Lost and Found: Free Prologue

  Lost and Found

  Free Prologue

  By Elizabeth Lennox

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  Copyright 2022

  ISBN13: 9781950451685

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Any duplication of this material, either electronic or any other format, either currently in use or a future invention, is strictly prohibited, unless you have the direct consent of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Callum

  Dash

  Marco

  Kasim

  Angela

  Callum

  “One day!” the boy whispered. Callum MacGreggor stared at the enormous house, the windows shimmering as the lights from inside sparkled onto the snow as someone inside prepared to start their day. Pristine snow, he noticed. It wasn’t the tire-blackened mess that he trudged through every day in the city. Apparently, the rich even got prettier snow.

  Callum remembered pristine snow. He remembered the highlands and the soft heather that dotted the craggy hills of Scotland. He remembered his parents, gone now, and the way his mother had tucked him into a warm bed at night. And he remembered her sweet, understanding smile when he’d argued that he was too big to be tucked in.

  He’d give just about anything to have his mother tuck him in now. Ifrinn, he’d give just about anything for a blanket!

  Bowing his head, Callum forced himself to keep going, ignoring the hunger burning ache in his empty stomach. It didn’t matter if he was hungry. There wasn’t any food to eat. Maybe he’d find some food tonight, he thought as he lifted his feet higher, trying to make it over the top of the snow instead of dragging his feet and shins through the snow. It was slightly less frigid that way.

  Thirty minutes later, Callum reached the store and stood outside, shivering in the wind. There hadn’t been wind when he’d started out on this journey. He stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his pants and pressed his back against the building. Only ten more minutes and then the store would open. Maybe…if he looked really smart and dependable, the old man would give him a job. If nothing else, maybe the man would let him into the store so he could warm up a bit.

  Callum closed his eyes, remembering the bed he used to sleep in. The Scottish Highlands seemed like a long-ago memory. They’d moved from Scottland to the United States after…well, he didn’t like to think about the bastard who had swindled his father! It only angered him more. But the burning need for revenge tightened his resolve. Some day, he’d get his home back.

  The move from Scottland to the United States had been a bad idea, Callum thought. They’d moved because his father had gotten a job. But going from a castle to a small, two bedroom apartment had been hard on all three of them.

  It seemed like such a long time ago, but in reality, it had been only three, maybe four months ago when he’d lived with his parents in a that tiny space. Perhaps “apartment” was giving the closet-like space too much credit. It had been little more than a hovel, but he’d had a lumpy mattress and his mother had prided herself on sending Callum off to school with a full belly. The breakfasts had mostly contained unsweetened oatmeal, but at least it had been something.

  Now she was gone, both killed in that horrific car accident, and…Callum squeezed his eyes shut. Remembering hurt too much.

  “Whatcha doing?” a harsh voice called out.

  Callum quickly straightened up, brushing the snow off of his thin jacket and trying to smooth his hair down at the same time. The stupid cowlick never gave his hair a break. The front tuft on his forehead always looked ridiculous, no matter how many times he pressed it down onto his skull. It still flipped up, making him look silly.

  “Good morning, Mr. McCormick,” Callum called out, wishing he could put his freezing hands back into his threadbare pockets. Straightening up to his full height in the hopes that he would look more dependable and hard-working, he addressed the shop owner with respect. “I heard that you were looking for someone to help out around the store. I came early, hoping to be the first person in line to interview!” He paused, wondering what he could say to convince the man to give him a chance. Suppressing his Scottish brogue carefully, he continued, “I’m a hard worker and I don’t complain. I can be here anytime you need help and I’ll go away when you don’t. I don’t steal. Ever. And I’ll always obey orders.”

  The elderly man glared up at Callum, pressing his thin lips together. Callum was tall for his age. Freakishly tall. At only fifteen years old, he was already over six feet tall. He hoped he didn’t grow any taller because…he already stood out in crowds.

  Callum stared down at the man, curling his shoulders in an effort to appear smaller and less threatening. Unfortunately, in this position, he could too clearly see the doubt in the man’s eyes despite the early hour of the morning and the relative darkness. The store owner had a reputation around the neighborhood of being kind, but stern. Would he take a chance on Callum? Would he risk hiring what most people would call a street rat?

  “How old are you?” the man barked.

  “I’m sixteen,” he lied. He wasn’t, of course, but what was one year in the grand scheme of things?

  “You don’t look sixteen,” the man grumbled, jingling the keys in his hand as he mentally debated the wisdom of hiring someone like Callum. But Callum didn’t relent. His desperation was strong enough that he would dispense with his Scottish pride and beg, if that would help. There weren’t many jobs around town right now. When he’d heard that the shop owner was looking for someone to clean and stock shelves, Callum had hurried to arrive bright and early. He had no idea what time it was, but since it was still dark outside, it was morning. He knew that much, at least.

  “Where’s your coat?” the man demanded now, then moved over to the steel door and shoved one of the keys into the lock. The door opened to the sound of metal scraping against metal, the noise frighteningly loud in the sharp morning air.

  “I’m fine. Not cold at all,” Callum lied again, trying to hide his shivering.

  “Get inside,” the man ordered, stepping back so that Callum could go inside the shop first. “Go stand over by the radiator until your bones have thawed.”

  Callum didn’t hesitate at the promise of warmth. He hurried inside and rushed over to the radiator, but kept his hands in his pockets, afraid of letting the man know how cold he really was. He turned again, his eyes bright as he tried to think of something that would convince the man to hire him. “I’m a very hard worker, sir. And I don’t complain.” Had he already said that? “No job is too hard. I’m strong and I can lift things. I can be here early to help out and stay as long as you need.”

  “What time do you go to school?” the man asked, taking off his coat and adjusting the thermostat. Callum had no idea what the shop owner was doing until he felt a burst of warm air push through the grates. It felt strange, almost painful when the heat rushed over his snow-wet clothes.

  Callum tried to remember what time school started, but it had been months since he’d actually attended school.

  “Eight o’clock,” he replied, silently praying that his answer was correct.

  The man grumbled, nodding his head as he took an apron off of a hook, replacing it with his coat. “Let’s see how today goes. If you’re as good of a worker as
you say you are, then maybe this will work out.”

  Callum tried to hide the relief, but the man must have seen it on his features because he chuckled. “Don’t get your hopes up, son. Working in a store is a tough business. I sell just about everything here. And it can be a bit chaotic.”

  Callum didn’t care. He had a job! A real job that would get him some money! “What do you need me to do first?”

  The man stared at Callum, his eyes moving up and down his clothes. “First, you stand there by the heat until your clothes are dry. You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes.”

  Callum hadn’t even remembered that his clothes were wet. He was warmer than he’d been in months!

  “I’m fine, sir. Just tell me what to do and I’ll get it done.” To validate his claim that he was okay, Callum moved away from the heat, still trying to hide his shivering.

  The man chuckled again. “What did you have for breakfast, son?” the man asked, his voice still gruff, but…was there a bit of amusement in his voice now? The distrust had faded in the face of the boy’s earnest proclamations.

  Callum made a mental note of everything. He wasn’t going to be cold and hungry forever. He was going to survive! Somehow, he was going to get back to Scotland and get his home back! Castle MacGreggor was just a vision in his mind, but he remembered. He’d always remember the horror of being kicked out of his home by that lying, cheating bastard. He’d also remember the shock on his father’s face when the lawyer had come to evict them.

  Yes, some day, he’d get his revenge on that usurper! For now, he’d plan and save every penny he could. Living on the streets after his parents’ passing, Callum knew how harsh the world could be to someone who didn’t have any money.

  “Come with me,” the man ordered and moved into a smaller room. Warning bells started to ring in his head. Callum remembered someone saying that some old men liked boys. Was this one of those times? Was the old man going to ask him to do something weird? He followed, but stopped in the doorway.

  “I’m making some coffee for myself, but you need protein, son. Protein to help your bones grow.” The shop owner took out a carton of milk from a small refrigerator. “However, I suspect that you’re still freezing, so how about if I heat up some milk? It doesn’t taste as good that way, but I think you need to be warm from the inside out.”

  Callum’s mouth fell open, stunned at the offer of food. Callum hadn’t thought that the man would feed him. And warm milk? He couldn’t stop his tongue darting out to lick his lips at the thought. Not just milk, but warm milk! At this moment, Callum couldn’t think of anything more delicious.

  The man poured milk into a ceramic mug and popped it into a small microwave, pressed some buttons, then turned to do something with another machine. Callum couldn’t pay any attention to what the man was doing now. His entire focus was on the microwave as it heated up the mug of milk. When the ding sounded, the shop owner turned and opened the microwave, pulling out the cup of milk.

  “Sit down over there,” he ordered, handing the mug to Callum. “And drink all of this. You need to be warm before you can start working.”

  Callum followed the man’s orders and sat, accepting the milk with both hands. It was hot! Callum wrapped his freezing fingers around the mug and stared down at the manna. Taking a tentative sip, he savored the sensation of warmth as it slid down his throat and into his empty stomach.

  Callum wondered if this was what heaven felt like!

  The man made a pot of coffee, then popped two pieces of toast into a toaster, whistling tunelessly as he worked. Callum sipped his milk slowly and he really did warm up faster. The toaster pinged and a moment later warm, golden bread popped up, bouncing slightly. Callum ignored the delicious smell, focusing only on the cup of milk in his hands. So he was startled a moment later when a plate filled with two pieces of jam-topped toast appeared in his line of sight.

  “I doubt you had breakfast before you came here, did you?” the shop owner asked, still holding the plate of toast. “Go ahead,” he urged gently.

  Callum took the plate, staring down at the toast as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful before. Which would be the case. He knew what jam was, of course. He’d seen it as he’d passed by that bakery shop by his old neighborhood. They’d had jam in Scottland of course. But his mother had always been one of those earthy moms who didn’t want her son to have sugar.

  Callum looked up as he watched the man put two more pieces of bread into the toaster, still whistling as he poured himself a cup of coffee, adding in milk and sugar.

  When he looked back at Callum, he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t dared to move!

  “You don’t like raspberry jam?” the man asked.

  Callum jerked slightly, pulling the plate closer as if afraid that the man might take it away. “I like it.” he replied, his voice croaking from the effort to get the words out. He had no idea if he liked raspberry jam. But he wanted to try it!

  Carefully, Callum balanced the plate on his too-skinny knees, then picked up a piece of toast. When the burst of sweet and tart hit his taste buds, he almost moaned with happiness and memories. He remembered strawberry jam at his friends’ homes, but for some reason, this tasted even better.

  Five minutes later, the milk and toast eaten, Callum felt almost too full. He hadn’t had that much food in…a long time!

  “Okay, now that we’ve had a bit to eat,” the man sighed, then stood up from the rickety stool, rubbing his apron-covered belly. He waved with his refilled coffee cup, “Let’s get to work!”

  He led Callum out of the small room and into the main area of the shop. The aisles were pretty chaotic, but Callum was warm and full. He didn’t care about anything at the moment.

  For the next three hours, Callum stocked the shelves from the boxes in the storage area, putting up cans of tuna, beans, cat food, and about ten other items. He swept the floors, helped several people carry their groceries to their cars and…smiled brightly when one of the elderly ladies gave him two dollars!

  Callum stared at the money. It was more money than he’d had on his own since coming to America! His grubby hands closed around the money and he wanted desperately to stuff those dollar bills into his pocket. But then he remembered the warm milk this morning. And the toast with jam! That jam had tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten!

  The guilt left a raw, painful acid churning through his stomach now. So he unclenched the dollar bills and walked back into the store. “This is from Ms. Ellen,” he said and laid the precious dollar bills onto the counter.

  Mr. McCormick chuckled. “Why are you giving that to me?” he asked. At Callum’s confused expression, the shop owner smiled gently as he pushed the money back over the counter. “It’s for you. Ms. Ellen gave you a tip, Callum. That’s yours.”

  Callum’s eyes widened and he looked at the crumpled dollar bills on the counter. His heart thudded and he lifted his eyes back up to Mr. McCormick. “Mine?” he asked, not sure if this was a trick.

  The man’s rough features softened. “Absolutely, Callum. When you help someone, they sometimes give you a tip.” His eyes turned stern. “Don’t ever ask for a tip,” he told him. “And always thank someone when they provide one.”

  Callum continued to stare at the money, not sure what he could buy with two dollars. But maybe…if he kept it and saved it, he could buy a jar of jam!

  Reaching out slowly, glancing up at Mr. McCormick as if he suspected that the man was just tricking him and he might smack Callum’s hand away, his fingers closed around the money. Carefully, he smoothed the money out, then folded it and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thank you!” he whispered, then moved towards the back of the store where he’d been stocking baking supplies.

  Later that night, after crawling through the broken boards of the fence, then hefted himself through the window of the abandoned warehouse, Callum curled into the corner, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. Two more store patrons had offered him tip
s. He had a total of five dollars! Five dollars all to himself! And soon, Mr. McCormick would pay him an hourly wage! Next week, he’d get his very first paycheck!

  Closing his eyes, he wondered what he could buy with five dollars!

  Dash

  At least it wasn’t snowing anymore, Dash thought as he crawled through the broken boards of the fence. He’d seen someone come this way and wondered if it was a safe place. He just needed a place for one night, he thought. One night and then he’d start walking again. His older half-brother lived in a place called Springfield. That was all Dash knew but he was determined to find his half-brother.

  Once he was through the fence, Dash paused, looking around the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse. His eyes and senses were alert for signs of danger, listening for anything that might warn him that someone was coming for him. He’d learned to listen, to react swiftly. Life was always about listening and being on guard.

  Hugging his arms closely against his body seemed to help ease the pain from the cuts across his chest. Well, not ease the pain so much as stop new shards of pain from lashing his body. He suspected that keeping his arms close to his body probably helped to keep the wounds from opening again.

  Glancing down at his shirt, he saw the blood stains seeping through his tee-shirt. Not good, he told himself. Looking around, he let his eyes focus on the trash all around him instead of the surrounding areas. For the moment, it was better for him to hide his injuries. No telling what meddling Good Samaritan might do if they realized he was wounded. Someone might see the blood and think he needed to be taken to a hospital.

  No hospitals, he mentally vowed. He was under eighteen. His step-father would be called and he’d be right back in a bad place. No, a worse place, since the old man was probably livid that he’d lost a convenient punching bag.

  Better to remain in the shadows. The wounds would heal. They had in the past and there was nothing different about now, other than the fact that he had gotten out of that hell hole!