On a cold dismal night, a two-day-old infant was abandoned on the steps of the hospital, no clothes, no blanket, just thrown away as yesterday garbage. Raised in an orphanage until overcrowding put her on the streets to fend for herself at the age of fourteen, her name is Carlie.
Carlie was a survivor. She learned quickly how to panhandle, eat out of the dumpsters and find shelter from the rain. Love had came her away, fleeing as it had been. Jack was gone, all that was left was his crypt and on the stone had been etched, Jack Devereaux 1983 – 2003, loved above all by Carlie. Victoria Marie Devereaux, precious daughter of Jack and Carlie 2003-2003. Carlie Loroche 1986-2003, Left behind.
Carlie was dead as Jack, just had not been buried that day over nine years ago. She had tried a time or three to join him and her baby girl. Her hand moves over the broken windowpane as if touching the crypt outside her rundown apartment. “Good night Jack, sleep with the angels. I love you, wait for me.”
A mysterious stranger had watched Carlie for longer than humanly possible. It was time to meet . . . the black town car slides up to the curb . . . the door opens.