No Where Girl

By Real Ink Publishing

Disturbed......When life’s ugly truths are revealed from the first breath, what room is there for sanity? Detached......With everything taken from her, where does emotion fit? What does it mean? Apathetic.....When it’s toward self what power exists to crumble its walls?
She came from nowhere. What chance is there for her when the diagnosis category is psychopathy? Irene(Nena) was born into destitution raised as a product of the state. Her understanding of life was in contention of the hopeless. Her indoctrinated eyes saw normalcy in asylum. Now released into an unforgiving world, can she persevere? As her life heads into a shadowed path of indifference, betrayal, and malicious intent. What would become of Nena? When each obstacle is greater than the last can this god forsaken soul endure? Cursed with loss yet blessed with inner strength where is the crossroad? No Where Girl is an emotional ride into a life of tribulation and the woman who would never give up on living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Real Ink Publishing
• Release date: Jan 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9780983351832

Real Ink Publishing

Real Ink Publishing is back delivering the most anticipated literary tales. The Drama and Suspense coms at you from the turn of the very first page check out our books. www.realinkpublishing.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The delivery room filled with the stink of her dirty body. The ventilation ducts which maintained a controlled temperature succeeded only in adding a chill to the oily sweat exuding from her skin. Her entire frame was spread with goose bumps. It crawled up her neck, and into her scalp as she strained and screamed, exposing the yellows and browns of rotting teeth. A film of bile frothed at the corners of her mouth, which was cotton dry, lips chapped and cracked. Other than the protruding belly, the woman was skeletal. She'd been dumped at the hospital in a barely lucid state, her yells erupting with each contraction. She had no name, or identification.  Once her clothes were cut and peeled from her, a warbled, taut belly held more than a child.

A sonogram confirmed twins. For the next sixteen hours, the woman hadn't spoken a single audible word regarding her condition. She transformed slowly throughout her labor from semi-stupor to obvious withdrawal. Her shivers and tweaks complicated the delivery process, which ended in the first infant being born a stillbirth.

The doctor turned to his assistant with a grievous expression before handing over the tiny, frail cadaver and preparing his mind for the removal of what he expected to be another dead baby. But, the monitor picked up the faintest pulse and the doctor found himself struggling to compose an expression of sentiment as hope began to develop.

Dr. Steinway?

But, the doctor had already noticed as soon as the patient's body relaxed. "Yes, nurse Green?

She's gone.

Steinway's lip trembled as he imagined a feeble life trapped in a cave of death. He stood his full height with the jolt of hurried energy. Nurse Green, prepare the body for cesarean delivery. We must save the child.

The pediatric nurse secured the incubator, and then hovered over it for a long minute. Empathetic eyes watched the still frame of two pound baby Doe. The tiny body was attached to tubes and monitors. She would be named by the state officially, but Maribel gave the child a name as soon as she laid eyes on her. Nenna, a basic name but one of which came from feelings of the heart.

You’re a survivor, Nenna, she cooed. The odds were against you from conception and you fought like a little champion.

Maribel felt her eyes water and returned to her work station. A file for ‘Baby Doe’ sat atop the counter awaiting the arrival of a social services representative to pick up in preparation for the child’s transfer. The inevitable transfer which would hurdle the child into a life where the odds would stack higher as the years carried on. That was, if the premature infant lived for the next weeks that it would take her to develop enough to be readied for such a transition.

Maribel dotted her eyes with a handkerchief and regained her composure when other newly made fathers and family paused at the observation window of the newborn infant ward. They crowded to get first looks at the blessed expanse filled with hospital cradles and neatly wrapped infants just as precious as a dawn sunrise. It simply wasn’t fair. Maribel’s little Nenna, all alone, incubated and battling for her every breath. The nurse reflected on the file’s contents: MOTHER: Sandra Felix; NATIONALITY: Honduran; AGE: 27; FATHER: Unknown,

The woman’s identity came from her prints and criminal history that included two assaults, prostitution, and numerous drug arrests, both for using and intent to distribute. Sandra Felix had been a junkie all her adult life, dating back as far as sixteen years of age. The smorgasbord of narcotics in her system at the time of delivery included high traces of heroin, cocaine, and other concoctions that made up the more designer drugs which were available in recent years. It was as if the woman had been trying to kill herself. She was a mess, and clearly used heavily throughout her pregnancy. She had no chart for any prenatal care, in fact, the woman had never been seen by a physician.

Poor Nenna wasn’t given a chance. She would more than likely suffer the same fate in her life. Before she was even brought in the world she lost her father, mother, and sister. Now, the child would start her life with no family, no one at all to love her. Maribel gave a curt nod to the proud and smiling fathers and family on the other side of the glass, and then she turned to the small room adjoined to her station. She eyed the incubator at the frail, barely visible body, still and hardly alive. But, you’re a fighter, Nenna. You just keep on fighting, precious child.

CHAPTER 1

Patricia Moore was a New York State foster care social worker at Helping Hand. Children had been her field of choice as a career from her own days in grade school. Ms. Pat, as the kids at Helping Hand referred to Patricia, had been a nurturing sort, even as a tot. Raised in a stable household, her focus had always been toward the less fortunate.

As she grew, her more developed sight recognized the troubled youth and the root causes; location, addiction, and abuse. She understood, to a further extent as the years carried her, which it began from the youngest of ages. As a toddler, the subconscious and psychological recording revved full throttle. Children were sponges to the environment, with every accessible influence absorbed throughout various stages of growth.

As soon as Patricia earned her degree in psychology, she ran to a state child care facility. Her upper middle class family lacked support toward her chosen field. They seemed to forget that their forefathers were of the first inhabitants of the project structures built for the minority. True, they fought tooth and nail through segregation and oppression to earn their way out of the urban ghetto and into suburban society, but while they never looked back, Patricia couldn’t help but to do so.

The counselor remembered her family’s words, especially her pompous father, what’s the point of education if your success isn’t financial? With a thriving psychiatric field, especially in private practice, no one in the family could understand why Patricia chose psychology, a field considered The Soft Science. But, with a dismissive wave, her retort was, Some of the most fulfilling rewards hold little to no financial value. I don’t do what I do for the money. I do it for the children. Of which, she would receive blank stares from her parents and siblings.

Within six months of Patricia’s arrival at Helping Hand, she was introduced to Irene Felix, a premature infant whose nickname was Nenna. The name was literally inscribed in the file for the child. And, even though such a name was not permitted at Helping Hand according to the chief counselor, Margaret Hagardy, Ms. Pat made sure the nickname stuck.

At that very moment, the social worker was face to face with Nenna. She watched the child seated in the chair, awaiting to be seen by her potential new family. The last six-plus years flashed before the counselor’s eyes. An infant weakened from a prolonged period of withdrawal; the strong baby whose first smile warmed her heart after a victorious battle of life and death. Patricia experienced Nenna’s development into a vibrant life full of energy and mischief. Against all odds, Nenna grew into a trusting child who leaned on Ms. Pat as her chosen maternal figure. Patricia accepted the role with enthusiasm and wore a heavy heart that morning as the child twiddled her fingers with raised eyebrows and a brave little smile.

A family had come to adopt Nenna, a family whom Patricia personally researched the background of. Though it pained her to see Nenna go, she knew that the only chance the child had in life was to find an upbringing in a stable environment. That opportunity was in the conference room awaiting the post acceptance interview. The couple went by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Durnam Philmore. It was the right next step. Patricia walked over, and then stepped into the conference room with a practiced smile. Philmore family, welcome.

Durnam Philmore sat on the sofa with his arm around his wife, Racheal. He was the sculpted image of Wall Street business with chiseled features, hair parted at the corner, and authoritative gray-blue eyes. But, there was also a shy, element to his features, which was appropriate considering the importance of such a major life decision. Racheal Philmore’s line of sight went straight to Patricia’s waist side looking for the child, and then she expressed subtle disappointment when she saw that the counselor was alone. Where’s Nenna?

Patricia warmed at the name mentioned by Racheal. She explained the nickname and now it was their decision whether or not they maintained it if they gained custody.

Racheal was a small woman. She seemed to fit the part of a homemaker. Patricia chastised herself at the stereotype of what a homemaker would look like, but charged it to the written description on the initial application. Her not-quite-beautiful face held an elegant, feisty quality, which the counselor labeled as what a child would feel comfortable around. It was very important to keep in mind when having to go through a life changing experience. The poor child would have nothing when it came to a new beginning, and comfort was of great solace under such circumstances. The two were, all-in-all, a very suitable family. Durnam stood up upon Patricia’s entry. Ms. Moore, how are you, ma’am?

I am very well, Mr. Philmore, Mrs. Philmore. Patricia informed the parents-to-be of the judge’s decision to grant parental rights to the couple and offered last minute advisories to their eager ears. She prepared them for possible resistant behavior in the near future, which may begin sooner or later, as the child fought against growing comfort and began to test boundaries. It’s vital Nenna understand that though you will not abandon her, neither will you abandon the rules of the home. A home which had been inspected as thoroughly as the backgrounds of the couple. The counselor fought back emotions as she rose from her chair. The final step was the introduction. I guess it’s time for you to meet Irene.  Patricia left the eager parents-to-be and headed toward the waiting area where she readied herself for what would more than likely be her and Nenna’s last talk.

When the door opened, the little girl brightened. Ms. Pat!

Hello, Nenna, was all Patricia could say before Nenna collided with her legs in a tight embrace. The girl literally bounced out of the chair and ran full speed across the hall. Whoa now, kiddo. I think you just picked me up!

A giggle, then a pair of serious eyes, looked up at the counselor. I gotta leave here now, right?

Patricia ran her fingers through Nenna’s hair, a lustrous mane. Honey, I know you must be petrified. Patricia cupped Nenna’s little face and gave her the gentlest smile. And, that’s o.k. Why wouldn’t you be scared? But, if it will make you feel better, I personally checked the Philmores out and they are a very loving family. Besides, you don’t want to stay in this smelly old building for eleven more years, right?

With smelly old Ms. Hagardy. Another giggle, that time with welling eyes.

Patricia wiped tears which were just about to overflow down the little girl’s cheeks. Yes, dear, with smelly old Ms. Hagardy.

Nenna swallowed a lump. Is Racheal gonna be my new mommy? There was a pause, and then a thought. Do I have to call her mommy now?

Only if you want, Nenna. Only if it feels right.

What about you, Ms. Pat? Will I get to play with you still? Will you come over and play?

Patricia’s heart was breaking. She truly loved the little girl. She kneeled down and looked Nenna in the eye. I’m going to miss you so much.

Nenna lifted and outstretched her arms, hands wide, and the two embraced. Those little arms held tight around Patricia’s neck. What started as a social worker’s fear of tears became a warmth of happiness because she knew that it was right. She felt it, and she knew Nenna felt it. After they released each other, Nenna raised her little chin high, and said, I’m ready to meet my new mommy and daddy now.

Durnam and Racheal Philmore were speaking in hushed tones when the conference room door opened. Ms. Moore held the hand of the prettiest little yellow skinned princess. Racheal turned and rose a hand to her mouth, and Durnam straightened in his seat. They had been advised prior to remain seated so that they didn’t tower the child on the first introduction.

Mr. and Mrs. Philmore, allow me to introduce you to Irene Felix.

CHAPTER 2

The house was a two story affair on the outskirts of the Downtown Brooklyn area. Irene stepped out of the caravan adorned with Babies R Us shopping bags filled with kids clothing. She wore a pink visor with her hair out in a thick braid that hung down below her shoulders. She still wore the clothes which she left Helping Hand in, and a McDonald’s milkshake stain covered a good portion of the front, sharing the space with a ketchup and mayonnaise smear. Her smile was a permanent fixture after experiencing the hustle and bustle for the first time in her life, and shuffling through the throngs of people in the shopping district. Through her young eyes, everything was fresh and new, and though the words couldn’t have possibly been in her head to describe what she saw, it was glorious, it was wonderful, and it was the best day of her life. Even when they stopped at McDonald’s and Durnam took some time to lay out the ground rules, Irene’s grin and nodding head movement was in appreciation. Of what? She couldn’t describe, but the response she gave when Durnam asked if she understood the rules was in the form of a question. Nenna asked, Can I call you Mommy and Daddy now?

Racheal slid a hand over the counter and covered her new daughter’s. The woman’s thumb rubbed slow strokes across the girl’s tiny wrists. Honey, I would love it if you did. I would just love it.

Now, Irene was home. She felt it in her little stomach. She wasn’t afraid, she was comfortable. Durnam took the bags and Racheal took her hand. Together, the three walked inside.

Past the foyer was a hall and stairwell leading to the second level. The hall stretched back to the kitchen, and to the immediate left was the living room with a den further beyond a far doorway. The walls were bare, but beautifully painted in a burgundy with lavender edges. The living room furniture was oversized and wrapped in plastic. A wicker décor filled the den. But, it was that living room which kept her attention. There were fresh flowers in vases on the tables and atop the shelves of a wall unit. The carpeting was plush and a huge ceiling fan hovered in slow rotation. Irene took a step in, but was halted before her foot hit the carpet.

Now, now, Irene. You’re never to go in that room. That room is only for adults, Durnam chastised in a low tone.

Children are too messy, so we have a special room for you, Michael, and Brenda, Racheal added.

Irene was surprised to hear the names and furrowed a brow. Then, she suddenly livened up. Mommy, do I have a brother and sister?

Racheal looked at Durnam, and then back down to Irene. Yes, you do. Would you like to meet them? After a vigorous head nod, she continued, Well, I guess now is as good a time as any. They are right upstairs in the special room. Let’s go up and get you acquainted before I begin supper.

I have to get back to work myself, Durnam said. But, I’ll be home for dinner, and to get better acquainted with my daughter.

Nenna was elated. While her new mother carried the bags of clothing, she ran ahead up the stairs. At the top of the flight was another hall with six doors that were all closed. The first held a sign that read, Special Room. Each door had a key protruding from under the knobs. The upper level had a strange feel that paused Nenna. It was so quiet, a rare experience at the foster home. Nenna didn’t know what to make of it. She’d never seen the inside of a real life home before. It was that thought which brought her first feelings of nervousness. There were no windows in the hall and it was darker, much darker than downstairs. Nenna turned back, but there was Racheal, all smiles and warm eyes.

It’s fine, child. Go on and open the door.

Nenna swallowed hard and blinked twice, not sure what to expect, and then opened the door. Inside was a completely different world. Nenna’s, Wow, was a mystic whisper. The room was bigger than the whole Helping Hands dorm room. And, the colors! She thought that she was inside of a rainbow. And, the toys! Every toy in the world! Every stuffed animal, every doll from baby to Barbie, big and small. Cradles and dollhouses that Nenna could fit inside of herself! There were games and cars, and robots and trucks. Nenna had never seen anything so enchanting in all her life. Always a vibrant child, she wanted to burst into a run, but she remembered that she’d only been with her new mommy and daddy for a day, so she paused and turned to see a wide-smiling Racheal. Nenna’s eyes exploded with anticipation.

Racheal leaned in, and said. As long as you’re a good girl, this will always be your special room. Do you understand, Irene? A vigorous head nod from the child lead Racheal to say, Then, you can play until your heart’s content.

In a blur, and with a baseball home-plate slide, Nenna was at the dollhouse surrounded in dolls. She never would have thought home would be, filled with goodies, toys, and fun. But, untamed and straight from the wild, Nenna couldn’t have imagined what ‘Home’ was like, the good or the bad. Neither did she wonder why only now had she heard about her new brother and sister. All Nenna knew was her present elation.

When the door opened again, another boy and girl entered. It hadn’t crossed Nenna’s mind to wonder where they came from, but it was then that she noticed the door close with a click lock. A cautionary pulse was immediately overrode with the surprise and curiosity of the two others in the room with her. They stood side by side still as a picture, heads lowered. In the silence, Nenna heard footfalls and the creaks of the