#1
THE BEST DAYS
CATALYST
Delaina Lake
© 2013
This publication is a work of fiction. All places, situations and characters are figments of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual places, situations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The contents of this publication may not be redistributed in part or in whole without the author’s consent. The cover of the book utilizes stock photography and neither the photographer nor the model endorses the content contained herein.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 01
CHAPTER 02
CHAPTER 03
CHAPTER 04
CHAPTER 05
CHAPTER 06
CHAPTER 07
CHAPTER 08
CHAPTER 09
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she blindly ran down the deserted street.
She couldn’t tell if her cheeks were damp from the storm or her own tears. All day long, dark, foreboding clouds had threatened to unleash torrents of rain on Laketown. As the angry sky opened up and the fine mist turned to a heavy downpour, it became apparent that the assault on the sleepy little suburban town was just in its beginning stages.
Thunder boomed in the distance as the storm moved closer. In between the claps of thunder it was eerily quiet. She couldn’t even hear the annoying buzz of mosquitoes or the low, soothing chirp of crickets that normally signalled evening had fallen. It was the calm before the storm, she supposed.
True, it was already raining. But that wasn’t the real storm.
She felt empty, which worried her. Shouldn’t she feel something? Was there something wrong with her? Maybe she was just a broken, screwed up mess of a person who wasn’t even capable of experiencing appropriate emotions. Her mind was blank, as though this was all too much for her to process. She was numb. Hollow.
Was this what shock felt like?
The streetlights cast warped, grotesque shadows on the pavement. It was strange how the most ordinary of streets could become something unrecognizable and frightening once darkness fell. She knew this neighborhood like the back of her hand, but it suddenly seemed foreign and unfamiliar…threatening, even.
She briefly wondered if this was how victims in slasher movies felt right before the axe murderer jumped out of the bushes cackling manically.
Maybe she deserved to be hacked to death by an axe murderer.
After what had happened – what she had allowed to happen – maybe she had it coming. Maybe terrible things needed to rain down on her to restore karmic balance or...whatever those weird hippy types believed in. But notions of karma aside, nothing could ever really make this right.
Nothing would be right ever again. How could she go on knowing what she knew, having seen what she’d seen? The thought of merely casting those horrors aside and continuing on with her life as though nothing had happened was almost comical, it seemed so impossible.
Although it was raining, those were definitely tears streaming down her face, she concluded with detached interest. Maybe that was a good sign. At least it meant she wasn’t a cold-hearted psychopath who was devoid of emotion. When had she started crying? Did it happen after she’d taken off running down the street, or had it started before that, when she’d – oh, God.
Horror washed over her as her mind insisted on making her relive every last awful detail. It couldn’t be real. The entire night must be a bad dream, she reasoned, desperate to explain the catastrophic events away. How could any of it be real? Things like this weren’t supposed to happen in suburbia, the land of white picket fences and tree-lined streets.
After all the buildup, who would have ever expected the week to end this way?
The rain was heavier now. The thunder was closer. Jagged bolts of lightning shot across the sky, a stark contrast to the black, uncharacteristically starless night. The mosquitoes, the crickets and yes, even the stars were hiding. Was it possible to envy the stars?
The wind was picking up, howling through the trees and chilling her to the bone. Her clothing was soaked, heavy with rainwater and clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her hair was plastered to the sides of her face and even her shoes squished wetly with every step. Her teeth chattered and, every time a crack of thunder crashed through the eerily quiet night, her heart pounded faster.
One foot in front of the other…just put one foot in front of the other. Focusing on the little things was good. It kept her from having to think about the big things. At one point she stumbled, tripping over her own feet and crashing to the ground. She barely noticed, other than feeling thankful for the pain in her scraped knee. It was a welcome distraction.
She picked herself up and kept running as blood streamed down her leg.
Yes, the storm had undoubtedly arrived.
Her tears had given way to deep, painful, gut-wrenching sobs. Her lungs ached as she ran, unable to catch her breath. The muscles in her legs were beginning to burn, not used to such exertion. Still, she didn’t slow her pace. She deserved the pain.
How did this happen? She kept running over the details in her head; details that she was certain would be burned into her memory for the rest of her life. At what point did normal teenage idiocy turn into something evil?
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was done. There was no way to go back, no way to fix things. Nothing would ever be the same again. She certainly wouldn’t be. She knew without a doubt that she would be changed forever. In what way, she couldn’t say. But the thought frightened her to no end.
The cold was starting to get to her. Between her clothes being completely soaked and the harsh wind blowing in her face, she was freezing. The rain was unrelenting, pounding down on her mercilessly. There were goosebumps on her arms and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She’d probably be sick tomorrow. But compared to what other people were going to be dealing with, she couldn’t complain.
She was getting a cramp. Even though all she wanted to do was run, she couldn’t keep going. Slowing to walk, she gasped and, clutching her side, tried to catch her breath. The muscles in her thighs burned and her calves ached. Wincing from the pain, she wondered if leaving had been the right thing to do. Maybe she should have stuck around...
She couldn’t face being there. Immediately after it happened, she just wanted out. It was a desperate, almost instinctual reaction. The last thing she wanted was to see the grim expressions on people’s faces, see their tears or answer their questions. The horror had been overwhelming and all she’d wanted was to escape before any more terrible memories were made. She’d stumbled outside, vomited in the bushes beside the driveway and then started to run.
And now, here she was, alone at last.
Since she’d run out of the house, she hadn’t seen a single person. If any vehicles had driven past her, she hadn’t noticed. She looked around, squinting in the dark, trying to get her bearings. When she realized where she was, she wanted to start crying again. She still had so much further to go. It was going to be a long walk.
But at the same time, it couldn’t possibly be long enough. Out here in the rain, she didn’t have to do anything but trudge along. It was easy. It was almost mechanical. Her chattering teeth and shivering body offered some degree of distraction and for that, she was grateful. But once she reached he
r destination, all of that would be gone.
She’d have to face what had happened.
She wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
At some point, she’d started running again. She was exhausted and sore, but the adrenaline surging through her body wouldn’t let her walk for very long. No, she had to run.
Another wave of nausea hit. Maybe the shock was wearing off because instead of feeling nothing, she felt hysterical. It bubbled up out of nowhere and like a homemade science fair volcano, erupted without warning. She wanted to scream until she lost her voice. She wanted to tear her hair out and break things. The only reason she’d stopped crying was because she didn’t have the energy for it.
Car headlights suddenly emerged from around the corner, temporarily blinding her.
Looking around her frantically, she spotted some shrubbery and dove behind it, reacting just like a wild animal might. She wasn’t sure why. Only moments ago she’d been wishing for a vehicle to come along and get her out of the icy cold rain, but now, inexplicably, she just wanted to be alone for a bit longer.
The car was driving very slowly. She had a feeling it was there for her. Sure enough, an instant later she could faintly hear someone calling her name. It sounded like Monica’s voice though she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t care who it was. She didn’t want to see anyone.
As the car got closer, she recognized Monica’s mother’s ugly orange minivan. She stayed silent as both Monica and Monica’s mother called her name, hoping desperately that they couldn’t see her. She held her breath and willed herself to stay still so as to not attract any attention.
After what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds they eventually drove on, oblivious to her hiding only mere feet away. She breathed a sigh of relief and wiped her hand across her face. It came back bloody. She must have scraped her face on tree branches as she as running through the night.
The Jackson residence was within sight now. She’d be home soon...in a matter of minutes, actually. Then what?
Then she’d have to face truths that she didn’t want to face. She didn’t think she could possibly speak about what had happened, to say the words aloud to her family and see the shock and grief on their faces. She wasn’t strong enough. She just couldn’t do it.
But she had no choice.
CHAPTER 01
“Guess what?” Hilary Trudeau trilled as she sat down at the cafeteria lunch table looking as pleased as the cat that swallowed the canary.
She crossed her designer-jean-clad legs and drummed her perfectly manicured fingernails on the side of her can of diet soda. Her dark shoulder length hair was carefully styled and her eyes were lined with several coats of charcoal eyeliner. She was the most put together looking person in the cafeteria and quite possibly the entire school. It was no wonder that every girl wanted to be Hilary Trudeau and every guy wanted to be with her.
“What?” Rory O’Neil muttered as she tugged at her long blonde hair distractedly. It never wanted to stay in place. It seemed to have a mind of its own and it seemed hell bent on making Rory look stupid. Why else would it stick up in all the wrong places, get frizzy with no warning and occasionally, horrifyingly, get caught in car doors and her locker?
Rather than pay attention to Hilary, Rory was eyeing her carrot sticks disdainfully. With all the diets out there, why had her friends decided to go on a carrot and celery diet? For goodness sake, there were even cookie diets out there – Rory had seen the infomercials. Why couldn’t they be doing that instead?
A cookie diet might be one that she could actually stick with, Rory mused as she absentmindedly twirled a completely unappetizing carrot stick between two fingers. She wasn’t convinced it would work; if anyone could gain weight on a diet, it was Rory. But at least it would probably be delicious.
Rory hated carrots, just like Hilary hated sharing attention with carrots. Who wouldn’t, really? To be considered less exciting than a vegetable can’t be good for one’s ego. But then, Hilary had never had a problem with her ego, aside from the fact that perhaps it could stand to go on a diet. As far as egos went, Hilary’s was morbidly obese and getting fatter all the time.
As Hilary cleared her throat, an impatient and deliberate sounding noise, Rory set down her carrot and redirected her attention. She knew if she didn’t Hilary would just get huffy and there were few things in life Rory hated dealing with more than a huffy Hilary. Although they were friends, Hilary could be downright mean when she felt she’d been disrespected.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” Rory asked, feigning interest.
“Grace Myers’ parents are going to be out of town on Friday night!” Hilary paused expectantly and then looked mildly annoyed when Rory didn’t fall on the floor shrieking in glee like a teenybopper at a boy band concert. “That means we’re going to throw the biggest, best party ever, stupid!”
Rory cringed at being called stupid and looked around the cafeteria worriedly. It was a word that was tossed around casually, rolling off others’ tongues with ease. To many people, it meant nothing. But to Rory, being called stupid was one of the most hurtful insults she could endure. Thankfully, no one appeared to have heard. Everybody around her was too busy bringing high school stereotypes to life.
Jeremy Beal, the big, loud, dumb jock was taunting Troy Watson, the nerdy little chess club geek who hung around with Rory’s equally lame sister. A few students were laughing as Troy cowered behind his chair. Others looked on uncomfortably, too ashamed to step in lest they become targets too.
Rory tensed for a moment and surveyed the scene. She finally relaxed when she realized that her sister, who usually sat with Troy, was nowhere to be seen. She’d probably gotten delayed on her way to the cafeteria because her nose was stuck in a book. Thank God for small favors.
The way Jeremy treated people didn’t sit well with Rory. Whether on or off the football field, Jeremy’s number one passion in life was knocking people down - which was slightly better, Rory supposed with a wry smile, than knocking people up. The last thing the world needed was a hoard of Jeremy’s crotch spawn running around wreaking havoc.
Jeremy liked to pick on the weak and vulnerable. The nerds, the losers and the loners were all fair game to him. Even after all the time Rory had spent hanging out with him at mutual friends’ houses, she still couldn’t figure out if he was a cruel and hateful person or just really, genuinely, ridiculously stupid.
Thankfully, she had immunity from his attacks because she hung out with the right clique. No one dared cross the girls who sat at the cheerleaders’ lunch table.
The weird gothy drama freaks were at a table by themselves doing whatever it is that weird gothy drama freaks do. Rory figured they were probably doing creepy stuff like jamming pins into voodoo dolls or reading tarot cards or eating cafeteria food. Seriously, what was in the mystery meat? Rory, for one, had no desire to find out.
The foreign exchange students occupied the next table. Sitting there were a couple Japanese kids, a Norwegian, and a girl who was from Mexico, if Rory remembered correctly. There was also a strange guy who claimed to be South African but was rumoured to just be a local kid who had nowhere else to sit at lunch.
Rory didn’t understand why the exchange students tended to hang out with other exchange students speaking their own languages. Shouldn’t they be trying to integrate? It seemed to Rory like they couldn’t be bothered, preferring instead to only associate with their own little multilingual posse.
Then again, the other students probably didn’t make it terribly easy to fit in. Cliques could be a strange, strange thing. Rory happened to be friends with the popular kids so she’d never had to worry about where to sit at lunch or anything like that. But she wasn’t completely blind to what went on around her.
Rory secretly thought that high school dynamics were absurd. Who made up the rules that the so-called cool kids couldn’t be friends with the nerds? Why couldn’t the drama kids sit with the jocks in the cafeteria? Why couldn
’t the slackers date the cheerleaders?
Even though none of it made sense to Rory, she figured there was nothing she could do to change it. It’s just the way it was – and probably the way it had always been. So, rather than question it, she went with it. What other choice did she have?
She didn’t have the same pull as the cheerleaders. She’d always felt like she lived on the fringes of their world, included socially but not truly a part of their exclusive Popular Girl club. On the bad days, she felt like an imposter.
Rory sat at the right table at the right table and was invited to all the cheerleaders’ parties, but she wasn’t a cheerleader herself. She’d contemplated going out for the squad when she was a freshman for oh, about two seconds. Then she’d quickly decided there was no way she’d prance around in front of a crowd in that skimpy little uniform that would show off her jiggling thunder thighs.
Maybe that seemed odd coming from the girl who loved attention, but it wasn’t the kind of attention Rory wanted. She wanted to be adored. She wanted to feel special. She wanted to feel important. What she didn’t want was for bleachers full of high school kids to laugh at her non-existent athletic abilities and secretly hope she’d fall flat on her face for their entertainment.
As Jeremy guffawed in glee he tossed a baked potato at Troy’s head, causing it to bounce off the quiet teenager’s thick rimmed glasses and spray bacon bit laden sour cream everywhere.
Rory sighed and averted her eyes, not wanting to be witness to anything else. She could see that it was business as usual at Belleview High today, unfortunately.
Sometimes she wondered if Jeremy was such a jerk because he’d realized how stupid he was and was angry about it. Sadly, he probably lacked the capacity to have that kind of insight. He reminded Rory of a big baboon pounding on its chest and making big baboon noises to assert its dominance. But she quickly disregarded that idea when she felt a pang of guilt for comparing baboons to Jeremy.
Catalyst (The Best Days #1) Page 1
