Furious knocking startled Bonnie awake. Bolting upright, she yanked the small revolver from under the seat and deftly cocked the hammer in one fluid motion. Weeks of precarious living had conditioned her to sleep light and be prepared for anything. No precious seconds wasted blinking away cobwebs.
She'd already pinpointed the direction of the noise and her fierce gaze focused there. The car windows were tinted dark enough to shield the interior from view, but she'd left the driver's side cracked to catch the May breeze. A man was peering inside and his aura screamed danger.
"I have a gun." Bonnie stated loudly and calmly, belying the fear thrumming in her chest.
"I have a deed." The man countered sarcastically, but wisely stepped away from the window. "You're on private property."
Demoralized and embarrassed, Bonnie scrambled into the driver's seat and fumbled for the ignition. She'd cased the building for an hour before mistakenly deciding it was abandoned. It had looked like a secure place to park for the night, especially being on the edge of a popular and trendy downtown strip with a low crime rate. The blue Prius had fit perfectly next to a rusty blue dumpster in the back of the building but apparently the attempt at camouflage hadn't worked.
"You need any help?"
The reluctant offer came with a hint of pity, amplifying Bonnie's shame. Gun in her lap, she cranked the engine, threw the car into reverse and whipped it towards the alleyway, shaking as she checked the rearview mirror. The full moon was luminous, casting the man in an eerie glow. He stood in the middle of the lot watching her escape, a long metal object in one hand, the other stroking the head of a massive wolf.
Heart pumping wildly, Bonnie zipped the car down the alley and onto a street that was still busy with activity. The further away she got, the more her fear abated, allowing room for self-pity. It was rare when she gave into the hopelessness of her situation, but she wallowed in it now, great heaving sobs racking her too slim body as she drove around the city. In that moment, she was tired of being strong and desperately wished for someone to lean on. Desperately wished for her grandmother's wisdom, her nurturing, her loving hugs. Bonnie cried harder.
It was nearly three in the morning when she cautiously pulled into the empty lot of a synagogue and parked alongside a small bus. Praying she'd be hidden from view this time, Bonnie wiped away the tears and blew her nose with a crumpled fast food napkin. As she hid the gun away and prepared to bed down in the passenger seat again, she relived some of the sage and comforting advice she'd received from her grandmother during the more challenging moments of her life. And thinking about that brave, wise woman boosted Bonnie's waning spirits, sparked her determination again and helped her finally drift into much needed sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Damon Salvatore watched in stoic silence as his small corner of hell received a thorough inspection. It wasn't as if you could hide anything in the open and depressingly empty space. It was just brick walls and gritty floors. But the man doing the inspecting was the embodiment of by-the-book and he examined every square inch of the old two story warehouse with extreme diligence.
The man paused in front of the meager possessions pushed to one side of the room. Hands on hips, he shook his head as his bemused gaze bounced from the aged wood ceiling to the tall windows caked with dust. "Nice dump you got here."
Shrugging, Damon crossed his arms and propped the sole of a scuffed combat boot on the wall he was leaning against. "The dump comes with an address."
"Meeting one of your requirements doesn't mean you have to live like this."
Damon was unmoved, but he silently gave dude props for the concern. As far as parole officers went, Alaric Saltzman was decent. Tough yet fair and he actually treated Damon with respect, a contradiction to all the horror stories he'd heard. Their first meeting had been legendary, a masterful pissing contest with lots of wiseassing and a brodacious matching of wits. Under different circumstances, they could probably be friends. But as the laundry bag holding all the clothes he owned was rummaged through, the degradation Damon felt meant their relationship would remain strictly shoe and dirt beneath shoe.
After a check under the mattress of a narrow cot, Saltzman was finally satisfied. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through contacts. "I can recommend a couple of halfway houses. They're not the Ritz, but they're better than this place."
Damon had already spent four years sardined with a bunch of men in varying stages of hope, anger and despair. He wasn't about to give up peace and privacy for that agony again. "I'm good."
"Have you considered going to the VA?"
"Score a felony conviction, they take away your benefits."
"Just the pension. There are other resources."
His military career was a sore subject and Damon killed any further conversation with a blank look and the firm set of his jaw.
"Alright." Saltzman relented with a frustrated grunt, shoving the phone back in his pocket. "But the offer of the halfway house is open. How's the job going?"
"It's a job." Damon responded dryly. Assembly line work was tedious, but it was in his best interest to remain gainfully employed. Being a model parolee the next eleven months meant he would eventually be free from his legal woes. "We done here?"
Saltzman got a kick out of Damon's attempt to get rid of him. "Hot date?"
"How's that any of your business?"
"Everything you do is my business until the state of Virginia decides otherwise."
The display of power was a stinging reminder of who was really running this show.
"Yeah that's it…hot date." Damon's tone was thick with sarcasm and self-deprecation. Like he really had anything to offer a woman besides his dick.
Sighing, Saltzman dropped the enforcer act. "Salvatore, I'm not one of those POs who goes to the extreme policing your personal life, but you do realize there'll be more of these home visits? That I have to make sure you're walking the straight and narrow? Not hanging with bad actors?"
For fuck's sake.
"That doesn't mean I expect you to be a pariah. Positive human interaction can be good for ex-cons trying to reintegrate into society. Speaking of." The pontificating was replaced with more concern. "Have you talked to your brother since you've been out?"
Damon gave him the death stare.
"Sorry I asked." Saltzman raised his large mitts apologetically. "We're done here."
He saw himself out, footsteps echoing heavily on the steps leading downstairs. Damon smirked with satisfaction when he heard a girly yelp followed by thunderous swearing. He was stretching out on the cot when the monster loped into the room and sprawled on the floor next to him.
"Did the dick pee himself? Hmm? Good boy."
Damon ruffled thick fur and scratched a pointy ear. He'd found the dog, some mutt breed of Husky, lying in a pitiful heap near his front door. There'd been bloody scrapes on his emaciated flank and wretchedness in his pale eyes. If he'd been healthy, he might have given Damon the business, but starvation could render even the most vicious beast feeble. Offering scraps had initiated a bond and made Damon a caregiver at a time when he'd barely been able to feed himself. Fast forward several months and they were best buds. The once anemic canine was now a menacing behemoth, capable of intimidating smartass parole officers and keeping trespassers at bay.
Speaking of trespassers…
Propping his head on a couple of lumpy pillows, Damon got comfortable as he grabbed his smart phone and did a web search for "four sticks virginia beach". Several results populated for a diner on the water front, an area he'd frequented before. He mapped out the best route in his head as he dropped the phone on his chest and closed his eyes. Given his situation, the last thing he needed to do was go looking for trouble. But Damon's soul was miserable. Like a wounded animal's or a homeless young woman's.
And misery loved company.
Author Note: *sigh* I have a serious case of writer's block with two scenes in the next chapter of "Something Real", so this was my attempt to get my creative juices flowing. It helped. Not sure when I'll continue this because I'm focusing on SR, put wanted to put the new toy out there anyway. Thanks for being patient with me and as always, thanks for reading.