Saving Ella (4 page)

              “The thermostat doesn’t appear to be working. With that storm coming in we’re gonna need the heat,” came Beth’s raspy voice from the doorway. She needed to stop smoking. Maybe that husky tone had once been sexy, when she was younger, but now, she just sounded like the pack a day hardened addict she was.

             
“It’s not a problem Beth, I’ll take a look in a sec. It probably needs a new fuse, I’ve got heaps laying around,” my eyes were fixed on the folder before me. Bills, so many bills. Mercy had been hiding them from me. It had taken me the last hour to find the folder hidden under a tray of never ending filing. I knew she didn’t want me paying her bills, but fuck, I wasn’t about to use the money, so it might as well go to something good like the shelter.

             
“Mercy will be pissed if she finds out you’ve been going through her files again,” Beth chuckled. I looked up and grinned. Yep, she’d be pissed, if she found out. Beth looked tired. She was a fifty something year old woman who had lived a hard life, too hard and it showed on her lined face and in her tired eyes. I would take the first shift tonight even though I was dog tired myself. Beth needed a break.

             
“She will be pissed if she finds out. Are you planning on telling her?” I quizzed Beth as she turned to leave.

             
“Hell no! I’ve seen Mercy pissed and it ain’t pretty.” Beth strolled back down the hall leaving me alone in the icy office. Yep, the thermostat was most definitely not working. I ran my hands through my hair and grinned with lazy satisfaction. It was too long. I should probably get it cut, but after nine years of working for Uncle Sam and wearing his butt ugly military enforced buzz cut, I was enjoying this slight rebellion. I stood and stretched my aching six foot six frame. Yeah, I was tall. Mercy says she has no idea where it comes from. She’s all of five foot five, and according to her, my good for nothing father barely reached five-six. Grabbing a spare fuse off the bookshelf I made my way down the narrow corridor and down the steep stairs to the basement. It was freezing down here, and dark, and damp. The dark had never bothered me, and I had endured climates of both bitter cold and scorching heat before. I was the only one who would come down here. Mercy was too busy, David had no idea how to replace a fuse and Beth was convinced a ghost had taken up residence. Against the back wall was my unmade bed, the uncomfortable portable kind. And in the center of the room hung a punching bag, this was my timeout. When looking at the bruised and battered bodies of women and children got to be too much, I came down here and beat the anger out of me. I was blissfully anger free right now, so I bypassed the bag and quickly sorted out the new fuse, adjusted the thermostat and climbed the deadly staircase out of the basement, making sure to close and lock the door at the top. There were two children with their mothers who had found refuge in the shelter at the moment and I didn’t want either of them stumbling down the unsafe stairwell. My nose led me straight to the kitchen where dinner was being prepared. I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the warmth radiating from the ovens. Nancy, a middle aged woman with wisps of grey hair amongst a short brown bob took a nervous step back away from me. Nancy was knew, she had only been staying with us a week and she was as skittish as a mouse. Her cautious green eyes were submissively downcast, her hands timidly linked in front of her rubbing anxiously at her fingers. I pretended not to notice the fearful response and smiled. It was the usual reaction from the women in the shelter who did not know me well. I was a big powerful man, and most of these women had run from big powerful men who had beaten the ever living crap out of them. I knew I made many of them nervous, but for the regulars, they came to realize I would not lay a finger on them. I was a diehard protector, especially when it came to women and children. In the shelter, I was handyman, gardener, dishwasher, office boy, the resident go-for and on occasions, security. Mercy’s shelter for abused women was owned and run by my mom, Mercy, and whenever I returned from a mission, I would help out. My last mission was in Afghanistan eight months ago, and after many weeks of deep contemplation, I decided that this return would be permanent. At twenty-seven years of age I had seen enough death and destruction to last a life time, and to be honest, could easily have done without the misery and despair that came with the shelter. But this was Mercy’s life, her dream and as she often said,
“from the pits of despair they shall rise stronger.”
Nothing gave me more satisfaction than seeing a defeated woman regain her strength and pride. And many of the women who came to Mercy’s Shelter did. When they arrived they were at their lowest, beaten, starved and desperate. Fortunately, thanks to the hard work of Mercy, many of these women left with renewed spirits, hope and a strength they had long forgotten.  Of course there were some that didn’t recover, no matter how much time and effort you put in, some returned to the very prick that sent them running in the first place. And then there were the few, when at their very lowest and most vulnerable, they would end their misery. I shivered at the memory of the tiny teenager I had found slumped in a pool of blood in the bathroom six months ago. Sure, I had seen death before, I had meted it out. But somehow this was different. I had tried to reach out to Sarah but she was having difficulty trusting me. Perhaps I didn’t try hard enough, I had surely failed her. She was innocent, so young. She should have been at home with her mom and dad arguing about the clothes she wore and the music she listened too. Not slumming it on the streets and selling her body to buy food. I had to stop thinking of her, for the thoughts led me back to nightmares and cold sweats. Nightmares that had once forced me to seek help for post-traumatic stress with the shelters only therapist Dave.

             
“Damn, smells good in here Mary. Anything I can do to help?” A large well rounded woman with flushed cheeks and a toothless grin glanced over her shoulder at me.

             
“You get out of my kitchen boy. Last time you tried to help the oven caught on fire.” I laughed loudly. I liked Mary. She told it how it was, I couldn’t cook for shit.

             
“Now that wasn’t my fault, I was so distracted with your shepherd’s pie I completely forgot about desert. So I think it’s safe to say it’s your fault.”

             
Mary laughed. “Here, taste this.” She handed me a warm muffin right from the oven. My eyes rolled back in my head as the chocolate flavor burst and flooded my mouth. I let out a highly inappropriate yet appreciative groan.

             
“Have you tried one of these yet?” I suddenly asked Nancy who still stood anxiously by the door. She barely met my eyes and shook her head. “Mary, give the lady a muffin while they’re still warm.” I didn’t spare her another glance, I didn’t want to make her feel any more anxious as I left the kitchen. I felt the woman’s eyes on me as I walked away though. She was curious, wondering if I could be trusted, who I was, why I was here. If she was intending on staying a while, she would realize she had nothing to fear.

             
“Is it a full house tonight?” I heard Mary call out.             

             
“Yep. No spare beds tonight.” I made my way down the corridor and into the large open plan room which served as a rec room, dining room and bedroom. The beds were set up on the farthest side of the warehouse, thirteen to be exact, with the occasional divider to help afford the women some measure of privacy. The bathrooms were close by and handy. The other side of the warehouse was furnished with big old comfy lounge chairs and a couple of big timber tables. Nothing matched, but it was all sturdy and clean. Mercy’s shelter was by no means large, but it was tidy, warm, comfortable and more importantly, safe.

             
“Hey Jax, I’m hungry,” called out a tiny voice from the floor to my left. A little brown haired boy with big blue eyes followed my movement through the room, bouncing on his little feet with excitement. At six years old, Eli was the youngest in the shelter and had been staying regularly with his mother Annie for over a month now. Annie had picked up work at the local diner and had almost saved up enough money to rent a small apartment. As much as I was proud of Annie for turning their lives around and making a fresh start for her and Eli, I would be sad to see them go. Eli was a breath of fresh air in the shelter. He was excitable, carefree and always sporting an honest and innocent grin. He was one of the lucky ones whose mom got him out before he could be physically or emotionally scarred by his father’s heavy handed reign. The other child currently in residence was a girl, Sam, aged twelve. She was not so fortunate. Her mother had carried her under nourished beaten body in three weeks ago. Neither Sam nor her waif of a mother, Georgia, had said much since arriving. They had obviously suffered and the fact that they were here now spoke volumes. But they couldn’t stay forever. Mercy and Dave would have to have a sit down with Georgia soon and plan their next course of action. Dave was the in-house shrink. In the beginning I was suspicious of his reasons for joining the shelter. I assumed my mother’s pretty smile and playful blue eyes had drawn him in. But David in action was something else to behold. He loved his job, and he truly cared about his patients. In the shelter he operated in stealth mode, not flaunting his fancy degree or Doctor title. He was simply Dave, and he was there to talk and offer advice. He was a welcomed and much needed addition to the team and the fact that he loved my mother was even more welcoming. She deserved a man like Dave after the many years of dealing with my biological father’s shit.

             
“Ten more minutes little man, you better go wash up for your momma.” Eli turned and scrambled away for one of the bathrooms. I could already feel the large open area starting to fill with warmth from the fixed thermostat. Crossing the hall to the small room that was the entry to Mercy’s Shelter I headed for the big heavy front door. It was time to lock the place down for the night. Mercy had left almost an hour ago, leaving Beth and I on for tonight’s watch. I didn’t do night shifts all that often now, but two of our volunteers were down sick and our other male staff member Blue wanted a couple of nights off, so here I was. Curfew was normally late, eleven P.M, but the beds were already full and the storm was settling in. No one else would come knocking tonight.

             
As I reached the door I glanced through the fogged up window, giving it a quick wipe to check the street front. As my hand reached the heavy dead bolt something caught my eye. The snow and wind was vicious, blinding everything with a flurry of white. But somewhere out there I caught a dark shape moving along the sidewalk. Watching carefully I noticed it again, drawing closer to the building. Hunched over, the petite body pushing against the wind slipped on the ice and went down hard. I didn’t hesitate to pull open the door and trudge out into the bitter storm. With no jacket it was crazy cold. A few long strides forward I reached the fragile girl struggling to get to her feet.

             
“Hey, are you okay?” I yelled over the howling winds. The tiny figure snapped to attention, beautifully slanted dark brown eyes widened as they took me in. She was gorgeous, even under the heavy layers of jackets, the tattered old beanie and thick scarf. Her skin was porcelain white, with cheeks flushed from the cold, beautiful lips that I just knew would hold a drop dead gorgeous smile. Her eyes ran a heated trail up my body and I knew she was impressed and terrified. I smiled and instinctively I raised my hands as a gesture of calm and safety.

             
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you, I work in there,” I pointed behind me. “It’s a women’s shelter. Do you want to come in?” I hoped to god she said yes and said it soon before one or both of us went into hypothermia. Her eyes shifted from me to the warehouse, nervously. Oh yeah, she had that same look they all did. Suspicion and fear. “Full house tonight, all women except for me. I know, I’m crazy to put myself in confined quarters with so many women, but I enjoy being fussed over. Anyway, if you ladies all wanted to band together and take me down, I’m sure you’d have no trouble.” I allowed a small grin just to let her know I was making a joke. These scared fragile women didn’t often get my sense of humor. To my surprise, a small grin escaped those pretty lips that were starting to turn blue.

             
“Come on in and take a look at least. It’s too damn cold to be standing out here. I don’t even have a jacket on, you’re all rugged up and I’m freezing my kahuna’s off.” With only a moment’s hesitation she moved forward, mindfully taking a wide birth around me. I didn’t walk behind her I knew that made the women nervous, but instead stayed slightly to the side and in front. I opened the door and stepped through, holding it open so she could follow. The warmth was welcome as I slammed the door shut on the frigid storm outside.

             
“My name is Jax Carter. This is Mercy’s shelter, I help run the place. There is no reason for you to be afraid here.” I had said those words thousands of times, planting the seeds of trust right from the start. The pint-sized girl stood sopping wet, shivering and watching me warily. Her little fists were curled up at her side, her face a little defiant. She had anger in her, she was a fighter. You needed that strength to live on the streets, but not even her bold little stance could hide the fear. At least she wasn’t screaming or fainting. It had happened before. “Come on in. You can take a warm shower and get some dry clothes on. Supper is about to be served but I’ll make sure to save you a plate.” I moved through the small foyer not checking to see if she would follow. She either would or she wouldn’t, it was something that couldn’t be forced.