Kindling the Past

By MS Kaye

Kindle fights to survive on her own, to break free from her possessive and violent ex-boyfriend, and tries not to let her best friend, Anna, know she's in love with her husband. Most of all, she fights the visions she sees of the past—she doesn't believe in that kind of stuff.

 

Then Anna is shot and killed.

 

In their grief, Kindle and Ty, Anna's husband and Kindle's Taekwondo instructor, grow closer. Although Kindle is careful never to let him too close, he helps her learn to accept that her visions are real. Eventually, the truth about Anna's death breaks through into Kindle's visions, and she must find a way not to let it destroy her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953335371

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Ifought the visions . My mother used to tell me my expression turned stupid when I had them, but I didn’t care about that so much anymore. I hated when the visions were true somehow, actual bits of the past. I didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.

Chapter 1: FIGHT

S he’s such a snob, one of the young women whispered on the other side of the locker room.

I stayed faced away, trying not to hear their gossip. I tugged my jeans on and pulled my shirt over my head. When I glanced in the mirror to fix my hair, I barely saw the dark brown framing my fair skin—only the way the other girls looked at me. I bent over to pick up my shoes.

The guys don’t even ask her out because she’s so stuck up.

I didn’t understand why they thought like this about me, but I didn’t much care anyway. As soon as I had my shoes on, I threw my gear bag over my shoulder and walked out.

Master Trahem was on the workout floor sparring with Mr. Schmidt. Master Trahem’s uniform was starting to come open, and sweat glistened on his well-built chest.

I looked away.

Bye, Kindle, Mrs. Trahem said as I passed the front counter. See you tomorrow.

I smiled at her, one of the few people I reserved my genuine smile for. She was a big part of the reason I came in early to help every day, her and her atrocious typing skills. She always held her fingers above the keys like a fisherman wielding a spear, as if expecting them to squirm out from under her aim.

But honestly, helping with data entry was just an excuse—Mrs. Trahem was the best person I’d ever known, and I felt calmer when I was around her.

You’ll be there early, right? Mrs. Trahem added. She tucked her silky dark hair behind her ear. There was a grace to her movement. No wonder Master Trahem had married her so quickly. At twenty-nine, she was a few years older than me but looked just as young.

Definitely. Then I kept walking. Before I gave into the urge to turn and watch Master Trahem.

The girls from the locker room followed me out into the parking lot. I sat in my car and started the engine.

While I drove the forty-five minutes home, I fought to stay awake. At least traffic at nine-thirty at night was thin. I always missed rush hour. I left my apartment before six every morning and didn’t return until after ten. Being tired felt normal.

As I pulled up to my building, I examined each car. I knew to whom each of them belonged, as well as half my neighbors’ friends’ cars. The girl across the hall traded boyfriends every week. She drove me nuts.

I had no way of knowing what Chris was driving. I had to know which cars were supposed to be here in order to know if there was a new one. Most of my neighbors drove beaters like me, and Chris had always liked something flashy. But with him, I couldn’t depend on consistency. He was smart.

I recognized all the cars tonight. I parked under the streetlight and kept the door locked while I pulled my gear bag onto my lap and slipped the strap over my shoulder. Keys ready, I jumped out of the car and jogged up the steps. I hated apartment buildings in Florida. The halls were open, no security doors to block unwanted visitors from knocking on your front door, from lurking in shadowy corners.

Within about ten seconds, I was up the stairs, down the hall, and at my door. Just being able to move quickly without running out of breath was worth the cost of Taekwondo classes. I felt more confident, less scared.

My door unlocked, I glanced down the hall one more time then slipped inside. I closed the door, locked it, and flipped the lights.

I was not alone.

He was right there, tall, thick, and blond as always. I was seeing as clearly as if through acid. I blinked to make sure he was really there. I always did that. It was stupid.

Chris was always there.

Standing in the middle of my one little room, he just looked at me. It was like he was waiting for me to apologize for something. He always seemed to think I should be apologizing. I knew better now, knew I’d never done anything wrong, but I wasn’t defiant either. I kept my mouth shut—as if he might go away if I was very still and very quiet, like certain predators in the wild.

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. My little Kindle, he sneered politely, you haven’t called.

Your keys. Hold onto your keys. You’re too far off the main road. You can’t outrun him.

I tried, without letting them rattle, to get a better grip on my car key. It was the longest, the best weapon.

You never did talk much. He stepped to the side, closer to the counter—not far enough for me to be able to make it out the door before he could grab me. It used to be kinda nice.

He looked at my little chipped ceramic teapot. I’d found it at a yard sale. It reminded me of the one my grandma had, a very long time ago. I loved it.

With the flick of his wrist, he shattered it on the floor.

He looked at me as if unaware of the crunching of shards under his feet as he walked around the little table.

"Do you have nothing to say?" he demanded.

Remember the women’s self-defense class, Kindle. Keep your head straight. Remember your targets and exits.

I’d taken Master Trahem’s seminar so many times I had it memorized. I knew what to do, but it was hard to think clearly through the fear. I never felt prepared to face Chris.

Keep it together, Kindle. You’ll get out of this.

His skin was turning blotchy—he was getting angrier.

I’ve been busy, I finally said.

Your mother always says you’re a stubborn little bitch.

So he was still talking to my mother. He could charm Bambi out of the woods. She’d always believed him over me. It was better that way though. He’d never hurt her. By staying away, by letting her think he was the good guy, I could protect her.

How is she? I said it partially to keep him talking, distracted, and partially because I wanted to know. I hadn’t seen or talked to her in over two years.

Still in that same old dump, he said. Once trailer trash, always trailer trash.

He was moving closer. I held my breath as he passed.

He turned toward the one window in the apartment—still too close to me. She’s got some guy living with her now. He looked at me over his shoulder. I think she clones them—the same receding hairline, beer belly, and holey T-shirt.

He came around to face me squarely. You’re the lucky one. You didn’t lose your virginity to some good ol’ boy hick. No scent of chew mixing with diesel in the cool night air in the back of his truck.

I shook my head. I’d been stupid, but I’d never been a whore.

No? he said. You don’t think that would’ve happened? You think you’re somehow above your lot?

Poor doesn’t equal slut.

Well, it certainly don’t equal class. He looked around my apartment, my tiny one room.

This one room was better than when I’d lived with him. He drove fancy cars and lived in a big house, but here there was no stench of crack, no incoherent cursing in the middle of the night, no wasted guys trying to grope me. It hadn’t been as bad at first, no worse than living in the trailer park with my mother and her latest disgusting boyfriend. But it’d gotten worse quickly. Chris’ charming mask started to slip, and then one day it shattered on the floor. That was the first day he hit me. I’d told myself he was just high and hadn’t meant it. He was high all the time, and I started to realize he did mean it. What was I supposed to do though? I had no friends, no money, no car, and he had my mother wrapped around his finger.

His expression changed, sweet in a slimy kind of way. Why, honey, you should step away from the door. You’ll catch a chill.

It was almost eighty degrees outside.

He cocked his head.

I stepped away from the door, one step into the middle of the kitchen.

You must be a little slow, he said. I always defended you when people called you stupid, but I think I see what they were trying to tell me. They were trying to warn me not to get in too deep, that you would just drag me down, and here I am again, trying to save you. He shook his head. I must be a glutton for punishment. You can be pretty—or at least you used to be. His chin tilted as he looked me up and down. I managed not to cover myself with my arms. You’ve still got your tits and ass, but this time away from me has been hard on you. I can see it in your face, just like your mother, that used-up look.

The only thing I still had of my mother’s was her pale green eyes. I kept my hair brown, my skin fair, and I even dressed differently—plainer and never skimpy.

Oh, and don’t get me wrong, your mother can be a decent woman. She’s just a little, well, slow. I see a lot of her in you. She has a hard time judging for herself. She needs help, someone to guide her. That’s why I’m here. I’m still willing to help you, Kindle, no matter what you’ve done to me. I still want to help you.

He took a breath and turned away, as if gaining strength.

His little martyr act didn’t work anymore. I was just biding my time, trying to find an exit. I had my keys ready to go, but he was still too close. The neighbor to the right must’ve been having a party. He liked rap music. No one would hear if I yelled for help—and Chris would probably just talk his way out of it anyway. And my phone was still in my purse inside my gear bag, which was still on my shoulder. I couldn’t dig for it, and who in the world would I call?

He looked at me. What do you say, honey, are you ready to come home? He almost seemed...hopeful.

I’d stopped falling for his charm a long time ago. No matter how sincere he seemed, he was not to be trusted. I knew perfectly well he only wanted me because I’d left. No one left Chris. No one defied him.

I met his eyes and lifted my chin stubbornly.

His tone was a command. You are mine, Kindle.

I’m not coming with you.

Fucking bitch. He raised the back of his hand.

I didn’t move, didn’t flinch, ready to block.

He paused and dropped his hand. You’ve changed, he mused. You seem to have forgotten what’s good for you.

I said nothing.

He took a few steps away, closer to my bed, as if touring my apartment, looking for something.

He picked up the book that was sitting next to the bed and flipped through the pages. It was a library book. I hoped he didn’t rip the pages out again.

The same old crap as always. He tossed the book in the corner. Then he threw his hands up. What the fuck. Where’s all your shit? How do you live like this?

This is all I need.

He looked at me more closely, as if he didn’t trust something in my voice, thought there was something I wasn’t telling him. I felt like I could see in his mind, exactly where his thoughts were going. It was going to be bad this time. I was going to be lucky to get out.

Focus, Kindle. You can do this. Sparring is getting easier. You know where the weak spots are. You know how to find your target.

There were rules in sparring, though, in Master Trahem’s classes. Chris didn’t follow rules, and Master Trahem wasn’t here. I felt safe when he was around.

Chris looked down at my bed, at my mattress on the floor. It was perfectly made, blankets tucked tightly. Everything in my apartment was linear and straight. It made me feel like I could control something in my life.

He grabbed the folded down edge of the sheet and yanked. The blankets spewed like vomit, and the mattress shifted, no longer straight.

He lifted the blanket and looked at the sheets. They were clean. I knew what he was looking for. He brought a fistful of the sheet to his nose, like a dog smelling to see if his bitch was in heat.

I haven’t slept with anyone, I said. It had only ever been him. I was not in a hurry to repeat the experience.

He breathed deeper, as if there was something there—something more than fabric softener.

I stopped breathing.

Last night—that’s what he smelled. I didn’t use the air conditioner if I could help it. It’d been exceptionally hot. I’d slept with just the sheet—and no clothes other than a nightshirt. I woke from a dream, an intense, sensuous dream. In these dreams, I called him Ty, and he looked at me differently. I wasn’t his student. I was much more to him. My skin had been moist from more than just sweat.

Chris spoke through his teeth. I would ask if you’ve been screwing around with another girl. He dropped the sheet. But you’re not that interesting.

He moved toward me. Who were you thinking of? he demanded.

I shook my head.

Who? he bellowed.

The rap music still boomed.

No one, I said.

He was coming faster. His temper was like the force of gravity. Once he let go, it hurled out of control, inevitable.

He grabbed my throat. I didn’t react fast enough.

He squeezed the sides of my neck, my blood supply. The pressure built in my head. My ears pounded. His hands were big—he could hold a secure choke with only one hand. He lifted me off the ground.

I dug my fingers at his hand around my neck. I hammered my fist into his arm, into his radial arm nerve, but he didn’t have pressure points. Master Trahem said it was rare. The bastard had to be special, didn’t he?

I kicked at his groin, but didn’t hit quite right. I tried a thrusting front kick at his stomach.

He threw me away from him.

My body went limp as if floating through space.

I smacked into the wall. I grabbed whatever I could to stay on my feet.

He was coming at me again.

His fist.

I slammed back into the wall. My head dented the cheap drywall, and I puddled to the ground.

I struggled to get to my feet. The room wouldn’t stay still. My vision blurred.

He pushed me back down with his foot. I grabbed his leg and yanked to knock him off balance. He stumbled sideways, and I side-kicked his other knee.

He slammed to the floor and roared, Fuck!

Vision still blurred, I grabbed at the wall to try to pull myself up.

His thick hand was on my arm.

I smacked into the floor with a thud. Then his hands were everywhere. I kicked and flailed, but he held my hips and pressed me against him.

He ground against me. I’ll show you what it means to be with a man.

No. God, no.

He grabbed the bottom hem of my shirt. The sound of ripping fabric and then his hand smoothed over my skin. Come on, Kindle... His voice trailed away from me. I knew he hadn’t stopped talking.

The images were more powerful with physical contact. The vision was clear—it felt real, like a recent memory, like it was true.

It was dark. Chris was walking next to another man who was in a suit. They passed a swing set. It was silent and still as a graveyard for children on the other side.

You think I’ll let you do that? the man said.

You don’t have a choice.

The man stopped and looked at him. The street lamp was enough to show me his face. I recognized him.

I could quit, the man said, move away, out of Florida.

You won’t uproot your wife and your precious Briana. How would you support them? How would you explain it? You can’t start over someplace new. You would never get enough votes—and certain information may find its way into certain hands.

The man glared. He knew Chris was right. And how would he explain it to his wife? She would leave him if she knew he’d associated with someone like Chris, and take his little girl with her.

Chris was exuberant inside. He saw victory.

You’ll help me, Chris said.

I can’t—

You will.

My voice sounded far away, out of my reach. I couldn’t stop it. You’re blackmailing Representative Hiller.

Chris stared at me.

I lay there on the floor, frozen. He might kill me this time.

He grabbed my face. What do you know?

Chapter 2: 911

Itried to shake my head.

Chris backhanded me across the cheek.

His face was inches from mine, and he spoke through his teeth. Answer me.

Nothing.

Fucking bitch, tell me.

I don’t know, I swear.

He paused, and rage festered in his eyes.

My keys. They were still in my hand. I fought to make my mind work in straight lines. I found my hand, remembered how to work it. I held the car key.

Chris’ fist curled.

The door was on my right. The bolts were locked. I had to make him pause longer, lose strength, lose focus. I had to really hurt him.

He was close enough. I had to aim right, or else he was just going to be more pissed.

Do it, Kindle. Dammit, do it now.

He leaned closer to punch me in the stomach, and I rammed my fist, the key, into his gut.

The key sank into him. He fell forward, onto me. I used the technique Master Trahem taught me to roll Chris off. His weight fell limply to the floor.

There was blood.

My hands were slippery with it.

I was on my feet. The bolt slid out of my grasp, but then I got it to turn. The second bolt. The lock on the knob.

The rap music was louder. The air rushed by me. My keys, I still had them. I hadn’t dropped anything.

I knocked someone out of the way on the stairs.

Bitch, he slurred.

My bag was still on my shoulder. I could barely get the car door closed. I shifted my bag to the other seat.

The key was dark with moisture.

The engine started.

Everything was starting to blur—the street light, the other cars, the stairs up to my apartment.

An image flashed of Chris at my window. I slammed the lock down with my elbow. He wasn’t really there. He hadn’t emerged.

My hands were shaking like the bridges over the river during rush hour. I managed not to hit any other cars.

I drove automatically. I knew the route. This was why I’d practiced it, why I always practiced. I always knew the closest police station and the fastest way to get to it.

Chris still hadn’t come out as I turned the corner. I wondered if he would this time, if I had pierced his lung, if he was dead on my apartment floor.

I dug through my bag. I found my phone.

911. What’s your emergency?

He’s hurt, I said. He needs an ambulance.

Who’s hurt?

I gave the address. The door’s unlocked. He needs an ambulance.

Someone is on the way. What happened?

He found me again. My voice shook. I stabbed him with the car key.

Is he breathing?

I don’t know.

Someone will meet you there. Stay on the line.

I’m going to the police station. I hung up.

I managed to get there and park without hitting anything. I couldn’t turn off the need for urgency, for flight, and ran up the walk to the doors.

The policeman behind the counter jumped up and came around to meet me.

I called 911, I said.

Ma’am, what happened?

I stabbed him. I reached for my bag.

He grabbed my hands. Right, he thought I had a weapon.

The urge to flee, to fight, to anything, evaporated. I slumped to the ground.

Ma’am, he said. He was still holding my hands. I felt like a marionette.

Ma’am, he repeated.

I stared at the floor, at his polished shoes. My voice sounded like it was coming from a loud speaker in a far off room. I have a restraining order.

He squatted in front of me. Are you all right?

I nodded.

Let’s find you a chair.

I gave my report. It was the same as all the others. But this time I had blood on my hands.

The policeman showed me to a bathroom so I could clean up. My hands were still shaking, but my vision was clear. My throat and eye were starting to bruise—it was going to be bad. There was drying blood around my nose. He didn’t usually hit me directly in the face like that.

I washed my face carefully then wiped off the rest of me as best I could. I probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to shower until tomorrow evening, if I was lucky. In my bag, I kept a brush and deodorant. This was as presentable as I was going to get for a while.

The policeman was able to find out what happened to Chris—it seemed like he was going out of his way. He said Chris had been taken to the hospital and that they were going to keep him overnight at least. Chris was going to be fine. He’d learned much from growing up on the streets, especially survival.

I didn’t bother about trying to press charges or getting Chris arrested. He would simply say I’d attacked him, that I’d called and asked him to meet me. And then he’d talk to the people he knew, people in high positions who bought drugs from him and didn’t want anyone to know. He could get anything done. I learned a long time ago not to waste my time.

I had a small window to get it all done, to disappear. There wasn’t much I could do until morning though.

Thank you, I said to the policeman.

Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? Or a safe house?

I’m fine. I had no way to pay for a doctor, and I didn’t go to safe houses—I took care of myself. I turned to walk out then paused. Is it okay if I park here overnight?

Sure, he said. You can come in for coffee in the morning too.

I tried to smile, but the swelling of my face wouldn’t allow it.

As I sat in my car, I saw him look out the glass doors. He looked out several times in the next few hours. I didn’t sleep. There was no way I could. Only one thing, one person, could make that possible right now. But he wasn’t here.

I reminded myself he was with the right person. I loved his wife simply because she was good to him, good for him. Before he met her, he’d seemed off somehow, like something was missing.

The policeman’s shift ended in the early morning. Before he went home, he brought me a cup of coffee.

I sat straight and focused on making my voice sound normal. I had to call—Mrs. Trahem forwarded the school’s calls to her cell phone. They were surely awake by now. She would worry when I didn’t show up at the tournament.

I typed the school’s number, took one more calming breath, and pressed the call button.

It rang a few times.

Jacksonville Martial Arts. She sounded tired.

Hi, ma’am, I said. It’s Kindle.

Her tone relaxed. Oh, hey. Just her voice made me feel a little calmer.

I figured I should tell you I won’t be there today.

Is everything all right?

Um, yeah. I just forgot I have to do something.

Her question sounded like it popped out before she could think about it. What?

She knew I’d been planning on the tournament, and I always followed through.

Uh, I have to move, I said, and then tacked on, My lease is up.

She paused. He found you.

I’d worried she’d started to put it together—my bad breakup, my sudden and pathetically explained absences. She was too nice, paid too much attention.

Kindle.

I paused, and my voice shook slightly. I’m here.

Are you all right?

I’m fine.

Master Trahem’s voice was in the background. It’s Miss Ayres?

Yes, she said to him.

Hand me the phone.

I heard as they exchanged, and then his strong voice. Are you safe?

I felt like I could breathe again. Yes, sir.

Where are you? I’ll come get you.

No, sir, please. I swear I’m okay.

What happened?

He...he was in my apartment.

Did he hurt you? He sounded stressed, something I’d never heard from him.

I’m okay. Hopefully, makeup would cover the bruising.

Were you able to fight him off?

I stabbed him with the key. Then I added, They said he’s okay. I was thankful he was, thankful I didn’t have to tell them I’d done something worse.

He paused.

Finally, he said, I’m proud of you.

The words caught in my throat for a few seconds. Thank you, sir.

You’re sure you’re all right?

He only hit me once.

He muttered under his breath. Son of a bitch. I’d never heard him angry—always, level and serious. His voice returned to mostly normal. You’re sure you’re safe?

I’m at the police station.

Muffled sounds, like they were exchanging the phone again. Then his voice was in the background. I’m running to the school. I’ll be right back. Keys rattled, and a door closed.

Mrs. Trahem came back on the line. Is there anything I can do?

Everything’s okay. He’s in the hospital. I’ll move before he gets out. I should go. I have a lot to do.

What can I do to help?

I’ve got it under control.

I know you do, but I want to help.

I paused to control my voice, to conceal how much her concern meant to me. I don’t want anyone to see me right now.

She paused, and her voice was soft. Will you call me if you need anything?

Yes. Then I added in a quieter voice, Thank you. I hung up.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Then I realized that hurt my neck, and the swelling of my face was making the blood have to pump hard to push through. I had a pounding headache.

I started my car and put it in gear.

Hunger was eating through my stomach, but I pushed it away.

In my purse I kept the list. It had all the potential apartment complexes in the area, the ones I could afford. I scratched out number nine and started driving toward number ten. It was across town, and I drove slowly. The leasing office was open by the time I got there.

I was able to negotiate a month-to-month lease at a decent price. Looking this bad seemed to help the process, made my story believable. The apartment was another studio at the front of the complex. I didn’t bother to go look at it before signing the papers.

Now for the hard part.

I drove toward my old apartment. I couldn’t make the images stop flashing—of Chris standing there, waiting for me. And other things too, images I hadn’t seen with my own eyes.

I want to surprise my girlfriend, Chris said to the girl in the leasing office. I’m back early from a trip.

The girl grinned at his charming tone. I’m not supposed to open the apartments for anyone.

Chris leaned closer and murmured, I won’t tell.

The girl tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. I’m sure she’ll be excited to see you.

Chris smiled.

A few minutes later Chris was sitting at my kitchen table. He waited for hours.

The vision stopped, and I tried to shake it off.

I imagined him everywhere. He was watching me from behind the corner of the building. He was walking down the steps, his hand on his bloody gut. He was leaned against a car...

My tires squealed to a stop.

There was someone leaned against a car, right outside my building.

Then I looked more closely—he was as big as Chris but had gray-streaked reddish-brown hair. I always wondered if Mr. Schmidt had been a linebacker in high school.

Completely perplexed, I parked next to him. I stepped from the car.

His eyes grew wider before he controlled his expression, and I remembered the bruising on my face.

He walked around my car and smiled feebly. Good morning. I had you pegged for an early riser.

Mr. Schmidt...what are you doing here?

He dropped the attempt at cheery. Master Trahem called, said you needed help moving. He said he would consider it a personal favor.

My expression strained.

And then he was hugging me. I hadn’t been hugged in years. His thick arms felt nice, like I didn’t have to hold myself up. I wondered if this was what a father’s hug felt like.

You’re safe, he said.

I closed my eyes and tried to memorize what this felt like.

A minute passed.

His voice was gentle. Who did this to you?

I stepped back from Mr. Schmidt and smiled. I don’t really need help. You could still make it to the tournament. I didn’t tell people about Chris—they were safer that way.

He paused.

Tell Master Trahem thank you for thinking of me. I started toward my apartment building.

I turned the corner up the steps. My neighbor was still blasting rap music. He probably hadn’t even been disturbed by the ambulance coming to take Chris away.

Footsteps behind me.

I whipped around. Then I realized it was just Mr. Schmidt. I gripped the railing so he wouldn’t notice my hand shaking.

He hesitated.

I tried to smile.

He walked up one step, still a few steps below me. I promised Master Trahem I’d take care of you.

Master Trahem had taken time to go to the school on a busy tournament morning just to get Mr. Schmidt’s number and call him for me, to ask a personal favor. I knew he would do it for anyone, but...

Mr. Schmidt continued up the steps. Which apartment?

I turned and walked up, and he stayed by my side. I decided to let Mr. Schmidt help, mostly because I didn’t want to be alone today. He didn’t ask any more about who’d hit me, and having someone to help made moving so much easier than usual.

By evening, I made him go home to his wife, and I was alone. Thinking about someone I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about, and knowing Mrs. Trahem deserved a better friend than me.

Chapter 3:ANNA

Iwalked across the lot toward the school, hoping the makeup concealed the bruising well enough. I’d spent Sunday holding ice on my face to lessen the swelling while I drove my new neighborhood to learn my way around—the closest Walmart, the cheapest gas station, the fastest route to the nearest police station.

The door to the school opened, and I