Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) by Anabell Martin Page B
Authors: Anabell Martin
Tags: Horror
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watching her, but she concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, not on brooding spirit. She hummed “Jesus loves me” softly as she went about changing her clothes and gathering necessities. She walked pointedly toward the door once she had changed into her white two-piece swim suit and a pair of cut off shorts and packed a canvas tote bag with her wallet and her newly acquired student ID. She slipped her sunglasses on top of her head and glanced at her feet. Her nails were a mess of chipped paint so she dashed into her bathroom and grabbed a bottle of pink nail polish.
On the way out, Lindsey stopped in the laundry room to grab a towel and a new bottle of sunscreen. The lotion was in a box with other extra toiletries on the top shelf of the cabinet. She climbed on top of the dryer and pulled out the box she was after. She fumbled through it, stopping when she saw the brown bottle with coconuts on the front; she tossed it into her bag. As she began to fold the flaps closed she saw the corner of the bent envelope the lawyer had given her mom back in Indiana. She pulled it from beneath the various containers of shampoo, face cream, and saline solution, sparing a nervous glance over her shoulder. Inside, she could feel the papers that her mother had kept from her all these weeks. Without thinking twice, she stuffed it into her bag, too.
She met her friends at their house a few minutes later. Once she was in the backseat of Michelle’s Jeep, she propped her flip-flopped foot on the seat and painted her toenails. The simple task was more difficult than she’d expected as they headed down Highway 64.
“Are all the roads around here so poorly kept?” Lindsey asked when they hit what seemed like the 100th pot hole. She completely missed the nail and painted the knuckle of her big toe. She wiped the wet polish off with her fingertip and hit the nail on the second try.
Michelle shrugged. “Pretty much. Between the constant flow of logging trucks and the people who commute to Charleston and Summerville for work, it would be nearly impossible to redo them. Even the most minor repairs are a pain in the ass.”
Lindsey watched the trees pass by the car on both sides. The barren stretch of road was upsetting. Every once in a while they would pass a section of land that had been attacked by loggers. Stumps of the dead trees stood up just a foot or so out of the ground, like nature’s tombstones. The stumps were almost always surrounded by a soft mist, as if they had just exhaled their last breaths.
“Wow, that’s really sad,” Lindsey muttered. She wasn’t against logging, per se, but to see a lot that was once lush and alive now dead and broken was depressing; she wondered how many creatures had lost their homes, maybe even their lives, in the demolition.
Further down the road Lindsey realized there wasn’t a place to stop anywhere. No place to get a drink, no place to pee, no place to get gas. She remembered her first trip down this road and her mother’s warning about poison ivy.
“What happens if you run out of gas out here?”
“You’d be shit out of luck, that’s what. And you better hope you have a cell that gets service out here or you’re going to have one hell of a walk,” Maddie answered. “Thanks to gang activity a while ago, very few people are willing to stop and help a stranger on the side of the road anymore.”
“Gangs? Here?”
“Yeah! Don’t you read the newspaper? There was a story in the Post and Courier a week or so ago about state agents arresting like 20 people here in connection with gang shootings. I’m surprised your Mom hasn’t mentioned any of it to you since she works at the hospital.”
“Well, Mom works labor and delivery, not E.R. But I’m sure she’s heard something. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned anything?”
Mentioning her mother reminded Lindsey of the envelope. Inside, there were two regular size envelopes with a stack of legal-looking paperwork.
On the way out, Lindsey stopped in the laundry room to grab a towel and a new bottle of sunscreen. The lotion was in a box with other extra toiletries on the top shelf of the cabinet. She climbed on top of the dryer and pulled out the box she was after. She fumbled through it, stopping when she saw the brown bottle with coconuts on the front; she tossed it into her bag. As she began to fold the flaps closed she saw the corner of the bent envelope the lawyer had given her mom back in Indiana. She pulled it from beneath the various containers of shampoo, face cream, and saline solution, sparing a nervous glance over her shoulder. Inside, she could feel the papers that her mother had kept from her all these weeks. Without thinking twice, she stuffed it into her bag, too.
She met her friends at their house a few minutes later. Once she was in the backseat of Michelle’s Jeep, she propped her flip-flopped foot on the seat and painted her toenails. The simple task was more difficult than she’d expected as they headed down Highway 64.
“Are all the roads around here so poorly kept?” Lindsey asked when they hit what seemed like the 100th pot hole. She completely missed the nail and painted the knuckle of her big toe. She wiped the wet polish off with her fingertip and hit the nail on the second try.
Michelle shrugged. “Pretty much. Between the constant flow of logging trucks and the people who commute to Charleston and Summerville for work, it would be nearly impossible to redo them. Even the most minor repairs are a pain in the ass.”
Lindsey watched the trees pass by the car on both sides. The barren stretch of road was upsetting. Every once in a while they would pass a section of land that had been attacked by loggers. Stumps of the dead trees stood up just a foot or so out of the ground, like nature’s tombstones. The stumps were almost always surrounded by a soft mist, as if they had just exhaled their last breaths.
“Wow, that’s really sad,” Lindsey muttered. She wasn’t against logging, per se, but to see a lot that was once lush and alive now dead and broken was depressing; she wondered how many creatures had lost their homes, maybe even their lives, in the demolition.
Further down the road Lindsey realized there wasn’t a place to stop anywhere. No place to get a drink, no place to pee, no place to get gas. She remembered her first trip down this road and her mother’s warning about poison ivy.
“What happens if you run out of gas out here?”
“You’d be shit out of luck, that’s what. And you better hope you have a cell that gets service out here or you’re going to have one hell of a walk,” Maddie answered. “Thanks to gang activity a while ago, very few people are willing to stop and help a stranger on the side of the road anymore.”
“Gangs? Here?”
“Yeah! Don’t you read the newspaper? There was a story in the Post and Courier a week or so ago about state agents arresting like 20 people here in connection with gang shootings. I’m surprised your Mom hasn’t mentioned any of it to you since she works at the hospital.”
“Well, Mom works labor and delivery, not E.R. But I’m sure she’s heard something. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned anything?”
Mentioning her mother reminded Lindsey of the envelope. Inside, there were two regular size envelopes with a stack of legal-looking paperwork.
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