Until I'm Safe

Until I’m Safe

by Jane Grace

Published by

Fire and Ice

A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.fireandiceya.com

Until I’m Safe, Copyright 2015 Jane Grace

ISBN: 978-1-68046-087-2

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Lynsee Lauritsen

This story is dedicated to Darrin

and the awesome Wednesday afternoon ER staff at CRMC.

It wasn’t easy leaving them, but this story had to be written.

UNTIL I’M SAFE

by Jane Grace

Does she stay and possibly get shot by her crazed father or run into the storm of the century, Hurricane Katrina?

Marguerite Aucoin has no choice but to run! Like the fiction heroine she writes about, a teen named Toots Gentry, Marguerite must be brave, despite the fact she’s lost both hearing aids and is virtually deaf.

Amand rescues Marguerite from the swirling bayou waters. At his home, she awakes but doesn’t speak, writing her name, Toots Gentry. With time, he learns her secrets, and discovers someone’s trying to kill her. But’s he’s fallen in love with Marguerite and is determined to protect her.

Table of Contents

Until I’m Safe

The beginning of it all...

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Previews

The waters of the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Ponchatrain rise and roll over New Orleans. Horror fills the great city as the world watches. Lives are saved. Lives are lost. Moments of heroism. Acts of violence. Miracles. Mayhem. One teen discovers the courage to live another day and yet another until August 29, 2005 passes, and Hurricane Katrina leaves the Gulf Coast to rediscover itself.

The beginning of it all...

This is so not how I planned on spending my seventeen birthday, I grumble as I sit cross-legged in Daddy’s big recliner. Because the noise of the storm outside bothers me, I’d turned down the volume on my hearing aids. My laptop sits balanced across my legs, the first pages of my next short story started and saved. The electricity went out an hour earlier so I work by the light of a battery-powered lantern.

I type even as I conduct a decidedly pitiful conversation with myself. "Marguerite Aucoin’s big day and this is what happens. We were supposed to go to Pharo’s Place for dinner then to a movie. We were supposed to see The Island. Ewan McGregor is so hot! I run my tongue over my lips, the mere idea of such a man making my mouth go dry. Unlike some of my friends though, I’d never do that in public. Gross. Instead here I sit, in my best slacks and new blouse, bitching at my poor computer while this hurricane tries to make up its mind which way it’s going. Katrina sucks," I add as I finish a short paragraph.

Mama and Daddy are upstairs somewhere. I have no idea where in the house my drama-queen of a sister is hiding. Misery washes over me. I silently curse the weather for destroying my party. I seldom ask for anything so the parents are good about giving me something special if I do.

All dressed up and nowhere to go, I mutter to the glowing screen. The battery will run down soon if I’m not careful. With that in mind, I return to the home screen, my mind a million miles away with my fictional heroine, Toots Gentry. A character so unlike me. But isn’t that what writers do? Create their opposites when writing?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the flash of Desia’s bright colored blouse. The girl comes flapping into the front room like a ghost on steroids.

We’ve got to get out of here, Marguerite! Desia speaks only in exclamation marks, something that annoys the hell out of me. She latches onto my arm, trying to haul me out of the recliner.

Duh, storm outside. Hurricane nearby. Not getting wet for anyone, thank you. I push her hand away gently. Storms scare Desia so I figure this is her fear coming out. But no...

Mama and Daddy are having a terrible fight upstairs, Desia blurts out.

What? I hear the word fight but little else. Wait a minute, will ya? I adjust the volume control on both aids and suddenly am flooded not only with the noise of rain beating against the roof and walls like a million hammers but wind that howls around the corner of the house. Now I remember why I turned down the volume.

But Desia sounds more than afraid—in fact, once I stop being pissed and actually pay attention, she sounds terrified.

We play grab-hands as she tries to pull me out of the chair and I attempt to both peel off her hands and calm her. Once Desia realizes I’m not going to jump at her command, she collapses next to my chair, her dark skin glowing in the light of my lantern.

Now, Des, tell me what you’re talking about.

Mama and Daddy are fighting. He’s gone crazy! I fear my sister has lost it, given the severity of the storm. Daddy crazy? No way! He’s the sanest most stable man I know. He’d never let anything happen to his family, much less fight with one of us. Desia’s nerves are shot, affecting her imagination.

Parents argue now and then. You know that. And this storm is making us all a little crazy. I give Desia a sympathetic smile. One intended to ease the tension that seems to have her wound up tighter than a banjo string.

But she keeps on...

You know how he’s been looking over his shoulders lately? Jumping at the least little noise? Staying home a lot more than usual? Desia reminds me.

Yeah, Daddy has been acting weird lately. I’m not about to hurt his feelings though by asking what he’s afraid of. I mean, my daddy is a pretty big guy, Laurence Fishburne-sized. Desia and I secretly made up a story about the mob chasing him. Silly, I know, but for a nineteen year old, Desia loves my stories.

Look, Desia, Daddy isn’t so crazy about storms either. Mayor Nagin said we could leave or stay if we wanted. He’s hoping Katrina will turn east and not bother New Orleans too much. Maybe Daddy’s just uptight about the weather even though he decided to stay and ride it out. I mean he has a lot to lose, with six convenience stores.

Maybe, but him and Mama are up there arguing about money. And...gambling.

Thank goodness I can read lips because her voice dropped so low even my aids couldn’t pick up what she said.

Gambling? Seriously? What do you think he is? A gangster? I laugh off her concern. Look, we’ll wait and see how this storm plays out then get with Mama and Daddy and see how things are doing around here. Maybe we can even reschedule my party, I add.

Will you forget about that damn party! Desia has the nerve to shake me by both shoulders. Something bad is happening upstairs, and you’re acting like an ostrich with your head buried in beach sand! she screams; no need to lip-read those words.

Not about to fight my sister, I get in her face so she’ll take me serious. Stop being such a drama queen. Everything’s going to be fine. Get a grip...of something besides me.

Surprised by my verbal attack—I so seldom assert myself like that—she lets go. But not for long!

Desia snatches the laptop out of my grasp and jerks my arm, hauling me to my feet. The lantern falls off the table, and the light goes out. Without letting me go, she drags me across the small room to the table and hall tree stand next to the front door. With nothing around me to buffer the sounds, the noise rages worse so close to outside.

Desia snatches up my rain jacket and starts stuffing my arms in it. We have to leave. Go to Uncle Juno’s house. It’s not safe here anymore.

I grab her arms even as she sticks my cell phone and wallet in a pocket. We are not going out in that storm! It’s dangerous!

It’s too dangerous to stay here, too, Desia yells back as she pushes me against the wall. Daddy went to his study upstairs and got his gun. Then he went into the bedroom where Mama is.

Suddenly this isn’t my sister being theatrical. Daddy does have a gun—a .45—that he keeps locked up, in case of an emergency. He always tells us he’d never let anyone hurt his family. But now...now he’s pulled out that gun? What does he plan? My daddy would never hurt anyone.

Daddy won’t hurt us. Or Mama. I trust him. He has a reason, Des.

We need to do something. Run or...call the cops, Desia jabbers.

Can’t. Cops are up to their eyeballs in busy with this storm coming.

About that time the wind’s howl and the rain’s pounding picks up. Claps of thunder shake the house. Lightening pops in rapid succession. I long to turn down the aids’ volume, but there’s no time. Against my back, the wall shudders as storm winds pound the house. The neighborhood. The entire city.

Some birthday! Never have I experienced such a force of Nature. My hearing aids pick up and magnify the sounds of battering limbs, shattering glass, snaps and crackles as power transformers blow. My hand lays over the crack between the door and frame. With unexpected force, the door rattles, shakes in a frame that threatens to peel right off the wall.

Every muscle in my body winds tighter and tighter. Trembles shake me, my long curly black hair caught between my shoulder blades and the faded wallpaper. I can’t find a deep breath. Each draw of air seems to be the last. The only reason I’m not in a quivering heap on the floor is because my knees are locked. The pit of my stomach burns with acid, both from hunger and terror. Which is worse? The storm outside or the one inside?

Caught! Between a hurricane coming and sister who’s gone Looney-tunes on me. Reasoning with Desia’s useless. She imagines bandits where there aren’t any. As if I’ve caught part of her fear, I’m afraid. Nothing to do but talk her down before she gets us both soaked.

Desia works feverishly to get her raincoat on and essentials in the pockets. But her fear prevents her working fast enough.

Prayer comes easily to me. Born into a Catholic family and educated in a Catholic school, I pray for a higher power to save me from the beast-like storm on the other side of the wall, my nutty sister...

And the sight of Daddy...not ten feet from us, once hidden by the darkness, illuminated now by a flash of lightning.

Desia stands with her back to him, but she sees my eyes go wide. She turns and screams. Daddy looks like a wild man, his shirt buttons ripped off, a scratch on his face and a gun in his hand. He looks positively insane!

What can I do to defuse the strain? Given my calm nature, I do the one thing I’ve never done. I yell. Close my eyes. Suck in every bit of air I can then open my mouth and let out the loudest most unexpected sound I can muster.

The noise startles Daddy. For a few seconds the light of sanity returns to his eyes. But that clarity vanishes as his lips curl back over his teeth, and he bends forward.

What to do?

Run, Marguerite! Run, damn it.

I freeze, unable to believe this is my father. Where’s Mama? Is she hurt?

Desia throws the bolt lock on the front door. Run!

I moved only when I see Daddy step toward us, his eyes glazed, his big body graceful but his gun hand up.

Desia turns the doorknob. The wind blows it open, knocking me off-balance for a second. The fury simply sucks me outside before I can give leaving a second thought.

I reach back for Desia’s hand. But Daddy catches her by the hair and pulls her back inside. The last I see of the two, they’ve rolled around the back of the door, slamming it shut.

Desia! I scream and step toward the door.

Boom!

The noise scares the crap out of me. Is that thunder or a gun shot?

Terrified I back up. Step by step until I almost run backwards. Then I turn to really run and smack face first into the trunk of the oak tree beside the concrete sidewalk. I bounce off the dripping bark like a ping-pong ball off a paddle. The hood of my rain jacket flies off as I land on the soaked lawn. One of my hearing aids flies off as well, the sound of the storm suddenly cut in half, now a dull roar of swirling sounds.

Boom! Another burst of noise filters through the remaining aid well enough to get me on my feet, the idea of looking for the lost aid blown out of my mind.

Maybe I can go back. Maybe I should—help my sister. But the eerie flashing lights, the branches blowing past, the utter darkness...the possibility of what might be happening inside the house frightens me more than the weather outside. And that’s bad enough.

Do I have a choice?

Desia said run.

Daddy leaves me no choice.

Chapter One

Pulling myself along, holding on to trees, fencing and cars, anything that will keep my one-hundred ten pounds upright and going forward, I leave my home, my block and finally my neighborhood, fighting Mother Nature every step. My desire to return to what little safety home offered not an option any more.

For better or worse, I’m committed, I mutter though the wind snatches away my words.

Whatever higher power watches over me that night leads me on until I finally call a halt. Exhausted, my energy gone, I hunker down in a recessed doorway, scrunched inside my rain jacket, heart thumping harder than the wind pounds, the same wind that threatens to pull the jacket off my body or toss me around when I’m not holding on for dear life to anything stable. The get-up-and-go that terror provided is gone. The terror remains. The power to do something about it spent.

What the heck am I going to do now? I can’t go home. Staying out here isn’t an option. I roll my eyes at that. I’m out here already, and options are non-existent. At least none I can think of with a mind so numb with fatigue. Maybe one of my friends can help. Take me in until the hurricane passes. Then I can go home and straighten out the mess I left behind.

Mourning the loss of my favorite slacks and shirt, now ruined by the weather, I reach into the rain jacket’s pocket and pull out my cell phone, careful to keep my side turned toward the wall that shelters me for the moment. Mama always says when a big storm comes that calling someone’s useless; texts work because they use less bandwidth.

Okay, time to reach out and touch someone...if I can.

Hunched over the cell so it will stay dry, I quickly type a text to Ashley James, my best friend. K? Need help if possible.

Almost immediately I get a return text, but the message doesn’t help. In B Rouge. Sorry. Safe?

I pray for forgiveness and lie as I type. Safe.

Next, I try Quinlan Dowd, a senior, my mentor at school. Same message. Slightly different answer but still no help. New Iberia with g.ma. Keep ur head down LOL.

Seems no one’s available to save a girl from being blown away. I let out a gusty sigh, the last of my strength and hope draining away. Like Scarlett O’Hara in one of my favorite novels, I give up for the night with a last thought: I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.

I drift off to sleep, hoping the savagery of the storm will lessen by the time I wake.

No such luck, I whisper when I wake. Same storm. Worse if possible. A blowing, pounding, gut-sucking monster. A semi-silent monster I can see, but hear little of with only one hearing aid.

Suddenly aware that I’m not alone, that something or someone presses against my side, I peer around the hood of my jacket, hoping it isn’t some smelly street bum. A dog! A dog lays hard against my side, protecting me from the fury just beyond the edges of the recessed door where I sit, legs drawn up, head resting on my knees. He’s a dark color; that’s all I can tell. He might weigh seventy or eighty pounds, but that would only be a guess. Looks like a Lab. Like the one a friend has. Big head. Male probably. In the intermittent lightning strikes I can see huge brown eyes, as full of fear as I know my own to be. Not sure if he’s tame or might bite in his fright, I ease a hand out so he can sniff it. He pushes his nose in my palm, rolls the wet end around for a second then licks me.

Poor baby, I say as I slip my arm around him. In return he gives my cheek a tongue salute.

A sigh slips past my lips. For the moment, I’m not alone. He might be only a dog but I find I’m not quite as scared as I was. I’ve never been on my own, left to fend for myself without the family’s support. The horror of this experience leaves me wishing I really could bury my head in the sand somewhere.

The dog wiggles closer. What to do next? No matter what, my new companion—if he’ll stay with me—seems as lost and frightened as I am.

That ol’ classic, I grin and hug him once more. Misery loves company. A blast of rain-choked wind swirls into the corner where we squat. And we’re pretty miserable right now, I mumble.

My sense of time is all turned around. I left the house about ten. My cell says it’s now after one. I feel like I’ve been in this sorry weather far longer than a few hours. Beyond the sheltered doorway the world’s not sunny summertime, but darkness filled in by a furious cloudbank.

The dog and I huddle side by side, taking comfort from each other. Now and then I whisper to him, nothing important, just things that make me feel better.

My sister’s name is Desia. She’s older, but so full of herself.

Mama makes the best gumbo. Wish I had some now. I’m hungry.

What the...heck...am I doing out here in a storm like this? My Catholic upbringing prevents me saying hell at the last minute.

My outfit is ruined, ya know.

Today’s my birthday. I’m seventeen...for all the good it’s doing me.

Daddy promised...

I choke. Can’t think about him...or what he might have done to Mama and Desia. I ache to know if they’re okay though.

The dog leans into me, his head cocked ever so slightly. His eyes turn to me then turn back to the storm, as if saying, I’m listening, but I’m guarding you, too.

Pieces of tin fly by, edges sharp and deadly. Trash cans roll down the street. One lifts in the wind and twirls like Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz. A few streetlights remain lit. By their light, I watch torrents of rain fall in sheets, straight lines driven by Nature’s wrath.

Despite a paralyzing fear that I’ll be shredded if I step out of the shelter, I know we have to move on. I assume the dog will follow. I pray he’ll follow. The dog has a collar but no tags. If he stays, he’ll probably die. I know that as surely as I know my name. Maybe I can hold on to him, keep him with me. God knows I can use the extra weight. And he’ll steady me so I’ll not get knocked off my feet like I did earlier. He can be my protector.

We’ll help each other, Patronus. As easily as that, I name him, my Latin lessons from school coming in handy after all. Patronus means protector, I tell him, speaking into that one cocked ear. Even Harry Potter had a Patronus Charm. He had a stag by the lake, but I’ve got you. I giggle. I never giggle, but this one probably has less to do with the dog and his new name than bone-shaking fear. You can be my magical guardian.

He whines even as he slobbers me with another doggie kiss.

Unsure whether to put my faith in an animal that might run the minute we step back into the storm, I lean in one last time. I can’t hear so good right now. You can alert me to dangers outside my line of sight. All my friends have left town. I can’t go home. I hug him and bury my face in his neck for a second. I can tell him what’s in my heart. I hug the dog’s neck harder as a tiny sob breaks through my resolve for the first time. I think...I think Daddy hurt Mama and Desia bad. I refuse to even say the words killed or dead.

We gotta get to Uncle Juno’s. That’s where Desia said to go. I imagine my uncle’s place as unexpected salvation. Juno Monroe would laugh to think of himself in that way.

I have a plan, I realize! I have more hope than before. Get to Juno’s place further up town. A weight lifts off my heart. He’ll keep us safe, and if we have to, we can use his old Dodge truck to get to... My plan suddenly stops right there. Where can we go? Can we even get out of town? All I know for sure is that I must run. We’ll get to Uncle’s place then make some plans.

I hug Patronus’ neck roughly then pull back. "You are going with me?"

As if the big dog understands the question in my flat-sounding words, he leans in suddenly and licks me right across the nose and lips.

Oooh, stop that, I fuss even as I laugh for the first time since the great storm took over my world.

Sharing courage, we leave what little shelter we have and push on.

* * * *

Silence stresses the imagination when all around a person the world is going berserk. I struggle against the wind while fending off flying branches, paper and occasionally unidentifiable things. Patronus pulls me aside once, nearer to a building, when a large piece of roofing sails by. I neither heard nor saw anything coming. The dog did. A blessing in the demon winds and slashing rain.

Daddy’s crazy! Desia’s crazy! I’m crazy! While my body fights the storm,