Hey everyone,
I thought you might like to read an excerpt from my novel, Orphan's Awakening. Don't worry, there aren't any spoilers.
Enjoy!
Soft rain pattered down on the pavement. Water pooled in potholes and curb-sides as cars splashed it away in the evening rush. Lights began to shine down onto the street, and the sun was dipping behind the Denver skyline. For a moment someone could say that he was truly alone in the fog—that is, until headlights cut through the serenity and splashed the sidewalks to wet his shoes. Downtown Denver was not as complicated as other cities; people came and went without much fuss, and the relatively short skyscrapers didn’t mask the richness of the land and the calm atmosphere.
Denver was stuck in a strange limbo; the best of times had passed long ago, and although wars raged overseas, for the most part the country was at peace. The worst of times had yet to strike, and strike they would, but for the time being, the city was moving at its own pace. Colorado was detached from the excitement of the West coast and the noise of the East. Easy access to the Rocky Mountains maintained an adventurous atmosphere, and the people of Denver were kind enough to allow a stranger to do his bidding in peace.
One such stranger was Charles White. Chuck, to those whom he used to work with, but his wife always called him Charles. She liked the formal swing that the name entailed, reminding her of the lavish lifestyle she enjoyed in her childhood. Sadly, Charles no longer had the luxury of his wife, and she no longer had the luxury of her husband. She decided a husband who lived and breathed at the police station was no husband at all, so she packed and left with their eldest son, and Charles had never heard from either of them again. He had, however, managed to obtain custody of their youngest son, whom he now cradled in his arms. Charles cherished that time with his son in Denver. He knew it wouldn’t last. He knew that sooner or later, his past would catch up with him, and in no way could he let that happen while he was near his son. Charles had to ensure his son’s future, and the only way to do that would be to let him go. Across the street from Charles stood a firehouse. And a firehouse is the only legal way to abandon a child on a doorstep.
Charles had no choice in the matter. The alternative was more dark and dreary than Charles could wrap his mind around. In order to protect his son, Charles had to give him up.
Life without a father would be lonely and tiring, with nights of sleeplessness, wondering if he would ever come back, and quiet sobs on foreign shoulders. It would be staring out the window, peering into the heavens, wishing, wanting, waiting. It would be an old teddy bear that soaked up tears. Life without a father would be lonely. And unfortunately, lonely is exactly what the boy needed.
Wetness streaked down Charles’s face, and not from the rain. He stood under a balcony. The wetness came from the wells, rivers, and floodgates that God himself uses from time to time. The soft sobs of Charles reached the doorman behind him, but Charles fended off the kind man’s attempt at help with a half hearted excuse.
Wetness dripped down onto the sleeping baby boy in Charles’s arms. The tear slid down his cheek, wetting the blanket in which he was wrapped. His son was a silent sight of innocence framed by blue, and only made the wetness come that much harder. Charles wept, letting his sobs escape his mouth. Passerby looked at him, and a few made friendly gestures, but mostly they remained just that: passerby. Life is nothing more than a stream of traffic, and in that moment, Charles had enough sense to stop and let emotion wash over him. The emotion washed through years of pain, and was the prelude to the pain that was to come.
The wetness never really stops at all, but some people find solace in the fact that they are better at hiding it than others. The tears finally revealed to Charles the power of love, and he only wished that he had learned the lesson earlier, so that he might have been able to impart that love on the ones he cared about most before they were gone. Now the baby in his arms was all that was left of his past life, and that baby was the only person Charles had the opportunity to impart that love upon.
Tears formed a river on the baby’s face, and Charles knew that it was time to go. Darkness was settling into the fog, and soon the fire-station would lock its doors, shut the windows, and rest for the evening.
Charles pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, pulling something else along with it. The something else clattered to the sidewalk, and Charles blinked away tears to see it. A golden blur shone up at him, a few smudges keeping it from reflecting the evening lights in its usual fashion. Charles crouched to pick the golden blur up. It was his police badge, a remnant of his past life.
Memories like cars—
He remembered how happy he had been. She was smiling at the annual police ball, his first. Exciting, but difficult, and then his promotion.
They married. Charles was head detective in San Francisco, his home town. And that was when the whole adventure had begun. He loved California, but he was too small there. Colorado became a vague fantasy until that fateful night on which Charles stood with his boy. He had pictured Colorado as a happier place, and sadly, his fantasy would be tainted by the bitter-sweet memories of his baby boy.
As the memories flooded back, so did the tears, and Charles put his head down and wept. Why am I crying, he thought. The decision had already be made. But practicality can’t kill him. He wept.
Eventually he pulled himself together, and then allowed himself one last moment of peace with his son. He wiped the tears away, staring at the sleeping boy’s face. He wished upon a thousand cars that he could see the boy’s eyes once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to stir the baby from his peaceful sleep. He simply adored the boy’s face. He took in the whisper-thin hair guarding the boy’s head, the long eyelashes, the full cheeks and tiny ears. He took his son’s tiny hand in his, rubbing it for luck, or strength, or something.
It was time to go. He gave himself a heart-wrenching glance down at his son before taking a deep breath. By no means was he ready, but sometimes life needs to move on regardless of a person’s readiness.
Charles stepped out of his protection, exposing himself to the elements. He took on the world once again, this time fully realizing the harsh conditions laid before humanity. He could bear the load until his son was ready, and then he would pass the load onto the tiny boy in his arms. His son would be incredible. He was destined for greatness (was he? Push it away), not only for this world, but for the sky and for the sewers. His son could do everything Charles could not.
Charles walked across the street in the rain. He waited until the cars had recessed, and he walked toward the hardest decision he had ever faced. The world seemed to subconsciously know what was transpiring and let Charles cross the street in peace. He reached the other side wet, but unharmed, and he looked up the stairs at the doorway into the firehouse.
He told himself to be strong. He prayed to God to give him strength. Does it work like that?
He took each step slowly. He couldn’t see the top—no happiness after this mountain that he could see, no valley where he could rest. He hoped there was one, where he could rest and his son could put his hand in the viper’s nest, but for now—
The mountain Charles was climbing didn’t end when the stairs did.
Carefully, Charles kissed his son on his forehead. The boy peeked out from behind his eyelids, and Charles glimpsed the beauty beneath. He laid his son down on the welcome mat at the top of the mountain. He stood and turned, covering his mouth as a single sob escaped. Charles turned back to his son and knelt down.
“I love you.” Charles whispered.
He slid a slip of paper next to his son. On the blue sheet, written in pain-stakingly beautiful cursive, was a name. Connor. No last name. He would figure it out in time.
Charles stood and raised his fist to strike the front door. The deciding moment had come. Charles could walk away with his son, go find some secluded corner of the world, and hope for the best. But the decision had already been made long ago. Charles White, on that rainy evening, would give his son to save the world.
He knocked. His knuckles tapped the hard wood door at first, barely making a sound. Something welled inside him, and he let his knuckles pound on the door, and through the tears, Charles smiled. He turned from the door and stepped back down the stairs. Something welled inside him. Does it make us better?
He told himself not to look back, but he did anyway. His head swiveled like God intended, and Charles caught a glimpse of a fireman stooping down to pick up the baby on the welcome mat. He looked around curiously, searching for the parents. His eyes caught with Charles for an instant, and Charles saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, maybe a tiny nod, but then it was gone. He took the baby in his arms and stepped inside.
The wetness came back, lighter this time. Charles smiled sadly, looking at the firehouse from across the street. “I love you,” he said.
Enjoy the excerpt? From which part of the book do you think it is? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
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