Abandoned Hope Unforgettable Faith

Chapter 1 Five Years Later

Andie's POV

The hissing and groaning of the machines in the back of the cleaners does nothing to drown out my thoughts. I mindlessly sort through customers' clothes, tag them in, then sort them accordingly between laundry, dry clean, and cold water wash. This has been my daily routine for just about five years now. The brass cowbell on the door clangs and I look up.

"Well if it isn't my favorite counter girl," Mr. Henderson exclaimed as he lugged his laundry bag through the door.

"Good morning sir. How are you this morning?" I asked, smiling.

"How many times must I tell you not to call me sir? You make me seem old."

"At least every time you come to see me," I laughed. We both know I'll never change. "What have you got for me today?"

"Just some shirts and jeans, you know how I like them," he says, pulling them out of his bag and laying them on the counter. "Now listen here missy, I don't know what you were out doing all night but you look like you climbed out of a grave."

"Well that isn't very nice to say and, for the record, I was at home all night. I just couldn't sleep," I gasped in mock offense, placing my hand on my chest.

"Now, miss Andie, I only say something because I care," he shook his head exasperatedly.

"I know. I know. I really do appreciate your concern, but I am okay. Honest. Now, when would you like these back?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

"I'm in no rush deary, why don't you just call me when they are ready?"

"Alrighty Mr. Henderson, I've got six shirts and four jeans written down for cowboy starch, and I will call when it's ready," i smiled fondly at him as he headed for the door. "I hope you have a fantastic rest of your day."

"Miss Andie, your smile is the best part of my day," he winks at me and shuffles out the door to his old beater truck.

"Mr. Henderson is one of the company's frequent fliers and he and I aren't necessarily bookclub and wine after work close but he is one of the kindest customers we have. Even though he is in his mid to late seventies, he has the energy and spirit of a newly turned twenty-one years old. He looks after me by bringing me a sandwich or a coffee from time to time. Smiling fondly to myself, I tucked his order into a laundry bag and set it in my bin for Friday's laundry.

Grabbing a large bag for tomorrow's loads, I dump it into my rolling metal bin. A strong wave of rain soaked pine floods my nose, causing me to back up. For the first time in almost four and a half years, I felt Amaya stir in the back of my mind. Shaking my head in frustration and confusion, I grabbed the check-in slip and looked at the name.

Name: Blacketer, Jackson

Number: (518) 276-7800

Date: 03/01/2022

MON TUES WED THUR FRI SAT

Starch: NO LT MED HEV

4 shirts 2 2pc suits

10am SPECIAL

"s**t," I mumbled to myself. This bag should have been checked in yesterday. It's already past checking for today's loads and specials for tomorrow. With a sigh, I wander to the back of the cleaners. "Hey Steve," I shout over all the noise, "you back here?"

Steve pops his head from around a corner, "What do ya need kiddo?"

"Jess must have gotten this order last night but didn't check it in. Do you think you could squeeze it in?"

"What is the order?"

"Four shirts and two two-piece suits."

Steve glanced at his tubs then back at me, "Yeah, I guess I can get them in, but make sure to tell Pat to talk to Jess because this is getting ridiculous."

"Yeah no kidding," I groaned, heading back to the front. Once I reach the counter, I type in the last name. One customer pops up and I click on it. Looking at the customer info, they are only in once every few years. Shaking off the confusion, I grab his shirts and start checking them over. The smell makes my head spin and Amaya stirs even more. By the time I finish checking the order in and run it back to Steve, my palms are clammy and my heart feels as if it may hammer out of my chest, and my stomach is doing flips. I feel a storm is beginning to brew deep within me. My heart crashes like thunder. My blood rushes through me like a swollen river. Stumbling back to the front desk, I braced myself against the counter gasping. Amaya thrashes wildly in the back of our mind, snarling viciously.

"You feeling alright kid?"

I glanced up over my shoulder and saw Bobbi looking me up and down from where she was pressing pants, "Yeah, I just don't feel good all of a sudden."

"Do you need to head home? We aren't that busy and Linda should be here soon anyway," Bobbi eyes me.

A wave of nausea crashes through me, making me dry heave before I could respond. With a groan, I squat down, gripping the edge of the counter for balance. Amaya pushes against me, fighting to break through and take control. Breathing heavily, I stagger to my feet and grab my bag.

"I'm sorry Bobbi, I gotta go," I stuttered, stumbling out the door.

I don't remember the drive home, but as I stumbled into my apartment, overwhelming heat washes over me. My body feels as if I've latched onto a live wire. Dropping everything, I rush to the bathroom and throw the water at the highest pressure I can and step into the frigid water, only stopping to kick off my shoes. Unable to stand, I slumped to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Amaya whimpers defeated as I wash away the heat.

. . .

Screams echo around me from deep within the woods. Pain seeps into every inch of my body. A violent lustful growl rakes my ear. Jerking my head to the right, I come face to face with an endless oblivion. I scream turning to run, but I am too late. Monstorous jaws lash out clamping around my waist. Rivers of crimson cascade through the jagged yellowing fangs and pool beneath my dangling feet.

"I told you, little dove, you will always belong to me."

I choke out a gargled scream as the jaws clamp shut, severing me in half.

. . .

I jolt up gasping, gripping my chest. Ice water splashes on my face and arms, causing goose bumps to erupt over my skin. My head throbs as I stand and turn off the shower. I don't remember falling asleep. Shivering, I wrap a towel around my aching body, hugging it close. Stepping into the living room, I glance back at the clock tucked under my TV. 6:05pm glares back at me in harsh lime green lights. Shuffling to my bedroom, I strip out of my sopping wet clothes and pull out a pair of legs and a worn out hoodie.

After changing into comfier clothes, I take my drenched clothes back to the bathroom and drape them over the curtain rod to dry over night. I trudged back to the kitchen knowing that I need to eat even though I am not hungry, but I have to eat something. Opening the fridge, I'm greeted by the sight of empty shelves. With a sigh, I close the door and look at the sagging busted cabinets. I open the one above the stove and stretch, standing my tip toed, feeling around. I was about to give up when my fingers graze something. I clamber onto the countertops and carefully peek into the cabinet. A roach darts to the back and disappears through a hole in the wall. As I am about to close the door, thinking I imagined it, I see it. The plastic wrap catches the dim light and I grab it, a single package of popcorn.

Curling up on the ratty sofa I found on a curb, I turned on the TV and flipped to channel fifty. The Law and Order intro flashes across the small screen as subtitles roll across the bottom. The sound has never worked since I bought it for twenty bucks at a second-hand store, but it at least gets cable thanks to the extra forty dollars I pay in rent. This place is a dump on the bad side of town, but it's all I can afford and I'm still barely making it at that.

A pounding on the door makes me jump. I carefully get up but before I get to the door the visitor pounds on it again.

"Open up b***h, I know you're in there!"

My blood ran cold but I opened the door, knowing that if I didn't it would just make things worse.

"What the f**k took you so long?" Angelo seethes, shoving the door all the way open, knocking me to the floor.

"I... I'm sorry I wasn't expecting you to come over," I stuttered, getting to my feet.

"It shouldn't matter! I own this place," he shouts.

He really doesn't own the apartment complex, but since he is the only dealer in the area, everyone in this crackhouse owes him money. I didn't know that when we first met. He seemed genuine and nice. I mean, yeah he could be an ass sometimes, but it wasn't until we started dating that he showed me his true colors.

Flashback

"Angelo, where were you? You've been gone for a week. I didn't know where you went or if you were okay."

"It's none of your damn business where I was," he snapped at me.

"Baby I was worried about you," I pleaded, trying to take his hand.

"Woman, get the f**k off me and bring me a damn beer," he growled, shoving me into the counter before haphazardly stumbling to the couch.

A sick feeling twists my stomach. I can smell the booze already wafting off of him. I sulk to the fridge. A familiar fear creeps through me. This is what I deserve.

Present

Pain explodes across the left side of my face, pulling me from my thoughts. "Did you hear what the f**k I just said you stupid slut?" He screams as I sit up on the moldy carpet holding my face. I shake my head.

"I said, GET. ME. A. f*****g. BEER." he shouts, kicking me after every word.

I hear my ribs c***k after kicks four and five. He yanks me up by my hair and I see fresh needle marks inside his arms. Whisky drowns out any other smells as he holds me a half inch from his face. Spitting on me, he shoves me toward the kitsch then flops back on the couch with a grunt.

"We... we don't have any beer," I mumble.

Angelo shoots up from his seat, crossing the distance between us in four unsteady strides. There was murder burning in his walnut brown eyes. His grizzly hand wraps easily around my neck, clamping down like a bear trap. His unkept nails dig into my skin, biting into my spine.

"Why the f**k not?" is the last thing I hear before he slams me roughly against the fridge and the world goes black.

JACKSON'S POV

Logan, my wolf, has been going berserk since we left the dry cleaners on Tuesday night. I caught a wiff of something intoxicating. It was brief and stale but it reminded me of wild plum blossoms and sweet fresh cherries. I brushed it off as some woman's perfume but it made Logan loose his mind. Reasoning with him or even getting answers at this point was impossible.

I fall back against the California king-size bed, staring at the hotel ceiling. This was supposed to be a standard business meeting but now things feel oddly complicated.

"Go back," Logan demanded.

"Back where? It's late," I groan. I'm exhausted and don't feel like fighting with my wolf.

"Back to dry cleaners," huffs Logan, as if I should already have known.

"We will in the morning."

"No. We go now," he growls.

Pain seeps into the back of my head and I struggle to breathe.

"Logan, what the f**k are you doing?" I shout at him.

All I get back is a whimper as he curls up in the back of my mind. Sitting up, I slowly stand with a groan and limp to the large master bathroom. Just as I grab my bottle of Advil the pain disappears like it never happened. A growl rumbles from Logan's throat before he starts to whimper again.

"What the hell is going on with him?" I wondered.

"Since I'm up, I go ahead and jump in the shower. Cold water numbing any remaining ache in my bones. After standing there for longer than I meant to, I shut the water off and step out. Wrapping myself in a towel, I step back into the master suite and sit back on the bed. I don't know what Logan's problem is, but I have never heard of a wolf causing their human counterpart to have physical pain. With an exhausted sigh, I resolve to call DR. Pritchard in the morning and ask him about it.

Slipping into some shorts and lay down for the night. Grabbing the remote off the nightstand, I start flipping through channels until I land on Terminator with Arnold Swartzinager. Leaning back, staring blankly at the screen and slowly start to fall asleep. No sooner do my eyes droop closed, searing hot pain rips through me, starting in my core and spreading like wild fire. Logan's primal screams make my head throb. I feel as if there is acid coursing through my veins as I thrash wildly on the bed. Panting, I gripped my chest, praying to the Moon Goddess that this pain would go away. Begging her mindlessly for mercy. However, the pain continued for hours, growing worse in its broiling intensity.

Finally, the pain slowly begins to fade. I groaned, collapsing weakly against the down pillows and gulping back desperate breaths of air. Logan's pitiful whimpering tells me that he suffered as much as I did. That also means he is not the cause of these episodes. Panic started to form in a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Something is terribly wrong and I don't know what. I could be poisoned or hexed or cursed or Goddess knows what. My thoughts run ramped making me nauseous. Scrambling for my phone I frantically dialed Dr. Pritchards number and put it to my ear. It rings all the way through to voicemail.

"Thank you for calling. You have reached the voicemail of Dr. Pritchard, unfortunately I am unable to answer the phone at this time. Please leave a message at the tone or call the office for any other concerns."

"Dr. Pritchard, it is Alpha Blacketer something is happening to me and my wolf and I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message. I think something is really wrong," I say then hang up the phone.

I look at the clock on the night stand it is almost midnight. No wander the Doc didn't answer. Sighing heavily, I close my eyes and sleep washes over me. That's when the dreams started.