Malsum Pass Read online

  Malsum Pass

  By

  Kimberly Forrest

  “Malsum Pass”

  Selected, Compiled & Edited by: Kimberly Forrest 2016

  Copyright © December 2016 by Kimberly Forrest

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art created by Richard L. Ortiz

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Special thanks to my partner in life, Lance… without his love and support my dreams of writing would never have happened; with him as my ladder, I can reach the stars.

  Thank you to my mother who has always been my personal one-woman cheering squad and to my son, Aidan who has changed me and shaped me for the better.

  Lastly, but certainly not least, I would like to thank my life-long friend, Susan for being the best beta reader a writer could ask for.

  Now, on to the story…

  Prologue

  Twenty-nine years ago…

  Marisol Mason checked her hair in the mirror behind her visor in her car, wishing it was bigger. She had Bon Jovi in the cassette player and she had it cranked up as she sang along to Livin’ on a Prayer. She gave her teased blonde hair a few fluffs and reapplied her lip gloss. She’d snuck out of her house wearing her shortest skirt and her most revealing top knowing that Vahl wouldn’t be able to resist. He loved her body, and pretty soon that body would be expanding. She winced. She really needed to tell him soon. But not tonight – tonight they were partying at the house of one of Vahl’s buddies to celebrate their recent graduation.

  Marisol flipped the visor back up, shut off the engine and opened the door to her Pontiac Sunbird. Before she’d fully climbed out a strong hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her out; the fingers biting into her tender flesh. He slammed her car door shut. She let out a cry of protest as she wobbled on her heels and then fell back against the car to look at her attacker in the light from the house that shown through one of the windows.

  Clarence Pierce, Vahl’s father stood before her, his lip curled in distaste. “I knew I shouldn’t have bothered to tell him to stay away from you when you’re the one who is always sniffing around after him. Look at yourself. You dress like trash and act like trash. How L.J. managed to produce something like you is beyond me. It’s obviously Helen’s blood that contaminated you.”

  Marisol ignored the insult to her mother. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard something similar. Her entire life was checkered with snide comments and thinly veiled insults against both her and her mother. The only time Helen Mason had been happy was when she was home with her husband and daughter. Oh, there were a few tolerant people in town who were nice to her, but never the elders –the ruling body of the town or the many who took their cues from them. Marisol had actually been slightly relieved when her mother had passed on because it meant she was finally free of the ridicule and could find peace. She wondered if it was now her turn.

  She swallowed hard with fear and looked frantically around for rescue or escape. She could hear loud music playing in the house, the thump of the bass causing vibrations and she knew that no one would hear her if she screamed for help. “Mr. Pierce,” she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what this is about, but I wasn’t following Vahl, I was invited. I’m not crashing.”

  He growled and shoved a thick envelope at her chest. Marisol put a trembling hand on it to keep it from falling to the ground. He poked his finger toward her face. “You listen to me you little slut, I know everything that goes on in this town, everything. I want you gone, now, tonight. There’s enough money in that envelope to get you far away from this town and my son.”

  “Leave?” Marisol gasped. “But I can’t, I need to be with Vahl, we love each other.”

  Clarence Pierce snarled and gripped Marisol’s face under the chin, his fingertips digging into her cheeks painfully. “My son will never be with a mongrel like you. Do you understand me? I would kill you first before I ever let that happen. You will never be anything more in this town than a mistake that never should have been allowed to live. Consider this mercy on my part that I’m allowing you to leave and giving you the money to do so. Are we clear?”

  Marisol managed to nod just barely despite the tight grip he had on her face. She knew tomorrow she’d be bruised. Her tears rolled down her cheeks to land on his hand and he quickly released her to wipe his hand with a handkerchief as if his skin had been contaminated.

  She turned quickly to open the door of her car and escape but he grabbed her shoulder and roughly yanked her back, his breath hot in her ear. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Marisol, no matter where you go. Don’t ever try to come back or contact anyone from here. As far as you’re concerned, Malsum Pass and all its inhabitants never existed. If I find out you ever breathe a word about this place they will find your body in a roadside ditch. Understood?”

  She nodded and then stuttered, “M-may,” she stopped and cleared her throat before taking a deep breath. “May I say goodbye to my father and pack a bag?”

  “No. I can’t trust a little trouble-maker like you to follow simple instructions so I will follow you out of town –“

  “But my clothes…!”

  “How dare you interrupt me you impertinent little nothing,” he snarled. “You should be grateful that I haven’t ripped your throat out and left you for the scavengers! Leave! Right now! There’s enough money to buy you some clothes and get settled. Then maybe you’ll actually do something with your life and earn a living. You may even grow into something at least resembling respectable someday, though I doubt it.” He finished with a sneer.

  Marisol lunged for her car, dropping the envelope onto the passenger seat next to her purse and turned the key in the ignition. As soon as the engine roared to life, she pulled out onto the narrow dirt road toward the center of town that led to the main road. Tears were blurring her vision, but she continued to drive. A set of headlights in her rearview mirror proved Clarence Pierce was true to his word and would follow her straight out of town. He even went so far as to follow her over the mountain before his head lights fell back and then finally disappeared.

  As soon as she knew it was safe, Marisol pulled over and cried. She had to leave Malsum Pass, but worst of all, she had to leave Vahl; she’d never even gotten a chance to tell him she was pregnant.

  She
grabbed the envelope and counted out the money. Clarence Pierce had definitely given her enough to get settled somewhere and find a job. She would have to find a Kmart or someplace else reasonable and buy some clothes though. Right now she had the contents of her purse, a packet of pictures she’d just had developed, an envelope of money, the clothes on her back and the car she was driving.

  Her hand drifted down to her belly wondering if she could even do this… Knowing she had no choice, she turned up the music to soothe her and headed south.

  She had been on the road only an hour when she saw a twenty-four hour coffee shop and pulled in. She needed to get some hot chocolate to wake her up and figure out where she was heading. With a tall Styrofoam cup in hand she took a seat at a booth.

  A folded newspaper caught her eye and she opened it. It didn’t look familiar so she looked above the headline at the banner. It was a newspaper out of Virginia, Hampton Roads area. A tourist passing through must have left it behind. It felt almost serendipitous as she looked at the help wanted section. Several restaurants, shops, and hotels in Virginia Beach were hiring for the summer season.

  It was exciting. She’d never seen the ocean before and Virginia Beach was probably much warmer than Vermont being so much further south. Vahl’s face popped into her mind and she firmly pushed it away. She couldn’t be distracted by what she’d lost; she needed to think about her and her child’s future.

  She approached a man who looked like a trucker at the counter and ignored the way he leered at her body as she asked him for directions to Virginia Beach and wrote them out on the newspaper.

  She thanked him with a smile and a nod and headed out to her car with the newspaper tucked under her arm. She had about a twelve hour drive in front of her, but opportunity awaited her in Virginia Beach. Only sadness and loss was left for her in Malsum Pass.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Tara Mason was wishing she had a more powerful vehicle as her little four cylinder sedan struggled up the mountain road. If her car was a person, it would be huffing and wheezing right now.

  “GPS signal lost”, the automated voice for her navigation app on her phone informed her. Perfect. She knew she should have gone with a better system. Half the time the app would give her a direction and she would follow them only for it to suddenly say recalculating. Or even better was when she would be sitting at a traffic light, not moving, ready to turn as it had instructed and it would update and change directions; piece of shit. She was in the middle of nowhere as far as she could tell; nothing but trees on either side of the steep road. Luckily, she was OCD enough to have printed out the directions before making this trip.

  Two more miles of slogging along with barely any speed and the incline started to level out. A sign for a scenic view pull off had her sighing with relief. Her back was aching, her left foot had fallen asleep, and due to the iced mocha latte she’d purchased on her last stop, she was going to have to find a bathroom soon (or become really familiar with one of these trees).

  She pulled to the left and parked her car near the wooden fencing with a large sign that read Green Mountain National Forest, grabbed her purse with the print out of the directions, and heaved herself out of the car. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Was that what fresh air smelled like? It was clean and crisp with the wonderful aroma of pine trees – not that fake stuff that companies try to sell in air fresheners and scented candles. This was real and it was amazing; so different from the exhaust smells of New York, but also nothing like the salt tang and sunshine smells she grew up with in Virginia Beach. She took a deep, cleansing breath and stretched her back before walking to the fence to check out the view: trees of course, large rocks, a stream, and –

  “Holy shit! Is that a moose?” She asked. Not that there was anyone around to answer her. She ran back to her car to grab her cell phone; this was one photo op she wasn’t going to miss.

  After taking several shots of the large brown animal with the huge spread of antlers she decided she may as well call her step-father Matty to give him an update on her progress. After all, he was the one who encouraged her to make this trip to find the grandfather that she had never met.

  It had been after her mom’s funeral when all the callers had left that Matty had handed her a locked metal box. “This was you mother’s,” he said. “She always guarded this like there was treasure inside but she didn’t take it with her when she moved up to New York to be closer to you. I never looked in it, but you know how your mom was so closed-lipped about her past; my guess is that this box holds some answers if you’re interested. I don’t know where the key is, but it shouldn’t be too hard to pop the lock.”

  Saying her mom was closed-lipped was putting it rather mildly. She hadn’t even known Matty wasn’t her real father until she was thirteen and she overheard them arguing. When she later asked her mother about her biological father, her mother had responded with: “It was the eighties, I made a lot of mistakes and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Can’t you at least give me a name?” Tara had pleaded, hoping to look into the matter further.

  Her mother had gotten angry, her face turning a blotchy red. “Do you want all the gory details then? Look, I was drunk and stoned and I have no fucking clue what his name was! Does that make you happy?” Then she’d burst into tears and fled to her room.

  Tara was immediately contrite. She gave her mother a little time to calm and then knocked on the door before entering. Her mom was on her bed, crying into a pillow and it made Tara feel sick knowing she’d caused this. She rubbed her mother’s back. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never meant to make you cry. I just wanted to know about him, that’s all.”

  Her mom had sat up and hugged her. “I know, baby. Let’s just not speak of this ever again, okay?” When Tara had merely nodded, her mother put her hands on Tara’s cheeks and made her keep eye contact. “Promise me you won’t bring this up again, Tara.”

  “I promise.” Tara had answered sadly.

  Tara hadn’t wanted to, but she kept that promise, but now Matty may have handed her all the answers she had been looking for in that box. She was almost afraid to get her hopes up, but she went to her childhood bedroom with the box tucked under one arm and some tools in hand to pop the lock.

  The first thing she saw when she pried it open was a thick stack of letters. She pulled them out carefully – they were all from the same return address: L.J. Mason at a PO Box in Malsum Pass, Vermont. Three of the letters at the bottom of the stack had been opened, the others were still sealed. Promising herself she’d read through all of them later, she put them aside.

  She found a long coil of bright red hair tied with a yellow bow that her mother had kept from Tara’s first haircut, a tiny pair of pink baby booties, and a ceramic rattle with a pink ribbon with her full name, date of birth, weight and length scripted on the handle. Lovely mementos that made Tara doubt that her mother would have simply forgotten when she moved. She was sure Matty was right that there were things in here she hadn’t wanted Tara to find.

  Her birth certificate was there, though that was no help since “unknown” had been typed on the line for her father’s information. But the thick envelope stuffed full of photos made her laugh and cry at the same time. There were several photos of her mother with girlfriends, all dressed in the height of eighties fashion with their leather miniskirts or ripped acid washed jeans, high-top sneakers and neon blouses. Her mom’s teased blond perm stood high on top of her head in every picture she was in – sometimes she had it pulled back with a neon scarf tied in a big bow, but in most of the pictures it was loose and wild which made Tara chuckle. Right to the end, her mom had needed big hair. It was one trend she just wouldn’t give up.

  Tara lost her breath when she flipped to the next photo; her mother was sitting there in a skimpy black halter top and snakeskin mini skirt, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. She was laughing, sitting on some guy’s lap and
he was flipping the camera the bird so that his hand covered his face, but the long hair that fell onto his jean jacket clad shoulder was red – just like Tara’s.

  Tara flipped the picture over to see if anything had been written, but it was blank. Tara grimaced. Obviously her mother hadn’t believed in recording names and dates for future reference. There was another picture of her mother that looked like it was taken at a prom. She was dancing with the redhead in this one, her head laying on his chest as he held her close, but his head was down as if he was whispering in her ear so again, his face was obscured – this time by her mom’s enormous hair. Again, there were no names listed, but this picture had a date stamp in the corner – the year before her birth. She could be wrong, but Tara was willing to bet every penny she had that her mother did indeed know the man’s name, and she was right that very moment looking at her father.

  Setting those two photos carefully to one side she quickly grabbed the letters her mother had received from L.J. Mason, took a deep breath, and pulled out the folded paper in the oldest one to read. It was dated six months after she was born:

  My dearest Mari,

  Please don’t be alarmed that I found you. It took time, but the man I hired was able to provide me with an address so that I could at least write to you. Know that I have no intention of trying to bring you back. I know why you left and understand. I may even agree with your reasoning to a point, though I think it may have been extreme. I just needed to know that my baby girl was okay.

  I would love to hear all the news about my new granddaughter. I long to see her and hold her, but again, I won’t force the issue.

  I am here for you, Mari, whenever and whatever you need. Don’t hesitate to call me.

  I miss you, my sweet girl.

  Love always,

  Dad

  Tara wept. She had been denied a grandfather, and he had been denied knowing her. She was hurt, and angry. Was he even still alive? She looked at the last letter received at the top of the stack, post marked over three years ago and her stomach churned, she wanted to rip into that one next to see if he wrote about failing health, or heart issues – had he tried to write to beg his daughter to come home to be with him at the end?