Lightning Struck (The Roaming Curse Book 1)

by Miranda Hardy

  I’m tired Elysia. I’m tired of running and moving. I’m sorry I ignored the call so long this time. I may have compromised us…I may have compromised you and I apologize for that, but I need to end this. We can’t keep running forever. I’m hoping to stop them from chasing us. If I succeed, I’ll see you soon. If I fail…I won’t fail.

  Love you,

  Dad

  The rain pelts the windows, as tears fall down my face. The rain continues…for three days. My sadness shows in the constant patter of the water on the stones below and the ominous clouds in the sky; and then an unexpected anxiousness boils in my stomach as I hear the knocks at the door.

  Chapter 3

  Knots form in my stomach as I near the door, wondering if the person knocking wants to kill me or hug me. The conversation Dad and I had when I was thirteen replays in my head.

  “The Hunters want to destroy what we are,” Dad explained.

  “What are we?” I asked

  “We’re Roma and our abilities scare people. It’s a cruel world, Elysia. People fear what they do not understand.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and hushed any further questions I wanted to ask. Dad was a man of few words and didn’t waste time with what he referred to as “nonsense talk”.

  The impatient knocker pounds harder. “Delivery!” a loud female voice booms. My heart skips a beat…I didn’t order anything.

  Creeping toward the door, I peer through the peephole and see the lady from the front desk. I can’t see if she’s holding anything, but surely, after being here three days, she’s not one of the Hunters, otherwise I’d be dead by now.

  As I reach for the doorknob, an envelope slides under the door tapping my foot. Heavy footfalls echo down the hallway. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The envelope has only my room number on it. I pick up the bulky, heavy cream envelope and wonder how it even fit under the door.

  The phone rings and I literally jump back against the wall. To say I’m on edge is an understatement. Crazy thoughts roam my head…what if the Hunters caught Dad and they are using him to find me? What if Dad is trying to warn me to leave and I’m ignoring his call? What if the Hunters are checking to see if I’m in the room so they can barge in and grab me or maybe waiting for me to leave?

  “Stop this!” I sit on the unmade bed, rip the letter open, and let the phone go to the message center or front desk…whatever they have here. A few hundred dollar bills and several twenties fall onto the floor. Inside the envelope is a notecard with a name and address on it, along with a scribbled message.

  Simza Kepi ~ Cassadaga, Florida…

  Make sure no one learns of your ability…no one!

  Kepi happens to be my middle name. That’s strange. It was my mother’s last name too…I’m sure of it. Is this a relative I didn’t know about? Is Dad directing me to go find this person?

  The phone rings again.

  “Hello?”

  “Get out of there now. They’re coming for you.” A deep female voice says. Then a click…she’s gone.

  “Oh, hell no!” I slam the phone down, grab the few things I have and throw them into the duffel bag in under a minute flat, and leave the hotel room…the place I was hoping to meet Dad. I’ve already stayed two days longer than I should have. Fear takes over ever cell in my body when I realize I may never see him again.

  Bolting out the door, I hear the elevator ding down the hall. A woman steps out wearing a black leather pantsuit. Her jet black hair hangs straight to her shoulders and her arched eyebrows hide under short bangs. Her gaze finds me when she looks down the hall in my direction. We both pause staring at each other. She scrunches her face.

  A twinge in my gut tells me she’s looking for me and she’s a Hunter…I feel it and it annoys me I don’t know how I know…I just do. Her eyes narrow and recognition seeps into her face, causing her hardened countenance to ease.

  She points to me. “The Girl!”

  Anger boils to the surface of my skin.

  My senses sharpen as she reaches for something behind her. That’s my cue to race across the hall, through the stairway door and down as fast as I can. Heavy footfalls sprint down the carpet and the second-story door thunders open as I reach the door on the first floor.

  “Shit!” Her curse echoes in the stairwell right before I open the first-floor door. I didn’t see her companion, but I’m sure there are only two of them.

  I bust through the door with no regard for what or who may be on the other side and race through the courtyard toward the crowded street. The duffel bag quickly becomes heavy on my tense shoulder. A car horn blares at me as I dash in front of them. People’s heads turn my way as I reach the other side of the street. I slow my pace and peer over my shoulder to see the dark-haired woman leaving the hotel courtyard. She spots me and I pick up my pace.

  Turning the first corner I come to, I see the woman’s male companion moving in the opposite direction. Both of them are on my trail, fast and ready to take me down. They want to block me between them, so I run again across a busy street, between two cars and move back onto Conti Street.

  The lunchtime crowds push me into the swell of the street. I maneuver around them. Looking back, I see the woman talking into her phone as she gains on me. I pick up my pace. The further down the street I get, the less crowded it becomes. I cross over Conti again to get closer to the construction side of things. Maybe I can cut through the buildings and get further away from her.

  My heartrate quickens and shadows appear under my feet as dark clouds begin to move in.

  Pockets of the lunch goers block the woman on the other side of the street. I round a dumpster and find a break between two buildings to enter. It’s an empty parking lot, blocked off for construction of the building that’s lining the next street over. The workers are not on site, luckily. I cross over a dirt pile and get behind a large cement post.

  The open building seems to be the beginning of a parking structure and doesn’t provide much cover between the buildings on either side. I take too long to decide if I should continue forward and try to make it to one of the buildings for better cover. I hear someone traipsing through the dirt around the dumpster.

  “I’m sure she went through the buildings. Hurry around, damn it! We can’t lose her again.” The snarky, out-of-breath voice sounds irritated. I can tell she’s not a track star if she’s losing her breath on this short jaunt. This gives me an edge. I’m sure I can outrun her if need be, but she’s too close right now, and by the way she reached behind her short coat earlier in the hall, there’s a good chance she has a gun.

  A few more steps and she’ll see my hiding place.

  My mind races with possible escape tactics. If I move slowly around the exterior of the beam, maybe she will bypass me without notice. She’s too close now.

  Blood rushes to my cheeks and rage builds within me.

  She passes the beam. I drop my duffel bag. She whirls around and reaches for the clip attached to the back of her dark jeans that holds her gun. The top of my foot slams into her hand. Shock replaces recognition on her face. It’s much different kicking a person rather than breaking a stiff board, but I didn’t hesitate. All of the martial arts training and kickboxing Dad insisted on was worth it. She falls face first into the gray dirt; the gravel scrapes her cheeks and blood trickles down the right side of her face.

  “Mother—” she cuts off the curse word that is about to erupt from her pissed-off mouth as I yank the gun out of the belt before she has a chance to turn over.

  Thunder breaks through the stormy clouds, mirroring my rage as it seeps through my skin.

  She holds her hands up, palms open. “Now, we only wanted to have a little chat with you.” She doesn’t hide the fury in her squinty, copper eyes.

  “Your chat requires holding me at gunpoint?” I narrow my eyes to match hers, and hold up the gun in my left hand, allowing it to dangle on my finger by the trigger. I’ve never fired a gun and I don’t like the feel
of it in my hand now. I want to throw it as far away as possible, but I can’t allow her to see my nervousness.

  “Merely a precaution.” She squats and stands.

  Cars pass on the other side of the unfinished cement structure. I remember her partner is nearby. I can take her out, but I’m not sure how I’d fair against the duo.

  “A precaution you take with everyone you want to meet or simply those you fear?” I smirk.

  Her mouth twists and her jaw tightens. Her face turns crimson. It’s obvious I hit a nerve.

  “If you think I fear you, you’d be sadly mistaken.” She grins and folds her arms.

  The thunder roars above. “Where’s my father?”

  Breaking our eye contact, she looks at the fuming clouds that matches my seething brain.

  “I don’t know.” She glances toward the street. “But, maybe if you come with us, you’ll see him again soon.”

  The Hunters want us dead. Dad’s words echo in my head.

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s the wisest choice for me.” My lips press. I drop the gun. Her gaze follows it to the ground as my right hook swings into her cheek knocking her out on the dirt floor.

  The sting from the punch pulses in my fist, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushes me to move. I grab my duffel bag and double back to Conti Street and into the crowd as the rain begins to fall.

  It’s time to pay this Simza Kepi a visit to find out who called to warn me about the Hunters. Someone other than Dad is keeping me alive and there’s a good chance they can help me find him.

  Chapter 4

  It’s strange I’m headed into the one place Dad said we should never live again…the peninsula of Florida.

  In 2004 we lived in Panama City Beach. Dad worked as a handyman for vacation rental properties. He’d often take me to work with him and I’d play at the white, sandy beach on the Gulf.

  Being 10, all I wanted to do was create sandcastles and pretend I was a mermaid. It felt natural being outdoors and near the ocean. Each morning, I’d make Dad’s coffee and toast to hurry him out of our tiny apartment so I could get to the beach.

  The summer had ended and only one family was vacationing at the beach. The only reason I remember is they had a daughter my age. Dad insisted I play with her because she didn’t have any siblings to play with.

  She tormented me for three days. The last straw was when she pushed me down into my newly-made sandcastle. Hurricane Ivan headed straight for us; I couldn’t control my anger and it smacked straight into the coast.

  Dad said living anywhere in Florida would be a disaster. I hope he was wrong.

  It would be nice to take a plane some time instead of traveling by bus. Planes fascinate me…getting to a specific destination in hours instead of days would be great. Dad thought it was too dangerous for me to be high in the air with the chance my emotions might run amok. I quickly imagine a sudden flash of lightning striking a plane and shake my head to clear the image away.

  There are no bus depots in Cassadaga, so the closest station is in Sanford, which takes me 18 miles south of where I need to be. Instead of traveling straight to Cassadaga, I find the closest library.

  Cassadaga: “The Psychic Capital of The World”.

  “This should be interesting,” I whisper while staring at the computer screen. Searches on the area reveal a small “spiritual camp” with a limited history on the town. Of course, there is no listing for Simza Kepi.

  “Why is nothing easy?”

  She’s also not found in any searches in nearby towns or on any phone records.

  The intercom switches on. “The library will close in five minutes.”

  “Wonderful.” The old woman at the information desk lifts her chin and watches me.

  According to the Calendar of Events on the spiritual camp page, I may be able to make the Orb Spirit Encounter that starts at 7:30PM. I print the directions to the camp, grab my duffel bag, and head for the exit, passing the looming old woman’s judgmental stare on my way out.

  I’m going to have to do some old-fashioned detective work to find Simza.

  The Uber driver drops me off in front of the bookstore at exactly 7:25PM and the desolate parking lot indicates it’s not a hot tourism spot for the area. One would think the Psychic Capital of the World would be able to predict the best times to hold tours and events.

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  The building across the street has a few vehicles parked on the side. It’s set up like a small, middle American town, but with a touristy feel. Signs litter both buildings displaying various medium names. There’s also a sign for BINGO. That sounds fun…if you’re 40 years older than me.

  A four-door white sedan parks in one of the empty parallel parking spots. Two older ladies get out and chat while they make their way into the bookstore. I follow closely.

  “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” the golden-gray-haired woman says to her friend.

  “Because you have nothing better to do.” The white-haired woman with the camera hanging around her neck snorts and laughs. Her friend grins.

  “Hello.” An older lady with dyed blonde hair smiles as we enter the bookstore. “Are you ladies here for the Orb Encounter?”

  “We sure are,” the camera-wielding woman in front of me replies.

  I nod.

  She takes our “contributions”, our names, and offers to hold my duffel bag in the back room, which I wholeheartedly accept after taking my purse out of it.

  The warm night, mixed with the humidity is nothing new to me, but the sounds are different…crickets and insects swarm near us while we remain outdoors. Several people smack at the mosquitos that don’t bother with my Rom blood. There are more people than I thought interested in this outing. Some walked from the nearby hotel, which explains the lack of cars in the front.

  The tour is uneventful. The guide talks about the history of Cassadaga and shows us several spots that spirits tend to roam. Everyone takes pictures except me. I had grabbed a newsletter from the counter that contained all the mediums/psychics in the camp, hoping Simza Kepi would be one of them, but she isn’t listed.

  It’s almost 10:00PM and several visitors head back to their hotel.

  “Excuse me.” I wait for the two older ladies to move away from the tour guide. “I’m looking for a Simza Kepi. I was told she lives around here. Do you know her?”

  Her loose, steel-gray hair brushes her cheek as she processes my question. She shakes her head. “I’ve not heard of her. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I grab my duffel bag and leave the bookstore, wondering where I’ll go from here.

  “Hi.” The golden-gray-haired woman smiles at me. “I overheard you asking for Simza. I’ve heard that name before, but I don’t think she lives in Cassadaga.”

  “You have?” My face relaxes and I feel a shred of hope.

  She nods. “I’m quite sure I’ve heard that name.” She leans in and whispers. “I think she talked to my dead husband.”

  “Huh?” The hope I felt didn’t last too long.

  “What are you telling that girl, Mavice?” her white-haired companion asks.

  “Shhh…why do you have to be so cotton-pickin’ loud, Maxine?” Mavice waves her hand up and down toward her companion. She grabs my free hand and pats it. “She’s the real deal, but she goes by a different name. She’s not associated with this place. She came into town a few months ago. I’m certain she was talking to my Harold.”

  “She’s a psychic?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not really. She talks to the dearly departed. I guess she’s a true medium. I’ve had many readings here, but not like with Madam Aishe.”

  “Madam Aishe?” I ask.

  Her expression hardens. “That’s her stage name, I reckon, because I recall her sister called her Simza while I was waiting for a reading. Maybe that’s the woman you’re looking for?” She asks. “Simza isn’t a real popular name.” She gave a half-smile.

&
nbsp; “Where does she live?” I ask.

  “You’re not from around here, are you dear?” She looks at my duffel bag.

  “Just got into town.” I shrug.

  “Well, we’ll take you there. It’s so late now.” Mavice looks up into the sky, the half-moon peeking through the shadowy clouds.

  “That would be amazing.” I smile.

  “What are we doing?” a puzzled Maxine asks.

  “Oh, it’s on our way home, Maxine.” Mavice opens the back door for me.

  The ladies were curious, asking my age, where I came from, and why I was looking for Simza. I’m sure they were trying to make me feel more welcome, but my lies kept flowing as they usually do.

  I’m glad they gave me a ride, because there was no way I could have found this place.

  Hanging moss covers the trailer and RV park sign. The ladies drop me off at the entrance and Mavice tells me it’s the trailer at the far end of the park with the hanging red lanterns surrounding the awning.

  The crickets play their music as I walk in the darkness. One light shines down over the park office, but the lights inside aren’t on. The closed sign hangs behind the window.

  Some illumination gleams through a few of the RVs and their generators buzz. One fire dies down at one of the spots, but most are empty. A few trailers seem more permanent than the others, with fresh gardening aligning their walkways. I wonder if the one in front is the grounds manager who lives here year-round since her garden sign says “Home Sweet Home”.

  Nearing the dirt path that marks the last street in the park, I notice a few empty cabins. Pine trees provide a canopy over the outer edges of the park that gives it an eerie feeling without street lamps to light the darkness.

  The trailer with the red lanterns glowing at the end of the street reminds me of a metal tin can. It’s one that needs to be pulled with a vehicle. The rusty, maroon truck parked next to it is probably the companion that makes it mobile.