A Forgotten Tomorrow Read online

  A Forgotten Tomorrow

  TERESA SCHAEFFER

  Contents

  Title Page

  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

  About the Author

  In the Same Series

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  It’s funny how life can change at any moment. Two days ago I was doing my usual routine on the corner of Benz Street for my nightly work. The weather was below freezing but I still had on my old skirt, sleeveless top and hand-me-down pumps. My hair was tied up with a rubber band; my face caked with cheap make-up – days old really, since I rarely have a moment to take a shower.

  Today is completely different, almost overwhelmingly different. I find myself feeling a tad uneasy while sitting here looking at the cold, white walls of Jonah’s office at the City Community Center. I feel like I am in an institution being observed for some unknown mental disorder. Actually, I’m not even sure why I am here. It’s stupid. He thinks that he can help me. Help me with what? I have no idea. I think I’m doing okay on my own.

  Jonah found me on the corner of Benz Street a few nights ago. Benz Street is where all the girls like me hang out during the witching hour. It’s the best time to get business, and without business I would never be able to survive out here.

  What’s my job? Well, it’s obvious if anyone takes a look at my clothing. I have worn this same outfit for an entire year, except for the times I am able to get it washed. My skirt is full of holes and my top is practically falling apart – but with what I do, clothes don’t really matter. It’s more my attitude and sex appeal that grabs the attention of approaching men.

  I am not proud of what I do, but I have to make money somewhere. I was once at the point of starvation out here, trying to live the right way. But the right way didn’t turn out so well for me. Where else could I work at sixteen years old and make the money I do now? Not many places, I’d imagine. I mean, it’s not great… but it is enough to get by.

  I also have a slight problem with meth. It’s not a bad problem really. I don’t think I’m addicted completely either, I just use it every day to calm me down. Who wouldn’t want to calm their nerves after nights like I have had? I don’t care either. I mean, I know I can stop whenever I want to.

  Anyway, back to Jonah. He thinks he can help me. What’s he going to do, rent me an apartment or send me back to school? Probably not. I will let him talk, but I doubt I will have much to say.

  Once he comes back into the room and sits himself at the desk, all I can do is stare. He seems to be a happy person; his eyes are smiling even when he isn’t. I can’t understand that either, considering he works at this place. I would picture him as being a law enforcement agent of some sort, with his thick body build and muscular arms – not a counsellor.

  He sits there for a few moments before making eye contact with me again. I have no idea what this guy wants me to say or do, and it only makes me feel even more awkward when he takes out his ballpoint pen and holds it over his notebook. Again, I feel like I am being studied, but I should not be so negative. I can’t help it, though.

  Minutes pass as he rambles on about his program for kids like me. His goal is to take kids off the street and give them a new beginning. That’s all well and good, but I’m not comfortable telling him what he wants to know – about the real me and where I came from. I’m not promising to let him help me, but I will tell him, I know I will. Even though it’s not any of his business. I mean, sometimes it’s good to get things out, right?

  Where do I start? I don’t know what I’d count as the beginning. I guess it started with my mama – if that’s what you want to call her. I can’t remember everything perfectly, but I will try my best.

  My mama gave birth to me when she was in her early forties. I haven’t seen her since I was close to nine years old. At times, I struggle to remember what she looks like, although I do remember her long, uncombed hair and how she always reeked of booze. She was rarely dressed either, unless she was working. She would lie around in her nightgown all day long.

  Looking back I realise that she probably never really wanted kids – well, a kid like me at any rate. Even when I was very young, she never wanted anything to do with me. She would never play with me, help me with homework or even talk to me. The only time she spoke to me was when she wanted me to do something for her. Back then I thought it was normal for her to act like that, but now I realise that it was far from normal.

  All in all I guess my early years as a child weren’t too bad though. I didn’t have much, but I didn’t know any different, so wealth or things didn’t matter. I was used to my mama being broke all the time.

  Things could have been a little different if my crazy step-father Johnny had worked – he was more than capable. Now and again he did odd jobs, but never enough to help take care of a family. That was the problem I guess; he didn’t see me as family. My mama didn’t make him work or do anything either, probably hoping to keep him around. So he did very little around the house. He mostly obsessed about his baby – his motorcycle – or anything to do with guns and hunting.

  Johnny lived with us for about a year before I was taken from my home. From when he first moved in I didn’t get a chance to grow attached to him. I did the exact opposite – I tried my best to stay away.

  He was a scary-looking man, about fifty years old with long, greasy hair. His intense brown eyes were likely to scare anyone who came across him in a dark alleyway. Johnny didn’t talk much either – unless it was to one of his buddies who were constantly hanging around the house.

  His friends were just like him, jobless and scary. I hated it when they came over because they would take over the entire house, drinking beer and smoking up the place with their disgusting cigarettes.

  Well, my mama did work. In retail. But only a few days a week. She never cooked; she would stock up on all the frozen dinners she could, and that is what we ate every night. Everything else I had to do by myself. Like I said, she always smelled like booze and boozing was all she seemed to be capable of – especially after Johnny came on the scene. So, most days she remained on the couch with a cold beer in hand, drunkenly laughing at ridiculous soap operas that had no real meaning.

  Again, this is how I see it now, this is what I remember. Who knows, I could be wrong – but that is all I remember about my mama.

  When it came to me going to school, I did have a few problems, no matter how friendly I tried to be. I was the yucky girl who no one wanted to be friends with. My white sneakers were brown from wearing them every day, and most of my outfits were too small. Half the time I went to school wearing dirty clothes because I forgot to wash them. Eight years old and remembering to do laundry? Give me a break.

  I liked going to school, though. It was my escape from everything else in my life. I still really like reading and literature, and reading was certainly a big part of my life back then. I read stories that made me happy, that took me far away from nasty Johnny or my drunken mother. I often imagined myself as the main character, reaching excellence and having a life full of love and adventure.

  Johnny teased me often, as if he were a little child. Dealing with that wasn’t so horrible. I just sucked it up and avoided him as much as I could. For some reason he loved to scare me in front of his friends, taunting me and telling me that ghosts were going to get me in middle of the night. The first few times I didn’t take too much notice, but eventually I
hated it. It didn’t do any good to tell my mama. She never yelled at him about anything at all, it was always me who was scolded. And I rarely did anything wrong back then.

  Anyway, eight years old was such a long time ago for me. I have blocked it out of my mind for so many years, pushing it deep down inside myself, hoping it would never surface again. I will try to explain that day as it really was, but I can’t promise it will be exact.

  It was in the spring, a few months before my ninth birthday. My neighbourhood was pretty small and reasonably safe. I would ride around on my bike for hours, trying to do tricks or play some sort of imaginary game. Most of the time I ended up on the ground with a scraped knee or elbow, but I didn’t care. I didn’t realise that day would be my last on a bike.

  Johnny and his friends were in the wooded back yard of my house messing around with a pellet gun. He really shouldn’t have had that thing, because he would shoot squirrels or rabbits for fun. It didn’t ever kill them, but it hurt them enough that they would never be the same again. They would laugh hysterically as a squirrel struggled to crawl away after it was shot. I don’t know why, but I guess it amused them.

  I always played alone, so when Johnny asked me to come out back to see what he was making, I couldn’t help being curious. I don’t know why I allowed myself to get excited, because deep down I should have known something weird was going on. Anyway, he wouldn’t tell me what it was at first, but he did give me a hint – saying it was some kind of fort for me to play in.

  I don’t think I ever rode my bike as fast as I did that day. I’d wanted a tree house for the longest time, but never got one. It didn’t occur to me to wonder why Johnny was suddenly making one. If only I’d thought more carefully, maybe things would have turned out differently.

  Big lie. When I reached them, my excitement turned to fear. Johnny and his buddies were leaning against the broken down wooden fence with odd expressions on their faces. He was holding something behind his back, but I couldn’t see what it was until I got closer.

  “Come here, Savannah. I got somethin’ for ya,” he said, in a creepy voice.

  I didn’t move from where I was standing. I was only a few feet away from them, but I couldn’t move. It was like my legs were nailed to the ground – no matter how hard I tried, my feet wouldn’t budge.

  Johnny slowly walked towards me with his hands behind his back, smiling and giggling when he made eye contact with his friends. When he got close enough he showed me a half-dead squirrel that he was holding.

  “See this?” he asked. “This will be you if you don’t do what I tell you to.”

  The expression in his eyes sent chills down my spine. Suddenly I was too scared to do anything. All I could do was look at him and the poor squirrel.

  “You understand me?”

  I didn’t say a word, just nodded my head. My hands were shaking, I felt sick to my stomach and I wanted to cry.

  He took me. He took me into the shaded part of the backyard where no one would see what he was going to do. Nobody except his friends, who laughed softly as tears fell from my eyes.

  That day he touched me in a place that no one had ever touched me before. I knew it wasn’t right; I was terrified. All I could think about was the squirrel. If he could harm animals like he did, so swiftly and easily without a thought, what would he do to me if I told anyone? I do believe he would’ve killed me.

  Months went by before I said anything. I would sit alone in my room all day. The visions of his evil smile that day haunted my every thought. I could still see it and I could still smell his rotten breath.

  A vision came to me one day at school, making my teacher panic. We were in the middle of a maths lesson when I spaced out. Before I could stop it, my hands were clutched to my desk and tears began to fall, too quickly for me to push them back where they belonged. With that, I had the attention of the entire class, including my horrified teacher.

  I didn’t realise what was happening until a couple of minutes passed, and when I snapped out of it everyone was staring at me. My teacher was tapping on the desk in front of me repeatedly, asking if I was okay. It was then that I had to… I had to tell her.

  I didn’t want that to happen for fear that I’d end up dead, but it took only two days before a county social worker came to my house for a visit. Johnny wasn’t around when the nice lady came, only my mama and I. And boy, did Mama get angry. She yelled at me up and down, calling me a liar.

  The nice lady listened to my mama rant on about how much trouble I caused and how much I lied, before taking me aside and talking with me alone. I was glad she did that too, because I wasn’t lying and it wasn’t fair of my mama to talk about her own daughter that way. Even at that age I knew it was wrong.

  To make a long story short, I was taken from my mama that day, and haven’t seen her since. It only took ten minutes of me talking to the social worker for her to realise how my life was. Of course I told her the details of what happened that day too, but by then she’d already made her decision. I don’t know what I’d expected to happen. I hadn’t really thought that far, and I guess further meetings with my mama must have gone on after that day. But I never knew anything about it.

  CHAPTER 2

  It almost makes me sick as Jonah looks at me with such a compassionate gaze upon his face. Is he serious, or is he just forcing his emotions for appeal? Either way, I wish he’d say something. If he doesn’t, I will walk out of here and never look back.

  There is silence for probably only a minute, but it feels like forever. Jonah looks down at his paper, writes something down and then again looks up at me with the same compassionate gaze. It’s starting to annoy me.

  “Sounds like your life started off pretty rough, Savannah,” he says to me.

  He obviously wants some kind of answer from me, but what kind of dumb remark is that? After what I just told him, of course it was a little rough. Is he an idiot?

  He shifts in his chair and places his hands on top of his desk, leaning in closer to me.

  “I really believe I can help you, if you will let me. We have many programs here depending on individual needs, but I have to get something back from you. You have to want this. You have to trust that I want the best outcome for you.”

  I stare at him for a minute before responding. I feel fidgety and anxious, and can’t calm myself. This particular feeling hits me once in a while, where I want to crawl out of my skin. It’s uncomfortable, but normally the anxiety subsides after a few moments if I concentrate hard enough.

  “What are you gonna do for me?” I ask, with a tone that I’m sure he has heard before. I can’t help but feel irritated. But I can’t seem to make myself leave yet, either.

  “Well,” he says, “We really need to meet up again at least once or twice in my office before I can do anything.”

  He flips through a few papers on his desk. “My week is pretty open right now, so what do you say about maybe tomorrow, and the day following?”

  “I don’t understand why I have to come in here again. I told you what you wanted to know.”

  “I would like to know a little more about you, is all,” he says with a smile. “I will talk to my partner in the meantime to see what we can do, okay? How do you feel about that? There are a lot of options and we can explore those, but sometimes just getting your thoughts out is helpful too.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s your choice to come back here, by no means are you obligated to. You have to be the one who wants some help, I can’t make you – do you understand what I mean?”

  I nod my head, then immediately get out of my chair. He has been wasting my time, this guy. He is still sitting there looking at me, waiting for me to say I’m coming back. I need to leave right now, and I really need a cigarette.

  “So maybe I will see you,” he says to me as I walk out of the door. I keep walking, giving him no response. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  I left Jonah’s way too late. It’s
getting close to 7pm, and it’s already dark. I really shouldn’t have gone, because now I don’t have much time to do what I need to do before shuffling off to work. Yes, work. It still is – even though it may not appeal to the general public – work.

  I’ve come to love it here – lying underneath the run-down bridge across from Flannigan’s Pub. Late at night there is an eerie silence away from centre city, the only noise being the horns blowing from the departing container ships on their journey into the dark, endless ocean. Occasionally, sirens blare quickly as they pass the deserted, forgotten area of the city. But this area is never chaotic.

  Often enough it seems as if I am the only person who hangs out around this section of town, my only companions being the few stray dogs that come and feed off of Flannigan’s newly discarded garbage. Once in a while a drunk from the pub wanders around aimlessly, but even that is a rarity. I like it that way though, underneath the bridge, covered by my worn and tattered blanket, looking up at the moonlit sky – alone.

  I guess it gives me a lot of time to think. Sometimes thinking can be a good thing, but often enough it’s not. I try to rest a little here, to ease my mind. Once I take in my happy drug of choice, I tend only to have good thoughts, and that is all I need right now.

  Lately I have been a little depressed, though – without Elijah. He was my best friend, the only one I could count on out here. The only one I could count on ever, for that matter. It has only been two weeks since he was killed, but it feels like an eternity.

  He was a boy who thought he was a man, and he had a dream. Elijah may have lived at home with his daddy, but for whatever reason he wanted to be out here on the streets. I could never understand why he wanted to leave the comfort of a warm bed, or the chance to be an educated guy behind. He just didn’t care about that. He craved the buzz of life on the edge – the dealing, the power, the thrill of a city’s dark secrets. All he talked about was working alongside Big Jon and his gang, supplying the city with a choice of narcotics. His drive to do this was obviously money – and lots of it. He probably watched Friday or other gang-related movies way too much. Truth is, the movies don’t give the streets any justice. There is no glamour and people die way before their time. Why? Well, probably because they want to live that dream, with lots of money and fast cars. Sure, maybe they get those luxuries after a short period of time, but they might check out just as soon as they get them. I think Elijah thought it was easy – just like in the movies. How mistaken he was.