Threefold

THREEFOLD

Scott Hildreth

 

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to someone I barely know. In 2006, a beautiful young girl 15 years of age approached me as I sat with a group of friends at a coffee shop and asked for a cigarette. Over the course of the summer, she often stopped by the coffee shop for a cigarette, or to simply talk for a while. My friends and I learned she was an abuse victim and homeless. The story is much deeper than this, but for the sake of this dedication, I’ll leave it at that. Several years later, I saw her again. She was sleeping in whatever random cars she could find, and trying to make ends meet by eating food she could find in the trash cans outside of local restaurants. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, but I think of her often.

Ashley, this one’s for you.

 

 

 

COPYRIGHT

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

THREEFOLD 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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PROLOGUE

When I was a little girl I lived in a castle. From as early as I can remember until I was eight years old, I dreamed of princes, princesses, and being swept away just like the girls in the Disney movies I so loved to watch. I had not yet heard the phrase happily ever after, nor would I have fully understood it if I had, but in many respects, it was what I yearned for.

Innocent, carefree, and full of life, I played from room to room with my plastic horses and Barbie dolls for hours on end. At the end of each day, I would carefully place all of the Barbie’s in their nighttime beds my mother had so carefully crafted, allowing them to sleep under the comfortable blanket of my watchful eye and caring heart, for it was me who was responsible for their well-being, and no one else.

I lived with the false sense of security my castle provided until I was eight. At that age, my innocence was lost, my world tilted on its axis, and I realized not all castles were occupied solely by princes, princesses, kings, and queens. Some were inhabited by monsters. Mine was, and escaping the leathery hands of the savage beast would require a plan; a plan which would require almost seven years for me to put into place.

When I ran from my castle, I escaped the clutch of the monster, but the memories lingered, and still remain with me to this day. I was fifteen at the time, and I never looked back. Although I have no way of knowing for certain, I must assume the monster remains, waiting for me to return. If for some reason he does not, I am certain he is out there somewhere, and running is the only way to stay one step ahead of him.

And run I will, until one day I fall into the arms of my protective prince.

RAIN

As an early teenager I never dreamt I would be homeless, but before I left my teens, all of my belongings were stuffed into a backpack and I began my journey into my adult life as one of the city’s many homeless.

After relocating to an old warehouse district which had been modified and updated to include multi-story housing units, I had claimed a bench along the sidewalk as my new place of residence. The many buildings surrounding my new home allowed Generation Xers and a few well-off Millennials to live amidst their respective workplaces. Strangely, from my month long observation, it seemed the people working during the day were a different group than the ones who inhabited the swanky lofts and spacious studio apartments in the buildings behind me.

Each side of the brick street was outfitted with benches, flower filled planters, and displays of very odd sculpted works of art. From what I could see, my bench was the only bench along the entire street to have the comfort of shade; and the shade was my only relief from the 95 degree temperature and high humidity of this particular Kansas day.

Prime real estate indeed.

A twenty-something year old woman dressed in a cute pencil skirt and an extremely feminine man wearing brownish-red skinny jeans ran out of the front door of the adjoining brick building, across the street, and into the parking lot. I watched as they each quickly opened their car doors, got inside, and sped off into the sparse afternoon traffic. This was the second group of people I had witnessed leaving their offices in such a hurry.

Interesting…

Typically, or at least from what I had observed, people were quick to escape their workplace on the weekend. The weekend, however, had just ended a few days past, as the district was filled with drunks, hopefuls, bar-hoppers, and party-goers, all of which were overly dressed and far too willing to drink the $5-a-bottle beer specials until 2 o’clock in the morning. Whatever was causing the people to rush away from their offices on this day wasn’t immediately apparent, but my curiosity was certainly aroused.

After a few moments of wonder, a wave of people rushing out of the buildings within my view captured my attention. I crossed my arms, sat up straight, and grinned as I began to watch the circus. Although I had watched everyone filter from their offices daily since my arrival, today seemed different. In the month I had lived on my new bench, I had yet to see anything like this unfold. I watched in awe as the men and women nearly trampled each other to get to their cars.

They’re saying golf ball sized hail and tornadoes, a man said over his shoulder as he rushed past my bench. The well-dressed man behind him shook his head and waved as he stepped across the street and unlocked his silver Mercedes-Benz.

For fucks sake.

Tornadoes?

I hate this state.

I stood from the bench, walked beyond the edge of the multi-story building behind me, and gazed southward. Although the sky above me was blue, a dark southern horizon filled with a low layer of marshmallow clouds boiled in the distance. A signature Kansas summer thunderstorm was brewing, and the obvious reason everyone was in such a hurry to get out of their offices and to their cars. I glanced toward the bench and gazed at my pack. The walk to the bridge was a little more than three miles, and considering the weather, it would be overrun with people trying to get out of the rain and under the protection the Kellogg overpass provided.

As countless people continued to scurry past, I walked to my new home, shoved my pack to the end of the bench, sighed, and flopped down. After nestling the back of my neck into the canvas pack, I closed my eyes, crossed my arms, and prepared for rain.

Fuck it, I need a shower anyway.