Medusa's Revenge

By Sean Boru

Tumultuous lives of a young mother leaving an abusive relationship, an Irish American gangster, a stripper and the FBI director intersect as a famous volcano erupts on the other side of the earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483520803

Book preview

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8:30 p.m., April 9, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

Celene

The young woman reached in the backseat and grabbed the dirty laundry. Well, I guess that's all. God, I'll never get it all done. Lines of frustration tugged at the corners of her mouth. Fatigue threatened to further smudge any light from a once youthful face as she scanned for stray laundry. She slammed the door of the rattletrap, her mother’s prize gunmetal grey Cavalier. Like her, the car showed signs of use.

She lugged the laundry past broken down cars to a dimly lit, single row of dingy washers and dryers. Cigarette butts and soap dust anthills littered the floor. Placing the basket atop one of the washers, she dug in her pocket for some change. Never enough, she thought, as she counted out six quarters for each load, 18, just enough to wash, not dry. She sorted the laundry, carefully doling out soap, exactly 3/4 cup to each washer. She was her mother’s daughter. Waste not, want not, she said as she dusted out the last grain. The washers struggled, as she settled into the lone, rickety lawn chair. A fly circled the light bulb. Time slipped away while Celene thought about how long Caleb had been with his dad. The fly kept circling, Stupid bug, she thought.

Later, the wet clothes were hung in the kitchen to dry. She checked the door, locking and re-locking, her usual routine. A steaming cup of tea in hand, she curled up in bed to write the final touches to her term paper, Feminism Today. Hopelessness overwhelmed her. She had tried to convince her professor to let her write about the effect of poverty on single parents, but to no avail. She felt like that stupid fly, caught in an endless dance.

Seven years before, everything was possible. Born the second daughter to a well-to-do, middle class family, Celene was wanted and loved long before she was born. Her parents were childhood sweethearts and lovers who had met and hit it off at a high school dance. Before the evening was over, they were well more than friends and destined to ‘dance’ their way to adulthood. After three years steady, Celene’s parents had married and in another three, produced a daughter, Tara, an active, lusty little girl with the energy to match her loud and boisterous cries. Three years later with the help of fertility specialists, date nights and plenty of White Russians, Celene appeared.

Now, in this tiny hole that she had scraped out for herself and Caleb, Celene felt small and tarnished, not at all the special girl her parents had wanted so much. She felt dirtied by the life she had chosen.

When she was 13 she had met a boy at school who would forever change the course of her life. For the most part, she wasn’t interested in boys, she was mostly a homebody, choosing to spend her time putting on makeup or fixing her hair. Buddy wasn’t like the other boys who vied for her attention. He was self-confident, brash and kind of pushy. His mother had struggled to raise him mostly by herself, except for the few abusive men who rolled in and out of her life. Buddy became his mother’s protector. He was the second child of a man who ‘hit the road’ a few years after Buddy was born.

As a colicky infant, Buddy’s family doted on him and his sister. When he grew older, Buddy spent every waking moment working out and taking steroids to keep up his virility, to erase the image of that needy child he had been. Along with the overt virility came a dark character that shadowed everything he touched.

5 a.m., April 10, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

Waiting and Watching

Celene awakened with a start. Oh my God, I'm late! Knocking the alarm clock to the floor, she raced to the shower, stripping off jeans and t-shirt from the night before. The sting of the hot water jolted her consciousness, Ouch, darn.

Thank God it’s dry, she thought, as she snatched her uniform from the line in the kitchen. It’ll have to do. I don’t have time to iron. With expert skill, she flipped an egg in the frying pan, slipped into her scrubs, slapped the egg between two slices of bread, and shoved the lot into a plastic bag. Out the door, a quick lock and relock, and she was off to work. Driving through traffic, she stuffed the sandwich down, choking on the dry bread. She was used to it. She caught herself before she tossed the baggie on the floor. Nope, can’t do that. Mom would freak, she said, and stuffed it in her pocket.

As work, Celene spied an empty parking spot, parked, and smiled to herself, I made it with time to spare. In her haste to beat the clock, she didn’t notice the dark blue Corolla with tinted windows parked at the rear of the parking lot, engine running, lights out.

April 10, 2010, 6:30 a.m., Harwood, Maryland

Evil

He knew no one could see him. He was safe, in control, separate, in his own world, and apart from the idiots around him. The tinted windows protected from prying eyes. He knew he shouldn't be watching her, but he couldn't help it. The way she moved, as she tossed her head to look around her, sent chills down his spine. He wanted to take her here and now. He wanted her more than he ever had. His mother’s voice kept him in check. He could hear her there in the shadows, Leave her be, Buddy, she ain’t yours no more. They’ll put you away if you don't leave her be. Poor mom, she tried so hard to keep him on the right track, keep him from being like that sad, wasted father of his. But, she didn't know the things he could do. She never would.

In the beginning, he had just been playing with her. He wasn’t serious, he had girlfriends in North Carolina and Texas he’d met when he travelled with his aunt, girls who didn’t know about his past, the problems he had. Those girls were only a distraction. Celene was his dream. She was the one girl he had decided he would have. But, her dad hated him.

He remembered the first time he knocked at her front door, expecting Celene to answer the door. Ted Jameson answered the door, big and menacing, Yeah, whaddya want?

Feeling vulnerable, he hesitated, then said, Celene, uh, Celene told me to come by.

To his surprise, her dad turned and hollered, Hey Celene, you've got company!

That's all it took. He was no longer afraid of Celene's dad, he had made it through the first trial. After that, he'd go to the front door the same way, but instead of standing there, he’d nose his way in, smile, pet the dog, and say ‘hello’ to her mom, Bev. Sometimes he'd even offer to do chores or take out the trash. That really softened her up. She couldn't say ‘no’. She was bought and paid for.

Those days were long gone now. He knew what he had to do, and it would take time, he had plenty of time.

8:30 a.m., April 10, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

Bev Trapani Jameson

Bev enjoyed her morning bike rides. The preparation for the ride was essential for a successful ride. She aired up the tires, exactly 125 pounds of air, allowing for 5 pounds lost when she disconnected the pump. She was obsessed, checking the chain for anything noticeable.

After that rash of flat tires in ‘only God knew where,’ she never left home without the backpack, C02 ampules, extra tubes, and connectors. Just in case she got hit or had an accident, Bev packed her cell phone, driver’s license, debit card and a pair of reading glasses to see to change the tires. After all, she had once been a Girl Scout, and was always prepared.

With a finally zip, Bev slipped the backpack over her shoulders, snapped on her helmet and mounted the Trek. This is going to be a good ride, she thought. Bev could hear the beat from her MP3. In time with the music, she clicked her shoes onto the pedals and navigated the Trek out onto the main thoroughfare.

9 a.m., April 10, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

An Evil Throbbing Heart

He had to keep the windows up or they'd see him. He must remain anonymous. Everything depended on not being seen. So, today, he'd sweat. He pulled off his shirt and settled back, reclined the seat, breathed deep and slow. He had a lot of time, eons of time. His heart was pounding but beginning to slow. Gotta control it, he thought. Just breathe in, breathe out. He watched the throbbing heart tattoo on his chest expand and contract, bright red with blood dripping toward his heart, her name spelled out in drops of blood, Celene. He had to control his breathing, or he’d come apart.

Finally, a little peace crept into his bones, down deep, better. He'd felt better since finally locating Uncle Jimmy, needing help for what he had to do. It'd only work if he had help. He knew himself and his limits. The family would smooth the way. They always had. Breathing slower now, sweat cooling him down, watching and waiting for her to take her morning ride. She never missed, always on time.

10 a.m., April 10, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

A Near Miss

Bev felt on top of the world today. The heat was oppressive, 90 in the shade at 10 a.m. The last loop in her morning ride complete, Bev turned toward home. Today was a good day, no annoying honks or shouting idiots, just the Trek and the road. The Trek was a smooth ride, fast and smooth. Even when she had been riding for an hour or more, she never tired of the ride, it was what kept her going. As she came to the 4-way stop across from her subdivision, Bev decided to change her routine. Normally, she pressed the walk button, waited for the light to change, and walked the bike across the street. Today, Bev decided to take a chance and ride across. As she rolled into the bike lane, she didn’t notice the car coming toward her in the right turn lane. A loud screech of tires and horns blared, Bev was down, down and out.

When she came to, she was hurting from her head to her feet, throbbing pain in knees and elbows, blood everywhere. Her first thought was the Trek. Oh my God, where’s my bike! she cried.

Several people stood over her, staring and not moving. Is she alive? Hey lady, the bike’s okay but you’re pretty bunged up. Can you feel your legs, arms?

Heck yeah I can feel ‘em, they hurt like the devil! Bev was angry and hurt. She wanted to cry but remembered her mom saying, Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get going. So, Bev rolled to her side, and attempted to sit up. Several arms reached out to guide her up and she was able to stand. Thank you, Jesus, she thought, as she grabbed her crucifix and kissed it, saying a prayer of thanks.

The driver of the car stood back, watching the whole scene, deciding if he should run or drop to his knees and pray. Hey lady, I’m real sorry. I skid...

Don’t say it, okay? I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Let me see if my bike’s okay. She checked the bike and it appeared okay. Bev smiled and waved, Thanks for helping me, I’m fine. She didn’t look back as she limped across the street toward home. If she had, she’d have seen his car waiting in the turn lane, one car back from the one that nearly hit her. But, he saw her, and he watched and waited. He had missed his chance. Someone almost beat him to it, but he wouldn’t miss next time. Next time, he’d finish the job.

10:45 a.m., April 10, 2010, Harwood, Maryland

Bumps and Bruises

What in the devil happened to you? Ted gasped as he surveyed the damage to Bev’s body and her bike. With a chuckle, he said, What’d the other gal look like?

Rolling her eyes and moaning, Bev stumbled through the door and sat down in the kitchen. Well, I’m alive was about all she could think to say.

Did he actually hit you, or did you fall?

No, I don’t think I was hit ‘cause I was out before I hit the ground. Must’ve fainted. I think he must have bumped the front wheel. All I remember is the sound of screeching tires and honking.

Well, you are lucky! How’s the bike?

I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Of course, it’s a Trek, what do you expect? It’s tough. With the workout I give it every day, it shoulda been in a junk pile by now, but it’s not. Seems every time I do something outta my routine, though, something stupid happens. I’m just glad I’m alive. Hey, anyway, whaddya doin’ here? It’s midday, you never get home before 6?

Yeah, I think you’re lucky alright. Ted rolled his eyes, looking at the ceiling, and thinking God was with Bev today. Oh, I got off early, not much happening there, but it looks like I was right-on-the-money. If you’d been hurt, ‘Oh my God’, Bev, what would I do?

Bev couldn’t shake the feeling she was more than just lucky. The whole thing was weird. Her mind was tired, and her body hurt too much to think about it now. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

In his best southern ‘Rhett Butler’ drawl, Ted grinned, Weeelll, okay, Miss Chawwwlette, I guess you’ll worry about that tomorrow.

6:30 p.m., April 10, 2010

Another Day

It had been a long day for Celene, chasing little kids around the room, changing diapers, consulting with parents, and putting up with the constant banter from her co-workers. Each had a separate drama to play out in her day. Why wouldn't they leave her alone? Especially Tiffany, she was the oldest and the worst.

Deep inside, Celene wanted to run away, change her name, and be someone else. Her parents couldn't understand what was happening to her. They thought she was finally on the road to success, studying at night, working during the day, being a good mother to Caleb. If only they knew.

Hey, Celene, what's going on? Tiffany said. Did you finally get your laundry done?

Celene was wary, wondering why Tiffany was being so nice. Then she got it, Oh, yeah. Not enough money to dry. Had to hang them in the kitchen. That's why I look like a big wrinkle. She felt humiliated, but better, now that she knew what Tiffany was up to. Celene hoped that would shut her up.

Tiffany was older, organized, and seemed to have it all together. Celene knew a comment from Tiffany was the beginning of a day-long mine field of probes and questions, anything to keep her on guard. She couldn't trust anyone, not for one moment. Buddy had taught her that. She was destined to be on the lookout the rest of her days. No such thing as a casual conversation or even an offer to help.

Tiffany hollered, Yeah, thought maybe that was it. If you need to borrow some money, let me know. I've got a few quarters left from washing my car yesterday.

Tiffany wouldn't let it stop here. Celene knew it. Celene had noticed how clean and shiny Tiffany's new Mustang was. It was like dad’s, but his was a black convertible, really snazzy. Celene was glad for him, but Tiffany's was yellow with racing strips, looked like a pimp car. Smiling to herself, Celene thought, Maybe I’d better keep a low profile and get off without letting her push my buttons, as usual. Finally, the day was over, and she was glad to get away from Tiffany.

Over the years, she had learned to bide her time, wait, and swallow what life threw at her. Sometimes her resolve weakened. She wondered how she could keep up the sham until her ship came in. Time would tell. Celene was good at waiting, like when she got pregnant with Caleb. She felt the world was a giant birthday gift, a big shiny pink package with lots of tissue and sparkles on the bow, if she was willing to wait, and she did wait. Then, she had only to open the package to find the gift within. Slowly, as she had stretched her young arms into the world. She had found the package was filled with darkness, cold, frightening, empty corners, a maze of blind turns, and lies snaking through her life. She wished she had never opened the package, kept it as it was, beautiful and full of hope.

Today, she was a realist, knew the ropes, and knew