say that again
A Faderville Novel
N. GEMINI SASSON
Table of Contents
Title Page
Say That Again (A Faderville Novel, #2)
dedication
chapter 1: Hannah
chapter 2: Echo
chapter 3: Echo
chapter 4: Hannah
chapter 5: Echo
chapter 6: Hunter
chapter 7: Hunter
chapter 8: Echo
chapter 9: Hunter
chapter 10: Echo
chapter 11: Hunter
chapter 12: Echo
chapter 13: Hannah
chapter 14: Echo
chapter 15: Hunter
chapter 16: Hunter
chapter 17: Echo
chapter 18: Hannah
chapter 19: Hannah
chapter 20: Hunter
chapter 21: Hannah
chapter 22: Echo
chapter 23: Hunter
chapter 24: Echo
chapter 25: Echo
chapter 26: Hannah
chapter 27: Hunter
chapter 28: Echo
chapter 29: Hunter
chapter 30: Echo
chapter 31: Hunter
chapter 32: Echo
chapter 33: Hunter
chapter 34: Hannah
chapter 35: Echo
author’s note
about the author
Books by N. Gemini Sasson
Further Reading: Memories and Matchsticks
Also By N. Gemini Sasson
SAY THAT AGAIN
(A FADERVILLE NOVEL)
A little girl’s love.
A dog’s courage.
Echo’s life hasn’t been easy so far. Mistreated by one owner after another, he’d rather just learn to get by on his own. Still, he longs for his ‘forever home’. Not until he meets young Hannah McHugh does he learn to trust again. Hannah not only understands him ― she hears him.
Before the accident, Hannah already knew she was different from other kids. Now, animals are speaking to her ― and no one believes her. Her sister calls her a liar. The kids at school make fun of her. Her teacher labels her as imaginative. And the psychologist hints that she’s troubled. Even her own father, Hunter, tells her she should keep it to herself. Only with her dog Echo, an Australian Shepherd, at her side does she feel truly safe and accepted.
Then, the reclusive Heck Menendez moves in next door. The last thing he wants is a little kid and her dog hanging around. Yet Heck is the only one her family can rely on to keep an eye on her.
When Hannah and Echo disappear, rumors run wild about old Heck. Hunter wants to trust his gut, but time is ticking away.
SAY THAT AGAIN
(A FADERVILLE NOVEL)
Copyright © 2015 N. Gemini Sasson
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Author.
Cover Design by Ebook Launch
Editing by Lorelei Logsdon
For more details about N. Gemini Sasson and her books, go to:
www.ngeminisasson.com
Or become a ‘fan’ at:
www.facebook.com/NGeminiSasson
Sign up to learn about new releases HERE.
dedication
This book is dedicated to Domino, my original black bi Aussie. She once saved my life. Now there’s a story...
chapter 1: Hannah
Hannah McHugh placed one small foot in front of the other without knowing exactly where it was that she was going. Her purple sneakers left barely visible imprints in the damp clay of the path as the airy trilling of the bluebird beckoned her onward. To Hannah, the notes were like a song sung only for her. It filled her with happiness. Lifted her heart, all the way up to heaven.
Every now and then, she saw a flash of bright blue feathers, flittering against a glass-blue sky.
Laughing, she followed the bird. Down a steep slope littered with loose slabs of stone. Up a long incline through a towering stand of trees. Along a narrowing trail that wound between boulders bigger than her sister’s school bus.
The bird danced from limb to limb. Higher, faster. Happy, singing.
Follow me, it said. This way. Over here. Hurry!
Her steps quickened. Her breaths came in puffs, her heart pattering against her sternum as she lifted her knees and pumped her tiny arms to keep up. Her stuffed giraffe, Faustine, swung in her grip, its yarn tail tattered and one beaded eye missing. Part of the stuffing in Faustine’s neck had long since been compressed into her slender body, and so her head flopped helplessly at the end of her too long neck whenever Hannah carried her about, or leaned precariously to the right when Hannah set her on all fours, as if the little giraffe had a question she was always waiting to ask.
Just as Hannah topped a hill, the bird dove into a tangle of branches in the valley below, its song muted. Hannah stopped, peered intently at the place where it had disappeared, saw nothing.
Patiently, she stood at attention, eyes and ears keened. But there was no more sign of the bird. Nothing but silence. Deep, empty silence all around. Not even a breeze to rustle the last of autumn’s papery leaves.
Then it occurred to her that she had no idea where her family was. Or how far she had come. Or from where.
Panic constricted her ribs. She’d get in trouble for wandering off from their cabin. Her daddy would frown at her and cross his arms. Her mommy would shake a finger in her face and speak to her sternly. She wouldn’t be allowed to watch her princess movies or go to Gramma’s. Maybe for a whole week. It would be boring sitting in her room alone.
A tear squeezed from the corner of Hannah’s eye, tracing a trail of regret as it slid down her cold-kissed cheek. She shouldn’t have wandered away from the cabin before everyone else had woken up. They would be worried to find her gone. Frantic. And mad.
But she had only wanted to see what was beyond the little clearing. To search for one of them. Her older sister, Maura, had told her there were fairies in the woods and that they took naps beneath mushroom caps and bathed on leaves dappled with morning dew and made their homes in the hollowed trunks of giant oak trees. From a distance, Maura told her, they looked exactly like little white butterflies.
Yet she hadn’t seen any fairies. Or butterflies, even. Just the bluebird. And trees. Lots and lots of trees. Millions, maybe gazillions.
She had to get back. But to where? And how?
As she turned in a circle, searching for a familiar sight, fear crept up her spine. She clutched Faustine to her chest and held her tight. This place looked different, not at all like the forest clearing where their cabin was. They had come to the state park for Hannah’s fifth birthday. She hadn’t wanted a party with lots of other noisy children. Or a pile of presents. Or a fancy restaurant dinner, where waiters wearing sombreros would sing and clap for her, drawing everyone’s attention. Those things were all too much, too noisy. She had only wanted this: a weekend with her family, just the four of them, in the faraway woods of southeastern Kentucky, where she could watch the birds and look for wild animals.
What she’d really wanted, though, was a dog of her own. But they had told her she was too young for that and would have to wait, probably until she was Maura’s age. And so she’d settled for a camping trip. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure why she’d wanted to come in the first p
lace. It had sounded like fun, but there really wasn’t much to do.
Christmas was only a week away and although it was still cool, the weather promised to be good. So Daddy had thrown their suitcases in the truck he used for his veterinary business and put Maura and Mommy in charge of packing the food. Hannah had only been responsible for her own things. But when she went outside this morning, she’d forgotten to grab her coat off the peg by the door and now she was shivering so hard that her teeth clacked. It hadn’t felt that cold when she first stepped outside.
Far off, a sparkle caught her eye. She looked down below and noticed, amid a drifting sea of fog, a shimmering silver ribbon. A big creek. What her daddy called a river. Beyond it, the ground rose up again to more hills, bigger hills, taller and broader than those behind her. Hills embraced by wispy clouds.
Hannah started downward, toward the water. She was thirsty. And hungry. She hadn’t had breakfast yet, and although she doubted she would find food anywhere near here, she could at least get a drink of water before she tried to find her parents and Maura.
She raced downhill, her short legs wearying not halfway down. She stumbled, falling to her knees. Undeterred, she stood, brushed the dirt from her leggings, and continued on. The ground flattened out. Leaf-littered dirt gave way to winter-dead grass, anchored in the mud of a recent rain.
At water’s edge, she knelt and made a scoop with her hands. The water froze her fingers when she dipped them in. She brought the cool liquid to her mouth and sipped, then spat it out. It tasted icky. Like sand.
Farther along the bank, an animal with a black mask and a ringed tail winked at her. It waded into the shallows. Hannah recognized it as a raccoon, the same kind of animal that tipped their trashcans over and made her daddy angry. She smiled and waved. It chattered in response, then plunged its front paws into the water, up to its elbows.
Bit by bit, she scooted closer. The raccoon eyed her curiously and went back to washing its face. Careful not to get too close and scare it away, Hannah sat, crossing her legs. She would try to find her way back to the cabin in a little while. After she was done watching the raccoon. She couldn’t be that far away. Maybe if she stayed here, they would find her.
But what if they went the wrong way? What if they searched and searched and just gave up?
No, they’d look. They’d find her. They would.
Hannah kissed Faustine on the head and noticed a dab of mud there. If she dipped Faustine’s head in the river, maybe it would rinse away the dirt. Holding Faustine’s back legs, she stretched out on her tummy and leaned out from the bank, reaching toward the water.
She wiggled forward a few inches and Faustine’s head flopped into the water. She held her there awhile, giving the dirt time to wash away. As she began to pull Faustine back, a flurry of chirps sounded above her. She looked up to see the bluebird alight on a branch on the other side of the river.
You should listen more closely, it said.
“What?”
Just listen!
Hannah didn’t understand. She was sure she’d heard the bird, but what was it talking about? Listen to what? To whom?
Fast water. Bad.
“But I need to give Faustine a bath, silly bird.”
Not silly.
The bird burst skyward. Hannah tilted her head up to watch, but as she did so, she felt Faustine slip from her fingers. The stuffed animal fell with a splash, floating on the surface a few moments before an eddy engulfed it and pulled it under. Then, a surge pushed Faustine back to the top.
Hannah flailed a hand outward, stretching far. Her body, small though it was, tipped over the edge of the bank. She gasped in shock as her hands hit the cold, cold water. Then as her head plunged beneath the surface, she captured a final gulp of air in her lungs and shut her eyes tight.
chapter 2: Echo
It was something in the eyes. Somehow I just knew, even though I wasn’t sure what it was that I knew. Deep inside me, there was this ... knot, I guess. Like the more he invaded my space, the tighter my insides coiled. As if I could draw into myself and become so small as to be invisible.
Hands plunged at me. Too fast. I flattened myself to the ground. Held my breath. Fingers clamped around my ribs. I went limp, as if I could melt between the sieve of his fingers and flow away, unattainable. But he lifted me up — high. So high the floor disappeared from sight. I was afraid to look down. Afraid, deathly afraid of falling.
And dying.
Call me morose, but I have always had this innate fear of death. Which is an awful burden to carry around every day, when you think about it. Especially when you’re only three months old. Still, it’s a perfectly reasonable fear. If you’re not afraid of dying, then you’re apt to do any number of stupid things that will certainly ensure your death.
I was the last of my litter. The small puppy. The plain one. The shy one. The one nobody wanted. Didn’t matter that I was the smartest. Or the fastest. Or stealthiest. That I was first out of the box. That I had a nose that could locate the single piece of kibble that had skittered under the work bench when all the other puppies were oblivious to it.
They were all so reckless. Running to greet the strangers. Falling all over each other like drunken buffoons. Their plump little nubs wagging deliriously. Each time, I hung back, observant. Not afraid, but cautious. The Tall Ones called me fearful; they couldn’t have been more wrong. I was simply thoughtful.
One by one, the others had left. I was glad for that. No more razor sharp fangs piercing my ear flaps. No more being dragged around by the scruff, even as I protested. It was my dream come true. But even as I bade my brothers and sisters good riddance, I looked on with envy.
They had been chosen. They had a home.
Secretly, I craved what I had so long eschewed: a Forever Home. That place where you are surrounded by your own family of Tall Ones who shower you with love, play with you, rub your tummy, keep your kibble bowl endlessly full, and lay biscuits on your bed at night.
Maybe it was foolish of me to dream of such a thing when I had never known anything like it, but I was sure such a life existed. That somewhere out there was someone for me. A person I could call my own. This need to attach myself to a human was, I’m sure, programmed into my genetic code.
So when the last set of strangers came that day, I tried. With all my heart, I tried. This was my chance to become an ‘only’. To perhaps go off to a place better than the dark, cluttered garage I had known, filled with the odor of engine oil and gasoline, fertilizer and molded grass clippings. Somewhere besides the muddy confines of our cramped pen, where the wind blew cold and sharp through the tall weeds outside the ramshackle fence.
I dreamed of being inside, where it was bright and warm and always dry. The Tall Ones had taken us there whenever the strangers came. Inside, in a place they called the kitchen. A place smelling of food and filled with unfamiliar sounds. It both intrigued and terrified me. Given time, though, I might have grown accustomed to it. Given time, I could have proven myself capable of so much.
Right now, I just wanted down!
I kicked my legs and let out a howl. The stranger’s hands clamped tighter around me, compressing my ribs. He brought my face close to his, breathing stale breath into my precious air.
“Don’t like that, do you?” He pressed his warty nose to mine.
I took it as a challenge, growling. Which, I have since learned, was perhaps the wrong thing to do. Hindsight and all that. But I was trying to send a message, which he didn’t seem at all interested in listening to. So I took it as my place to teach him something new. You squeeze; I warn you to stop.
He plopped me down so fast the air whooshed from my lungs with a visceral grunt. Message received, then. Certain that death was imminent, I scrambled under the table legs to tuck myself against the wall.
The stranger turned his back on me and mumbled at the woman who fed me every day.
“Wait!” She shuffled after him as he went from the kitchen. “Yo
u can have him for free. No charge, really. We just want him to have a good home — and you seem like such a nice man. A dog lover, for sure.”
Stopping in the front doorway, he pulled a rough hand down over his beard and looked my way. “I’ll talk to my wife and let you know. She kinda wanted one of them spotted ones.”
The door groaned shut. The woman leered in my direction, stomping toward me, and then peered under the table. Her mouth pressed into a scowl. “What are we going to do, Ed? No one wants him.”
“Told you — everybody wants the merles. Told you that when you got the bright idea of buying the mother from that gal in Campbellsville and breeding her to Toby Updegraff’s boy.”
Straightening, she turned toward Ed. “He’s a pretty dog.”
“He’s got no papers. Papers matter.”
“Folks don’t care about papers. They just want purebreds.”
Snorting, Ed pulled out a chair and sat. “Purebred Australian Shepherd? Who could tell? The runt sure doesn’t look like one to me. You sure that bitch didn’t get loose and get herself bred by a black Lab or something?” He popped open the tab on his beer and guzzled. “Anyway, can’t blame that guy for leaving just now. The little one’s always watching me. I bet he turns out meaner than snot.”
“Scared of his own shadow, more like.” She paced about, banging drawers and clanging pots. “Shame the mother ran off.”
“I say we’re lucky she did.”
Every chime of metal reverberated down to my bones and scraped at my nerves. Overcome by the noise, I quivered uncontrollably. Growing up in the garage, except for our mother’s barking and the squeals of my littermates, there had been abounding quiet. If I was afraid now, it was only because there was so much I didn’t know. Everything here was new to me. My senses were assaulted every second. I was acutely aware of every movement, every scent, every boom and screech and bellow. Without knowing what any of these things meant, I had only one instinct — and that was to stay safe.
But when Ed reached for me, there was no safe place. No retreat, no recourse. Gruff fingers pinched the skin at the back of my neck, yanking me across the slick floor. He hoisted me by the scruff, swinging me under his arm.
Say That Again Page 1
