Room 1815: A Novel

By Myah Catherine

Twenty-something year old Talon is running for his life. With only his dad and his wits to guide him, he's been keeping his pursuers at bay for almost four years ... but living a life on the run isn't a life worth living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Jan 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781486615667

Book preview

ROOM 1815

Copyright © 2017 by Myah Catherine

All rights reserved. Neither this publication nor any part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

EPUB Version: 978-1-4866-1566-7

Word Alive Press

131 Cordite Road, Winnipeg, MB R3W 1S1

www.wordalivepress.ca

Cataloguing in Publication may be obtained through Library and Archives Canada

To my mother and brother for always believing in me.

To my father for always loving me.

To my husband for pushing me to keep writing.

To Mr. Zekulin for seeing my potential.

To my friends on Wattpad for encouraging me to write freely and honestly.

To my Lord and Saviour for blessing me time and time again.

Contents

Prologue

1. Hide and Seek

2. The Invention of Talon

3. Falling and Refusing to Get Up

4. The Puzzle of Abigail Brown

5. Separated by Faith

6. Paranoia

7. To Heal an Aching Heart

8. A Hunger like Nothing Else

9. Dreams

10. Pain

11. Never Be the Same

12. From Innocence to Something More

13. From the Outside In

14. Our Truths

15. D-Day

16. Torn Apart

17. The Victim’s Son

18. Poetic Justice

About the Author

Prologue

My father was an informant for a small-town gang in New Jersey. They called themselves the Vipers—not very original, if you ask me, but they were both feared and respected. They had connections with larger gangs all across the eastern coast, which helped their drug dealing and smuggling business. Again … not very original.

Everyone who lived within a fifty-mile radius of the Vipers knew about their crimes—the drugs they shipped and often indulged in, and the fights they’d start just to show power. They ran the town, and no one—not even the police—could argue with that. We couldn’t argue either. We followed along like sheep with their shepherd—no questions asked, no rebuttals made. That was the life my father and I chose to live.

Before we came upon the Vipers, my family lived in a nice suburban area just shy of Edgewater, New Jersey, where the Vipers liked to frequent. It had the usual appeal of a good school, with friendly people and plenty of jobs to sustain its occupants. There was nothing over the top about the place that made it stand out, and that suited us nicely.

My father had met my mom when his dog was hit by a car. She was the local veterinarian, and she nursed it back to health easily. Apparently after their first encounter, my father tried to find every excuse to see her again until she finally agreed to go on a date with him. From then on, they were inseparable. People said they were like Ken and Barbie—if Barbie was a brunette with wide hips and bright brown eyes, and Ken was a slim man with shoulder-length hair and green eyes behind round glasses.

I was born two days before my mom’s thirty-third birthday, but we always celebrated it together. It was our special day to share. Some could say my mom and I were attached at the hip. She was my world, and I was her gift from God.

Sure, there were times when my father and I spent time together to bond man to man, but I’d always stayed by my mom’s side. She was my superhero due to the fact that she’d saved almost every single animal that came to her office. There was nothing she couldn’t do. Nothing that could stop her or slow her down … that is, until she was diagnosed with cancer. That didn’t just stop her—it killed her. It killed us.

My mom dying of leukemia tore me apart. I was only ten years old when it happened, but it still feels like yesterday. Her happiness radiated like sunshine, engulfing everyone in her presence. She was a caring woman who showed everyone, person and animal, the utmost respect. It was the best example I had growing up, and the only good example I had to follow, especially when it came to our faith.

Mom had always loved my father and me, but she loved God most, and she made sure we were in church every Sunday no matter what. Maybe that’s why, after she died, my father and I stopped going to church altogether. I don’t think he shared her love for Jesus and all that. He only worshipped her. When she passed, he pushed me away because I looked too much like her—big brown eyes, curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, a dimple on my right cheek when I smiled. I was an exact replica of her. I was her little boy, and he hated me for it. Since I had no other siblings, and Father didn’t care about his or Mom’s family, I ended up alone. It only took a week for us to learn to like it that way.

Loneliness became my only true friend, and in that gloom I found an eerie solitude. It warped the way I saw and said things. It changed me from the loving and doting little boy I once was and created something new. Someone darker.

Her funeral was filled with people I’d seen many times before, and others I couldn’t recall. My grandparents refused to go, as they couldn’t bear to see their daughter so lifeless, and my father’s parents had long passed. Even with the crowds of people, I knew no one. We were surrounded, yet we both felt so alone. It was the saddest day of my life.

Father decided it was best that we move immediately after her funeral. He couldn’t stand being in the same place Mom used to be. Everywhere we turned, she was there somehow. He said it was haunting him, so we packed up and left without a word to old acquaintances.

When we happened upon the Vipers’ territory, we were none the wiser as to who they were and what they did. We’d just found somewhere new to call home. Around three months into our new home, we encountered the Vipers and their … reputation. I guess we both blinded ourselves to the bad deeds they’d done, because they were nice to us.

The Vipers, in their own weird way, made us feel welcome. They gave us a home and showed us kindness. In return, my father and I helped them out with the little things from time to time. If they needed to know where the cops were going to be when a shipment came in, Father kept his ear to the ground to find out. If they lost supply, they sent my father in to find out who was taking it. They’d even give him the money to bribe corrupt cops and officials.

I, on the other hand, worked well with computers. Hacking systems and making them crash, and transferring large amounts of money from high rollers’ accounts to secure Vipers’ accounts was what I did. I was fifteen when I started hacking. I was young, sure, but I was brilliant with a computer, and they used it to their advantage.

We eased our consciences by telling ourselves that we rarely committed any major crimes, and we never did anything that would leave blood on our hands. It was simple, and it worked.

I learned to respect how the Vipers treated their women and children—with love and adoration. It reminded me of my mom from time to time. They taught their kids the difference between good and bad, and right from wrong, but sometimes they had a warped view of what was wrong. In a sense, though, they were a family. My new family.

With the Vipers around, I never had much time for friends. At school I hung out with the Vipers’ kids and no one else. I didn’t see the need for making friends when I had family, and they shared the same ideology. We stuck together.

As the years went by and the tasks became slightly larger and more important, the power that came with the Vipers began to seep into my bones. Soon there was nothing more I wanted than to be like them—to hold that power in my hands and show the world what I could do with it.

They corrupted me and my father, and without my mom, we never saw it coming. We were fools looking for acceptance anywhere we could get it. Mom would say true acceptance came from giving your life to Christ, because if Jesus can accept you for who you are, sins and all, nothing could ever steal that joy. But we’d lost our sight and confused true acceptance with loneliness and longing, or so I thought.

Maybe it was because it was the anniversary of her death. Maybe it was because it was a bad day altogether, but when the Vipers asked me to hold that gun … to aim it at a guy no older than eighteen, pull the trigger, and cement who I’d be for the rest of my life … I began to see who they really were. Eight years in their family—in their employ, really—and my eyes were finally opened.

I couldn’t do it. Even when they goaded me … when they taunted me … when they hit me. I wouldn’t do it. Because on that day, eight years before, I’d lost the only light in my life, and if she could see the person I’d become, her heart would break. I refused to do that to her, even if it meant losing my power.

After my refusal, we started to get shunned. There were fewer jobs for us to do, and fewer meetings to attend. They were keeping us at a distance, and I think that scared my father. I think that’s what led him to do what he did. I think that’s what pushed my father to snitch.

I’ll never know if he did it on purpose, or if it slipped out. Folks say he was offered a plea deal with the DA if he gave her some crucial information. Others say it was because they were holding his lover hostage, and he had to say something to set her free. That one I know is a lie. My father hasn’t loved anyone more than he loved my mother, and he probably never will. Whatever the reason, he decided to play the white knight and never told me, but it didn’t take long for them to find out.

The vendetta began immediately. We had to run. In truth, we had nowhere to go and no one to trust. What else could we do but keep moving? A healthy stash of money kept us afloat as we drifted from town to town. Doing dirty deeds for a growing gang paid well.

We had six simple rules: speak to no one unless absolutely necessary, keep your head down, never give out your real name, keep to yourself, lie if you have to, and be home before dark. It was easy to follow those rules. I’d been a social person with the Vipers, but leaving their side showed me just how introverted I really am. Striking up a conversation with a complete stranger wasn’t easy, and I found myself avoiding people altogether. In the end, it worked out for the best. I could keep my mouth shut and keep moving. That’s all I had to do.

Thankfully, I’d already graduated from high school by this time, so I didn’t have to worry about school. But dreams of going to college quickly died. Thoughts of doing something with my life withered. Happiness in general just disappeared. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to years.

By year three of being on the run, we’d found refuge in Ontario, Canada. I wouldn’t call it a safe haven, but it was close enough. We’d gotten back to a distorted version of normalcy in which father would go to work at a warehouse and I’d stay home and listen to police scanners. My job was to keep watch. I’d take note of any news about the Vipers and do my best to keep them off our trail. I’d never had the chance to get a real job that didn’t include illegal proceedings. I’d never made any friends or captured any life-long memories … I was