“Well, why is he here again?”
Lou put his head down, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever this was. Milan raked his hands through his hair, tired of having to put out fires that he'd caused.
Frustrated, he said, “He investigated everyone, not just you. I had him looking into everyone. Now, will you please leave us alone, so we can talk?”
She promptly turned around and walked away from the living room. Milan sighed as Lou chuckled to himself.
“You have your hands full here.” Lou mused.
Milan shook his head. “So, what else did you find out?”
“Like I said, he's clean. I didn't find anything out of the ordinary on him. I don't think he's a threat. Look, I know this isn't any of my business, but whatever it is you think these people did, they didn't. Johanna checks out and Rob checks out just fine. Sarah is not a threat. The Johnson boy is just a normal, rotten kid. Sheriff Acker may be a bit of a jerk, but he checks out too. You can keep paying me to investigate everyone Paulina has ever met, but I can almost guarantee you, no one is out to get you.”
Milan's hands shook as he listened. This time, not out of fear, but out of relief and shame all bottled up together. He'd had Lou investigate everyone he could think of and remarkably no one came out as being anything more than ordinary small town people who had a tendency to overstep their bounds, but had no history of violence.
“No, that won't be necessary. The second autopsy results are back. Paulina...” His voice broke. This would be the first time he'd say the words out loud. “She did this to herself.”
“She what?” Lou was shocked to hear this news. “Suicide? Oh, I'm so sorry.”
“It appears so.” Milan answered, feeling like he might collapse.
He walked Lou to the front door, glancing toward the back of the house to see if Johanna was nearby.
Lou looked around the first floor. “So, you're really going to let it all go and sell the manor? Look, I'm sorry about what happened here. I had no idea that there was so much going on. I'm glad you told me why you were investigating all of these people. I was beginning to wonder about you.”
Milan, considered for a moment, putting his chin on his chest. “You know, I don't know yet. I've lost a lot. I don't know if I'm ready or capable of making decisions any more.”
Lou stepped out onto the porch, pausing to say, “It seems to me that you have two choices, choose to be haunted by the past or learn to breathe again.”
Epilogue
THE LUSH GARDENS brought a tear to his eye. He wasn't prepared for how emotional the sight would make him.
Although he'd spent a considerable amount of time watching her tend to the soil and toil over the buds, the sight of all of the flowers in full bloom still managed to astound not only his eyes but his senses.
“Aren't they beautiful?” She asked, placing her small hand on his arm.
He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Yes, but not as beautiful as you are.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nestled her head in the crevice that had become her special place over the last two years. Nightly she would lie down next to him and place her head on that very spot.
“I love you,” she whispered, feeling happier than she'd ever felt in all her life.
He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet floral scent of her favorite perfume – the one she'd discovered in a quaint shop in Spain on their honeymoon.
“I love you more and more every second. I can't imagine my life without you and Sophia in it.” Milan kissed her cheek. “Where is she?”
Johanna turned her head, smiling at the sight of their daughter running toward them with her arms wide open. Sarah hurried to catch up to her.
It wasn't so long ago that she and Milan were at odds over everything, including what his true feelings and intentions were where she was concerned. It took some time for both of them to break through the walls that they'd each put up around their hearts and to see past what seemed like a striking resemblance and see it for what it truly was – his desire to hold onto something that he could never have again. As the months passed, that resemblance faded and was replaced with Johanna's slight features and vibrant personality, far different from those of the more docile Paulina.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Milan's heart skipped a beat every time his little girl called his name.
He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. “Come here, sweetheart. Come here.”
Sophia jumped into his arms, showering him with kisses.
Sarah jogged up behind her. “She's getting too fast for these tired bones.”
“Nothing to worry about, Sarah. I'm just thrilled that you agreed to stay and help raise another Merced child.” He winked at Sarah, lifting Sophia into the air.
“Oh, you couldn't pay me to leave. I'm afraid the three of you are stuck with me.” Sarah wrapped an arm around Johanna's waist. “I always knew he'd be a great father someday.”
Johanna looked at her small family – the only real family she's ever had – and beamed with pride. A lot had happened in a relatively short amount of time and she couldn't be more thrilled. It took some time for Milan to heal and for all of the fences to be mended, but life found a way to put itself back together. Now, it looked nothing like it ever had and that's exactly how everyone needed it to be.
With all of the battles that had to be fought and all of the hurdles that needed to be jumped over, somehow they survived and now thrived. In the end, all that they each thought they were running from was running to them. Milan's return to River's Bend brought him closer to the man he was always meant to be and to those who would love him through to the end.
“Are my girls ready for the surprise?” Milan smiled at Johanna and Sarah.
Johanna clasped her hands together, excited to hear that the job was now complete.
“Yes! I can't wait any more.” She squealed. “It's taken so long, I wouldn't be able to last another day.” Milan led the trio around to the back of the house and pointed to where the tunnel and the outbuilding once stood. Tears welled in Johanna's eyes. She knew how much this project meant to him. “Gorgeous.”
Sarah gasped. She never imagined that it could look this beautiful. Where the tunnel once stood was now a small walking bridge, providing a path over the creek that still ran behind the house. The old, wrought iron fence that separated the manor from the tunnel had been replaced with new fencing to keep Sophia safe.
“The landscapers did a beautiful job!” Sarah walked to the fence to look at their handiwork.
“Yes, Tuck and the team from the cemetery really do good work. I'm glad you talked me into hiring them.” Milan answered, remembering what a struggle it had been for him to let go of the anger he once held and finally listen to reason.
After having a face-to-face talk with Tuck, he came to understand that Tuck's interest in Paulina and the house was more out of wanting to preserve the manor as it once had been. Milan had no idea that Tuck had so much interest in old structures and bringing them back to life. Tuck admitted having a crush on Paulina, but never meant any harm. Milan was glad they'd settled their differences and moved forward.
“At least, it gave that boy of his something to do to keep himself out of trouble. Has he paid you back for all of the property damage yet?” Sarah asked Milan.
“Not quite. Tuck and I decided that Ned's yard could use some sprucing up. After that, we'll call it even.” Milan winked at her.
Johanna took Sophia out of Milan's arms and walked out of the backyard out to the new gardens. She looked back at Milan, reading apprehension on his face.
“Aren't you going to come look?” Johanna asked him.
Sarah hesitated, waiting to see if Milan was ready to take the next step. She watched his hands as he clenched them, then, released after a few seconds and made his way toward his family, pausing to look back at Sarah. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling more proud of him than she'd ever felt before. He'd cr
ossed a threshold she thought he'd never cross and finally welcomed love and family back into his life again.
* * *
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JUMP TO...
A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER
END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS
HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY
DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO
HEADSPACE by CALINDA B
THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC
UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN
HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN
THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING
SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M
ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT
WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER
UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR
DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE
MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY
THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY
THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM
WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS
CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS
A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK
THE BREAKERS CODE
BY CONNER KRESSLEY
Copyright © 2014 by Conner Kressley
Where were you when the world ended?
Three weeks shy of her seventeenth birthday, Cresta Karr wakes to find her world is falling apart. The necklace her father left her is mysteriously missing, a black sedan is stalking her and her friends, and her house is minutes away from exploding. To top it off, she finds out that Owen, the enigmatic, if slightly off-kilter guy of her dreams, is both not interested in going out with her and a superspy sent by a clandestine organization to keep tabs on her.
Turns out Cresta is the subject of a 500 year old prophecy, and if Owen and the other “Breakers” can't find a way to circumvent the future before the sun comes up on her birthday, Cresta is destined to bring about the end of the world – something she'd rather not have on her college applications. That is, of course, if the gun-toting cult members piling onto her front porch don't get to her first.
The countdown is on. Secrets will be revealed, relationships will be tested, prophecies will be fulfilled, and fate will fight free will in a battle so intense that it won't end until the world itself does.
Happy birthday, Cresta.
Chapter 1
Nothing in Heaven or Hell
TWO DAYS BEFORE our house blew up; I woke to the troubling smell of bacon. I had just had the dream again; the one with the sevens, but that hardly mattered now. I shot straight up in bed and took a whiff. Was that sausage too?
This was not good.
For most people, waking up to the smell of breakfast cooking on the stove probably wasn’t cause for concern. It might even be normal, but my mom wasn’t exactly the ‘normal’ sort. In addition to what I could only describe as her lifelong ‘Hatfield and McCoy-esque’ feud with all kitchen appliances, she had a pretty demanding job.
As the head of the nursing department at St. Vincent’s, she was always rocking a pair of really awesome scrubs and kept pretty weird hours. Usually, she was gone from seven ‘til seven, but three days a week, she was on call. So anytime, day or night, the phone could ring and she’d have to rush back into the hospital. And if the emergency was big enough, like if there was a bus crash or something, she’d have to go whether she was on call or not. Sometimes I didn’t see her for days at a time. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the last home cooked meal I got was sometime around the start of the Bush administration.
I threw the covers aside and started downstairs, combing knots of sleep from my short blond hair. I was halfway down the stairs, about to ask my mom what act of God forced the spatula into her hand, when I saw Casper. Sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of bacon and eggs lifted parallel with his face, he was shoveling the contents into his mouth with a fork.
“Hey Cresta,” he said when he saw me, mumbling through what looked like a pound of food.
I was still in my pajamas. Today they were oversized flannel pants that, while looking like, something a lumberjack would wear, were insanely comfortable and a ratty Avengers tee that I won for being the 1,000th customer at the new Hot Topic in Newton. Usually, I would be less than excited for a guy to see me like this. My hair was a mess; I was still sporting my sleepy face, and I didn’t even have foundation on.
Casper wasn’t a regular guy though. Since I moved to Crestview a couple of years ago, Casper had been my best friend. A makeup free face was nothing for us. Besides, it wasn’t like that between us. We were friends, buddies, nothing else.
“Hey,” I said, and motioned toward my mother with a confused look on my face.
He shrugged. “You got me,” he answered, and plopped two more eggs onto his plate. “I’m not complaining though.”
“Did you sleep here?” I asked, settling beside him and grabbing a piece of bacon from his plate. I bit into it. It was salty and basically raw, exactly what you would imagine from someone who only cooked once a decade. Still, it was better than nothing.
“Yeah.” He grabbed two more pieces of bacon, apparently more in love with it than I was. “In your car. My dad was being a giant dildo.”
“Casper! Language!” Mom shouted from over her skillet, where she was salting some funky looking gray meat.
“What? Did I not conjugate?” He shrugged.
“You could have come inside,” I said, bumping his shoulder with my own. “You know the couch has always got your name on it.”
I meant that both figuratively and literally as, late last year, Casper and I carved our names into the undercarriage of my living room couch. I don’t know why we did it. It’s just; Casper never really had what you’d call a stable home life. He was with odds with his dad every other day and, even when things were good, I always got the feeling that he thought he was invisible, like he didn’t matter.
I guess I wanted to show him that he did, even if it was just at the bottom of a couch.
“I don’t want to be that weird guy who sleeps on your couch,” he said through another forkful of food, pushing wild red hair messily out of his eyes.
“You’d rather be the guy who breaks into my Jetta?” I asked.
“Absolutely not!” He said. “I would never do that. I had keys made to that thing ages ago.”
I found orange juice, apple juice, and cranberry juice cocktail (the name brands!), along with half gallons of both chocolate and regular milk. Someone had been shopping.
“What the hell is going on here?” I turned to Mom, closing the fridge door without choosing anything.
“What do you mean?” She asked, spooning the gray looking meat into an equally sketchy looking white fluff.
“Somebody took the tumble weed out of the fridge,” I answered.
She smiled. “We needed groceries.”
“Since when? You don’t cook.”
“Maybe I’ll start.” She flipped half of the white fluff over the gray meat, creating a sort of a silver storm cloud of disgusting.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making an omelet,” she beamed, and scooped the mess onto a clean plate beside her.
I walked closer. Either it didn’t smell as bad as I imagined it would or I was so stunned by what was going on in front of me that I wasn’t thinking straight. “An omelet?” I repeated. Touching her arm, I asked, “Are you on drugs?”
She grinned, but there was darkness beneath her smile, and I knew why. “Don’t joke about that Cresta,” she said. “It’s just that, you know—“
Her phone started ringing. I sighed and backed away. Nobody ever called Mom’s phone; nobody except the hospital.
She picked it up, said “You got it,” and slid it back into the satchel across her waist, the only place she put anything when she wore her scrubs (which was all the time).
“How long have you even been home?” I asked. Not that it mattered. I already knew what she was going to say.
“There was a bus accident.” She already had her jacket on and was halfway out the door.
It was always something; a bus accident, a three car pileup, a French influenza outbreak. But Mom didn’t care. She helped people, it was her job. She always said, “If people are in trouble, I need to be at work.”
She was fierce; determined. It was the thing about her I admired the most. It was also the thing that was going to keep me from seeing her until at least tonight.
Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More Page 357
