Redemptive

  REDEMPTIVE

  Jay McLean

  REDEMPTIVE

  Copyright © 2016 Jay McLean

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Jay McLean

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: Jay McLean March 2016

  Dedication

  To my father-in-law Richard “Pa” McLean.

  I’ll never forget long nights spent around the dinner table while I listened to you retell your true-life crime stories so well, they gave me goose bumps.

  I miss you dearly.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  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

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Jay McLean

  About Jay McLean

  “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.”

  —Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

  1

  Bailey

  Six Years Earlier

  “Shit,” I whispered, feeling the first drop of rain. It was already freezing out. My jaw had begun to hurt from the effort of trying to force it to shut so my teeth would stop clanking against each other. I stood up, looking for some form of shelter that the dumpster I’d been calling home no longer provided. Pulling my arms into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I used my body heat to keep me moving, to push me forward.

  A shiver ran up my spine, spreading through the rest of my body. Thunder clapped, and just like that, heavy sheets of rain poured down on me, soaking me from head to toe. My toes were frozen thanks to the giant hole at the tip of the only pair of shoes I owned.

  I cursed under my breath, attempting to run and find shelter. I didn’t get far. I was so weak I could barely stand. I’d given up on trying to remember my last meals, given up on trying to work out time and days.

  I slowed to a stroll, my body fighting against my will to find somewhere warm.

  Somewhere safe.

  The evil lurkers came out at night, especially in the wet, knowing that the sounds of raindrops hitting the pavement would drown out the sounds of yells and screams while they tormented other homeless for their few possessions. The worst was when they’d prey on the elderly. Or the women.

  Because apparently beating and raping aren’t criminal offenses when it came to the homeless vs. the homeless.

  No one cared.

  After slipping my arms through the sleeves, I reached into my bag and fished around for the toy cell phone I’d found and brought it to my ear. I started speaking into it like I was focused on a mission to get home. Saying things like, “Yeah Mom, I’ll be home soon,” just so those who saw me thought I had a purpose in life. Little did they know, my only purpose was shelter, and maybe even a warm drink.

  I don’t know how long I walked before I came to a stop outside an empty diner. I shoved the fake phone back in my bag and looked up.

  The lights above the building flicked on and off, but everywhere else darkness surrounded me. My breaths were short, sharp, tiny spurts of whatever energy I had left. Though barely able to breathe, the sounds of my inhales and exhales amplified in my eardrums. Like a constant, but inconsistent humming.

  I pushed open the doors of the diner, the bright fluorescent lights blinding me immediately. The smell of food overwhelmed my senses and my stomach flipped at the thought of it.

  I pulled the hood off my head and stood for a moment, waiting for my body to stop shivering.

  “Unless you’re here to eat, you need to leave,” I heard. Slowly, my eyes roamed the small space for the voice. A middle-aged man was leaning against the counter, his dirty apron on full display. Dammit. How could he tell? I should have kept the phone to my ear.

  The largeness of his frame was intimidating and the words I wanted to speak caught in my throat.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  It took all my energy to nod. “Bathroom,” I managed to squeak, hoping for working hand dryers to warm me up.

  “Paying customers only,” he said, straightening to full height.

  “I—”

  He pointed to the door. “Out.”

  I wanted to cry.

  Though I knew I couldn’t.

  But what I wanted more was food. Food and warmth.

  “Please—”

  “Out.”

  I turned on my heels, my wet shoes slipping easily on the tiled floor. Then I opened the door and stepped back out into the pouring rain. I rounded the corner of the building and leaned against the wall, using it to shield me from the downpour—if only for a little while.

  Too weak to stand, my body slumped until my ass hit the cold, wet, concrete. I used my arms to cover my head and started the count in my head.

  Two hundred was normally the number I’d get to. It was enough time to give my mind and my body reprieve, and just long enough to get back up and start the same mission again: food, shelter, pretending like I was somebody.

  A door slammed shut, but I didn’t lift my head.

  Twenty-one.

  Twenty-two.

  “Here,” I heard, but I was too afraid to look up. “Take it,” the young male voice said.

  Twenty-three.

  Twenty-four.

  “Just come in. Buy a burger and a drink. Use the bathrooms. Whatever you need.”

  My stomach rumbled on cue, though whoever was speaking to me wouldn’t have heard it over the constant thunder roaring in the skies.

  I felt a hand on my bare knee, exposed by my ripped jeans. “Please,” he said, and the genuine sincerity in his voice gave me the courage to finally look up.

  He smiled around a soaked cigarette. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He placed the scrunched up bill in my hand as I used the other to wipe the rain away from my eyes. When I could see clearly, I looked down at his hand, now
covering mine. He grabbed my wrist and helped me to stand. “I make a mean double cheese. I’ll even throw in some extra fries.”

  I wished I could see him properly. See the eyes of the boy who was opening his heart to me, but it was too dark—the space between us too clouded by the rain.

  “Please?” he said.

  I managed to nod.

  He smiled again, causing the cigarette to fall from his lips. “I’ll see you in there.”

  *

  I walked back into the diner, a stride in my step and a new sense of hope. Marching up to the counter, I eyed the man who had denied me previously. I uncrumpled the cash in my palm—a twenty—and did my best to slam it down on the counter. In the kitchen, a door opened, and my savior entered, his smile widening when he saw me.

  He used his index finger to wipe the wetness off his eyebrows and shook out his arms slightly. He smiled and with a single nod he encouraged me to find my voice.

  My eyes trailed back to the man behind the counter. “I’ll have a coffee, a Coke, a double cheeseburger, and fries, please,” I said confidently, pushing the twenty toward him.

  He cleared his throat. Then, over his shoulder, “Steven! Order for—”

  “I heard!” my hero shouted, clearly visible under the diner lights. “I’m on it!”

  He winked at me and my stomach flipped, for a completely different reason than hunger. He gave me a half smile that lit a spark in his eyes while the man in front of me cleared his throat. “Here’s your change,” he said, and then pointed to my left. “Bathroom’s that way.”

  2

  The need to find warmth apparently outweighed the need to fill my stomach. This made evident by the fifth push of the hand dryer button and the enormous glee I felt as I dipped my head underneath, combing my fingers through my hair.

  A knock on the door had me jumping out of my skin.

  “Occupied,” I shouted, just as the dryer timed out and switched off.

  A chuckle filtered through from the other side, and without knowing for sure who it was, I opened the door.

  My generous hero smiled wide and then held out a plastic bag in offering. “Found some clothes in my car,” he stated, eyeing me up and down quickly. “They’ll be big on you. But they’re dry.” He motioned his head to the counter. “Your food’s ready.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the bag from him.

  He simply nodded once, turned on his heels, and left me to change.

  *

  I’d just taken a seat to start my meal when he approached from the other side of the counter. He placed a set of keys right next to my plate and said, “Take your time, I’ll be done in an hour. You can wait in my car. Put the heat on.”

  I don’t know what I’d done to deserve his generosity, but I sure was grateful for it. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded slowly as his hand reached up and moved my hair behind my ear. His touch was warm. Safe. “Just stay okay? Don’t leave without me.”

  I returned his nod, not knowing what else to do.

  *

  Even though I had a safe, warm place to go after my meal, for some reason I felt safer being in the same room as him—a complete stranger. So, I took my time eating. Occasionally I’d catch him staring at me with a frown that made me squirm in my seat. After an hour, he removed his apron and sat down next to me. “You ready?” he asked, looking down at his phone.

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  He glanced up then—an almost shy smile on his face. His gaze moved from me to the darkness outside. The rain had stopped but it was windy. The type of crippling, cold wind I hated. When his eyes moved back to mine, his smile got wider. He reached up and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt I was wearing over my head, then reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of woolen gloves. He started to carefully place them over my hands, and I let him. I even let him hold my hand afterward to guide me down from my seat. He held it all the way to his car while he opened the door and helped me get seated. The entire time I fought to keep the grin off my face.

  It’d been a long time since someone had cared, but Steven did, and I had absolutely no idea why.

  “You’re safe now,” he said as if somehow reading my thoughts. He smiled again before closing my door and making his way around to the driver’s side. Once he was settled, he turned to me. “I’m house-sitting for a friend. They’ll be back in a few days. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’d like for you to stay there, just until they get back.”

  My heart slammed against my chest. It was then I understood what was happening, and as much as I wanted the warmth and comfort of a roof and a bed, I just couldn’t do it. “I won’t sleep with you,” I mumbled, reaching for the door handle.

  His hand on my forearm squeezed tight and froze me to my spot. A scream threatened in my throat, and I tried to pull out of his hold. He released me quickly and without a fight, his hands going up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he rushed out. “I didn’t mean to put my hands on you like that. I promise you, that’s not what this is. You can stay at the house. Different beds. Different rooms. Hell, you can take the entire house, I’ll sleep in my damn car.”

  I stared at him, eyes wide in shock.

  His phone rang; cutting off whatever response I was struggling to form. He sighed before answering the phone and lifting it to his ear. “I was working. What happened? Are you okay?” He released a relieved breath. “So what’s up?”

  He waited for a beat. “What kind of help, Ky?” he asked, his eyes moving to mine. Gently, he took my hand in his and squeezed once, as if assuring me of what he’d said earlier. He mouthed a thank you and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and then offering them to me. I shook my head the same time he said into the phone, “You’re after drugs, aren’t you?”

  I tensed.

  Drugs.

  He was a drug dealer.

  I hated drugs.

  And I hated everything that came with them.

  I made a move to get out again, but he held my hand, his eyes narrowed as he searched my face.

  “No,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant for me or the person on the phone.

  He turned the car on and cranked up the heat. “Because, Ky, you’re not like that. I’m not going to be responsible for—”

  Whatever the Ky person said must’ve cut him off. He lifted both my hands and placed them in front of the air vents. Covering the phone, he whispered to me, “I’ll be back,” and then stepped out of the car.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat. What the hell was I going to do? Before I got a moment to think, his door opened, and he sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “That was my brother. I gotta help him out with something.”

  “You’re a drug dealer?”

  “No,” he said with a laugh. “Not at all. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m going to help my brother get some. There’s this field party happening not far from here, I’ll get him what he wants and then we’ll leave. And I meant what I said, I’ll sleep in my car. You can have the house to yourself. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I promise.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He sighed. “What’s your name?”

  My voice came out a whisper. “B-Bailey.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Bailey. I’m Steven.”

  “So?” I pressed.

  “So what?”

  “So why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

  “Because…” He placed his hands in front of the air vents. “We all need saving at some point, and I’m here to save you.”

  *

  He didn’t get out when a car pulled into the parking lot. We drove to a field in complete silence, neither one of us speaking. But he held my hand—not in an intimate way, but a comforting way—and it worked. He made me feel safe.

  Once we were out of the car, I kept my head lowered, not making eye contact with his brother or the guy who showed up a phone call and a few minut
es later to supply the drugs.

  I followed Steven’s lead and sat on the hood of his brother’s car while they talked. “Is this weird?” his brother asked while Steven went to his car for something.

  I shrugged and removed Steven’s gloves, not knowing how else to respond.

  I was all too familiar with the smell of weed, so I knew what they were smoking. At one point, his brother offered me the joint. “No, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I didn’t want to show how much I despised what they were doing. They talked for a bit while Steven took my hand in his, and I felt my heart tighten again—just like it did when he placed the gloves over my hands.

  I listened as they spoke about themselves, their lives, their dad, and I realized it then—Steven’s words from earlier held more truth than I knew.

  Steven—he needed saving just as much as I did.

  “You remember what I said the day I told you I was leaving?” Steven asked his brother. He didn’t wait for a response before adding, “You said ‘you shouldn’t let ’em take it.’ I asked you what the hell you were talking about. You said ‘You, Steve, don’t let them own you.’” Steven shifted next to me, and I pretended not to see him wipe at his eyes. “But here I am, Ky, letting them take me. And you know why? Because that pain I feel, it’s inside me. Just like it’s inside you, and no amount of drugs can change that.” He brought my hand up to his mouth and the second his lips pressed against it, my stomach filled with butterflies.

  I found myself leaning into him, trying to find a way to comfort him the way he’d done for me. He cared. And as stupid as it sounds considering we’d only met a few hours ago, I felt connected to him somehow. Like we were both living a lie; hoping that someday we’d mean something.

  We both wanted to matter.

  And we both needed to be saved.

  Steven said to his brother, “Go home, Ky. Go home to your family…” He waved his finger in a circle while I sat confused, wondering why he said your family, and not ours. “…and be better than this. You don’t belong here.”