Parallel Visions: A Teen Psychic Novel
Book One
By award-winning author of SCARS and HUNTED
Cheryl Rainfield
Published by Rain and Sun Press
Copyright 2012 by Cheryl Rainfield .
PARALLEL VISIONS: A TEEN PSYCHIC NOVEL (Book 1) ISBN: 978-0-9878460-1-3
Published by Rain and Sun Press.
The legal version: All rights reserved. No part of this book 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 publisher and the author, except in the case of brief excerpts in reviews.
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Edited by Evelyn Fazio.
Digital formatting by www.formatting4U.com
Cover design by Wicked Smart Designs.
www.CherylRainfield.com www.CherylRainfield.com/blog
Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 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. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are use d.
Dedication
For Jean, who is like a mom to me—loving me and believing in me—and who loves fantasy and magic as much as I do.
And for everyone who finds hope and joy in a good story .
Parallel Visions: A Teen Psychic Novel
Table of Contents
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Resource Guide for Readers
About the Author
Also Available by Cheryl Rainfield
Scars
Hunted
Stained
Acknowledgments
ONE
My chest hurts like my ribs are scraping my flesh with every breath, and I can already hear the wheeze. The heavy May air is hot and humid, carrying pollen and air pollution—something most people don ’t even notice. I can feel it clogging my chest like oatmeal, tightening my throat.
I take a quick puff from my inhaler, praying I won ’t have an attack—and another vision. I had my first vision when I was three, when I almost died from an asthma attack. Now they come every time I struggle to breathe—little fragments of what could happen, or what already has. It ’s like being deprived of air woke up something in my brain, something that everyone has but doesn ’t listen to. Or that ’s what I tell myself so I feel less like a freak.
I stuff my inhaler in my backpack and try to breathe slower as I walk toward the bleachers, hoping Mr. Taylor won ’t notice. I ’m so tired of being the sick kid. I ’m out so often, some kids think I ’m new when I do show up. With more than three thousand students, it ’s easy to become invisible. If Jenna were still in school, she might have let me hang out with her. But she eloped last year.
I walk faster, shaking out my hands, the grass springy under my feet. Jenna shocked everyone when she took off to get married. I think some of the teachers half expect me to do the same thing, just because we ’re sisters. But Jenna was always looking for someone to take care of her, and she held on tight when she found him.
Out on the track, a boy trips over his own feet and goes sprawling across the asphalt. Gil stops to help, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pulls up the other boy.
I can’t stop watching him. Gil is sweet and good to look at, with warm brown eyes, a generous smile, and a strong body. His white T-shirt and shorts highlight his bronze skin. But what I like most is how kind he is. I ’ve seen him walk a scared little kid across the street, and offer to help a student on crutches. And he ’s never teased me about my asthma. There ’s still the odd Neanderthal who has to say something, but not Gil.
I dump my backpack onto the bleachers, run my fingers through my hair, and start toward the track. Kids are already running the circuit, doing laps, making it look easy and effortless. I long to be one of them—to be able to run without having to stop.
Mr. Taylor strides over. “You thinking of joining in today, Kate?”
I breathe in shallowly and smile. “Yeah, Mr. Taylor. I ’m good.”
He nods. Gil is coming around the track for another lap. I push forward and join him, matching my pace to his, the track firm beneath my feet. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Gil grins at me, sweat glistening on his skin. “Isn ’t it great out here?”
“What?” I say, trying to keep my breathing easy. My chest tightens.
“You know—warm sun, bright blue sky, white clouds. Perfecto. Sure beats being stuck in a smelly gym.”
For most people it does. But at least indoors I ’m safe, as long as the air conditioning is on and no one smokes, sprays aerosols, or uses heavy chemicals. It ’s hard for me to see the outdoors as beautiful when it so often messes with my breathing.
But he’s right. “Yeah, ” I say. “It ’s nice.”
“I wish we had class out here every day.”
I can hear my wheeze now. Gil must be able to hear it, too. I think even the kid in front of us hears it; he turns to look. I try to suppress the sound, but that just makes me cough.
“Hey—you okay?” Gil asks me, his forehead wrinkling in concern.
It’s getting harder to pull in air and my breath is coming in short gulps, now. “I ’m fine, ” I say. I ’m not, but if I stop now and get my inhaler, he ’ll end up seeing me as the sick girl. But if I collapse on him that ’ll happen anyway.
If I don’t stop the wheezing now, the visions will flood through me—horrific fractures of someone ’s life that will come true if I can ’t make them believe me. Like Mia, that asthmatic girl in the hospital with me, the one who I knew was going to die. But her breathing had gotten better and nobody believed me until she had another attack—a fatal one. She was ten years old.
I slow down; I sound like a broken railway train. I just can ’t get enough air.
I stop, hands on my knees, trying to breathe. My chest aches with the effort. Stay calm. Breathe deeply and slowly , I tell myself, desperately trying to suck in oxygen. But it ’s like I ’m drowning. How could I have been so stupid, trying to run out here?
The world around me grows hazy, everything made up of tiny, moving dots of color that slowly reshape themselves. I fight, dreading what I ’ll see, but the vision sharpens until I can ’t see anything else.
My sister Jenna cowers against a wall, her shoulders hunched. “I ’m sorry. Don ’t do this, Mason.” Her voice breaks.
“You bi
tch. You ’re sorry?” Her husband slams his fist into her chest so hard she crumples against the wall, gasping .
My heart clenches. Oh Jenna, why didn ’t you tell me? I wheeze louder, my sight moving in and out, until I see both worlds at once.
“You ’ve got asthma, right?” Gil says.
I nod, manage to say “Yes, ” through my wheezing.
“Where ’s your inhaler?” he asks.
I point to the bleachers. “In my backpack. Bleachers.” It feels like my lungs are filling up with phlegm . “Black with grey strap.”
My vision grows hazy again.
Jenna struggles to stand. Mason punches her, knocking her to the floor like a ragdoll. He kicks her chest and stomach. Jenna lies curled up in a ball, trying to protect herself with her arms, but the blows keep coming.
Get up, Jenna; run away! But I can already see she won ’t. I clench my fists, still wheezing. I can ’t let this happen to her! I ’ve got to stop it—if I get out of this alive.
I try to keep myself calm; it helps me breathe better. The attack ’s not bad yet, but that doesn ’t mean it won ’t get worse. I know how bad it can get—all those trips in an ambulance, the paramedics shouting, the ventilator breathing for me, my parents and Jenna crying...
Gil is running for my bag, calling for Mr. Taylor. Other kids stare as they run towards me on the track, slowing down when they get close the way cars do for an accident. Some even stop to watch me, my breath loud and raspy, my chest heaving. I wish they ’d look somewhere else.
“Keep going round!” Mr. Taylor yells at them as he runs to me, his jacket flapping. “Breathe deeply, Kate, ” he says, lowering me to the ground. “Nice deep breaths now.”
“You think you can look at another man, you bitch!” Mason screams.
Jenna moans, clutching her stomach as she lies curled up on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I ’m sorry, Mason! I have to talk to him; he ’s my boss.”
Mason bends over and slaps her. “Don ’t lie to me!”
“I can fix it. I ’ll work less shifts.”
“That ’s good, ” Mason says. “You know I never wanted you to work.”
“But we need the money, baby.”
“No we don ’t, ” Mason says, his face in hers.
I want to scream at Jenna to get away. I don ’t even know if what I ’m seeing is in the past or the future. But somehow I don ’t think it ’s happened yet.
Gil is back now, my knapsack in his hands. “Where is it?” he says. “Where ’s your inhaler?”
I point to the front pocket, my breath rasping and whistling in my chest. Gil unzips the pocket, yanking out my inhaler. I grab it, shaking it, then jam the mouthpiece into my mouth, press down, and breathe in. I hold my breath until I cough, and the wheezing starts again.
Mason hauls her up and slams her against the wall. “Why did you take thirty dollars out of our account without asking me?”
Jenna shakes. “I ’m sorry! They ’re having a baby shower at work for Patty. I had to get her something.”
“You swear it wasn ’t for your boss?”
“I swear.”
Mason smashes his fist into a framed photo beside Jenna. Glass shatters, raining down. The photo is of our family: Jenna and me, our arms around each other, so obviously sisters, Dad on Jenna ’s side and Mom on mine.
Mason grabs a shard of glass and presses it against Jenna ’s throat. A bead of blood forms and trickles down her chest. “You can ’t keep doing this to me, Jenna. I need you. You ’re the only one I ’ve ever needed. You can ’t look at other guys.”
“I wasn ’t! I swear I wasn ’t.”
Mason drops the glass. “Show me you love me.”
She looks so vulnerable, her eyes terrified as she drags her gaze up to him. Don ’t listen to him, Jenna! Don ’t trust him! God. I can ’t let him do this to her.
My chest aches as I struggle to draw in air. I don ’t know how I ’m going to help Jenna. She always acts like Mason is her knight in a shining pickup truck. I ’ve got to find a way to get through to her, stop letting her push me away so much.
I shiver. I’ve never had so many strong, clear vision fragments, one after the other. I wonder if it ’s because it ’s about Jenna.
Mr. Taylor rests his hand on my shoulder. “Nice, easy breaths, ” he says. “You ’re okay, Kate. You ’ll be okay.”
I’m still gasping and hacking like an old smoker, my chest heaving in and out, my flesh tight against my ribs. Students keep slowing down to look every time they pass. Butterflies flutter above the flower beds, floating gracefully on the air I struggle to take in.
Gil hovers in front of me. I don ’t want him seeing me like this, but I don ’t want him to go, either.
I use the inhaler again. It ’s hard to wait between puffs when you feel like you ’re suffocating.
My visions shifts, the world around me fading. Another scene comes into focus.
A girl with bronze skin and dark eyes like Gil ’s sits hunched over her desk, her hair limp and greasy, her black T-shirt and sweatpants hanging off her. She stares at a tattered photo of a dark-haired woman smiling at her and a boy—a much younger Gil!—then crumples it up.
The girl lines up prescription bottles on her desk with shaking hands. Then she picks up a glass of water, pours out a handful of pills, and swallows. She takes another handful and swallows again, her throat convulsing.
I kneel there, horror making me cold. I ’ve never seen a suicide before—a suicide that hasn ’t happened yet. How can I stop this girl from killing herself? I don ’t even know her.
The weight of two people ’s lives presses down on me, making me feel so heavy I can barely keep my head up. I cough. I have to do something.
I don’t know the girl ’s name but I ’ve seen her at school, and I know she ’s connected to Gil somehow. She ’s a year or two ahead of me; normally I wouldn ’t even notice her, but there was something about her... I squint, trying to remember.
And then it comes to me. I remember her being targeted—students calling her dyke and lesbo , bumping into her or tripping her. It was a big thing a few months ago and I felt sorry for her. I haven ’t seen her lately, but I didn ’t think anything about it; it ’s a big school .
I wheeze once more, my neck tight, tears in my eyes. I know I can ’t let that girl die.
I’ve never seen visions about two different people at the same time. Sometimes I can ’t even save one person. How am I going to save two?
TWO
The attack is easing up now and my breath isn ’t so noisy and labored.
“Are you okay enough to get to the nurse ’s office?” Mr. Taylor asks. “Or do you need an ambulance?”
“I ’m fine. It wasn ’t a really bad attack.” But it wasn ’t mild, either. “I could stay out here with the class.”
“No, you can ’t, ” Mr. Taylor says. “You know the protocol, Kate.”
I sigh, the sound loud and whistling. I ’m lucky the nurse, Mrs. Williams, is in today. Otherwise I ’d have to go to the office and they ’d phone Mom to pick me up—if they didn ’t call an ambulance first. “Okay, I ’ll go to the nurse.” I get to my feet, feeling shaky. Asthma attacks are exhausting. “Can Gil take me?” I say.
Mr. Taylor looks over at Gil, who nods. “Sure.”
“Please—don ’t call my mom.”
Mr. Taylor shakes his head. “I ’m sorry, Kate—you know I have to. Parents have to be notified after every asthma attack.”
Gil takes my arm and I let him, though I can walk just fine. We start off across the field toward the school. Its dark brick, small windows, and high wire fences look unwelcoming.
“You should have told me, ” Gil says.
“Told you—?” For a second I think he knows what I ’ve seen. I cough, the pain in my chest easing a bit more.
“That you weren ’t feeling well. I wouldn ’t have run so hard.”
“I wanted to run with you.”
; Gil stops. “Yeah, but that ’s not cool, Kate. I don ’t want to make you sick.”
“You didn ’t. Running can bring on an attack sometimes.” The wheezing is getting lighter. Behind us, Mr. Taylor shouts at the students to run faster.
I glance at Gil out of the corner of my eye. I have to say something. If I don ’t and the girl dies, I ’ll never forgive myself. But that doesn ’t make this any easier. I lick my lips. “Gil—do you have a cousin who ’s a girl? Maybe a sister? Who might be...depressed?”
Gil stiffens beside me, his fingers clenching my arm. “A sister. Why?”
I briefly close my eyes. I hate this part . People don ’t believe me. And Gil will never see me the same way—if he ever comes near me again. I ’ve lost so many friends this way. But I have to say something. I can ’t let his sister die.
“I think your sister is going to try to kill herself.”
Gil jerks away from me, his mouth tight. “Why would you say that?” He jabs his finger at me. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
I try to stand tall, taking another puff on my inhaler, just to make sure I don ’t have a relapse. “I ’m sorry. I know it ’s a shock. But hasn ’t she been depressed? Not sleeping, not showering or getting dressed?”
“Yes. But. How. Do. You. Know?” His hands clench and unclench.
“I—um...I see things. Visions—when I have an asthma attack. I know it sounds crazy, but I always have—and they always come true. Unless somehow we can prevent it.”
I wait for him to shove me, or turn away, or call Mr. Taylor. But he doesn ’t do any of those things. Instead, his hands open, his shoulders loosen, and his mouth gets softer.
“You see things, ” he says without inflection.
“Yes.” I cough, but it ’s reflexive. My breathing is almost normal again, although my chest aches. “I see the future, and sometimes the past. I wouldn ’t have said anything, but your sister—she was lining up pills on her desk.”
Parallel Visions Page 1
