Sam stared down at the black and blue streaks on her right bicep. The parallel multicolored lines wrapped nearly the entire way around her tiny arm and were sensitive to touch. She’d never let him do that to her again. She’d die before she went back.

He said he was her father, but deep down she knew it wasn’t true. He would never treat her like that if they shared the same blood. I mean they had not one thing in common. His hair was black, hers was blonde, his eyes were brown, hers were a deep blue. Even her drugged out so-called mother didn’t look like her, but then again, she was just the flavor of the month.

It was her fifteenth birthday, a day that should have been filled with parties, gifts and joy, but then he’d climbed inside the bottle and that other man came out. The one that used to like to be with her when she took a bath. The one that used to touch her places she knew was wrong. The one that followed her to her room at night and told her never to tell. That guy.

Last night as she lay awake, she heard the door creak open. Immediately she smelled the whiskey on his breath. The smoke from his clothes permeated her room, and reeked of rotten ashtrays. The floor made a small sound as he moved toward the bed. He was beside her now, the smell of alcohol thick in her nose. She heard his raspy breathing and felt his lustful gaze pass up and down her frame. Just as he was about to jump on top of her, she rolled to her left. His big paw came down and latched onto her arm with a grip that would crush a billiard ball. She threw the blankets off and jumped on one knee. Her right leg shot out like a piston and landed between his legs. Darrel yelled out and the grip on her arm released. She rolled off the far side of the bed and glared at him. He stared back at her and spoke with a voice that relayed years of smoking too many cigarettes.

“You’re going to pay for that”

She moved toward the door, but he cut off her escape. She glanced out the window, but it was two floors down. She'd never make it. He moved around the corner of the bed.

“C’mon honey, you know you like it” he wheezed, spittle dripping from one corner of his mouth.

She reached under the corner of the bed and found the rubber wrapped handle. She pulled it out and raised the small aluminum bat into the air. He gurgled out a coughing laugh.

“What’re you gonna do with that, you little bitch? You wouldn’t use that on your father now would you honey?”

“You’re not my father.” Sam said.

His eyes widened.

“Now whatever gave you that idea?”

“I remember things.” she said. She shifted her stance.

“What you talkin bout?”

She didn't answer for a moment.

“From before, there's things I remember.”

He stared at her.

“Before what?”

“Before you, before this." She waved her arm in a sweeping motion and paused "I don't know. It’s like a dream.”

He chuckled.

“Silly child, I’ve always been here.” he said and hacked out a cough.

She shook her head.

“There are other people in my dreams, my real parents.”

His face changed to a snarl.

“We are your real parents and don’t you forget it. Now put that down and I’ll be real nice to you. Maybe even buy you a new dress for your birthday.”

“My birthday was today.” she shot back.

He stopped and scratched his chin.

“I guess it was now, wasn’t it?" he straightened "Well, put that down and we’ll celebrate real nice.”

“No.”

He moved a step closer.

“C’mon honey, it’ll be just like before.”

“I said No.”

He lunged at her, and reached for the bat. She feigned a strike, then brought the head down in front of her. She plunged it like a spear into his solar plexus. He realized his mistake too late, tried to move out of the way, but the bat knocked the wind out of him and he slumped to the floor holding his stomach.

“You little” he wheezed.

“Bitch” he wheezed some more.

“You’ve done it”

“Now”

“You ain’t never”

“Gonna get out”

“Of here.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a set of handcuffs. She heard the distinctive snap as he released the cover over his gun. He started to roll off the floor but she swung the bat high and brought it down striking him in the head.



The keys jingled in the ignition as the car bounced over a bump in the road. She looked down and wondered what the other keys were for. The small one probably unlocked the shotgun in the vertical rack next to her right arm. She assumed the thick round one opened the front door, and the others were probably for the Sheriff’s Office where he worked. She glanced at the open wallet that lay on the passenger seat. His driver license picture stared up at her. A chill went up her spine, and she picked it up. With one hand on the wheel, she opened the bill compartment. Fourteen dollars. Damn. She didn’t know how far that would get her, but she knew it wasn’t far enough. He would be awake soon, and be hunting her. She was going to be pretty easy to find; a young blonde female, driving a bright blue car with Mariposa County Sheriff Department markings emblazoned on the side. Markings that you could see from any angle, especially on a small country road with no other traffic.

She was happy that Trent had taught her how to drive. He was the one true friend she had in the world, but of course that ended when Darrel found out. He’d nearly killed him with his nightstick that night. Trent and his friends were behind the local supermarket, skateboards in hand, showing off for the girls by jumping off the loading ramp. Darrel raced in, threw out some trumped up charges, and arrested Trent. He made it look like Trent had resisted, but everyone there knew what really happened. After the beating Trent needed 40 stitches and two bones set. It was likely that Trent would never walk the same again. Bastard.

The rolling country road was abloom with color this time of year as she went around the sharp left turn. The rainy season had covered the Sierra foothills with green vegetation, broken up with pockets of orange California Poppies. The aged Oak trees had fresh leaves making even their wrinkled texture seem young again.

She rounded a curve and slowed to a stop behind two vehicles that blocked the road. They were very near a tight right hand corner and with no way to get around. She decided not to chance a pass and watched as one of the passengers of the front car walked up a short embankment to a makeshift shrine. She had seen others, marking locations where a loved one had been lost, but this one was different.

The others had consisted of plastic flowers around a small cross, and sometimes a prominently displayed picture of the victim. This shrine had a mountain of fresh flowers surrounding a 2ft tall metallic framed portrait of a father holding a small child. In front of the portrait lay a knurled brass bowl about 10 inches in diameter surrounded by a perfect circle of 2 inch pearl white candles about a foot tall. From this distance there looked to be 12-15 of them, and on each a small flame flickered in the soft breeze. Sam watched with interest as the passenger dropped money into the bowl.

She turned off the car and waited for the other two to leave. She started up the embankment, but quickly sat down on a log when an image flashed into her head. It was difficult to make out, but the image slowly rotated so that she saw a tree, a road, the grass, the sky, then the tree, the road, the grass, the sky. It bothered her, but it didn’t make sense. She sat for another moment, then brushed it off, and continued to the shrine. There was more than a hundred dollars in twenties alone in the bowl. She was about to reach in, when she heard a voice to her right.

“Don’t take the money”

Sam whirled around to see a middle-aged woman, thin, blonde, cheap sunglasses, and ragged looking purse, leaning against an oak tree that was likely planted during the Civil War. The trunks of the tree stretched across the sky like hands of an evil creature, the gnarled branches like the long misshapen claws.

“I wasn’t” said Sam.

“Don’t lie to me” said the woman.

Sam looked down and said nothing.

“You in some kind of trouble?” the woman asked.

“No”

“Then why are you driving a stolen car?”

“What makes you think it is stolen” Samantha asked.

“It’s a sheriff’s car and you don’t look like a sheriff”

“It’s my dad’s car” Sam said and squinted against the sun.

“You still don’t look old enough to drive”

“I am”

“I doubt that. Are you running away?”

Sam turned to look at the ground. She kicked at the grass with her shoe and turned toward the car.

“Oh my goodness, look at your arm”

Sam instinctively turned away and covered her bicep with her hand.

“I guess I fell” said Sam.

“No you didn’t that looks like someone grabbed you, real hard. I can see the lines of his fingers” said the old woman.

“I’m fine, look, I’ll see you later” said Sam as she turned to leave.

“Wait, you’re not going to get far in that car”

Sam stood on the lightly sloping embankment, looked back at her, and stared deep into her eyes. After a moment she spoke.

“I can’t go back”

“Home?”

“Yeah” Sam said and kicked the grass once again.

“Did he do that to you?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Did your father do that to you?” the woman asked louder.

Sam stood still for a moment, then finally nodded her head.

“What’s your name?”

“Samantha”

“Where are you from?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“I’m trying to help you darling” said the woman.

“I can take care of myself”

“I can see that” the woman paused “but where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

Sam stared at the ground.

“How much money do you have?”

“Fourteen dollars”

“That’s not going to get you far enough” the woman paused “Do you have any other relatives that can take care of you?”

Sam shook her head. There was a long pause and Sam started to walk to the car. She stopped and turned to look back at the old woman.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked.

“Christine, but my friends call me Chris”

She stuck out her hand. Sam walked over and shook it.

“Nice to meet you Chris. Thanks for trying to help me”

“Why don’t you let me really help you?” Christine asked taking a step toward her.

“I’ll be fine” said Sam and she turned to leave.

She paused then turned back.

So what do you do with the money?”

“I use it for the flowers. Every year on my daughters’ birthday I come out here to celebrate with her”

“Where is she?” asked Sam looking around.

“She’s dead honey”

“Oh, sorry”

Chris pointed at the portrait.

“My husband was driving my daughter to her doctor appointment. A drunk driver crossed the centerline and hit them. They rolled down this hill and the car landed upside down in the river over there”

Chris pointed beyond the road.

“By the time the authorities arrived, they were both dead” said Chris.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s not your fault” said Chris, then mused “She would have been about your age you know”

Sam smiled at her sweetly.

“I guess I’d better get going” said Sam and started walking toward the car.

“You can take the money” said Chris.

Sam stopped and stared back at her.

“Really, you need it more than I do”

“You sure?”

“Go ahead”

Sam leaned over and reached into the bowl and Chris suddenly screamed.

“Oh my god”

“What?” said Sam as she jerked back upright.

Tears coursed down Chris’s cheeks like small rivers and she couldn’t answer for almost a minute. She just kept repeating over and over “Oh my god, Oh my god”. When she finally regained her composure she spoke.

“He said she was dead”

“Who?” asked Sam.

“My daughter. He said they looked everywhere but they couldn’t find the body. He said they dragged the river for three days, but found nothing”

Sam stared at her bewildered.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The deputy” said Chris choking back tears “He said the body must have been washed downstream by the current”

“I don’t understand”

“What do you remember about your mother?” asked Chis, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Not much, my dad brings home new ones every other month, but I don’t remember my real mom”

“I think I am your real mother” said Chris.

Sam stared back at her, a look of confusion on her face.

“You have three moles in a line on your butt”

“Yeah, I know, I was hoping to get them removed someday”

“My daughter had moles just like that”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“You’ve got to be my daughter”

Sam looked back at Chris questioningly but it was as if a door had suddenly opened in her mind. She was nearly overwhelmed as a flood of memories cascaded out from the deep recesses of her consciousness. Her arms caught her as she landed on her butt and stared at the oak tree across from the shrine. The same tree floated into and out of her vision as in a dream she saw it out the window of a car, a car rolling down that hill, a car in which she was an occupant. She remembered the icy cold water, hanging upside down by her seatbelt, how she finally got free, but then everything went blank.

She stared at Chris, trying to remember, but she didn’t recognize her.

“Can you take off your sunglasses?” Sam asked.

Chris shot her a big smile as she sat down and unshielded her face. Sam’s eyes went wide with wonder.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams” said Sam.

“You’ve always been in mine” said Chris.

“How could this have happened?”

“He stole you”

“Who?”

“The deputy” said Chris. Sam shot her a quizzical look.

“What’s your father’s name?” asked Chris.

“Darrel Scott”

“That’s him, I remember, Deputy Darrel Scott”

“He’s not a deputy anymore, he’s the sheriff”

“Well at the time he was a young deputy”

Chris paused and smiled sweetly at her.

“I think you must have survived the crash and he kidnapped you. Who knows maybe he even planned the crash all along”

“So what’s my real name?”

“Julie, Julie Lenning”

Sam (now Julie) stared into space for a few moments then spoke.
“I remember”

“What do you remember?” asked Chris.

“I remember you sang to me, you rocked me in an old squeaky rocking chair. It had soft velvet arms that I rubbed between my fingers”

“I still have that chair. Do you remember anything else?”

“No”

“Let me see your toes”

“Why?”

“I’ll show you”

Julie slipped off her shoes and stood next to her mother. Chris took off her left shoe and held her foot next to her daughters’.

“Look at the way the little toe curves, look how small the toenail is, you see, we have the same little toe. It’s a Lenning trait, passed on down generation after generation from our Norwegian roots”

Julie looked over at her mother.

“You think it’s really true? This is not a dream?”

“It’s not a dream honey. You are my daughter”

Julie turned and hugged her mother, and for the first time since she could remember, she felt she was home.