A Heart of Deception Part 3

 _{This is a 13 part series. Be sure to check out the prior released adventures!}

1 Holly Everten was lying lifeless on the cool cement that had befriended her for an indefinite amount of time. Blood pooled around her once deep, blond locks that were now a crusty russet hue. Her long elegant fingers she once lavished attention to had several nails ripped off them. Her slender legs had been methodically broken in several places from a wicket. The telltale rivets were scarring a faded tan she had once proudly displayed with flirty shorts on occasion....more

Holly and Darrell settled into Rex Fields, a dry, warm, southern town near Oklahoma and Louisiana border. It was their second home since getting married. This one was special because they were buying it. Rex Fields was not far from the mid-sized Louisiana town of Screaming Trees, where Holly and Darrell both grew up, but never crossed paths due to both moving away in their early teen years....more

3 Several years had passed by ever so quickly. Holly chased after Percy who was barking madly at the chickens. Her graying hair cascaded down her shoulders veiling the laugh lines on her face. Holly managed to get the muddy dog cornered into the hall when a rap at the front door echoed through the house.

          “Who is it?” Holly said with a slight irritancy in her voice. Percy had left her breathless.

          “Aweh, me lady!” Miles crooned. “My bakkie broke down, care to give me a lift?”

           “What’s wrong with that stupid truck now Miles?” Holly grumbled. She had too much to do and the intrusive request grated her nerves.

           “Don’t be dik bek now bokkie, I just need this favor.” Miles pled.

           “I thought you worked on those tractors all the time! What’s so hard about the mechanics of your truck? Can’t you fix it?” Holly evasively replied.

           “Farming equipment is different and I think it’s my carburetor. I need to get me another at the junkyard.” Miles defensively said.

           “Sorry to be rude, Miles, I just chase this dumb thing all over the chicken house and am very tired. I’ll get you down to the store…” Holly knew when Miles affectionately called her a bokkie he was in pickle. Terms of endearment were unusual for the emotionally closed off bachelor. The only emotion that Miles seemed to ever share was the confrontational type, which Holly noticed on more than one occasion that he pulled off as an unconvincing air of confidence.

           Holly collected her thoughts and wrapped her hair up in a silk scarf. Percy was in the bathroom, unable to get loose. She grabbed her keys and escorted Miles to the red Chevy Tahoe. “So where has your sister been lately?” Holly tried to improve her disposition and open up with idle chatter.

           “She’s had her hole-full. I don’t think she is meant to marry. She went to visit her auntie Delta.” Miles said as he looked down at his rough, ashy hands marred by farming most of his life.

           “That would be the aunt from ya’ll’s dad's side huh?” Holly validated. She knew the answer. After all, Miles and his sister Blythe were half siblings, sharing a Caucasian dad.

           “I guess since she grew up with our toppie, she knows their side better.” Miles looked detached, like Holly had brought up a sore subject. His dark cinnamon eyes, and rusty eyelashes and eyebrows burnt by the long hours in the sun, curled in a clump next the deep furrow on his forehead. “Branson didn’t seem to like me as much as her, but he’s a great man, very protective, he’s always been the baas.” Miles spoken thoughts about his dad seemed to trail off into another universe. Holly could see the pulse from his bulging artery in his neck, tracing itself along the defined muscles in his jaw, neck, and upper shoulders.

           “I am sure she’ll find someone wonderful like her brother someday.” Holly tried to assure Miles, a bit agitated under her cloak of coolness.

           “No!” Miles impetuously screamed. Holly had hit a nerve unknowingly. “She won’t marry and make the same mistake my mom did, that doos! She needs me, without me around she’s just a scrompie!” He angrily attested.

           “Doos?” Holly sharply turned the steering wheel, and looked around the parking lot that she was instructed to pull into earlier, hoping to end the conversation quickly.

           “Idiot.” Miles explained irritably. “All women are that way.” Miles muttered, hardly audible for Holly to make out.

           A couple of days later Blythe came to the door as Holly laid out the dinner dressings for Darrell. It was a cool night, and Holly had her favorite red shawl on that look exquisite with her deep blondish grey hair.

           Blythe, who was by nature very reserve and emotionally detached, asked in a tiny voice if Darrell was home yet.

           Holly inquisitively replied, “No, why?” Holly returned to the table place settings with fantastic corral napkins.

           “Oh, nuttin’, just wanta chat with him.” She sheepishly replied.

           “Well, he should be around shortly. I’ll let him know you came by.” Holly glanced quickly at her, noticing her long black curly hair, olive complexion, hazel brown, almond-shaped eyes, and the formidable jagged scar above her right eyebrow. Blithe’s glasses were low-grade and cheap, broken on one side and consequently crooked. She had a disheveled appearance. The multiple scars and injuries in various stages of healing on her arms did make her look like a homeless person ~or scrompie as Miles implied earlier.

           That night Holly had a sensational dream about her dad being alive. He was running through the sprinkler with her as she danced wildly in her orange, polka-dotted swimsuit, her babyish arms flailing around in the blistering summer air. Her dad approached her gingerly with his low John Wayne type voice, accentuated with his notorious Southern drawl. He kept saying, ‘I love you baby, I love you’ repetitiously. As he began to hold her tightly, Holly discovered she was looking down at herself. At a closer glance, the little girl in her dad's arms wasn’t her at all. In fact, the child just strongly favored her in appearance but she had never met her before. Her dad continued to treat the dainty look–alike as if she were Holly throughout the rest of the dream. Holly seemed to be invisible and unable to regain her dad's attention. As the dream came to a close, Holly felt she couldn’t breathe. She felt like tons of bricks were piled onto her, like being buried alive. It was progressively getting so dark and cold. Her dad's voice and the little girl’s giggles decreased, as she could no longer see light. Eventually their muffled tones morphed into an unrecognizable man’s voice. The bullish chant almost seemed to come from within the earth she was encapsulated with. It was gurgling with laughter, and haunting chivying. Instead of being expectantly scared, she was angry. She tried to claw her way out of the imprisonment she found herself in, but she didn’t have hands. Soon, it was revealed to her that she didn’t have legs either. Holly abruptly awoke, tears streaming down her face. Darrell was coiled next to her, snoring uncontrollably, blissfully unaware of the monstrosity that she just endured.