They sat silent for a beat. Soon they’d both have to drive back to Colorado Springs, but the events of the night were still heavy on Logan’s mind. He couldn’t help wondering what the change in Jade’s ability might mean for the long term. The last few weeks had been emotionally chaotic for him. Not all of it was from her power, but some of it definitely was.
Jade sighed.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just, after tonight, it’s not going to be easy figuring out how to share feelings with you. Not without totally hijacking yours.”
“If you can handle me trying to keep you safe every now and then, I can handle you hijacking me every now and then.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s a deal.”
No doubt it would be an interesting ride as they learned to adapt to each other’s powers.
Ignoring the pain in his biceps that had begun to surface now that the numbing was wearing off, Logan wrapped his arms around Jade and pulled her closer. He buried his face in her hair. “I’m so glad to have you back.”
Her soothing emotions wrapped around him, mirroring their embrace.
The beeping surrounded her. It was in her head and flooding her veins and made her temples throb. Worse was the smell, a heavy, acidic odor like a concoction of chemicals and death.
Something pressed on her head—a weight that was not only on top of her but boring through her as well. It both compounded and expanded her skull at once, and with it came pain. Teasing first, like a claw scratching at the surface, then pressing deep, widening, growing. Her skull felt as if it were being pried open. She gasped. Then screamed.
Frantic voices were barely a din in the background under the pain, covered by her own wail of torture.
“Violet!”
“She’s awake!”
“She needs pain meds—call the—”
“Call her parents—now!”
“Get the doc—”
She caught clips, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the wedge driving itself into the back of her skull. Her own blind hands flailed, slapped, clamped around her head. She felt something there—a bandage. Her fingers clawed into it, pressing her head together, trying to keep it from splitting in two. Another scream, and she faded into blackness.
Sometime later she woke, and the pain was gone. Death must have come—her skull must have ruptured after all.
Her lashes felt heavy. But if she could feel her lashes, it must mean she could open her eyes. She blinked, and the world came into view.
She wasn’t dead, and for now the pain was gone. She lay in a hospital bed. Ugly cream walls and linens with aspen leaves in golds and greens surrounded her. At the moment she was alone. How did she get here?
The first memory that flitted back to her was of the pain. Her hands delicately explored her head and again found the bandage. What had happened?
Then she remembered.
Logan. The truck. The highway.
She’d gone to see him, and he’d shoved her out of his truck. She had landed on the asphalt, and he’d driven away, leaving her to walk home.
She remembered pulling herself up, awkwardly trying to fix her skirt while trying to hop to the shoulder. And then headlights behind her. She hadn’t made it off the road in time.
The door to her room barged open, and a middle-aged woman with reddish-blonde hair rushed in, her brown eyes widening in alarm.
“Violet!” It came out in a choked sob. Her mother ran to her side, throwing arms wide and falling on her. “My baby! Oh, honey, you’re awake. I can’t believe you’re awake.”
“Where’s dad?” Violet asked.
“He’s out of the country—but Henrietta called him. He’s on his way.”
“Who’s…Henrietta?”
“Our new housekeeper. I forgot, you haven’t met her yet. Anyway, your father’s flight leaves in just a few hours, so he’ll be back soon.”
Violet tried to think, but her brain seemed to lag, like she was in a fog. When had he gone out of town? She’d talked to him yesterday and he hadn’t mentioned a trip. Or was that a few days ago? How long had she been out?
“He left when I was in the hospital?” she asked.
“Oh, honey,” her mom said, pulling back enough to survey her and wiping wet cheeks. “He stayed as long as he could—but he couldn’t put off work any longer, and we didn’t know when you would…if you would…” Her mouth puckered and she bit back the rest.
“What…” Violet searched for what she wanted to ask. The fog didn’t thin. “When… How long?”
Violet’s struggle for words seemed to further tear at her mother’s composure. The woman chewed on her lip and wrung her hands.
A hint of the pain prickled at the back of Violet’s head.
Finally her mom answered. “You…were in the coma for six weeks.”
“Coma? I was in a coma?” The prickle evolved to pain and grew to the size of a nail, piercing her skull. Violet squeezed her eyes shut. With the nail came a throbbing sensation that warmed her entire head and slowly began to pulse throughout her body.
The pain was intense, but it clarified her mind, drawing memories to focus. She’d been in a coma, and it was all because of Logan Henry.
He’d chosen another woman over her. He’d pushed her away and rejected her. He’d left her on the road.
Everything was his fault.
The pain widened to a fire-hot stake and buried itself farther into her brain. One thought was clear as glass: he had done this to her, and he would pay. They both would.
Violet would destroy them.
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Also by Becca J. Campbell
The Flawed Series
Empath
Outsider
Pulled (A Flawed Short Story)
Constricted (A Flawed Short Story)
The Father Hunt (A Flawed Story)
Foreign Identity
Gateway to Reality
The Father Hunt
Sneak Peek
This could change his world. It was so innocuous, the creased slip of pale, cream paper Graham Vega held in his trembling hand. And yet, it could redefine life as he knew it.
It had hid in a small shoe box at the top of his mom’s cramped closet as if it had been there the last fifteen years, a tiny testament to who he was and where he came from.
It kills me to say it, but I can’t be with you any more. I wish I could fix everything, but I can’t. Please don’t hate me for this.
Graham reread the letter in its precise, right-sloping script. He’d always been fascinated by the antiquated art of handwriting, and this penmanship was beautiful, down to the X with its scrolling ends that looped back on itself. He tried to imagine the hand that had penned the words, the face of the man that had been twisted in grief and lost to regret.
He couldn’t do it.
All his life he’d tried to conjure images his father, but in his fifteen years this was the first time he’d had something tangible—proof he’d had a father at all—and he still couldn’t summon a possible face for the man.
He let his gaze drop to the next to last line.
Take care of our little one.
Graham’s trembling intensified, and his legs felt weak. He sank to the floor next to the shoe box. He was the “little one” mentioned in the letter.
His father had known he was alive.
Yet he’d never visited his son. Not even once, to introduce himself. Not since Graham could remember, anyway. Had he come to see Graham as a baby?
So many questions rattled around in Graham’s head, all woven around this mysterious figure in his life. One stood above the rest: who was his father? He’d never been able to
answer that question before, but now he had a clue. He held a piece to the puzzle.
Letting his hand drop into his lap with the letter still clutched tightly in his grip, Graham turned to the small box next to him, analyzing for the first time what it really was. It had quickly morphed from some random box to a hallowed object akin to the ark of the covenant. He picked it up and turned it around in his hand, realizing for the first time that it wasn’t big enough for a pair of shoes—definitely not his size tens, but not even his mother’s shoes would fit in a box this tiny. He examined the branding on the side.
Little Runner.
A realization dawned on him—it was a box for baby shoes. Probably, they had been his—maybe his first pair. He wondered if this was relevant to the contents inside.
Graham folded the letter and placed it back in the unmarked envelope—no clues there. His attention drifted to the other items. A single rose with petals that had darkened into a deep wine color looked fragile enough to crumble at his touch. A black shoelace, possibly from a men’s dress shoe. A few loose seashells—possibly his mom had saved those from one of their trips to the beach. She’d always loved to go shelling with him.
The only other item in the box was a simple matchbook, glossy turquoise with a turtle on the cover. He plucked it from the box and flipped it over in his fingers, remembering that his mom used to smoke. She quit when she got pregnant with him, and she often warned him on the dangers of nicotine. He wondered why she’d kept the matchbook, since she felt so strongly against smoking now. She’d probably forgotten all this stuff was here.
He would’ve never thought to look in her closet if he hadn’t been searching for his Broncos baseball cap. Not being a sports fan, he hadn’t worn it in years and thought it might have been given away in one of their garage sales, but it was worth searching for because today, of all days, he needed a totem.
Brooke’s favorite team was the Denver Broncos, and he needed every bit of luck he could muster if he was really going to step out of his comfort zone and do what he was planning on doing today.
Graham’s gaze settled briefly on his mother’s nightstand clock, and a pang of anxiety gripped him. Crap. He was late for school. Scrambling up, he tossed the letter into the box and shut the lid before cramming it back up on the top shelf where he’d found it. His eye caught on the matchbook lying on the carpet. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket, hurrying to grab his book bag and his house key.
As Graham huffed on his bike, booking it up the few hills toward his high school in Colorado Springs, a few white flakes fluttered through the frosty air and landed on the hard, bare ground. The December cold wasn’t able to distract him from the thoughts rattling around in his brain. The mystery of his father’s identity pulled at him, but he’d have to save it until later. Maybe he could ask his mom about it when she got home.
Now at least he had a clue—and a chance at getting his questions answered.
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Enchanter (The Flawed Series Book 4)
Coming Summer 2016
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About the Author
An avid lover of stories that tiptoe the line between fantasy and reality, Becca J. Campbell looks for new angles on bridging the gap between the two. She holds a special place in her heart for any story involving superpowers or time travel. Her passion is defying the limits of her own creativity.
You can find her at BeccaJCampbell.com.
Protector: The Flawed Series Book Three Page 23