Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance(2)

Where are Dad and Mom? What happened?

Shuddering sobs ripple from my chest, making the pain so much worse. Hot tears spill from my eyes, slipping into my hair.

“Cara.” My eyes jump to the voice and I see it’s Uncle Tom, Mommy’s brother. “I’m sorry,” he says, while getting up from the chair.

I frown, not sure what he’s sorry for.

He rubs tiredly over his face and then sighs heavily. “There was an accident. Your parents… they didn’t make it.”

My parents … they’re dead?

NO! My heart squeezes painfully and then a sharp twinge starts to grow in my chest. I suck in an agonizing breath, but the feeling keeps growing until I’m hollowed out and only filled with the loss of my parents. On my next breath, sobs start to tear from my throat.

They can’t be gone! It’s too soon. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

My thoughts start to race and panic sets into my bones. They can’t be dead … not my parents.

The reality of never seeing my parents again hits hard, an ache so deep it shatters me. An empty feeling overwhelms me, something I’ve never felt before. It’s like a wave that washes all my happy memories away, leaving only a harrowing heartbreak behind.

I’m too scared to say a word, and my eyes beg Uncle Tom to tell me different. I keep looking to the door expecting Dad and Mom to come rushing in at any moment.

They’ll make it all better. They’ll take the emptiness away.

“The nursing staff will look after you. Once you can walk you should leave the country.” I look at Uncle Tom, confused at his words.

Why would I leave South Africa? This is my home.

He lifts the mattress right under my butt, and the movement jars my body, sending a wave of pain through my back. I watch as he shoves a thick envelope under the mattress before dropping it down again.

“Keep that envelope safe. It has a new passport and some money in it for you. I’ve arranged a visa for you to go to America, but it’s only valid for three months. I could only get you a temporary one on such short notice. You can’t stay here. Once you’re in America, stick to the small towns and never use your name again. Forget where you come from, or they will find you.”

They? Who are they? Why would people be coming for me? I don’t understand any of this.

I want to scream as a helpless feeling overwhelms me.

Uncle Tom gently caresses my cheek, a sad look giving his face a haggard appearance. “Leave South Africa, Cara. As soon as you can.” He leans over me and places a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Run, Cara. Run far away and never stop!”

I watch him leave and then I’m left alone in the hospital room with only the envelope and a heart filled with sharp pieces of emptiness that are stabbing at my insides with every panicked breath I try to suck in.

For a moment I can only blink and breathe before the reality starts to squeeze at my insides again.

My parents are dead!

I’m alone?

I start to weep, grief-stricken and distressed by all that’s happened to me.

I’m only eighteen. I don’t know what to do. I want my Dad and Mom.

A nurse comes into the room and smiles warmly at me, but I feel none of the warmth. She gives me something and it starts to soothe the pain that’s clawing at my heart.

I know the relief is only temporary, but I welcome the blissful sleep with open arms.





(Seven years later…)

Cara~

“Time to close up,” Mr. Johnson says with that eerily quiet tone of his. In the beginning it used to freak me out, but you get used to stuff like that if you need money. I’ve done so many different types of jobs in my life, but selling stuffed animals must be my least favorite and weirdest.

Mr. Johnson offered to teach me ‘the tricks of the trade’ (his words, not mine.) There is no way I want to learn how to be a taxidermist. I just need another hundred bucks and I’m out of here. I’ve already stayed here for too long.

I live a lonely life, but I’ve grown used to it. It’s just the way it is. It doesn’t help to question something you can’t change. It’s better to just accept that it’s the way my life is going to be.

I now go by the name of Cassy Smith, my mother’s name. Cassy is short for Cassandra and Smith was her maiden name. That was a nice thing of Uncle Tom to do. I feel closer to her that way.

I still don’t understand any of the things that happened to me when I was eighteen. No, I’m lying. I understand the pain, because it’s the only thing that was real and constant.

I don’t understand what happened on the boat, or to my parents. I don’t understand why I had to leave, and why Uncle Tom left me.

I’ve come to the conclusion that life is not meant to be understood – trying will only drive you insane. Life is just meant to be lived, every day a new day with its own problems.

I’ve been in the US for seven years. Lucky number seven … right? I can’t use my passport anymore. It was only valid for three months, but that was all I needed to find my first job, which was cleaning toilets at a truck stop. It was a shitty job but that’s why they let me work there in the first place. Cheap labor.

I keep moving, just like Uncle Tom said. I don’t stay longer than two months in one spot. I’ve been here six weeks already and I’m feeling the familiar itch to run.