Shelby: Translucent Savior

  Shelby

  Translucent Savior

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Copyright© 2014 Lisa Glenn

  All rights reserved

  Edited by Steve Soderquist

  Cover art by Virginia McKevitt

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidence.

  Special Thanks;

  I want to give special thanks to a wonderful group of authors who have helped me along the way. You know who you are. I Also want to thank my family. They stood by me and kept me from giving up.

  Mental Illness

  “Mental Illness Clouds roll in for my mental storm, waves of fear replace the norm. Trapped in Hell as I scream, internal torment is not a dream. Flashing corpses in a foggy blast, fighting Demons from a haunted past. Lightning strikes and sears my soul, dragging me deeper into this hole. Grasping for a guiding light, tortured memories in the night. Fighting through the pain that’s me, a mental monster that we can’t see. Talk them up and drug them down, find the surface before you drown. Silent ghouls that surf our soul, shredding hearts as it takes its toll. Mental pain is not our fault; we search for answers from our vault. Cry and rage from deep inside, we need a break let it subside. With the knowledge of our pain, we search and struggle for what’s to gain. Crushing sadness is more than blue, you sit and judge without a clue. Spend a day with our feelings, see how fast you start your healing. Our pain is real for none to see, we sit in silence and you let us be. We sigh and shift to push it deep, so you won’t treat us like a creep. We’re not the same me and you, I’d hold your hand and see you through. I’ve felt the pain you have no clue, you say its fake and it’s not true. You never know what life may bring, just be happy you don’t have this thing.”

  ~By Ron Lee

  Shelby

  Prologue

  The Beginning

  Mamie Lee saw the old church in the distance as the bells sang a warm welcome with their ding-dong-ding chimes. The morning was gloomy, shrouded in mist, and the air was thick with its dampness.

  She walked across the newly tarred gravel parking lot after parking her old gray station wagon in one of the many empty spots available farthest from the entrance.

  The church was set back from the old highway. It was small but sufficient for the white church. Capacity seating was one hundred and fifty at its fullest. The old church, which had been built in the 1800s still held that old country charm. Just inside the large glass doors to the left sat a beautiful bouquet of freshly cut spring flowers, the scent of dianthus and violets inviting her in. The wooden pews with the padded cushions were shouting a warm comfortable welcome. The wooden armrests, recently shined to a glossy sheen, were ready for a full house.

  This Sunday morning was special. The ‘ladies’ fellowship group were putting together a nice brunch for the surrounding farmers and local community, a wonderful way to meet the neighbors, if one were so inclined.

  Mamie ambled into the church lugging a basket full of homemade corn muffins and saw the pastor and his wife standing out front, greeting the folks as they entered. She carried the basket into the kitchen and set it gently on the countertop, leaving them as she made her way to the sanctuary. With purpose to her stride, she scurried over to greet the young pastor and his new bride

  She waited patiently and watched as the church filled with worshipers. She scanned the sanctuary until her eyes landed on them. She hastily made her way over to the third pew from the front and managed to squeeze in beside a younger couple. She smiled shyly and stated just as sweet as apple pie, “What a blessed morning it is!”

  The danger unbeknownst to them, the young couple beamed at her. They introduced themselves along with their two-year-old daughter, Mary Elizabeth.

  Chapter One

  The Box in the Past

  I sat on the top step, swatting at the mosquitoes as they landed on my arm. Sweat steadily streamed down my neck. My tired gaze darted over the front yard, and I sighed, knowing it needed a mowing. Winter was over, and spring was rearing its head with the bursting of new flowers and leaves, along with increased activity from the wildlife. I noticed for the first time all the weeds along the cement walk. Funny I hadn’t noticed them before. I twisted my body around and glanced up at the house. The once yellow house was now a dull tan with peeling paint and torn window screens.

  When had the house turned into an old worn shoe? I wondered. My mom kept up on those kinds of things. I twisted back around and leaned back on my hands, stretching my legs out in front and letting them dangle over the steps. The slight breeze cooled my face.

  We lived off the main road about two miles down a dirt trail. We didn’t have any close neighbors to speak of, and the school bus was the only vehicle besides our own that I ever saw coming down this path.

  I was sure glad school had been out for the summer. None of the kids liked me. They all made fun of me, calling me poor white trash. I ’didn’t care, really. I would rather be poor than a snob.

  The familiar sound of a car coming down the road drove me off the porch and running back into the house, the screen door slamming behind me. I skidded into the kitchen, grabbed the bag of potatoes out of the pantry, and set them down in the sink. I grabbed a pan and a peeling knife and quickly began washing and peeling potatoes.

  “Shelby? We’re home! Come and help with the groceries!” Momma hollered when she came in the house.

  I wiped my damp hands on the pale-yellow towel that hung off the refrigerator door handle and went to help with the bags. I skirted around Momma and ran smack into my stepfather, Jack.

  “Whoa there, kid...slow down,” he sneered. He grabbed my arm and squeezed tightly, and I winced.

  When my mom married Jack, I had just turned four. He was nice to me at first. He would lift me up onto his lap and always hug me, often buying me new dresses as if on a whim. It didn’t take me long, however, to fear him. He got angry real fast.

  When I was five or six, I realized he wasn’t such a nice man. Momma had taken to her bed that day. She was sick with the bug that was going around town. Jack was sitting on the couch, watching the news after supper and had called me over to sit on his lap. He had begun rubbing up and down my leg, his hand slowly moving up onto my thigh. He had slipped his hand under my dress and touched my privates. Trembling, I whimpered and jumped off his lap. I ran into my room.

  That had been the first time of many.

  I snatched my arm away, running down the steps to grab the groceries out of the backseat of our old maroon Chrysler. I picked up the last two bags and carried them inside, setting them none too gently onto the table. I looked around, wondering where Jack had gone. I was always leery where he was concerned.

  “Momma, how did it go today? What did the doctor say?” I asked while taking groceries out of the bags and putting them away.

  “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Shelby.” She laid the package of raw chicken breast onto the counter. “I’m just fine. Now, don’t you worry none.” She glanced at my face, knowing I was doing just that. She walked over to me and wrapped her thin arms around me and gave a soft squeeze. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t get past the lump forming in my throat. I choked back a sob. I felt the m
oisture pool in my eyes. This couldn’t be good. I just knew something bad was going to happen. I squeezed her real tight, feeling comfort in her thin frame.

  “Shelby?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know you love me,” I mumbled. “I love you, too.” I pushed my face into the front of her apron, mostly to hide my wet eyes but also because I loved the smell. She always smelled like a blend of roses and fresh-baked sugar cookies.

  Momma pulled away and grabbed a towel off the fridge door. Using the corner of the towel, she dabbed the corners of my eyes. “Come now, I’ll help you. We best get this dinner going.” She turned away from me and began peeling the potatoes I had started earlier.

  Dinner was a soundless affair. Jack wasn’t saying much, which was odd. He usually bellyached about something. Momma, with that sad look on her face, kept right on eating, occasionally glancing up and looking at me with a sad smile. I smiled back worriedly. I feared what was coming. She was sick.

  Momma began going to see the doctor off and on about a year ago. I noticed a change right away. Instead of smiling and laughing all the time, she frowned and would be moody. At night, I would hear her crying softly, but only when she didn’t think I was watching or listening. I made an extra effort in helping around the house although it was getting harder to stay away from Jack’s clutches.

  One day in particular, I was reading on the porch in my favorite swing when Jack called out to help him in the garage. He needed me to hand him some tools while he worked on the car. Reluctantly, and dragging my feet, I did as I was told. When I had walked into the garage, Jack had snuck up behind me and grabbed me, snaking his arms around my middle. He whispered in my ear, his breath foul, “I got you now, little honey.”

  I cringed and tried to get away, but he held on tight, sucking the air out of my lungs. He was hurting me.

  He spoke in the same whisper that seemed tainted with undertones of crawly things that lay rotting in a sewer. “Now you stop that moving around, Shelby, and I won’t hurt you. I just want a little touch... ’That’s all. Don’t you holler none either. Your ’momma’s sick and doesn’t need to be bothered.”

  I quit squirming, and with tears running down my face, I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Jack had slid his hand down to my stomach and into my shorts. I screeched and twisted away from his dirty hands. I knew what he was doing wasn’t right. I cried harder. “Stop it, Jack! That’s wrong, and you know it!”

  “Hush, Shelby, your momma might hear.” He chuckled darkly. “I’m a grown man with needs that she can’t provide me with. That’s where you come in. You need to earn your keep. So, you shut your mouth now, or I’ll make it real tough for you. You hear me, girl?”

  I shook my head and pursed my trembling lips. “Just leave me alone!” Terror poured into my soul. I felt the urge to vomit.

  I started to take off into a run, but he had grabbed my arm again, this time holding me with his hand over my mouth. He pulled me onto the old canvas that he used when he worked on the car. Using one arm and his legs to hold me down, he used his free hand to hurt me. The smell of motor oil and gas hit me in the face.

  Momma’s voice carried into the garage, “Shelby? Where have you gone off to?”

  Jack swore under his breath and sat up. He pulled me up by my arms. “Go on, get. Don’t say anything about this either Shelby, or so help me, I’ll hurt you really bad next time.”

  I didn’t utter a word. I wiped the tears off my face and, on wobbly legs, ran back out of the garage.

  “I’m here, Momma!” I called back as cheerily as I could while trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

  “Come on, girl, I need some help with the laundry.”

  ****

  That was just one of many little incidents. I soon learned it was best just to steer clear when he was around. I placed my fork on the edge of the plate. I didn’t feel much like eating. The dinner was good and all, but my stomach was pinched in fear. I just knew that my momma was dying.

  “Momma, may I be excused?”

  “But, Shelby dear, you’ve hardly taken a bite! Are you feeling well?” Mamie raised her brow and guided her thin hand to my forehead.

  “You don’t feel warm.” A frown marred her features.

  “I’m fine, Momma... Just don’t feel much like eating is all.”

  Momma picked up her fork. “Well, if that’s all, then yes, you may be excused.”

  I scraped my chair back and, with excited feet, ran up to my room. I fell to my knees next to the twin bed and reached my arm underneath, searching for my most favorite thing in the whole world. When my small fingers touched upon the smooth surface, I pulled it out.

  A few years back, on my eighth birthday, my momma had brought home a pretty pair of shoes someone at the church had given to her. It was the first real pair of new shoes I had ever gotten. I had kept the box and decorated it with pretty rocks that I had gathered and collected around the yard. I kept all my favorite treasures inside the box, including all my money.

  Today, I found a quarter between two floorboards on the porch. I took the quarter out of my pocket and put it into the box. I looked inside, and a smile broke out on my narrow face.

  I’m saving all my money. One day, I’m going to buy my momma a new house! I knew we didn’t have any money right now to buy one, but I would get her one! Why, the only reason she had married Jack was because we needed his money. The house had been in shambles, so when Jack came to live with us; he had fixed it up some. The roof still leaked. Maybe if I could buy her a new house Jack could leave us alone, so whenever I found a coin or two, in my box it went. Sometimes Momma would give me some money if I had to do extra chores.

  That went in the box too.

  The lid was my favorite. I decorated it with real pretty rocks. It sparkled from all the shiny white stones.

  I quickly closed the lid and pushed it back underneath my bed. The bed creaked from my added weight as I laid back and stared up at my ceiling.

  I clasped my hands together and laid them near my heart as Momma taught me and closed my eyes. “Dear Jesus, please help my Momma. I’m real scared she’s sick. I don’t like Jack much, Jesus, but you already know that. It’s just... something isn’t right about him. I’m sorry for it, I know he’s my step-dad and all but Jesus, he just doesn’t do right. I’m trying to be good, but it’s real hard sometimes.”

  It always seemed to help when I talked to Jesus. I always felt better afterward, like I had just confided to a friend who smiled at me no matter what I had to say.

  I rolled over onto my left side and stared at my calendar hanging on the faded blue wall. Summer never lasted long.

  I knew I should make the most of it. Tomorrow I’ll mow the yard and pull some of those ugly weeds. Jack isn’t going to do it. He never did anything anymore. He stayed in the garage and drank beer most days and only came in to eat and sleep. Don’t know why she keeps him around.

  Momma yelled from down below, “Shelby?”

  I jumped up off the bed and walked to the top of the stairs, looking down towards the bottom where Momma was standing.

  “Yes Ma’am?”

  “I need to move a few things around and clean my room up. Would you like to help?”

  “Sure!” I stepped down excitedly. I was never allowed in her room.

  Momma asked an hour later, “Shelby, what do you think of this?” She held up a pearl necklace.

  My eyes widened. “It’s real pretty!” The necklace had rows of light pink pearls on a gold chain.

  Momma laid the pearls back into the box and closed the lid tight. “Those were my Mother’s.” she said, smiling wistfully, if not a little sadly. She laid the box on one of the many piles they had made in the room. After a few hours, there were only two large piles stacked up. Mamie grabbed one of the larger boxes that I had piled in the corner.

  “Help me put these things in this box, Shelby.”

  I helped her stack the items, and when that was accomplished, she taped them up and
wrote on each one, marking the contents. The tall box, she wrote my name on the lid with a black marker. She turned to me, “Shelby, this is for you. Take this one to your room.”

  “Yes Momma, I will... but why are you giving all of this to me?”

  Momma sat down on top of the big quilt that lay on her bed. “Because I don’t need it anymore. Just keep it in your closet for a while. Now go on, sweetie. Your momma needs to rest. That took all the energy that I had left!” She said, smiling sadly. She tucked a stray piece of gray hair behind her ear.

  I picked up the box, surprised that I could lift it; and even then, just barely. With a grunt, I took the stairs one at time, wincing as the box cut into my arm. When I made it to my room, I placed the box on the floor in my closet, pushing it all the way to the back. I wasn’t sure why, but the need to keep it hidden was strong. My closet was sparse, only containing a few items. I didn’t like to wear dresses. Only on Sunday’s and school days was I made to wear them. I only owned two pairs of shoes. One, a tight pair of black dress shoes and the other, a pair of Oxfords I only wore to school. The rest of the time, especially during the summer, I just went barefoot. The bottoms of my feet were hard and callused, not soft like my mom’s.

  I washed my face and brushed my teeth, then discarded my clothes into the laundry basket. With one of my momma’s old shirts for a nightgown, I crawled underneath the cool blankets and closed my gritty eyes.

  I fell asleep instantly.

  Chapter Two

  Run

  The night was almost upon me. I pushed my matchbox car around in circles on the dry dirt. I could hear bells in the background and a woman crying. I picked myself up off the ground in search of the sad sound. My eyes lit upon an old church with white peeling paint. In slow motion, I followed the sound until I lighted upon the front door to the church. Faintly, I could hear someone calling out in a tearful voice, “Lizzy? Lizzy? Where are you?” The sound was made in desperation. A coiled knot of fear twisted inside my stomach. My knees began to knock. A heavy mist formed around me. A door appeared and with a trembling hand, I reached toward the knob. It opened suddenly, and Jack leered down at me, Lizzy?