Dark Roses: Eight Paranormal Romance Novels

by P. T. Michelle

  I tried to refocus on the positive. It was good to get back to my routine. Even though I’d woken feeling drained (an annoying downside of dreaming one’s entire next day), my dream had also left me feeling tense and upset. People crowded around chitchatting, throwing paper balls and yelling down the hall to each other, but my thoughts were elsewhere. The stricken look on my mom’s face in my dream kept replaying over and over in my mind. I hadn’t seen emotion like that since I was five.

  In my dream, the phone rings around seven in the evening. I pause stirring through a bowl of trail mix for random peanuts and briefly glance at the caller ID. It’s a D.C. area code. We don’t know anyone in Washington, so I ignore it.

  “Inara.” Mom fusses and walks from the living room into the kitchen. Shaking her head at my laziness, she scoops up the handset. “Hello?”

  Her friendly smile fades and the look on her face gives away the caller’s identity as she grabs the counter.

  No way. The kitchen stool scrapes as I jump up, every nerve on high alert. What does he want? “Mom?”

  “Why are you calling, Jonathan?”

  My dad, the lowlife who’d walked out on us when I was five, is suddenly calling after eleven years of complete silence? I’m fire and ice, furious and cool. My only memory of him is a hazy collage of images: strong arms hugging me close, a big hand palming my whole head and smiling green eyes framed by dark eyebrows.

  My mom’s light blue eyes tear up as she glances my way. She presses the phone harder to her ear. “Inara’s here. She’s fine.” Her voice quavers slightly and she shakes her head, running trembling fingers through her blonde chin-length hair. “She’s perfectly safe.”

  Hurt flits across her face and my chest tightens. He didn’t ask about her. He asked about me. My hands begin to shake. I worry Mom will slip back into the near catatonic state she’d wallowed in after he’d left us—the rapid weight loss, endless insomnia and twice-weekly visits to her therapist. She didn’t stop wearing her wedding ring until I was twelve.

  I’d always thought that if something had happened to him, like if he’d been killed in a car accident, that would’ve been easier for my mom to deal with.

  Mom doesn’t demand to know why he left us. Instead, she calmly says, “Please don’t call here again.” But the moment she hangs up, she bursts into deep, heart-wrenching sobs. I want to hug her, but I know she’ll pull away. I refuse to ask what my dad wanted. I don’t care. All I could do was helplessly stare in frozen fury.

  The moment I opened my eyes this morning, sadness had kicked in. After my dad left, Mom pulled away…until the early memories of her kissing me on the forehead, singing while brushing my hair and snuggling close to read me a story had faded like rock-skipping ripples dissipating in a pond. Mom was as smooth as glass now. She never hugged me. Never showed any emotion, yet I knew she loved me. I thought Mom was impervious, indestructible even, but now I knew that wasn’t true. Dad’s desertion had left us suspended. On Pause. And all it took was one call to rewind us eleven years.

  Tired as usual, I reached for the quarter on my nightstand and instantly thought of my Gran. Mom didn’t visit her mother’s older sister. She claimed spending time with Corda was a sad reminder of her own mother, who’d died in a car accident with my grandfather when I was a baby. Instead, Mom sent me a few times a year as the family envoy. It was during one of my visits when I was thirteen that I’d complained about my gift.

  “There just aren’t ever any surprises, Gran.”

  Gran’s wiry eyebrows shot up under puffy gray hair. “What about when you do something different than what happens in your dreams?” she asked as she shoved a couple of rainbow colored gummy worms into a potted plant.

  “I think it’s going into sugar shock,” I said, nodding to the plant’s droopy leaves. She’d ignored me and added another worm. Sighing, I answered her question. “It’s not the same. Then I know I’m going against my dream. Anyway, you know I rarely do that, which means…there are never any unknowns.”

  “Ha, you think so?” Gran set the bag of gummy worms down, then pulled something out of the pocket of her light blue cardigan sweater. She always wore a cardigan, no matter the time of the year. Her deep green eyes glistened as she held the quarter up. “Sugar high money”, she said with glee. The retirement home vending machines only took quarters. Shuffling over to her desk, she slowly lowered her petite frame into a straight-backed chair. She made a show of flipping the coin, then set it on her desk where she covered it with a piece of paper.

  I gestured toward it as she rubbed the quarter’s face on the paper with a pencil. “I knew you were going to do that.”

  “Smarty Pants.” Gran made a face and hunched around her rubbing. When she was done, she quickly tucked the folded paper in her cardigan pocket.

  “I knew you were going to do that too.”

  “So, what does it say?” Gran gave me a hoity-toity look (at least that’s what she’d call it) “Heads or tails?”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t tell me in my dream.”

  Satisfaction flitted across her thin, deeply-lined face. “And I won’t tell until the next time I see you. That’s one thing you don’t know about today, Inara Collins.”

  When Gran was lucid, her insight was razor sharp. As I sat in the morning light, worrying that my Dad would make a random, utterly useless call after all these years, I rubbed the quarter between my fingers. Taking a breath, I thumbed it into the air. Heads meant YES and Tails meant NO.

  Slapping the coin between my palms, I slid it from my hand onto my nightstand and covered it with paper from the 3x3 paper cube next to my hand-painted jewelry box. After I’d made my “blind” pencil rubbing, I brushed the quarter into my nightstand drawer, then quickly folded the paper into fourths.

  While sliding the folded paper into its slot in my backpack, I realized I didn’t have one from yesterday, since I’d rushed off to find a payphone. Now, I desperately wanted to pull the new rubbing out and look at it, but I held off. The question I’d asked of the coin was always the same, Should I act on something I’d dreamed about?

  As I grew older I’d given Gran’s coin-toss a dual purpose. It became my way of asking for an unbiased opinion, even though I never looked at the answer until the following morning. I still wanted at least one tiny thing about my day to be “unknown”.

  Glancing at the hammered metal wastebasket beside my nightstand, I worried my lip with my teeth. The basket was full of past paper rubbings; every single one was Tails. I hadn’t acted on my dreams in so long, it had made sense that they were all Tails. Like the coin agreed with me. But was it possible I’d somehow subconsciously controlled the outcome? If I’d taken the time yesterday morning to flip the quarter, would the rubbing have been Heads?

  An image of my sobbing mom reappeared in my mind. I glared at my backpack. “If Tails is on that paper, I’ll eat it,” I snarled before grabbing the cordless phone and punching the Talk button.

  Silence. Had someone left the phone off the hook? “Hello?” I hung up, but before I turned the phone back on, I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the DC phone number from my dream. As all ten digits quickly flashed through my mind, I wrote the phone number on the paper cube. Turning the phone back on, I waited for the dial tone.

  “Don’t,” an eerie whisper threaded through the crackling across the line.

  A cold, heavy chill prickled my skin and the tiny hairs around my face began to cling to my skin as if drawn by a magnet. Brushing them away, I immediately punched the End button.

  Three seconds passed before I got up the nerve to turn it back on. Oppressiveness still tugged at me, but at least a normal dial tone rang in my ear. I didn’t like this newfound guilt that had me imagining weird voices and heavy, cold chills.

  My conscience could take a hike. I wasn’t letting my mom go through that. Better to have an emotionally distant parent than an emotionally wrecked one. Been there, done that. Squaring my shoulders, I dialed the phone comp
any.

  As I pretended to be my mom, unease clung to me like a nauseating perfume. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting Mom to catch me in the act when I told the operator we were tired of receiving telemarketing calls and I wanted to put a block on all unsolicited calls. After I gave a list of approved phone numbers, I hung up and felt much better. The guilt, worry…whatever it was, had completely disappeared.

  At least I’d prevented one tragedy today, even if I couldn’t stop the other, considering it had already happened. This afternoon, after fourth period, Lainey would rush up to share the latest gossip. In my dream and even now, the news left my heart heavy with regret and deserved guilt.

  Wham. A heavy thump jerked me out of my musings just as something banged my locker door. As the door swung wildly toward me, I reached up to stop it at the same time a hand landed on mine.

  “Sorry.” Apologetic blue eyes sought mine as the loner guy’s hand fell away. “My elbow caught your door.”

  I eyed the pile of books he’d just dumped onto his locker’s metal floor. “Why’d you move lockers?”

  “My old locker’s been confiscated.”

  “Confiscated?”

  His longish-bangs partially covered his eyes with his nod. “My locker had the bomb in it.”

  Oh. My. God. “No way! That must’ve freaked you out.”

  Pushing his shoe against the tumble of books, he shut his locker door, then tucked a book and notepad under his arm. “No biggie.”

  “You could’ve…died.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t help thinking, I saved this guy’s life yesterday.

  “It’s all good. I’m Ethan Harris. You’re Nara, right? I think we’re in History and Trig together.”

  I was so thrown off by the fact this entire conversation with him was: one, happening at all, and two, new to me, that all I could think to say was, “Yes. Nara.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “Nara of the no last name?”

  He must think I’m a total moron. “Oh, it’s Collins. Inara Collins.”

  “In-ara. I’ve never heard that name before.”

  The way my name rolled off his tongue, that deep baritone enunciating each syllable, made my stomach flutter and my heart thump. “My parents intentionally picked a rare name.” How lame was that? Why couldn’t I have come up with some great philosophical reason?

  I missed what he said because the first bell rang. The noise in the hall grew louder and everyone scattered like ants. When a football player zoomed by, bumping Ethan from behind, I realized Ethan’s shoulders were almost as wide as the other guy’s.

  Ethan didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, he suddenly zoned as if he were seeing something else instead of me. As he rubbed his left forearm, I could tell he was miles from the locker hall.

  “Ethan?”

  He blinked, but his gaze remained hyper-focused.

  I touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

  For a split-second, a face flashed, a lightning blip featuring a gaping maw and…long teeth. Gasping, I pulled away. “Did you see that?”

  Ethan’s attention snapped back to me. “See what?”

  I seriously doubted I could explain it. Maybe what I saw was just in my own mind. “You, uh…kind of zoned out.”

  “Sorry.” Ethan tilted his head and the right corner of his lip lifted in a grim half-smile. “I just remembered I have a test today.”

  That was some pretty intense zone-age over a forgotten test. Then again, I was hearing voices and seeing things. Who was I to judge “normal” behavior?

  The hall was clearing and I was finally able to talk without screaming. “I’d better go. Good luck on your test.”

  “Thanks. See you in History.”

  As he walked away, I stared after his long stride. Yesterday, the people I’d saved had been faceless. Today, at least one had a face, making me doubly glad I’d called the police. Ethan seemed like a nice enough guy. He might seem intense, but the way he kept to himself didn’t mesh with the kind of behavior that usually got someone kicked out of school. What could he have possibly done to get expelled?

  ***

  History class was right next door to Homeroom, so I always got there before most everyone else. Pulling out my thick History book, I opened to the section we’d be lectured on today. I never studied (at least not for any school subjects. Teaching myself Latin was a whole other story), but I needed to at least “appear” studious, considering I had a 99% average. Once my desk was set up, I turned to the important stuff—jotting down notes about the rest of my day.

  When I couldn’t find my purple ballpoint pen, I remembered that I’d used it to write down the phone number on the Caller ID from my dream—just in case the phone company wouldn’t let me block all unsolicited calls. My favorite pen was on my nightstand instead of where it would normally be, sitting in the third slot in my backpack.

  Frowning at the empty slot, I began to dig deep into the bottom of my backpack, even though I knew I wouldn’t find a pen. I hated loose pens, change or anything for that matter, rolling around in the bottom of my backpack. I had a pencil, but writing a note on my hand was impossible with No. 2 lead.

  I was frantically searching every single zipper, pocket and crevice in my backpack when someone set a blue pen on my desk and kept on walking.

  I watched Ethan take his seat at the back of the classroom and open his notepad. He didn’t look up or acknowledge what he’d done in any way. Instead, he retrieved a pencil from inside the pad’s spiral binding and immediately began to run the dark lead across the paper, completely engrossed.

  The blue ink slid across my skin like silk as I wrote the couple of things I wanted to recall on my palm. I never wrote down answers to test questions. My dreams always seared those into my memory. Mostly I just noted other stuff that I didn’t want to forget or situations I wanted to avoid. Like coming out of third period today and seeing Lainey whisper something in Jared’s ear as he grabbed her around the waist. She had stayed after practice yesterday to watch the football players. I’d felt so crappy after letting so many shots into the goal that I’d just gone home.

  I wrote two things:

  Take long way to 4th pd.

  Send flowers.

  Curling my fingers closed, I looked up to see Ethan watching me, pencil paused over his paper. I’d never seen him with a pen. From what I could recall, he’d always used a pencil, which meant he knew I was looking for my pen, because…

  He’d watched me write on my hand every day.

  ***

  After third period, Lainey ran up to me in the hallway, swinging her cowhide designer bag over her shoulder. “There you are. Why’d you go this way?”

  When I shrugged, offering no reason, Lainey didn’t even notice. Her brown eyes were brimming with anticipation. “Did you hear about, Lila—”

  A couple of guys brushed past, one speaking to the other in a loud voice, as if his buddy were across the room instead of right next to him. “What’d you want to do this Friday?”

  I frowned after them. “Why’s Aaron screaming?”

  “I heard him telling someone that he was wearing his headphones yesterday when a high-pitched sound squealed. He said it hurt so much he almost passed out.”

  I winced. “Ouch.”

  Lainey pointed to her ear. “Temporary hearing loss. Aaron swears it was interference from an airplane zooming over.” Spinning her hand in an impatient circle, she said, “Anyway, did you hear what happened to her?”

  My heart hammered like crazy, but I tried to remain calm and not let the guilt show on my face. “Who?”

  “Lila Jenkins.” Lainey drew closer. “She was admitted to Jefferson hospital last night. Supposedly, she was pretty roughed up and they don’t expect her to come back to school for a couple weeks.”

  Despite my attempt to remain cool, tears burned behind my eyelids. Hearing about Lila all over again only made my guilt ratchet higher. I blinked rapidly to hold my tears back and wished our school didn’t
have a policy against wearing sunglasses inside. “Do they know who did that to her?”

  “Nope. Which brings me to the other news. They arrested David Donaldson for planting the bomb.”

  “David Donaldson?” I squinted, pretending to remember who he was. “Didn’t he get expelled for beating up that guy over a parking spot?”

  “Yeah. Lila was dating David.” Lainey flipped her wavy red hair over her shoulder. The morning mist had totally ruined her flatiron straightening efforts. “Makes me wonder if she’s the one who tipped off the police and that’s why she got beat up.”

  “But you said David’s been arrested. Who beat her then?” I desperately hoped that for once my dream was wrong and the police had actually arrested the person responsible for attacking Lila.

  Lainey lifted her shoulder, then popped a big pink bubble. “My dad said Lila’s refusing to talk about it.” Glancing at the students milling around us, she leaned in and whispered, “The police originally suspected that the bomber might be that new guy, since the bomb was in his locker. Plus, the tipper said the person responsible had been expelled.”

  My eyes bugged. I meant expelled at this school! I began to cough. I might’ve saved the new guy’s life, but I’d also accidentally pegged him as the bomber.

  Lainey pounded my back. “You okay? You choke on your gum or something?”

  “I’m good,” I croaked and waved for her to continue.

  “Turns out David had bomb parts in the back of his car.” Snorting, Lainey rolled her eyes. “I knew that creep wasn’t right in the head. Can you believe he almost blew up our school?”

  I was too busy mentally freaking over the realization that in the conversation I’d had with Lainey in my dream, she hadn’t mentioned anything about Ethan. Not the fact that his locker had the bomb in it, nor that he’d been a suspect for a brief time. Just like my whole interchange with Ethan in the hall and him giving me that pen. Things were happening that I wasn’t expecting.