There Was a Little Girl Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Longfellow

  C.S. Lewis

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Now

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Reading List

  Want more

  About

  There Was A Little Girl

  Cynthia Luhrs

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  There Was A Little Girl

  Copyright © 2016 by Cynthia Luhrs

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the tireless Animal Control Officers. Specifically those of Wake County Animal Control. They were invaluable during my research. A huge thank you to: Karen Rogers, Lance Decker, Meghan Ray, Allie George, and Ryan Walker. All mistakes are my own.

  Thanks to my fabulous editor, Arran at Editing720

  For those without a voice.

  There was a little girl

  by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  There was a little girl,

  Who had a little curl,

  Right in the middle of her forehead.

  When she was good,

  She was very good indeed,

  But when she was bad she was horrid.

  If we cut up beasts simply because they cannot prevent us and because we are backing our own side in the struggle for existence, it is only logical to cut up imbeciles, criminals, enemies, or capitalists for the same reasons. ~C.S. Lewis

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER 1

  MY GRAM USED TO SAY, “Alligators are the harbingers of violent change.”

  I never knew what she meant until years later. And by then, I knew all too well. Some things can’t be unseen. Our actions leave a ghostly imprint on our souls. Waiting for the worst possible times to come back and haunt us. I have come to accept there will be no forgiveness for me. How can there be when I grew to relish taking life from the ones I damned? Justified my deeds, fully knowing the day would come when I’d have to pay for what I had done. If only I had more time…

  It was the summer of 1999. Max’s barking woke me up better than any old alarm clock ever did. The day loomed before me, full of possibilities. I slid out of bed and tiptoed though the house.

  “Quiet,” I whispered. Heaven help us all if Daddy woke up.

  Max was a black mutt that showed up one day and never left. He was sweet. And unlike some people in the house, he was always glad to see me. He padded over, tail swinging, sending puffs of warm air across my bare skin. Throwing my arms around his neck, I breathed deeply, letting his scent fill up my nose and soak into my skin. Mama would say otherwise, but to me Max smelled faintly of cinnamon.

  “Come on, big boy, want breakfast before you go out?” He looked back at the door and whined.

  “What is it?” The palm trees in the yard cast shadows on the driveway like angry teeth. I peered out but didn’t see anything. The heat grabbed hold of me as I pressed my nose to the screen, feeling the tiny indents biting my face.

  “Food first. Then outside. It’s Friday the thirteenth,” I said, then popped thirteen Skittles in my mouth and chewed, letting the tangy goodness explode on my tongue.

  “My most favorite day. And the last day of school. Bonus.” Course, it came out a jumbled mess, since my mouth was full, my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

  Our house was small, with an attached carport. The grass squished underfoot and the backyard was my favorite. There was a waterway behind our house and I loved to sit on the dock and read. The teacher said I was reading at a high school level. Whatever that meant. All I knew was that when I read, I left everything behind. Traveled to other places and worlds. Escaped.

  My first indication it was going to be the most horrible day ever happened as Mama and I left for school. No more houses with carports. Not as long as I live. I heard a hissing noise. My shoulders slumped with all the world-weariness a seven-year-old could manage.

  “Tire’s flat again, Mama.”

  “It looks fine. We’re going to be late, Katherine. It’s already seven thirty. I can’t deal with those holier-than-thou women at your school today. Now move it.”

  As I opened the car door to get in, the hiss came again. This time I froze. Didn’t sound like a tire. It was a noise straight out of a scary movie. The ones where I would sneak behind Daddy’s recliner so he didn’t see me. I would curl up and watch with one hand over my mouth to muffle any shrieks. The really good ones always gave me nightmares, but I kept on sneaking out of bed. Drawn to them like a firefly to the night.

  “One second.” A sword of fire appeared in my hand as I pretended I was a warrior. Feeling powerful helped me to unfreeze. Careful not to get my pretty flowered dress dirty, I knelt down. My left knee pressed into the gravel, making me wince. At the same time, my ponytail fell over my shoulder and I jumped a foot in the air. Sometimes if I was close enough, I could feel the air on my face, point out the leak to Mama or Daddy. Anything to prevent war from breaking out between the two of them.

  Mama came round the car to see what was taking so long. My face looked back at me, distorted in the reflection of her high heels. She tapped out a song with her right foot.

  “We don’t have all day. What on earth are you doing down there? If you get that dress filthy…”

  As I finished pressing my face all around the tire, movement caught my eye. The smell of rubber and something ancient filled my nose. I fell backward on my bottom, scrabbling like a crab, fast as my scrawny arms could propel me.

  “Mama. It’s not a flat. There’s a big ole gator under the car.”

  Her sigh turned into a cough. “There was a storm last night. He must’ve gone under the car looking for shelter.”


  She tapped her other foot, taking long drags on her cigarette. “Hell. I don’t have time for this. If I’m late again, he’ll fire me for sure.”

  The gator was looking at me, smiling his toothy grin. The one that said, “Go ahead and run, little girl. I’ll catch you for a morning snack.” Too petrified to move, we stared at each other. The gator stopped hissing and closed his mouth. There was a white scar on his head and another by his eye, marring the black, bumpy skin. How did he fit under our car? He was huge. So big his tail stuck out from the back of the car and his snout was almost to the front bumper.

  “Are you stuck under there?”

  The gator blinked. Would he get hurt if Mama moved the car?

  “Katherine Hope Jones. Quit playing around and get in the damn car. He’ll get outta there when I start the car up.”

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Done with my dawdling, Mama grabbed me by the arm, yanking me to my feet. A smack on the butt and another to my bare thighs sent life coursing back into my body.

  “You’re mean. He could have snatched me, dragged me down under the water to eat me!”

  She rolled her eyes and pinched my arm. “Come on, Miss Drama Queen. Get in the car and quit fussing. Alligators don’t want anything to do with us. They’re way more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  She was wrong. I saw the calculation in the gator’s eyes. But I recognized that look. The way she frowned and huffed. So I shut my trap and got in the damn car.

  If I had known that was the last day I’d see my mama alive, I would have begged that big ole gator to swallow me whole.

  Snap. No more Hope.

  Instead, I find myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, bags of groceries in my arms, staring out at the ocean. I was right. Someone was following me. I thought I’d been so careful. Gotten away with the things I’ve done. A man stands in front of me, gun leveled at my black heart.

  “Bad little girls always get what they deserve.”

  Sooner or later, everyone pays. I close my eyes and wait.

  PRESENT DAY

  CHAPTER 2

  PICKING UP THE PHONE, I glance at the screen before tossing it on the passenger seat.

  “Figures. On the one day it’s important, the stupid phone dies and there’s not a charger to be found. See? This is what you get for waking up late.” And this is why I hate rentals. Why didn’t they provide a couple of chargers? You can always find a charger and a few other basic necessities in my car. After all, who knows when a zombie apocalypse might break out?

  “Great. Now you’re talking to yourself. Out loud like a crazy person.”

  Technically it’s spring. But it’s only March 28 and already it’s hotter than blue blazes. Humid and sticky. The heat here in North Carolina isn’t anything like Kansas. The weatherman declared it was the hottest spring on record. You could almost see the glee seeping from his skin as he pointed to the multicolored charts, predicting a dreadful summer.

  Three of the thirteen pieces of candy I counted out go in my mouth. The drive from Raleigh to Wilmington was pleasant. Too bad I didn’t have time to stop at Duplin Winery for lunch. Maybe on the way back. For the next three days, I’ll be sitting on my butt in an office, but at least it isn’t my office. Who knows? I might even drive over to Wrightsville Beach for dinner and dip my toes in the ocean.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The flashing detour sign makes me grit my teeth. The phone goes from a flashing red battery to the awful black screen of no return. The detour winds me through side streets, taking me deeper and deeper into a residential area. And just like that, I’m hopelessly lost.

  With the next right turn, I immediately notice the change. The houses become small and shabby, potholes in the road. The farther I go, the worse things look. The homes are obviously inhabited but look like they should have been condemned a while ago. Two men sit on the steps of a dirty white house with no front door or glass in the windows, drinking from a paper bag. One of them raises his head, bleary-eyed, watching me as I drive by.

  When I got my first cell phone I quit wearing a watch. First thing on my to-do list is to buy a cute bangle watch. I hate not knowing the time down to the minute. The clock on the dash of the rental flashes two a.m. I stick my tongue out at the pale blue numbers, knowing I’m going to be late. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve always known within an hour or two what time it is. Like there’s one of those old-fashioned clocks with Roman numerals tucked up under my ribcage, ticking away. My internal clock tells me it’s close to one.

  Being late stresses me out. No matter what, I’m always five or ten minutes early. And if I’m late, I call. Though at a certain point, late no longer matters. Gram raised me that it’s rude to make people wait. Shows you think you’re more important than them. But come on, no one is more important than anyone else. At work, people believe their title gives them some kind of importance. An excuse for being rude. Some days I wish we lived in the old west, where if you acted like a jerk, the real badass would likely shoot you dead on the dirty saloon floor as he walked out the door.

  A sound carries through the open window, and I turn my head, trying to locate where it’s coming from. I hate air conditioning, so even when it’s really hot, I usually have the windows down partway, enjoying the moist air. And I confess to sometimes running the A/C at the same time, so I don’t get all sweaty before I get to work.

  The white house on the corner has seen better days. Dark green shutters hang crookedly, some missing altogether, as if they were embarrassed to be seen and fell of their own accord. The concrete walkway is cracked with weeds growing through the rubble. I smile seeing a dandelion bobbing in the breeze. The siding of the house is so filthy it looks beige. The screen door doesn’t close all the way, and there’s no lawn at all. Nothing but red clay and a few patches of weeds. The noise comes again.

  A single pine tree somehow thrives in the middle of the barren yard. It’s leaning to the left, as if the wind tried and failed to knock it down. There’s a thick chain wrapped around the base, secured with a shiny padlock. At the end of the chain is a big black dog. The sun beats down as the dog pants. There’s enough shade from the tree to cover his tail and hindquarters, but the rest of him is in full sun. Both bowls are empty, one turned over. The temperature on the dash reads eighty-eight degrees. As I pass by, the dog lifts his head, looking straight at me. I swear he’s begging me to help. At least give him some water. My foot eases off the gas.

  Through the screen door a man hollers, “Shut the hell up, you mangy mutt.”

  As much as I want to stop, I can’t. I’m late. So I do what most people do…keep going. Minding my own business.

  The dog’s whine fills the car as I cruise by. My legs stick to the leather seats, and the dress I’m wearing is damp and already slightly wrinkled. Good thing it’s a print so it won’t show. Cool air fills the car as I turn the air on to full blast, pressing the button to roll up the windows. Still lost, I choose random streets to turn down until finally I see a detour sign pointing me back to the main road. By my guess, should only be another fifteen minutes or so.

  Flashes of black and crimson fill my vision. The car bumps over the curb. I pull over, breathing heavily. My throat’s dry, head pounding, and my stomach feels like I’ve spent the day on an endless roller coaster. With each breath in, I count to five and exhale to five. Close my eyes, picture the sun shining down on a lake. When I no longer feel like I’m going to split in half, I put my blinker on and continue to my destination.

  To be stuck outside, dressed all in black with no shade or water, would be awful. How would the dog’s owner like to be chained to a tree in the heat? Somebody ought to teach that man a lesson.

  The hotel is cool and welcoming. When I open the door to my room, I’m pleasantly surprised. They’ve upgraded me to a small suite overlooking the river walk. It’s blissfully cold but the air smells artificial. Sliding glass doors open onto a balcony. I step out, lean over the rail,
and inhale. The breeze from the river smells full of life and growing things. Staring at the water, I finish the warm chocolate chip cookie and bottle of water.

  Thirteen minutes later by the clock in my room, I decide I’ve dallied long enough. Once I knew I was past late and into “lucky to show up at all” territory, I figured a little longer wouldn’t matter. Work clothes hang in the closet, toiletries in the bathroom, and I’ve found my charger. It goes into my work tote as I head to the office.

  “I’m so sorry. I ran into a detour and my phone died. No directions.”

  “What did we do before cell phones? That’s why I arrived yesterday. So I would be on time.”

  Martha always thinks she’s better than everyone else. Just once I’d like to tell her everyone knows her smile is fake. She has the mouth part down, but it’s the eyes. Hers always look like she’s searching for someone more important to talk to.

  Late afternoon snacks are set up on a table in the back, so I pour a sweet tea and take a handful of grapes. It’s not Bojangles’ tea, but it’ll do. I need the caffeine to get me through these meetings. Another crappy thing about coming in late? The seating. Unless I can sit in the back, in a corner and preferably with my back to the wall, I feel trapped. And being stuck in the center of the room with people all around me? Nothing frays my nerves faster.

  “You can share my table up front.”

  I pop a grape in my mouth. “Thanks, I’m good back here.”

  Martha flounces back to her seat. There’s an open end seat and I claim it, smiling at the guy next to me. He’s scattered papers all over the table.

  “Sorry, trying to catch up.” He sweeps a stack over to his half of the table.

  I can’t remember his name. He’s based out of the Charlotte office. Faces are my thing. I’m dismal with names but great with faces. “I don’t need much space. You using the outlet?” I point at the wall. “I need to charge my phone. Right now it’s good for a paperweight and not much else.”