Chapter One
Frankie stood in a room with dark wood paneled interior and drab colored carpet and furnishings. She could see a large, stocky man, his hair pushed back with a red bandana tied around his head, wearing an oversized leather jacket that had some sort of emblem sewn on the back side. She had a good view of him towering over a petite girl dressed in a pink, cropped shirt and tight shorts, kneeling. Her frizzy, long bleached blonde hair flowed over her trembling hands covering her face.
Frankie’s eyes widened. Her body seized at the sound of the man’s massive hand applying extreme physical force, connecting with the petite girl’s skin. Without warning, she witnessed him clutch the young girl’s throat tight and lift her high above the carpet. The veins in his neck appeared ready to burst while her tiny feet dangled as she struggled, her torso and limbs twisting, to free herself.
“Help, I…can’t breathe…I’m going to die!” she cried, gasping for air.
Frankie snapped awake, bolting upright in bed. Drenched with perspiration, tears welled in her eyes. “Candice!” she screamed.
In silence she looked side to side in an eerie blue gleam from the full moon, visible through her bedroom window. A pile of laundry sat in the corner beside the dresser, and her blankets crumpled on the floorboards at the foot of her bed.
Wet from a frantic sweat, her fingers fumbled to locate her cell phone on the nightstand and flip open the top. She adjusted her focus to the dim blue light from the screen, and pushed the buttons, sending a text message:Sandra, 911!Where will u b 2day?
Impatient, she sent the text message again.Several minutes later she received a reply:Work . 7. C u there.
Her distress lightened.She placed her cell phone on the nightstand at the side of the bed, pulled the comforter from the floorboards, then laying her head on the pillow waited for dawn to arrive.
She couldn’t concentrate on anything except the horrible dream. Again and again the events of the nightmare ran through her mind. The background wasn’t in focus, but she could see Candice, in great danger, a victim of an abusive bully.
When the sun’s early light flooded in through the window, she pulled down the sheets, showered, and dressed in a purple colored, vintage T-shirt and basic black, skinny jeans.
She looked in the mirror above her maple-wood dresser and applied dark, dramatic make-up to her eyes. She brushed deep plum shades across her lids, along the lash line, and on the outer corners to create a cat-eyed effect. Her steady hand directed a black shade of eyeliner and laid the product upon both the top and bottom lash line, then finished with a thick coat of black mascara. She outlined her lips in jet black lip liner, along with a shade of lipstick to match, blending the two with her index finger.
She leaned in closer to the mirror to examine her reflection, nodding with approval. She turned, walked to the closet and removed her leather knee-high, low-heel boots. Her long ebony hair tumbled loose about her shoulders as she tugged her sock feet into her footwear. She straightened, reached to grab her ordinary playing card deck from her altar and headed for the front door.
Outside, the wind was blowing from the south as she traveled through the historic neighborhoods on her way to Sandra’s work.
She swung the restaurant door open.A plump, middle age man in his white shirt, tie and wrinkled suit pants lifted his gaze from the cash register. “Good morning, Frankie,” he said, smiling.
“Morning.Is Sandra here?”
“Yes. She’s in the dish room.”
“Thanks.”
Frankie made her way through the breakfast crowd. The waitress rushed by her to serve families and business people. At the back of the restaurant she rapped her knuckle on the glass window in the swinging door. Sandra, her curly red hair tied in a ponytail raised her head and instantly found her. She gave her a quick wave, and then walked toward her. “Hey,” she said, smiling, pushing the swinging door open.
“Sorry I woke you from your sleep,” Frankie said, tossing her long mane of ebony hair over her shoulder.
“No problem.What’s the emergency?”
“Have you heard from Candice?”
“Not really.Since she moved to the city we’ve lost touch.Why?”
“I believe she used her magic to contact me in my dream time.”
Sandra leaned against the door frame, reached into her low-rider jeans back pocket and produced an envelope. She passed the folded paper to her. Frankie stared at the picture, reading the words: MISSING; young female, seventeen, eyes hazel, brown hair, height five foot seven inches, weight one twenty pounds.
“How could you keep this from me?” she asked, tightening her grip on the envelope.
“I didn’t.Yesterday, my mom received her Visa bill. She gave me the envelope when she saw Candice’s picture.I phoned her parents. They are in the middle of a divorce. Her mom said when they first split she began to stay out late. Then one day she just never came home.”
“We have to find her. The police haven’t been able to,”Frankie said, waving the envelope.
“We will do what we must to track her. Did you bring your cards?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.” Sandra grabbed Frankie’s handand dragged her into the dish room stopping to retrieve her tarot deck from the pocket of her jean jacketbefore leading her toward the stock roomand flicked the light switch on closing the door behind them. Inside the dimly lit, cramped space, they stood among the canned and dried food supplies. Sandra loosened the tie on the apron around her waist, and then pulled the strap over her head. She folded the material into a square shape and laid the apron on the top of a stack of cardboard boxesbefore unwrapping the piece of black material protecting her tarot cards. Frankie, her eyes adjusting to the dimness, walked to the boxes stacked chest high and placed her card deck beside Sandra’s. Sandra turned her head to look at Frankie.“Ready?” she asked in a low voice.
“Ready.”
