Page 4 of Gator's Gambit
An assortment of I’m in, hell yeah, and let’s do it echoes in the confined space.
“I’m headed for the airport – going home to see the fam for a bit, but I’ll catch you next time,” I answer.
“All good. Safe travels. Say hi to everyone and we’ll see you when you get back.”
“Thanks, Boss. See you then.”
1
FANCY
Being back home in Havelock feels weird. I’ve been gone for so long, I’m not sure I belong here anymore. Then again, I’m not sure I ever belonged in my small hometown. I’ve always been “that weird chick” and eventually learned to be okay with that.
I don’t remember when I became aware of my gift, a gift that took me years to embrace instead of viewing it as a curse. But eventually I did, up until recently. And now I’m back to wishing I was just a normal woman.
Although I guess normal is a relative term. What defines normal anyway, right? Even without my gift, though, I’d still be different. Inherited from my dad, my Epidermolysis Bullosa makes me different from others. There’s a reason we’re called Butterfly Children – we’re more fragile than most. Well, our skin is anyway.
Yeah, that made me stand out even more. One would swear I’m the spawn of Satan. Small town folk can be so superstitious. Yet here I am, thirty-two, single, and living back at home. Temporarily, at any rate. I’m out of here the moment I no longer need to lay low. Please God, let that be soon.
For the first time since I got here three weeks ago, I’m venturing into town today. I can’t hide in my parents’ houseforever. I need to find some semblance of normalcy. Mama’s invited me to tag along with her to Walmart. It’ll be nice to get out and do some retail therapy – or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself in an effort to convince myself all will be fine.
The past nine months have been scary. I’ve never been one to frighten easily, but this most recent event was too close for comfort. So now I’m hiding out in my childhood home in the hopes of throwing whoever is stalking me off my trail.
I reported my situation to the police, but all they keep saying istheycan’t do anything untilhedoes. My fear is, by then it might be too late. Terrified I was losing my mind, I told my parents I was feeling burnt out and missing home, because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what was actually going on. The last thing I want to do is stress them out too. And bless him, my dad didn’t even hesitate to tell me to come home. In fact, they both insisted on it. I guess it’s a testament to how scared I am that I didn’t even put up a half-assed argument. I just packed up my fur babies and some of my stuff and flew home.
So here I am, back in my old stomping grounds, pretending I’m on an extended holiday instead of hiding out and trying to hang on to my sanity. Because I’ve come to believe that’s my stalker’s big plan – to make me think I’m going insane. Or maybe I am just crazy. Either way, here I am shopping in Walmart nearly three thousand miles away from my own home and business.
Despite my current circumstances, Mama and I have the best time browsing through the clothing and craft sections. By the time we’re done, we have bags and bags of all kinds of goodies, along with the groceries we actually went for. I even managed to snag some fabulous yarn to make something pretty for my best friend, Emma.
“You up for some Dunkin’, sweetheart?” Mama asks, as we exit the store.
“Absolutely. Coffee sounds like an awesome idea.”
“Maybe a donut or two to go with it.” Mama grins over at me.
“You sweet talker, you. I’m in.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Look at you being all punny,” she replies with a laugh, just before she reaches a hand out, with a warning that’s milliseconds too late. “Watch out.”
As someone slams into me with the force of a runaway train, I have just enough time for the thought to pop into my mind that this will hurt like hell. I go down hard and can feel the skin tear where my body makes contact with the ground. Closing my eyes, I simply lie there, pain radiating throughout my entire being. I lie so still, in fact, I panic my mother.
“Oh God, Fancy, can you hear me, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, Mama, I hear you.”
“Ma’am, I’ve called for an ambulance,” I hear someone say, but I’m in too much pain to open my eyes to look at them. “Thank you,” is all I can manage.
“I have a first aid kit,” I hear someone else say. Finally opening my eyes, I see an older gentleman I don’t recognize in a Walmart vest. “Here, let’s get you sitting up, shall we?”
Closing my eyes again, I shake my head, unable to get a word out as I breathe through the pain.
“No, no, don’t move her,” Mama says. “We might do more damage. Let’s just hang on a minute for her to catch her breath. But thank you ever so much for your concern.”
“Mrs. Gilmore, is everything all right?” Without even looking his way, I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s haunted enough of my dreams. Godric Soren – hero of the football field, star of my childhood fantasies.
“Oh, hello, Godric, my boy. I’m fine, but Fancy’s taken a nasty spill.”
“The paramedics on their way?”
