Flicker (Defying Death Book 1)

by Courtney Houston

  “I wanted to give it a chance, but I don’t think we would have worked out,” I said honestly. Despite the bene-friend relationship that we had going on for so long, I don’t think we would have lasted as a couple. “I think we would have both realized that we work better as friends.”

  “I really do love you,” he said. “And I’m not going to get in the way of you and Telor. But I think you’re wrong, I think we would have been great together. And if things don’t work out between you two, don’t forget to remember me.”

  “Gavin,” I said, unsure of how to respond to that without sounding like a bitch, “don’t count on that. You should get out there, find someone who you can love and loves you back.”

  “I need a little time before I can do that.”

  Telor and Jilsey walked back into the room, and Gavin immediately got up. He gave me a quick kiss on the top of the head and turned to Telor, holding his hand out to him, which Telor took and shook, not looking the least bit surprised.

  “You take good care of her. Do you hear me?” he said, shaking Telor’s hand a little more firmly and longer than necessary. Gavin leaned in and whispered something in Telor’s ear.

  “That won’t be an issue, Detective Hollow,” he said with a grin, not the least bit upset by Gavin’s thinly-veiled threat.

  Gavin nodded and left the room. I watched worriedly after him. He was being a good best friend, but I could see what it cost him to do it. And I loved him that much more for it.

  Determined not to spoil Tuesday night pie, I joined Telor and Jilsey, laughing and joking. I looked at how well Telor blended with my family, and it warmed me. We would make this work. We would get through this.

  Lina 47

  I think Robin healed more of Telor’s injuries than she’d let on. The deepest of his cuts, the one just above his left eyebrow, was almost completely gone after only three weeks. Only the faintest pink line remained of what should have been a pretty nasty scar.

  "Do you want to get married?" Telor asked from beside me on the couch.

  "Are you proposing?” I nudged his arm playfully. “If so, your presentation needs some work.”

  “You’re funny. But no, I’m not proposing. Yet,” he said, rolling over onto me. “Just getting a feel for what your answer would be for when I do ask.”

  I bit my lip and tapped my finger to it, pretending to think. “I mean, I guess so. You’re kinda cute, so our kids wouldn’t be hideous.”

  Telor laughed, shaking his head down at me. “We’ll talk about that subject later.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t a suggestion. It was simply a statement,” I answered. I wasn’t against the idea of kids, later. Much, much later.

  The lobby buzzer rang, letting us know that our Chinese was here. While Telor might have been happy to live off of cereal for three meals a day, I required some type of actual food at least once a day. Especially since we were having guests tonight.

  Telor rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, grudgingly putting his pants back on.

  “Stay, I’ll get it,” I told him. His apprehensive glance was hard to miss. “It’s just the lobby. There will be other people there, and I may even catch Gavin and Jilsey on their way up. I doubt someone will try to do me in with so many witnesses.”

  While he didn’t look altogether convinced, he kissed the ring on my hand and let me leave. Since the incident with Tori, I’ve been staying with Telor. Until we get things figured out, we both thought it was best to stay together as much as possible. Not that I was complaining too much. It didn’t change the fact that I really missed seeing Gavin and Jils. When I extended the invitation for dinner, I had braced myself for Gavin to politely decline, not that I would have blamed him. The fact that he accepted without hesitation was a true show of his character; he really was a good guy. He deserved to be happy, happy with someone who loved him the way he deserved to be loved.

  The lobby was just as busy as I thought it would be for around dinnertime. We were apparently not the only ones who ordered out. I didn’t see the Chinese delivery guy right away and thought maybe they buzzed the wrong apartment.

  “Is it Conway now? Or is it still Franklin?” said a male voice behind me.

  I knew that voice; I heard it in every good childhood memory I had, and I heard it in my dreams and my nightmares. I kept my eyes glued to the painting in front of me, focusing on remembering to breathe. One, two, three. No, this wasn’t happening. My nails had dug into my palms so hard I could feel tiny rivulets of blood pooling around my fingertips.

  “Ollie,” I whispered around the tightness of my throat.

  My teeth started to go tingly, and every breath I took echoed in my head. My legs moved without my consent until my back hit a wall. What was he doing here? How was he here?

  He looked just like I remembered, with subtle differences. Rather than look the seventeen years that he was, he looked my age maybe even a little older. The softness of his face was marred by his clenched jaw. His shoulders were so tense that he seemed on the verge of shaking.

  “Hey, baby sister,” he said through gritted teeth. “Miss me?”

  I couldn’t breathe. My chest had gotten tight around my lungs. I couldn’t make myself turn away from him. Oliver stood there, looking at me, his eyes dimmer than I remembered them. He looked a little worse for the wear. While his clothes were clean, every inch of his face told me he was ready to crumble from exhaustion.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him. “How are you here?”

  “I needed to see you,” he said, dropping our bag of food next to his feet. Each word he said sounded forced, like it physically pained him to say them. “I heard things about you and needed to make sure you were okay.”

  “Ollie…” I reached out for his hand and he jerked away from me, his gaze becoming sharper and a cruel smile appearing on his lips, causing me to take a step backward, away from him.

  “Death is a cruel mistress, Kit-Cat, and you’ve done pissed her off. Now you’ve made two very powerful enemies,” he said in a cold, hard voice.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  A shudder racked his body, his jaw clenching so tightly that blood welled from his lip.

  “They’re coming for you, Lina,” Oliver said, my Oliver, not the monster that was just using his voice to speak.

  “Who?” I dared a step toward him and he held up his hand, warning me to stay back.

  “Them,” was all he said, before he turned and ran from the lobby, leaving me to stare after him in bewilderment.

  I watched him retreat until he was swallowed up by the crowd that had just entered the building. The pain on his face was almost too much for me. Whoever he was talking about, they seemed to have some type of control over him. The real Oliver, my brother whom I loved and adored, was there, and then there was this monster inside of him.

  Whoever Oliver had warned me about, whoever was coming for us and controlling him, I would be ready for them.

  I was all in.

  Hey Guys!

  Want more Telor and Lina?

  Check out Shatter.

  Coming February 14, 2018!

  Hearing from readers is one of my top ten favorite things! To find out what the other nine are, come see me here!

  www.facebook.com/authorcourtneyhouston

  www.facebook.com/courtneyhoustonauthor

  @courtneyhouson

  Or the old fashion way authorcourtneyhouston@gmail.com

  Shout Outs

  First and foremost, if you are reading this book, thank you, thank you, thank you! Telor and Lina’s story has been a constant stream of chatter in my mind for a long time. To finally be able to share it with you has been a true accomplishment for me, and I’m thankful to be able to share it with you.

  Mom and Dad- Your total faith in me during this has been a true blessing. Growing up you never once told me that I couldn’t do something that I set my mind to and that lesson has been in the back of my mind every time I sit
down to write. So I thank you for teaching me what I can really be. I love you guys.

  Frank- I know you weren’t on board with this at first and I know how much it took for you to be supportive of me. But let me tell you, you have truly out done yourself. Thank you for taking to kids to the park for an hour so I can write, for not fussing too much because I haven’t cleaned in weeks and mostly thank you for not divorcing me and not marrying someone who doesn’t hear voices. I love you.

  Veronica- My fellow writer, beta reader and idea bouncer offer you are a true blessing. Without your input and advice I would never have gotten to where I am today, truth be told, I’d have given up a long time ago. I can’t begin to tell you how much your have truly helped me.

  Esther- Giving you those tickets was probably one of the best things I’ve done. Your support and input of been invaluable. Telor and Lina would not be who they are without you. Sharing the experience of writing with someone has been a true lifesaver especially during the times when I wanted to give up. So thank you my friend, for being in the ring and getting your ass kicked with me.

  Lea- You are the holy grail of editors. I don’t know what I would do without you. Seriously, no idea. You’re amazing and I’m glad I found you.

  Sneak Peak of Paper Dolls!

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard a gun fired. In real life, at least. People always say it makes your ears ring and that the stench of gunpowder is unmistakable. I finally have a frame of reference and I wish I could wipe it from my memory. That, and the look in the woman’s eyes as she realizes she’s actually been shot in the stomach.

  The man stands over her, looking from her to the gun. He finally seems to notice me. He stares for a moment, his face still dark, and then he bolts in the opposite direction. As soon as he’s gone, I run to the woman.

  I kneel beside her on the wet concrete and try to examine her wound.

  “No…” A thin crimson trail leaks from the corner of her mouth, her eyes pressed tightly shut. She moves her hands from her stomach, showing the bullet wound and the steady flow of blood gushing from it. “Leave me alone.”

  Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to call 911. I fumble in my pockets, but my phone must have fallen out somewhere, I can’t find it.

  I open and close my mouth several times, but nothing comes out. Words fail me as I try to remember how to be calm and vigilant in a serious situation like this.

  The woman coughs and starts to shake, her body growing paler by the second due to the massive blood loss.

  Almost as if it’s too much effort, she flutters open her eyes, their focus wavering. Her lips move and I lean down, pressing my ear against her mouth to hear the barely-there words.

  “Tell her…tell her…I’m i-i-in Rome,” she breathes, before her body goes still and limp.

  I don’t get up. I don’t do anything. I stay in the middle of the alley, covered in blood and clutching a dead woman’s body, until the police arrive.

  I don’t move when they show up either. Not at first, at least.

  “Put your hands where we can see them,” one officer says, inching toward me, gun drawn and aimed in my direction.

  Several more officers advance down the narrow space between the buildings, all with their weapons trained on me.

  “I said put your hands where I can see them,” he orders again.

  This time I listen, raising my blood-covered hands in the air. They form a half circle around me, trapping me between them and the wall. I should say something, anything. I should tell them that it wasn’t me. Or make a run for it. I don’t. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think my legs would support me.

  “Put your hands behind your head and get to your knees.” I obey them woodenly, the scene around me not even seeming real. One officer stows her gun and cuffs me, searching my pockets and pulling out my wallet.

  “Ian Sterling,” she tells the one who seems to be in charge here.

  He comes around to face me, his face a familiar, yet not so friendly face a few inches lower than mine.

  “Ian Sterling, you’re under arrest.” He lists off my rights as he leads me down the alley and toward one of the many police cars. His car is 9211; I bet if I tried hard enough, I’d even be able to tell you the plate number. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.”

  “Mike—” I finally manage to say before Jo, his partner, cuts me off.

  “Ian,” she scolds, “remain silent. For once in your life, do what you’re told and remain fucking silent.”

  My eyes lock with hers and then with Mike’s.

  “Get in the car, son,” he says, opening the back door of his cruiser.

  I look to them both once more, wanting to say something to make sense of this. Instead, I heed Jo’s warning and remain silent, doing what I’m told.

  Living on the road is hard. Not the actual act of going from place to place, but the mental state of not having a home to call your own. That, and the worry that your past is going to come knocking or jump out from behind the next tree. There’s no solace to be found. When you’re searching for something on top of that, the energy required to watch your 12 and 6 is nearly too much. But I think I’ve almost gotten the hang of it.

  “Ian,” Elaina scolds, her voice distorted by my shitty cell signal, “are you even listening to me?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening,” I say, though it’s only half true. “I’m trying to figure out where the hell I am.”

  When you’re trying to stay hidden, you have to live by certain rules. Knowing where you are is one of those.

  “You could always just come home.” Her tone is overly innocent. I can almost see her shrugging her shoulders as she says it, trying to play it off as a casual comment, but I know she means it. She’s practically begged me to come home before. It breaks my heart to have to tell her no time and time again.

  “I can’t do that and you know it.” We’ve had this conversation before and the hour is too late to have it again right now. “I’ll find a way to come home, someday.”

  To be honest, I don’t even believe it anymore. I thought a little time and space away from my former life would give everyone time to forget me and move on with their lives. Then I could go back for Elaina. That’s not the case, though. No one will ever forget what happened and the worst part is… I regret nothing.

  “Someday,” she echoes, her voice catching. She doesn’t believe it anymore either.

  “Can I call you back tomorrow?”

  “Sure, I love you,” she says. “Be safe.”

  “Love you too and I will.”

  “Ian,” she says, stopping me short from hanging up.

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she whispers.

  “Me too.”

  I really hope I do.

  I hang up with my sister feeling more tired than I did only seconds ago and finally spot a road sign.

  Welcome to

  Mallersville, Kansas.

  Population: 255

  As far as nondescript small towns go, looks like I hit the jackpot. It’s the only type of place I’ll stop, it would be too easy to be found in bigger cities. Perhaps I’m being overly cautious or paranoid. Elaina thinks so at least, but I’m not so sure.

  I pull off the highway and into the gas station right off the exit, a strip of motel rooms connected to the side. According to the sign, it’s the only gas station here. With a population of 255, they don’t really need more. An Open 24 Hours sign lights up the large window.

  I slide the prepaid credit card into the machine and fill my tank. For a second, I don’t think there’s anyone in the station. There aren’t any cars in the parking lot and while the sign says Open, the place appears to be completely empty. I consider skipping going inside and instead just heading to the next hotel I see. But as I open the door to get back into m
y car, movement from inside catches my eye. Looks like it’s not empty after all.

  Dear Mom,

  Sometimes I think about you and wonder if I cross your mind as much as you cross mine. I wonder if you miss me the way I miss you. I wonder if you hate me the way I sometimes hate you.

  Love,

  Mari

  Travel Spot is a small respite in my life. It’s the only gas station in town and since it’s also the only hotel, it gets a fair bit of traffic from the nearby highway. I work third shift, so most of my customers are people just passing through. They’re my favorite. They don’t look at me with pity in their eyes. They don’t see me like those that know me do. We have polite conversation about the weather or traffic while I ring them up, they wish me goodnight and I wish them safe travels, then they leave. If I’m lucky, I’ll never see them again.

  At first, I thought solitude might make things worse. But after a few months, I learned to love it. I still do. The silence instills a calmness in me that is quite possibly the only thing keeping me from tossing myself off the county bridge.

  “Good evening, Mary.”

  I glance up from my task as a guy scoots a pack of ramen, a Slim Jim, and a bottle of water across the counter. I didn’t even hear the door chime to alert me to his presence. Maybe it’s broken, again. Just the thought makes me shiver, I hate not knowing if I’m alone or not. Especially when I’m the only one working.

  I’ve never seen him before, which makes him a traveler. And a customer. He’s not bad to look at, with his dark hair and slate gray eyes. That’s always a plus. Handsome strangers are a nice change from the burly truck drivers and creepy weirdos that usually come in this time of night.

  “It’s Mari, not Mary. Mar, like bar. Mari.” It’s not his fault; no one says my name right. It would probably be easier to change my name to Mary than to keep correcting people, to be honest.