Boudicca's Return

By Eric J. Buck

A story of friendship, grace, and a young woman’s emotional return from science experiment to real person.

Boudicca Dannon just started as Administrative Assistant at the tech firm. She is talented, intelligent, and gorgeous. She also has an awesome accent. But as she starts to make friends with her coworkers, they realize something is wrong. Boudicca finally tells them the truth when she feels she can trust them. She shares how she was the victim of a horrifying episode and about her narrow escape. Boudicca is free but she will never fully recover. She will need the love and support of her friends... and the grace of God.

Can Boudicca regain control of her emotions? Can she possibly forgive her tormentors? Is there any meaning to her life? This is her journey... Her Return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781678140540

Book preview

Boudicca's Return

Boudicca’s Return

Boudicca’s Return

Eric J. Buck

Eric J. Buck

2020

Copyright © 2020 by Eric J. Buck

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2020

ISBN: 978-1-67814-054-0

Eric J. Buck

665 S. Rosser Rd.

Independence, Kansas 67301

Cover photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash

All scripture is quoted from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

To my wife, Elisabeth. She loves me no matter how many times I think with my mouth open.

Prologue

It's too early in the morning for most people to be driving out on this state highway. Birds chirp and breezes blow peacefully until a small, green Escort disturbs the peace. It’s an older model car. Rust creeps up around the back bumper, and a big door ding mars the passenger side. The radio plays some odd easy-listening music. The woman driving is probably in her mid-20s and happily off in her own little mental world. She steers the vehicle forward towards her job and minds her own business. She’s the only one on this road as usual.

She glances at her rear-view mirror and notices one other car on this road. A white full-size van appears behind her, and it looks like it’s speeding. The lady, thinking only about keeping her morning as mediocre as possible, doesn’t think anything of it. She figures if they want to get somewhere so badly then they can just go around her. They soon start to pass as she thought they might. The van comes up behind the car with its left turn signal flashing. It then moves into the other lane and speeds up.

Then the woman’s entire world flips sideways as the van veers right, ramming its front bumper into the back wheels of the car. The little Escort slides sideways, and at highway speed, it flips and rolls several times, the terrified driver screaming the whole way. The inertia throws the Escort across the road and it lands upside-down in the opposite ditch. The screams stop.

The van pulls over and two guys get out. Once the driver is out of the van, he looks up and down the road to ensure that they are not seen. Then he pulls a black bag out of the van and runs over to the wrecked car. The other man runs directly from the passenger door to the back of the van. He opens the back doors and then runs to help the first one. They drag the woman out of the car as quickly as they can and stuff her in the bag. The whole time they hasten, nervous, looking up and down the road for any witnesses. They can’t get caught. Once the woman is stuffed in the back of the van, the driver returns to the wheel while the other guy closes the van’s double doors. As soon as they are both in, off they go.

The sheriff gets word later that morning that there is a flipped car in the ditch and it’s not long until he is on the scene. The ditch cradles the wrecked remains of the Escort. He finds a little blood, but no body. There are no signs that the driver was ejected from the car, and there is no body outside on the ground as if it had been ejected. The seat belt had been cut.

The sheriff looks around for a while, then walks back to his car to radio in some help. However, two men in black suits completely surprise him. They meet him before he can get back to his cruiser and stop him by holding out their wallets. He studies their badges, which confuse him. They take the badges back and hand the sheriff a small stack of paperwork. The papers are even more confusing to him, and frustrating. He doesn’t like it but it all looks legitimate.

A small crowd attends the funeral held in a tiny country cemetery. Family and friends have gathered but the casket is not open and they feel they are not able to say good bye properly. Nature itself seems too quiet. Even the trees appear to refrain from blowing in the breeze to mourn this suspicious tragedy.

If only they could see what was about to happen.

New Girl

The city of Los Angeles has always been awake even though the sun is only now peeking above the buildings. The citizens of L.A. are about their business or on their way to it. There isn’t anyone around this area, though. The city all but abandoned the buildings and warehouses of this particular industrial district years ago, which makes the cab driver perplexed. He pulls up in front of one warehouse. It is run down, but it looks like just recently it has had the windows and doors replaced. The paint is still peeling off, and the remnants of an industrial past litter the yard.

Whaa? The confusion of the driver forces him to examine his surroundings. He then looks at the GPS through his bifocals. Right place, he reassures himself.

He does not have to wait long to find out that this is indeed the right place. The front door of the warehouse opens and out comes a person. In fact, it's a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She does not fit this setting at all. As she turns away from the cab to secure the door, her blaze red hair reflects some of the morning sun. She then walks toward the taxi with almost angelic grace. She also walks with determination. Whoever she is, the cab driver guesses she is on a mission, and he appears to have a small part in it. He practically feels like he should get out and open the door for her. But even if he tried, she gets to the cab before he could have acted.

The back passenger door opens, and the woman places herself in the seat. She closes the door, then speaks with a professional, polite tone and a mild Irish accent. Thank you for coming. Cornin Consulting, please.

Yes, ma’am, the driver says, shaking himself out of his beauty-induced stupor. He needs some time to input the name into the GPS. Once the GPS has plotted the route, he puts the cab in gear and promptly pulls it forward.

During the first several turns he has to make to get back to the I-10 bypass, he glances in his mirror to see her. Who is she? What was she doing in an abandoned warehouse? And why does she stare out the window like that?

So, you from around here? he offers, hoping to satisfy his curiosity.

Not originally. She never looks away from the world outside her smudged window.

Where you from?

Massachusetts.

So, uh, Cornin. That’s some kinda' tech firm, isn’t it?

Aye, she answers.

What’s at Cornin?

I have a job interview today.

Oh! he brightens. Now he is getting some answers. You think they’ll hire ya’?

Her gaze breaks from the window as she looks toward the mirror. Her green eyes peer directly into his eyes through the mirror. Except for what the driver thinks is something of a smile, her face displays no expression. Her voice is courteous but conveys only information. Yes, I do believe they will.

Ah. That’s good. He glances forward at the road and then back at her through the mirror. In that time, she has turned back to stare out the window. He would love to know more, but he is on I-10 now and needs to concentrate on getting her to her destination.

Out the window she stares. Other cars whiz by until the cab has reached highway speed. The vehicles move like blood being carried through the vein of I-10, or like water running over a cement and asphalt riverbed. Cars get on, cars get off, but the flow of traffic is a continuous current. They all flow forward at a few miles above the speed limit except for the occasional nut who believes that laws are meant to be obeyed. They all have jobs to get to, schools to attend, appointments to make, or shopping to get done. It’s incessant, and to some it is mind-numbing.

One of those cars moving to work bumps up against the curb. It's more of a shock than the driver would have liked. The car shuts off, bringing relative silence back to the neighborhood. It’s a mid-90s Chevy, and it has seen better days. One has to wonder how it passed emissions testing. The door squawks open, and a tall young man steps out. The ID badge that hangs from his belt says Mark VanBlum, and the beard on his face is considerably bigger than the beard in the picture.

Mark grabs his bags, locks his car, and walks towards another day at work. He crosses the drive and heads up the sidewalk, passing the large marble sign that reads Cornin Consulting. And that is when he sees it — a weed growing next to one of the shrubs. His expression sours and his course alters to deal with the invasive plant. But the buckle in the sidewalk trips him. He is only barely able to keep from falling. Yeah, he scolds himself. Forgot about that.

Mark regains his composure, then reacquires his target. He pulls the weed and disposes of it in an outside trash can. With that taken care of, he grabs the keys that hang from his belt and begins to thumb through them. A smile peaks through his beard betraying his love for cold, hard mechanics as opposed to the electronic key card that hangs from his pocket. With a loud, heavy click he opens the side door and enters the building.

The greeting area of Cornin is spacious. Mark’s boots squeak on the floor, and that echoes off the marble walls and glass surfaces. More echos come from the light switches as he flicks them on. Another employee is already waiting in front of the glass double doors to get in. Mark has to single out another key from his ring to unlock those doors.  He opens them and steps out of the way.

Hey, Janice, Mark greets her. You’re here early.

It’s my last week. I want to get some things finished up.

What are you going to do on your retirement? Mark asks with a smirk.

A laugh coughs its way out of Janice’s mouth. I’m going to keep reminding people I'm retired. Mark chuckles his way down the hallway to continue his morning tasks. Janice, however, walks to the elevators, presses the button, and she steps on as soon as the doors open.

Janice sets her bags on a desk next to the Janice Stone plaque. She has several empty bags with her. Once she has sat in her chair, it takes her several minutes to get her bags and other things organized around her desk. When Janice completes that task, she takes a deep breath, slumps down into her chair, and then studies the calendar on the wall. Today is Monday the 17th and Last Day is marked on Friday the 21st.

She wiggles the mouse and logs into her computer. Now she can check her email. With each scroll of the mouse, the frustration grows over her slightly wrinkled face. Whatever she is looking for, is not there, and this is her last week to find it.

Behind Janice’s desk and a little to her left is a set of big double doors. They’re a tad opulent. It’s not long until one opens and a nicely dressed business executive steps through. As he looks through some papers in his hand he starts to talk to Janice. Good morning, Mrs. Stone.

Janice never looks away from her screen. With little enthusiasm, she answers, Mornin’, sir. How are you?

It’s Monday, and I can’t say much else. Janice chuckles to herself while he continues flipping through his papers. Well, I want you to get a response letter ready for Mr. Drake. I want you to write an apology for losing that one contractor's address. I want you to promise we will make any arrangements we can to fix the issue. I want it on my desk for me to sign before lunch. He then smiles to himself. And while we're on the subject, I want a ham and cheese sandwich on rye bread for lunch.

Janice taps her finger on the desk, betraying her impatience with this man. Yes, Mr. Johnston.

Johnston pauses for a moment and recognizes the awkward silence. He looks up from his papers at Janice. Still no good word from HR, huh?

No.

Mrs. Stone, if I could clone you, it would be well worth the company investment. You know the job and have the experience. Any person that takes your place will represent a drop in our productivity.

Janice answers with Thank you, sir, as Johnston heads down the hallway, presumably to issue more commands. She gathers a short stack of paper to look through. One piece is extracted and fed to the shredder. Once Johnston turns the corner toward the other office, she allows herself to sneer at him. She takes the mouse to start on his list of demands, and she takes some of her irritation out on the mouse buttons.

The cab driver stops the car in the parking lot and takes it out of gear. The back passenger door opens and the red-headed passenger steps out. She adjusts her black suit coat and pants, places her leather portfolio under her arm, and with thanks to the driver she closes the door. Her walk toward the Cornin building repeats the grace and determination that the cab driver saw earlier this morning. She walks past one or two other people coming and going from Cornin. And the cab driver observes her, still wishing he could know more about her.

Mark is up on a step ladder replacing a light next to the main doors. From here he can say hi to anyone entering the building, which he enjoys doing. Then she walks up.

Hi, he says to her from the ladder.

She looks up to him and speaks with her cute Gaelic accent. Good morning.

As she enters the door, Mark stops to think about what he just saw and heard. Hm. He shrugs it off and continues his work.

The receptionist greets the young woman with a smile. Hi. How can I help you?

I am here to interview for the Administrative Assistant position, she answers. May I please speak with Mr. Mike Johnston?

Yes, ma’am, the receptionist replies. Take the elevator up to the third floor, take the first left down the hall and talk to Janice.

Thank you, she says as she turns to the elevators. She steps on and turns to face the doors as they close.

But before they can close, a hand grabs the doors, making them reopen. The hand belongs to a hurried man. He slips into the elevator with a wad of papers under his other arm and a comically large mustache on his face. Sorry, thank you, he apologizes as he secures his footing in the elevator. The young lady steps over to oblige him, and then continues facing the doors. The mustache is flapping in the breeze of the poor guy’s labored breathing. He glances over at her, but then he can’t help but look a little closer. It's not long until he is staring at her.

It takes him a moment to recognize she has slowly turned to look him in the eye. Hello, she says in a polite yet dispassionate tone. How are you?

He overreacts and almost yells, Fine! He backs the volume off to try again. Uh, how are you?

I am well. Thank you. She returns her head towards the doors, but they open for the second floor.

With an awkward excuse me he steps off and the doors close behind him.

Janice sees the young woman come around the corner toward her desk. She looks up to address her. Yes? Can I help you?

"I am here to interview for the Administrative Assistant