STARCROSSED: PERIGEE
Tracey Lee Campbell
Copyright (c) 2011 Tracey Lee Campbell
All rights reserved.
License Notes
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Cover art by Brenna Symonds
* * * * *
FOR MY FAMILY,
WITH LOVE AND GRATITUDE
* * * * *
Contents
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
* * * * *
Acknowledgements
Much love and thanks to my husband Ben who is always there to ply me with caffeine, chocolate, encouragement and advice. To Katrina and Stella, for your, friendship, time and honest feedback, thank you. To Mary, who is such an unwavering fount of information and support - much thanks! And to my kids, who put up with a nutty mother who 'likes weird things' - thanks for your encouragement, faith and understanding. I love you guys!
Finally, a big thank you to my Mum and Dad - possibly the 'best parents in the universe' - you are inspirational in so many ways.
* * * * *
Prologue
There were three of them, waiting in the darkness. They stood silent and still - thin figures lurking amidst the line of trees bordering the muddy farmyard, watching, waiting for the signal to proceed. Their eyes focused easily in the dim light, gazing with apparent disinterest as their target emerged from the farmhouse into the weak pool of light thrown from the porch lights. They didn't need to follow her movements - they would find her no matter where she went.
She made her way across the rutted yard using the feeble light of a flickering flashlight, and headed for the barnyard gate. Stopping suddenly, she shone the flashlight in the direction of the trees, but the weak, intermittent beam only illuminated a few feet around her. Giving up on the flashlight, she stood still, her head cocked as though straining to listen. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she turned to lift the latch from around the fence post. The gate's hinges protested with a high pitched creak as she used her full weight to shove the gate across the boggy ground.
The horses in the barn moved uneasily, nickering and kicking the sides of the timber stalls as though they sensed this night held something unusual. The air was thick and still, and the local creatures which usually filled the night with their chirping and croaking were strangely silent.
The movement triggered sensor light went on as the girl approached the barn door. Again she stopped and looked around, rubbing her temple. She peered into the dark edges of the farmyard, gave a slight shake of her head, then raked her fingers through her hair in a weary gesture. Pushing the heavy wooden doors to each side on their rollers, she disappeared inside the building.
The three figures turned their heads in unison toward the side of the barn, their eyes moving along with the girl inside as if they could see right through the walls.
One of the watchers put his hand to his brow and closed his eyes. He turned to his companions.
"Abort. The specimen has been uncooperative lately. We will need a whisperer." The messenger relayed the directive silently to the others, and they took one last look at the barn, before disappearing into the night.
* * * * *
perigee
[per-i-jee]
-noun Astronomy
The point in the orbit of a heavenly body at which it is nearest to Earth.
* * * * *
Dreams are so peculiar - the strangest things can happen in them, but in the midst of it all, when the world around you is totally upside down and inside out, the mind still thinks everything is normal. It's only when you wake common sense kicks in and you realize what you dreamed was total nonsense.
My dream should have been total nonsense.
I was in a room, a strange space enclosed by luminous white walls with no corners, edges, doors or windows. The air around me was hot and humid and I could feel the sweat collecting on my skin, running in rivulets to the hard metallic table I was laying on. He was there, in front of me, very close.
Sometimes I wonder which is reality - the physical one we exist in, or the one in our dreams. The strangers who populate the dream world sometimes seem so authentic you almost grieve for them when you wake and realize they never really existed. He seemed so real, as if I'd known him forever. But it was just a dream... wasn't it? The notion of reality has been challenged for me, and it is thoughts like these which make my mind go around and around until I feel as if my head will cave in from contemplating this overwhelming, indecipherable puzzle.
He was the only one in my dream who seemed what I could term 'normal'. The others were monsters. We're told monsters are figments of an over-active imagination, and yet, these beings, with their bulbous eyes and their malevolent aura, were there, hovering, waiting in the background in all their solid, corporeal horror. But he looked at me with incredibly charismatic blue eyes, and soothed me with his quiet, gentle voice.
My questions were deflected and he told me to hush, to be still - it would be over more quickly. A small voice in my head told me to fight, to run - perhaps it was instinct. He seemed to read my mind. Closing his eyes momentarily, a fleeting look of sadness crossed his face, and he shook his head. "Don't do it - escape is impossible. Be still and you will be returned home all the sooner."
He turned and looked at one of the monsters behind him. With a slight nod of his head, he turned back to me. His face drew nearer, and I caught my breath at the closeness of such an impossibly perfect person. He was mesmerizing. Despite every instinct which told me I was in danger, I couldn't help but stare back at him, and be pulled into the spell he was weaving. The panic receded as I looked into his eyes and listened to the hypnotic timbre of his voice. The room filled with a strange buzz which permeated my body, vibrating and pulsing through every part of me. I didn't care - I was still listening to his voice. Paralysis overtook me, but I had no will to fight it. The creatures moved closer and he backed away. I was rapidly losing consciousness. Before blackness took me again, I heard his voice in my mind, very quietly, as though he was whispering from across the room... "I'm sorry..."
If I'd remembered the 'dream' in the morning, I would have thought it nonsense. But I didn't remember it - not for a long time afterwards, when I learned the most nonsensical things could turn out to be real, and not a dream at all.
* * * * *
Chapter One
You know something's not quite right when you wake up in the morning with your face next to a pile of old horse manure.
I'm not a 'morning person'. Most mornings I wake up feeling like a zombie until I revive myself with a shower, but waking up with a lump of poop two inches away from your nose brings you to your senses pretty quickly.
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I sat up and shuffled away from the offending mess, confused and surprised at both my location and agility first thing in the morning. I peered about in the dim light, and heard the soft snort of a horse behind me. Light broke through a crack high on the timber wall, piercing the dark, cavernous space with a beam of whirling dust motes. It shone on a sleeping cat curled up on a bale of hay in the corner of the room. As my confusion cleared I realized I was in the barn. I had no idea how I got there. Weird. And I was used to 'weird'.
The rumble of the sliding barn door startled me. It rolled open to reveal the silhouettes of my Uncle Tom, his farmhand Gus, and my eight year old cousin Luke. I blinked in the bright morning sun, my hand shielding my eyes until they adjusted to the light.
"Lucy! What the devil are you doing out here?!" It was Uncle Tom who recovered from his surprise first. I hauled myself off the ground and wiped my dusty hands on the sides of my pajamas.
"I don't know..." I hadn't had a chance to even think on it myself.
Luke laughed and jabbed a finger at me. "You're covered in poop! And your pajamas are on backwards."
I looked down, and realized he was right - my pajamas were, indeed, on backwards. The buttons which were supposed to fasten down the front, were fastened unevenly down my back. Flakes of dried horse poop and dirty straw stuck to the fuzzy flannel of my favorite PJs. I made an attempt to brush it off, but they were too far gone.
Gus gave me a wide berth, walking around me to grab a bucket from a hook near the stall. "Strange night last night. I could feel it in my bones. The wife could too." He dipped a plastic jug into a barrel of oats and measured it out into the bucket. "The horses were spooked. Bad, bad night..." Gus was kind of superstitious and into mystical stuff. A talented storyteller; we'd spent many evenings listening to him on the porch of his cabin behind the barn, enthralled and terrified by the spooky folk tales from his native Ireland.
Uncle Tom, ever practical, grunted and lifted the wheelbarrow from its place against the wall. "Probably Lucy here spooked them." He threw a pitchfork into the wheelbarrow, and tossed me a glance. "Looks like your sleepwalking has started up again."
"I guess so." The explanation was entirely plausible. I'd sleepwalked often when I was a child, but I thought I'd grown out of it as the family doctor had predicted I would. Ending up in the barn was worrying. At various times during my sleep-walking misadventures I'd been found in the bathtub, in the dog's basket, draped across the washing machine, and scrunched up in the shelf above the hanging space in my wardrobe, but never before outside the house. I guessed I was getting more adventurous as I got older. There was no telling where I might end up.
Evidently Uncle Tom was thinking the same thing. "Maybe we should start thinking of a way to keep you inside at night."
Luke jumped on his bike and wheeled around towards the barn door. "Tie yourself to the bed," he suggested. "Or nail planks to your window and door every night." He took off out of the barn and headed down the drive, ignoring Uncle Tom's reminder to do his chores.
Uncle Tom winked at me. "There's spare wood and a hammer in the tool shed. Help yourself."
I stretched and flinched, realizing the hard ground hadn't been gentle on my back. "Just a tad on the impractical side," I said of Luke's idea. "Maybe an alarm on the door will do the trick?" I dismissed the idea even as I said it - I'd trip the alarm every time I had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Maybe last night's adventure would be a one-off. I'd have to wait and see if I made any more nocturnal trips. What was more pressing was the need to clean off the poop. "Ugh! I need a shower!" I said. "I stink." I turned to head for the house.
"Your aunt's up and about!" Uncle Tom warned. I thanked him and continued on over the muddy barnyard. It was early spring but the sun didn't warm the valley much until the middle of the day. The ground was painfully cold under my feet. I wondered how I'd managed to stay asleep as I walked out into the freezing night. I must have been totally out of it.
I skirted around to the front of the house, hoping to avoid my aunt. If she were up, she would likely be in the kitchen, complaining about the mess, ready to pounce on any poor unfortunate family member who happened to come within nagging distance.
I realized too late my logic was faulty - she was out front sweeping the veranda. She stopped at the top of the steps and leaned against the broomstick, a long-suffering expression on her face.
"Look at the state of you! What have you been up to now?"
"Sleepwalking."
She looked at me with suspicion. "Likely story."
I held my tongue; I didn't feel up to a confrontation with my aunt. I trudged up the front steps but she put her hand up and glowered at me.
"Oh no you don't!" she snapped. "I just washed the floor. Go around the back to the kitchen. And wipe your feet - they're filthy!"
I sighed and made my way around the side of the house, breaking into a jog across the wet grass. My breath was still frosty in the cold morning air. If Uncle Tom and Gus were just starting their chores it must be about six. It was sacrilege being up this early on a Saturday. Now Aunt Janet knew I was up and about, she'd be ready to pounce on me with a long list of chores which would take a good portion of the day to complete. I'd made plans to go shopping in Craigsville with my friend Alison, which meant I needed to avoid running into my aunt again before I could escape by catching a lift into town with Uncle Tom.
My cousin Michael was on his way out the kitchen door as I went to open it. He looked at me in surprise.
"What are you doing up?!" His eyes took in my appearance. "Is that poop?"
I pushed past him. "Yes it is."
He followed me back inside. "What were you doing in the poop?"
"Rolling in it. I hear it's good for your complexion," I replied facetiously.
"Really?"
I laughed. "No, dummy. I was sleepwalking. All the way to the barn."
He tailed me as I headed up the stairs to my bedroom.
"Cool!" he said. "Did you know if you wake someone up when they're sleepwalking, they'll die?"
I threw him a cynical look. "Where'd you hear that?"
He shrugged. "I read it somewhere. We should try it. Next time, I'll wake you up, and if you die..."
I reached my bedroom door. "You shouldn't believe everything you read."
Michael was really into science. A mad scientist - he'd tried some crazy things. Although I was quite sure his sleepwalking theory was flawed, I wasn't about to offer myself up as a guinea pig for the benefit of science, however crackpot his hypothesis.
"If we try it then we'll know -"
"No thanks, I think I'll pass." I grinned and closed the door in his face.
My room was an unfamiliar mess. I'm a fairly tidy person but this morning my room was almost unrecognizable from its usual cluttered but ordered state. I found my jewelry box on the floor, its contents strewn across the room, the trash can beside my desk tipped over, and my lamp was dangling from the bedside table by its cable. Apparently I was a clumsy sleepwalker. Ignoring the mess for the time being, I took a long shower, threw my clothes into the washing machine then returned to my room.
I sat on the bed and wondered where to start. I figured I'd better begin with the bed - Aunt Janet was a stickler for bed making and she wouldn't appreciate the sheets and blankets hanging off the bed and strewn halfway across the floor. There was a strange smell in the room - a kind of faint rotten egg smell which I put down to residue from my smelly visit to collect clean clothes before my shower. I sniffed at the air and decided it was more like the burnt electricity smell which I was familiar with. I picked up my clock - an mp3 player dock which doubled as an alarm clock, expecting it to have totally blown, but it was still going. The time was wrong though - the digits 3:33 were blinking crazily. I switched it off at the power socket then turned it back on and it went haywire. Nothing unusual for me there - I don't know why I even bothered with it. I should have stuck to the old mechanical wind up one.
As long as I could remember I'd always had a strange effect on electrical stuff. Some days everything I touched would go berserk. Television screens and computer monitors went fuzzy until I knocked them into behaving. Cell phones, household appliances, even streetlights - anything electrical misbehaved when I came near. My teacher dreaded me walking into the computer lab. It was a running joke with my family and friends, and no one could tell me why it happened.
I gave up on the clock and went to open the window. A cool spring breeze moved through the room, dispelling the burnt odor. I shivered, but not from the cold. With the removal of the smell, the mood in the room shifted. I hadn't realized how oppressive it had been until after it was gone.
I took my time cleaning up my room, pottering about aimlessly between bouts of bustling activity; I was loathe to go down to the kitchen until Uncle Tom was ready to leave for town. Eventually, I figured it would be close to nine, and headed to the kitchen to find him. He was downing coffee, the local rural newspaper spread out on the old wooden table in front of him. I looked around cautiously for Aunt Janet. He grinned and grasped the coffee pot.
"She's pulling weeds in her vegetable garden." He knew me well.
I accepted the mug of steaming coffee he offered to me. My Uncle Tom was possibly my favorite person in the world. His patient, unhurried manner was comforting and he was so easy to chill with. He'd made it his role to defuse any arguments which might arise between Aunt Janet and me. He had the patience of a saint, and I wondered how he managed to put up with his surly wife. I tried to keep out of her way, particularly on Saturdays.
Michael and Luke obviously had the same goal. Usually at breakfast time they hung around like a pair of locusts devouring everything they could find in the fridge, but this morning they had made themselves scarce. Aunt Janet wouldn't be happy. It was best if I kept right away from the ranch.
Starcrossed: Perigee - A paranormal romance trilogy Page 1
