Through The Door

THROUGH THE DOOR

By Brenda Hickey

THROUGH THE DOOR

Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Hickey

Smashwords edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, events and organizations within this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEAR DIARY

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

DEAR DIARY (Final Chapter)

Dear Diary

My hand trembles as the ink bleeds onto the page. Why can’t I make my fingers work? My heart races at the thought of a moment-by-moment accounting of that place. The emotional wounds still fester in my memories, and I shake my head watching the ink spread. How can a blue velvet journal solve all my problems? My therapist seems to think writing about my time inside will help in coping with my PTSD. I have my doubts. But here goes…

It’s been a year since my release and between my pre-law classes and work, I have little time to write. But anything that will decrease the nightmares, the fear, and the flashbacks is worth a try. I’ve often wondered what life would be like if deleting bad memories was as easy as deleting a bad selfie. Staring through my windshield at the headstones jetting up from the cold, frost-laden ground, I sit in awe at how my time in that place altered me to such extremes. How could a prison made of pain and violence twist my beliefs so irrevocably? Knowing it did doesn’t make the memories any easier. Living with them is harder.

The day I stepped foot through the DOOR…

CHAPTER ONE

Twisting the sparkling gold in between my fingers dazzled me. Facets of bright blue and white points of light bounced from the diamonds embedded in a beautiful bangle bracelet. No one saw me leave the party downstairs. I could just slip it into my pocket. It scared me how much I wanted to take it. But I wasn’t a thief. Not with parents like mine.

For the last five of my seventeen years, my parents showered me with bribes. It was a sick game. Catch my father with his hand up his mistress’s skirt. A new pair of earrings adorned with a pretty pink bow. Spot my mother scrambling to hide the liquor bottles she’d finished off. A new dress with matching heels. Even the twice-a-week screaming matches always garnered me a gift I didn’t want. Their attention would have been enough, but I was more like a witness they needed to keep quiet than a daughter they loved. Still, I mulled the idea over one last time as I stared at the brilliance of it.

Glancing back at the bracelet I’d left on the smooth granite counter of the master bathroom, I sighed heavily. It would have been nice to see my parents’ horrified faces when they picked me up at the police station for stealing the damn thing. At least it would be some form of attention, I told myself. They needed a good dose of shock value, but not if it meant being sentenced to the Colman juvenile facility. Our government’s latest crime-fighting tactic came by way of the Department of Offender Rehabilitation—the DOOR, our townsfolk called it. Ironically, nothing about the DOOR was rehabilitating. It was about fighting to survive in a prison full of maniacs. With my luck, I’d get sentenced to the DOOR never to be seen again, like a handful of teenagers had already, I thought. No attention or affection was worth that kind of hell.

The DJ’s music vibrated under my palm as I glided it down the smooth wood of the long, winding banister. The thumping beat hurt my head, and Lyndsey Pope stared at me as I stepped off the last stair. Someone had noticed my absence after all. Lyndsey leaned against Lincoln, her ex-boyfriend, who happened to be my date. She was gliding her hand up and down his arm batting her long fake eyelashes like a butterfly’s wings. I wanted to gag.

It was Lyndsey’s party; an annual event the Popes threw for their princess-like daughter. A highlight that never missed the front page of the local paper. Not surprising, since the Popes own the most expensive home in Brookings, South Dakota. They even monopolize most of the businesses in town: Pope National Bank; Pope Foods, the local grocery; and Pope Automotive are just a few of their endeavors. Not to mention their business partnerships and political influences. Hell, the town should be called Pope. They are royalty in Brookings, and they like it that way.

The Popes’ annual galas are always a mixed affair. Half of the house holds the adults and the other half, Lyndsey’s guests. The great room appeared like the aftermath of a horrific fairy explosion. It was adorned with shiny beads, strobe and twinkle lights, and I was certain I’d be picking glitter off of me for days. The theme was Mardi Gras, and everyone received beads and a mask as they entered. The smell of cologne, expensive perfumes, and jambalaya mingled throughout the room’s wide expanse. Half the football team, who wore the masks on the back of their heads, were passing a silvery flask of liquor back and forth in one corner of the room. In the dining room kids filled their plates with crawfish boil and jambalaya. Other classmates were grinding on one another to the beat of the music on the large, wooden dance floor. Most of the students at Brookings High School wait with bated breath to receive their invite. Not me. Seeing my name in gold embossed letters on the expensive, butter-colored stationary confused me at first, but I realized the separate invitations to Lincoln and I were strategic on Lyndsey’s part. One way or another she wanted Lincoln there, even if it meant me attending.

Lincoln, I shouted, but didn’t make a dent over the thudding beat. Obviously he was too enthralled in whatever Lyndsey was saying. Lincoln, I shouted again. This time getting his head to turn. As Lincoln started in my direction, Lyndsey’s face twisted into a scowl.

Hey, babe, where’ve you been? Lincoln asked. His wide eyes glanced back to Lyndsey. Lincoln’s face flushed, and he lowered his head. He couldn’t have looked guiltier.

Bathroom. I gestured up the stairs.

Do you want to dance? Lincoln offered, a little detached and never catching my eyes.

No. I’m not feeling well; my head is killing me. Can you drive me home?

The pause in his manner told me he didn’t want to leave the party.

Forget it, Lincoln, I’ll walk, I said, irritated.

Are you sure, babe?

Completely, I lied.

Home was only a mile away, and I needed the cool and quiet of the night, but Lincoln was being a douche. He kissed me on the cheek just as Lyndsey approached us, flipping her golden blonde hair back with a twist of her well-manicured fingers.

You’re leaving so soon? Lyndsey questioned, feigning her concern.

Yes, I answered and forced a smile.

Oh, then let me get your jacket and purse, Lyndsey offered, eager.

There was no question, she was happy about my departure. For two months she’d been sniffing around him in low-cut tops exposing her push-up-bra cleavage with a twinkle in her eyes. Watching her trying to win him back was entertaining in itself. Funny thing, I couldn’t care if he took her back. We never really fit. The only reasons I dated him were to annoy my parents and get out of the house at least twice a week. Plus, Lincoln was a fairly decent guy, at least until tonight. But if he wanted her back that was fine with me. Even though I was certain it was me having him that ticked Lyndsey off.

Lyndsey rushed up with my purse and jacket. Here you go. She handed me my things and nudged the back of my shoulder to get me moving. Her long pointed nails pressed into my skin and gave me a start. She glared at me with narrowed eyes and a lopsided grin, and I knew she’d done it on purpose.

Lincoln was gazing out onto the dance floor when I tapped him on the arm. As he turned, I raised up on my tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t your normal everyday peck; I laid one on him. Our mouths glided back and forth while our tongues lightly connected. As the kiss grew stronger, Lincoln’s hands encircled my waist and lifted me off the ground. I ran my hand smooth across his buzzed, brown hair. I’d never kissed him like that before, but it wasn’t for his benefit. Aggravating Lyndsey was my main objective. As the kiss ended, I felt nothing. No excitement; not even a flutter. I did feel a twinge of guilt for leading Lincoln on, but it wasn’t enough to dismiss the delight in seeing Lyndsey’s face. Horror and anger all rolled up into one priceless expression. She was so red, I thought she might catch fire.

Maybe I should take you home, Lincoln offered, smiling wide and happy.

Lyndsey’s face twisted like she’d eaten a lemon, and I almost took him up on his offer for the amusement factor alone.

No. You stay here; I need the walk anyway. I dragged my fingers lightly across his chest and gave him a wink as I turned and walked out the door. The last thing I saw was Lyndsey’s sour face. I beamed internally.

The night air was cooler than I’d expected, but it felt good on my skin. It was a cloudless, clear sky, and the stars shined their tiny pinpoints of light down from the dark heavens. The best thing was the quietness. Late October offered up cool and quiet in place of the heat and chirping insects the summers brought. This summer had been extra-long and hot, and the October climate was just beginning to cool our tiny part of the world. The chilly air was good, but I needed the quiet more. The pounding in my head was already subsiding.

As I walked along the empty, dark road, loud noises invaded the crisp night air. Passing Judge Adams’ house, I heard voices behind the curtain of trees that blocked the Adams’ circle driveway. It was after midnight and unlike the judge to be causing a commotion. Curiosity getting the better of me, I crept through the cover of trees, avoiding the crunchy, fallen leaves that were just beginning to brown and accumulate on the grassy ground. Stopping at a huge oak, I peeked at what was taking place. Three teenagers were piling cardboard boxes stamped with a large black scorpion into the back of a box delivery truck. Two of the boys appeared as young as fifteen and another was very tall and wearing a hoodie, and I couldn’t see his face. Brookings’ population is approximately twenty-two thousand, and I don’t know every one of them, but I had a knack for remembering faces. These faces were unfamiliar to me. Then one familiar face appeared: Judge Adams stepped around the back of the truck. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot, and shaking his head. He’d been a tough young man in his day, but boxing hadn’t worked out for him, leaving him with a flattened nose and no titles to speak of. I’d been in his home once as a young child. Newspaper clippings and articles hung in his office alongside his law degree. Just about everyone in Brookings voted him Circuit Court Judge in our last election. Everyone loved him, except for the criminals he sentenced. He was best known for giving long punishments. When he was still boxing, folks had nicknamed him The Executioner, but the name fit better now.

Keep it down, boys, the judge warned. If you wake my wife it’s another month.

At first I thought the judge might be allowing juvenile delinquents to get their community service hours in check, since they all wore orange jumpsuits. But after midnight?

Crack. The sound of a small branch breaking under my foot triggered four heads to jerk in my direction. Ducking behind the huge oak, I held as still as possible.

Check that out, RJ, Judge Adams ordered.

My feet wouldn’t move, even though my mind told me to run. Trespassing was one thing, but whatever they were doing appeared shady at best. Like my parents, I was sure witnessing this wouldn’t garner me a gift I wanted. The sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs permeated the crop of trees in which I hid. The footsteps falling ever closer. I pressed against the oak so hard the rough bark dug at my cheek, and just as the tall figure stepped around the oak tree, I was found. Frightened, I stood staring up at the hooded RJ looming over me. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his eyes bearing down on me. My body trembled, and my heart and breathing picked up pace. For a long moment, I watched his visible breaths rolling out like billowing smoke from the dark opening of the hoodie.

When I head back, get the hell out of here, he whispered gravely.

RJ lingered momentarily, still staring down at me before he turned and trudged back toward the others. Wasting no time, I snaked my way back through the cover of trees to the clearing at the road. Once my feet touched the asphalt, I sprinted toward home.

Leaning against the red-brick alcove of my home’s entryway, I panted for air. My lungs burned with every breath. Whatever they were doing at the Adams’ house frightened me, and I wondered if I was being followed. Looking back down the dark street, it seemed quietly ominous. Something about RJ’s tone had me on edge. Seeing teenagers moving boxes for Judge Adams wouldn’t normally set off alarms in my head, but at midnight and with RJ’s bleak warning, I knew I’d witnessed something I shouldn’t have.

As I stared down the street, a set of headlights was nearing my home. Running for the cover of my mother’s minivan, I watched