Grasping at Eternity
by Karen Amanda Hooper
Copyright 2012 Karen Amanda Hooper
First Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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 or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Alexandra Shostak
http://www.AlexandraShostak.com
Edited by Marie Jaskulka
Visit author Karen Amanda Hooper on the Web at
http://www.karenamandahooper.com
Grasping at Eternity
Book 1 of The Kindrily Series
By Karen Amanda Hooper
Dedicated to anyone who has loved and lost, but found the courage to love again.
Table of Contents
THE BEGINNING OF THE ALMOST-END
REMEMBERING EVERYTHING
COMING UP FOR AIR
A NOT-SO-NEW BEGINNING
FANNING AN OLD FLAME
FIGHTING FIRE
BLURRING THE LINE BETWEEN LOVE & HATE
SEEING ISN’T ALWAYS BELIEVING
TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS
NOTHING SHINES FOREVER
JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS
MOVING AWAY BUT GETTING CLOSER
CHASING THE TRUTH
MAKING AN IMPRESSION
SWAPPING STORIES
WHEN SOULS COLLIDE
PIECING IT TOGETHER
SILVER LININGS
WISHING ENDLESSLY
WAKE-UP CALL
FALLING STARS
A NAGGING PAIN
SPILLING SECRETS
HELPING THE HELPLESS
THANKING THE HEAVENS
LIGHTING THE WAY
ANIMAL INSTINCTS
FACING THE FEARLESS
DREAMING OF A WHITE CHRISTMAS
NAME CALLING
RIVER DANCING
HEART RACING
GIVING BACK
HOME SICKENING
THE POWER OF EIGHTEEN
TURNING THE PAGE
CLINGING TO THE OLD
DIGGING TOO DEEP
HITTING WHERE IT HURTS
CIRCLE OF LOVE
SURPRISE SURPRISE
STUMBLING THROUGH THE DARK
SOMETHING TO REMEMBER
THE UGLY TRUTH
KEEP BREATHING
CIRCLE OF LIFE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Message From the Author
Book 2 of The Kindrily Series
"If you love someone, put their name in a circle; because hearts can be broken, but circles never end." ~Anonymous
THE BEGINNING OF THE ALMOST-END
Maryah
I wanted to punch a hole in the sky, rip it wide open, and fly out of this world and into a magical one. Except I’d never punched anything in all my seventeen years of life, I didn’t believe in magic, and I sure as heck couldn’t fly.
As my dad pointed out at dinner, “Some people are destined to be average.”
He was referring to me, of course.
Whenever Dad made wisecracks about me, I’d escape to the boat docked behind our house. It was the perfect hideout since it had a mini kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Unfortunately, our old Bayliner hadn’t run since summer break started, so in a tragic reversal of the old cliché, I could hide, but I couldn’t run.
I smacked my pillow then flopped down on the bed. My back knew every lump in the mildewed mattress by heart. Beyond the dirty film on the boat hatch window, high above the occasional blinking firefly, one star shined brighter than the others. It winked at me from light-years away.
“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…I wish my family would leave me the crap alone.”
The boat dipped, and I knew my twin brother, Mikey, had climbed aboard. He peeked into the cabin and tossed me a pack of Oreos. “Figured you might be hungry since you left most of your food on your plate. You okay, Ry?”
“You mean besides being destined for averageness?”
He ducked through the narrow doorway and sat on the bed. “Dad knows he messed up. He’s setting up another Forgive and Forget soirée.”
I rolled my eyes, but not at Mikey. “Is he using the temporary insanity plea again?”
“Hope not. He forgets you have a stellar memory.”
My memory was the closest I’d ever get to having magic powers. Except my talent only worked for useless stuff like filing away every harsh word my dad ever said, memorizing song lyrics after hearing them only once, or remembering the bra size of every customer who came into my mother’s lingerie shop. Anytime she measured ladies and had me write down a size bigger than my pathetic 30A, I’d silently beg the boob fairy to let me trade with them. Lame, for sure, but that pretty much summed up my existence.
Mikey got the good looks, brains, athletic abilities, and every other trait that secured his spot as the favorite child. Mom and Dad pulled double doting duty when it came to him. Most sisters would hate their twin brother in a situation like ours, but how could I hate him? He was my own personal superherbro.
“Mom’s already got cookies baking.” He pulled off my flip-flop and hid it behind his back. “I’m holding this hostage until you come inside.”
I laughed and shoved him with my foot. “Fine. Just give me a few more minutes.”
“Hurry up—before I eat all the snickerdoodles.” He cracked my big toe—which I hate—then escaped just as my other flip-flop went sailing past his head and hit the wall. I listened to his footsteps stride up our dock then fade away.
Crickets chirped and waves lapped against the side of the boat. I cherished my last few moments of solitude before I went back inside for the I’m Sorry Party.
Dad would play my favorite records—Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra—and twirl me around the living room while telling me I’m his favorite girl. Mikey would show off by doing a flawless waltz with Mom. A couple dances, a few heartfelt apologies, and several snickerdoodles later, all would be forgiven. That’s how it worked in our family—like something straight out of a ‘50s sitcom. I could say I hated it, but that would make me borderline cool. Like most do-gooders, I loved my family: dancing, cookies, Donna Reed flashbacks, and all.
A faraway shriek interrupted my thoughts. I assumed it was a bird until I heard another sound. Glass breaking? My ears pushed everything else into the background.
No more waves or crickets. No more breathing. I think I even silenced my heart from beating.
The bird wailed again. Except the bird was my mother, and the wailing was filled with terror.
I leapt off the bed and sprung from the cabin. Above deck, I froze, staring at our house. Shadows moved behind the backlit curtains of the living room windows. They must be dancing.
So why did my mother scream? The rocking boat nudged my wobbly legs forward. I stepped onto the dock and took a deep breath, hoping the noise couldn’t be as frightening as the rigid hairs on my arms indicated. No matter what scary scenario my overactive imagination created, I had to make sure Mom was okay.
As I neared the back patio, Frank Sinatra sang about fairytales and y
oung hearts. Our screen door creaked when I opened it. The music grew louder as I entered the kitchen. The smell of cookies baking should have calmed me, but the house was too quiet. No laughing or talking meant something was very wrong.
Mikey staggered into the doorway. “Run.”
One hand clenched his chest, the other slid down the doorframe, holding a butcher knife. Then I saw the blood seeping through his fingers. A deep red blot on his t-shirt grew bigger.
“Mikey, what—?” My trembling voice couldn’t finish the question.
A huge man dressed in black appeared behind him. Mikey turned and lunged at him with the knife. The man flung Mikey against the wall like a rag doll, choking him, and lifting him off his feet. I wanted to yell, hit the stranger, and pull him away from Mikey, but I couldn’t. I stood there paralyzed, not comprehending.
My brother’s flailing legs and arms blurred through my tears.
“Ry, run.” Mikey gasped.
And like a coward, I did.
I ran away.
I stumbled through the kitchen, out the back door, and across the backyard. The music from the house faded as I got closer to the dock. What now? Hide in the boat? No, jump in the water. Swim away. Just get to the water.
Heartbeat-heartbeat-heartbeat breath. Heartbeat-heartbeat-heartbeat breath. Both involuntary actions came at unrealistic speed, but my legs wouldn’t run fast enough. Get to the water. Focus. Almost there.
I tripped over my own feet, hitting the dock with full force. Pain shot through my ankle, and splinters stung my cheek and palms as they skidded against the wooden planks. I tried to push myself up, but my foot buckled and I fell back down.
Laughter echoed behind me. “Ah lass, aren’t you going to fight back?”
Panicking, I glanced around. One of the dock planks had come loose. I crawled onto my knees, yanked the board free, and spun around, waving it like a bat. Except now there were two men. “T-t-take whatever you want. Just please, d-don’t kill us.”
The second man kept laughing while the younger one squatted beside me. “They’re already dead.”
No. He had to be lying. Please let him be lying.
My breathing became more rapid. The planks under me were vibrating. No, the dock wasn’t shaking—I was.
A female voice whispered in my ear. Concentrate on the eyes. I looked around, not seeing anyone else, but the voice spoke again. Concentrate on the eyes.
Shuddering, I made eye contact with the monster from the kitchen. His pupils were like a snake’s—golden with black slits.
The older man walked closer, eating a snickerdoodle. He bent down so close I could see crumbs in his black beard. “Why didn’t you stay and fight for—” He paused, his forehead wrinkling as he tilted his head. “It’s not her,” he said. “We’ve got the wrong house!”
“They swore she lived here. What a waste of time.” He snatched the plank from my hand and cracked it over his knee, splitting it in two. He handed Snake Eyes half of the broken plank and clapped his hands. “Finish her.”
Snake Eyes didn’t hesitate. He stabbed the jagged edge into my stomach so fast I didn’t even try to protect myself. Fire ripped through the middle of me, tunneling upward through my chest. I gagged on my failed attempt to scream.
He pulled a metal pipe from a holster behind his shoulder. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
“Please, no!” I tried to block the first hit with my arm. The stake gouged my insides when I lifted my leg to absorb the second swing. Every hit felt like dynamite exploding through my limbs. I couldn’t even be sure my leg and arm were still attached to my body. With all I had left, I tried rolling over to crawl away, but the flames in my stomach burned hotter. I got so dizzy I saw spots.
Just shoot me, I mentally begged. The last world-shattering swing came at my head in slow motion. The loud crack swallowed every other sound. Then he was gone.
And so was I.
∞
I’d always heard that when people die, there is a bright light. Nothing but pitch black surrounded me. Where was the light I was supposed to follow? As if answering my question, one star appeared, shining dimly but hovering close enough to touch.
Concentrate on the eyes. Those words rumbled through me like an earthquake.
The star split into two, morphing into light-filled eyes. A face formed around them, turning into a full bodied angel equipped with heavenly good looks. His emerald green eyes sparkled with an inhuman intensity. They had to be the eyes my intuition whispered about. They had to be the light I was meant to follow. Death had found me, and he was mesmerizing.
“My family, help them,” I whispered.
God-awful pain blasted through me, forcing me back into consciousness. Tons of real stars filled the sky. I had imagined the angel. I was alone. Alone, but alive.
Water still lapped calmly under the dock. Crickets continued chirping. A spider spun its web on a nearby railing. The world hadn’t stopped, and neither could I.
Mikey fought back. I would too.
Reaching down, I touched the wood jutting out from the bottom of my shirt, not believing it could be lodged through the middle of me. I grabbed it with my left hand and pulled hard.
A rush of warmth flowed over my skin, but my teeth were chattering so hard they should’ve shattered. How could it be so cold in the middle of June? Green specks of light flashed in front of me. My heartbeat and breathing slowed. The rumbling in my head stilled. Even the pain eased.
The star-angel appeared again. He leaned over me, looking so real.
Howling sirens grew louder, but help would be too late. My angel had come to take me home. He peeled off his red and black motorcycle jacket and covered me with it. His tan face almost shimmered against the dark sky above us. He stared at me with enough love to fill eternity.
Then his face blurred. Colors faded. He slipped further away until I saw only pure white. Lost in eternity, I was content never to be found.
Quiet.
Stillness.
Peace…
"Clear!” Someone shouted.
Agonizing pain snapped me awake. The earthquake in my head increased to a 9.5 on the Richter scale. My chest blazed, and a metallic taste soaked my tongue.
“I’ve got a heartbeat! Honey, can you hear me? What’s your name?”
At least I think that’s what the paramedic said. His words were muffled by the throbbing in my head.
I choked and spit out blood. “It hur-urts.”
“We’re giving you something to help the pain. Hang in there, okay?”
I stared at the black sky and blurry stars, yearning to see the angel’s face again. The sensation of floating up into the sky felt nostalgic—like I belonged there. I had an aerial view of the paramedics working on me.
My arms and legs looked like pale twigs, bent and snapped into pieces—just like the wood lodged into my stomach. I could’ve sworn I pulled that out. Blood matted my strawberry blond hair. I floated away, unable to look at myself anymore.
One of the paramedics said to the other, “She’s out, poor thing. Only survivor.”
No. My family can’t be dead. This can’t be real.
A force kept tugging me toward the sky. Part of me wanted to drift away. If my family were gone, I had no reason to stay. Fire trucks and police cars swarmed our street. Flashing red and blue lights reflected off every window of our house.
I kept floating higher. Stars pulsated around me. I reached out, trying to grasp onto them, but I couldn’t. The stars slipped through my fingers.
Please remember, the brightest star whispered.
Then a hole ripped open in the sky, sucking me out of this world and into blackness.
REMEMBERING EVERYTHING
Nathaniel
Please, no.
Please don’t let this happen. Not now, not like this.
“Open your eyes,” I begged. “Fight for this. Fight for us.”
She had always been a fighter. Every life. She was the bravest soul I
’d ever known.
I looked up at the hospital room ceiling as if I could see through it to the stars and midnight sky. Rage pulsed through me, singeing my veins and scorching my heart. “Give her memories back! I don’t care what she chose! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
I didn’t care if the nurses heard me. I’d be gone by the time they came to investigate.
Her face was like porcelain, beautiful but motionless. I imagined her eyelids opening, seeing the endless light I loved so much. I took for granted it would always be there.
I pressed my lips to the back of her hand. “You and me for eternity, remember? Don’t break your promise. It’s not your style.”
Her heart monitor continued beeping slow but steady.
“Fight,” I demanded. “Live. Open your eyes.” I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “And please, remember.”
COMING UP FOR AIR
Maryah
Being in a coma for two weeks was nothing. Literally, I remembered nothing. Those two weeks just disappeared from my existence.
But waking up in the hospital and remembering my parents and Mikey were gone—that I ran away while intruders robbed them of their lives—was the worst pain I’d ever experienced. Doctors pumped me with enough pain meds to ease the physical hurt of my broken arm and leg, but no one and nothing could fix my broken heart.
I blocked out reality by sleeping as much as possible. Two weeks hadn’t been long enough. I wanted to hide from the waking world forever.
Krista, my cousin, my best friend, born one day after me, refused to let that happen. For over a month, since the moment I woke up at the hospital, she’d been at my side. She held me while I cried, drew hearts and flowers on my casts, promised me we’d get through it, and tried brainwashing me with her feel-good philosophies.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, my blow to the head required me to have brain surgery, so her brainwashing didn’t work. Too bad my head trauma didn’t wipe out my bionic memory. I’d never forget that night.
Grasping at Eternity (The Kindrily) Page 1