Fear No More (Ghost No More Series Book 3) Read online

  Fear No More

  CeeCee James

  Contents

  Fear No More

  Dedication

  Also by CeeCee James

  1. Into the Black

  2. *Five months earlier*

  3. The Long Night

  4. Darkest Before Dawn

  5. Where Can I Go?

  6. Fake It Until You Make It

  7. *5 months later-

  8. *4 years old*

  9. the Night of the Bus Ride

  10. The Dawn Cracks

  11. *21 years old*

  12. ~epilogue~

  Untitled

  Chapter 13

  Introduction

  ~Turning Invisible~

  ~The Escape~

  Copyright

  Fear No More

  By CeeCee James

  ~1 Corinthians 1:28 God has chosen what is insignificant and despised in the world--what is viewed as nothing…~

  Also by CeeCee James

  * * *

  This series has 3 books- Ghost No More and Lost No More and Fear No More.

  Free with Kindle Unlimited- Ghost No More

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  ~This book is incredibly special to me because of the reader contributions at the end. They mean more to me than anything I’ve written myself. I want to thank each one for sharing.~

  This story is a companion novella to Ghost No More, and fills in a missing section of time. It’s based on true events. Names have been changed to protect those involved.

  1

  Into the Black

  It was almost nine o’clock. The witching hour, the time the teenaged boys trickled back to the house from wherever they’d hung out during the day.

  Every night was the same. They came in like MMA fighters, laughing and pushing each other in a big show of machismo and testosterone. Then, one of them would catch sight of me wherever I was trying to hide, and start flipping me crap. Sometimes I chose to face their insults and anger. Usually I ran.

  The one who hated me the most was David, the leader of the group and my ex-boyfriend’s best friend. He was seventeen, broody and bad-tempered with patchy hair and pimples that covered his face. He was also the son of Big Dave, the owner of the house.

  My current home.

  Home, really, who was I kidding? I didn’t have a home. Big Dave was a stranger to me, a friend of a friend, who let me stay under the constant threat of being kicked out during one of his son’s tantrums. I’d already spent a night on the floor of the post office, and groveled my way back. I didn’t want to do that again.

  Being the only girl in a house among eight teenage guys was hardly ideal. We were all homeless. Big Dave needed help being able to pay his mortgage. He’d sent the word out on the streets, and we’d all flocked to him like he was some pied-piper of teenagers.

  The house was small. We fought for a place on the floor to sleep. It constantly smelled like dirty gym socks, sweat, and spoiled food. The baseboards and walls were gouged up, light switch covers missing. Tangled piles of blankets, pillows and clothing were flung all over the living room where everyone crashed at night. In the kitchen, the sink and counters were piled with food-encrusted dishes and towers of cups from who knows how long. I tried not to go in there.

  I tried not to be seen at all.

  But it was still safer than sleeping on the streets.

  I took the pencil out of my mouth and stared at the end. I’d nearly chewed off the entire eraser, anxious for this moment of their return. Science books spread out across the dining room table, an ugly reminder about tomorrow’s Physics test. After another glance at the clock on the microwave, I started to shuffle my notes back into a pile. The Physics book fell on the floor with a loud smack that made me flinch. As I bent over to get it, the front door banged open.

  They were home.

  The group of them came round the corner into the dining area where I sat. David had a couple of plastic grocery sacks looped over his hand.

  He glared at me before walking into the kitchen and wrenching open the fridge. “Why are you still here?” He pulled out the milk container and cocked it open. Without looking at me, he continued. “I told you to get the -- out.”

  I licked my lip and looked at the table. The top was scarred with cigarette burns and the carvings of obscene words and names. A shiver shook me, and I clenched the pencil to control it.

  David took a long drink from the carton, then thumped it back down on shelf. He slammed the door shut. “Hey!” He spun back towards me. “What are you, deaf? Answer me! I said you aren’t welcome here. Can’t you understand the words coming from my mouth?”

  His face twisted into a sneer. “Can.. you.. hear.. me?” he said with exaggerated slowness. “Dumb girl.”

  Taking a deep breath, I whispered. “Your dad told me it was okay.” My eyes flicked up at him then back at the table.

  He snorted. “I don’t give a crap what my dad says. He’s a sucker.” He took two steps toward me, his hands into balled fists. “You aren’t wanted here.”

  Behind him, one of the guys said, “Hey David, I’m getting the game started.” The kid turned towards the living room with another one following him. I knew the both of them; fifteen, drop-outs, and total bro-code all the way. They’d never side with me even if David hit me.

  David continued to glare at me, his eyes jerking over my face like he wished they were his fists. I met his gaze briefly, before looking away again. It was like being stared at by a growling dog. Slow movements, don’t engage. I held no position of power here, and he knew that.

  “Why don’t you go back to your boyfriend?” he sneered. “Oh, that’s right, you screwed him over.” That was the crux of the matter. I’d broken up with his best friend a few weeks ago. In that moment every unsavory word that could be applied to a woman was applied to me. It didn’t matter that the last straw was when my ex-boyfriend almost killed me in a fit of anger. I was despised for not being a good girlfriend and supporting him.

  “You know, ever since you moved in here, there’s been nothing but drama. Face it, no one wants you. Why don’t you go sleep in a dumpster?” David closed the gap between us with hard, fast steps. I tried not to flinch at the sound of his boots. He gripped the edge of the table and towered over me. His nostrils flared.

  My heart quavered in my rib cage. Loathing came off of him like a wave. I slid the rest of my books and papers into a pile. “Okay, I’m going.” His knuckles were white, and worried I might really get hit this time. As slow as possible, I stood up.

  I didn’t want to set him off.

  I grabbed my sweatshirt off the chair and my back pack filled with school books. At the door, I unzipped the backpack. Somewhere at the bottom was loose change. It took me a second, but I fished it out and shoved it in my jeans. Without looking back at him, I left the house.

  It was disgusting outside. The rain poured over the sides of the clogged gutters of the house rather than going through the downspouts. I fought for a second to get into my sweatshirt before giving up, and held it over my head. I hated having to go out at night. But it was just a fact. Lately, when the boys came home, it was time to leave until they’d all gone to bed.

  There weren’t many places to escape to at this time of night. The small Mom-and-Pop grocery store had just closed. I walked up the street, no sidewalks here, and made my way for the bus stop. Over the last few weeks this had become my new habit.

  Lightning ripped the sky to my right. I screamed at the immediate reverberating of thunder and ran the rest of the way to the stop.
Once there, I huddled for a second against the bus sign, before eyeing the metal pole. Sheesh! Not a good idea, I told myself and shifted away.

  The rain flew against me like a grey sheet, drenching the sweatshirt I held over my head, and bouncing off the asphalt. My face was cold and dripping, and who knew what was going on with my mascara. I swiped at my nose and quickly glanced up the street, searching for the headlights of the Metro bus that would rescue me.

  Taking a deep breath in, I blew it out whispering my usual pep-talk. “You’re strong. You’ve got this.” This chant was my friend.

  “Where the heck is the bus?” I muttered. I knew the night bus schedule by heart. It was already late. My chest squeezed in anxiety. On top of everything else, I was definitely not too confident for the Physics test tomorrow. I needed to pass this class to graduate high school, if I ever wanted to escape this town. Mr. Carter was a freaking nightmare about his tests. He seemed to take a sick pleasure in putting the most obscure facts on the test and award those questions the most points. But study time was over for now.

  Finally! Lights. The bus came down the road like an old hippo, air brakes hissing as it got closer. It pulled up with a shudder and stopped in a river of water that ran beside the road. I fidgeted up and down on my toes as I waited for the doors to open. There was a moment of hesitation, as though the bus-driver were considering whether or not to let me on. Then, the doors wheezed open, and a fluorescent rectangle of light greeted me like Christmas morning. I grabbed the handle and hauled myself over the puddle and on to the first step.

  The bus driver gave me a bored glance, his face sullen with deep lines on both sides of his mouth. He pulled the door shut and then turned back to stare out the windshield where the wipers squeaked and bounced.

  “Hi,” I said with a nervous grin, then dropped the sodden hoodie over my arm. No answer; his attitude was ‘Pay up and take a seat. Job’s hard enough without dealing with your crap.’

  Guilt made me blush as if I was somehow keeping him from doing his job. I quickly jammed my fingers into the pocket of my wet jeans. The jean material just wasn’t giving. “Just a second,” I said, panic causing my hands to tremble when the coins wouldn’t budge. A quarter shot out and rolled along the aisle. The driver closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh my gosh! Sorry!” I chased after it as it spun under one of the empty front seats. Snatching it up, I fished out the rest and deposited the coins into the collector.

  The driver moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Take a seat,” he said in an uninterested drawl.

  He slipped off the brake. The bus lurched forward with a deep rumble. I walked down the aisle and hung on to the backs of the seats to keep my balance, looking for a place to sit.

  It was a slow night. The bus was just about vacant, its emptiness highlighted by the glow of the overhead lights off the green vinyl benches and advertisements above the windows.

  The only other passengers were at the rear of the bus. An old man rested his head against the back of the seat, a timeworn tweed cap pulled over his face. He tipped the cap up and tilted his head to glance at me. His puffy eyes were nearly hidden by wrinkles, and he had a wide, old man’s nose. He pulled the cap back down.

  I slid into the seat across the aisle from him. My drenched hoodie was water-logged, and I threw it with a “slap” on the cracked seat next to me. Nice job keeping me dry, I thought sarcastically and plucked my shirt from where it lay pasted against my stomach.

  The other passenger sat two rows behind the old guy. I glanced at her really quickly. She was in her early fifties, wrapped in a camel-colored coat. At her feet was a macramé bag. She didn’t look at me; instead she was immersed in the book in her hand. I leaned a bit to see what she was reading; it was a romance novel. I recognized the cover from one of my Grandma’s tottering piles around her bedroom- a blonde women with her dress half-torn, held by a bare-chested man with long hair.

  I turned to look out the window. The glass reflecting my face was smeared by the dark shadows of raindrops dripping down it. The image made my gut wrench because I could barely stand to see myself. I blinked, and superimposed over my reflection, was the face of my mother. I could almost hear her say, her mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile, “You think you’re hot stuff? You ruined my life.”

  Punctuated with her famous, “You’re not wanted here. You made your bed. Now, go lie in it.”

  It was an expression that said, “You will always fail.”

  And I was failing. What area of my life wasn’t a mess? School continued to threaten to withhold my high school diploma because of my unexcused absences. Work was hard to juggle between my homework and my living situation.

  I was drowning. Suffocating. I’d been trying to dig my way out for the last five months since I’d been kicked out of my home, and nothing was working.

  2

  *Five months earlier*

  I tied an apron around my waist as Murray, the cook, greeted me. He also owned the restaurant, and his gruff personality was perfectly suited to being in the kitchen, barking out the orders whenever they came up.

  My favorite customer was already sitting in the booth by the window.

  “You’re late, CeeCee,” Murray grunted at me.

  I wasn’t late, but he liked me to clock in fifteen minutes early for my shift. Easiest way to win him over was just to apologize, which I quickly did. “Sorry, Murray! I’ll make it up to you.” He lifted his shaggy eyebrows in acknowledgment and then nodded. I grabbed the coffee pot off the warmer and hurried over to the customer.

  “Hey, Mr. Davis. How’re you doing?” He reminded me of a Grandpa I’d always wished I had.

  “It’s Ben. When are you ever going to call me Ben?” His voice was warm. He wore a knit sweater over a blue-checkered button-up shirt. I couldn’t resist a peek; no bow-tie today.

  Chuckling, I flipped over the coffee cup that sat upside down on its paper coaster. “Awww, you know I can’t do that.” Then, tilting my head towards the pot. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks, Darlin. Nah, even decaf seems to keep me awake.” He smiled up to me. “So, how was school today?”

  “It was good. My article was published in the paper.” I couldn’t help a small grin.

  “I knew it would be. You’re a smart cookie.”

  His compliment nearly brought tears to my eyes. I blinked hard. He didn’t notice as he folded back the newspaper next to him. “I’ll have my usual, again, Darlin’.”

  “Sure thing, coming right up, Mr. Davis.” I lifted the menu off the table and tucked it under my arm.

  The bell above the door rang, and an arguing young couple walked in.

  “I’m so sick of it, Trevor,” the red head said, annoyed. Pretty, short, and impeccably dressed, she was also my co-worker, working the opposite days of my schedule.

  “Hi Joanna,” I said.

  She noticed of me with a start and struggled to smooth away her frown. “Hi CeeCee. I’m just here for my paycheck. Did Murray finish them yet?”

  I shook my head. My shoes were falling apart, so I was anxious for mine, too.

  “Be just a minute, chit,” Murray called from the back. He had a soft spot in his heart for Joanna. If I was looking for my check, he’d tell me that he’d get it to me when he was good and ready. But for Joanna, Murray would whip out the paycheck in a heartbeat.

  Joanna walked behind the counter to watch him through the kitchen pass-through. “Thanks, Murray.”

  I followed her with my order slip and clipped it to the Lazy-Susan hanging above the window. Murray spun it around, hardly glancing at the slip before he threw it on the counter. He already had Mr. Davis’ eggs frying on the grill.

  Grabbing a cup off the rack, I scooped some ice and held it under the spout. I struggled between wanting to help her, and knowing it’d probably be unwelcome. Cleared my throat. “You okay?”

  She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Trevor, who was watching us, and flashed him an irritated look. “It’s
the same-old same-old with him.” Her eyes flicked back to mine. “You’re lucky you’re still single.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head, “no.” Four perfectly polished fingernails tapped the edge of the window waiting for Murray to show up with her paycheck.

  In the few months that I’d worked at the restaurant I struggled to connect with Joanna. She was one of those girls who seemed to have it all together. She’d graduated with great grades, had lots of friends, and just moved out on her own. Her world was completely different than mine. I wished we could be friends, just so that some of her success in life might rub off on me. It was an uphill battle though, since the only time she really ever talked to me was to ask me to cover one of her shifts.

  I sighed and walked back to Mr. Davis’ table with the water.

  Trevor slid into the booth behind him. “Hey, can you bring me a soda?” he asked, giving me a slight smile.

  When I returned with his soda, Joanna was already heading to the table, her check in hand. She scooted into the bench across from Trevor with a frown. He reached to take one of her hands, and she pulled it away.

  I set the soda on the table. “Want something Joanna?”

  “Yeah, but you can’t get it for me,” She stared out the window. Her lip trembled.

  Trevor looked crushed by her words and raked his hands through his dark hair. “I said I was sorry.”

  “You’re always sorry, Trevor.” She answered in a monotone. I turned away then, blushing for the both of them. I’d never seen a man apologize before.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d met Trevor. Joanna had brought him round the restaurant during the summer, introducing him to Murray with a happy, dippy grin. He’d said hi to all of us, while she’d hung on to his arm like he was the grand prize at a carnival. They were returning from a movie, and he’d seemed friendly as he’d explained the plot, punctuated with animated arm movements at the shoot-em-up scenes. Joanna had giggled while watching him.