Chapter 2:
Blake put his black stetson cowboy hat on the moment he slid into the driver seat of his lifted Chevy Silverado. He let out a pent up breath, glancing at his face in the mirror he studied the lines of his own facial features, noting just how they told his messed up tale. Sharp jawed, he felt as if a grin may have softened his features, even though they were definitely masculine. A defined nose, slightly larger than what he would've liked, quite contrary to that of his new lover, it had a scar left from childhood running the length of the right nostril and up under his eyebrow. His eyes were tinted the tone of dark chocolate, and he knew they would look like creamy milk chocolate once he started working with the kids he loved so much. Even if they constantly reminded him of the very reason why he was so broken. Gazing at the golden locks of his hair that were peeking out from under his hat, he smiled to himself; a hat will always save you the trouble of a brush. Then again... He remembered when he used the necessary evil of a brush daily. When he prided himself on his looks and how he never lost his cool.
He shifted his 5'9" frame, which though it was always covered by thin, yet wiry muscle, it was a bit sore. 'Long night,' his conscience whispered to him, 'sore muscles; action, consequence. Get used to it.' Laughing to himself, he started the engine, and popped his black Chevy into reverse, pulling out of the motel he pointed himself towards the housing center. Towards hope, for himself, and for his future.
Perhaps he would even bring hope to the kids. At least one. At the very least, his Emma.
Ever since the moment when his life was shattered, he had taken a very powerful paternal urge to aid as many children as he could; this, as many could predict, had changed his life dramatically, even giving him a new found purpose. The day he walked into the housing center for the first time was always on his mind as he drove towards the red brick building that was more a part of him than any other building he'd ever set foot in. He smiled, as he watched his past play out before him, over laying the present. Perhaps indulging in the memory as he drove wasn't explicitly safe, but what was the point of superior reactions and instincts if they weren't used for something?
*
Five and a half years before he met Veronica on a bar stool, Blake Johnson sprinted to his old Blazer, and started the engine, before driving as fast and, as far from home, as he possibly could. He ran from his life. From his pain. From his end... and his beginning. Two days passed in a blur of asphalt and concrete, with him only allowing himself to stop so he could put more fuel in the Blazer, and grab a cheap form of what we humans loosely call food those days. Survival was all that mattered, not that he was even sure why it did.
Exhausted, and in an emotional wreck, he finally realized he had no clue where he was, and seeing the red brick building with a sign that said "Free Aid Always Offered Here!" He pulled in, warily realizing he smelled of body odor, and looked nearly as bad as he felt, he shut off the engine and got out of the Blazer. Stumbling as he stretched his stiff body, he glanced about, fighting to ward off his anger, his hate, his loss. The sun filtered through a gap in the clouds, causing the freshly dewed grass to glow with an emerald sheen that was far too bright. Far too beautiful. The breeze that caressed his face smelt of freshly baked cookies and something akin to... glue? He wondered at that, pulling his denim coat tighter around him, feeling unnaturally cold for a July day in an area he assumed to be somewhere in Texas. For such a wild and long flight, he hadn't even left the state. Shaking his head, he strode, much more weakly than usual, to the glass double doors that read "Lovejoy's Housing Center: Home for any and all in search of a home." Opening the door, he opened a gateway into his new life. Of course in that moment how would he have ever known?
The first thing that struck Blake was the colors; everywhere he turned was another color, reds, yellows, greens, each wall a new shade, each brick on the back wall, a cinder block with a name, each painted in a new, refreshing style, decorated in a way unique to the artist. The bright white light filtering from old fashioned ceiling fans, mahogany paddles, he noticed, only seemed to accent the color bursting free of the walls. The scent of, yes, cookies, and glue, pervaded the entryway, as did that of a fresh breeze and... flowers? He felt his guard rise as he stared at the wall directly across from the entry. The sheer amount of names... were these people all here? Or had they sought a home among these vibrantly hued walls?
Was he seeking one?
Walking across the white tiles on the floor, he was assaulted by the scent of fresh baked cookies, each breath, another waft of deliciousness. Mingling with the flowers, and the glue, he even smelt the lingering scent of bacon. The sounds of children playing a room away made the whole atmosphere seem lighter, happier, something he would've thought to be impossible without the sounds. Feet slapping the floors, giggles interspersed with high pitched shouts, the sound of a girl squealing as she laughed.
He stopped, in front of the wall of names, reading each name, slowly, an awed smile slightly gracing his hell ridden face. Jessie: the letters curved about, a flower framed in the hook of the J, the i seemed to be a rose rather than a letter, and the background seemed to be a grassy plain with a bright blue, cloud free sky. Donovan: if there was a style closer to graffiti, Blake had never seen it, yet the block itself had been illustrated into a brick wall, each brick a different tone of blues and greens, making the bright graffiti stand out with vibrant light. Chelsie: A perfect example of cursive so neat that it actually took Blake a minute to read it; the background however was a simple example of a rainbow, easily understood, easily recognizable, and it could mean almost anything. Magenta: The M had a halo floating over it, with a windswept cloudy sky behind it, wings of tawny feathers filled the edges. Blake turned his attention to the block at the very center of the wall, and read Sophia: simple, yet refined bubble cursive, each letter a different color, with a different word in another language written in them, Chinese, Spanish, French, Greek , Latin, and in English the word Hope. There was no need for Blake to spend time studying the background, it too was a mass of translations, only they were for the words Love, and Home.
Being at his worst, most exhausted stated in years, and having this wall, the whole building with its wonderful scents, and sounds of joy, he was disarmed and let his guard fall. What did he have to worry of? He had already lost everything, including who he was. What left could do damage to him? Due to his lack of guardedness, he failed to hear the soft footsteps glide slowly towards him as he read Sophia's block.
"Hope," a soft, motherly voice spoke from less than a foot away, causing the hell ridden man to jump, and reach for his knife, but as soon as he turned, he knew he would have no use for it, "Home, and Love, those are our strongest of guides here, Mr..." she let her words trail off. Blake didn't answer for a moment, instead choosing to take in the woman who stood before him. She couldn't be more than a year older that he was, but for someone in her early twenties, she looked wise, a stiff contrast to her defiant look of youth. Her eyes were a soft blue, smile lines creased at the edges of her eyes. Her skin was pale, the kind one receives from a mostly European bloodline, and framing the softly smiling face with a nose and lips that could only be described as "cute" was long, curly brown hair. Standing in a relaxed stance, her light blue dress ran to mid calf, where it revealed the toned lower muscles of equally pale legs that ended in bland sandals. Her arms however caught Blake's attention most. Rather than wear a sleeved piece of clothing to cover them, she left them bare, and seemed unafraid to show her scars. Here and there lay a slightly lighter patch of skin, some forming jagged lines, others in the shapes of rough circles, as if she had been cut, and burnt many times in her youth. It made Blake admire her strength, most people would have hid those scars, she chose to let them show, as if they were just another indicator of who she was. This was a woman of truth, a woman of unashamed openness, a woman who didn't even flinch as she watched him reach for his blade.
"Blake, Blake Johnson." He replied finally, looking into those lighthearted eyes and watching to see if she found his overview of her to be insulting. However, she actually smiled at the fact that he had taken a full stock of her before answering. A woman who watched, and understood the subtle art of awareness. A dangerous enemy... or ally.
"Well, Mr. Johnson," her motherly voice had an air of paternity hidden within, and made him wonder why she was so at ease. "help is always offered here, so it is my pleasure to ask what it is you are seeking from us?" Seeking... what could he have been seeking, he wondered.
He immediately wanted to know just what town he was standing in, but he also had to know something else before he hit the road again. "Honestly, I need to know where I'm at, I wasn't looking for signs while I drove earlier. But... would ya' mind tellin' me what you do here?" He could hear his accent starting to come out and knew he would need rest soon. The woman on the other hand didn't have a specific accent, rather, she seemed to speak in an extra plain way, as if it would let the care in her voice shine through stronger. He had to admit that it worked. Another subtle way this woman had of being exactly what she needed, he assumed.
"Well, we give people from all walks of life anything they could possibly need. See, we're non profit, and run solely on government funding and donations. However, each volunteer here is allowed to draw checks from one of our supporters, should they run low on personal funds." She never let her smile fade, and Blake never wondered why this penniless job made her so happy; it was obvious that her goal in life was to do nothing other than helping people. Obvious, from the background noise that it was for many volunteers, and that they were succeeding.
Blake found himself beaming as a blonde headed comet of a little girl burst out of a side door and ran up to the woman's side, her yellow sundress streaming behind her. "Sophie!! Aver says we get P-suh for lunch!" Sophie leaned down and scooped up the positively ecstatic child, and laughing, pointed to Blake. The child's brown eyes sparkled.
"Emma, this is Blake, he wants to know where we're at, can you tell him?" Emma nodded, her extremely curly golden locks seeming to do the jello dance as she smiled through brown eyes, and frosting covered lips.
"Mis-tuh Blake, I can tell you where we at!" Judging from the way she spoke, and her tiny size, Blake guessed that the blonde headed cutie had to be four years old. "We are home!" She smiled at him, showing a missing tooth, where he didn't doubt Ms.Sophie the tooth-fairy had replaced it with a mound of change.
Turning back to the wall of names Blake smiled, a great, genuine smile and thought to himself 'Emma, I think I'd like to call this place home too.'
*
Pulling into the same spot he had everyday for the last five years, Blake smiled, reaching behind the passenger seat, he procured a tightly wrapped box and the card that went with it, a loosely scrawled "Emma" made sure the card and box were no doubt, for his favorite nine year old in the whole world. Quite possibly the only one he thought of as his own.
Striding inside the housing center, Blake felt the familiar thrill of knowing that in mere moments he would contribute to the happiness of at least one, if not more children. Taking in a deep breath, and holding it as he prepared to start his day, he smiled. "Emma!" He called out, seeing all the brightly colored streamers on the wall, and a familiar volunteer who went by the name "Ash" even though her real name was Alexandria. Ash waved at him from her corner, dyed blue hair bouncing as she bobbed her head to the music from a single ear bud in her left ear. Though her purple hair hid them, her eyes were a stunning shade gray, framed by a beach tan tinted skin. She wore a simple black shirt and a pair of jeans as she made her talent for balloon animals known to all around. What a sight she was.
By far one of the youngest volunteers, Ash had been coming here since she was a ward of the Hope House. Her easy laid back demeanor reflected her years of taking care of the children, as well as those spent aiding the adults. She could've been Blake's younger sister, just as much as she was definitely a bulwark against chaos. She was also Sophie's second in command on most matters.
"She's still gettin' ready, Bee, you know how she is. Have you heard from Sophie?" Ash had a voice as pleasant as birdsong, yet it was brassy for a female, though she never seemed to mind, so neither did the rest of the volunteers. Of course as she gazed up at him, he noticed a hint of concern in that voice. A hint the kids and even most of the adults wouldn't have picked up on.
"You bet I do!" He laughed for a moment, before answering Ash's second question. "Come to think of it, no I haven't, not since I left yesterday. Has she called in?" He already knew the answer to that one, but he had to ask, even if in the five years he'd known her Sophia Lovejoy hadn't called in once. Explained the concern. Sophia Lovejoy was a different kind of bulwark. The kid that never failed, and the one that truly protected the hope in this house.
"Nope. She may just be running a bit late, but if she isn't here in thirty I'll call her, alright?" Ash smiled, shooing away the concern of the situation. "Everyone is entitled to a slow start once in a while, and our Sophie is far over due." Nodding, he walked over to a fold up table piled high with presents and put his on top, waiting for Emma to run out of the bathroom and into his arms. Little did he know he wouldn't be waiting long.
After less than a minute the door flew wide open and Emma sprinted to him, laughing all the way into his arms. A blonde comet flew at him, as if he was her absolute world, and his gravity was inescapable. "Blake!!" She shouted as a massive line of other children stampeded out of the playroom and bedroom hallway. They were neither as fast, nor as excited as Emma, and he had to lay odds, this had to do with her adoration for him driving her.
"There's my Emma!" Blake's heart of stone melted as he scooped her into a swinging hug, and kissed her forehead. "Happy birthday, Kiddo." He had never felt a joy as powerful as he did when he held that little girl in his arms, imagining for just a second that she was his daughter, and he would never be forced to let her go. When that second ended, he loosened his hold on the tike so that he could look her in the eye.
"Thanks Blake! Where's Sophie? We can't start without her!" The nine year old seemed to lose a bit of her excitement when she thought that it might be possible Ms. Lovejoy wouldn't make it to her birthday party. Her smile faltered, her gaze fell, and as she spoke, her voice even lost its excitement. It was enough to drive a cold spike of Iron into his chest, the frostbite burrowing straight into his heart.
"I don't know kiddo, I'm going to go find out, okay?" He wondered at the thought that it only took one child to melt his titanium heart. 'I guess with the right tool, applied correctly...' Setting her down, he pushed through the crowd of well wishers, and finally found himself by Ash. "Give me some news Ash, please tell me you've heard from Sophie?" The worry between them was almost pliable.
Ash glanced at her cell once more before shaking her head. "Nah, she hasn't returned my calls or texts. You know she's a light sleeper and never turns her phone to silent... go check on her?" The question didn't hang in the air more than a second before Blake simply nodded, and turned away, half running to his truck. If something was wrong with Sophia Lovejoy, Blake Johnson would know soon enough.
*
Veronica Anderson sat at her desk, staring out the far window, an empty look upon her face as she thought to herself. Blake Johnson was, for lack of another word, a player, as she knew well before they fell asleep together the night before. Well well before that in fact. Mm. She had seen him leave the White Picket with a different woman everyday for the past month. She had heard rumors of his... prowess, and even heard that many women had tried to lock him down. To no avail, what so ever. Even knowing there was little chance of something more than a very hot and steamy night, she had risked a taste of Mr.Johnson.
What a taste it had been.
The rumors were true, he had his talents, and they came in handy (no pun intended) for long nights where he did nothing but pleasure the woman of the night. Ironically, that had been the first night in a very long time that she had felt that form of pleasure, and she couldn't help but admit, it was pretty amazing. He was indeed good at his job. Even the rumors of his morning disappearing acts had been true. Yet, she had made a few discoveries that she assumed no other woman had since Blake Johnson became a cowboy Casanova.
Firstly, when faced with questions about his past, he only delved back five years, refusing to bring up anything before that. Knowing people, as was part of her profession, she knew that meant he had experienced a life changing event roughly five, to five and a half years back in his life. Another discovery that she'd unearthed was that if pressed about a future with any woman, be it the one he was facing, or someone from the past, or even someone he hadn't met yet, he froze up completely. Her third discovery, however, was one that didn't specify quite the same kind of attention to personality; his right side was covered in scars, particularly over his ribs and one that curved from the base of his neck to his lower back, this one much neater, more precise than the others, the sign of a surgical scar. When examining these, she had cringed, noting by their faded coloration that if she was right, they might have been part of this event he had faced.
She hadn't asked for the story behind his scars yet, but she knew one thing for certain; they were part of the reason why he hid his past. Or perhaps part of a single reason in a list of them. Of all the men she had ever been with, admittedly a very short list, he was the most mysterious, along with the most talented. The deepest thinking, as well as the, er herm, hardest working. The most genuine.., And perhaps the darkest. It was a pity that he seemed so keen on staying a bachelor, she certainly wouldn't have minded a relationship with the mysterious Mr.Johnson.
That aside, there was much more to this than she wanted to admit. His mystery had sank its teeth into her hide, after her latest failure in that same nine year old mystery. Nine today, anyway. She had spent years searching, to no credit of her considerable resources, so why not open a new case? She even thought about getting some files to dedicate just to him. The Blake Johnson Files. Some show or book years from now would get a kick out of that.
As a Blue Jay flitted by her office window, the sound of her office phone ringing cut into her thoughts. After the first buzz, she picked up the receiver and spoke. "Sheriff's office, this is Sheriff Anderson speaking, how might I assist you?" There was a barely muffled gasp on the other end of the call, and she sat up, suddenly more alert than she'd been all day.
"Why hello there," the voice was distorted by the call, but there was no mistaking it, he had called, even though she doubted he would, what could've possibly made the world's most complicated player want to call her after he had already slept with her? What other trophy could he want from her? "Sheriff, eh? You're a bit naughtier than I would have placed for a Sheriff..." he gave her a moment to laugh, a genuine musical laugh that she hadn't expected herself. Damn him, he was catching on to the way she worked. "So, ma'am, are we still on for tonight's visit to the land of liquor and bad choices?" She found herself smiling, and wondering whether or not she might be able to unearth more secrets about this particular country style mystery.
Perhaps.
Or maybe she would just save his horse again.
She pressed the receiver tighter to her face as her cheeks reddened and lifted, answering with another sample of her musical laughter. "You bet cowboy, eight o'clock sharp?" She wished his voice didn't drive her so damn crazy, but she, much like the cowboy, knew how to play calm very well. At least over the phone. It only mostly fooled him in person, then she had to keep him off his guard.
"Sounds like a date Darlin'. I just wanted to check in on ya', I've gotta do a check up for the housin' center, but I should be free early enough for you." She knew he was slightly worried about this check up he spoke of, but the way he said it told her to brush it aside, he knew it'd be okay. Funny, she thought it would be easy to push for aid, especially from a Sheriff. Glancing at the display, she saw his call had originated less than a mile from the housing center, and she smiled; he hadn't been lying that morning. He did have a meeting at the center. But, what did he do there? She wondered at this as she tapped her pen on her desk.
"Alright cowboy, the first round is on me." She smiled again before grimacing as another call came in. "Gotta go lover boy, duty calls, see you tonight." And with that she ended the call.
She immediately accepted the second call, and regretted it almost instantaneously. "Sheriff?" The voice of their fire marshal was one that never brought good news, at least not on any day but Christmas. Then it brought news of cookies, and his wife's cooking.
"Yeah, Sean, it's me, what've you got for me?" She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but she failed miserably, as Sean Hinkleman had known her since she was a wee girl knee high to a grasshopper, he could see right through her act. Hell he had probably helped teach the act after Lillian died.
"Sorry to interrupt ya, Veronica, but we got an anonymous tip off of an arson, and we'd like you to meet our engines there, cordon the place, and start the investigation." An arson? The last time there had been an arson in the little town known as Hope, Texas was... when? She couldn't remember, she knew if there had been one, it was long before she had taken the job of Sheriff. Long before she had moved here in search of hope. People just didn't burn down buildings regularly.
"Alright, Sean, give me the address." She stood, strapping on her sidearm, and put her badge on. Then, seconds later she glanced at the text that had the address for the crime scene, and a chill ran down her neck. She prayed, then and there that god was watching over the brave woman who lived at that address. The lord only knew that she would need it.
*
Smoke filled her nose.
Heat licked at her skin.
The metal shackles burned into her flesh.
All around Sophia, fire licked at the wood of her beautiful home. Eating it's way towards her. Hungry. Ravenous. It licked at her skin, causing her to whimper, as the smoke assaulted her. It was destroying everything, and soon, it would consume her.
Fire.
The fire of that vile woman's hatred. The fire of her sins. The fire of hell.
Sophia screamed.
She didn't want to die. She had far too much work left at the center. She wasn't ready to step away, not from Emma. Not from Ash. Not from Blake. Not from her life. No, even if she was scarred the rest of her ever painful life, she wanted so desperately to live. She wanted so desperately to give back. She needed to. To give hope. The blaze didn't care, wouldn't care, couldn't.
Her skin began to blister, as tears steamed away from her eyes.
At last, she prayed.
"God... save me please... send me an angel... to save me from this hell... a hero... to take me from this inferno..."
An angel.
A hero.
© 2020, Justyn Lee Hogan. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, as of , June Twenty-eighth, Two Thousand Twenty, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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The Blake Johnson Files Part One: Hope is Available on Amazon in it's completed form.
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