*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
*.*.*
Alana Pratt silently walked along the dark street. In late July, the air in Pinoak, Louisiana was a heavy blanket. The air was fetid with the stench of dying vegetation as a light breeze blew from the Atchafalaya Bayou.
The petite blonde had no fear of the darkness or of those that frequented the darkness. Her.357 was within easy reach in her heavy bag. And, even though it appeared that she was ambling aimlessly, Alana was very aware of her surroundings.
She'd suffered these occasional bouts of insomnia, ever since her mother's death. Children's Protective Services of Arkansas had come in and placed the grief-stricken teenager in a foster home. There, the Tidwells did their best to provide a safe, loving and nurturing environment for Alana.
But Alana often felt waves of guilt over her mother's drug addiction; had she been the cause of her mother's addiction? She felt waves of guilt; could she somehow have gotten some help for her mother? She felt waves of loneliness; for fourteen years, it had been her and her mother.
"Two girls on their own," Deanna Pratt would often joke.
"One girl on her own," Alana thought bitterly as she turned from Caledonia Court onto Barcelona Way.
She saw the Newhart's Restaurant a half mile ahead and decided to walk there for a cup of coffee. Newhart's had a good coffee; it wasn't so thick you could chew it and it never seemed to have that burnt flavor that the coffee of other fast food restaurants tended to have. Alana was not worried about the caffeine; caffeine seemed to have no effect on her.
Two days after her eighteenth birthday, three months before graduating from James Conway High School in Lowenberg, Arkansas, a letter from the law offices of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones arrived at the Tidwell residence, addressed to her mother. Alana opened the letter and discovered that her mother's father had passed away. Alan Timothy Pratt, her maternal grandfather had passed away and had left his estate to Deanna Michelle Pratt.
Contacting the law firm; there was a toll-free 800 number provided, Alana informed Mr. Jones, Alan Pratt's attorney of the passing of one Deanna Michelle Pratt. Since Deanna was now deceased, and Alana was Deanna's sole heir, Mr. Jones promised to look into the matter. Three weeks before her graduation, Alana was told that the inheritance was now hers.
Steven Jones, the 'Jones' of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones agreed to maintain 619 Caledonia Court for the three weeks until Alana Michelle Pratt graduated from high school and could then assume ownership of the property and other assets of Alan Timothy Pratt's estate.
The maintenance did not come cheap, but when Alana took an Uber from the Greyhound bus station located next to the Courtyard Mall in Pinoak to 619 Caledonia Court, she found the three story house was spotlessly cleaned and the yard meticulously cared for. The pool and hot tub in the rear yard were crystal clear, ready for use.
In the garage was Alan's 2016 Silverado Crew Cab and his 1971 Chevy Camaro. At the breakfast nook's table, Steven Jones and Alana did the paperwork transferring all of Alan Timothy Pratt's estate to Alana Michelle Pratt's ownership.
Five hours after arriving in Pinoak, Louisiana, Alana was alone in the home that had belonged to her mother's father. Alana felt a wave of anger and bitterness toward this man she'd never met. She and her mother had struggled every day to eat, to stay one step ahead of eviction from various apartments, had bought their clothing from Good-Will and thrift stores. All while her mother's father lived in a luxurious three story home. Once, they'd even lived in her mother's Ford Focus, until the car had been towed for out of date tags and elapsed registration.
Alana had learned not to talk about it, talk about their lives. School children made fun of her and some teachers tried to intervene. Those interventions just caused more problems for Deanna and Alana. A few other teachers tried to use this information to their advantage; they would touch Alana and get the frightened girl to do things she didn't want to do.
The foster home perpetuated Alana's social anxiety. The Tidwells themselves were good Christian people and did their very best to provide for each child entrusted to their care. But many of the foster children, experienced hands at the foster care system would manipulate Alana with lies and deceptions. If that didn't work, the foster children would resort to physical threats against the smaller girl.
Deanna never disclosed to Alana why they lived the way they did. Deanna never told Alana that she'd been kicked out of her father and mother's home when she'd started using drugs. Deanna's mother would slip her a few bucks every now and then, but her father wanted nothing to do with his only child.
Deanna wound up in Lowenburg, Arkansas by turning a few tricks. A trucker offered the attractive blonde a few bucks and some good cocaine to join him as he drove north.
In a greasy spoon diner in Lowenburg, Deanna had gone to the bathroom. Coming out, she was just in time to see the truck pulling onto Highway 467, heading north.
Deanna got a job waitressing at the diner. She occasionally turned a few tricks on the side, even sold some drugs to support her habit. When she discovered that she was pregnant, she did try to kick the habit. She really did try.
"We could have been living here? Instead of those shitty, we could have been living here?" Alana screamed, standing in a plush living room, staring at a large screen television, highly polished bookshelves, an immaculate billiards table and well-stocked bar.
Alana deduced one of the large suites upstairs had belonged to her grandfather. She also deduced that her and her mother's living conditions had somehow been her grandfather's fault. Therefore, Alana decided, she would not refer to the man as 'Grandfather,' but instead would just call him Alan. She gave the man's spirit the middle finger and went back down to the second floor and selected one of the guest suites to sleep in. Her duffel bag contained her clothes and her pillow and a teddy bear. Mrs. Tidwell made a point of giving every foster child a teddy bear upon their arrival in her home, no matter the age of the foster child. Alana had politely thanked the woman but had felt foolish accepting the gift. Until Darren Stilles, a seventeen year old boy accepted the gift and broke down in heart-wrenching sobs over the simple gift. Now, the silly teddy bear was Alana's most prized possession.
At one o'clock in the morning, Alana was wide awake. She knew she'd never get back to sleep so decided to explore.
The second floor had four bedrooms and four bathrooms. Each bathroom had a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of body wash and thick fluffy towels and tick fluffy wash cloths. The medicine cabinets had three guest toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste still in the box, along with a small bottle of mouthwash, seal still wrapped around the cap.
The closets in each bedroom was bare. The armoire in each bedroom housed a 32 inch flat screen television, along with the remote control. The nightstand in each room had a Bible sitting on it.
"Hypocrite," Alana sneered.
One suite on the third floor had some women's clothing. The nightstand had a well-worn Bible on it, along with a very heavy crystal and silver rosary. In the first drawer were some books of erotic poetry and the next drawer had some latex dildos, a sleek battery powered vibrator, and a large jar of lubricant. The armoire had a television and a DVD player. The drawer underneath the television held several romance DVD cases. And on the low dresser, Alana found a framed photograph of her mother with a handsome older man and a beautiful blonde woman. There was also a photograph of a beautiful smiling girl in graduation gown and mortarboard. At first, Alana wondered how her grandmother had a photograph of her Kindergarten graduation, but quickly realized that this was a picture of her mother. The top left hand drawer had more photographs of Deanna.
Alan's suite smelled of polished wood and leather; a strong, masculine scent. The closet held many suits and ties and dress shirts and highly polished dress shoes.
Opening the armoire in this room, Alana saw the television and DVD player and the remote control for the two electronic items.
"Blonde Teen Lezzies," Alana read the first DVD case. "Ass Fucking Blonde Sluts. Geez, Alan, what the fuck, huh?"
It was not lost on Alana that the seven DVD cases in the drawer all dealt with teenaged blonde girls. The nightstand had some hardcore pornographic magazines and again, all dealt with blonde teenagers. A few of the titles even dealt with the topic of incest. 'My Daughter's Tight Ass' was right on top of the stack of magazines. The cover showed a smiling blonde 'teenager' bending over in a very short skirt, her 'father' smiling as he unzipped his seersucker slacks.
There was a gun safe in one of the large walk-in closets. On a hunch, Alana punched in her mother's birthday and the safe clicked open. She found several guns; two shotguns, some high-powered rifles, and five handguns. She liked the feel of the.357; it had a nice, solid feel to it.
Despite her anger and resentment toward Alan, Alana liked the way his room smelled. She also liked the firm mattress the large man had required for his back. Retrieving her pillow and teddy bear, Alana lay down on the bed and turned on the television.
'Blonde Teen Lezzies' started when Alana mashed the correct buttons. She reduced the volume; apparently, Alan had suffered a bit of a hearing loss. Alana reduced the volume and grabbed a few more pillows and propped herself up.
"Damn," Alana breathed as she watched two very attractive young looking blondes kissing passionately.
Alana woke up with gray dawn filtering in through a chink in the curtain. On the television, one blonde girl was being taken by three muscle bound men. Obviously, Blonde Teen Lezzies had finished some time ago and Blonde Schoolgirl Sluts had started. Alana shut off the television and went down the stairs to the kitchen. Taking a Lean Cuisine from the freezer, Alana saw she'd need to do some grocery shopping. Thankfully, James Conway High School had taught Driver's Education as an elective and Alana had a valid Arkansas driver's license.
Alan would have been both outraged and horrified when Alana took his prized Camaro rather than the pickup truck. Alana simply thought the smaller vehicle would be easier to drive; she barely scraped five feet in height. At the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store, an older man attempted to talk to Alana about her car. The man was astute enough to recognize Alana's extreme discomfort so stepped back and gave her a polite nod and said 'nice car' before walking away.
Alana never drove the car again. The Internet helped Alana establish the car's value and Steven Jones, one of the few people Alana somewhat trusted did help Alana sell the vehicle. He was shocked when Alana told him to donate the money to the local Chemical Dependency Unit in St. Elizabeth Parish. He did donate the money in Deanna's name.
Now, avoiding the streetlights, Alana walked toward the Newhart's Restaurant. At this time of night, there usually were very few customers around. There was a short, chunky girl that worked a lot of the late night/early morning shifts. Amanda Arnaud would always smile and ask Alana how she was doing. Alana admired and envied the girl's cheerfulness and easy smile.
Entering the restaurant through the side door, Alana saw an attractive African-American girl working the counter. Amanda was not in sight; Alana assumed her friend must have the night off. Looking around, Alana saw only two patrons in the restaurant, a large, muscle bound man in wife beater shirt and a smaller man sitting together in a booth.
