Believe: The Complete Channie Series

by Charlotte Abel

  Jonathan didn’t know what had changed Franklin’s mind about drinking, but he wasn’t about to ruin his immaculate reputation. Besides, Franklin was already plastered, so Jonathan would have to drive them home. “Are you too drunk to remember my vow to never so much as taste alcohol?”

  Franklin swayed on his feet. “You need to lighten up. Live a little before you die.”

  Jonathan grabbed Franklin’s shoulders to keep him from stumbling into the fire. “How many beers have you had since we got here?”

  “Hmm … I’m not shlure.” Frankie turned to Tyler and cocked his head to the side. “How many beers have I drunk…? Drank…? Drink-ded…?”

  Tyler held up three fingers and shrugged.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. He would not be this plastered after just three beers.

  Franklin belched a cloud of beer-scented gas in Jonathan’s face then giggled like a girl.

  Jonathan wanted to bitch-slap him until he followed Franklin’s gaze to the crushed cans of nonalcoholic beer hidden in the side pocket of his suede jacket. Wow. This was just an act? Jonathan leaned in and whispered, “You’re not really drunk?”

  “Of course not.”

  The man deserved an Oscar for his role as Drunk and Obnoxious Jonathan McKnight.

  “If you spill even one drop of that nasty fake beer on my coat, I’ll kill you.”

  Tyler coughed into his fist and said, “Heather’s here.”

  The sound of bell-like laughter floated up from the trail.

  Franklin froze then started backing away before the girls were even in view. “I’m gonna puke.”

  He bolted into the bushes like a frightened deer.

  Heather jerked her head back then squinted her eyes and leaned forward. “Was that Franklin McKnight? Is he drunk?”

  Shit. Time to intervene. “H-h-hey H-Heather, I’d like t-to talk to you as s-soon as I m-make sure J-Jonathan’s okay. He’s had a little too m-m-much to drink.”

  Jonathan held his breath to make his face turn red and hoped that would convince Heather that she had the boys mixed up.

  “Of course, do you need any help?

  Tyler smacked Jonathan on the back “I’ve got it covered. You go talk to Heather while I make sure your drunken brother doesn’t fall down a mine shaft or something.”

  “Um … okay.” Jonathan swallowed loudly and rubbed his palms on his jeans as if they were sweaty. Franklin wasn’t the only one with acting ability. “D-do you w-wanna g-g-go somewhere t-to talk?”

  Heather lowered her gaze and peeked at him from under thick lashes. She was actually sort of cute. Jonathan grabbed her hand and led her back down the trail, away from the fire and the crowd. He didn’t want an audience in case this blew up in his face, so he waited until they were out of everyone’s line of sight to turn his full attention to Heather.

  She stared at their linked hands and grinned. “So … what’s on your mind, Franklin?”

  “I… uh… yeah, well… I was w-wondering if you w-would go to H-h-homecoming with me?” Jonathan’s voice cracked when he said ‘me’ but Heather didn’t seem to notice — or maybe she just didn’t care. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled changed her whole face. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Maybe because she’d never smiled at him. She was more than just cute. She was adorable. And perfect for Franklin.

  She stepped forward and put one trembling hand on Jonathan’s chest. “I would love to go with you.”

  Jonathan smiled, flashing his dimples.

  Heather rose up on her toes and slipped her hand behind his neck and tugged.

  Oh, shit. What do I do? If I pull back, it’ll hurt her feelings. But I can’t kiss her. She’s Franklin’s girl.

  Heather made the decision for both of them. Jonathan kept his mouth closed and his eyes open. The snap of twig alerted him that someone was close. He pulled away just as Franklin stepped around the bend. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The look of betrayal in his eyes said it all. He shook his head then stepped off the path, giving Jonathan and Heather a wide berth.

  Jonathan grabbed Franklin’s shoulder as he passed. “Wait. I can explain.”

  Frankie jerked out of Jonathan’s grasp then ran down the trail.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” There was nothing down there but the parking lot. Shit. Frankie was going home. Without him. Jonathan didn’t like leaving Heather alone on the trail, but he needed to straighten things out with Franklin.

  She should be fine as long as she went back to the group around the fire.

  “Heather, sweetheart, I need you to go back to the party and find your friends. Stay together and stay away from Rich and his group. I need to see what’s up with that crazy brother of mine, but I’ll be right back.”

  He’d forgotten to stutter, but Heather just nodded her head and started walking back up the trail.

  Jonathan was about halfway to the parking lot when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Two guys were pulling a very drunk girl off the trail into the bushes. Not cool. Jonathan had no idea who the guys were, but either they’d heard about the party and decided to crash it or they just stumbled on to it and decided to take advantage of the opportunity — and the intoxicated girl they were half-carrying-half-dragging between them.

  Jonathan didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her at school. She was only a freshman. She had no business being at this party. What sort of perv takes advantage of a drunk kid?

  Jonathan gave them the benefit of the doubt for about two seconds. “Where do you guys think you’re going with the jailbait?”

  “None of your business, punk.”

  Since there were two of them and only one of him, Jonathan struck without warning or mercy. A gut-busting sidekick dropped the strutting peacock on his right to his knees. Before he hit the ground, Jonathan threw a right cross to the jaw of his scrawny companion. It snapped the creep’s head back a good six inches. But it only made him mad. Never judge a book by its cover — or a potential rapist by his size.

  The guy danced around with his elbows tucked in and his fists in front of his face like a boxer. He obviously knew how to fight. Jonathan didn’t mess around. He knocked the guy out cold with a round-house kick to the side of his head.

  The perv was lucky Jonathan and Franklin had switched identities. If he’d been wearing his hiking boots instead of Franklin’s running shoes, the blow might have killed him.

  The girl he’d just rescued was too drunk to walk. Jonathan wanted to get to Franklin, but he couldn’t just leave her lying by the side of the trail. He picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bonfire. She thanked him by puking down the back of Franklin’s parka.

  When he got back to the party, Jonathan lowered the girl to the ground, yanked his arms out of Franklin’s ruined parka and turned it inside out. He used it to position the girls head so she wouldn’t drown in her own puke if she threw up again. He didn’t see Heather, so he grabbed the first half-way sober girl he saw and enlisted her help.

  “Hey, Carrie, do you know this chick?”

  “Sort of. She’s just a freshman. What’s she doing here?”

  “Getting herself raped.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a little “O” before she frowned.

  “A couple of guys were hauling her into the bushes. I roughed ‘em up pretty good, so I don’t think they’re going to be a problem, but can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she doesn’t wander off. I gotta go find my brother.”

  Jonathan suddenly felt light-headed as the last of the adrenaline from the fight left his body. He sagged onto the log next to Carrie and grinned when his car keys poked him in the butt. Franklin wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  “Sure. But, you might want to find Jonathan before Richard finds you.”

  Jonathan had almost forgotten about the whole switched identity thing. “Why?”

  Carrie made a sour-lemon face then cocked an eyebrow. “Did you o
r did you not ask Naomi Huffman to have sex with you in the back of the Rover?”

  “Oh.” A sudden headache tightened Jonathan’s scalp. He’d forgotten about that too. What a mess.

  “I didn’t ask Naomi to have sex. I only implied it.”

  Carrie snickered and nudged his shoulder. “You’re actually pretty funny after a couple of beers. You should drink more often. Anyway… Naomi told everyone that Jonathan put you up to it —told you she was easy or something. She cried on Richard’s shoulder until he got so wound up he wants to kill both of you.”

  “Shit. I really fu — messed it up this time.”

  Carrie’s eyebrows shot into her hairline.

  He’d already tarnished Franklin’s reputation when he put Trisha in her place. Dropping the F-bomb wasn’t going to help. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  When Jonathan leaned forward to stand up, Carrie grabbed his hand. “If you ever get over your crush on Heather Compton, give me a call.”

  Jonathan was only about three inches off the log. Carrie’s revelation unbalanced him and he sat back down. “How’d you know about that?”

  Carrie snorted and spread her fingers, releasing his hand. “Everyone knows you’ve been crushing on that girl since the day she moved here. You should just tell her, ya know? She likes you too. Or at least she did. She’s pretty pissed off about you propositioning Trisha.

  Jonathan swore again, but didn’t bother to apologize this time.

  “Like I said, if things don’t work out with Heather, give me a call.”

  “Jonathan’s single. Do you want me tell him to give you call?”

  “Hell no. I have too much self-respect to go out with that two-timing man-whore.”

  Jonathan cringed then tried to hide it behind a shy smile. “Okay then. I guess I better go check on the man-whore … try to keep him out of trouble.”

  Carrie snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  Jonathan found Richard, and everyone else, crowded around the entrance to the mine. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and tapped Rich on the shoulder. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  Instead of taking a swing at him, Richard tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. “Your brother went inside the mine. We’ve been yelling at him for like, ten minutes, but he won’t come out.”

  “Well, quit yelling. You’re going to trigger a cave in.” Most of the timbers and support beams inside the mine were over a hundred and fifty years old.

  Franklin knew better than to go inside the mine. Never mind the fact that Jonathan went in there all the time to access his stash of pot and beer. He knew what he was doing and never went so far in that he lost sight of the entrance. He prayed Frankie was just screwing with him. Trying to get back at him for kissing Heather.

  He frowned at Rich. “You’re sure he went inside? This isn’t just some prank?”

  There were too many solemn faces and wide-eyed stares for it to be a prank.

  Rich shook his head. “It’s no joke.”

  “Has anyone called 911, yet?”

  Naomi extricated herself from Rich’s arms. “You have to find him, Franklin. What if he’s hurt?”

  A premonition of disaster gnawed at Jonathan’s gut, but he couldn’t just sit and wait for help to arrive while Frankie was in danger. The longer he was inside the mine, the more likely something bad would happen; if it hadn’t already.

  “Any of you guys have a flashlight? Or a rope?” Jonathan had both in the Rover, but all he had on him was the penlight attached to his keyring.

  “I got a lighter.”

  Jonathan didn’t even try to guess which moron came up with that bright idea. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his keys. The tiny beam from the penlight flickered and shimmied across the rubble and splintered beams that blocked the tunnel. When he aimed it between the cracks, the oily darkness inside the mine swallowed the light before it touched the ground.

  “Here, take this.” Someone handed him an LED flashlight and a climbing rope. Jonathan muttered a quick “thanks,” and turned his back on the crowd. He focused his breath to calm himself and crawled over the pile of rubble. A broken beam scraped his back and left behind a swath of splinters. He really wished that girl hadn’t thrown up on Franklin’s parka. The deeper he went, the colder he got.

  Five minutes later, he rounded a bend and found Franklin sitting on the ground, knees bent, with his head on his forearms.

  He sighed, but didn’t look up. “Go to hell, Jonathan.”

  “I’m sure I will, but I’d rather it not be tonight. Come on, let’s get outta here.

  “You can have anyone you want, why’d you have to go after Heather?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Franklin’s head jerked up. “I saw you kiss her.”

  “No, Franklin. You did not see me kiss Heather. She kissed me but only because she thought I was you!”

  “It should have been me.” Franklin dropped his head back onto his forearms.

  “Shoulda, coulda, woulda. You’re such an idiot! You could be kissing her right now. But you’ll never get to kiss anyone if we die in here. You know it’s not safe this far back in the tunnels.”

  Jonathan reached out towards Franklin. His left arm was still extended when the support beam collapsed.

  Hot, searing pain shot up Jonathan’s arm from his left hand into his armpit. The agony lifted his mind out of the trance just enough for him to remember that none of this was real. But it sure felt real. Worse than real. He’d broken his hand in the mine, not severed it.

  The creaks and groans of settling debris pulled Jonathan back into the mine. His heart raced. He had to get Franklin out of the mine before another beam gave way.

  “Frankie?” A quiet moan sifted through the pile of rubble. At least he was alive. “Frankie, are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep from screaming and clawed at the beam that held him pinned to the ground. It wouldn’t budge, but in his scrabbling, his hand brushed against the flashlight. He turned it on and discovered a narrow rift between the beam and pile of rubble. He shone the light through the gap and found Franklin lying on the ground. The same beam that pinned Jonathan’s left hand had splintered and driven a piece of wood through Franklin’s torso, impaling him.

  No. This isn’t right. Franklin’s only injury in the mine had been a mild concussion. He died in Afghanistan. This isn’t real. But the nightmare didn’t stop.

  “It hurts Jon-Jon.” Franklin’s head lurched forward as he struggled to free himself. “Get me outta here!”

  “Stop it Franklin! You’re making it worse. Hold still.”

  Why is this so much worse than what really happened? Blood oozed around the three-inch diameter wound in Franklin’s belly, soaking his shirt. “You’re okay, Frankie. This isn’t real. This isn’t how you die.”

  Franklin tried again to lift his body off the pike then fell back with a groan. His hand went limp, but his chest rose and fell in rapid shallow pants.

  “Hang on Frankie, I’m coming. I’ll get you out.”

  A sinister creak reverberated overhead. The beam that had impaled Franklin and trapped Jonathan shifted. Franklin screamed.

  Stop this. Please, someone make it stop.

  Jonathan and Franklin’s chances of getting out alive were decreasing with every second. The constant moans of shifting debris and Franklin’s pleas for help gave Jonathan the courage he needed. He ignored the agony of his broken ribs, curled up into a ball, positioned his feet against the beam on either side of his trapped hand, and exploded backwards.

  Jonathan hadn’t expected his hand to separate so easily. He sat on his butt and stared at his arm. He tied off the bleeding stump with his belt as best he could. He was wasting time fretting over his stupid arm. He clawed at the rocks with his right hand and begged God to save them both.

  God didn’t answer.


  An ominous sound, like a runaway freight train echoed through the tunnels.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no … please God, no.” Jonathan doubled his efforts to dig through the rubble. He even used the bloody stump of his left arm, but he’d never get Franklin out before the mine flooded.

  “Don’t leave me, Jon-Jon. I don’t want to die alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. I promise. Live or die, we’re in this together.”

  The ground shook as the roar of rushing water grew louder. Jonathan squeezed through the gap and wrapped his arms around Franklin. He lifted him off the splintered beam and held him against his chest. “I’ve got you Frankie. It’s okay.”

  A wall of icy water slammed into Jonathan’s back, ripping Franklin from his arms. Jonathan screamed, but the churning river of debris swallowed the sound. His lungs burned, starving for air. Instinct took over. The first lung-full caused his body to convulse, expelling the life-stealing water. His diaphragm rebelled and forced more dirty water into his lungs. Through it all, Jonathan never stopped screaming Franklin’s name.

  “Jonathan. Wake up.”

  Jonathan barely heard the voice. His ears and sinuses still throbbed with each desperate beat of his heart. His lungs were still full of water. He couldn’t breathe.

  “Snap out of it!”

  Jonathan’s body jerked like it sometimes did right before falling asleep. He gasped and choked as more water found its way down his trachea. But this time, the water tasted like a swimming pool instead of brine. And it was mixed with patchouli scented air. His eyelids fluttered open. Blue’s face hovered over his.

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry about throwing water in your face, but you refused to come out of trance and I have another client in ten minutes.”

  “What the hell did you do to me?”

  Blue patted his knee. “I didn’t do a thing except guide you into a level six stage of profound somnambulism. The rest was all you.”

  Yeah, right. Jonathan wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, but his body refused to cooperate. He was still flying higher than a freaking a kite.