Alive

By Candee Fultz

“What do you get when you combine Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Back to the Future, and CSI: Crime Scene Investigation?  You get Marie Gibbons, who’s been given the opportunity to influence her past, as her present self, gathering evidence that she hopes will right the wrongs that she, her mother, and her brother end

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Nov 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643677903

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Forty-One. What had forty-one years brought her? Marie was using another sleepless night to evaluate her life to this point. Her life was a jumbled mess made up of lies, pain, more lies, and more pain, bound together by memories that would kill most people. In truth, she didn’t understand how, or why, she was still alive and still sane. At least she believed herself to be sane.

There were times when lying awake was a better option than what came to her in the dark night when she managed to fall into a world that she imagined was wonderful but still evaded her somewhat. Sleep. What she wouldn’t give for a few weeks of nothing but peaceful, uninterrupted hours upon hours of sleep. What was it like to wake up feeling refreshed? The dark circles under her eyes told everyone that she had no idea of what that feeling is. She let out another heavy sigh.

Lord, why can’t I sleep? she half murmured and half spoke this prayer. Maybe she was more asleep than she realized and her eyes were the only thing plastered open. Maybe her body was limp in its own world of relaxation and her brain was close behind. Right! Whatever! She scoffed at her own thoughts. These are the stupid thoughts that kept her awake every night when all she really wanted was a good night’s sleep. Marie wondered things that probably no sane person ever allowed to creep into their mind while trying to sleep. Things like the color she was going to put in her bedroom next to match her current décor, which, by the way, was a healthy mixture of shabby and homemade combined with yard sale chic or thrift store treasure. She loved the idea of making her bedroom resemble those found in those store catalogs, and she could sew her fingers skinless trying, but it never seemed to be enough. She was always a little short in being able to accomplish her decoration goals, whether it was time, money, or energy. That just seems to sum up her life perfectly. She always fell short. There she went on another rabbit trail.

Jeez, Marie, are you going to stop this nonsense and follow your mother’s advice, or are you going to lay here all night talking to yourself mentally? She was reprimanding herself again. That was a favorite past-time of hers. She was thoroughly convinced that the woes of her life affected everyone, and everything just had to be her fault. If you had asked her, she would have told you that the condition of the world, foreign affairs, lack of respect for humans amongst themselves, everything, was all her fault. Marie tossed again, onto her other side, because the side she was currently lying on was in excruciating pain. Her runaway thoughts had allowed her to ignore it for a time. Now, following childhood advice from her mother, she just closed her eyes and kept still, praying for sleep. Thirty seconds tops! That’s how long it was before her eyes flew back open and her mind began its fierce whirling again.

UGH! Her self-exasperation was evident to anyone who lived within her apartment complex. She would have to remember to try to bring herself to apologizing to her neighbors for her middle-of-the night throaty bellows of angst as she tried, and failed once again, to sleep.

What is it you want out of life? she was always asking herself. Marie had never really firmed up an answer that was any different than anyone else living in America. She wanted a nice car, or at least nice to her. Check. She wanted a nice home to call her own that she could knock walls out of if she got a wild hair. She laughed as she looked around her apartment. Not happening for a while. She wanted a real marriage, not a farce built of lies and pain. Again, she laughed. She wasn’t even thinking about looking for a relationship. What a joke! The last thing she needed or wanted for a very long time, if ever, was another crazy relationship full of let downs and unrealistic expectations. Had she not just told the Lord that she didn’t want another man in her life, ever? She meant it too. Besides, the one she fell in love with so long ago was out of reach, and somewhere deep inside her, Marie knew that he would be the only one to make her life complete. She had known that since she first met him at age 5. People wouldn’t believe that, but that’s okay because she had kept his memory locked up in her heart, safely, so that no one could taint it.

Marie remembered that black-headed little boy with deep fondness every single time she thought of him. Jacob. Thoughts of him comforted her as well as saddened her. She had just known that they would be together forever. They had written letters across the miles from the time she was 6, when she and her family moved away from her birth state, until she was 15. That’s when the sadness began. She had received the letter from Jacob that no girl ever wants to receive from her boyfriend: A long distance relationship will never work so we have to break up. Marie had cried so hard, yet very quietly, in the privacy of her own room. Well, it was sort of her own room. She shared it with her younger sister, which meant sometimes it wasn’t so private, but Marie had learned at a very young age to hide her tears. She was nearly a master at that now. If she felt emotion welling up, she squashed it almost undetectably. Since she and Jacob had broken up, seeing him was very infrequent, as they still lived states away from one another. When she would go visit her parents, who now lived in her birth state again, which Marie thought was ironic, her mother had always arranged for him to come over for dinner so they could catch up. If, while visiting her parents, she accompanied them to visit Jacob’s parents, he was available, apparently, to come and visit her there as well. She so loved the times that she had gotten to visit with him and catch up. The unfortunate thing about those visits is that she still felt an incredibly strong pull to him, and was powerless against it. They had both married other people over the years, and both experienced a failed marriage. She thought back on those visits with such fondness and always found herself smiling when she thought of Jacob. She could never control that.

It had been years since she had heard anything about him, or his family. She missed them all so much, but had no idea how to contact any of them. She certainly wouldn’t be bold enough to try to contact him. A wife just doesn’t like it when another woman calls to talk to her husband. Jacob should’ve been her husband, not someone else’s, at least in her mind. She had, since the last time she had seen him, gone through a second divorce that had gotten uglier than her worst nightmares. She was sure that Jacob didn’t know, but he probably didn’t care either. He was happily married for the second time. When she married the first time, Marie had asked Jacob’s dad, Mark, to give her away because her own dad was performing the ceremony. When Mark came to the home of her parents for the ceremony, she hugged him and asked him where Jacob was. Mark simply looked at her, with a little sadness in his eyes, and said Jacob couldn’t make it. She didn’t press, but she knew that if Jacob had come, and given any inclination that he was interested in renewing their relationship, she would’ve ditched her soon-to-be-husband like a hot potato. Did that mean she didn’t love the man she had been about to marry? No, but she would never love anyone like she loved Jacob. No one would ever hold a candle to him and she knew that she would always love him. If only…

So, what did she want out her life? Right now, sleep would be great!

She, however, continued digging, deeper than ever before, searching what was left of her emotions and her tired mind for something that she could say that would truly make an impact on her life in a positive direction. Visions of her beautiful daughters ran through her mind, then her precious grandchildren. She was so happy for her oldest daughter, having two children and proving to everyone that she was so far beyond capable-the fact that she had had her first sweet baby when she was little more than a fledgling adult seemed to fade behind her smile and healthy pride. Marie was certain that there were people who still wanted to think the ugliest of thoughts about her sweet Taylor, but judgment was not theirs to make so it really didn’t matter what went through those pea sized brains, and came flying out of those cavernous mouths in the form of, well, there was no delicate way to say it so she shut that thought down in a hurry. Her baby girl, Cheyenne, brought a great laugh to Marie as she lie there trying to sleep, if that’s what it could be called. That girl had voracious tenacity and tried so hard to hide it that it often made Marie laugh. Cheyenne was, in many ways, still a shy little girl, afraid of the big world, but Marie could see inside that girl’s heart and soul and see that she was just itching to break out and be her own person. She loved to talk big, but when it came to doing what she spoke of, such as approaching strangers and saying the silliest things to them, Cheyenne would back down most of the time. It was entirely too cute. Marie had tried so hard to protect, while still develop, her daughters’ lives and thought processes. She had been put through the fire over her daughters and got the blessed privilege of seeing the beauties her daughters became through all the ashes. Time to stop that line of thought or she will be waking up (as though she weren’t awake now) with swollen, red, and puffy eyes from crying herself to sleep.

She decided that she was mostly content with the way her daughters’ lives were taking shape, not that she would meddle and become one of those hated mothers if her daughters’ lives had not taken shape. She would be sad certainly, but never pushy. Marie simply wasn’t the pushy type. She couldn’t, from sheer lack of desire, force anyone to do anything they didn’t want to do. Making suggestions, however, is something she could do with a soft tongue, when it was necessary, but never as a constant.

Maybe it just wasn’t dark enough in her room to allow sleep to come. Marie got up to check the tiny apartment to see if there was any light escaping through any crevices anywhere. She would scope them out and squash them in the name of sleep. It wouldn’t take long to do it since there were only three possible doorways from which to see light; her bedroom, the bathroom, and the entry door. Of course, there were two windows, but there were some of those shabby-homemade curtains on her windows and they were dark enough to contain the light within its boundaries. No, it had to be a door betraying her and stealing her sleep. She found that the breezeway light was indeed breaking under the entry door. She stepped swiftly, so as not to catch a chill after crawling out of a warm bed, to find a towel to roll up in front of the door and block the light. There, done. Now for a quick trip to the kitchen to check the time on her microwave.

It’s the only clock she didn’t have to go to trouble to see, not that it mattered because all of her clocks said the exact same time, within seconds anyway. Pet peeve. Holy cow! How did 4 a.m. get here so quickly? She had to get up in three very short hours to get ready for work. This is going to make for a tough, long, work day. She stood at the entrance to the kitchen wondering if she should just go ahead and make her coffee, and stay up or if she should go lay back down in her, hopefully still warm, bed and continue praying for sleep. Sometime during her wondering, she had made her way to her sofa and curled her legs up while her head lay on the arm. That is where she found herself now, as though minutes had escaped her memory while pondering her coffee conundrum, no closer to figuring out what she wanted out of her life.

Yes, let’s go make some coffee. She decided it would be fruitless to try to rest anymore tonight. Or morning, however, one wanted to look at it. Sipping on her first, most wonderful, hard earned cup of coffee, she began pondering again. Marie had waited until her babies were all grown up before she began college. She had decided that she was tired of listening to what others had told her about her abilities, or lack of. Nearly everyone was stunned when she announced what she was going to earn her degree in Criminal Investigations. Most were shocked because she didn’t have a history of having a strong stomach, but some were shocked because she was a female embarking on what many classified, although erroneously, as a male career field. Still others were shocked because of, heaven forbid, her age. What is wrong with people, putting boundaries on women like that? Those same people didn’t seem to have a problem with the fact that she carried a pistol, a .380 that she loved, and could protect them in the blink of an eye, if need be. It felt good in her hands too, like the grip was made just for her. Marie was a good shot too. She could chew up a target with the best of them.

Her dad had put a rifle in her hands when she was fifteen, and taught her respect for a gun.

She loved the feel of it, the feel of empowerment, and she was real good at hitting what she aimed at. Her pistol was never far from her, but few people knew just how close she kept it to her. She then felt a need to make sure it was in its hiding place, so she gently graced her hand under the skirt of her sofa. Feeling the grip, she felt relief. Her pistol only had one cartridge in it, but as her dad had taught her, one is all it takes to disable the intruder, either temporarily or permanently. That decision was based on the offender’s intentions.

Definitely no sleep tonight. What did she want out of her life? To be recognized for her handgun skill? Hardly. That thought made her laugh.

Her mind drifted to another place and time. This place was dark. Scary. "C’mon Marie, pull yourself out of this place" she kept telling herself. This place serves you no purpose she said.

Now talking to herself aloud, Oh but it does! It reminds me…

You don’t need a reminder!

Anyone passing through the breezeway may consider her certifiable if they know she’s in here alone. She gave a short chuckle. If they only knew how close to that ledge she walked…5.a.m. With her second cup of coffee part of history now, she was sipping on her third.

Caffeine didn’t have the same effect on her that it did most people. She could crawl in bed and go right to sleep, or could have in another era of her life, and had, in fact, done that many times.

It was bizarre, even to her, how she was capable of doing that. It was as though her body thrived on doing the opposite of what was expected. In her teen years, or, as she so often referred to them, her stupid years, Marie had been a very frequent user of LSD. Those that she chose to be around, first husband included, thought it was just