Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (6 page)

My cheeks flushed from embarrassment while I thought about a punishment that might actually hold wonderful benefits. Forever reading my thoughts, Elvis rolled his eyes. I smiled feebly.

“Well you… and the gate… it opened.” I was babbling like a teenager caught necking in the living room.

“Honey, you would have climbed the front walls of Graceland had I not let you in,” Elvis said, pointing in the direction of the famous rock walls in front of his home.

My heart sank over the realization that I would have done just that. Justified frustration or not, I had, for all intensive purposes, broken in to his home. I might as well have thrown rocks at his bedroom window.

“I told you he’d be ticked.” Heather said under her breath.

“Oh, hush up.” I growled.

“Ladies, there's no time for bickering. Security is headed this way.”

“You’re going to let us go to jail?” I stomped like a child.

Elvis chuckled. “Honey, freewill gets everybody in to trouble.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around in the direction from which we had just come.

“I gave them boys a little something to keep em busy, so I’d say you have about twenty minutes.”

My eyes widened. “Twenty minutes?” My voice quavered.

“Nineteen,” Elvis’ eyes danced.

Judging by his smirking he was enjoying my predicament just a tad too much.

“W-where should we go?” I huffed.

“Get out any ole way as long as it’s fast,” Elvis said with a chuckle and gentle push that sent me stumbling forward.

Heather raced by me without a word, and her swiftness stunned me.

“What
are
you waiting for?” Elvis asked.

“Where will you be?”

Elvis’ are-you-kidding-me glare told me I was pushing him to the limits.

“Samantha, I will find you, now, get!” He slapped his hands together sharply, and I flinched, but I still didn't move. And it was only when Elvis looked down to his watch, that I understood he wasn’t kidding.

As if turned loose from starting blocks, I ran. I paused just long enough at the edge of the garden to shoot a last glance over my shoulder. Elvis was still laughing.

Oh, he makes my blood boil
, I stomped.

I suppose there are worst things a girl could choose to see at the end of her short-lived “free” life than Graceland’s back pasture. At least this was what I told myself while I raced for what I believed might very well be my last moment outside of prison. I did not care how much noise I made, only that I took the shortest route to the exit. I figured I had an angel’s protection for at least fifteen more minutes. Give or take a few. After that, I knew only that Elvis would refuse to intervene on my behalf. No doubt he was teaching me a lesson. And I did deserve it, but I was still none the happier.

I prayed that Heather would stick to our agreement. Admittedly my chosen route was not the shortest by any means. My hope was to simply follow the white fence behind the barn, and run as if my life depended on it until I reached the gate.
How hard could that be
, I silently scrutinized and then cringed, hoping nobody of importance was listening.

My feet dug into the icy ground. In no time, I reached the corner of the barn, and like a race car sliding into a corner I glided through it without breaking tread. Just as I cleared the white building, that same horse snickered loudly, and I screamed out into the night but never broke my stride. Half way across the field, I saw Heather’s athletic frame scaling the side pasture fence, near the church. Stumbling to a stop, I watched her disappear into the brush. I’d never seen her run so fast. And it stunned me almost as much the cold air that filled my chest and burned my lungs.

My heart was pounding as I scanned from one side of the pasture to the other. I had been at a standstill for barely thirty seconds when, to my horror, a bright beam of light sliced through the shadows near the barn behind me. I quickly turned to face it and gasped to see not just one, but three searchlights speeding down the pasture. The way out was ahead but was still too far away. I would never make it before whoever was behind the lights caught up with me. I shrank backward, into the fence, but instead of providing refuge, the fence began to buckle. Instinctively, I jumped away.

My mind worked quickly, and adrenaline flooded my veins at the sound of approaching voices. I pushed harder against the spongy section of fence and had a surge of hope. Eagerly, I ran both hands up and down the length of the fence while pushing, searching for its weakest point.

Bingo!

Two of the boards were beyond spongy and rotten all the way through. I glanced back to the Gardens, allowing the time span of a heartbeat to pass, before I turned and kicked the boards with as much force as my fatigued little legs could muster. I felt it give under pressure and I quickly bent over, pulling and pushing. I squeezed my slight frame through the crack and thanked the Lord for not giving me that hour-glass figure I had wanted so badly as a teenager.

In a blink of an eye, I had stepped off one man’s private property and onto another’s. Sure, I had no idea where to go next, I never had to care about this side of the fence before. I could not afford even one second to look around and get my bearings. Instead, I took off at a dead run in the first direction I saw praying I had made the right choice.

The luxuries of home security lights were almost nonexistent in this 60’s era neighborhood on the east side of Graceland. Blackness engulfed me, and I was instantly running blind. I stumbled over what felt like children’s toys and quickly became tangled up in line hung laundry. I was like a puppet caught up in my own strings, thrashing about, and caring not what noise I made. A moment later, my vision adjusted. Finally some hope, I thought as not far ahead, the glow from a lone neighborhood street lamp could be seen. It radiated just outside the gated yard in which I stood. And, for a moment I simply stared at the glow, as if it may hold some guidance, before lowering my gaze to the only thing standing between me and my freedom — a chain link fence. Without hesitating, I headed for it and scaled it easily.

Running like the wind I headed south down the back streets of the mature White Haven neighborhood. I stomped through puddles and felt the water as it rushed in to my shoes for the second time that day. My continence felt as saddened as my socks were soggy. Not only had I broken the law, but I had vandalized property, and jeopardized a friend’s safety in making my escape.

Mother would have been so proud
, I sniffed.

My stride was even and steady. The feel of the solid road under my feet and the sound of my shoes slapping the pavement helped to clear my mind. We agreed on a rendezvous point, I reassured myself as I cut through another residents front lawn, and turned west — past Vernon’s, Elvis’ father’s house — down what I now recognized to be Dolan drive.

Heather will be there
, my determination escalated. She had to be.

As I neared Elvis Presley Boulevard, I heard the scream of sirens. I slowed to a walk, warily approaching Graceland’s south side, the side closest to the Boulevard. When I peeked around the corner, I couldn’t help but gasp. The front of Graceland was completely illuminated by the bright blue flashing lights of at least four Memphis police cruisers and two Shelby County sheriff’s cars. If this was the usual protocol to stop a couple of over-eager fans, heaven help an actual criminal.

Returning to Graceland tonight was out of the question. I was by far not the first woman to think she could breach their security, and they would be rightfully quick to assume I was the culprit returning to the scene. Besides, the house sat too far back from the road, and I knew I could see nothing from the street. If they were arresting Heather right now — I prayed not — I would be no help if I was sharing her cell.

Moving away from the commotion, I crossed to the opposite side of Dolan Street, away from Graceland, and slowly headed south. I forced myself to meander as though I hadn’t a care in the world. Stalled at the cross walk, I leaned heavily against a light post. I was beyond exhausted. My stomach was churning while I had one eye on the turmoil up the road and another on a bush in case the need to get sick suddenly overcame me. As I caught my breath, I watched a bright red vacancy sign, set back in the shadows away from the blazing street lights, flickering from the popular Inn across the street. I drew in a deep breath, and on my exhale the hand finally flashed green. I crossed Elvis Presley Boulevard, my steps quickening as I neared the Inn.

When, to my right, another police cruiser sped up Graceland’s drive, with sirens wailing and lights flashing, I turned my face. The bank nearby flashed the time. Was it really 2A.M.? The darkness was deep at this hour, I considered, as I stood in the parking lot monitoring the shadows that seemed to watch me. Slowly, my childish apprehensions returned. I had an overwhelming need to just go home. I needed a do-over for the day. A get out of jail free card, I thought while still looking for any sign of a friend or a foe.

Only a few cars were parked. One silver truck to my left and a black four door import to my right, but no Heather. I took a step towards the sedan then stopped. Now, as far as I knew neither Elvis nor my friend had ever owned a car made in Japan. What now? I challenged myself, feeling the panic rising again in my chest. And I was one second away from complete hysteria when a vehicle from behind turned on its head lights.

Quickly, I spun around shielding my eyes from the intense glare. Its engine turned over, and the large utility vehicle rumbled in the night. It was rugged like an extreme athlete while simultaneously retaining the grace of a ballet dancer. The pearly white hood glistened against the night as I raised my hands in the air, recognizing I was going to jail.

The car flashed its lights, once and then twice.

The tinted windows made identifying the driver impossible. I took half-a-dozen tentative steps closer, allowing intrigue to over-ride my usual good sense. The car inched forward, and the red and gold shield on the grill caught the light. The emblem glimmered and I smiled, positive the driver was indeed a friend. Who else would be behind the wheel of this purring, perfectly polished Cadillac Escalade?

With the vehicle now stopped at my side, I lightly tapped the driver’s window, and it slid down as if it were a scene from an old gangster movie.

“Get in,” Elvis ordered.

***

When I opened the door, I was thrilled to see Heather. She was smiling, though weakly, from the back seat, and her fragile demeanor reminding me of our dismal circumstances. The happiness that I had momentarily enjoyed faded.Distraught, I shot a glance to Elvis, who sat stoically with both hands on the steering wheel. My shoulders wilted over the sight of him staring down the street, watching the drama unfold around his beloved Graceland. As I climbed in, Heather and I exchanged tense glances. I reached over the seat, took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her dim smile flickered brighter for a brief moment.

While Elvis’ solemn demeanor settled over the car like an unwelcomed cloud on a summer day, my hands began to sweat. I imagined lightening flashing inside his stormy baby blues. To make matters worse, nobody spoke. Elvis merely slipped the shiny Cadillac in to gear and crawled towards the main road. As he rode the breaks, more police cars raced by, and his jaw muscles continued to flex, vigorously working a stick of gum. Obviously, he was decidedly displeased with the chaos I had caused. And he had too much respect for the law to see any humor in this show of force over my antics.

He turned the car south down Elvis Presley Boulevard, away from the uproar. I held Heather’s hand as he turned one corner, then another, winding through the back roads. And only when my hotel came into view did I exhale a shaky breath.

The car bounced over the lip of the entrance, and I winced over my aching body reminding me that there were always consequences. Elvis guided the vehicle under the brightly lit guest awning and smoothly came to a stop. A soft light filled the car, accentuating Elvis’ features. Until that moment, I hadn’t clearly been able to see him, and once I did, I’d wished I hadn’t. His expression remained indecipherable. Flat. I had ruined everything, again.

Heather opened her door first, and stepped out. When it was my turn to depart, I paused, my hand stalled over the handle. I tried to find the courage to speak, but words failed me. Every time I opened my mouth to apologize, tears chocked me, until finally, I resigned myself to leave. I pulled on the handle, but before I could make my exit the door clicked to a lock position.

“Not you.” Elvis said flatly. “You’re with me.”

Had this been any other time, those words would have been like a saving breath to a drowning victim. My heart would have soared back to life. But as it was, a pang of dread filled my chest. I was not ready to have this conversation with him. Not now. Not while he looked so angry. And when I looked out the window to Heather, standing there forlorn on the curb, I could only manage a weak wave goodbye.

“It’s ok,” she mouthed.

As we pulled away, her tall figure became smaller and smaller in my side view mirror. I assured myself she knew where we were headed. Why else would she be so willing to stay behind? The thought comforted me, but the silence did not.

In the car, the air was thick with tension. Elvis drove one handed, leaning his free arm heavily against the ledge of the closed window. I watched his profile in my peripheral vision and hoped he hadn’t noticed. He drove aggressively, running a yellow light and then a red. His eyes were fixed on the review mirror, and it was not until we entered a virtually deserted Hwy 78 that his white-knuckled grip relaxed around the steering wheel.

The fact that we were not talking saddened me more than if we had been in a heated conversation. I tried to ignore the tension and passed the time by studying the shiny dark wood grain that lined the interior of the Escalade. It was beautiful, admittedly, but soon, an urge to fill the silence with mindless whistling threatened to overcome me.

“Warm enough?”

I jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, thank you,” I managed to mutter, while holding back the more formal “Yes, Sir,” that lingered on my tongue and was more appropriate.

Despite my apprehension, the night went by dreamily outside my window. And other than one shiny headlight far behind us, we were the only car on the road. As we drove, I counted every mile marker along the deserted highway while Elvis’ eyes continued to burn into my very soul, rattling me to the core.

“This is not a game, Samantha.” His words held a touch of coldness. “You could have been hurt tonight.”

I opened my mouth for a rebuttal, but he shook his head, silencing me.

“Had we spoken earlier, as I wanted, you would not have been in any danger tonight.”

I opened my mouth to speak and he once again shook his head rendering me silent.

“From now on, you’ll do as I say.” He waited and became clearly perturbed when I choose not to respond.

“Alright,” I answered softly.

The car drifted from one lane to the next without even so much as a glance from the driver. His eyes were on me, and I suppressed every survival instinct to remind him to watch where he was going.

“Without question,” he added.

I hesitated, considering the ramifications of a promise no woman wishes to make to any man. Only a moment passed before he raised a single eyebrow, and I immediately affirmed my alliance with a nod.

“Yes, ok. Whatever you say,” I sighed.

His head tiled slightly.

“W-what’d I do now?” I barely recognized my whiny voice.

“Nothing. It’s just not often a man hears those words coming from a woman.” Turning back to the road, he gave me a sideways glance. “I’d forgotten how much I like it.”

I covered my face with my hands and lowered my head into my lap. He gently placed his palm to my back, caressing in slow circles.

“Can I ask where we are going?” I mumbled into my hands.

“Home,” Elvis said.

“Home… as in Atlanta?” I sat straight up, my eyes flashing to the GPS display on the cars dash.

South meant Mississippi, and from Mississippi, Georgia was about three hundred miles.