Beyond trouble, p.1
Beyond Trouble, page 1
I grabbed my charging phone off of the nightstand and hit the home button. Shit, I lost almost an entire day. It was two in the afternoon, and I had no idea how Cain ended up here. Was he still here? I could hear noises coming from downstairs, like someone was rattling around in the kitchen. The smell of delicious coffee brewing wafted its way to my nose. Those delicious roasted beans smelled like exactly what I needed to get myself together.
I grabbed the water and chugged down the entire glass along with the supplements next to it. As I swung my legs over the side of my bed, my eyes bugged out of my head as I saw my reflection in the mirror. All I had on was Cain’s t-shirt. That was it, nothing else. I closed my eyes, pinched myself, and looked in the mirror again. I was still wearing only his shirt. The reason I knew it was his is because it was a Captain America shirt, and he loved the superheroes. I had gotten rid of the others I had of his years ago in a fit of rage. It was a regrettable move because I loved those shirts. The other way I knew it was his was it smelled heavenly, just like him. Good God, I couldn’t have, could I? How? When? Oh no, I broke my one rule since moving here, absolutely no Cain Hendrix, shit.
Beyond Trouble
Carrie Collins
Published by Carrie Collins
Copyright 2022
eBook Edition
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Beyond
Trouble
BY
Carrie Collins
A BEYOND NOVEL BOOK FOUR
PROLOGUE
Mazy
There was rain beating hard against my windows, and I could feel the thunder vibrating under my feet. I was sitting against the wall in my bedroom; knees pulled into my chest and headphones on blaring music. The lightning lit up my dark room sporadically, and I was terrified. My father would cut the power when he beat my mom, so we were in complete darkness, and we couldn’t see him coming.
We hid in the bathroom the first time he put us in darkness and crashed his way through the bathroom window. Mom had grabbed me and shoved me into the bathtub, wrapping herself completely around me like a shield. We were both breathing so heavily and shaking that I almost passed out. I was seven and scared to death my father would kill us. It had gotten to the point the bartender would call us and warn us he was coming home.
Everyone in town knew what he was doing to us, but my mom never pressed charges. In my youth, I couldn’t wrap my head around why. But I realized how many things he held over her head as I got older. The first time we tried leaving, he hurt my cat, and it died not long after. He used me, our pets, and anything my mom held sacred to keep going with what he was doing to us.
School was my only escape, and my mother didn’t even have one. Father didn’t let her work; she tried getting secret jobs, but someone kept blowing the whistle on her. He put her in the hospital after discovering her at the last job she got, so she stopped attempting to work. I knew she was doing something to earn money but had no clue what. The last time she promised she would get us out of here, and it would be soon, was one week ago.
Storms always scared me, but I was doing better now that I was twelve. Still, I was fairly sure if a human cut your power at night during a storm, a person of any age would be terrified too. Tonight, Mom told me to go into my room and lock my door, which I did, even though I didn’t want to leave her. Over the music and the storm, I heard him break through the window, followed by her screams. I rocked my body back and forth, trying to block it all out.
To this day, I don’t know what broke in me because I was a scrawny, gangly girl that was too skinny with zero power. The last scream that ripped through the air caused something in me to snap. I grabbed the baseball bat I had gotten for softball and unlocked my door. The headphones I left on were blaring Rage Against the Machine in my ears, which I always felt contributed to my bravery. My heart thundering in my chest was racing with the beat of the music.
I stepped out the door and peeked around the corner. The screaming was coming from their bedroom. As quietly as I could, I made my way there. The door was open. His back was turned to me as he was about to crush a vase over her head, and I swung for a home run at his head as lightning again flashed in the sky. I got four hits in before he fell to his knees. My tiny arms gave it all I had.
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but he was still just a shadow. I didn't see his fist swing out and connect with my face. It hurt so bad I almost blacked out. His foot started kicking me as he tried to get fully to his feet. There was no way I would give up now, no matter what. I felt the bat by my leg and sprung up swinging again, the third hit knocking him out this time. My mom was crawling toward me, working hard to get to her feet. I held out my arms and helped her up.
Mom and I, both injured and bloody, stumbled our way to the neighbor’s house. The man was a retired Navy Seal and didn’t mess around. John Douglas had recently retired and was now home often. We pounded on his door, and it opened in seconds. He took one look at us and ushered us inside.
“Jesus Christ. Stay here and call the police. I will be right back,” he ordered and headed toward the door.
“Don’t, he will kill you,” Mom cried and tried to grab his arm.
John laughed and pulled out of her grasp, “Not on his best day.”
He was not wrong. By the time the police arrived, John had him hog-tied to a tree in the front yard. Mom pressed charges and handed the police the file with all the evidence of the abuse she had been saving up for years. They took our statements and took him away. It was the best feeling I had felt in my twelve years.
John got us a team of people and helped pack up all our belongings in his truck. There wasn’t a whole lot of stuff Mom wanted to take with us. It was mainly my clothing, decorations, furniture, and other stuff. He then drove us both to the hospital to get checked out, and other than a few stitches with a ton of bruises, we were both okay. John got us a hotel for the night and slept on the couch like our own personal guard. It felt safe for the first time in my life.
It was almost nine more hours until we got to Pop Pop’s place, he was my mom’s father. I wasn’t sure if Mom called ahead or not, but Pops and Nona came out onto the porch as we pulled in. As soon as the truck stopped, Mom slowly got out, but I blasted out the door behind her and ran to Pops.
He wrapped me up in a giant bear hug and swung me around. “My Mazy, look how big you are. Growing like a weed.”
“My turn.” Nona cut in and had to wait because Pops wasn't ready to let me go. When he did, she squeezed me tight, and she smelled like apples. “Mazy, you are growing up beautiful, my girl. Now let’s get you inside and something to eat. I have an apple pie about to come out of the oven and vanilla ice cream.”
I ran inside as Mom called, “Mackenzie! We have stuff to bring in, John doesn’t want to stay here all day.”
“I’ll do it; go ahead girl,” Pops said and gave me a nod of his head, indicating I should go inside. I was no dummy. When Nona didn’t follow me inside, I stopped to eavesdrop. “Sarah. I’m glad you're here. There’s not a chance in hell I will ever let you go back. You’re home.”
“Sir, I will make sure he gets what he deserves, and we will exchange numbers so I can keep you informed,” John replied for my mom.
Mom was against Pops, crying into his chest, unable to say a word. Nona came in giving me a scathing look because she knew what I was doing. “Come on, let’s take out that pie.” I went with her without protest; she made the best pie ever.
We only came to the farm twice in my life, and both times I had to be physically removed from the house. It was a brown two-story farmhouse. On my first visit, Pops explained the house was built out of the wood from his father’s barn. It always smelled like a bakery inside. These things made me love their home even more.
They visited us twice, and Father disappeared during their stays with us. I always got the impression they were not a fan of the home we lived in. They never said anything in front of me, but I knew. The look on their faces as they looked around was always sad.
Due to a lack of funds, we never had much food in the house. Pops and Nona came both times loaded with bags of groceries. Nona liked cooking and would make us delicious southern meals. I ate like they were my last meals. Both times Nona made us a pie, and it was pure gold. I could have eaten her food every day, and now I could. The others joined us as I was on my second piece with more ice cream.
Nona made the five of us a huge dinner, and we sat outside eating. Mom focused on talking about how well I was doing in sports and avoided talking about my father. Pops talked about people in town and how things had been going on the farm. I was excited when he said we could take out the horses the next day.
John stayed the night, which I thought was good. I would have worried about him driving all night. I liked him in the brief time we knew him. He was an easy-going guy and a friendly neighbor. One time he even came over to help fix our sink, and I could tell my mom liked him a lot by the way she smiled at him. She did not once, ever, smile like that at my father. Father caught her looking out the window at John once, and he wanted to make sure she never did that again. He went into a jealous rage, destroying her and our home. That evening Mom ended up in the hospital. We avoided the friendly neighbor after that and only looked in the direction of his house if Father wasn’t around.
When John went out to leave in the morning, Mom walked him to his truck. I snuck out the back door so I could listen in on their conversation.
“Sarah, you could have told me what was going on. All you had to do was call me. That’s why I gave you my number,” John said to her softly. They were standing close, staring into each other's eyes. I never knew they talked long enough to even exchange phone numbers.
“He told me he would kill Mazy, Mom, Dad, and you. I just couldn’t risk it; besides, I had a plan and money saved. We were leaving in a week anyway. I can’t thank you enough for everything you have done for us,” she whispered back. My ears were straining hard, trying to hear everything they said from my position behind the truck. A shiver ran down my back at the words I caught. Kill Mazy.
“Okay then, you call me if anything else happens. I’m gonna check in on you often. Mackenzie, come on out and say goodbye,” he called to me, and I froze. How did he know?
I moved from the back of the truck, and Mom scowled at me. I smiled and shrugged. The only man I ever hugged was Pops, but John deserved one. It was all I had to show him how much I appreciated him for getting us out. It turned out John gave good hugs.
We settled in quickly in the new place, and we were happy like when I was a little kid. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if we really were that happy back then or if that's what I saw through my child's eyes, but being here, no doubt, made me happy. I loved country life and all the animals I got to interact with on a daily basis. It almost felt like being that carefree child again, now that we were here. It was summertime now, so I didn’t have to worry about school for a few months. The thought of making all new friends at the age of thirteen terrified me.
Pops taught me to ride horses, work on cars, muck stalls, paint, carpentry, and tons of other life skills. He was the center of my universe, and I didn’t mind any of the work we did. It was a comfortable living without worrying about me or my mom being in danger every day. People in town sometimes called him Uncle Jesse because he kind of looked like the guy from Dukes of Hazzard.
Pops also played guitar and sang old country songs on the front porch. He had built the huge porch and had room for an entire wicker living room set that was lined up under the roof. We spent hours out there with him teaching me how to play guitar, banjo, keyboards, and a harmonica. One day he played Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee,” and since I knew it, I sang as he played.
This was the moment we discovered I could sing. I rarely did it aloud or in the car since my father never allowed it. He didn’t think I should be seen or heard, so I usually tapped a leg or hand to the beats of songs. Mom had tears running down her face when I finished.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked, with anxiety creeping up my spine. My eyes scanned the yard for anything off or Father stalking us out here. She was a tough lady and didn’t cry a whole lot. There had to be something wrong.
“Baby, it was just so beautiful. I had no idea you could do that,” she blubbered.
“Maze, let’s do another and see what you got, kid. Do you know Patsy Cline?” Pops asked me enthusiastically.
I nodded because Mom loved Patsy, and I knew all of her songs. By this time, Nona had joined us on the porch swing, and she also teared up during my rendition of “Walking After Midnight.”
“Sarah, we need to get our girl some music lessons. Maze, you got a good voice for country and rock or anything else you may want to sing,” Pops declared proudly.
I felt my face get red from my embarrassment, but before I lowered my head down, Pops put his arm around my shoulder. Mom jumped in, “I think you’re right, Dad; I’ll look into it. What do you think, Mackenzie? Is that something you would want to do?”
My head was spinning because I had no idea. I loved singing those last few songs, but I wasn't sure if I was as good as they were saying. They were my family; they had to love me no matter what. I enjoyed learning the instruments and felt free as I belted out the classic songs. For most of my life, I was shy and awkward but had a gut feeling I would be special one day. I wanted to be tough and strong like my Pops and John. With all my family’s encouragement, I knew I could. I reached for the bravery I knew only existed deep inside, and I latched on.
“Yeah, I will try it. Can I still play sports too?” I asked because I wanted to play soccer and softball pretty badly, too.
“Of course, honey. We will work on getting all your stuff before school starts,” my ever-supportive mom replied.
That day was the start of my love of music, and my family provided the tools so I could go all the way with it. It was their support and faith in me that had me believing in myself. There was no turning back after that, and the next twenty or so years were spent chasing that dream and achieving it.
But no one could have guessed that all these years later, I would be back in my bedroom hiding with my back against a wall, hugging my knees against my chest once again. If you had told me I would have married a man who also thought cutting the power in the house and coming after me would happen, I would not have believed you.
There was a fiasco and chaos in my life that was all created by the man who promised to love me. When I confronted him about it, he stormed out of the house, and I sat at the table drinking a coffee trying to decide what to do with my life. An hour later, the power went out, and I thought it was because of the upcoming storm the weatherman told us about. It wasn’t, it turned out my husband was using my childhood terror against me.
I didn’t know what he was doing until a window smashed in the living room as I looked for candles. My natural instinct was to run upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door. He was outside my door screaming all types of horrible things and threatening to break the door down. He even went out to the shed to grab a chainsaw, and I heard it right outside the door. It was an awful noise. He kept trying to run it through the door, and it grated my ears.
The difference between childhood and now was I was on the second story, and my room was durable steel and bulletproof. This door couldn’t be broken by Bruce; I just needed to wait him out. But the trauma had me, Mackenzie Parker, a reborn badass chick, sitting like I did all those years ago with tears running down my cheeks and shaking in terror. I picked up my cell phone and called the one person I knew could help me right now.
CHAPTER ONE
Mazy
I just finished a huge show in Las Vegas under my alias Maya Midnight, and it was a banger of a concert. The crowd was on fire and they sang along during the entire show. As an artist, an active audience always drove me on to bigger heights. My band was the absolute best and always gave it their all. The crowd was still cheering and roaring five minutes after two encores and the lights going out.
We headed out an underground tunnel to make our exit toward a nondescript-tinted-out limousine. There were always several limos during a concert filling up the streets. The band and I always had several exits and rides available after a show. People thought the band always went back to the tour bus, but we didn’t a lot of the time. There was always a giant sea of fans surrounding the bus. It was a distraction that helped give us an alternative route out. To keep the fans guessing, we would use the tour bus from time to time.
I wasn’t a typical artist. I always stayed disguised, even at practice with my own band. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them, but it was more like life taught me you never knew when someone could turn on you. I had been wearing disguises since the night I was discovered in Tennessee. It was a hole-in-the-wall bar with sticky floors. When the studio man asked me what my name was, I said the first thing that came to mind, Maya Midnight, and it just stuck. It was also close enough to my real name and easy to learn to answer to.
Only a very few people knew who I truly was; my stylist Jennifer because she was my ride-or-die girl, my family, and a recurring member of my security, Lucas. Lucas was recommended by John, who was now married to my mom. Lucas would work for me in between whatever official shit he normally did. I asked him to head up my security team on several occasions and kept upping my monetary offer. He always declined but came back to work when he was available.
