” He kept his gun aimed and tightened his grip. He didn’t care if his opponent was unarmed. “I’m telling the truth; that things don’t have to be this way.”
“You’re causing a … a disturbance.”
“Disturbance?” Again, Ben laughed. “Get the f#*k out of my house.”
Now the mystery man shook his head. “It’s a shame. There is no getting through to you. I thought you were an intelligent man. There is only one way to end this then.”
“Are you going to shoot? I have my gun drawn; you don’t even have one. Or did you lie?”
“No. No lies.” The man turned and walked out.
Ben watched the man disappear. He then lowered his gun.
A bullet shattered the glass, striking Ben in the back of the head.
**********
Sometimes Chloe would sit in her bedroom and think about her father and their relationship, or lack of one. Did he hate her? Did he blame this little girl for the death of Camille? And why did she still hope and pray for him and love him? Why? Should she hate him for neglecting her? Sure he never savagely beat the girl himself, but he might as well have. To make things harder on the girl, Jeremy would sometimes show just a little interest in Chloe. But this happened so rarely and so quickly: she often thought that she had imagined it.
Sally somehow always managed to read Chloe’s mind when this happened and without a word would sit on the edge of the bed putting her arms out to console the girl in whose company she sometimes felt like a mother. “It’s going to be alright, baby girl. Don’t worry about these things too much.”
But Chloe could not help it.
Marion had told Chloe all about God and heaven and hell. She had described it all fairly well to create a vivid picture inside of her mind. She saw God as a gentle and warm being, someone nurturing and protective. Heaven was a beautiful place, alive with bright but soothing colors. It was a place where everyone got along and played in giant meadows and swam in warm, blue rivers and laughed and sang. On the other hand, Hell was a desolate and dirty place where screams of torture filled the air; and no matter how many people were there, a person always felt alone and scared. So, was she in hell?
She knew that it was not true, but often felt as though she had been born into a kind of damnation. Her mother had died before she got a chance to know her and her father paid her no attention. For the first few years of her life all she could remember was loneliness and yelling. Although she smiled when she thought about the warmth and love given to her by Sally. At least, there was one good memory among the many wicked and confused ones; or so it seemed.
Now it was the same, except that she also experienced a sense of rejection and profound tiredness. No wonder! She was made to work to the bone every day with little food. She endured being smacked, punched, kicked, thrown around, scratched, and whatever else was put to her by Drake or Randy.
This place was ugly and loud and confusing and sometimes she could not bear it. She occasionally pushed her tormentors’ buttons on purpose, hoping that the forthcoming beating would be her last; and that it would all end. But then, as always she quickly regretted that she had allowed herself to think this way. There was something better, and she would find it, she swore to herself. By now, she was convinced that her mother was in heaven; and she felt it to be true.
She would not be blessed with Sally’s presence and her love if she where in hell, nor would she have Marion’s guidance and wisdom. The Valley also may have been loud and dark and sometimes scary, but there was no fire and brimstone, not as far as she could tell anyway. Now when she sometimes thought she saw Drake or even Randy with pointy ears and a tail and standing with a pitchfork, she would laugh. Laughter, she knew, was not in hell.
“What are you laughing at, kiddo?” Sally turned to look at the young girl deep in thought.
Chloe looked over in Sally’s direction with innocent eyes and instead of answering scrunched up her nose and smiled and asked her own question. “Where are we?”
“What do you mean ‘where are we?’”
Chloe just patiently crossed her arms and waited for an answer.
Sally tried again. “We are in our bedroom, in our house, in the Valley.” She was not sure exactly what kind of answer her niece was looking for. “I don’t know exactly what you mean, sweetie?”
A pause in thought came before Chloe asked the question again, this time more directly. “But I mean, are we in hell?”
Sally’s face went a little grim, but quickly changed to a sympathetic look as she put her arms around Chloe, as she often did, to comfort her and in a way protect her. “Oh, honey, we are not in hell.”
Chloe said nothing but held Sally tight.
“I know that it may feel like it sometimes, but believe me, hell is a lot worse.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then why did my mom die?”
Silence followed. Sally did not how to answer that question, at least not in a way that would appease the girl she held in her arms.
Chloe sensed no reply was coming so she asked another question. “Why does my father hate me?”
“He doesn’t hate you.” She knew that answer wasn’t a good one either. What was wrong with her brother, she thought to herself?
What neither girl knew was that Jeremy was scared. He was afraid that if he let himself get close to the girl that something terrible would happen; something similar to what had happened to his lovely Camille. He also feared his father, and thought that if he showed his love for Chloe, which he felt deeply, that she would suffer more then she already did. But he was also weak. He had lost so much when Camille had died. It was if Drake had physically beat out of him his manhood.
Chloe asked one more question. “Why do Drake and Randy hit me? Do they want to kill me?”
Zero for three, Sally thought as the tears strolled out from her eyes. She felt badly for the young girl. “I do not know what to say. But please know that I love you; with all of my heart.” She said, squeezing her tighter.
That was good enough Chloe thought. To have Sally’s love, which she knew she always had, was good enough. The girls remained embraced for a few more silent moments and then separated.
Sally spoke before Chloe could once again ask her original question about their whereabouts. “I think we are in a place where we find out exactly who we are. It is a place where things can be mean and nasty and hard and scary at times, but also good and simple and beautiful. The last ones are just a little harder to find. But the stronger you can be and the more you overcome, Chloe Anderson, the closer you will come to finding all the happiness you could want and more.” That was not bad, Sally thought to herself.
A smile emerged from Chloe. “And we will find it together?” She liked the idea of finding happiness and peace. She felt those things from time to time with Sally, but she knew that there was more, much more to life then what she currently faced. But a feeling deep inside of her said that it would be more then a little hard to find.
**********
Please note: This book contains a few words and situations that one might find offensive. Discretion is advised.
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