Dyed Souls

Gary Santorella

Description

Charlie Lyle loves science, natural history and the world of the mind, and these are his refuge as he copes with his drug addicted mother and a world of circumstances beyond his he grasp. Baffled by how he has ended up in residential treatment, he turns to the works of Charles Darwin to understand his predicament, his fellow residents - and to find a way out. Against all odds, he falls in love and it is this cataclysmic relationship that propels him on a cross-country journey and a collision course with his own history. More a work of philosophy than psychology, Dyed Souls explores a dystopian world where narcissism subsumes wisdom, and Orwellian doublethink supplants reason."Dyed Souls, or Catcher in the Cuckoo's Nest...measured, intelligent and quite gripping. It's the plot that will make this book stand out, and it's a very good one. For the teen it has a galling coming-of-age, redemption quest. For the adult it has that, as well as a literary look at a singular fictional life. 4.5 Stars."John Lloyd, TheBookBag.com"Gary Santorella is a writer of substance, an important fresh novelist who deserves wide attention... This novel is of the highest quality, one that pleads to be read by young adults who face similar barricades, but also one that will impress readers of fine literature. Simply put, it's brilliant!"Grady Harp, San Francisco Review of Books"Heart wrenching (and warming) with a timeless feel, Dyed Souls is an absolute must read for fans of literary drama and coming of age novels."Indie Book Reviewers"Dyed Souls is the heartbreaking story of a 13-year-old boy as he is forced to face a harsh world that doesn't seem to understand him...it is a dark tale of survival and growing up much too quickly. It is an emotional, unraveling, and thought-provoking story that everyone will enjoy reading. 5 Stars."Rabia Tanveer, Readers' Favorite2018 Named one of the The Bookbag's Top Ten Indie Books of the Year2018 Chill with a Book Reader's Choice Award Winner2018 Silver Award Winner, Global Ebook Awards2020 Finalist, International Book Awards

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 mars 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781789010299
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Dyed Souls
Gary Santorella


Copyright © 2018 Gary Santorella

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


Matador
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ISBN 978 1789010 299

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd



My thanks and appreciation to those who have, through their encouragement and critical feedback, helped to make this novel possible. A special thanks to: Ray and Ruth Munger, Geoff and Pat Ross, Chris Marsh, Bruce Wexler, Maureen and Michael Rekrut, Bill and Irene Langham, David Klos and J. Winfrey-Cuthbertson, Diana Hernandez, Gabriela Hernandez, Laura Reyes, Maxine Linnell, Aki Schiltz and Doug Johnston of The Literary Consultancy, Joe Shillito and Emily Castledine at Troubador Publishing, and of course, Yuanxiao Zhu and Danni Tu, my brother and my parents. And to the hundreds of kids I’ve worked with over the years, I hope I’ve done your lives justice.

A special thanks to Gabriela Hernandez for her exquisite cover art.


Contents
1. Great White
2. Faulty Circuits
3. A little rain, a lot of thunder
4. Not a clue
5. Under the microscope
6. Dyed Souls
7. T-h-o-R-a-z-I-n-e
8. Of mice and men
9. If I had a hammer...
10. Snap, crackle, pop
11. Wild is the wind
12. The two winged steeds
13. The Next Day
14. First
15. Awakenings
16. Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
17. I see a darkness
18. Unnatural Selection
19. Smoke and ashes
20. Ground control to Major Tom
21. Ashes to ashes
22. Cyclone
23. Occam’s Razor
24. This is where I’m staying
25. An Egg McMuffin and the damage done
26. The long and winding road
27. The climbing tree
28. The ties that bind
29. Covenant


1. Great White
My mom isn’t saying anything. Then again, most times, she doesn’t have to. She’s evolved a silent language all her own that can paralyze my tongue as well. The sagebrush and scrub oak race past the corner of my eye. I stare out the windshield, swallowing down the scream that’s rising in my throat. My mom seems to be daring the road or me to tell her to slow down. I can’t speak for the road, but I know better. We approach the next hairpin turn, and my fingers search for cracks in the Rambler’s worn out upholstery. What I wouldn’t give for a seatbelt right now - a feeling I have a lot whenever I’m with my mom.
It’s stiflingly hot, but we ride with the windows up. It isn’t because my mom wants everyone to think that we’ve got air conditioning this time. She wants me to sweat for what I did.
A noxious brew of cigarette smoke and boozy sweat makes my stomach swoon. When a thin scent of sage seeps through the crack in the side window, I close my eyes and take in a long, deep, secret breath, holding onto its sweetness for as long as I can. But the spent Pep Boys air freshener dangling off the lighter pokes at my knee, its three grinning faces mocking my predicament. I reach out to stop its rhythm.
‘Who told you to touch that?’
My hand freezes in mid air.
‘And keep those damn ugly mitts of yours where I can’t see them.’
I bury a hand under each leg. My mom reaches over and presses in the lighter. The grinning heads sway maniacally on their shortened tether.
We climb, and the sun slowly slips down the drain of the horizon. My insides sink right along with it. I’m not proud of what I did, but she had no business doing what she was doing neither. She makes me want to puke when I catch her at it. “Boyfriend” my ass.
My mom finally eases back on the accelerator. We pass through the last set of switchbacks, and an iron gate emerges in the dim yellow wash of the aging headlights. Attached to it is a sign that reads:

Hawthorne Residential Treatment Village
Please Register Upon Arrival

It sounds like we’re going into some magical place hidden deep inside the Angeles Mountains. Trust me - we’re not.
My mom stops the car just short of the cottage. ‘No one’s gotta know, ya hear?’
We haven’t lived in Virginia for a long time, but my Mom lays on a thick Southern drawl just the same. That’s never a good sign.
‘You listening, Charlie?’
Her eyes poke at me like stubby fingers.
‘Why are we stopping here? The cottage is over there!’ I blurt. Big mistake.
She takes hold of my chin and pulls my face towards hers, her hair still mussed and wet from the couch. ‘Take a good hard look, Charlie boy,” she says, pointing toward the cottage with her eyes, ‘‘cause this is exactly where you’ll be if you don’t get your shit together.’ I turn my eyes away from hers and she pushes my face away.
‘You know, it’s just me and you now. There ain’t no granddaddy or grandmamma to spoil you. So it’s me you gotta be showing some respect if you ever want to get out of this freak joint. Maybe you should think about that the next time you get the urge to throw ice water on your Mama.’ She reaches for her purse, fumbling through it until she finds her hairbrush. She works the brush through the tangles, not hiding how irritated it is making her. She lets out a deep Southern sigh to fill in the space where I should be talking but don’t dare. ‘I don’t know, maybe that’s what you’ve really wanted all along - for your Mama to disappear and never come back.’
Most people don’t know this, but when a Great White is on the hunt, it doesn’t go into a frenzy like other sharks do. It strikes its prey just once, leaving a large semi-circular gash with its razor sharp teeth. Then it backs away and waits for its victim to bleed out so it can finish feeding without a fuss.
My mom leans back, smiles, and strokes my cheek. ‘That’s all right, Charlie, never you mind. You just got soft living with your grandparents, is all. You forgot that most people don’t have it so easy - that you have to be tough to make it in this world. That’s what your Mama’s here for – to always remind you.’
She sighs again, and I try to stave off a chill passing through me.
‘Say, do you remember that old library just outside of Arlington?’ she asks. ‘You used to walk up and down, searching and a-pulling, searching and a-pulling. Then you’d make a neat little pile and read to me from each one.’ She leans over. ‘I had to act like I was listening to every word or you’d get to frowning something fierce. Lord knows, I knew more about the life cycle of frogs than I ever imagined I would. Then after, we’d head over to the Dairy Queen on Old Post Road and you’d always get the same thing – a chocolate dipped vanilla cone – and end up wearing half of it on your face. Do you remember?’ She grins, waiting for me to laugh with her.
I remember the library, and the warm feeling of being surrounded by all those books. And my mom sitting there next to me is one of the few memories of her that makes me smile. But with my mom, every good memory comes with three bad ones. I also remember the scraggly guys coming up to our car in the parking lot, wearing big smiles, with Baggies full of drugs sticking out of their pockets, and how my mom would get all flirty and disappear for ages, leaving me sitting there in the hot car with ice cream and chocolate dribbling down my shirt. It’s these memories - the ones my mom always seems to conveniently forget - that make me hold my tongue.
My mom sighs and looks at her watch. ‘You were so sweet back then; so easy.’ She crushes out her cigarette, and searches in her purse again. She glances around, sticks her face inside it, snorts hard, and rubs the side of her nose like it’s burning.
She puts the car in gear and it lurches forward.
‘You’d better straighten yourself up,’ she says, rubbing her nose again. She guides the car around the circle, comes to a stop in front of my cottage, and shuts the engine off. ‘Look at you,’ she says. ‘You go in with that long face and your zookeepers are going to think that something’s up for sure. Which one’s on?’
‘Ted.’
She quickly checks her lipstick in the rearview mirror and pushes up on her boobs so they show out her halter-top. ‘I tell you what; tonight will be our little secret. No one’s gotta know, especially that Carl Dorn, okay?’
We walk past the living room window, and I see Ted sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, swaying back and forth to some music only he can hear. The fireplace isn’t lit, but I’m guessing Ted is. My mom pulls open the heavy metal door, and Ted shakes himself out of his trance.
‘Hi, Charles! Hello, Mrs. Lyle! How are you this fine evening?’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ my Mom, says, hesitating for effect. ‘It’s Ted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes it is! You have an amazing memory.’
‘Well, how could I forget? Charlie is always going on about you. It’s Ted did this, and Ted did that!’’ My mom lies with such ease that I’m not sure whether to laugh or puke. This time, I can’t help but laugh.
‘I have to say, I’m very pleased to hear that, Mrs. Lyle’ Ted says with a grin. He has this way of talking that sounds like