Yesterday's a Dream

By R.S. McIntosh

Finding yourself in a dumpster is an awful way to start your day. not knowing who you are is even worse. In her late twenties and looking like an angel, one memory haunts her - is this smiling face that of a friend or an enemy? This young woman's journey of self-discovery begins with her remedial education and ends with a dramatic rebirth. Samantha awakes as an innocent child and blossoms into a competent, compassionate woman.

She had no memory , no name, and possessed a dead woman's wallet. Determining the identity of this beautiful woman and how she came to be wandering the streets of this town should have been Officer Randall Brandt's main concern. It was becoming difficult to keep his thoughts on his job when all he wanted was to be near her.

My first attempt at putting my creations on paper and into the mass market is finally becoming a reality. I have been dreaming up characters and writing about them since greade school. I hope you enjoy reading abou them as much as I have enjoyed telling their story!

Currently, I am fighting with the characters in my second novel, they can be shy and snooty and sometimes just downright stubborn in their refusals to cooperate. Still, I persist because I believe their stories could shine the light on solutions to similar real-life problems. So prey for my patience and watch for "I face the morning" coming soon.

Thanks and God Bless! Rennae

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 18, 2005
• ISBN: 9781412237673

R.S. McIntosh

Rennae is an avid reader who has been writing both poetry and prose since childhood. She graduated from Norwin High School in 1979, and acquired her Associates degree from Westmoreland Country Community College in 1992. She is married, the mother of four, and grandmother of six. She runs her own business from home and is working on her second novel. She has a passion for learning and is always taking at least one college course every semester. She hates the new FB Timeline look. She enjoys listening to music from the 70's and the early 80's and anything by Barry Manilow. She enjoys reading Robert Parker's "Spencer" novels and watching Starsky and Hutch reruns.

Book preview

Chapter 1

At first, there was only that awful stench. For what seemed like forever, all she could manage were feeble attempts to raise her head. When she finally succeeded, she looked around and tried to determine where she was. Once her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she saw she was surrounded by torn bags and soggy boxes spilling over with rotted food, shredded paper, smashed cans, and broken glass. It took nearly all the strength she had left in her tired, aching muscles to stand up and climb out of the large metal bin.

To her left, she saw light and, with newfound, unexplained hope, began to stumble toward it. The longer she walked the more her joints ached, and the emptiness in her belly grew. By the time she reached the edge of town, the aches had grown into pains and she shivered from the gentle breeze swirling past her sweat and garbage soaked clothes. She promised herself that she would only go a little further before resting. She didn’t know why, but she knew she had to keep moving, had to go on. If she could just reach the light, she’d be safe.

She passed several buildings only to find all of them dark, their doors, locked. She didn’t know how, but she just knew that someone had to still be awake; someone had to be able to help her. Suddenly, as if in answer to her thoughts, a man appeared around the corner. She tried to run to him, but her strength was gone and all she could

manage was a whispered plea for help before passing out.

◊◊◊

The graveyard shift was usually quiet. It made him feel like he was the sleeping town’s protector; Ginny called him their guardian angel. The last thing Officer Brandt expected to find at this hour was anyone walking the streets.

On the way to checking the back door of the drug store, he heard footsteps in the alley. The breeze carried an awful odor and as he rounded the corner and there she was. He thought she was ghost; she looked and smelled like she had crawled out of the grave. He was thankful he hadn’t eaten yet.

She wore ratty old jeans, a soiled pink tee shirt, and was drenched from head to toe. Her hair was matted and stuck to her head. When she started towards him, he instinctively went for his sidearm, but she stumbled, and instead he caught her as she fell toward him. He thought he heard her mumble something just before she lost consciousness. He picked her up.

Boy, do you need a bath! he said putting her in the car.

At this hour, the station house would be deserted. Except for Friday nights, there was only one officer on duty for the graveyard shift. Ginny’s house was just a few blocks away. He knew she wouldn’t mind if he took this poor kid there to warm up. She always had coffee for him every night; besides, she loves taking in strays.

By the time he got her out of the car and carried her to the door, he thought he’d be sick if he had to tolerate that smell any longer. He tapped on the door with his toe and Ginny answered almost immediately.

You’re early tonight, she began and then gasped as she held open the screen door. Where on earth did you find her, in a dumpster? What is that awful smell?

The way she looks I’d say that’s where she’s been!

Put her on the couch and go make your coffee. I’ll get her out of these smelly clothes, Ginny ordered, and then added, But I don’t think it’ll help, even her hair stinks!

He entered the kitchen and smiled as memories crawled into his thoughts. He grew up in this house. Mom made cookies and candy, and perfected recipes for the restaurant in here. If he had to pick a favorite place, this would be it. Ginny tries to carry on the traditions, and she’s great, but it’s not the same.

When the coffee was ready, he carried two cups into the living room. She had somehow managed to change their helpless visitor out of her clothes and in to a nightgown.

Still out cold, huh? Do you think we should wake her up and feed her? He asked, handing her a cup. He then lowered his tall, muscular body onto the ottoman.

No, let her rest. Come in the kitchen and tell me all about her while I fix her something to eat, Ginny said, slapped his knee, tugged his elbow, and led him back to the kitchen. Before putting the girl’s clothes in the wash, she went through the pockets, pulled out a wallet, and tossed it to him.

Here, Officer Brandt, find out who our friend is and call her family. Maybe by the time she gets cleaned up they can be here to take her home.

Well, according to the I.D., her name is Samantha Stone. She’s 5’4, weight 115 pounds, red hair, and blue eyes. Well, I guess the description fits, she did seem pretty light."

Is there an address or phone number? Ginny asked.

It says ‘in case of emergency call 936-1111.’

Okay, try it.

Hope they don’t get mad at me for waking them, he said, dialing the number. WHAT? Looks like you’re stuck with her!

What makes you say that? Ginny asked, taking the phone. Are you sure you dialed correctly?

Yup, here it is, first page of the phone book, ‘National Weather Service, 936-1111.’ Not only is the number wrong, but their clock’s wrong, too! he chuckled and laid the card on the table next to the rest of the wallet’s contents. Nine dollars and eighty-two cents, we better be nice to her, she’s one really rich kid! He laughed again, this time Ginny joined him.

She awoke to the sound of laughter in the next room. She looked around the beautiful room. She lay wrapped in a blanket on a pale, blue sofa. There was a matching love seat and a darker blue chair with an ottoman. The walls were off white, the trim, a deep dark wood. The fireplace was white marble with black cast-iron fixtures. A huge painting of a Spanish villa hung in a dark wood frame over the sofa and another smaller one of a seascape hung over the mantle.

She tried to sit up for a better look at the golden unicorn on the glass coffee table and realized that the ache in her stomach was accompanied by strange spinning in her head. She moaned and fell back on the sofa.

The laughter stopped. A slight woman with long, dark haired emerged from the other room, followed by an attractive man she vaguely remembered. The woman sat down on the edge of the sofa and the man pulled up the ottoman. They both looked at her, as if waiting for her to say something. She just stared back at them. The woman spoke first.

Well, hello there! It looks as though you could use some nourishment. Randy and I’ll help you to the kitchen, she smiled and helped her to her feet. I have lasagna warming in the oven. I hope you don’t mind leftovers.

Where? Who? How? was all she could say.

Well, she’s Ginny, and I’m Randy. I found you stumbling about looking lost. You passed out and I brought you here. Ginny’s door is always open to people in need and I knew she’d help. After you eat we’ll see if you can find your tongue long enough to answer some questions, he led her to the kitchen. By the way, her lasagna’s terrific, especially reheated!

Randy helped her to a chair while Ginny served a generous plate of lasagna and a tall glass of milk. She smiled, and whispered ‘thank you’ before digging into the food.

Randy called in to county dispatch to let them know he was officially on lunch. He decided to let her eat before finding out what her situation was and involving the department.

He and Ginny chatted over coffee while she ate. They discussed how their days had gone and tried not to stare or make her feel uncomfortable in any way.

So, how about answering a few questions now that you’ve had dinner and a nap, Randy asked when she was finished.

I don’t know what I could tell you, the girl replied wiping her chin as she spoke.

Let’s start with your name, suggested Ginny.

She fidgeted and pushed a tiny lump of ricotta around on the empty plate before she finally replied with a shrug.

Are you trying to say that you don’t know who you are? Randy finally prompted.

I, I, don’t know, she stammered.

Well, can you tell us anything at all about yourself? Ginny paused before adding, Perhaps your age?

No, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to remember anything, she replied before breaking down to cry.

Recognize it? he asked handing her the wallet. Ginny found it when she put your clothes in the washer.

She wiped her eyes, took the wallet, and looked it over carefully. After a few moments, she looked at Randy.

It could be mine, I don’t know. All I remember is waking up in some dark, awful-smelling place, finding my way to the light, seeing you, and passing out. She finished by adding, Before that, there’s nothing, nothing at all. I’m sorry! Then she began crying again.

Don’t worry about it, Ginny comforted, glaring at Randy. According to an identification card we found in the wallet, your name is Samantha Stone. Does that sound familiar?

No, she said meekly shaking her head.

Well, it also says you’re five-foot-four and weigh 115 pounds. That part’s just about right, he blushed remembering the feel of her in his arms. He cleared his throat and handed her the card, it also says you have red hair and blue eyes. Your eyes are blue and, even though it is dirty right now, your hair is definitely red! Everything fits so it has to be you!

It doesn’t say where I live or if anyone cares where I am! she responded and began crying even harder.

Why don’t I show you upstairs? Ginny suggested. You can wash up before getting some sleep.

Ginny’s right, maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.

I guess so, she replied and followed Ginny up the stairs to the second floor. She was led to a pretty, little room with pastel blue walls. The curtains and bedspread were white with little blue flowers and the carpet was thick shag and matched the walls. The headboard, nightstand, and dresser were white with blue trim. The bathroom was huge; it could easily have held two more tubs within its pale gold walls.

Well, it’s not much, but I call it home! exclaimed Ginny. The towels are in that closet and when you’re done, you can use the robe on the back of the door. I’ll go show pesky the door and I’ll see you at breakfast!

Thank you, she said as Ginny left her in the bathroom.

Ginny found Randy in the living room in the chair with his feet up on the ottoman. He was studying Samantha’s I. D. card.

Hoping that maybe it will talk to you? Perhaps it’ll tell you where she’s from or who she really is! She turned off the CD, turned the stereo to a soft rock station, and set the volume on low. She curled up on the sofa and waited for an answer.

I really don’t know, he said after much thought. Right now I’m not sure why I ever became a cop. It’s times like this, when I can’t help, that I begin to wonder why I even try!

Ginny began to say something but he cut her off, No, let me finish. When I ran into our friend, I realized just how good I have it. My own house, a steady job, friends who care. But most importantly, my life has purpose, or so I thought. It’s my job to find lost people, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to help pretty-little-miss whoever-she-is get home!

Randall James Brandt, if you think I’m going to let you sit there and wallow in self-pity while there are things I know you could be do to help Samantha, then, Dear Brother, you’ve got another thing coming! Get up off your butt, get down to that station, and use whatever resources are available to solve this mystery! She got up, dragged him off the chair, handed him his hat, and pushed him to the door.

I didn’t support you while you went to the academy to have you bale out on your first difficult case, now get moving!

Do you know your eyes light up when you’re angry? He laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and added, Sweet, sweet sis, maybe you forgot, it was our parents’ estate that supported us!

It may have been their money, but I’m the one who did your laundry, kept food in your belly, and helped you cram for exams, Buddy Boy, she retorted while poking at his belly.

Okay, I give, you’re right as usual. I’m going, you don’t have to push! He turned and headed for his patrol car. He stopped and blew her a kiss before getting in and pulling away.

Ginny closed and locked the door. She gasped when she turned and saw Samantha standing there. Oh, Samantha, I’m sorry you had to hear that, but Randy can be such a brat!

It’s okay. He’s your brother, then? Samantha asked.

Yes, he’s my baby brother. Since our parents died, almost eleven years ago, I’ve had to keep him in line, Ginny replied. Sometimes he still needs a kick in the butt to get him moving.

I don’t want to be trouble, maybe I should find somewhere else to stay, Samantha suggested.

Oh don’t be silly! exclaimed Ginny. We want to help, and believe me, we weren’t really fighting. It’s like I said, Randy just needs a little motivation from time to time!

He’s right you know. How can he help me when I can’t even help myself? Samantha asked. That card won’t be any help either! Did you try the phone number? I did, upstairs, and it’s not even someone’s house. If the number’s phony, how can we be sure that the name isn’t phony too?

She sat on the ottoman and began to cry again. Ginny helped her to her feet, led her up the stairs, and tucked her in bed in Randy’s old room. She immediately fell asleep. Ginny turned off the light, closed the door, and went to her own room.

Ginny picked her parents’ picture up from the dressing table and whispered, "It’s a shame, guys, but I’m afraid the kid might be right. I

hope we can at least help her start over!"

◊◊◊

Sunlight danced around the room as it filtered through the tree outside the window. She awoke to the sounds of birds singing in its branches. She yawned, stretched, and looked around the room. In the day’s light, it looked larger and more beautiful than she remembered.

Well, she mused, at least I can remember last night!

Her clean clothes lay across the foot of the bed. She put them on and followed a delicious aroma down to the kitchen. Ginny was making breakfast.

Good morning, Sam! Ginny greeted cheerfully and then added, you don’t mind if I call you Sam, do you?

Good morning, she replied. I guess it’s okay. It doesn’t matter what you call me, nothing sounds familiar.

Hey! Smile! It’s too early to be depressed. Randy will be here for breakfast. Glancing at the clock she added, he gets done at 8:30, so he’ll be here soon. Want some coffee?

Sure, I guess, she replied. What’s coffee?

This next tune, said the radio disc jockey, goes out to Carol Mikels from her adoring husband Dan in California, who writes ‘Please come home, Baby, wherever you are!’ As we begin another more music hour with Barry Manilow on WISH 99.7.

You know I can’t smile without you, I can’t smile without you. I can’t laugh, and I can’t sing, I’m finding it hard to do anything…

What’s wrong, Samantha? Ginny asked seeing Sam’s tears.

I don’t know! Because Carol Mikels has someone misses her and I don’t even know who I am! Wiping away her tears, she added, I wish he’d said Samantha Stone!

Stop it, that’s enough! replied Ginny. California’s twenty-five hundred miles away. I can’t imagine why they’d request that on a Pittsburgh radio station!

But, that song seems so familiar, she wrinkled her brow trying to remember something that kept eluding her grasp.

Well, Sam, I hate to spoil your revelation, but you heard it last night. My stereo was playing while you slept on the sofa! Ginny explained.

I think there’s more to it. Could you play it now?

Sure, if you think it will help. she disappeared into the living room. Randy and the sounds of ‘Daybreak’ followed her.

He gave Samantha a kiss on the cheek and said, I hope you don’t mind, but I greet all my girls that way. Good Morning! He sat down, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

May I have one, please? asked Sam.

Sure, Randy replied, lit hers, and then watched as she inhaled the menthol flavored smoke.

Later, in the middle of breakfast she closed her eyes and began to sing along with ‘This One’s For You’. She hit every note perfectly, never missed a syllable. She was obviously very familiar with the song; it sent a chill down Randy’s spine.

Do you remember that from somewhere? inquired Randy.

No, why do you ask? Sam replied, genuinely puzzled.

Oh, no reason, he said trying to cover his bewilderment.

She closed her eyes again and continued singing the next song. Randy motioned for Ginny to follow him to the other room.

I don’t understand it, he whispered so he wouldn’t disturb their guest. She sings like she wrote those songs, but doesn’t realize she’s doing it! It’s like she’s in a trance!

I hear ya, Hon. She even smokes like a pro. I think Peter might be able to help. Maybe they can be here before dinner tonight, Ginny said picking up the phone.

Do you really think Peter is the right choice? Randy asked. There are lots of good shrinks here in town!

Hello, this is Ginny Conwell. May I speak to Peter, please? she said into the phone. Yes, I’ll hold.

Hey, brother dear, he may not have been a good husband, but he is a good psychiatrist, Ginny defended. Besides, it gives me an excuse to see Lissa before her vacation is over.

Just then, Peter’s secretary put her through and she explained their dilemma to her ex-husband. He agreed to come out for the weekend and yes, he would bring their daughter.

Thanks, Peter, Ginny told him, See you tonight!

So, Mr. Detective, did you find anything? she asked her brother after she was done on the phone.

Yes and no, he replied looking bewildered. I can tell you who she isn’t, but I can’t even begin to guess who she is.

Oh, really? What did you come up with?

Well, she’s definitely not Samantha Stone. I ran the social security number. The name matches, but she died of a heart attack six months ago at Los Angeles County Memorial Hospital at the ripe old age of eighty-three.

Oh boy! Ginny interjected, What does that mean?

It means, either she’s a lying little crook using the late Mrs. Stone’s I.D. to hide from the law, or she really doesn’t know who she is. He said grimly. Maybe she doesn’t remember finding the wallet, or someone planted it on her.

I believe her, Ginny defended. If she were a fugitive she wouldn’t stay here! She knows you’re a cop. No, I can’t believe that she’s running from the law!

I don’t either, Sis. While I waited for the Social Security information I looked through missing persons reports. I came up with some possibilities, but the women were too old, too young, home safely, or confirmed dead.

Wait a minute. Did you say she died in California?

Yeah, he replied. Why?

Did any missing women from that area fit her description?

Yes, I thought of that too, he opened his notebook. There were three. One from San Francisco left her husband and four kids. Her and some guy went to Vegas and she filed for divorce. One from Simi Valley was beaten and mugged. She woke up days later in the hospital and was reunited with her family.

You said three, she prompted. What about the last one?

Kidnapped, he began. After the ransom was paid, the kidnapper phoned the husband, an LAPD officer by the way, with instructions on where she could be found.

So she’s home, too?

Dead.

They killed her! Ginny gasped.

Yes. Based on the report, it was gruesome.

That’s it, then, sighed Ginny. It’s up to Peter now. Maybe he can hypnotize her or something.

Yeah, right! he said sarcastically. All we can do is make her comfortable until she starts to remember. Here, Sis, take her shopping. She can’t wear the same thing every day.

Randy! That’s your paycheck! What do you want us to do, buy the whole department store?

Take it easy, Sis. he scolded. Take this deposit slip and put whatever you don’t spend in my savings account.

Randy handed her the bank slip and headed for the kitchen. Ginny punched up the next CD, then followed.

Sam had finished eating and was busy washing the dishes. Randy tapped her on the shoulder and kissed her forehead when she turned around.

See you later, Sam, he said heading for the back door.

Are you leaving already? she asked. You just got here!

Yes, Shorty, I’m going home to bed. I’ll be back later. Be good! He waved and was gone before she could protest.

Sam, Ginny chuckled. Thanks for doing the dishes, but it really wasn’t necessary!

I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do to repay you.

I understand the sentiment, but, she said, the chuckle building to a laugh, I have a dishwasher!

A what? Samantha asked.

When Ginny could speak again, she explained dishwashers to Sam and then added, Okay, Kiddo! Let’s go shopping.

Okay, replied Sam, but don’t you need money for that?

Not to worry! Little brother left us a bundle. I don’t think he likes the idea of you wearing the same thing everyday!

I don’t either! Sam agreed. I promise to pay you back.

Nonsense, scolded Ginny. We’re doing this because we love to help. But, if you insist, take as long as necessary.

They freshened up, and met at the door ten minutes later.

Look out, Wal-Mart, Ginny’s got money to burn! We’ll get you everything a lady needs to knock any man for a loop.

How will we buy anything if you burn the money? Samantha naively asked.