My Soul to Keep (The Soul Keeper Series - Young Adult Paranormal Romance)

by Solis, Melissa

  My Soul to Keep

  Melissa Solis

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 ~ Invisible

  Chapter 2 ~ First Sight

  Chapter 3 ~ Secret

  Chapter 4 ~ Results

  Chapter 5 ~ Ache

  Chapter 6 ~ Luck

  Chapter 7 ~ Make Nice

  Chapter 8 ~ Pajama Day

  Chapter 9 ~ Revelation

  Chapter 10 ~ Sam

  Chapter 11 ~ Repercussions

  Chapter 12~ Recovery

  Chapter 13 ~ Flight or Fight

  Chapter 14 ~ Home

  Chapter 15 ~ Camping

  Chapter 16~ The Gift

  Chapter 17 ~ In Between

  My Soul to Keep

  Copyright © 2012

  Melissa Solis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Image Copyright © Dudarev Mikhail, 2012

  Used under license from Shutterstock.com

  Cover Design by Andrew Solis

  To my family with love, thank you for your support and patients. To my husband Drew, thank you for sharing in my love of the supernatural world and all of my crazy ideas. You are my ground from which my kite is tethered to, without you I would probably be stuck in a tree somewhere.

  Chapter 1 ~ Invisible

  Hot tears streaming down my cool face awakens me. I sweep them away with my fingers and slowly make my way out of bed. Its early morning, and the birds are already serenading the dawn. Still half asleep, I trudge to my bathroom and wash my tear stained face. Every night for seven years, the same nightmare, if only it were a dream. If only I could forget that it ever happened. I close my eyes, and try to force the memory of the strangers face, but nothing comes. He is just a mist, a shadow here, a blur there.

  I turn on the shower and allow the warm steam to envelope me and melt my headache away. Most of my mornings start on this somber note. What I wouldn’t give just once to wake up all sunshine and butterflies. Heck, I’d even settle for misty and moths.

  My dream always begins with the same crystal clarity. It’s the first day of my summer vacation. I am ten years old and leaving my home in San Diego for Dallas to spend the summer with my mother, as I always did after their divorce. I often dreaded the trip for weeks leading up to it and that year was no different. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother but I had grown accustomed to our estranged relationship. The dream always starts with me leaving my bedroom that morning.

  I cling to my crystal door knob for a moment before pulling it shut. I listen as the waves outside break methodically along the shoreline. I inhale the scent of Aunt Jeimima syrup and bacon mixed with the salty sea air, for the last time. This dulcet scent is the smell of home and I want to savor it for just one second longer.

  “Brennen,” my dad yells from the car while honking out the obnoxious melody of Shave and a Haircut. I think he lives to embarrass me.

  “Coming dad, keep your panties on!” I sling my leather bag over my shoulder and pull my long blonde mane out from under the strap. I stomp out of the front door slamming it good and hard to announce my frustration to the neighborhood, namely my dad. I will miss this house and the water so much this summer. My dad stands by the car smirking at me. As I glare at him, I think to myself how much I will miss him. He is a large, well-built, machine of a man. At over six feet tall, he towers next to the small V.W. bug. His surfer's tan and balding head give him a distinguished yet approachable look.

  “What?” he yells playfully while grinning, helpless against my temper. I pause in the car door, and take a mental snapshot of my beach — our beach — before I slump down in the car.

  “This sucks you know.” I fold my arms over and throw on a serious scowl.

  “Aw you want some cheese with that whine?” he quips yet another one of his outdated overused cliché’s. I retaliate with an eye roll. Goodbyes weren’t something either of us did well.

  We arrive at the gate and my dad kneels down beside me as I kiss the top of his bare head.

  “Bye old man!”

  He wraps his gigantic arms around me into a bear hug that could crush a hippo. He is leaving next week for a three month, classified, Navy Special Forces operation. As always, I am worried about him. I know his job is dangerous – deadly even – but he always makes light of it for my sake.

  “I’m gonna miss you baby girl.”

  “Can’t breathe, need air,” I squeak out. He sighs and kisses my cheek.

  “Fine, later daughter-o-mine,” he says with a dubious Irish accent.

  “Love you.” I squirm out of his tactical hold.

  “Love you too.”

  I board the plane as if walking the plank, one desultory step at a time. I’m guided to my seat by one cheerful young blonde hair, blue eyed attendant, the epitome of a Cali girl if I’ve ever met one.

  “Can I get you anything Ms. Hale?” Her voice is sincere and syrupy, just shy of nauseating.

  “No I am fine, thank you,” I reply in my own sweet tone. I plop into my window seat and pass the time by people watching. A woman with a young baby boy sits in front of me. I can tell she is worried about how he'll do. Trust me; we are all worried about how he will do. Two elderly ladies sit in my row, May and Evelyn, they chat about visiting their great grandchildren. They are sisters and both wear the same teased football helmet coif my grandmother does. Lots of men in slacks and ties each looking as if they did this all too frequently.

  A group of high school boys takes up the whole left rear section, a soccer team perhaps? They’re rowdy and obnoxiously brazen, whistling cat calls to the attendants like middle-aged construction workers. Their chaperone is a rail thin, speck of a woman, who looks like she would blow over if the wind rises above stagnant. Her feeble attempt to quiet the brats has loosened her already frazzled bun. An equally chubby couple takes the seat behind me. She’s afraid to fly and her husband points me out.

  “See even that little girl isn’t afraid, there is nothing to worry about honey.” He gives me a wink. I feel obliged to help in some way. She did look like she was sweating bullets after all.

  “Yes ma’am I fly this way every summer and that old pilot keeps getting better at it every time,” I manage to say with a straight face. She titters and flags down the first attendant she sees and orders a rum and coke. I get cozy in my seat and pull out the book my dad gave me to read, The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King. It captures my attention right away.

  ***

  The attendant passes by and I ask her if the plane is flying higher than normal today because my ears are having a rough time adjusting. She confirms and said it’s to avoid turbulence. There are tears in my eyes from the pain. I feel as if any moment my head is going to explode all over May and Evelyn. She keeps bringing me water to sip on, swearing swallowing will help to pressurize my ears. I hope she is right, because brains would not look so good on May’s periwinkle twin sweater-set. I turn and peek at the lady afraid to fly; she is well into her fifth cocktail and happy as a clam. The baby is fast asleep for now –lucky.

&nbs
p; By the time we reach Texas I have downed about a gallon of water and repeatedly had to climb over the elderly sisters to use the restroom. (Thanks for the window seat dad.) On my nineteenth trip to the tiny coffin like chamber, I vow to let my head explode before drinking another drop of water. I turn the handle to occupied and once again sit. I check my reflection in the mirror half expecting my eye color to have been diluted. My eyes return the stare, still green as the emerald mountains of Kauai.

  Suddenly the plane shudders hard; I grip the counter, widening my stance so that I won’t fall into the toilet. I don’t care how many times I have flown, when I hit turbulence I at least glance at the thought – this could be it. The seat belt warning chime is dinging outside my door. I’d better get out of here. I reach for the lock but the plane shudders violently again, tossing me back into the sink where I nail my elbow, yep that hurts. I hear gasps and screams coming from outside, probably the soccer team, bunch of pansies. Before I can steady myself, I lurch forward into the door, well, at least it is in the right direction this time. However, my knees gave way under misdirection from me and I end up crumpling to the floor. Maybe this is for the best. I resign my bottom to stay on the ground. The surface is strumming unnaturally beneath me like an overloaded washing machine that’s agitated itself off its base and honest fear floods my chest. This is not good. Tears began streaming down my face, great, even better. I hear luggage falling out of overhead bins and more screams. Stupid plane, stupid divorce, stupid bladder, I can’t believe I am going to die in a freaking bathroom. I hug my knees and bury my head in my sleeves. The room dims to black and back to light, flickering out its own eerie Morse code.

  As I look up, the door lock shifts to vacant and the door eases open. Relief washes over me. The chaos from outside is deafening. I am frozen as I lock eyes with the stranger. He steps in, closes and locks the door behind him. No. No! My eyes grow large, I shoot up backing away but there is nowhere to go. He is tall and built like a brick wall. Panic floods my brain as I try to make a choice between fight and flight.

  “Hey, it is okay, I am not going to hurt you, alright.” He speaks in that take-somebody-off-of-the-ledge voice. His palms are up, the universal sign to inform me he has no ill intent.

  “I’m only here to help and right now the plane is having some problems and you need to stay in here.” His voice is calming and sounds like smooth cashmere. I nod and, began to feel safer than I did a moment ago. The plane rocks and tosses me right into his arms.

  “Whoa, I’ve got you.” He wraps his sure arms around me. They feel impenetrable, like a steel cage, my reprieve from the impending collision with the rock hard Texas clay I am sure we are barreling toward at breakneck speeds. Somehow my terror melts away and I decide this is as good as any place to be right now. My hot tears still flow freely, dampening his blue shirt, and he holds me tighter. The floor bucks forcefully under our feet. We should be bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball, however we are not. We are still, steady, even, oddly serene in this damn coffin of a bathroom.

  The screams outside grow desperate and alarming. I bury my head into the stranger as far as I can. The baby boy cries and I want to pull him in here with us, I want to save him. The captain is saying something over the intercom but I can’t make out what it is. The arms of my steel cage mute their pleas. I feel gravity pulling me toward the sink once again and I am bewildered as to why we aren't falling with its pull.

  “Shh, shh,” The stranger whispers. I hadn’t realized until then that I was sobbing uncontrollably.

  I quiet myself and with a ragged breathe I ask, “Are we going to crash?” My little fingers wind around his t-shirt for insurance.

  “Now don’t you worry about that Brennen, I will always keep you safe.” His voice is a soft whisper. Sadness washes over me when I realize I can no longer hear their cries. How does he know my name, I wonder?

  “But… we’re going to die,” I whisper back. He shakes his head no. It is then that I began to smell the scent of home – pancakes dripping with syrup, bacon, and salty sea air. It comforts me somehow. I want to go home, now. I want my daddy, is my last thought before the world around me fades to black.

  A deafening reverberation causes me to open my eyes; bright light forces them shut again. I brace myself for the impact. It never comes, I’m afraid to open my eyes. I peek out of one. Darkness surrounds me like a moonless night, the loneliness of it is consuming. Everything is now perfectly quiet. Had I died? I hope this is not my final resting place. All of eternity in a black room, lovely, I think.

  “Hello, is anyone there?” I listen but hear nothing, no answer. Great, this is super cool. How the heck did I get in here? Okay I was on a plane, a crashing plane, with a big guy wrapped around me. Where did he go?

  “Guy?” I shout. Okay crashing plane logically means I’m dead. Ten years, is that all I get? I never even went to Disney World. I sigh with frustration. I walk around the room for a long time looking for a way out. Each step I take echoes, bouncing around the room. The resonating sound makes my arm hair stand at attention. This is beyond creepy.

  “I think I found one!” I hear a man’s voice say, as my ears prick back.

  “I’m in here,” I call out, but my voice is faint.

  “Help me I’m in here.” I try to be more audible, it too comes as a whisper. I hear more noises getting closer.

  “Oh my God she’s alive!” I hear him say right next to me. I feel hands on my body and when I look down I see nothing. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. I think I’m outside. I squint my eyes shut even tighter. The light is too bright after being in the pitch black. I go to shield my eyes from the sun with my arm and find it’s already been restrained. The air smells foul. I’m on a gurney being wheeled somewhere fast. I can’t look around either; my head and neck are also restrained. The air is beginning to clear but the smell still lingers, thick with the stench of death. (No, not all those people).

  “You are going to be okay, little one.” I hear the medic say. They lift me in to an ambulance. My eyes adjust and I am finally able to see. The men slam the doors and we’re on our way. They hook my finger to a monitor and check my blood pressure. I hear numbers that don’t mean anything to me, their voices laden with stress.

  “Where is the guy that was with me? Did you find him?” I manage to get out, though my voice sounds harsh and broken. The medic that is nearest my head looks at me with sorrow written on his face, as he checks my pupils for dilation.

  “Are you in any pain?” he asks and I think about it.

  “No,” I blurt out with an angry tone. He stares at me in disbelief.

  “It could be the adrenalin,” he says to another medic.

  “Can you feel this?” He pinches my toe. I wiggle my foot.

  “Yes,” I say, growing more annoyed that my question never got answered. He continues his evaluation all the way to the hospital, where it is all thoroughly repeated by a barrage of doctors. I am fine. How am I fine?

  “Did we crash?” I keep asking but no one answers any questions I have. I still didn’t know if we just had a rough landing, if we crashed or if anyone else from the plane was here with me. My anxiety grows with my frustration. As soon as my restraints are undone, I spring free of the bed. I stagger on my feet and a dozen hands move to steady me, causing me to crouch down like a feral cat on defense.

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell happened?” They all freeze for a second, staring at me with wide eyed disbelief. The older doctor lowers his lids and I can tell by the pity in his eyes that he will divulge the truth. He puts his arm around my shoulder and guides me back to the bed, dismissing the crew with a wave of his hand.

  “Brennen is it?” his voice laden with sorrow. I nod and take in a lungful of air to ready myself for whatever he may tell me.

  “Your plane went down just outside El Paso; they believe there was a fire on board. They don’t know the cause, but according to the local authorities the C
aptain managed to get as close to the ground as he could before he perished. You are the only one we found alive. You were found under a large piece of metal debris. We think it is a miracle you survived the horrific crash. Yet you don’t have a single broken bone, not even a scratch or bruise anywhere. I have never seen anything like it, in all my years. Do you remember anything?”

  “I remember everything,” I trail off, except now I didn’t. Now I don’t remember his face. My steel cage is now just a blur, a shadow, a mist. I do however remember every other face and as I take in the catastrophic fact that two hundred and forty three passengers will never make to their final destination, I weep. That little baby boy, his momma, the elderly sisters, an entire soccer team, all dead. And I get to live. Hot tears run down my cool face as the doctor holds me in a comforting embrace. Then I wake up with new tears that I shed every morning for the lost souls of flight 206.

  Nearly eight years have passed and I have no more answers then I did back then. I still remember all of their faces except for one. Did he really even exist? I ask myself every day and I still don’t know for sure. My therapist believes I hit my head and passed out and that he was just a vivid dream, my minds way of coping with survivor’s guilt. Except, they didn’t find any bumps on my head.

  ***

  I stand in my room wrapped in a towel trying to decide what to wear on the first day of my senior year, in this way too big of a house, all by myself. I pull a peach floral sun dress from the hanger and slip it over my head. I tug on my well-worn brown leather boots. My dad always preferred me to wear dresses, so this one’s for you dad.

  I’ve come to like Virginia a lot. My grandmother bought this grand five bedroom house when my dad was stationed here for a brief stint, before I was born. It has a stunning oceanfront view right on Sandbridge Beach, a small town just south of Virginia Beach. I have moved around so much with my dad being in the service that this is the one place that always felt like a real home to me. I like the small town vibe here. Everyone knows everyone's business, except mine I hope. I drive forty-five minutes to Norfolk to go to a magnet school for politically minded individuals.