Prologue

Long, chestnut hair, uncoiled from a bedazzled curling iron.

Welcome to my house, my world, my pain — Stewart Mansion, as it’s known to anyone who knows anyone.

Diamond studded earrings fastened into place.

I honestly wish I could say I have fond memories of growing up here, but I can’t.

Mascara tip slowly drawn across long, beautiful lashes.

I can only remember darkness…

Lipstick glazing perfect lips.

…suffering…

A little black dress zipped into place.

…and in the end, relief.

Sleeping pills poured into a dainty palm.

My name is Ashley Stewart. I am 18 years old, and I died today.

An empty prescription bottle lands on the bed beside her as she

                           slowly

                                                       slips

                                                                                    unconscious……

                                            Three weeks earlier…

                                                      Chapter 1

          There are exactly 12 cities throughout the United States named Fayetteville. There is only one Fayette-nam.

          This story could have happened in any of those other cities, but it didn’t; it happened North Carolina. In a small town that might have wasted away long ago and become just another stop on the Southern back-alley dogfighting circuit, except it was wrapped around a world class Military Post called Fort Bragg. This kept a steady stream of new money, fresh faces and world-wise travelers rotating through.

          And while this created a strange blend of exotic eateries and unique fashions on the one hand, on the flip side there were the Pawn Shops and the Strip Clubs and Used Car lots and many many broken hearts that were the result of this culture of transience.

          Now, on a scale of “Dirt Poor” to “Filty Rich” the Kinwood neighborhood in particular scored absolutely Middle Class. No question. At least that’s where it had begun in the 70s. More recently, it began to degrade as time weathered heavily on the two hundred or so homes. This recession wasn’t helping. It ensured they remained under-repaired; more lived in and less loved on.

          With the recent downsizing at the Kelly Springfield Tire Plant, even more families had no choice. Between food on the table and roof repair, a meal won every time. Between hot pockets and power washing? As you can expect, the vinyl siding was neglected and dingy concrete driveways retained their dark greyish ochre. Foreclosure signs had begun to creep in, pockmarking the overgrown lawns of abandoned homes like miniature tombstones.

          However, the tragic end to one family’s struggle on occasion could be another family’s happy beginning. Such was the case at 5809 Danville Drive. The sobering “Foreclosure” sign had a “Sold” attachment sitting proudly astride the top. In the driveway of this modest home was an equally understated Chevy Impala. It was five years old, but immaculately maintained. Even the color was not a flashy red, or classical black but just a plain old dull grey. Beside that car sat a 20-year old beater leaking oil on the ground. It was a powder blue Ford Escort Wagon held together by duct tape and wishful thinking. Even the handful of bumper stickers were more than just inspirational church-y one-offs and humorous epithets, they were bandaids. They literally held the bumper together in some places and covered old gashes and scrapes.

          The new homeowners were the Hartley’s. Tom Hartley was a big ol’ Teddy Bear. Didn’t have an enemy in the world. He was a hard, honest worker and everyone loved him, which is why he was one of the few that got to keep his job down at the Plant. Of course, it meant moving to night shift and downsizing their home, but that was a fantastic blessing considering the alternatives. Tom walked through the darkness and dropped a bulging trash bag into the bin out by the garage. He checked back toward the glowing house light and his wife was nowhere to be seen so he bent down, lifted the head off the garden gnome and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. There in the dark shadows all you could see was a red ember as he inhaled and savored the stolen moment.

          Ohhhhhh, that’s the stuff, he thought to himself with a smile.

          “Jaime!” Sarah called from inside.

          Tom jumped when he heard the voice. Even though his daughter was the intended target, he tamped out the cigarette, replaced the Gnome head and hurried back indoors.

          Sarah Hartley set aside some picture frames she was unpacking from a mid-sized U-haul box and shuffled up the hallway. Sarah was a Mom. Not the trendy, hipster, Lululemon wearing, latte-drinking, LaCross Mom, like her sister in Chapel Hill. No, she didn’t have time for such non-sense. Much less the bank account to go with. Her world was a good pair of second-hand mom jeans and some Payless Crocks. She’d made her peace with her sister’s term “frumpy” long ago. And for that reason she had been vastly underestimated at more than one PTA or Town Council meeting. She was a force to be reckoned with underneath the Palin haircut and the Marshall’s track suit.

          Sarah listened for a moment at Jaime’s door and then knocked gently, “Jaime, honey, the game is starting now. You’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

          “One second, Mom,” Jaime replied from behind closed door, “just gotta get my coat and stuff.”

          Sarah smiled and walked back up the hallway.

          Inside the room, Jaime was sitting on the bed in the middle of the floor. The “bed” - of course - was a sleeping bag, since none of the furniture had arrived yet. She wore too many dark colors to be “perky popular” but was way too pretty and sweet and un-pierced to be “goth outcast.” Also, her Hispanic complexion was the casual observer’s first hint that there was more to this family than met the eye.

          Jaime was actually very okay with her adoption. Years ago, at first, not so much. But more recently she felt more and more okay with it and the weird part was she wasn’t sure what had changed her mind. But she now looked forward to the stranger in the Piggly Wiggly or Church saying something to her Mom about her “real parents.” That was Jaime’s Fourth of July. And, oh the fireworks that followed!

          Anyway, it was very evident — there on the floor — that, unlike she’d led her mother to believe, Jaime was totally ready to go out. Her hoodie was already on as well as her small Forever-21 backpack-purse and her knit cap. She had neatly placed before her a game ticket, a man’s watch, her car keys and a stick of gum.

          Her left hand jostled nervously on her knee as she sat there poised like a gunslinger.

          The clock she had been watching finally clicked “7:05” and suddenly Jaime sprang into action. She grabbed the ticket, popped the gum in her mouth, scooped up the keys and slid the watch over her wrist.

          Clicking off the bed-side lamp on the floor, she walked out.

          In the kitchen, Sarah smoothed out some shelf liner in a drawer and Tom snipped it cleanly with a box cutter. They made a good team.

          “Bye, Mom,” Jaime walked past, kissing Sarah on the cheek.

          “Have fun, sweetie,” Sarah replied.

          Jaime couldn’t squeeze by Tom without some contact so she patted his arm awkwardly.

          “Oh, and… later, uh, Tom.”

          “Uh, okay… have fun, sweetheart,” Tom said. He wanted to say something more, but knew better than to push.

          Jaime closed the door behind herself, her steps receding down the walkway. Tom turned back to Rebecca.

          “Why do you get ‘Mom’?” he whispered. “When do I get ‘Dad’? Or ‘Father’ … or ‘Poppy’ or –“

          Sarah pulled him close and kissed his shoulder.

          “Just give her some time, honey. She’s come so far–“ she gestured to the window, “—when’s the last time she ever wanted to go… be social?”

          Tom let the idea sink in. It was true, this was a pretty landmark occasion because to this point, all of Jaime’s best friends were literary characters. He was much more okay with that, actually.

          Then, Tom had a very dad-thought.

          “Should I follow her?” he asked.

          “Tom—“ Sarah shook her head.

          “No, you know, make sure she’s safe and all! I won’t even bring my rifle,” He qualified.

          Sarah pulled up another roll of liner paper, and handed it to him.

          “I think someone’s trying to get out of some manual labor. That’s what I think,” she smiled.

          Tom shrugged and smiled. There was no pushing it further. He would just have to wait patiently like every other parent before him who had let their child go out into the abyss, praying they’d return, first of all. And return unharmed, secondly. Funny thing was it was just a high school basketball game, he had to keep reminding himself. He wasn’t sending her off to Iraq, or worse, down Murchison Road.

          Still, he knew Jaime was not alone. Tom offered a silent prayer that the Lord’s angels would surround and keep her safe. And a sense of peace settled over him.

          Outside, Jaime opened the passenger door to climb into the driver seat. One of the perks of this gem of a ride. She had to slam the door twice before it took. She slid over to the driver side and cranked it up.

          Well, “cranked” is a misleading word because the car sputtered and clanked and gurgled and finally caught, blowing a plume of smoke out the exhaust.

          “Yes!” she smacked the steering wheel, excitedly. It was the little things that counted most. She threw it into reverse and growled out of the driveway.

                                                      Chapter 2

          The largest church in Fayetteville was easy to recognize. Northwood Temple. Its super-sized dome structure on the outside and its ritzy Pentecostal crowd on the inside earned it a more common, sometimes derogatory, nickname: Hollywood Temple. Attached to this affluent community was its K-12 Private School, Northwood Academy.

          The Academy was honored to educate some of Fayetteville’s most elite students; as well as some of its most degenerate students who had been kicked out of every other public school. Kids who had no other options left. Jaime was safely in the middle, but she had received a minority scholarship and so Tom and Sarah jumped at the chance to have their daughter enrolled.

          The parking lot of the school was completely full and cheers bubbled up in waves from the belly of the large gymnasium where half the town came to cheer on the Fayetteville Knights and the other half for the Westover Wolverines. The winner would make the playoffs.           

          Jaime’s junker smoked its way up one aisle and down the other as she searched for an empty parking spot. The trick with the Escort wagon was to control the speed of the car with the gas pedal so you wouldn’t have to ride the brakes, which squealed like a banshee whenever you pressed down too hard. Sometimes the alternator belt would chime in, too, and provide automotive harmonics that had every coon dog in a 2-mile radius howling woefully. Jaime, the poor driver, crouched low so as not to be identified by anyone that may recognize her. In fact, truth be known, it was all part of this “fashionably late” game she played with her parents; to be able to arrive sans audience.

          There was one spot up closer where a flashy H2 Hummer was parked just crooked enough so the space beside it was unusable. But, Jaime was able to pull her car in because she didn’t have to leave room on the driver’s side. Just inches. She coasted in to a loud grinding halt. Climbing back across the front seat she shouldered open the passenger door and climbed free. She didn’t bother locking the doors. She figured the more opportunities for someone to steal the thing, the better. She was tempted to even leave money on the dashboard but then she figured someone would just smash the window and grab the money and she had seen one of Tom’s duct tape window jobs before and wanted to avoid it at all costs.

          A loud roar from the Gym signaled a basket for one side or another, so Jaime gave the door a little hip bump and hurried across the parking lot.

          Inside the Gym was standing room only. The energy level was palpable as both sides worked their emotional mojo to spur their team toward victory. Jaime walked in as a ball was rebounded by the Knights and passed down court to number 34, Jason Hall. Jason grabbed the ball and was at the basket in a flash. There was a slight pause as all the spectators caught their breath and then Jason flew through the air and slam-dunked the ball bringing the crowd back to its feet.

          As he was congratulated and high-fived, Jason threw a million watt smile and a wink toward the cheer squad who, as if on cue, started their chant, lead by their flawlessly put together Cheer Captain, Ashley Stewart.

          Clap!

          “Knights are best and we show it, Wolverines yeah yeah you know it.”

          Clap! Cheers. High kicks. Spirit fingers.

          Never far from Ashley’s side was her best friend and Co-Captain Mary Pearce. Ebony and Ivory. Standing together, it was almost like the Bratz dolls had come to life.

          “Ashley, I think that wink had your name alllllll over it, gurl,” Mary huddled up close, “Beeeeep Beeeeeep, special delivery for Ashley Stewart!”

          She started to make a crude sexual gesture with her fingers, but Ashley grabbed her, laughing.

          “Please, Mary! What would Jason Hall be doing winking at me? He’s with Amy, remember?”

          “Because you’re drop dead gorgeous and Northwood Academy’s most eligible bachelorette. Who wouldn’t wanna wink at you? Shoot, I’d wink at you… all night long!”

          Mary winked at Ashley as they returned to their cheer bench giggling.

          “Oh baby! Staahp!” Ashley said, “You know I don’t care about Jason. He’s just a number to me. 34.”

          “Well,” Mary replied, “you may not care about number 34, but I do. The least you can do is hook a girl up!”

          They took advantage of the time-out on court for a sip from their customized sports drinks — Equal parts Gatorade and Hawaiian punch, a splash of RedBull and Southern Comfort.

          “Bee-Beep!”

          They clinked their Bloody Roadrunners together, giggling even more.

          On the side-court the Basketball team huddled with Coach McLamb. He may have been an overweight Jiffy Lube mechanic during the day, but on nights and weekends he transformed into a fiery sports figure. And though this was just a high school team, he was convinced he was coaching the Chicago Bulls during the Jordan years.

          “Alright,” Coach said, “we’re in reach of winning this game. We’re two down. It’s a percentage game. And I don’t want anyone taking chances here. Mike, you get in there and drive to the basket and give me a good solid lay-up and we’ll win this in overtime!”

          Jason butted in, “Coach! Let me have the ball. I’ll hit a three and we can all be eatin’ a Cook-Out burger by 9:30!”

          Coach just shook his head, “No, you’ve been missing your outside shots all night, Jason. Now stick to the plan.”

          Jason glared back at him and then over at Mike. White Mike. School Superintendent’s Son, White Mike. With all those College Scouts rumored to be sneaking around, of course, Coach wanted to make sure White Mike got all the glory. But you know what? This game was Jason’s ticket outta this racist, backwoods town. One day he’d be playing for the Lakers and some Reporter would ask where he got his start and he’d answer, “Out on the streets of Fayettenam.” And he’d emphasize the ‘Nam part like he was spitting it from his mouth. He had this whole thing worked out.

          Jason looked over to Damien to see if he had his back. Damien nodded back at him. Meanwhile, Coach put a hand into the center of the ring of players and every other team member stacked their hands on top.

          “Alright,” Coach continued, “Win on three. One, two, three...”

          “Win!” the team yelled and broke to their positions.

          The Ref blew the whistle and the ball was thrown into play with seconds left on the clock. Terrence made a long pass to Mike who was positioned bottom of the key. But, Jason swooped in and snatched the ball in flight before it reached him.

          “What is he doing?” Ashley exclaimed.

          “What he does best,” Mary said, “Showin’ off some swagger. And winning!”

          Jason could hear the Coach scream in the background, but let all the noise fade out. With a pivot, he faked out his Wolverine defender thanks to the help of a pick set by Damien. Jason stepped back across the three-point line and let the ball fly as the buzzer sounded.

          Swish! Three points! A buzzer-beater! The Northwood Academy Knights won by one point!

          The crowd went crazy and stormed the floor hoisting Jason up on their shoulders. As the Coach neared, Jason yelled down from his human throne, “I told you I had this one! I gotcher back, Coach!”

          Coach replied, “You’re giving me a heart attack is what you’re doing! I’m just glad we’re on our way to the championship! You’re a lucky SOB, Jason!”

          Jason threw a smile and a wink at him as his fans circled around. Off to the side, Mike received plenty of congrats, too, but he was acutely aware that he was not up on the shoulders of his peers like Jason and Damien were.

          One might imagine it would take hours to empty out that gymnasium, but it cleared out pretty quickly as everyone rushed out to their favorite hangout spots — of which Cook-out and Waffle House were the most traditional after a big win. Within 20 minutes, almost the entire parking lot was cleared. Except for that Hummer, which had pulled up curbside.

          Rebecca Stewart sat inside the car. She was elegantly put together and clutched her purse nervously in her lap. She sat in silence, no radio, no music, nothing. She seemed very tense. Outside the car was the source of that tension, Henry Stewart.

          Henry was also way over-dressed for the event. Ever the successful businessman he always understood that he and his family were constantly on display. It was a nuisance and drained his patience faster than anything else. His salt and pepper hair blew gently in the cool breeze as he checked his anniversary watch - a TAG Heuer Carrera which was a gift to himself — for the fiftieth time and cursed under his breath. Finally, he heard footsteps behind him and Ashley approached from the gym, alone.

          She was still high on the afterglow of the big victory, but her smile faded quickly as she read her father’s angry face.

          “You sure took your precious time getting out here,” Henry hissed at her. “What took you so long? Your mother and I have been waiting for twenty minutes!”

          “I’m sorry I was – “ Ashley began.

          “Rhetorical question, Ashley. Get in the car!”

          Henry opened the back seat door, snatched Ashley’s gym bag from her and threw it in.

          Ashley pulled away, “Hey! Stop it!”

          She made no further move toward the car.

          “What are you doing?” Henry said, “I said get in the car!”

          Ashley refused to be bossed around in “her” world. She glared at her dad defiantly, but there was something just beneath that look, too.

          Fear.

          Henry loomed closer, “Are you sure you want to push me tonight?”

          Ashley shifted her gaze from her Dad’s rabid eyes to her Mom, who just turned her head away; as if she could just ignore it all and everything would be okay. Henry closed in and jerked Ashley’s arm.

          “Get in the car. Now!” He growled.

          “I-I’ll find another way home,” she said hoarsely.

          “What?”

          Ashley struggled under his vice grip.

          “Ow, I said I’ll just get a ride with Mary,” she said even more softly.

          “Yeah, you do that,” Henry said and pushed her loose. He slammed the back door and opened his own, but he just had to get in one more jab. “Your little slut club has to stick together doesn’t it?”

          Henry slammed his car door shut and the Hummer sped away. Ashley exhaled a sigh of relief. Fighting back tears, she stood there alone in the parking lot; at least until she looked over to notice Jaime, standing there by her beat up junker. Jaime seemed a little shell-shocked over what she’d just witnessed. The two shared an awkward silence before Jaime spoke.

          “Are you okay?”

          Always on display. Ashley recovered quickly.

          “Mind your own business,” she snapped.

          Ashley pulled out her cell phone and speed dialed Mary. She held the phone to her ear, but the phone went quickly to voice-mail.

          “You need a ride?” Jaime asked cautiously.

          “Pssht, in that thing?” Ashley re-dials again, “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

          Jaime waited patiently while Ashley swore softly and re-dialed a third time.

          “C’mon, Mary, Pick up!”

          “Look,” Jaime said, “I don’t live far from you and –“

          Ashley turned on her now, taking Jaime aback a bit.

          “Who are you and how do you know where I live?” Ashley interrogated her.

          “I’m – I’m Jaime. And, uh, everyone knows where you live. You’re Ashley Stewart, Henry Stewart’s daughter.”

          “Ugh, don’t remind me,” Ashley said, softening a bit.

          “What?”

          “Nothing. And why aren’t any of my friends answering their phones?”

          Ashley slammed her bedazzled cell phone case shut in aggravation and looked around annoyed at the empty parking lot. There was not a single other car there at this point. Jaime followed her gaze and shrugged.

          “Like I said, I can drop you. It’s not a problem. I guess you could walk. Not a lot of options,” Jaime trailed off.

          Ashley looked from Jaime to her wreck of a car and made a gagging sound.

          “I know, right?” Jaime smiled for the first time, “It’s not gonna win ‘Best of Show’ or anything but – “ she imitated Tom’s voice of reason now, “—it’ll get you from point A to point B and back again!”

           “Come on, I’ll get the door,” Jaime moved over to the passenger door and opened it.

          Ashley rolled her eyes, “How sweet.”

          “Uh, yeah, actually,” Jaime confessed, “it’s the only way in. Driver’s door has been broken for months now.”

          “Fantastic,” Ashley said, nonplussed.

          Ashley noticed one of the many Jesus stickers holding the bumper together. The “Jesus Saves” one is more prominent than the others.

          “Why is it that it’s always the junkiest cars with the Jesus bumper stickers,” she mused aloud to Jaime, but she didn’t hear.

          Ashley climbed in the car behind her. It started with a choke and a cough and shuttered out of the parking space. Ashley covered her face with her hand and slid lower into the seat.

          Jaime smiled to herself; proud of herself for sticking around and getting a chance to be a Good Samaritan. Especially after seeing how her dad, Henry, behaved. That was – that was – what was that?

          “You know, your dad… is he always –“ Jaime started to ask.

          “A little nosey aren’t you?” Ashley cut her off.

          “I’m sorry, I just –“

          “Just what?”

          “—just thought I could maybe help. Sometimes it helps to talk, you know, to someone about… stuff,” Jaime said.

          Ashley sighed, “Listen Julie –“

          “Jaime.”

          “Whatever. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do. I appreciate the ride home, but let’s get one thing straight. I don’t need your help, and most importantly, none of this –“ she gestured wildly at the whole car, “— ever happened. Got it?”

          They rode the rest of the way in awkward silence.

          Jaime’s junker pulled up in front of the beautiful Stewart Mansion. Actually, Mansion wouldn’t accurately describe it because the smaller homes up the street were mansions. This one was more like a castle.

          But Jaime couldn’t let it go.

          “Ashley, your dad treating you like an animal definitely did happen!” she said.

           “Listen –“ Ashley grabbed Jaime’s arm, much like Henry had grabbed hers earlier. And Jaime flinched. A look of fear that Ashley was all too familiar with. It scared them both. Ashley was instantly sorry and softened a bit.

          “It’s just,” she continued, “none of your business. So lay off. And stay away from me.”

          “Ah, yes,” Jaime said, “Gotta protect the reputation.”

          Ashley exhaled deeply.

          “I’ve lived with it all my life, okay. I’m used to it. You wouldn’t understand,” Ashley explained.

          “We have more in common than you think, Ashley,” Jaime looked over at her but the wall was back up. The connection was over. Ashley was all business again.

          “God, I hope not,” Ashley grimaced.

          She forced the door open and slammed it behind her. Ashley walked across the lawn and up the front terrace and into the gigantic front door, which completely swallowed her in darkness.

          Inside the foyer, Ashley ever so carefully closed the door and turned the lock; careful, so as not to make a sound she slipped off her shoes and tip-toed barefoot across the floor to the staircase and froze when she looked into the study and saw Henry passed out over some papers on his desk. A bottle of Scotch was opened right next to him.

          Well that didn’t take long, she thought to herself, quietly despising the man. She quickly and silently made her way up to her bedroom and closed the door, locking it behind her.

          Outside in the car, Jaime sat for a moment staring at the huge house. Wondering. Praying. There was definitely a dark sadness about the place, a sadness to Ashley. Yes, the sadness was buried under layers and layers of meanness and sarcasm and anger and makeup, but the sadness was there all the same. Jaime fired up the car, dropped it into drive with a kerplunk and rumbled away.

          In the study Hank stirred awake so suddenly he almost dropped his Scotch glass. He weaved his way to the window but there was no one there. Just some ratty, old car belonging to someone who was evidently lost. He was of a mind to phone it into the police because that was all this neighborhood needed was more thugs casing the houses in the middle of the night. That’s when he spotted Ashley’s shoes by the door. How many times had he told her not to leave her stuff lying around the house like that? His face clouded up as he nursed the anger.

          Stepping across the study he turned up the hall to the Master bedroom. Poking his head in quietly he let his eyes adjust for a second. His wife was there sleeping soundly. Deep, heavy breathing that could work its way into a snore if she hadn’t rolled onto her stomach. Her sleep mask was pulled over her eyes and he could even see the yellow earplugs she put in her stupid ears to block out the trash men.

          He sighed. He was tired. He wanted nothing more than draw up behind her in the bed, wrap his arms around her, kiss her shoulder and fall asleep. But it had been years since any warmth of that kind had been between them. Since then everything had been on autopilot. The job, the marriage, the sex. All of it. Robotic and emotionally void. He knew the exact moment it had happened, too. That night. The night of –

          Henry shuddered.

          But, he couldn’t worry himself with history, no, he had to clear his head. He had a rebellious daughter upstairs who needed to be disciplined.

          Henry turned and pulled the bedroom door shut, gathered up Ashley’s shoes and, very wobbly, headed upstairs.

                                                          ###