Before there was Medeia, there was Jane...
Jane longed for security, something her childhood never afforded her. She found it and love being Stewart’s wife. When she hired Shana to help him with his stress, though, Jane found out that sometimes inviting a stranger into your home means they never leave.
Tossed out of her home and marriage penniless, while Shana sleeps in her place, Jane’s first experience in the world outside of the safe mansion is a brutal attack from the driver who took her away. With the maniac responsible for the attack still at large, picking new victims while stalking Jane, her new life is about hiding.
Jane takes on a new identity with help from the cop who saved her life, but she’s still not sure she can trust him─ his past tangles with Stewart. While the cops hunt for the attacker, a run-in with Shana exposes a secret of Stewart’s that could bring a new madman on Jane’s tail– Stewart. Danger or not, it’s hard to turn away from someone in need.
Can Jane help the mistress that ruined her marriage? Will her attacker find her before the police find him? Is he closer than everyone thinks?
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One “You haven’t been gone one day, and I already have a new stray.”
I hear the cans in the pantry slam on the shelf as Ramona grumbles once again about my leaving. She’s in her early sixties, bare minimum, though I’d wager she has a few more years behind that famous scowl of hers than I think. I have never asked. We’ve known each other for months, but I’m still terrified to bring out her bark. With Ramona, it’s worse than her bite at times.
“See? You don’t need me,” I call over my shoulder. I’m met with a grumble echoing in the pantry as a response.
I look behind me to see her short auburn curls bouncing next to the door of the kitchen cabinet. The mask of hairspray on her head is no match for the sweat of helping me move, and the curls, fried from a cheap curling iron, are beginning to deflate. She turns her head out toward me, catching me spying on her. Her lipstick bleeds out onto her crepe skin, and when I stare at the crimson running into her frown line, it only gets deeper.
“Quit looking at me and get to work. We still have rooms to clean at the motel,” she shouts, slamming her wrinkled hands down on her hips for an intimidation factor. I almost laugh because of her tiny stature, but I know better.
I look about the living room where I’m sitting on the floor, filling the bookshelf. There are two cardboard boxes in the middle of the floor. That’s all I have to my name. All my possessions fit into two medium-sized boxes. We’ll be done in an hour if that. I sigh. It’s not much, but it’s finally mine. It wasn’t long ago that I was sitting in a mansion with thousands of things around me, but now my life has been reduced to two cardboard boxes, all thanks to Stewart and his whore.
“I can’t believe you came to help me. Who’s running the place?” Ramona owns a motel just outside of Pittsburgh. It’s a cheap little place, with a few sketchy clients scattered about, but mostly it’s a haven for women, the strays, that Ramona helps. Women like me, that got kicked out on their ass and have no place to call their home, and nowhere and nobody to run to for shelter. Now, I have that place─ this apartment.
“Hannah. She’s a stray from years back. I asked for a favor.” Ramona never leaves the motel. I’m touched to know that under her hard exterior, I’ve wormed my way in enough for her to consider it.
“Oh.” I tap on the trunk next to me. It’s the only thing here in this apartment that I didn’t acquire within the last couple of months. It’s been with me since childhood. It was my mother’s, and I wasn’t about to let Stewart keep it even if it meant going to the house and facing his pregnant mistress to get it.
“Where’s that boy of yours? Shouldn’t he be helping us move all this shit?” Ramona dismounts from the two-step ladder in the kitchen to glare at me over the tiny island that completes the kitchen section of the ample open space.
“Billy? He’s not my boy, and you know it.” I glare. “Besides, he had to work. Something about an undercover job.” I shrug. Billy, a part of my old life that transferred over into my new, was not the romantic hero that Ramona was begging for him to be, and her constant reference to Billy being more than what he is annoys me.
“He likes you. I can see it in his eyes, Jane.” She waddles out of the kitchen, satisfied with the completion of her task, and rips open one of the cardboard boxes on the floor. I shuffle over from my spot to mirror her image with the other box, having completed my task at the bookshelf.
“I don’t feel like arguing with you,” I groan. There will be other days and other times that I can take up this argument with Ramona, but today isn’t one of those times that I have the energy for it.
“Then don’t,” she cackles, and it immediately breaks out into a cough — too many cigarettes.
“Let’s just finish this, huh?” I raise my eyebrow at her. “Before your lungs give out.” She frowns at my own annoying tick─ reminding her that the cigarettes will give her cancer.
“Looks like we’ll make it back before lunchtime.” She surveys the contents of the boxes and realizes her morning off wasn’t worth it. I feel guilty that Ramona’s first day off in as long as I’ve known her is for nothing.
“Yea,” I whisper. “Thanks for coming, Ramona. I know it’s not much to unpack.” I hold my right elbow in the opposite arm, itching the back of it in embarrassment, suddenly aware of the little bit that I have to claim as my own.
“No problem, kid. Too bad they never found your stuff in that car.” She pats my shoulder — that car. A shiver of ice runs down my spine and sends me clinging my arms around my body tightly for warmth — that car.
“Well, at least everything is fresh for your new life.” She tosses a throw pillow onto my secondhand couch, unaware that I’m struggling to breathe in the encompassing feeling of that night flashing back into my mind.
“Yeah. My new life.” I exhale, and the apartment comes back into view.
“Quit your moaning. It’s better than it was. Now you have me.” She digs her wrinkled hands into the box and gathers up a few more living room items that I bought to make the space feel homey. Useless purchases as Ramona called them, but they bring a certain level of peace to me. Those items represent that I’m not just surviving, living day to day only satisfying my means, but that I’m breathing in a life all my own and thriving. At least I hope to someday.
“That it is.” I kick the other box into my bedroom because the only things inside are my clothes.
My life before coming to Ramona’s motel may have looked glamorous on the outside, but inside I wore the marks of Stewart’s frustration with my inability to fit in with his crowd. Still, I never left─ believing the punishments would stop as soon as I mastered the skills that he desperately thought I lacked. I lived every day thinking that I would reach that level and suddenly my husband’s hand would drop and never land on me again. That level, that day, never came. There is no such spot.
I start to hang my consignment store purchased clothing in my small closet. The entire apartment is smaller than my closet when I was married to Stewart. Still, I’m happier here than I was in that big old mansion. If only my new life came without the nagging feeling of being found by that maniac driver, the owner of that car.
“Well, I’m done with my box.” Ramona plunks down on my bed and begins placing shirts in the box on hangers for me. She doesn’t even need to be asked. We have become in sync the last couple of months, working like a well-oiled machine knowing the other one’s actions and what needs to be done. We immediately jump in to help and get the job done without a single word being said
“Ramona, maybe this is stupid,” I blurt. “It’s safe at the motel with you.” I grip the edge of the last shirt I’ve hung. This move, leaving that haven, could expose me. He could find me here. He never found me at the motel. I was hidden well there.
“Nonsense. Your boy toy told you this is the safest complex. He’s a cop; he should know which places see the most crime.” She hands me a group of shirts to hang and starts work getting my khakis on pants hangers, prompting me to continue working.
“You’re right, but do I really need my own space?” I wish there were a concrete answer letting me know if this apartment is going to work out or not, there’s too much at stake in the unknown.
“Kid,” Ramona sighs, “this is a new step, and it’s all your own. I know it feels scary, but you can do this.”
“Okay.”
“Besides, I don’t want your ass living near me anymore.” I chuckle.
“Ramona!”
“I’m serious. Your snoring can be heard through the walls.” I know she's dramatic on purpose to ease the fear in my chest. She knows what people need, sensing their emotions, and hands it over. Even with her sarcastic mannerisms, she can’t hide her empathetic golden heart. I see it.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for that. Thank me for not warning your neighbors.” I hum in response.
What would I do without Ramona? One thing is for sure; I would have died that night if it weren’t for her help.
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I hear the cans in the pantry slam on the shelf as Ramona grumbles once again about my leaving. She’s in her early sixties, bare minimum, though I’d wager she has a few more years behind that famous scowl of hers than I think. I have never asked. We’ve known each other for months, but I’m still terrified to bring out her bark. With Ramona, it’s worse than her bite at times.
“See? You don’t need me,” I call over my shoulder. I’m met with a grumble echoing in the pantry as a response.
I look behind me to see her short auburn curls bouncing next to the door of the kitchen cabinet. The mask of hairspray on her head is no match for the sweat of helping me move, and the curls, fried from a cheap curling iron, are beginning to deflate. She turns her head out toward me, catching me spying on her. Her lipstick bleeds out onto her crepe skin, and when I stare at the crimson running into her frown line, it only gets deeper.
“Quit looking at me and get to work. We still have rooms to clean at the motel,” she shouts, slamming her wrinkled hands down on her hips for an intimidation factor. I almost laugh because of her tiny stature, but I know better.
I look about the living room where I’m sitting on the floor, filling the bookshelf. There are two cardboard boxes in the middle of the floor. That’s all I have to my name. All my possessions fit into two medium-sized boxes. We’ll be done in an hour if that. I sigh. It’s not much, but it’s finally mine. It wasn’t long ago that I was sitting in a mansion with thousands of things around me, but now my life has been reduced to two cardboard boxes, all thanks to Stewart and his whore.
“I can’t believe you came to help me. Who’s running the place?” Ramona owns a motel just outside of Pittsburgh. It’s a cheap little place, with a few sketchy clients scattered about, but mostly it’s a haven for women, the strays, that Ramona helps. Women like me, that got kicked out on their ass and have no place to call their home, and nowhere and nobody to run to for shelter. Now, I have that place─ this apartment.
“Hannah. She’s a stray from years back. I asked for a favor.” Ramona never leaves the motel. I’m touched to know that under her hard exterior, I’ve wormed my way in enough for her to consider it.
“Oh.” I tap on the trunk next to me. It’s the only thing here in this apartment that I didn’t acquire within the last couple of months. It’s been with me since childhood. It was my mother’s, and I wasn’t about to let Stewart keep it even if it meant going to the house and facing his pregnant mistress to get it.
“Where’s that boy of yours? Shouldn’t he be helping us move all this shit?” Ramona dismounts from the two-step ladder in the kitchen to glare at me over the tiny island that completes the kitchen section of the ample open space.
“Billy? He’s not my boy, and you know it.” I glare. “Besides, he had to work. Something about an undercover job.” I shrug. Billy, a part of my old life that transferred over into my new, was not the romantic hero that Ramona was begging for him to be, and her constant reference to Billy being more than what he is annoys me.
“He likes you. I can see it in his eyes, Jane.” She waddles out of the kitchen, satisfied with the completion of her task, and rips open one of the cardboard boxes on the floor. I shuffle over from my spot to mirror her image with the other box, having completed my task at the bookshelf.
“I don’t feel like arguing with you,” I groan. There will be other days and other times that I can take up this argument with Ramona, but today isn’t one of those times that I have the energy for it.
“Then don’t,” she cackles, and it immediately breaks out into a cough — too many cigarettes.
“Let’s just finish this, huh?” I raise my eyebrow at her. “Before your lungs give out.” She frowns at my own annoying tick─ reminding her that the cigarettes will give her cancer.
“Looks like we’ll make it back before lunchtime.” She surveys the contents of the boxes and realizes her morning off wasn’t worth it. I feel guilty that Ramona’s first day off in as long as I’ve known her is for nothing.
“Yea,” I whisper. “Thanks for coming, Ramona. I know it’s not much to unpack.” I hold my right elbow in the opposite arm, itching the back of it in embarrassment, suddenly aware of the little bit that I have to claim as my own.
“No problem, kid. Too bad they never found your stuff in that car.” She pats my shoulder — that car. A shiver of ice runs down my spine and sends me clinging my arms around my body tightly for warmth — that car.
“Well, at least everything is fresh for your new life.” She tosses a throw pillow onto my secondhand couch, unaware that I’m struggling to breathe in the encompassing feeling of that night flashing back into my mind.
“Yeah. My new life.” I exhale, and the apartment comes back into view.
“Quit your moaning. It’s better than it was. Now you have me.” She digs her wrinkled hands into the box and gathers up a few more living room items that I bought to make the space feel homey. Useless purchases as Ramona called them, but they bring a certain level of peace to me. Those items represent that I’m not just surviving, living day to day only satisfying my means, but that I’m breathing in a life all my own and thriving. At least I hope to someday.
“That it is.” I kick the other box into my bedroom because the only things inside are my clothes.
My life before coming to Ramona’s motel may have looked glamorous on the outside, but inside I wore the marks of Stewart’s frustration with my inability to fit in with his crowd. Still, I never left─ believing the punishments would stop as soon as I mastered the skills that he desperately thought I lacked. I lived every day thinking that I would reach that level and suddenly my husband’s hand would drop and never land on me again. That level, that day, never came. There is no such spot.
I start to hang my consignment store purchased clothing in my small closet. The entire apartment is smaller than my closet when I was married to Stewart. Still, I’m happier here than I was in that big old mansion. If only my new life came without the nagging feeling of being found by that maniac driver, the owner of that car.
“Well, I’m done with my box.” Ramona plunks down on my bed and begins placing shirts in the box on hangers for me. She doesn’t even need to be asked. We have become in sync the last couple of months, working like a well-oiled machine knowing the other one’s actions and what needs to be done. We immediately jump in to help and get the job done without a single word being said
“Ramona, maybe this is stupid,” I blurt. “It’s safe at the motel with you.” I grip the edge of the last shirt I’ve hung. This move, leaving that haven, could expose me. He could find me here. He never found me at the motel. I was hidden well there.
“Nonsense. Your boy toy told you this is the safest complex. He’s a cop; he should know which places see the most crime.” She hands me a group of shirts to hang and starts work getting my khakis on pants hangers, prompting me to continue working.
“You’re right, but do I really need my own space?” I wish there were a concrete answer letting me know if this apartment is going to work out or not, there’s too much at stake in the unknown.
“Kid,” Ramona sighs, “this is a new step, and it’s all your own. I know it feels scary, but you can do this.”
“Okay.”
“Besides, I don’t want your ass living near me anymore.” I chuckle.
“Ramona!”
“I’m serious. Your snoring can be heard through the walls.” I know she's dramatic on purpose to ease the fear in my chest. She knows what people need, sensing their emotions, and hands it over. Even with her sarcastic mannerisms, she can’t hide her empathetic golden heart. I see it.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for that. Thank me for not warning your neighbors.” I hum in response.
What would I do without Ramona? One thing is for sure; I would have died that night if it weren’t for her help.
KEEP READING HERE.