Beyond the Past

BEYOND THE PAST

CARLY FALL

Beyond the Past

By

Carly Fall

© 2014

Westward Publishing

All Rights Reserved

Edited By Zee Monodee (Divas At Work Editing)

Cover Design by: PJ Friel

http://www.pjfriel.com

“Beyond the Past is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used FICTITIOUSLY. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.”

Chapter 1

Lucas Tate bent his head against the frigid winter wind and wrapped his dirty army surplus coat around his torso tighter as he walked down Virginia Street in Reno, Nevada.

Closing in on midnight, things were quieting down in the Biggest Little City. As the air bit at his ears, he cursed himself for trading his ski hat for the flask of rum he gripped under his coat. No matter how much he needed the booze, he should have remembered he would need his hat more.

With his faded jeans and dirty, army surplus jacket hanging from his thin frame, as well as his unshaven face and his brown greasy hair, he looked like any other homeless person walking the streets. Not that he’d glanced into a mirror in a long time, but his beard itched and his fingers slipped through the oily strands of hair without much resistance. He’d had to steal a belt from a thrift shop the other day to keep his pants up. He didn’t need to see his reflection to tell him he looked awful, quickly dwindling to half the man he used to be, both physically and mentally. Thankfully, the booze numbed his emotions so he didn’t have to put much thought into them.

Should he go to a homeless shelter or try to get through the night in a doorway? When he’d been in the military, he’d never imagined anything worse than his experiences in the Middle East and Latin America, but a homeless shelter came in a pretty close second. Some nights, he could rest without a problem; other nights, people tried to take his flask, and once, two burly guys had tried to rape him, ‘tried’ being the operative word. Both had left that shelter in an ambulance, Lucas told to never return.

Turning left, he moved down the alley between two boarded-up casinos. It was way too damn cold to try to hack it in the night air, and he didn’t have enough fat on him to keep him warm. Being out on the street for almost six months had ruined his muscular military physique and turned him into a bag of bones. The booze probably didn’t help, either, but there was no way he’d be giving that up anytime soon.

He looked to his right and left, making sure he was alone, set down his flask, and then pushed his dirty fingernails under a piece of plywood. The city had boarded up the closed casino to keep people like him out, but people like him proved tenacious and always found ways back into the empty buildings, especially during the winter months.

The wood pierced into his skin, distinguishable rivulets of blood running from his hand in the dim lamppost light. He pulled for a few minutes, his fingers digging into the wood.  About to give up and move on, a harsh wind blew down the alley and pellets of frozen rain peppered his skin.

“Fuck this,” he muttered with one last yank. The plywood cracked, and then gave way. Lucas glanced around again and slipped inside the casino before placing the plywood back over the window. If luck was on his side, no one would see the broken piece for a couple of days, and he could rest in peace without other homeless people or the law finding him.

He walked through what used to be the casino floor, the only lighting coming from the dim, battery powered ‘Exit’ signs along the walls of the empty area. He found the old escalator that led to the second level and grudgingly climbed the stairs. Looking around, he remembered when the downtown Reno area had been a bustling place filled with gamblers and fun. Most of the people had come from California, but then the Indian Casinos went up and the Californians decided it would be easier to gamble at the place twenty miles down the highway instead of hours away.

In a nutshell, that had led to Reno’s demise.

Now, the city had to decide what to do with the empty casinos. He didn’t care what grand master plan they came up with. In fact, he tried to care about very little except surviving. However, some days, even that didn’t interest him.

He pulled open the door to the showroom and found himself engulfed in darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he focused on another ‘Exit’ sign slightly illuminating the stage, and he walked slowly toward it. Once he reached the platform, he hauled himself up and fought to keep his balance as he got to his feet. Damn booze.

Beneath the green glow of the exit sign sat two old couches, most likely leftovers from the dressing rooms. Glancing around, he couldn’t see anything in the inky darkness. He’d reached his final destination for the night.

As he sat down on one of the sofas, a puff of dust engulfed him. He coughed and waved it away, then pulled out the flask and took a long drag.

The rum burned as he laid his head back. The temperature in the empty building didn’t feel much warmer than outside, but at least he’d got out of the biting wind. The building moaned and groaned through the storm, and he took one last pull from the flask. He wanted to finish it, to reach the level of drunkenness where he simply blacked out, but he didn’t know when he’d get his next bottle, so he practiced restraint.

He stretched out on the couch, his weak body raging with hunger, and present circumstances making him feel much older that his thirty-three years. As he closed his eyes, the memory of her face formed behind his lids. He could still see every details of his wife’s smooth skin, the flecks of green in her blue eyes, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo and feel the soft auburn strands of hair against his face.

A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away as it tracked down his cheek. Gabby belonged to his past, and she needed to stay there. It was better for her own safety, and he would do anything to protect her, including letting her go.

Chapter 2

Gabby Tate sat at the kitchen table going over some paperwork for a house she had just sold. As a realtor, good and bad times happened in the real estate market, and things had definitely picked up in the Portland area. She’d grown extremely thankful for this, especially now that she found herself on her own.

“Bastard,” she whispered, trying to push Lucas’s face out of her mind. He’d walked out on her; end of the story. She was done trying to figure out why.

Every morning, she woke trying to hate him, but she couldn’t. Even though he’d left without explanation, he was still her first love, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him. She survived each day by putting one foot in front of the other even though she’d much rather curl up in bed and never emerge again.

They’d grown up together in a bohemian commune outside of Butte, Montana. Lucas had been the first boy to hold her hand, her first kiss, her first sexual experience, and then, he’d left the place, wanting to see the world beyond their homemade log cabins and farms. He’d decided the best way to do that would be through the military, so he’d enlisted in the Marines at age twenty-one, which had devastated his peace-loving, hippie parents. In fact, they’d told him never to come back.

Not until New Year’s Eve twelve years ago had they reconnected, and quite by accident—Gabby had been working at a convenience store just off the freeway outside of Butte, and Lucas had walked in. She remembered the night as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Because of the snowstorm, they became stranded in the store, realized their feelings for each other never waned, and they’d agreed to marry right away.

Gabby had never been so happy.

Sighing, she looked over her checkbook. She’d made a few thousand dollars from the sale. Maybe she’d treat herself to some retail therapy after she paid the bills—a new sweater might be just what she needed.

Standing, she stretched as the doorbell rang. Her friend, Rachel, should be coming over for wine and an episode of the
Real Wives of Beverly Hills
, but as she checked the clock on the stove, she saw Rachel was about an hour early. Damn, she had wanted to return a few phone calls before settling in for the night.

She walked through the small living room, glancing at a picture of her and Lucas on their wedding day twelve years earlier. She’d wanted to remove the photo, but she couldn’t. Deep within her, she had a kernel of hope that one day, Lucas would come back, and she dreaded the thought of spending the upcoming holiday season alone. Perhaps she’d go to bed on Halloween Eve and not emerge until the New Year. Both she and Lucas loved the holidays, and it hurt to even consider going through them without him.

Since his disappearance six months ago, she’d lost so much.

Peeking through the security door, she saw camouflage, and her heart skipped. She glanced up at the man wearing it, hoping beyond all reason it would be Lucas. Despair and worry coiled in her gut when she saw it wasn’t.

Slowly, she opened the door. Maybe this guy could finally shed some answers on exactly what had happened to her husband.

“Mrs. Tate?” he asked.

He struck her as in his forties, with hawkish features. As he removed his hat and sunglasses, sharp green eyes studied her while he rubbed the brown stubble on his head.

“Yes,” she said, hearing the irritation in her voice.

“My name is Sergeant McDonald.” He smiled. The unfriendly grin sent a tremor down her spine. “I was wondering if I could speak to you for a few minutes regarding your husband.”

She nodded.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Gabby’s internal alarm went off, but she didn’t know why. One thing she had learned—
trust your instincts
. She knew when someone really wanted to buy a house; she also picked up when a person was just “kicking the tires,” so to speak. Over the course of her two-year career in real estate, a year in North Carolina and almost a year here Oregon, she had become a very good reader of people. But then, why hadn’t she seen Lucas’s departure coming?

Pushing the thought aside, she sized up the man in front of her. Frankly, this intrusion from the military downright irritated her. They used to stop by on a monthly basis when Lucas had been around, and since his disappearance, the visits had become more frequent.

“No, we can talk right here,” she said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest.

For a second, a flash of anger crossed the Sergeant’s face, but he quickly recovered and his lips twitched up into something like a grin.

“Very well. I was wondering if you’d seen or heard from your husband yet?”

Same question every time, and she gave them the same answer. “No, I haven’t. The no-good rat bastard asshole walked out on me,” she grumbled. “And if you could please pass that on to your superiors, I would appreciate it, because I’m trying to move on with my life and your people coming here and asking me about someone I’m trying to forget doesn’t make anything easier on me.”

The Sergeant nodded. “I understand, ma’am, and I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we need to find him.”

Gabby sighed, having the distinct feeling he wasn’t sorry for the intrusion, just like none of her previous visitors had been. “You people keep saying that, but no one wants to tell me why. Can you at least answer that? Why do you care? He’s discharged. You shouldn’t give a shit about him any longer.”

The Sergeant flashed something else Gabby guessed should pass for a smile, but it looked shark-like and ominous. She stepped back and pulled the door half-way closed, ready to slam it shut if the need arose. Man, she was becoming quite paranoid. Why would anyone from the military threaten her in any way? Her husband had served honorably for just over twelve years, and the military always took care of their own. Anyway, that’s what she’d been told.

With Lucas, she couldn’t be certain the military took care of their own as he’d been completely closed off since returning from Guatemala. The fact of the matter remained, he hadn’t been the same when he’d come home. She’d often catch him staring off in the distance in deep concentration, as if trying to figure something out, or jotting down something in a notebook he carried with him everywhere. Day after day, he seemed to withdraw farther from her, and the more she tried to get him to open up, the further he drifted.

His sleeping patterns fell all over the place. Some nights, she’d wake up and find him sitting in the dark living room staring at nothing; other times, he’d sleep for twelve or more hours at a time. When he did sleep, he grew restless and suffered horrible nightmares, leaving him thrashing and oftentimes waking up screaming.

She’d begged him to get a job after the discharge, thinking that if he could put his military life behind him and move into a civilian role, it would be good for him. He’d looked for a little bit, and even went on a few interviews. No one hired him, but she now wondered if he actually did go to the interviews, or had lied to her about it.

She’d tried to get past whatever bothered him with conversations, and even sex. Nothing could penetrate him, and realized she didn’t how to bring her husband back.

Then he started drinking heavily, and she finally put her foot down. He needed to get help.

He’d disagreed.

A couple of months went by where she saw their relationship unraveling. He continued to stare off into space, drink, and make notes in that damn notebook. Lucas’s appetite for everything—including food and sex, and he used to love both—waned, and if he hadn’t been home all the time, she would have sworn he must be having an affair.

Then, one day, she came home from work, and he was gone. He had left a note saying she deserved better than him, and he would let her move on with her life.

Once again, the man she loved had walked out on her.

“I won’t take any more of your time,” the Sergeant said, ignoring her question and looking over her shoulder into the house.

“I told you, he’s not here,” she spat. “Goodbye.”

Slamming the door in his face, Gabby locked it and turned to their wedding picture. She walked over and picked up the silver frame. As she ran her finger over Lucas’s face, her eyes welled.

“Where are you?” she whispered. She didn’t think he could be dead. They had no proof of him being alive, but until she saw a body, she’d believe his heart still beat. “Why did you leave me?”

A tear slipped down her cheek and she set the frame down on the table instead of throwing it across the room as she wanted. So many emotions swirling within her about Lucas—she hated him for the hurt he caused her, for the loss she’d suffered. She loved him because she always had, and always would.

Sighing, she wiped her eyes and went to the kitchen to continue her paperwork before Rachel came over.