Satan's Revenge (4 page)

Chapter Three

Drifter

Oregon, 15 years ago

I stand outside the shower, shivering, waiting for the water to heat up. I stick my hand into the trickle of water from the rusted showerhead. Still ice cold. If it’s not hot at this point, it’s probably not heating up at all.

I jump in, gritting my teeth against the frigid water. I bounce from foot to foot as I lather up with the bar soap as quickly as possible, using it to wash my hair and then my whole body. The air is cool for September, and I want to get to the gym at school to lift weights before the day starts.

I hear a knock on the door. That’s my foster dad Robert’s way of saying, “Hurry up, I need the bathroom.” I want to yell back that no one would use this shower longer than they absolutely had to, but I’ve learned that the best way to live with the Ralstons, Robert and his wife Elaine, is to just go about my business and let them go about theirs.

I rinse off the last of the suds and shut off the water. I grab a thin towel from the hook behind the door and wrap it around my shivering shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror tells me that there’s no need to shave again. I’m starting to grow a beard, but a shave every few days easily keeps it at bay.  I open the door and head back to my small room. There’s no sign of Robert in the hallway, but once my door closes I hear him padding past my door toward the bathroom.

I always used to have a small bit of hope every time I was placed with a new foster family, no matter how much I told myself it was stupid. But I’m fifteen now, and in a couple months, when I’m sixteen, I’ll be allowed to leave the foster care system and live by myself, so I want this to be the last foster family I’m ever with.

At least the Ralstons aren’t abusive, just distant. It was clear from my first day here, about a year and a half ago, that they weren’t really interested in being parents, they just wanted the money they got from the government for being a foster family. They’re older, and I learned that Robert had an accident last year and hurt his back and now he only works part-time, so they thought having a foster kid stay with them would be a good way to supplement their income. But it means that the money meant to supply me with food and clothes goes to cover their needs, so I mostly fend for myself. They serve a breakfast at school for kids who don’t get enough at home, and I hide some food at lunch to eat when I get home for dinner.

I’ve actually gone three days now without exchanging any words with either Elaine or Robert, a new record. The last verbal interaction we had was when I wore my shoes into the house, and I guess there was some mud on them, because Elaine looked up from her TV show and said, “shoes off,” and then went back to her program.

I pull a pair of old sweats and a long-sleeved shirt out of the chest of drawers under the narrow window. The sweats are too short on me now, after my growth spurt over the last year. I pull them down as low as I can on my hips without them falling off. The shirt is short, too, but I want it to be tighter. I shot up in height and now I look too skinny. I’m six feet even, and I think I’m still getting taller.

I slip on my sneakers, grab my backpack, and walk quickly down the stairs of the small two-story house. I toss on my jacket on my way out the door, all without actually seeing Robert or Elaine. School is about two miles away, and I walk it every morning. There’s a bus, but I’d rather be in the open air.

My thoughts turn quickly to my younger brother, Marcus, as I walk down the wood-lined road, the trees reaching to each other above the cement. He sounded upset the last time I talked to him. I know his latest foster isn’t going well. He’s living a couple hours away with a family that has two other fosters staying with them, as well as two of their own kids. I could hear yelling and crying in the background behind him. I screamed at, then begged, my caseworker to place Marcus and I together, but we only were for our first foster, and then we were split up.

I don’t think Marcus really remembers our parents, who were killed in a car accident when I was ten and he was six. He always asks to hear stories about them when we talk on the phone, but then he tries to add details to the stories that aren’t quite right, and I don’t have the heart to correct him.

The school’s depressing, cinder block buildings appear through the trees and I sigh. Some of the kids seem to know their place here so easily. After I ran from my last foster home when the dad hit me, I was moved here mid-year. Everyone thought that was strange. In high school, strange is bad.

As I walk up to the outer buildings, I hear the sound of the rotary saw in the shop. That’s one class I do enjoy, and always get good grades in, as opposed to my mediocre scores everywhere else. I peer around the open garage door of the low building and see my teacher, Mr. Laurits, running his hand over a large piece of wood. Standing next to him is a man with a long, scraggly brown beard, wearing a black vest.

“Scott, what are you doing here so early?” Mr. Laurits calls out as he looks up and sees me. He’s my favorite teacher. The other teachers seem to phone it in and enforce rules arbitrarily, but everything he tells us is practical and useful.

“Gonna go lift in the gym,” I respond, glancing between them as they smile at each other. “What?”

“Flint here used to do that in high school, too,” Mr. Laurits replies, with a nod to the other man.

“You done growing yet?” Flint asks me gruffly as I walk a couple more steps toward them, examining the freshly cut piece of pine.

“Don’t think so,” I respond with a shrug.

“You’ll never put on muscle if you don’t eat enough. Especially protein. You can eat all the shit you want, but if you don’t get enough protein, you’ll never pack it on,” he advises me.

“Well, I try to eat as much as I can. The Ralstons don’t cook much, though.”

“The Ralstons?” Mr. Laurits asks.

“My foster family,” I answer him, looking down at the sawdust-covered floor. There’s a silence, as there usually is when I reveal that information.

“One of my brothers works at a supplement store and he’s always giving away promos. I’ll stop by with some protein powder next time I’m back to check on the shelves,” Flint breaks in.

“Shelves?” I ask.

“Flint just got married. I’m making some bookshelves as a wedding present. We both went to high school here, you know,” Mr. Laurits adds.

“Well, I better head out. Be back in a few days,” Flint says to Mr. Laurits.

“Thanks,” I say to him as he passes by me and heads to the rear of the building. He just waves his hand in response. I study the back of his vest as he walks by. It’s leather and has white embroidery that makes the shape of a devil with a skeleton head, and over the figure it reads “Satan’s Sons.”

I frown after him and then wave to Mr. Laurits as I head to the gym in the main building. A rumble breaks the morning quiet and I look back to see Flint pulling around the side of the shop on a Harley, picking up speed as he heads off down the road.

I stare after him, a black blur disappearing through the trees.

I envy his freedom.

Chapter Four

Violet

Present Day

“Hey Violet, I brought you a latte from next door.”

I hear a voice behind me and turn from my paperwork at the nurses’ station. It’s Dr. Green, and he’s holding two coffee cups from the Bean & Brew next door.

“One sugar, splash of half and half, right?” he asks. “The coffee from the cafeteria is so awful.”

“Oh, thanks,” I reply, giving him a polite smile. He’s always doing little things like this, but he never completely crosses the line. “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble. I was getting one for myself, anyway.”

He’s definitely cute in his blue scrubs. I see Abby, a fellow nurse, raising an eyebrow at me. She thinks that he has a crush on me, and I’m not sure she’s wrong. I’ve made sure to reference my boyfriend around him, but it’s hard to explain that Drifter is more than my boyfriend; I’m his old lady.

“Dr. Green…”

“Adam, please,” he interrupts.

“Right, Adam,” I say, “Do you know who I’d talk to about seeing if there are any job openings? Maybe in janitorial?”

“Try stopping by Becca’s desk, in HR. Who’s it for?”

“My boyfriend’s brother,” I say with a smile. Hint, hint.

“Oh, great. Well, see you around, then,” he says, taking a sip from his coffee and realizing that it’s still too hot. I wince as he dribbles it out of his mouth and turns away.

“Girl…” Abby says, sidling up to me.

“He’s a doctor! There must be plenty of women who would be interested. I just wish he’d stop doing these little favors for me,” I say. Though I can’t help but think how good that latte smells.

“Just show him a picture of Drifter. I would take his cut over Green’s stethoscope any day,” Abby sighs.

“Me too,” I smile back at her.

After a stop by the HR department, I head home. The dogs jump on me as I enter the house, but quickly run over to the back door and start clawing at the glass, telling me know they need to be let out. I slide the door open for them and they sprint past me. I follow them out, and once they’ve relieved themselves, I grab a stick and toss it for them.

Kalb has longer legs and outruns Scout every time, so I grab another stick for him and throw it in the opposite direction, but they keep getting interested in the other one’s game. Eventually I just drop both and run straight for them. They split and bark at me excitedly, then try to chase me down.

I’m out of breath when I hear the door slide open and see Drifter walk out in his dirty work clothes. He smiles and then starts to run toward me. I wait for him to break away but he just comes right for me. I shriek as he scoops me up in one fluid motion and tips me back over his shoulder. The dogs start chasing us both around as I laugh and pound on his back.

Finally he deposits me on the ground, barely out of breath as I struggle to catch mine.

He leans forward with a gleam in his eye and kisses me softly on the mouth, the sweat from his hard day’s work glistening on his lips.

“Hi,” he whispers, pulling just a centimeter back from my face.

“Hi,” I whisper back, biting my lip. His proximity, the scent of his sweat mixed with dirt, cause an aching knot to form in my stomach.

I slide my fingers under the hem of his white t-shirt, grazing his skin just above his faded jeans. I run my hand lightly across the tops of his pants, my fingertips touching the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. I hear him take a deep breath in.

“Hey, I bought steaks for dinner!” We break away from each other as Marcus calls to us from the house. Drifter smiles at me, then turns to wave to his brother.

He takes my hand and pulls me gently toward the house. I want to spend some more time alone with this delicious man, but I suppose hosts have duties to fulfill.

“The guy at the counter said to fry those with butter, not grill them,” Marcus says as we walk back in the house, the dogs trotting after us.

“These are really nice cuts of meat,” Drifter observes, turning over the package wrapped in white paper. “You didn’t have to spend money on all this.”

“That’s OK. I was just hanging out here all day, so I figured I’d run out and grab some food for dinner since you guys were both working.”

I frown. Kalb and Scout were acting like they’d been alone for hours when I got home.

“Oh, that reminds me,” I say. “I grabbed an application for you from the HR department at the hospital.”

“Thanks,” he replies, glancing it over and setting it down on the counter. “I’ll apply tomorrow.”

Drifter cooks the steaks like the butcher suggested, and they really are delicious. And I have to admit, it is fun to see him and Marcus together. Even though it sounds like they didn’t see much of each other growing up, there are still behavioral similarities between them that are eerie. I laugh as Marcus neatly layers a bite of steak with the potatoes and onions that are also on his plate.