Episode One: Look Back in Anger

Episode One 

S. N. Graves

www.sngraves.com

Look Back in Anger

Copyright © June 2014 by S. N. Graves

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from S. N. Graves. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ASIN: B00N18HXHG

Editor: Serena Stokes

Cover Artist: S. N. Graves

Published in the United States of America

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

Look Back in Anger
is a serial. Individual episodes may not have a completed story arc, as they are building blocks to a larger work, much in the way a season of television can be broken into smaller parts. Individual episodes may not all include the same elements, such as sexually explicit scenes, violence, mature language, but it should be understood that these are elements of the series as a whole and any individual episode may in fact include these elements.

Dedication

To my first and most enthusiastic fan. Miss ya, Mom.

Also

To my far too patient husband who brings me coffee and makes me awesome noms.

And to my two amazing sons who helped me find my voice again when I thought it was lost.

Love you guys more than you know.

Acknowledgment

My mentors

Barbara Miller and Randall Silvis

My crit partners

Kathleen Calhoun, Jessica Barlow, Serena Stokes, Stephanie Dunn, T. M. Avery, Troy Bucher

And my beta readers

Jessica Barlow, Lori Giles, Michele L. Montgomery, Michelle Ofeldt, Morgan Graves, Rachell Nichole

Thank you guys for all stepping up to help make this the best story possible.

Ferrah

Wozo missed his eyes—the little shiny buttons Mother had sewn back on so many times before. There was no mother to sew now, or to patch up the tears in his ragged hide. No one to bandage Ferrah’s wounds either. No kisses to make the pain go away. She and Wozo were on their own in the frigid damp of the basement.

“Shh, you’re fine. There’s nothing to see anyway,” Ferrah whispered to her mangled friend in the darkness. She clutched Wozo to her chest and rocked away his fears and sadness as her mother had once done for both of them.

“Bet you’re cold, huh?” She certainly was, but the Connor boys had cut off most of Wozo’s fur when they took his eyes. All he had left to keep him warm was her desperate embrace and the strip of duct tape she’d used to reattach his arm. Setting the bear in her lap, she pulled off the threadbare baby blanket from her shoulders. Besides Wozo, it was the only thing she’d been allowed to take with her to the Connor house. She swaddled the bear with it, then brought him back to her chest.

“Better?”

The bear didn’t reply. He never did these days.

The basement was silent save for the occasional hiss from the water heater she’d settled them against. She imagined it must have been late evening, for the tank hadn’t kicked on in quite some time, and so the Connor boys had probably already been fed, bathed, and tucked into their beds above her. She remembered dinners—SpaghettiOs and mac ’n’ cheeses. She remembered warm baths and kisses good night, but the longer she sat in darkness, the less she could remember her mother’s face, her smell, the soft caress of her hand across her cheek before she’d leave Farrah snuggled in her bed at night. Her mother’s scent had long abandoned Wozo, and her skin was so cold and raw most of the time the very thought of being touched made her cringe.

She drifted in and out of sleep, the chill in the air biting her awake and making her shift and bury her face against Wozo to escape it. It was a wasted effort; the ice that crusted the blacked-out windows high above her had sunk deep into her bones as well. She couldn’t sleep, and so fell into a zombielike awareness that left her staring into the darkness.

Until the door at the top of the stairs cracked open and a shaft of light forced her to squeeze her eyes shut and turn toward the wall.

“You keeping her in a basement?” The voice was male, unfamiliar.

“Have to keep our boys safe. The little beast is dangerous.” Mrs. Connor. She sounded tired, angry, like she did anytime she came downstairs.

“Scrawny li’l ting as she, how dangerous she be?”

Mrs. Connor snorted. “That’s what it wants you to think. The little bitch is vicious. It tore a hunk out of my Jimmy’s arm, and look here.” She stopped halfway down the stairs, flipped on the overhead light, and pulled up the hem of her pink floral nightgown to show off a stout, hairy leg marred with bites and scratches. “Don’t let it get ahold of you, or you might lose important bits.”

“
Merci, cher.
I keep it in mind.” The man left the steps and crossed the floor to crouch in front of Ferrah, tipping the end of his hat in greeting. She’d seen people do that before, in some of the old westerns her father used to watch with her when Mom was out. It was supposed to be welcoming, polite. Ferrah wasn’t convinced.

Many men had come down to see her since she’d been put in the basement. Most made the Connor boys and their touching and taunts seem friendly. They wore suits or dark jackets, all with severe scowls and bruising hands. This one was more clown, all smiles and funny clothes. His long trench coat was a bright purple splash against the gray backdrop of her prison, the brim of his hat wide enough to serve as a turkey platter. Turkey. She missed turkey. Any food, really. All she’d had in the past few days, maybe so much as a week, was the occasional candy bar tossed down the steps to her by Mrs. Connor.

“
Bonjou
, boo.” He reached a hand encrusted with gold and silver rings out to her.

She scooted back a bit, eyeing the hand as she wedged herself farther behind the water heater. “I bite.”

“So I hear.” He chuckled softly and traced his finger over the mark another such strange visitor had left on her forehead. “Had lotta visitors, cher?”

She shrugged a shoulder and pulled from his reach. That mark on her forehead—a glyph, the other man had called it—burned cold. She’d been able to put the discomfort from her mind for what felt like weeks now, but this man’s touch ignited it all over again. “Don’t. Not supposed to mess with it.”

“Oh, why not?”

“Make my head explode.”

“It won’t did dat. Don’t let ’em scare you. Just a way to keep you where dey tink you belong.”

“In the basement.” She nodded, hugging Wozo closer. “You talk weird.”

“Don’t I, though? You know what I find? People so busy workin’ out what I say, dey not so careful mindin’ dey own flappin’ gums.”

“Are you going to buy me?” She’d heard the Connors talking, knew the men who came to poke and prod and appraise her were looking to own her. That wasn’t a good thing.

He smiled, and once more reached out to her, his hand falling on Wozo’s head to turn the bear to look at him. “How long you had dis raggety ting?”

“Mama gave him to me.” She tightened her grip on the bear, not wanting to risk that he might tear Wozo away from her.

“Did she now? Sickly-lookin’ ol’ ting.” He petted the bear’s head, but didn’t try to take him. “Like to see a bitta magic?”

“Please don’t take him.”

“I wouldn’t never. Lookit da bear, cher.”

His big hand enveloped Wozo’s face, and Ferrah’s heart pounded in her throat. If he took Wozo, if he ruined him more, she’d have no one—she’d be utterly alone in the long darkness. She jerked as static rose in her tightly coiled arms, the fine hairs along her flesh pricking as the scent of ozone wafted over her. The man’s fingers lit up, glowing red-hot as if someone were filtering a powerful light through them. Wozo’s hair crawled along his stuffed scalp, rippling in waves away from the man’s hand, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, the part of her not startled stiff, she knew she should let go of the bear and run for her life.

He pulled away first, little sparks of light dripping from his fingertips like burning drops of water. She watched the drops fall, resisted the urge to reach out and catch one, was almost mesmerized until he pointed back at Wozo.

The bear had eyes. They sparkled up at her, like black jewels set in his scruffy face. She turned her gaze back to the man who smiled at her from under his big hat, but her questions hung in her throat.

“I thought y’might need some watchin’ over. Just till I come back to get ya.”

“You can’t take me now?”

He shook his head. “Lotta tings to work out first. But I’ll be back, f’true.” He ruffled Wozo’s fur, and then lifted his hand to push his fingers through her own tangled mess of hair. “Got lotta plans for you, cher. Wait and see.”

I

“He’s defective. I don’t care if you have to gut him and replace every circuit in the damn animal—I want a dog that works.”

Samantha crouched in the grass, trying not to smile as the golden-haired dog happily chased its tail in stumbling circles. He was making himself dizzy with all that round-and-round, which probably only fueled the animal’s desire to continue. He’d found a way to keep himself entertained. “He’s just bored. It’s perfectly natural. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s goddamn embarrassing. Not to mention the wreck he’s making of my lawn.” The dog’s owner kicked at a tuft of uneven earth with the toe of his expensive shoe. “For what I am paying you, I expect you to make him work.”

“SynthPet Industries prides itself on authenticity, Mr. Morris. Dogs chase their tails. They also dig holes and nose your crotch. I’m sure all of this was in the breed brochure you got before your purchase.” Sam clapped her hands and the animal fell on its butt. Tongue happily lolling from its parted jaws, the dog trotted over to shove its nose in her face, all waggly tail and slobbery maw. She chuckled as she lifted her head to keep the overly excited pup from licking her eyeballs. “The retriever model is especially known for these things.”

“I didn’t pick the damn dog. It’s my boy’s; I just paid for it.” The man sneered and pushed his hand over his bald head, the few wisps of hair he had left sticking up willy-nilly in the wake of his swipe. “Can you imagine what the neighbors think? I see them laughing when they walk by.”