Published by Sea Dragon Press
Visit Kimber Leigh Wheaton’s official website at
www.kimberleighwheaton.com/
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Copyright © Kimber Leigh Wheaton, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9904026-2-6
Cover design: AM Design Studios
eBook formatting: Guido Henkel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means, with the exception of small excerpts for review purposes.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the products, characters, and services mentioned in this book. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference: Keurig, Apple iPhone & Mac, Octane, Anything Goes, Ford Mustang, Jeep, Hyatt, Indiana Jones, Richie Rich, Scooby Doo, Diet Coke, Frisbee, Spongebob Squarepants, Avenged Sevenfold, Ghostbusters, Supernatural, Disney World, Cadillac Escalade, Motrin, Blu-Ray, Nintendo, Mario Kart, X-Men, Star Trek, Sony PlayStation, American Horror Story, The Simpsons
To everyone who has ever felt misunderstood or like they didn’t quite fit in. And to everyone who has taken a leap of faith to try to understand them.
Chapter One
Something Wicked
Deafening music shakes the walls, vibrates the floor, and pounds a rhythmic beat in my skull. Gyrating bodies turn every bit of space into a dance floor. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my heart races. Strobe lights flash, teens dance with wild abandon. Shrieking laughter bubbles around me.
“Gotta take a leak!” my dance partner shouts over the music.
He races off, weaving through the thick wall of bodies. Mike or Mick or something—I didn’t catch the name he yelled when he asked me to dance. Doesn’t matter, he wasn’t my type at all. I mean, the guy guzzled beer while dancing. After grabbing a diet soda from a nearby cooler, I’m about to search for my friends when a dark feeling washes over me. My feet refuse to move, and I stand rooted in place.
The once loud music is now hollow in my ears. I gasp for breath, choking on the lack of air around me. Tiny hairs on the nape of my neck rise to attention. Something wicked is behind me. I know I’m the only one here who feels a difference in air pressure. An oppressive weight presses against my skin, making me feel as though I’m underwater. I blink a few times, watching the people around me continue their manic dancing—oblivious to the bogeyman that just entered the room.
Afraid to turn around, I stand my ground, sipping my soda. I pretend I’m unaware of the shuffling noises behind me, sounds I shouldn’t be able to hear over the blaring music. Swaying my hips, I hum along with the music, trying to ignore the ominous presence crushing me.
Whatever it is, I can’t let it know I sense it. Evil pours off it in waves, blanketing the entire room. I close my eyes, willing the creature to go away, return to whatever mausoleum or grave it calls home. Malevolent spirits feed on fear. I must control mine at all costs.
When I open my eyes, I’m gazing into the face of an angel. Not literally, but he may as well be in my book. Logan glances behind me, and I know he sees the spirit. He doesn’t gasp or scream or faint dead away. His golden eyes narrow as though he’s in a staring contest with the specter.
“You’re not welcome here,” Logan says to the presence behind me. He meets my gaze again. “You know it’s there.”
It’s not a question but a statement. I nod, a weak bob of my head, unsure whether this intimate moment with my dream guy is a good thing or not. Meeting over a nasty phantom is not my idea of romantic. And yet I can’t stop staring at the way his blue t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and chest—how his light brown hair curls around his earlobes. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. For six weeks I’ve wanted out of the friendship box with Logan, but I was hoping for girlfriend, not crazy girl.
“Kassandra,” a voice rasps behind me.
Bitter cold lances through me, raising goosebumps all over my body. Cold liquid spills over my fingers from the soda can as I crush it in my fist. Logan places his hand on my shoulder, the simple gesture driving away the biting cold. He pries the can from my fingers, dropping it to the floor. I take a step closer to him, desperate for comfort, still too scared to turn and look upon the evil presence. Everyone in the room continues to go about their business, dancing and laughing. Logan and I are the only ones aware of the evil presence affecting the entire room.
“Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want?” My voice rises with each question until it reaches the point of hysteria.
A rush of frigid wind buffets me on all sides. Logan takes my hand, squeezing it in his firm grasp. My strawberry blonde hair whips around my face, and I close my eyes, trying to prepare my mind for an attack.
“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil,” Logan yells into the raging wind. “You are not welcome here. Leave Kacie alone!”
“For now,” the voice rasps.
A sharp, stinging sensation on my back makes me gasp. My eyes fly open and I whirl around to face the source of my pain. The specter disappears in a flash of light so bright I’m blinded for a moment. Music blares in my ears, and the oppressive weight lifts from my body. I stare down at my pale hand clasped in Logan’s, unable to look up to meet his eyes.
“It’s over,” he shouts over the music. “Whatever it was is gone. The spirit called you Cassandra.”
“Yeah, my full name is Kassandra, with a K.” My heart hammers in my chest, but I don’t want to let on how much the ghost scared me. “My mom named me after the Trojan oracle.”
“Oh, the one who had the gift of prophecy but was cursed to never be believed,” Logan says as he scans the room.
Everything is back to normal, like the ghost was never here at all. The pain in my back, though, is enough to remind me.
“Yeah, ironic, huh…”
“How so?”
I take a breath to reply, but my best friend, Celia, races over before I can say anything. She opens her mouth to speak but stops when she sees my hand in Logan’s. A knowing smile lights her face.
“Jake has to leave,” she says while bouncing in place like she might erupt into a cheer at any moment. “He’s got a test tomorrow. If he doesn’t pass, he’ll get suspended from the team. I mean, I know Mandy’s parents are out of town and all, but who throws a party like this on a Sunday night? Especially when half the junior class has a history midterm tomorrow.”
Celia sways a bit on her platform heels. Height has always been a sore spot with Celia. I’m three inches taller than her petite five-foot-two. In her towering sandals her dark brown eyes are level with mine. They twinkle as she stares at me, waiting for an explanation she won’t be getting tonight.
“I’m ready to go anyway,” I say, rubbing at my lower back trying to ease the sting.
My other hand is still nestled in Logan’s warm grip. Do I pull away or wait for him to do it? It feels so nice—I don’t want it to end.
“Besides, I don’t want to be here when the cops arrive,” I add, babbling a bit as I tend to do when I’m nervous.
“I’ll take her home,” Logan says grinning. He releases my hand, brushing my fingers with his thumb as he pulls away. “She lives a few blocks from me.
”
“I do?” I ask, wondering how Logan Finley could possibly know where I live.
“Yep,” Logan replies. “I don’t want to be here when the cops arrive either. Not with the amount of pot circulating this place.”
“Great, I’m gonna go find Jake,” Celia says, jumping up to see over the crowded living room. “See y’all tomorrow.”
She races off, bouncing like a hyper Easter Bunny, her long blonde hair swaying with the motion. I love Celia, but sometimes her perkiness is more than I can handle.
“You ready to go?” Logan asks.
“Not yet,” I reply, scoping the room for a blond head. “I need to remind Dave to study for his test or he can kiss his football scholarship goodbye.”
When I spy Dave’s wavy hair over by the wet bar, I breathe a sigh of relief. His girlfriend, Rachel, is nowhere in sight. What Dave sees in that stereotypical blonde bimbo cheerleader is beyond me.
“I don’t think he sees anything past her chest,” Logan says laughing. “I take it you don’t hang with Rachel much?”
“Oh my God, I said that aloud didn’t I,” I say cringing. “Yeah, Rachel hates me, calls me a buzzkill. She’s more concerned with the next party than Dave’s future. But it’s A&M for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m pretty sure the only person Rachel cares about is her reflection,” Logan says with a disgusted snort.
The moment I open my mouth to speak to Dave, Rachel appears with a vicious scowl marring her red painted lips. She drapes her body across Dave, a living fashion accessory. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was marking her territory.
“What do you want, drama queen?” she asks in a high-pitched whine.
“Baby, be nice,” Dave says while groping her chest right in front of us. “Kacie’s my friend. She’s cool.”
“She’s so far from cool she’s… uh, she’s…” Rachel trails off, unable to finish her thought.
She looks so perplexed that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. One hand rakes through her platinum blonde locks while the other taps a beat on Dave’s chest. Her pale blue eyes are almost crossed from thinking too hard. I somehow manage to hold my tongue. While I don’t care what Rachel thinks of me, I also don’t want a war with one of the most popular girls in school.
“Hot?” Logan suggests.
“Yeah, hot,” she says, nodding her head a few too many times. “She’s so far from cool she’s hot.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Logan says, grinning at me.
“Honey, how much have you had to drink?” Dave asks, peeling her arms away from his body. “Go lie down for a while, sleep it off.”
“I’ll lie down if you come with me,” she says giggling. “And by come I mean—”
“I’ll meet you upstairs in a few,” Dave says, cutting her off with a lewd grin.
He turns her around by the shoulders, giving her a little shove toward the stairs. She teeters away on her three-inch heels, and somehow makes it out of the room without knocking into anything. I don’t know how girls like Celia and Rachel manage to walk in those things without breaking an ankle.
“I’m on my way out,” I say, returning my attention to Dave. “Test tomorrow. You asked me to remind you to study tonight.”
“Thanks, Kacie,” Dave says, draining his beer in a few gulps. “I’ll see ya in the morning.”
“See ya,” I call out to his retreating figure.
“Well, that was rather amusing,” Logan says, not bothering to hide his smirk.
“That’s one word for it,” I reply with a deep sigh. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t care about Dave’s future either. Let’s get out of here.”
We walk outside, leaving the deafening noise of the party behind. Out here, the bass from the music is a droning thump I can feel like a second heartbeat. I take a deep breath of fresh air, sighing as the tension leaves my body. Parties are just not my thing. I always seem to run into ghosts. Perhaps they’re drawn to the noise or excitement. As we walk away from the party, we pass several cars with couples making out in the backseats. A black pickup has some girl’s legs dangling out the passenger window.
“It’s a truck,” Logan says, shaking his head. “Something wrong with the bed?”
I snicker at his remark, and glance up at him from the corner of my eye. He’s staring right at me, his eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight. My eyes dart around, looking for something to comment on, something to say. We pass a bouncing sedan.
“Really?” I mutter under my breath. “You’re doing it parked in front of someone’s house…” A light flickers on downstairs in the house we’re passing.
“Crap, we need to get out of here,” Logan says, taking my hand and jogging down the street.
“Where’s your car?” I ask, glad I wore hiking boots rather than heels to the party.
“I walked,” he replies as we round the corner. Halfway down the street he slows to a walk. “I think we’re far enough away, don’t you?”
“We’re walking home?” I ask a bit surprised.
Granted it’s only about half a mile away, but my friends drive everywhere, even down the block. When he drops my hand, my heart falls just a little. Well, maybe a lot. But I continue walking alongside Logan, casting surreptitious glances whenever he isn’t looking. He’s tall and lean with broad shoulders that would suit a football player. But Logan runs cross country with me. His long legs are covered in torn jeans, faded to a light blue. I wonder if they’re as soft as they look.
“It’s not far, Kacie,” Logan says chuckling. “It’ll give us a chance to talk about what happened at the party.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to appear perplexed.
My hand moves to my stinging lower back like it has a will of its own. I gasp in pain when my shirt scrapes across the skin.
“Let me see your back,” Logan says, stopping to face at me.
“Nothing’s wrong with my back,” I mutter, staring at the ground.
He grabs my shirt, lifting it to bare my lower back. He hisses. “Damn, you’ve got three deep scratches.”
“Crap,” I cry out, jumping away from him. “Must’ve been a cat or something.”
“I know you felt the presence,” Logan says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “The spirit attacked you. I was there. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“I, uh…” I try to think of something, anything. But I freeze under his knowing gaze. “I think I was a bit sick.”
It sounds lame, I know. But I learned a long time ago never to reveal my abilities. Regular people don’t understand. They think I’m lying, or worse crazy. Old habits die hard.
“I was there, Kacie,” he says in a soft, gentle tone. “Please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Besides, Mandy doesn’t even have a cat. And those scratches are fresh.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say before walking away down the street.
My footsteps become faster as my feet slam against the concrete. Whether I’m running from Logan, the ghost, or myself, I don’t know for sure. My lungs burn, but not from exertion. I run track and cross country… no my endurance is fine. Fear prickles the back of my neck, shooting a cold chill down my arms. The last time someone I cared about discovered my ability they left and never looked back. I like Logan too much to allow that to happen.
“Kacie, wait,” Logan says, jogging beside me. His stride is much longer. I’m running and he’s barely loping. “Please, just talk to me. I can help you.”
“Look, just drop it, okay?” I blurt out after skidding to an abrupt stop. “I need to get home. I’m sure everything will be a distant memory by morning.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Logan asks with a scowl creasing his forehead.
“It’s for the best,” I reply as I start walking again.
Wow, I ran farther than I realized. I make a right turn onto my street, Logan following behind. Why did
this have to happen? I really like Logan, and now my stupid abilities have messed it up just like they mess everything up. He walks me to the front door. If I hoped for any privacy, I blew it big time. The front of the house is ablaze with lights. I think Dad turned on every downstairs light as well as the porch light. After digging out my key from the front pocket of my jeans, I turn to face Logan.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I say while twisting my fingers together. “And thanks for dropping it too.”
“Sure, Kacie,” he replies, tipping his head to the side. “You wanna go running with me tomorrow morning? I go every morning before school since afternoons are still too hot.”
“Um, yeah, what time?”
“I’ll come by about six,” he says, his lips curving into a smile.
“Don’t knock or ring the bell,” I warn him, cringing at the thought of Logan waking my dad or brother.
“You got your phone with you?”
With a sigh, I pull the iPhone from my back pocket and hand it over. He programs his number into my contacts and sends himself a text.
“I’ll text you in the morning when I get here,” he says before waving goodbye.
Standing at the door, I watch him jog down the street and disappear around the corner. Somehow I manage to keep from banging my head against the front door. In all my daydreams about Logan, not once did I imagine this night’s events. Sometimes I think fate hates me.
Chapter Two
Can Nightmares Become Reality?
Horrifying broken pictures shatter the tranquility of my once pleasant dream. Though I scream in my mind to wake up, I know I won’t be able to. I’m captive in my own head while the gritty scenes play out in stark black and white, flickering like an old silent movie. I run from the phantom chasing me. When I slip in a dark gray puddle, my body collides with the ground, my hands slapping into the viscous liquid. Blood. The sharp, pungent odor assaults my nose, telling me this is no ordinary dream.
Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) Page 1
