by Piper Hannah
TO LIGHT AND GUARD
By Piper Hannah
Copyright © July 2013 Piper Hannah
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
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DEDICATION
To my mom...
Thank you for supporting my every hobby – even the really weird ones.
Thank you for the unlimited babysitting hours.
This book was only possible because of you.
You are my guardian angel, and
I love you.
PART I: PAIGE HARPER
“Secrets are meant to be kept, but you can tell your psychiatrist everything.”
- Paige Harper
CHAPTER 1
Paige Harper
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. Someone was trying to kill me.” My psychiatrist, a woman in her fifties with dark green eyes, just stared at me. Trust me. It wasn’t the response I was hoping for.
I leaned back against my chair and waited for a response because that was how conversations are supposed to go. I say something, and she should say something back… but shrinks were paid to listen, weren’t they? Maybe she was just doing her job then.
Why am I here? Well, I’m here to answer this million dollar question: Am I crazy? Frankly, I think the jury is still out on that one, but before I leave her office today, my psychiatrist will definitely answer that question.
“I wasn't trying to kill myself. Someone was trying to kill me,” I said again. Only this time, I said it with force - with conviction. Maybe the second time around, I can get a verbal response from my non-verbal shrink.
Dr. Anne McKenna’s gaze traveled from my face to my bandaged left wrist, arching one eyebrow. I gulped. So, we both knew why I was here.
“Okay. That looks bad,” I said as I lifted my left wrist, showing her the bandaged reminder of a knife slicing my wrist five days ago. “But there is a perfectly good explanation. This is not what it looks like.” I shook my head for emphasis.
What are the odds of shrinks believing their patients anyway? Right. Stupid question. She’s probably thinking that I’m really messed up in the head right about … now.
“Tell me about your family,” she said, clicking her pen. A notepad was sitting on her lap.
I sighed. My family wasn’t the problem, but her question was expected. Didn’t all problems start at home?
“They’re great.” The entire Harper family wasn't to blame. The blame was all on me – little eighteen year-old me. Let’s just say I’m special.
“My parents are perfect, but believe me, that’s not always a good thing,” I said rolling my eyes. “My little sister, Emma, she is two years younger than me. She lives a very charmed life. Very intelligent, outgoing, a bit dramatic and moody sometimes, but…”
I paused. Was I coming off resentful towards my little sister? I had so many problems that I didn’t want another mark on my long list of unresolved issues. I bit my lower lip. I’m now embarrassed for the things I just said about my sister.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister. I’m not jealous of her, okay? I mean we are exactly alike.” We had the same long, dark brown hair cut by the same hairdresser since we were in third grade. We had the same brown eyes. We had the same smile rescued by the same orthodontist in seventh grade, the same shoe size... The list was endless on how we were the same, same, same… but I wasn’t here to talk about my sister. I was here to talk about myself.
Dad always said that ‘time is money.’ How true he is in this instance since he will end up paying Dr. McKenna’s hefty bill. So, I had to remember, while I was in this room, time is definitely money. I should get to the point then, and save Dad some money.
“I used to see white feathers everywhere; big feathers, tiny feathers, in my room, around the house, outside. I always thought that the feathers were from pillows, but the feathers…” I leaned forward in my chair and whispered, “they were from… angels.” I had to force the words from my mouth. It wasn’t easy for me to open up like this to a stranger. Let’s just say I’d rather be at the dentist getting a root canal - whatever that is.
Dr. McKenna frowned. “Do you see angels in here?” she asked.
“No, and don’t get me wrong. I could only see one angel.” I held up one index finger. “Just one.” And a bunch of demons, but I’m saving that jolly tidbit of information for much later. I think she needs a moment to process the information.
“What does your angel look like?”
What an angel should look like. “Divine,” I said with a perfectly straight face.
Dr. McKenna smiled at that, but unfortunately, I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“When did you first see your angel?”
“About four months ago. It’s strange, but when I first saw him, I kind of knew that we were supposed to be together. Although, even then, I already knew that we were only supposed to be together and not that we would ever be. Do you know what I mean?”
Dr. McKenna didn’t answer my question. Instead, she looked down and scribbled something quickly in her notepad. I frowned. I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. This session was not going good unless her notepad only had doodles. I leaned forward in my chair trying to decipher her notes; apparently, I couldn’t read backwards, and her scribbles were definitely not doodles.
Would it be so difficult to believe that I was able to see one perfectly divine angel? We were in Los Angeles, for crying out loud. This was the City of Angels. If an angel were to appear, I think that it would be here. I’m just saying.
“So tell me about your angel,” Dr. McKenna said.
She didn’t appear condescending, and she wasn’t laughing at me. She didn’t even blink as she waited for a response. I took a deep breath, gearing up to tell her my story from the very beginning, and I wasn’t going to hold back.
“Wait. Everything is confidential, right?” I asked. Dr. McKenna nodded. That’s how shrinks roll. If I weren’t so sad, I would have smiled.
All righty then. Here we go…
“It all started about four months ago. It was going to be just another ordinary day in Los Angeles. That was the plan..."
CHAPTER 2
I turned the radio off when I pulled into my high school’s parking lot in my brand new, mint green Toyota Prius. The car was my eighteenth birthday present from my parents exactly a month ago, and I was still very excited driving it around. Not today, though. That’s because we were running fifteen minutes late, and my sister, Emma, was silently fuming in the front passenger seat. I could almost see smoke coming out of her ears. She was like a cartoon character this morning – like Wile E. Coyote after realizing that there would be no Road Runner for breakfast. Seriously, just like Wile E., my little sister should be used to it by now.
“Sometimes you just look at the clock, and lo and behold, you’re already running late,” I said. “Do you know what I mean?”
“No. I don’t know what you mean, Paige. You look at the clock, and you plan your time according
ly,” she said.
I sighed. My little sister would never understand. She was the responsible one. She was also the smart one with straight As since first grade. She even skipped a grade once; fifth grade, I think. Yay for her. That’s the reason why at sixteen, she’s already a junior in high school. She was also the popular one, the friendly one, the one who helps me with my homework. Okay, that last bit about the homework is kind of embarrassing considering I’m two years older than her, but in my defense, she really is super smart. She must have gotten the smart genes from Dad because sometimes those two can have a conversation that only they can understand; it’s like they speak in code. I only speak English. I don’t understand code.
“My heart is beating too fast. I think I’m having a panic attack,” Emma said, clutching her chest.
I rolled my eyes. Between the two of us, she’s also the one who was a hypochondriac drama queen. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m sure being late won’t screw up your perfect attendance.” I spotted a parking space, and I turned the car slowly towards the spot.
“I should have been born the older sister. Life would have been so much easier,” Emma mumbled. She jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut. She still had one hand to her chest; her other hand was holding on to her backpack.
“It’s dangerous to get out of a moving vehicle,” I yelled, but my sister was already gone. Emma didn’t even bother to wave goodbye. Not that I expected her to. It was only the third week of January, just the beginning of second semester, and we were already late to school three times because of me.
I parked the car, unsnapped my seatbelt, and reached behind the driver’s seat for my army green messenger bag. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel the same sense of urgency my sister obviously felt. We were already late. What was another ten minutes, right? I still got us here.
I got out of the car with my messenger bag and started walking towards my locker. Of course, my locker was inconveniently located in the farthest corner from the parking lot. I glanced at my watch and groaned. I was already half an hour late. Maybe I should just skip class altogether. I think I would be better off.
The hallway was empty. Even Emma probably made it to class by now. When I turned the corner, I saw him. He was wearing a long black coat, and he was leaning against my locker casually as if he was supposed to be there. I stopped… Stopped walking. Stopped breathing. I just stopped.
Time stood still in a very magical Hollywood moment as this teen, in all of his wonderful glory, literally took my breath away. He was, well, breathtaking. His hair was a little on the long side and jet black. His features were very sharp and strong like a comic book superhero. He was definitely a contender for a young Bruce Wayne because of his dark and brooding expression, and the color of his eyes was so extraordinary. Get this. His eyes were purple. Purple! And he was staring at me with an intense frown on his perfectly beautiful face.
We stood there for what seemed like minutes, just staring at each other, lost in space. I felt off because for the first time in my life, I was speechless. I was never a big talker, mind you, but actually forgetting to say actual words was a new experience for me. I watched the emotions cross his face. His frown became deeper as I continued to stare at him. Then, his eyes narrowed into slits as if he was angry. Was he angry? At me? It sure seemed like it. Why? He didn’t even know me, and he was the one standing in front of my locker, blocking me.
It was his reaction that finally compelled me to move my legs forward. I continued to watch him as his lips tightened, and his purple eyes seemed to get darker. Purpler. I bit my bottom lip hard as I approached him slowly and without saying a word. After all, what could someone who was speechless say? Right. Absolutely nothing.
When I was right in front of him, I stopped. I was average height, but he was so tall that the top of my head was only in line with his chin. I tilted my head up to see his face. He was still frowning. He was also looking at me strangely as if I were an alien from another planet or something. I almost stepped back. I was very insulted. I am no alien, thank you very much. I am very pretty with classic, delicate features, and my skin… flawless!
I glared at him.
“You can see me,” he accused.
His voice was deep and beautiful, and it triggered a memory. I gasped when I recognized it, and I instantly backed away. My eyes widened in panic. Unfortunately, I understood what he meant. I wasn’t supposed to see him… or hear him… or have conversations with him. His voice is very familiar to me. I would recognize it anywhere… because he was the voice of my delusion - my imagination. It didn’t matter that he was handsome and looked like a teenaged Bruce Wayne with really nice purple eyes. He. Did. Not. Exist.
In the last month, ever since my eighteenth birthday, I have heard the sound of his voice… in my head. He spoke to me when I was alone and when everything was quiet. So far, I have managed to block it out, and I haven’t told anyone. I never even acknowledged the voice because talking to it would have been admitting that something was very wrong with me.
Even as gorgeous as he was, seeing him was very bad. He was my ticket to some mental institution somewhere, and I didn’t want that ticket. Actually, I would pay good money not to have that ticket.
“Stay away from me,” I whispered. While still delirious, I turned around quickly. I ran away from him, and the sound of my retreating footsteps sounded like gunshots echoing in the hallway. I was a coward, I know, but I wasn’t ready to fall into what I thought was darkness.
CHAPTER 3
As expected, I was late to first period. I was shaking, anxious, and armed only with a book bag with no books. As if my grades weren’t bad enough.
As quietly as I can, I sat in the back row as my English teacher, Mrs. Bailey, paced back and forth in front of the classroom. She glanced at me briefly and continued her lecture. It was about Hamlet, I think. It was a continuation of her last lecture from yesterday. She was talking about the characters as if they were all good friends, and maybe they were. Yes. She’s about that old.
“Horatio, Fortinbras, and Claudius… Can anyone tell me what these three characters have in common?”
No one raised their hand, and Mrs. Bailey answered her own question. That happens a lot in this class.
I looked right at Mrs. Bailey. I heard her high pitched voice and the soft clicking of her shoes. Even as I stared at her and pretended to be intrigued by her lecture, I tuned her out. It wasn’t very hard since I had no idea what she was talking about. Coming in late to class kind of had that effect on me, and maybe I've had a bit of practice with the tuning out part.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, and then, more yadda. Seriously. That's what I heard as my mind processed more important stuff.
I thought about my purple-eyed delusion, and I was lost. What the heck was I going to do? Maybe he’ll just go away. Did I want him to go away? Really? He was my delusion, after all. He must be here for a reason. Right. That would be to make me insane. Okay. I mean a reason other than that.
It was a month ago when I started to hear his voice. It didn’t happen often, but it was definitely there. I should have told someone - Mom and Dad, maybe. They would have known what to do because the strange voice in my head is definitely not normal. It was interesting, but not normal… but what was the harm, really? It wasn’t like the voice was telling me to kill myself, and somehow, I instinctively knew that he didn’t want me to tell anyone. It was our little secret.
Did my mind make him up? I tried to be positive. Maybe he was a ghost, or a time-traveler from the future, or maybe he was a real super hero with real super powers like the invisible man. He was so unbelievably handsome that he would make an awesome leading man in a SciFi original TV show. I didn’t see his teeth, but I’m sure he would have been a perfect vampire. I shook my head. I can’t believe I’m casting him in an imaginary TV show. Shake it off, Paige. Shake it off.
While sitting in class, with Mrs. Bailey’s monotone voice drifting in the background, it was at
that moment that I realized that I could possibly be… well, crazy. Oh, sure, the thought crossed my mind now and then, but actually believing it was something else entirely. It was something very scary.
Then, I thought of my grandmother and her strange talks. We didn't see her much since she moved to New Mexico a few years back. She said that the energy was much stronger over there. It had to do with the earth’s vibrations or something, but that's not the strange part. When I do see her, she would sometimes imply that she was a witch, and she was very proud of it, too. “You come from a long line of very powerful witches," she would say or, "Witch power is passed down to future generations."
My parents always humored her, and we never really talked about Grandma’s crazy talks, but now, I wonder. If by being a ‘witch’, she really meant being schizophrenic, and by saying that I come from a ‘long line of very powerful witches’, she really meant that being schizophrenic is in my DNA somehow. Not a good thought, and I’m freaking the hell out.
“Paige, what do you think?” Mrs. Bailey asked, and the sound of my name snapped me back to reality. I was here. It was now. In class… and Mrs. Bailey had just asked me a question. She was picking on me because I was late. She was looking at me. Actually, I think the entire class was looking at me, and they were all waiting for an answer. This is my worst nightmare.
“That is a very interesting question, Mrs. Bailey,” I said, stalling, but since I didn’t know the question, I really didn’t know how to answer her. So, I said nothing and looked down. I bit my lower lip and silently prayed for her to move on to her next victim I mean, student. Move on to the next student. Please. I slouched in my seat. Unfortunately, I didn’t even have books to cower under.
Someone seated in the front row snickered. After a very long silence, Mrs. Bailey started her lecture again, and I started breathing again. No doubt about it. I’m ending up in summer school for sure. Crap!