M.B. Mulhall - Driven

By MB Mulhall

As an eighteen-year-old ex-con living on the streets, Oliver doesnt have it easy. Dont show weakness and survive to repent are the daily mottoes he lives by.

A chance encounter with a clumsy older lady leads him to temporary room and board in exchange for being the errand boy for spinster twins in a fairy-tale homemuch to the dismay of their concerned neighbor Simon.

Inside, Oliver fights a battle between staying and going. The guilt of a horrible accident eats away at him, keeping him from getting too close to anyone, even when sparks start to ignite a heart he long thought broken.

Will Oliver get over the past and allow himself a chance at a better life, love, and happiness? Or will the blackness in his soul take over and demand he pay the ultimate price for his crimes?

Table of Contents

To great dads everywhere who have gone to the beyond. You are missed.

THANKS AS always to my mother for being willing to read my work when its still in the messy stages. Thanks to my NaNo group for helping push me to get this story written. Thanks to friends and family for their ongoing support and for putting up with a million social media statuses about writing, not writing, editing, and drinking Starbucks. Thank you to my fantastic writing partner, Tiffany Berryman, for pushing me to continue after NaNoWriMo and to start new projects. Many thanks to my sweet husband who graciously put up with me skipping out on our food shopping days so I could get more writing done. Love you (hate food shopping)! To anyone I may have missed, know that I appreciate every question, every piece of advice, every criticism, and every bit of praise.

THE QUICK-RISING, breath-stealing frigid water in the drainage tunnel probably should have concerned him, especially since he didnt know how to swim, but Oliver felt it was karma finally coming to exact its revenge. Others would argue he didnt deserve it, but he felt it was long overdue. Sure he had suffered in different ways over the years, but not in any one way that lived up to his guilt or equaled the horrendousness of his crime. They were just the precursor, the appetizer so to speak, to the main course.

Coldness, like he couldnt have imagined, seeped into his bones, seemingly bypassing the barriers of his clothing and skin. It wrapped itself around the calcium-laced supports and settled in the very marrow, spreading from extremity to extremity.

Oliver tipped his head back until it rested on one of the metal wrinkles of the tube. There was no longer feeling in his feet, and he knew it was only a matter of time before that numbness crept up his legs, over his stomach, and into his chest to finally lay to rest his broken heart. His eyelids fluttered, slowly closing as he welcomed his impending doom.

A lighthearted joy suddenly skidded through him as he realized that his ending would reunite him with those hed lost. Oliver only hoped that if they met him at the gates, they wouldnt turn him away, making his afterlife as painful as the earthly existence he would be leaving behind. How does one survive a tortured eternity?

Maybe it would be his ultimate penance.

Maybe he wouldnt even get to go to the place he imagined they were.

His head dropped forward, chin meeting chest. It would be what he deserved. There was no forgiveness, only pain.

Never-ending pain.

Three months and some odd days earlier.

HELP, IVE fallen!

And you cant get up? The thought flitted through his mind before turning toward the sound of distress. There in the dirty gutter lay the crumpled figure of a little old blue-hair. Bright red bloomed through the grannys tan pants. Dirt and grime were smudged on her adorably wrinkled face.

Are you just going to stand there while I lie here, bleeding to death, or are you going to help an old lady up?

Oliver looked over his shoulder to see who the snippy old bat was talking to, and saw there was no one else there.

Boy, you look like youve been rolling in mud. Do you have dirt in your ears? Im talking to you. She pointed a slightly shaking finger in his direction.

Me? Oliver asked, echoing the gesture to make sure the lady, who may have hit her head on the way down, was truly speaking to him.

Yes, you! Her voice was full of exasperation. Do you see anyone else? Quit dawdling and come help me up. Her frail arm wavered in the air, reaching toward Olivers frozen form.

O-okay, Oliver finally said, uprooting his feet from the pavement. In a few long strides, he was grasping the cool papery hand in his own, bending to wrap his other arm around the ladys tiny frame. It wasnt much of a struggle to help the petite woman to her feet. Oliver walked her to a nearby park bench, which she sank down on with a long drawn-out sigh. Unsure what to do next, he just stood there, towering over her.

Um, are you all right? Oliver kept looking from the woman back to the pile of meager belongings he had left behind when he came to assist. Do you live near here?

Im not far, the woman said while looking down at her knee. She tsked about cleaning out the blood under her breath.

Do you uh, do you think you could make it? Or do you need help? He hoped for the former.

Oh! Help would be lovely, dear, if you wouldnt mind.

Oliver sighed. He knew he couldnt leave the woman to hobble back by herself. His father would be terribly disappointed in him if he did that. Biting his tongue, he motioned that hed be a minute before turning to jog to his pack. Slinging it over his shoulder, Oliver took his time walking back, studying the woman as he went.

Even though the frame was small, the woman seemed to radiate a kind of power. Well dressed, short of the bloody knee, she screamed money: coifed hair, pearls around her neck, and rings on her fingers. Laugh lines radiated from the corners of two still-bright blue eyes. While her tongue was sharp, the many wrinkles gave her a friendly appearance, like one of those shar-pei dogs.

When she saw Oliver approaching, she got to her feet, listing to one side. Oliver sped up to reach her. He wrapped an arm around her back to steady the woman who was doing a fine impression of a wobbly top winding down.

Whoa there. Oliver adjusted his stance to help keep the woman on her feet. Are you sure youll be okay to walk?

She waved him off. Of course Im sure. Im old but hardly helpless.

Oliver raised a brow but said nothing as they started off down the sidewalk.

It was slow going, but after a couple of blocks, a quaint Victorian came into view. It was white with bright purple trim that should have looked garish but ended up giving the home a welcoming kind of charm. There were flower boxes at each window, a riot of bright, blooming colors. A waist-high, black, wrought-iron fence surrounded the lush lawn and disappeared behind the back of the house. The wrap-around porch was graced with wooden rockers painted in vibrant blues and greens and yellows.

Oliver thought it looked like it came out of a fairy tale, the kind of place where wishes would be granted and comfort could be found for the night. A sharp pang sparked in his chest at the thought of a night of warmth and safety. He shook his head slightly, as if to dispel the idea. It wouldnt do him any good to think of things that couldnt be.

They reached the gate, and the woman gestured for Oliver to open it. It swung away from them with silent grace, no rusted squeaking to announce their arrival. As they made their way up the cobblestone walk, the front door opened and Oliver found himself staring at a mirror image of the woman clinging to his arm. They were practically identical down to the orthopedic shoes they wore, the only difference being in the color of their outfits. The styles were the same, but the woman at the door wore pastels rather than the neutral tones her sister sported.