Family Values (Chapters 1-3)

***I just wanted to start out by saying that this is a DRAFT.  I have had a few complaints about the way it is formatted and I do apologize, but the writing program I use at work is not compatible with my home program and messes everything up.  Then putting it on the website makes it even worse. I do apologize, and I will be going through it as soon as I have the time.  So please keep this in mind... THANK YOU!*****


Chapter 1

"911 What is your Emergency?" A tall redhead says into a headset.
"Calm down, ma’am so I can get your information. It’s going to be okay, but I need you to slow down so I can send an ambulance to you."
Surrounded by computer screens and security monitors, the young dispatcher types speedily, hanging on to every word on the other end of the line.
"EMS-3, EMS-3 I have a possible 10D1 at 403 Trinity Drive."
A crackled response comes over the speakers, "10-4 Central EMS-3 is en route."
"10-4 EMS-3 be advised patient is 46 year old male with history of high blood pressure."
"10-4 Central. EMS-3 Copies. Can I get a cross road for that address?"
"10-4. Crossroads shown are Pierce Court and Mill Pond Road. Caller states that it will be the third brick house on the left once you turn on Trinity."
"10-4 Central, Thank You."
            She sits back in her computer chair and glances at the security monitors. It’s not enough that she has to deal with all the 911 calls that come in, but she also has to pay attention to the security cameras and fire alarms. Granted, she’s not the only one working, but she seems to be the only one that remembers to check them from time to time. One person can not monitor all 573 cameras by them self.  Thankfully though, there are emergency telephones throughout the hospital and there are always people walking about, so if anything were to happen, she’ll usually get a phone call before she would actually see it on screen. With so many cameras, they only have 20 screens, and they circulate between the areas of the hospital.
        She rubs her eyes and looks at the clock again. 3:26. A little over three hours to go and she’ll be heading home. She agreed to take the night shift thinking it would be a little more exciting. Except for the weekends, she was wrong. There are only two shifts as a dispatcher, 7am-7pm or 7pm-7am. Seeing how as she’s not much of a morning person, she’s glad she took night shift anyways. She gets more people calling from the parking decks saying they’ve lost their cars than she gets from actual emergencies. How hard is it for someone to look at the signs and remember where they parked?! Not that she wishes for bad things to happen so that she can dispatch the ambulances out of their bays. After working for the County EMS and volunteering on the Rescue Squad, sometimes it seems a little mundane. Unfortunately when she moved to this area, she found that they do not hire EMT-Basics on the ambulances anymore, they only hire Intermediates and Paramedics.
She planned on obtaining one or the other but you have to have some sort of income in order to pay for school. She sighs, went to college for nothing.
          "Central. EMS-3 is on scene."
          "10-4 EMS-3." She replies after being shaken out of her trip into daydream world.
            "Whatcha got, Morgan?" A skinny, blond haired guy asks next to her.
            "Chest pains."
              "Aaahhh, probably just indigestion." And he spins back around to finish his round of solitaire on the computer screen in front of him.
            Jason reminded her of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. His hair always seemed to flock to his eyes and his clothes always seemed to be way too big for his small frame. And boy could he eat! You’d think as much as he eats and as small as he is, you’d be able to see an outline of his food in his stomach. How she would kill for a metabolism like his. Jason is a sweet guy however, a little lazy sometimes, but has never done anyone any harm. She’d rather have a co-worker that at least gets MOST of his work done and have a pleasant attitude, rather than someone that gets everything done with a hateful disposition.
            Like Lynn. God, she’s such a bitch! She glances over at the blond on the other side of her and grimaces. How can someone be so damn spiteful? Lynn is in her early thirties (even though she won’t admit it) and puts on more make up than a freaking clown. She doesn’t necessarily look like a prostitute, but so many times Morgan has wanted to remind her that foundation does not have to be caked on with a spatula. Sometimes, when she’s really bored, she imagines herself taking a putty knife and peeling back layers and layers of foundation of her face, to find that she’s really the devil himself in disguise.
            Okay, okay, she’s not THAT bad, but sometimes it seems like it. She talks down to Morgan like she’s nothing. Just because Morgan is twelve years her junior does NOT mean that she has to do what Lynn says. She thinks that a grudge that Lynn has against her is the fact that her boyfriend, Ray, is 32 years old. Lynn once told her that, “Younger women should stay with younger men. It’s girls like you that narrow my field of opportunity! Men don’t want women OLDER than them, so why are you preying on MY age group. Go back to high school and find you a nice pimply faced band geek, why don’t ya?"
          That comment was made the first month Morgan started working here. It’s not like she went out and intentionally found a guy from a certain age group and decided to "snag" him so no woman his age could have him. Lynn acted like Morgan did it as a personal attack on her! She would hate to admit it to her, but Lynn narrows her own field of opportunity by being herself. Anyways, she was dating Ray before she even knew there was such an evil bitch like Lynn even alive.
          "Central, this is EMS-3. We are transporting one patient, one rider, emergency traffic, beginning mileage is 11392."
          "10-4 EMS-3. I copy beginning mileage as 11392."
       
        Lynn gets up and heads towards the bathroom, as she passes Morgan she gives her a cocky smile. God, if that woman only knew. Morgan smiles back sweetly. Kill them with kindness. That’s what her mother always told her when she came home crying from school. If that actually worked, why are their wars? Wouldn’t it have just been easier if America baked a giant sized fruit cake and delivered it to Iraq with a singing telegram? If it was only that simple. Hell, if it WAS that simple, she’d probably be out of a job.
        Over 80% of the 911 calls received are injuries inflicted from others. When she had been working out in the field on the ambulances, it used to get to her, seeing domestic violence, suicides, murders, child abuse, and such. She would go to sleep with images still flashing behind her eye lids. After a while she finally realized that whether or not she was working, these things happen. Half the time you don’t hear about them in the news or read them in the morning paper, but they will still happen whether or not you are there to see them. The least she could do is provide her services in trying to help those who experience unfortunate events.
        "Central, EMS-3 has arrived at the hospital. Ending mileage is 11401."
        "10-4 EMS-3. Copy ending mileage 11401." She answers as she watches Lynn return back to her seat.
          She turns to her right and watches confetti blow up on Jason’s screen, notifying the player that he successfully placed all cards to their respective piles.
          "Hey Jason, I’m going to go get a drink, ya want anything?"
          "Sure, I’ll take a diet coke." As he digs into his pocket for change.
            "I’ve got it. I’ll be right back."

Morgan takes off her headset and walks out the door, but not before hearing Lynn ask Jason,
          "How rude, she didn’t ask ME if I wanted anything."
          Jason promptly answered, "Maybe she forgot you were here."
          Morgan tries to hide a smile as she enters the hallway. She turns right, deciding to take the long route. She needs to stretch her legs anyways, and the exercise sure as hell wouldn’t kill her. She was always a little bigger than most her age, but this job didn't help any. Sitting on your butt for twelve hours straight reaked havoc on weight control. Those multiple cups of coffee and soda starting around four o' clock in the morning contributed more sin to her slow metabolism.
          She was over weight, yes, she'd be the first to admit that, but Morgan always thought that she carried it well. If she wasn't blessed with her mother's height, that would be a different story. There was a little more to her belly than she would like to notice in the mirror, but hell, even anorexic toothpicks think there is always more than is actually there. She has a man that loves every inch and curve of her, so she doesn't let it depress her too long. As long as she doesn't let it get any worse, she'll make out more for the good than bad.
          When you imagine a hospital, you usually visualize people running around and family members out in the hallways clinging on to each other for support. Noise surrounding you as if it was another form of oxygen in the atmosphere. The overhead pages constantly calling out names asking them to call the operator. Most of the time that meant bad news. Doctors seem to not worry if the family never finds out the good news, but if something happens that might cause a tear or two, they rush to make sure the family knows right away. You would think that it would be the other way around. Wouldn't someone want to give out good news just as readily if not more than the bad?
            The smell of disinfectant and often times a faint whiff of urine here and there if you strayed too close to patient rooms would fill your nostrils while passing through the halls. People arguing, people crying, people trying to carry on a conversation to pass the time in hopes that everything will be okay. That's what you would expect at a hospital. Especially one of this magnitude.
          Not at four o' clock in the morning. Dead quiet. Morgan hasn't passed a single soul yet. Not that she passes into much area that would hold a lot of traffic even during the day time, but still... Unless you have worked in a place like this, you would never actually appreciate the sheer size of it. She wouldn't be half surprised if they built a subway in the basement for the employees to get around. Keep that to yourself, don't give them any ideas. The employees were the blood supply for this facility. The hallways are the veins in which they are carried from one part to the other of this vast system. The board of directors were the brains and nervous system. The patients were the food supply. A lot comes in. A lot are extricated back out. A few, however, are absorbed into the hospital to supply some nutrients. She knows that sounds wrong, maybe even a little morbid. Give her a break. She gets kind of cynical at this hour of the night. You should here her thoughts on the drive home. With an hour drive and nothing but talk shows on the radio, her mind wanders often.
          As she turns the corner to the vending area, she notices a housekeeper riding behind a floor waxer. She shouldn't, but sometimes she feels bad for the housekeepers. People seem to take advantage of them. They are possibly the lowest paid employees in the system, yet she'd bet they have the worst job out of any. She takes that back, whoever empties out bedpans and urine cups might rank right up there with them. Though they probably get paid more for the dumping than housekeepers do. She smiles and nods at the elderly black man as she walks up to the drink machine. Diet cola for Jason and.... hmmmm.... maybe a fruit drink?       
        No... she needs the caffeine that is supplied in the dark sodas. She finally pushes a button and bends over to slip her hand into the exit door at the bottom of the machine. As she fishes around and finally finds her can, something grabs her wrist. Instantly she drops her can as she yanks her hand out of the machine. Falling on her butt from the sudden recoil, she can hear her soda fizzing out onto the freshly cleaned floors. She's still staring at the brightly lit drink machine with eyes wide. From her present position on the floor, it seems to be looming over her like a menacing creature.
          Waiting another minute, she shakes her head as if trying to erase the uneasy feeling that is crawling over her flesh like insects. After another moment or two, she lifts herself up off the cold, hard floor and backs up to the wall, finding it with the palms of her hands, afraid to turn her back to the mechanical monster.
Don't be stupid. She tells herself. It's just a freakin' drink machine. It's not alive and this isn't some Stephen King book.  Then why did she feel so damn NERVOUS?
          Taking a deep breath, she approaches the metal refrigerator cautiously. One foot in front of the other she finds herself within a couple of feet from the opening in which she SWORE something grabbed her wrist.
Just open it, it will prove that you're lack of sleep is catching up with you and it was just the door shutting back on your hand. Open it up and look inside!
At that time, something else grabs her arm. She spins around wildly with a scream perched on the end of her tongue. It was the housekeeper she had just passed. Heart beating in overtime, she manages to force that scream back down her throat with a struggled swallow.
          "I'm sorry ma’am; I didn't mean to scare you." The gentle faced man said. "I...I just saw you standing there and was making sure you were okay. Did the machine spit out your drink can? That happens a lot you know. People always complaining about their cans being dented or what not."
        "Huh? No, no..." Morgan wakes up from her state of fear as the housekeeper goes to look into the swinging door that seemed to mock her intelligence. "NO! Umm... no, I ...uh... it slipped out of my hand. I'm so sorry, I'll clean this up. I guess my hands were sweaty." As she wipes them on her jeans, realizing that they are, indeed, perspirating.
        The man turns back from inspecting the machine and gives a warm smile.
      "You don't do such a thing. That's why I'm here. I'll just mop it up real quick and it will be good as new."
        "Th...Thank you. I'm sorry." Morgan says to the man, but is looking at that black door. "I'll try to keep a better hold of my drink next time."
        Then she walks away in a hurry. Screw the long way. Exercise can wait. The normally calming effect of the quiet halls were now suffocating. She wanted back into that well lit room that she knew so well. This would be the first time in her life that she ever looked forward to seeing Lynn. Hell, she might even give her a kiss if it didn't mean her lips coming back with a wad of flesh colored clay.
        As she swiped her badge across the reader to gain access into the restricted area of the Communications Center, she couldn't help but notice how shaky her hand was. Breathing in deep and slow, she attempted to calm herself before entering. Pushing open the heavy door, she jumped a little when the lock clicked shut behind her.
        "We thought you had gone and gotten lost." Jason stated in his quirky way, with a half eaten sucker hanging out of his mouth. "Where's yours?" He gestures towards her hands.
        Morgan suddenly realized that she never bought herself another drink. How stupid could she possibly look?
        "I needed the walk more than the caffeine to wake me up." She replies and hands him his soda.
          It was at least a little true anyways... her overdrive was kicking in more than she'd like to admit. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lynn making a cocky smirk with the side of her arrogant, bright red mouth. If she could just have one wish, one wish! Never mind, she wouldn't want to waste such a thing on something like her. Yes, she said someTHING.
Plopping down into her high-backed chair, Morgan tried to erase earlier events from her mind. She's often heard of weird things that happen to people with lack of sleep. That's all it was. After all, nothing grabbed that housekeeper when he went to investigate the ominous opening. Sleep deprivation. Yes, it was the answer. Then why wasn't she so easily convinced?
            Around 6:45am the next shift walked in the door. During the day, they were allowed more personnel than the night shift. Naturally they were busier during the day. More visitors to the hospital and usually more tragic happenings when more people were awake to cause them. The Communications Center was located in not the basement, but the SUB-basement of one of the many towers of the hospital. People from Human Resources actually had to call down and get directions when bringing a potential employee for an interview. Out of sight, out of mind. Hardly anyone knew the place existed, and sometimes that was a good thing. Some of the strange characters that come in and out of the facility on a daily basis proved that point ten-fold. Security officers can't even gain access to the room. They, like everyone else that wasn't a dispatcher, had to press a button that would buzz inside. After seeing the person on the camera, the dispatcher would then decide whether or not to allow entrance of the requester. Then a simple button was pressed and with a quick "click" the door became unlatched. There was no way in the place without someone knowing.
          After doing a quick pass-on of the events that happened during the night, Morgan drudged down the hallway to the time clock. Once again swiping her badge, she makes her way outside. The cool, wet air hits her face like a rude wake-up call . When you're inside for so many hours at one time, it's easy to forget what the weather was like while you were "absent" from the rest of the world. With a small shiver, she shrugs her coat on while she heads towards one of the many parking lots. It had rained recently, and judging by the low hanging clouds, it will probably rain again. She didn't mind. It was one of Ray's days off, so when she got home, he would be there as well. Whether he was asleep or awake before hand, he would always be waiting for her with a smile, a kiss, and a hug.
        She couldn't ask for a better man. She had been married before, and obviously had been a mistake. On whose part, it doesn't matter. The main thing on that subject is that the divorce was FINALLY over. After months and months of trying to get her ex husband to get off his lazy butt and at least meet her half way in the ordeal, she gave up and just went all the way and did it herself. She started dating Ray before she was even LEGALLY separated. That might sound bad of her, but if you knew the whole story, you wouldn't think so.
        Morgan finds her car almost wedged between two others in the crowded deck and squeezes herself into her half opened door, trying not to touch the other vehicle. You would think that people would be afraid to park that close to another car in fear that they would get hit by stray doors. Hell, if she was making the money some of these people were, a scratch in a $70,000 vehicle might not mean much to her either. Starting the car, she backed out of the parking spot to find a large SUV hovering in her rear view window. No doubt waiting for the now vacant spot she had just opened up. She was curious to see how he would be able to squeeze himself in the narrow opening, but decided not to wait. Pausing for the gate arm to raise to allow her 4-door sedan to exit, she watches the hospital start to wake up. Pulling out onto the road and starting her long commute back home, her mind starts to wander as it begins it's routine of passing the time until she pulls into her driveway.

Chapter 2

      She was born in a town called Bern near the coast of North Carolina. Growing up there, she always thought it was a small place. In it's own rights, it was, but population argued otherwise. Living out in the country part of the city probably made it seem smaller. She was born and raised for about twelve years in an old brick house. It had been in the family since it was built by her family. She knew it was on her mother's side but she wasn't sure if it was her great-great grandfather or great-great-great grandfather that had built it. That kind of stuff just wasn't important at the time. It was a three bedroom house with a large kitchen, dining room, big living room, and a bathroom. Nothing extravagant but still a good sized house. Thanksgiving had always been at her house growing up, because of the massive dining room. She can still remember the huge table and chairs that accompanied the room. She could barely move the chairs or see over the table when she had been younger.
        Her family house was a child's dream. Acres and acres of land sprawling in every direction, even some still wooded if she ever felt a little mischievous. There were no neighbors for a couple of miles with just a rail road track across the street. Her daddy had built her a grand fort when she had finally out grown the metal swing set. At least an acre of the back yard had been fenced in for the dogs they had had through out the years. Screened in back porch for those warm summer nights when you wanted to enjoy the air but to also escape from the mosquitoes that loved to sample your sticky blood.
        Her daddy had rebuilt the rambling car port with a immaculate two car garage. There was enough space for anything he wanted to construct or work on even with the cars parked inside. He had jet skis back then and was constantly tinkering on them. He had tall work counters with even taller cabinets that reached to the ceiling. Above one of those counters was a large stereo. That was the first time she had even seen an eight-track before. For some reason she was mesmerized by those rectangular boxes. That was when it was hard to grasp that life was ever different than the way it was right then in the present. Sometimes when her dad had a day off he would pull both of the vehicles out of the garage and would bring out his roller blades. Morgan had received a pair for Christmas one year and had adapted to them quickly She was never very good at roller skating with the classic skates, but she could FLY on roller blades. Her dad had bought a street hockey set and they would play for hours in the cool garage on the cement floor. Sometimes if it wasn't too hot, he would take her down to the near-by Rest Area and they would skate for what seemed forever only stopping to get a cold drink from one of the vending machines inside the air conditioned building every now and then.
          Morgan had a friend named Jaime whose mother was also friends with Morgan's. During the summer, there wasn't a night that one didn't stay the night at the other's house. Sometimes Jaime's because she had a pool, Morgan's because of the exploration that could be done on the land. Often they would find some bamboo growing tall in the woods and make their own fishing poles. Spending more time trying to find worms or crickets than actually fishing, they would walk down to the little creek under the bridge and try their luck. Usually it wasn't very good, maybe the worms tasted bad...
        The creek made small ponds through out the property and in one area the water was about thigh deep. This wasn't much of an accomplishment when the thighs belonged to a couple of ten year olds. In this pond is where they would capture anything that moved, from crawdads to tadpoles and most of the time, bring them back and dump them into the plastic kiddy pool in the back yard. Only to later forget about them after the sun had already dried up all the water and left the creatures just as dry.
          Some people might sit back and laugh at the simple pleasures of a country girl, but don't knock it until you've tried it. There are always lessons learned and skills accomplished when in the midst of the forest scenery. Years of running around barefoot despite her mother's protests, left Morgan with the useless skill of being able to walk on just about any surface without shoes and without a single flinch. She would always walk up the long dirt and rock driveway to fetch the mail for her parents. That was the first time she ever experienced the death of one of her animals.
        When you live outside of human reach, you seem to attract different varieties of animals. Though they never had more than two dogs at one given time, the cats were another story. Morgan loved cats though. She named every single stray that came onto the porch and amazingly, every one stayed. She never had a stray cat that didn't become a pet, though her parents probably wished she did. The most she counted while she lived in that brick house was twelve. She had to do extra chores to pay for the cat food, her mother refused to pay for the excessive usage. Of course she had her favorites but she loved them all. None of them ever hissed at her or even tried to scratch. Only every now and then would her mother take to a certain cat and allow it to come inside, other than those rare occasions, it was off limits to anyone of the feline persuasion. Never before had a cat died that Morgan was aware of. They simply stopped showing up on the front porch when the food was poured.
          When walking up the driveway that afternoon, she nearly stepped on her. It was Sheeba, her only calico cat. Morgan had stopped dead in her tracks and just stared. She wasn't scared. A little sad, yes, but definitely not scared or disgusted. She was confused most of all. She had been up and down the driveway all day long playing. There was no cat. She was absolutely SURE of it.
Sheeba was on her side, still in mid step. Her body was rock hard and on cold. Yet, her legs and paws were still in the position of as if she was still walking down the driveway. No blood, no ants, no flies, nothing. Sheeba, with the exception of never being seen by a veterinarian, was always thought to be a healthy cat. Morgan ran inside to grab some of her mom's cleaning gloves. She then gathered her dear pet up as if not believing it wasn't breathing. Trying to make it stand back up, when placed on it's feet, the animal actually stayed. Front left paw at a curve towards it's body with the back right leg raised slightly above the ground.
        But Sheeba was definitely dead. Despite her heart felt efforts, Morgan could not bring any response from the stiff cat. A couple of minutes later, she was at the edge of the woods digging a hole for her dear friend. After packing the dirt firmly back into the hole, she covered the small grave with flowers from her momma's garden. A make shift cross made of bark-stripped sticks and twine was then stuck into the dirt near the bright yellow and pink petals. She took one last look at the site and with a small warm feeling of a job well done made her way back to her house.
        As she trudged back up the side yard, she noticed a burgundy car in the driveway. Jaime was here. She ran the rest of the way back to the house and met Jaime on the front porch. Her mother was already inside catching up on gossip with Morgan's mom. After quickly being filled in on the current situation, Jaime wanted to see the deceased cat's body for herself. Side by side, the two girls ran into the woods where just a few minutes before, Morgan was finishing the burial. As they approached, everything was just as she had left it. To this day, she still can't remember what kind of flowers were on top of the resting spot. Both cross and flowers were undisturbed resting on top of ground. Morgan brought out her small garden shovel and started digging.
        After a moment she looked up at Jaime with wide eyes, but only for a second before she started slinging dirt out of the ground even faster. Finally when she knew that it didn't matter how far she dug that hole it wasn't going to make a difference, she stumbled backwards and just stared. Nothing had been touched or moved. She was only away from it for a matter of mere minutes. Yet, it was unquestionable... the calico cat that Morgan had befriended then buried... was gone.

Chapter 3

        Morgan used her knee to steer the wheel while she lit her cigarette. Yes, she knew it was bad for you, obviously she didn't worry that much. She loved her job but hated the long drives home. It was fifty-five miles from her house to work. Luckily the majority of the trip was on the interstate so she was able to speed the trip up by cruising around 75 mph. Traveling to work wasn't that bad, it was going home that was dreaded. When you're staring at the same scenery for miles and miles, your exhaustion easily catches up with you. Stateton was a small city in the western part of North Carolina. It was too large to be considered a town, but Morgan really didn't think it should be city status. Streets lined with historic houses with neatly trimmed yards confined by clean, straight sidewalks could be found in all parts of the city. Morgan didn't live there. She lived on the outskirts right next to the county line.
        She turned off the highway into the dusty driveway that led to her new home. There weren't as many acres as her birth place but the few she had was plenty. The house and land were surrounded completely by woods and assured the privacy she held so dear. Facing the house, in the left side yard were multiple fruit trees. She loved walking out there and picking off the barely ripe fruit. Pears, apples, grapes, all tart from nature. The deer usually ate from the supply scattered amongst the ground so there was always plenty to pluck straight from the source. In the right side yard were several oak trees that shaded the area perfectly.
          The house itself looked small from the front. Unlike common designs, the house was longer front to back than it was side to side. The siding is pale blue in color with a darker blue in the shutters and the tin roof that echoed the rain so perfectly during storms. She pulled up to the house, parked and stepped out of the car. The crisp, cool air met her quickly, and by the time she reaches the house, she's shivering slightly. After unlocking and opening the heavy, wooden front door, she steps into the large living room. Nope, no hallway in this small country house, it's straight to the point. Her and Ray have decided to put a foyer in eventually.
          She takes her coat off and hangs it on the rack next to the door. Walking through into the den, she enters the bathroom and gets ready for bed. When she walks into the bedroom, she's greeted warmly by two small dogs. Dusty and Abby are her children. White in color with a tan streak down his back, Dusty was her first Chihuahua but still her "baby boy". Abby was black with white markings that reminded her of a Husky . She was acquired almost a year after Dusty.
Morgan lets the dogs out while she places her jewelry in the armoire. She looks over at the bed and smiles. Snoring softly, Ray sleeps peacefully with the laptop resting on his legs.
            On the weekends he tries to stay awake to greet her when she comes home, but she knows that with his long hours at work, it's hard for him to change his sleeping routine. Ray is everything she ever wanted and then some. After her marriage with Austin, she didn't think that was even possible, but was glad to be proven wrong. She had met Ray through a co-worker at her previous job. It was her younger brother. He had been married once as well and gained a daughter before the divorce. His daughter's name was Harley and was one of the sweetest nine-year-olds you will ever meet.
            Everything that Morgan has seen in the young girl was obviously passed on from her father. She was smart, sweet, active, ambitious, and very caring. Her mother was the complete opposite of all those traits. She was a fat, lazy slob that had nothing but ill will towards Morgan. Susan (Ray's ex-wife) was unemployed by choice and apparently had no intentions on doing anything but living off Ray's child support. He constantly mentions wanting custody of Harley, but is afraid that it would back fire into her hating him for taking her from her mother. Susan was re-married to some redneck from some kind of incest town in West Virginia. His name is Murph. Enough said.
            Susan's second child was spawned from a former child molester and the third child supposedly from Murph (who Morgan calls Smurf behind everyone's back). So Susan, Smurf, and three kids all lived with Susan's mother in a single wide trailer. Talk about a death trap. If that thing ever caught on fire, they would trample each other before they could ever find the door over the piles of junk and toys that clutter the interior. Smurf has two children from HIS previous marriage, so every now and then, the capacity jumps from six to eight.
          Susan is the type of person that doesn't look at the well-being of her children, she is more worried about herself. She would rather have Harley live in awful condition without her own bed to sleep in, improper nutrition (unless you consider fast food 6 days a week a balanced diet), and lack of necessary attention, than to be without her child support. Ray and Morgan have discussed and are investigating the means to gain custody of the neglected little girl, it just hasn't happened yet. They want to make sure all ducks are in a row to insure the wanted outcome before ending up down the creek without a paddle.
          She longed for a child of her own, but she suffered from unexplained infertility. The various doctors she had seen over the years could not explain why she was not functioning properly and could offer no help due to their ignorance.
The news had broken both hers and Ray's heart when they were told there was nothing that could be done. Morgan was depressed for weeks, crying at the slightest things and not understanding why her. So many people that beat their children, kill their children, molest their children, they were all given the ability to have a child, why not her?! Her throat swelled with threatening tears every time she thought of the matter.
        Watching Ray sleep feels her chest with a warm feeling. God, she loved that man. After letting the dogs in and locking the front door, she crawled into bed beside her lover.
      A short, grunting noise comes from the right side of the bed as Ray rolls over to face Morgan.
      "Hey, Baby." He welcomes groggily. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay awake."
      He leans over to place the laptop on the night stand and turns back to her with a warm smile.
      "You know I don't mind." Morgan replies. "It's not like I stay awake for very long anyways."
      They share several slow, intimate "good night" kisses and readjust so as he can have his arm cradling her while she sleeps. Morgan tries to regain ownership of the blankets from the dogs and snuggles into Ray's warm body. Absently rubbing her wrist, she looks down at the area that is requesting a massage and pauses. On her pale wrist bone and then again on the underside of the same wrist, were two distinct bruising marks already trying to fade away. The same size and shape of someone's fingers.
     

        Having the same dream occur time after time for so many years, one would think that she would understand what it meant by now. However, that's not the case with Morgan's nocturnal re-runs. It wasn't scary, necessarily, disturbing was closer, and curious was more descriptive. Since childhood, it started as a single image that would flash behind her eyelids. A single image has now metamorphisized into a movie clip and seems to be slowly heading to a full length film. At times she wishes that it would complete itself soon, unravel the mystery so she could understand what it meant! Other times, she dreaded the end. Uncertain of the outcome, and not really knowing if she wanted to find out what it all meant.
        What made her so nervous about these dreams above any other, was the fact that they were so REAL. Lots of times when she dreams, she knows she is doing such, and is watching herself in the dream. In the reoccurring images, she's seeing it through her own eyes, but it doesn't feel like her. Maybe someone she knows, there is a sense of familiarity there, but it's not her. Once she tried to interpret the meaning of it all. She had gone to the local bookstore and bought several books on translating dreams. Weeks of reading gave her only one point of knowledge. This was not a normal dream...
        Every book that she went through requested that the reader find a symbol within the dream that stood out from the rest and then you could find the meaning or purpose of the dream by knowing what the symbol meant. The only problem with that is, nothing stood out. The whole dream was intense, not just a particular part or segment. There was nothing about cats flying or frogs turning into people. Nothing contained the fantasy that these books were suggesting you to look for. She could actually hear her thoughts...
        It always started from the beginning and always the same way. She was standing on the edge of a stone porch staring at the land. Rolling hills of tall grass everywhere in sight with a sweet smell of salt water in her nostrils. In the middle of the tall grass was a dirt road that was too narrow for any car to fit through. Glancing around she can see a long building made of what seemed to be wooden slats nailed to uneven beams. A soft grumble from within implies that there is at least one horse inside the rambling structure. The wind blows the tall grass to the side and she can hear the leaves rustles from within the trees scattered through out the property.
        Glancing up into the sky she decides that the color is not a very promising shade of black. A nip in the breeze confirms her suggestion of an incoming storm. She's waiting for someone to come. She can feel the urgentness in the way she wrings her hands staring at the empty road. She's not sure for how long, but she's been standing here for a very long time, just waiting. A crack of thunder warns of the strobe effect that the lightening brings as it raises the hair on the back of her neck. She sighs and turns to go into the small farm house, and glances one last time over her shoulder at the deserted dusty path.
          The house is damp and chilly with small windows that require standing on the tips of your toes in order to see completely out of. There was no ceiling, just rotting support beams that never really supported anything at all. The kitchen was also the dining room, living room and bedroom. The small shack out side the back door served as the bathroom. There was a bed in the corner of the house that was sunken in the middle. The metal bars that served as a head board were rusted through in some places, so they stopped connecting from top to bottom. It was covered with homemade quilts that seemed to have more holes than patches in the design.
        The kitchen table that she was trying to find something to put on it to eat, was missing a leg. One of the rusted poles from the bed was being used to support that corner of the moldy table. An old wood stove stood next to her but had no fire within. At the table sat two little girls approximately 6 and 4 years of age. They both had bright red hair that complimented their fair skin and freckles. The older of the two girls had bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle off the non-existent light.    The youngest child had deep blue eyes that always looked sad, even when her nose was wrinkled up with a smile. 
        They were terribly thin and extremely dirty with stringy hair that was caked in dirt and grease. There was no doubt that lice infested the small heads. When raw potatoes and rotten onions were the only thing that could be brought into the house, hygiene was far from anyone's mind. They struggled to stay alive day to day, not clean. The oldest looks up from her cracked nails and looks up at her. There was something about her eyes. Every time she saw them, her heart pumped real hard as if trying to escape from her chest.
        "Mother, where is father?" The green eyed child pleas. "Why has he not come for us yet?"
        "He will, my dear, I promise." She hears herself say and leans down to comfort the frail frame.
        "Maybe he has forgotten about us."
        "NEVER! How dare you say such a thing. Your father loves you, he loves all of us. He could never forget about us. Maybe it's not going the way he had planned. But don't lose hope, my darling. He will be here. I promise you that."

      She tried to busy herself with sweeping the dust from the stone floors. The roof would start leaking soon. It always did when rain come up. Watching her two apparent children grimace at the cold, molding potatoes and water, a tear would slowly travel from her eye into the bosom of her dress. She could not let the girls see such weakness, she must be strong for their sake. Night was closing in on their home fast. The way spilled ink immediately covers everything in it's path.
        She walked outside and ran across the yard in her bare feet trying to outrun a drenching. Entering the barn, she wipes the wet strands of hair out of her face and searches in the dark for the axe. The animals rustled nervously when the thunder would rumble or a burst of wind forced it's way into the cracks of the walls. They weren't doing too much better than her family. Rotten oats and dry grass could only sustain them for a little while longer. Finding the rusted axe, she walks over to the dwindling wood pile and takes out a few small logs. Chopping the wood into pieces that would fit into the wood stove, she can feel the blisters on her hands protest against the strain of the handle.
          Carrying the slices in her dress, she runs back into the house to find the sisters huddling together on the old bed. The youngest coughs and smiles at her mother as the stove is loaded and lit.
        "Why can't we keep wood in it all night, Momma?" She wonders.
        "Because there isn't enough to go around like their used to, honey." Was the only answer she could give.
        "We have trees in the yard...."
        "Those are fruit trees, baby. We wouldn't have any more fruit if we cut them down."
        "It shouldn't matter if we cut them down or not." The older child interrupted. "You said Father didn't forget about us."
        "It's bad luck." She replied, but could feel the piercing look her older daughter was baring down on her. She knew she was lieing.

          They all gathered together under the covers in hopes of staying warm enough to doze off before the heat went out with the fire. She knew that her youngest offspring was sick. She would have coughing spells that brought blood up from her lungs and would leave her face flushed and gasping for breath. With this damp living quarters she was surprised her child was not dead yet. Their ribs were visible on all of them, their stomachs starting to concave. Potatoes every now and then could not hide the sunken cheek bones and surely couldn't calm the constant pain from their abdomens demanding nutrition. She could kill the horse, sure, but her husband told her to not do such a thing, no matter what it came down to. The horse needed to be there when he returned, he had been so adamant to explain. He might need to barter it before hand with someone for some extra money, and if it was not there when they came to collect, what would happen then? They would be killed. So it was absolutely necessary for her to make sure the horse was kept well and alive despite her constant desire to slaughter it. That would feed her family for months and could be sold to buy other necessary things. She still had a false hope that her husband would return soon to save them from their hell. Deep down, she knew though, she was merely afraid to admit defeat.
                The morning sun woke her up with warmth on her face. The nights were chilly, down right cold if a storm came from the sea. The days, however, were warm and often became hot by noon. She awoke to find the girls playing outside amongst the wet grass arguing over who pushed who on the rope swing. Shoulders stiff and back sore, she scolded herself for sleeping so long. She couldn't afford to waste the day away in bed when she could be down in town trying to find a way to keep her family above ground. She gave them hugs and kisses on their dirty little faces and told them to be good. She didn't have to worry about them being too young to stay home alone. Children around here learned how to grow up very quickly.
              Starting down the muddy drive, she debated on what part of town to start in today. She circled around town looking for thrown away scraps of food, asking for change, begging for a job, anything she could think of she would try. She had friends once, when her husband still had a job here. Her friends forgot who she was when she began to wear second-hand dresses and couldn't buy perfume anymore. Her husband had tried. He would work odd jobs anywhere he could and often traveled miles for a few pennies. They had to move out of their house in town about a year after he had first lost his job. The move was rough on him, but even rougher on the girls. They could not understand why the other children laughed at their bare feet or why their father stopped bringing them gifts. Poverty was not a concept easily grasped by the young.
              They could not afford food, clothes or heat, but the mail still ran for free. She decided to stop into the post office while she was in town before going about. She usually did stop in, just as often left with empty hands and a sad heart. This time, however, she was surprised to find that there was a letter waiting for her. It had been over 5 months since her dear husband had left and every day since she had been waiting to hear from him. This day was going to be great. He would be coming home and they would be a family again! She ran back outside and ripped open the yellow-ish envelope. The date proved that it was mailed a month ago, and is now just reaching her hands. She kissed his hand writing dearly with tears of joy threatening to escape from her eyes.
            She froze and the smile was immediately erased from her tender face. This was not what was supposed to be written. It's not possible. She re-read the letter three more times before she sank to the ground, back against the brick wall. Her hands trembled as she started to cry. The sobs ripping from her chest, unable to be held back any longer. Her life was over. Not just emotionally, but physically. There was no way to survive without him. She didn't WANT to survive without him. The girls. Oh, God, the girls. What were they going to think? What was her family supposed to do? The cries starting to rack from her chest once again. Placing her head in her hands she could do nothing more than sit in the dirty alley floor and feel her heart break.