Chenille

By Allison Miller

Recently released from jail, sociopath, Chenille Patterson faces spending the remaining five years of her sentence in a halfway house.
Content to just do her time and leave this life behind once her sentence is over, Chenille keeps to herself.
However, plots are afoot to stop her from living that life she desperately wants.
Temptation comes in the form of a new person in charge of the halfway house in which she resides, and no one is what they claim to be, not even him.
Chenille is determined to keep her dream of the future intact even if it means she has to kill to do it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allison Miller
• Release date: Jul 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005317065

Allison Miller

When Allison isn't writing or wasting time on Instagram and Twitter, she's avoiding housework, burning gas and drinking more Dr. Pepper than any human should. Lives a life of quiet desperation in Vernal, Utah with her husband and their furry children.You can find her on Twitter under the handle AllisonDamMillr.

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Allison Miller

Chapter One

Chenille Patterson had been in jail for manslaughter for ten years when an opportunity came up to be a character witness in a trial. She jumped at it, bargaining that in exchange, she wanted five years shaved off her sentence or she wouldn't bother to show up.

The trial was against a woman who had violated her and a few other women in prison. Once she and one of her victims were out of prison, they tracked her down and murdered her. All Chenille had to do was show up, tell about her horrifying experience, fake some tears and say that the victim of Deana Edgarton, was justified in tracking her down and killing her.

The sun on the opposite side of the wall did feel warmer and the air over here cleaner. It was like she was Andy Dufresne and basked in the orange glow for a few seconds before the big burly guard who never liked her slugged her in the back and told her to move her ass.

She had gained a lot of weight in jail, going from a slim 135, to about 195. All of the clothes she had when she was younger wouldn't fit now and a different guard, one who tried to protect her gave her some oversized, dirty clothes to wear on the bus ride to her new home. A halfway house in the heart of Purpose called New Purpose.

The town was annoying with their name, slapping it on everything they could when they could.

Other than the ride to and from the courthouse, this was the first time since her sentencing that she had been in a car.

Piled onto the bus, she sat in the front by herself. She wasn't allowed to ever have a license again and going back to her hometown was out of the question. She was a social pariah to this day, inadvertently killing her best friend and his little sister and. People would never forget it and they would never let her forget it either.

––––––––

On that night, Chenille pulled into a view area, swerving in the snow from going too fast. She needed to puke and she didn't want to do it in her best friend's new car. It was something he got for his twenty-first birthday. She pushed the car into park, and struggled with her seat belt, puke coming out whether she was ready or not. Forgoing any sense of decency, she put her head out the window and expelled. Once she thought she was done, she attempted to put it into drive. The car wouldn't budge through the snow and the mud. Putting it into park, she took her seat belt off and got out, intending to flag down the people she saw driving past. It was no use, she had to puke again and she tripped, nearly falling on her face.

The car drove right past, ignoring Chenille retching her guts out. Something was amiss with the way the lights of the car were dissipating. She got up and saw the car she was driving slowly going over the embankment. Her best friend, who was drunker than her had gotten into the driver's seat and was now reversing right over the edge. Chenille watched, powerless to help as the stupid son of a bitch wasn't looking at her, but looking back and still not seeing he was going over the edge.

Her throat burned from the projectile vomit of the alcohol she'd consumed earlier that evening. She couldn't scream without puking and couldn't run in the slippery snow to stop him.

She felt it coming again and couldn't fight it. As she bent over, retching her guts out again, someone must have saw the headlights from deep down the snowy embankment and pulled over to check it out.

She pushed snow over her vomit and stood to flag down the good Samaritans.

They stopped, shone their light on her and mouthed what the fuck?

Despite the cold in the air, flurry of flakes around them and the fact that she left her coat in the car with her friends, she felt hot and feverish.

A man and a woman came into view. The woman took her and placed her in the back of her car, in between two small children in car seats.

Pain ripped through her body at the temperature change. Her eyes followed the couple, looking down the embankment at the car.

Another car stopped and Chenille fought to get out of the car, waving them down.

They were cops. Chenille knew her whole life would change in an instant and it did.

Present day she's looking at a tall green building with rickety and dilapidated fire escapes, plastic over one of the windows and water damage from a drain pipe that had become disconnected and now dangled precariously over the sidewalk. The man who had picked her up from a checkpoint and sneered at her the entire time, jabbed her ribs and said We ain't got all day, get moving.

He'd already said to his coworker what he'd do if he just had a few minutes alone with her.

It wasn't anything new. The parents of her friends who died in the crash piled on her, pushing for the maximum sentence. They stood up in court, in front of her parents and said, she deserved all the evils in the world to fall upon her and they'd go to their death beds hating her. She didn't care. It didn't hurt anymore.

Her parents rolled over and let it happen. Apparently affluence doesn't buy you everything.

Billie was going to be the next Taylor Swift and Tyson the next Channing Tatum. On top of her vehicular manslaughter charges, she was charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor, even though she wasn't the one who gave Billie the alcohol.

As she waited for the head of the halfway house to open the door, she looked up at a woman with frazzled, dyed red hair. She looked down at her, tapping the ash off of her cigarette and taking a long puff before flinging it directly at Chenille.

The woman introduced herself as Gregory That's Mrs. Gregory to you... She was short with wiry hair, yellow teeth and a heavily wrinkled face. She offered Chenille a bag of chips. They had a red, white and blue banner and some Irish name on them. The expiry date was four months in the past.

Chenille caught her reflection in a vending machine, finding lots of the bags of chips there.

A twitchy woman, who chewed her nails, came up and asked her if she wanted those crisps before just taking them.

Mrs. Gregory started to chide the young woman.

It's okay, let her they were expired anyway. Chenille said.

Okay, follow me first thing you need to know is...

Chenille was sure she was still talking, but she'd been told the rules so many times she didn't want to hear it again.

No overnight guests, if you're into same sex, it can't happen here, no alcohol or illegal drugs and no contacting anyone from your old life.

Your room is on the third floor with Alexa. It's all the way to the back, on the right. Mrs. Gregory said, pushing two pairs of pants, two t-shirts and a pair of sneakers in her hand.

She topped it off with a bag of toiletries and a pamphlet on what her life would be like here.

You have travel size until you buy your own. Keep that pamphlet, it is your guide through this.

Chenille took her things and walked up a creaky staircase with a dusty banister.

Women lined up on the second floor, leaning over the railing and watching her walk by.

One of them smelled horrendously. She had multiple sores on her arm and it looked like her fingernails were bitten until they bled and then bitten more. It was the same girl who stole her bag of chips. She was leaving crumbs everywhere as she brushed her greasy hands on her pants.

The other women gave her a wide berth, not making eye contact with her.

Chenille ignored them and walked up to her room, eyes watching her every move.

On her way to her room, she noticed a room with a metal bar and a padlock across the door. There was a heavy draft coming from the under the door. An elevator dinged, and Mrs. Gregory stepped out, handing her a self-drawn map of the building that had words misspelled like basektball cort, and caferteria.

Why is this door closed off? Chenille asked.

Mrs. Gregory turned. A girl last year nailed the window open before throwing herself from the window. She didn't die, she's in a hospital. If you're going to commit suicide, you should commit.

What an interesting woman. Chenille thought.

She was going from one prison to another. She sat on her bed, pulled her knees into her chest and stared at the foot of her bed, eventually turning over and going to sleep.

Chapter Two

The same redheaded woman who flicked her cigarette out at her, shook her awake and told her it was dinner time.

They walked down the hall and entered the elevator in silence.

Chenille looked her up and down, thinking she looked like the foster mom on Terminator 2. Chenille figured it was mean to say, so she kept it to herself.

What's your name? she asked.

Chenille, what’s yours?

Alexa,

Why are you here?

You don't want to know.

Alexa pushed past Chenille and out into the lobby, leading her to a room in the back where all the other women were sat, eating stuffing, potatoes and green beans.

It was a meal she'd become accustomed to over the years. It was always starch and carbs, any and almost all meat was beef or under cooked chicken. It had been years since she'd had anything resembling salmon or tilapia. Just fish sticks and roast most of the time.

She took her spot while Mrs. Gregory introduced her. Most of the women in the room didn't bother to look up. Only a pale blond looked up and smiled slightly.

Mrs. Gregory told everyone why Chenille was in there and how long she spent in jail.

At the mention of a sixteen year old kid dying by her hands, more eyes left their bland dinner to shoot hateful glances at her. The twitchy woman stopped eating her nails and looked around at everyone else.

Don't judge her. Alexa said, It's not like y'all ain't thought about it, killing a few rich white kids.

People smirked, shook their heads and looked down.

The blond kept looking at her.

Later on, the blond came up to her, pulled at her hair and said Hey, girl.

Chenille sighed. Hi,

So, um...

What?

If you ever need a girl to talk to... she advanced, stroking her arm Or maybe a little more...

I don't need nor do I want that from you or anyone else in this building. I need to go wash my arm now.

Chenille turned away from her, getting in the elevator the same time as Alexa.

Good call, Alexa said. She looks sweet, but she tries to hook all of the fresh meat in the building.

Chenille looked down at the ratty floor in the elevator. How long have you been here?

About five years. They probably won't make you stay long, your murders weren't premeditated.

It was manslaughter. I didn't murder anyone.

The elevator dinged and they walked to their room.

Once in their room, Alexa started stripping. Chenille wasn't looking, but the sound of her walking made Chenille turn. She watched her in the hallway, she hobbled slightly when she walked.

She looked and saw her taking off her socks to reveal she was missing three toes on the left foot.

Who cut your toes off? Chenille asked.

Alexa turned to her, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth.

Chenille stood up and moved closer to her, pulling her hair behind her left ear to reveal it wasn't there. I know what it looks like when someone cuts something off.

My husband and my oldest son. Step son. Husband held me down and the son took the garden shears to my feet.

Are they the reason you're in here?

You mean did I catch them both fucking my fifteen year old daughter and kill them while they were in the act? Yeah, and I used a chainsaw.

Chenille folded her arms and asked Where is your daughter now?

Seattle, she got married and put the whole mess behind her. The case was featured on a TV show, some forensic scientist said there was blood on the ceiling. We had vaulted ceilings.

When Alexa said the word vaulted, Chenille heard a hint of a Boston accent in her voice. It was even more prominent when she declared she was going to take a showah.

Chenille changed into her newly issued clothes and looked around at her room. There was a part in the wall by the door that was plastered over and a different texture than the rest of the room.

She walked over and knocked on it, finding it no more than maybe drywall and poorly applied perfatape. She'd seen too many horror movies to know that you don't go poking around in things like this.

That was one thing she had that made her feel normal. She'd watch movies with Tyson and they'd spend a lot of time quoting them and analyzing them.

Tyson was one of the first to know something was off about her. While other girls were in promising relationships, excited about prom and wanting their first time to be special, he said that he noticed he'd never seen Chenille cry.

Tyson was there for her all the time, even the one she lost her virginity to. One day, while up in his tree house, he looked at her and said Want to get the virginity thing out of the way?

The way she consented, didn't catch feelings or ask for more led him to believe there was something wrong with her.

Her parents heard what had happened and took her to talk with someone. After an hour she came out with a new diagnosis that started the journey toward her downfall of binge drinking and using Tyson's body to make her feel anything. She had anti-social personality disorder. It served her well in the trial that freed her. Knowing how to cry and look like a victim made it easy for this sympathetic jury to allow her an early release.

The whole time she was inside, her parents visited once a year. She had their phone number and wanted to call them, but knew they wouldn't make any sort of special trip for her.

They were disgraced by her and didn't do much to hide it. Her mom would ask her how it was going as if she were just off at summer camp. They'd had the same number since she could remember. There was one phone in each room and it shut off after fifteen minutes. Chenille scanned the room, finding a camera up above the door, aimed right at the beds.

The phone was on a dresser by the window, locked down and rotary.

Okay, boomer. Chenille said, picking the phone up.

She dialed her parents' number, her mom picking up on the fourth ring.

Her voice answering as if it were just some telemarketer calling filled Chenille with rage.

Hi, Mom, just letting you know I made it to the halfway house.

Oh sweetie was that today?

Chenille hung up. That's all she wanted to know.

She took a walk around the building to see what it looked like, not having gotten the grand tour before. There were other rooms locked and boarded up downstairs. There was one bathroom on each floor that had two toilets, separated by a green partition. One on her floor was leaking and had an old out of order sign on the one closer to the sink. The hot water didn't work and the faucet leaked. There wasn't much room to do more than use the toilet and leave. A green wall with a black door took up most of the space.

There was a simple brass doorknob on the door and it didn't lock.

Chenille didn't bother to investigate any of the other bathrooms. She had already walked down to see the shower. It was much like a prison shower. A bunch of shower heads with no curtain to hide your naked body.

Chenille walked in on two women having sex. One with blond hair going down on one with dark hair.

That's going to clog the drains, she said.

She made it back to the big lobby, looking through cracked windows at the world outside. The windows were old and runners filled with dust.

People pushed past her, swiping cards or entering long numbers on a pin pad by the door.

I need a new job. a short man said.

Chenille took a closer look to see it was a time clock. That was weird to her. It was obvious from dinner that Mrs. Gregory hadn't made that food herself, but it was weird to think someone worked there.

She found the first floor had many locked rooms and Mrs. Gregory had barricaded herself in a room that looked a lot like a principal's office.

All of the boarded up rooms on the first floor smelled of dust and decay.

Chenille stopped her exploring and went back upstairs.

––––––––

Mrs. Gregory hooked Chenille up with a job bagging groceries. The manager was an obese man that snarled when he breathed, and insisted she wear her hair up in a ponytail, even though she was self-conscious about her ear.

She was bagging for a woman who was standoffish with her, but friendly with everyone else. A real wears Christmas sweaters un-ironically type.

A tall boy with straw textured hair would occasionally come up and help bag or check, keeping his eyes down and often tug at his ear when he'd see Chenille

Yeah, yours is still attached, I don't have leprosy. Chenille said when he kept tugging at his ear while talking to her.

A short, buxom girl wore a scoop neck top that wasn't even part of the uniform colors and had her hair down. She was often playing in it, leaving fried strands all over customers' food.

Chenille reasoned it was probably because she had her breasts out. Breasts that had hickeys on them.

Have some class. Chenille muttered under her breath at the girl who flirted with everyone who came by.

Later on, in the break room, people went quiet when she came in, staring at their phones, or leaving the room.

Tits came in and grabbed a soda out of the machine. She sat a can down next to Chenille.

Name's Lacey,

It had been a while since Chenille had had a can of soda and Squirt reminded her of her youth. Her mom would buy it for her and she'd share it with her friends in her room.

Chenille opened it and drank it, but didn't say thanks or offer her name.

Lacey cleared the room, now it was her and Chenille. Lacey stood up, being almost a whole foot shorter than Chenille.

You gotta be aggressive with him.

Who? Chenille asked.

Bert, the manager,

Is that what you were? Aggressive? Chenille asked, raising an eyebrow

I'm the produce manager's daughter, but... she stood on her tiptoes taking Chenille's elastic out of her hair and said If you want to be respected in this hole, respect yourself first. Show these country fucks that you're just as good as they are if not better.

Lacey took Chenille's hand and put her hair tie around her wrist.

First thing they teach you, Lacey said, rolling back her sleeve to reveal self-harm scars is to find a good substitute. If you're addicted to sex, masturbate. If you're addicted to alcohol, replace it with coffee. So on and so forth.

Tossing the can in the trash, Chenille said, I'm not addicted to anything. I was in prison for ten years on manslaughter charges.

She took the hair tie from her wrist, wrapped it around her hair and pulled her hair into a neat bun.

And I'm not afraid of anyone, especially not you.

Chapter Three

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