Sand Castles & Seashores

By S. C. Harvey

Twenty-five-year-old Madison Chase knows that her job as a tracker is to find dangerous men and turn them over to the proper authorities. She knows shes pretty good at her jobnot least because of the special powers and gifts she possesses. But theres a lot she doesnt know. She doesnt remember her early years, and she doesnt know who her parents are. These absences haunt her.

Madisons special abilities attract the attention of one particular agency. After several tests of her skills, their interest in her takes a dark and sinister turn, opening the way for a journey of self-discovery and leading her to find the truth of her origin and the destiny she has yet to fulfill.

Sand Castles and Seashores follows Madison as she meets both Will Matthews, a special operative, and Nicholas, an important person from her past. The trios lives become intertwined, weaving each person into the others destinies and creating an intense bond among them. In the end, what do you needand who do you lovewhen you come undone? How do you rise above the rubble of a broken spirit?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426950858

S. C. Harvey

I was born during a time of unrest. From Cambodia, my family fled to the US where I grew up in California. I attended Redlands High School. Living with my mother and my younger brother, I grew to be an independent young adult. Imbued with a free spirit, I love the outdoors, the sun, the snow, the stars, and the unexpected. Now residing in Massachusetts, with my loving husband and remarkable daughter, I teach math to an inspiring population. I believe that each of us possess a measure of the logical and the beautiful.

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Contents

Rainy Day Man

Graduate

A Rose By Any Other Name

And This Is Why People Shouldn’t Take Their Work Home With Them

It Stinks To Be Shot

Doctors Meant Needles

Mr. Matthews, I Hardly Knew You

Sand Castles & Seashores

Make a Friend

Saddle Point Between Sorry and Grateful

Yay, I’m Not an Alien! Wait, What?

Who Doesn’t Like A Limo Ride?

Tomorrow’s Coming

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

The Movie in My Mind, The Dreams I Left Behind

1

Rainy Day Man

The rain seemed to match my mood, and the chill from the howling wind that snuck through the door of the coffee shop suddenly found me. Not that I was brooding, but there was an eventuality to everything in my world, a magnetism for cold and wet elements. Hard as I tried, vacationing in Hawaii, sunbathing on the beach, and even this stupid hand warmer I kept in my pocket as a token of this world, reminded me that I didn’t fit in. Truth be told, it wasn’t until I swam in the ocean waters, or stood in the cold rain that I felt myself, that I felt nothing at all. The conflict within was resolved.

Can I get you another glass of orange juice? Maybe some pie this time? asked the waitress behind the counter. What was her name? She’s been hovering over me for the last half hour as if ordering a glass of orange juice wasn’t enough to reserve my seat. Check her name tag.

Thank you ….Lori, I would appreciate more juice. I’m not up for pie though. I always tried to be polite, to give people due civility, whether or not they deserved it. How different this world would be if people were civil to one another more often. I let out a sigh at the thought.

Here you go, hon. She smiled, setting the glass in front of me then walking away.

Thanks again, I mumbled to myself.

Lori tried to find busy work to substitute for her lack of customers. She wiped the same spot on the counter again, then made a fresh pot of coffee. I was positive the last pot was surely now past any semblance of freshly brewed. I watched her look into the old pot, give a look of disgust, and pour it out, before starting anew.

It seemed kind of silly for me just sitting here of all places, trying to hide from the rain. I don’t even drink coffee. I was drawn to the coffee smell. With one hand, I held the hand warmer deep in my pocket. It was nice and warm. With the other hand, I examined the name of my next target.

‘Randall Murphy,’ I thought to myself, but careful to not say it out loud. He was hiding out somewhere in this neighborhood. The small town of Kents, Kansas, was not the last known location of Randall Murphy. I have been on his trail since his last sighting in Houston, Texas. There, he just took off and drove until his stolen vehicle gave out on him here. Other than by a small picture attached to an email, I hadn’t exactly seen him for myself, but I knew his essence, the flavor of his being. It’s as if every cell in his body shouted, ‘here’, when I called out for it.

I looked forward to meeting him in person, not that I needed a formal introduction. I just wanted to make a point of being polite when I apprehended them. ‘My name is Rose. I’m the tracker who will be bringing you in.’ I knew full well that my name was Madison, but I liked playing out the scenario in my head. Usually they don’t reciprocate. They just take off and run. They run and run and run. Me, I let out a sigh and then take off after them. Again.

My name was actually Madison. My job was to find dangerous people and turn them into the government agencies that have enlisted the aid of people like me, people who were good at finding others and capturing them in. It seemed simple enough; take the bad guys off the streets, which ever most wanted list they belonged to, and then get paid. Do something with myself. I wondered if my parents would have ever given me this lecture.

You’ve got to do something with your life! Dad might have said. Dads were typically more preoccupied with the productivity of an adolescent than moms from what I’ve observed.

How about I become a tracker? See the world, capture bad guys, pick out some cool aliases? teenage me would then say.

I laughed at the thought, because my parents were never there to give me that talk, or any other critical adolescent growing up lecture. I had been on my own for as long as I could remember, well up until about ten years ago. That’s a story for another time, because now, I had to go. Break’s over. Getting up, I fastened my black trench coat securely, and brushed my hair behind my ears. I was ready.

I crumpled the piece of paper and trashed it. Never be caught with evidence was the first rule. Don’t advertise yourself to the world, it’s a sure fire way of getting yourself killed faster.

Just before I got to the door, my heart fluttered, my hands went ice cold, my face red hot, and I froze. In came a man, not much older looking than me, maybe 27-30 with hazel eyes and a crooked smile as he passed me at the door. My heart then stopped, and my eyes followed him. For a moment, it was as if we moved in slow motion. His smoldering eyes never left mine, even when he slicked his bangs from off his face, then simultaneously, we both turned away.

In that brief moment, those few seconds, I imagined myself crushed to him in a permanent embrace. And in that vision, he held me while the wind was against my back, and he protected me with his strong arms wrapped behind my back. How strange, I’d never felt like this before, let alone noticed men in general. It was as if a shift in gravity occurred, and all the stars and moon shined for him. Focus, Maddy, focus. You are here for a reason. It doesn’t matter, you don’t plan to be in Kansas long anyways, I told myself.

Upon my exit, I let the cold rain have me before I headed down the dark, poorly lit street to where I was pulled. While walking, I looked back on my life and realized there were a lot of holes to my story, but there was never a boyfriend. It’s said when you hit puberty, you became attracted to the opposite sex, but that was not the case for me. This was the first, and according to my driver’s license that said I was twenty-five, I was long overdue. He was medium height, muscular with broad shoulders, stunning hazel eyes and wavy black hair. He had fetching good looks that would make him stand out in a crowd. I knew I could obsess over this for a while, and so forced myself to focus. The rain helped. It cleared my thoughts when I looked up to the night sky, letting the cold, fat drops wash away my thoughts as it rolled down my face and off my chin.

Randall Murphy, I muttered quietly to myself. Despite the drone of the rain drops, I heard him. I started walking, focused on the name, and it drew me down the empty street to a bar a couple of blocks away. I pushed in the swinging brown door and every eye in the room found me. I knew I was a sight, dripping wet from the rain. Most people had the good sense to carry an umbrella in such weather. Looking around, they didn’t seem too welcoming of strangers. That’s fine with me, I didn’t plan to stay for long.

I could ask the bartender if he knew a Randall, but if he pointed, that would only bring unwanted attention from the onlookers. Instead, I decided to glance around and read their body language. Most of them didn’t acknowledge me after the initial dirty look at my entrance. Some were too inebriated to see past the bottle in front of them. There was a lone figure, however, in the darkest corner of the bar whose body language suggested that he did not want any visitors. He turned right away after seeing me. His back hunched forward into a defensive pose, and both hands were on his beer bottle as if to strangle it. I sat down across from him and noted his leer below his dark bushy brows. His tattered blue jean coat unzipped revealed a clean white buttoned shirt beneath.

Seat’s taken, he muttered.

Not likely, I responded.

Tracker or assassin? he replied, looking directly up at me. I detected a faint but audible gulp. Randall’s brown eyes narrowed, studying me. I could tell that he was calculating something in his head. His odds of escaping were not good, especially after having sold a list of secret agents from what I was told. He was fortunate I found him first.

Does it matter? I teased dryly keeping up the façade.

He wasn’t panicking, or overly nervous, but remained in control. What was his game? Was he expecting me? He shot a condescending glare, making me question myself for a second.

Tracker, I said.

He glanced a few times at the exit door.

What was he thinking?

Let’s go for a walk, I offered. I figured if we exited the place peacefully, he wouldn’t be seen fighting with a girl, saving him some shred if dignity, if he had any left.

And just like that, we left together. I wrapped my arm around his left elbow making it appear casual, as though he was sitting there all along waiting for his date to arrive. His arm was stiff from nerves as his whole body showed his irritation at my presence. Once outside, the pretense was over, and he shook me off his arm. He shoved me back, assuming that he could overtake this petite frame. He was wrong. I chased after him, following every stride he made with my own. He then turned into a junk yard a block away. ‘Why always a junk yard? Why are bars that are filled with unsavory types always located near a junk yard? Honestly, you might as well have a big bull's eye painted above the entry way.’

I was not miffed though; I did always enjoy a good game of cat and mouse, even if it always ended in a chase. It gave me a chance to use my powers without anyone else seeing. My powers I kept to myself except when I used them to pursue some low life. The only evidence left behind was the target’s incoherent rant. I assumed that whoever had them in custody at the end of the day probably chalked it up to an insanity defense, which worked for me.

Following him still, I sensed him near. His presence was very close, watching me. I felt his eyes on me, watching intently. He pushed a tall pile of rubble over hoping to deter me. This caused a chain reaction and toppled over other mounds of trash. But it was futile. I lifted up my left hand, not to brace myself for impact, but to erect my shield stopping the falling trash from hitting me. I was now in my bubble, under trash. My other hand pushed against an invisible wall, and in the darkness of the bubble, my blue pearlescent shield and white arms glowed. They always glowed when I called upon the power within me, but in this instance they also provided light and a feeling of well-being in the night. As my right hand pushed forward, the trash around me moved as if there were a larger, invisible hand outside scraping away the debris from above me. Climbing out, it took me a few seconds to spot Mr. Randall Murphy who was now about thirty yards away. He spotted me and was doubling his efforts to get away. I tried to be nice, so let’s see how he likes it when I played rough.

Beginning to sprint, I was instantly upon him. Within a heartbeat, I knocked him from behind to the ground. After being kicked down, he scrambled a few feet away. It was not that time stood still for me, but I was able to move quicker when I really needed to. The shock in his eyes when he turned gave me a measure of satisfaction.

I smirked.

I suppose he wasn’t a complete low life. He at least waited until he exhausted all other options before pulling a gun from behind his back where it was stashed. I hated these weapons - so messy and easily mishandled. I walked closer to him, towering over him now, and reached for his gun. I could tell he was afraid; the gun shook in his unsteady hand. My hands glowing, I reached out, took his gun from him, crushed it into a ball, and threw it over my shoulders. It would be lost in here. The rain began to let up, and so did my mood, as I slowly inhaled then exhaled. I then took out a pair of cuffs, my own special brand, and secured it on him. Okay, so they were more like shackles than cuffs, and there were no key holes to unlock them. Like I said, my own brand of security, molded by my very hands.

It took only a few hours this time to arrange a drop off point. I had been keeping in contact with the agency so they had a general idea of where the target was. This made the transfer go quicker. Randall didn’t give me any more trouble when I escorted him to the drop off point. I released him from my cuffs and handed him to the agents present. This particular agency amused me. Whenever our paths crossed, as if ripped from the pages of MIB, they acted as though they were on top of things with their ear buds and their mumbling. The words would be disjointed to the average person, but came clear as a bell to me. They looked me over with a smug grin, but I knew better. How could they even begin to comprehend who they’ve hired to secure their packages for them when even they were too inept to? The leading field agent was a burly type with a trim black mustache whom I liked to call Carl, mainly because he’s never offered me his real name. By our third encounter, I felt he should have some sort of designation.

Hey Carl, go easy on this one. I kind of like him, I said.

Carl nodded.

The agents pushed Randall in the backseat, and then got in the car before driving off.

Despite the fact that they were gone, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I didn’t know what to make of it. I tried not to let whoever it was know that I was onto him so I walked away, back through the alleyway. My feminine boots hardly made a sound as I treaded carefully away from the scene.

I was a couple of blocks away from my hotel when I noticed a car pulled over to the side of the road and a tire rolling away from whatever poor, incompetent victim with car trouble. I stopped the tire as it rolled towards me, and rolled it back with one hand up to the vehicle. It was dark and I wasn’t able to make out the face, but from his posture I could tell that he was relieved when he looked up and saw his spare rolling back to him. He stood and his identity was finally lit by the dim street lamplight. I recognized him. From earlier in the coffee shop, it was Lance, with his wavy dark hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. ‘I’ve decided to name you Lance,’ I said to myself, because if ever I was asked to describe what Lance would look like, I would give his description. I liked naming; it gave things in my world a sense of order. Things needed to have their proper place with a proper designation, I would accept nothing less.

Thank you for the wheel, he said catching the spare wheel that I rolled uphill towards him. He had a devastating smile, and I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable to be at the receiving end of it.

You’re welcome, was all I could offer when I turned away and continued my trek to the hotel. I smiled to myself once he was out of view.

Hey, he called out.

I stopped and turned to see if he had meant it for me. He had. He waved his hand, and was delighted to see that I had stopped.

Did you need something? I asked dryly. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask if I could change the tire for him too.

It would seem that there’s more than just the tire that’s out of commission; the axel needs to be replaced too. I don’t know of any places around here to have this car towed and fixed proper. Do you know of any places around here? he asked, embarrassed at having to ask for help. He had a twinge of a British accent that much I caught, and he seemed out of place here, so I felt a little sorry that I wouldn't be able to help.

I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Do you have someone you could call? I asked. He shook his head from side to side.

I guessed not.

I offered, There’s a coffee shop down the road, maybe they could suggest a garage. I hope that helps.

Thank you, again.

7"You’re welcome, again. Good night," I said, trying to walk away, again. I figured the further away I got, the more I could relax, because whatever it was about him had my heart pounding.

Can’t I buy you a cup of coffee to say thank you? he asked.

Shaking my head, I said, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s getting late. I … I have to go.

I’m sorry, I’m being rude. The name’s Will, he said offering his hand. His name wasn’t Lance? Oh well, I so rarely ever guessed right. Did he just offer to shake my hand? At first, I didn’t want to because they were somewhat dirty from working on his car, but to refuse this gesture would have been inexcusable.

Um, I’m Rose, I said shaking his hand. I knew that it would be dirtied from the exchange but to be rude would have been worse. I felt a little guilty about not giving my real name, but I didn’t belong here, and didn’t want anything left behind to be linked to me.

Rose, that’s pretty, he noted. So can I buy you a cup of coffee, Rose? he asked again. Persistent wasn’t he? I suppose he was trying to be nice, and it would give me a chance to use their restroom to wash my hand.

One cup, I conceded. Pleased with my reply, he beamed the most devastating smile I’d ever seen. It left me dumbfounded. A second passed before I reeled from it, and Will took his place by my side.

So, Rose, you really shouldn’t be walking at night by yourself. It’s not safe for a young lady to be by herself at this hour. I don’t fancy the idea of you getting hurt. It almost sounded like a lecture from him but lacked a certain degree of sincerity that I would expect from such a statement. What an odd way to start a conversation.

I can take care of myself, Will, I responded. If he only knew how well I had the advantage on the streets, he would think twice and give sympathy to all the would be attackers out there. You don’t seem to be from around here, I noted.

He answered, I’m not. I’ve been traveling, and just happened to breakdown in the smallest town in the States. While he spoke, I felt a surge of amusement at the irony. His voice was very attractive, perhaps from of the accent, plus he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. I was definitely crushing, but I couldn’t let it on.

It could be worse. There are places in the world you don’t want to be stuck in. A small town with potholes isn’t anything to complain about, I said, trying to put things into perspective for him. The streets were quiet with little to no traffic. These seemed ideal conditions compared to what I remembered from my earliest memories. There were streets in cities that people knew not to travel. The only safe havens to be found then were vacant buildings and rooftops, and despite my gifts, the fears gnawed at me until I was finally able to escape it myself.

He pondered over my last statement as we approached the coffee shop. I opened the door and let myself in. I held it open until he could let himself in as well. Lori, the waitress was still there and looked at us with one eyebrow raised, perhaps wondering why we were together this time around. I was starting to wonder the same thing myself.

What can I get you two? she asked cheerfully.

I took in the smell of coffee in the air and let it sink in for a second until I remembered what I needed to do first.

May I use your restroom please? I asked, getting to the point.

Yeah, sure, around the corner, to your right, she said as she motioned with her hand from behind the counter.

Thank you. I’ll be right back, Will.

No problem, I’ll wait.

I tried to make it brief as I washed my hands. I didn’t want to keep him waiting needlessly so I dried my hands and checked my appearance in the mirror for a split second. I looked a little shabby from the rain, and so I fixed my hair quickly. I was relieved the pursuit earlier had hadn’t taken its toll on me. There were no signs of a fight on me.

Getting back to the counter where Will had waited, I smiled, perhaps more than I should because of who was waiting. Bearing in mind I was probably never going to see him after tonight, I decided to make a mental note and memorize his face as much as possible in the few minutes we would have together.

He waited on my decision, and I asked for my usual.

Orange juice, please.

Are you sure? Would you like anything else? A spot of coffee or a donut perhaps? he suggested.

Thank you but if I have coffee at this hour, I will be up all night. Besides, didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Lori? I reminded him.

You’re right, he admitted, now turning to Lori, Um Ma’am, my vehicle broke down about a block from here. Do you know whom I could call to have it towed and fixed? Aware of his talent, he tried his devastating smile on her too, and she instantly fell under his charm. He’s certainly got a way about him.

Lori was offended that his car would dare break down on him. After asking Will what kind of car it was and the location, she insisted on calling her brother-in-law herself and having him tow it to his garage where it would be fixed. Once she was done with him on the phone, she hung up and leaned over the counter to face our Mr. Will just so she could relay the message.

Sweetie, Earl’s going to be here shortly if you want to have a seat. He’ll have your car fixed in no time. Don’t you worry. Now, what can I get you?

"I’ll have a small cup of coffee, if you wouldn’t