Redeemed

Chapter 1-1

Katty Randolph blinked her eyes. She blinked again. Eyes barely focused, crusty dry. She wiped them. Fingertips black. Make-up still on.

Well.

She sat near the kitchen, right where she figured she deserved to sit—on the floor with all the rest of the trash—the crumbs, candy wrappers, crushed Fruit Loops. The only thing worth picking up was a colored pencil.

Her head throbbed like a thousand frogs had jumped up and down in it all night long. They were still there. Bouncing. Leaping. Pounding.

She hated frogs.

She lifted her head, but only so far. Twisting it back and forth helped, but pain stopped her. She flexed her shoulders up, then down. Same thing. They hurt. Leaning forward released a groan. Back hurt, too. Her whole body felt like she’d been beaten—just like old times.

Katty cleared her throat and stretched her legs out in front of her.

Nightmares had definitely been wild … or had they been … real? Blinks of glowing yellow eyes, low growls, throbbing music shook her, even now.

She shivered. She knew she was in her trailer house—her crappy trailer house—right now. But those visuals seemed just as real as the dirty floor.

She leaned against the paneled wall. The brittle vinyl floor under her creaked as she moved and stretched.

Million dollar question—-why was she sitting on the floor, against the wall? Had she slept here all night? That might make a body sore.

She faced the kitchen. A chair lay on its side and … Bea was nowhere to be seen.

“B-Bea?” She struggled to get up. Woah. The room started to spin, so she slid back down to the floor. If there was anything still in her stomach, it threatened a reappearance. She blew out a breath. Blew out another. Slowly her stomach settled and she could get to her knees.

She crawled to the overturned chair, crunched on a piece of cereal, and pushed up to her feet, still leaning over. Not a good position. Her stomach was waking up too—only it was crabby from what Katty constantly poured into it.

Burp.

No. “Stay down.” Katty willed her stomach to settle. “Not gonna come up.” She tried to right the chair, but it fought her and she dropped it back down.

Bang!

“Bea? Where are you?” Hide and seek. “Where are you hiding?”

Sugar, sugar, sugar.

Belched again.

Each step was a struggle, like climbing up a mountain side, against a strong wind, in a snowstorm. Each one was measured and tested. Slowly. Then the next step. And the one after. At the wall, she turned and leaned her back against it.

She had quit drinking once. Why did she ever think it was okay to start again? Clarence had helped her get free and clean. Why had she started again?

Where was Bea?

Stumbling down the hall to Bea’s room, she slid her hand along the old wood paneling to steady herself. “Ouch!” She shook her hand. Splinter. “Damn wall.”

“Bea? You awake. Sweetie?”

What time was it? Was it day? She looked out the window in Bea’s room. Day. Maybe.

No Bea.

Maybe Bea was in the car.

Purse. Where’d she put her purse? Back to the kitchen. Right where she’d left it—on the kitchen counter. Only most of its contents had fallen out. She pushed it all back in, but her keys were missing.

She grabbed the purse anyway. For some reason, Katty glanced up. The painted wall. Why had she painted on that old paneling? The tree, flowers and babies. She inched to it and traced the brush marks with her fingers. No. The babies always lined up and accused her. They all faced her and pointed. She heard their voices. “You’re the one.”

No.

One looked like Bea—her dark eyelashes closed against her pale cheeks—sleeping on the sofa. But then the babies all lined up next to each other and Katty couldn’t tell the difference—whether one was Bea, or not.

Belched again. Her hand flew to her mouth. Her stomach needed more. Away from the painted wall. It only caused her pain. When she got home, she’d wash it all off. Get rid of the pain and the babies. Paint over it.

She stumbled out to the car … only Bea wasn’t in the car.

Where were her keys?

Not in the console. Not in the visor. Under the seat?

Whoops. A shooter bottle slid to the floor on the passenger side. Didn’t take her a minute to stretch to pick up the bottle and twist the cap off. A couple drops left. The deep golden color of that liquid.

Ahh.

It seduced her. Hypnotized her. Sunlight caught the drops just right. They glistened. “Beautiful.”

A car drove past and out of the trailer park. Katty waved, without caring to see who it was.

She licked the mouth of the bottle and let the booze linger on her tongue. The anticipated burn never satisfied anymore. One more drop in the bottom. Tipping it into her mouth, her tongue caressed the opening. A deep moan vibrated in her chest. “Mmm..” She twisted her tongue to try and reach that last drop, but the mouth of the bottle was too small.

The little bit she got tasted delicious. She licked her lips. More. She needed more.

She threw the tiny bottle onto the floor of the passenger side and watched it bounce off the floor mat.

Where were those keys to the car? Nowhere. She threw her purse onto the passenger seat. Something rattled, jiggled inside. But … she dug in it again.

Damn! There they were. Odd. Someone must have put them there. She had looked before, in the trailer.

The car started right up.

The bottle rolled on the floor, taunting her, calling to her. More! You need more of me. Yeah. That was the next thing on her … to-do list.

More! You need more of me. Get more shooters.

Katty checked her purse again. Just enough money to buy twenty bottles. Wait. Weren’t there some in the house still?

Yeah, but the weekend was coming and she’d need more. Maybe friends would stop.

Party on.

At the convenience store, Katty slammed the car door and stomped into the building.

She shouldn’t be here. She ran back to the women’s bathroom, passing people sitting at tables, eating. The store was busy. Eyes watched her. Busy mouths whispered words, heads together, fingers pointed. Old men didn’t whisper as much. They were louder—probably because they couldn’t hear each other and were too stubborn to get their hearing tested. Either that, or they wanted her to hear them.

“Did you hear ...?”

“Did you see what she was doin?”

“She needs to get—”

The bathroom. Why hadn’t God made a bigger place in her body for the pee so she didn’t have to stop so often. She snickered. If she didn’t pour in so much, she wouldn’t have to pee so much.

Two women waited in line for a free stall, but that didn’t stop Katty from laughing out loud at her own joke. The ladies didn’t seem to catch the joke.

Of course.

Katty hadn’t told them the joke. If you didn’t drink, you didn’t pee so much. She almost choked at the extra meaning … if you didn’t drink … which was exactly what she was doing.

She leaned against the wall and sighed, but accidentally slid too close to one woman. The woman jumped and stepped away like Katty had some sort of disease.

Stupid i***t.

Katty snickered again.

The lady probably didn’t have a sense of humor like Katty did. Everything was funny right now.

The stall door opened. “Hi Katty!”

Oh-oh.

Who was this? Looked familiar. Katty rubbed her eyes. Nursing home nurse? Katty chuckled. That was funny. Nursing home nurse!

“Uh, hi.” Glad she’d put some lipstick on. Not. “Lisha. Hi.”

“What are you up to today? And where is that beautiful daughter of yours?” Lisha punched the soap dispenser for a dollop of soap and rubbed her hands together forever, then finally rinsed under the faucet.

“She’s … she’s … out in the car.” There was no answer that would please this little gathering of bitches—Lisha included. If Katty said Bea was home, they’d think she left her home by herself … which is maybe what she’d done. If Katty said Bea was looking at candy out in the store, they’d tell her that someone could kidnap Bea—like it wasn’t happening already with Bea’s dad, Phil Daynton. If Katty said Bea was in the car—same thing—someone could kidnap her.

The real answer?

Katty didn’t have a clue where Bea was.

“Well, I hope you have a great day together.” Lisha grabbed Katty in a crushing hug before she could refuse.

Where were her breath mints?

Where were her breath mints?Katty watched Lisha open the door and drift into the store.

Another woman finished, washed her hands, and pushed the door open. Only she didn’t hug Katty, nor did she smile. As she turned to shut the door, she glared at Katty. Her eyes spoke of a knowing.

Experienced.

Dumb broad. Whatever that b***h was thinking was wrong. Katty might have had a few shooters, but she was a long way from drunk. “Take a picture. It lasts longer.” Katty hiccuped and laughed.

Another funny joke. She was hilarious today. Might have to go on the road. “I might have to go on the road, if you don’t hurry up.” She pushed against the other stall door and it opened to reveal a brown mess on the toilet seat and a toilet bowl full of paper and brown.

Katty belched. Oh-oh. Gasp. She rushed to the sink, pushed the lady away and puked.

“Oh God. You are disgusting!” The woman rushed out of the bathroom, yelling. “Mess in the women’s bathroom. Some drunk is throwing up in the sink and it’s gonna need a—”

The door slammed on her words, but the judgement and shame stayed in the bathroom with Katty.

One look at the sink and she hurled again, but a hand reached in and supported her forehead with a damp paper towel.

At the same time, morphed over that hand, was another one. But this hand was raised, ready to slap, rather than comfort.

Katty peeked at the mirror in front of her. The nursing home nurse. Er, Lisha. Only she wasn’t smiling this time. Tears dripped into the sink, disappeared into the mess.

Breathe.

Breathe.Kind voice. “It’s gonna be okay, Katty.”

Katty wanted to believe.

Why had she gone back to this?

Why was she drinking?

Again.

Something in her flipped and she shoved the hand away and stomped out, only the door caught on her cast. She shoved the door back open, slamming it against the inner wall, and pulled at the cast. Tried to rip it off, until she caught a man standing by the pop dispenser staring at her.

A line formed at the cashier. She slowed down, pulled out her money and her ID. The b***h who had reported the mess was paying—still harping on the mess in the bathroom. Get over it, lady. She wasn’t the one who was … sick.

Right in front of Katty stood an elderly couple, who were both barely taller than Bea. The man wore a typical plaid shirt and jeans, and sported a terrible comb-over, mostly revealing what it was meant to conceal. The woman had long white hair, tied back with a bow and wore a long, patchwork skirt, blue blouse, and matching sweater. Her colors blended with the colors in the man’s shirt.