Chosen (The Urban Legends Series Book 1)

by R. S. Broadhead

  Table of Contents

  Chosen

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Chosen

  Copyright © 2017 R.S. Broadhead

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into 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 author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design © Mae I Design

  Interior Design by Cover Me Darling

  Formatting by Athena Interior Book Design

  “Daddy! Daddy!” I tugged on the cargo shorts that hung loosely against my father’s lanky hips.

  He swatted me away, causing ashes from the cigarette dangling between his festered lips to fall into the peanut butter he’d smeared across the piece of bread. I yanked at his shorts again, eager to show off my drawing of the two of us, happy in the sun, throwing candy to a family of ducks floating across a pond.

  He slammed the butter knife down on the counter.

  I flinched.

  “Fuck, Piper! What could be so important? Can’t you see I’m trying to make you something to eat for supper?”

  Crushed that he didn’t want to see my artistic endeavor, I let my hand with the paper in it fall to my side.

  He rolled his eyes and snatched the drawing from my hand. “Why the hell did you color the pond purple? Aren’t they teaching you anything at that school? I swear, what did I do to get such a dumb little shit as a kid?” He crumpled the picture and tossed it into the overflowing trashcan. Then he spun around and flung the sandwich onto the table.

  I stood frozen, staring at the drawing that I had spent the last hour creating for him. Tears welled in my eyes, encroaching my vision. I never saw his hand come down. I hit the floor with a thud, my cheek burning as if acid had been poured across my skin.

  “What did I tell you about crying for no reason? So what? I threw your drawing away. Get over it. Now you better eat before I change my mind and toss your sandwich into the trash.”

  My chest puffed out, pulling all of my emotions deep into the pit of my stomach. They joined an array of already-bottled feelings and gnawed at my insides.

  Without looking at my dad, I pushed myself up off the floor and slipped onto the chair. I didn’t dare touch my hot cheek. That would only make him angrier. Instead, I picked up the sandwich and ate. Despite it tasting like the trays of cigarette butts all over the house smelled, it was the only thing I’d had all day. I’d learned a long time ago to eat when food was presented because I never knew when I would get more.

  He disappeared around the corner, humming to himself. Humming. That meant he was expecting visitors tonight. As if on cue, the shower started, and the rusty curtain hooks screeched across the rod.

  I took another bite and chewed slowly. My jaw ached with each movement, and it was slowly getting worse. There was no way I could finish it, but I couldn’t let him see anything left. I folded the remaining sandwich in a napkin and tiptoed to my room. The loose floorboard under my bed came up with a little scraping sound, and I tucked the food beneath it for safekeeping. Once his guests arrived, I wouldn’t be a priority. Food would be nice to have if I got hungry later.

  I turned and strolled over to the corner where my two dolls waited for me. They were the only toys I had. Only they weren’t just toys, they were like family to me. They listened when I shared things. They never screamed at me. They were always willing to spend time with me when I needed them. I brushed one’s hair back, trying my best to smooth the tangles. They weren’t in the best shape since they had come from a yard sale, but I loved them nonetheless. A mother and a daughter. It was a relationship that was foreign since my mother died giving birth to me. But I had seen enough to know what it would be like.

  The shower stopped just as the sound of a fist connecting with wood echoed through the hallway. A second later, I heard the bathroom door fly open, and feet run into the living room. “Hey there! You guys are early. I would’ve already been ready, but had to give the kid some food.”

  “Father of the Year!” Bee exclaimed.

  I had met her a few times before. She was one of the most regular people Daddy had over here. It was hard to keep track. There were always so many different people. In and out. All hours of the night and day. Voices chimed in. None of the others I recognized. Of course, I didn’t venture out to investigate. I knew better. When company was here, I was to stay quiet in my room. I shivered, thinking about the hallway closet that was just big enough for me turn around in. Of course, that changed when he started shoving things in there for storage. Now moving wasn’t an option. He put me there when I was bad.

  As the night progressed, more knocks came, and more voices filled the tiny house. When my eyes burned from tiredness, I made my way over to the small bed and snuggled tight underneath a thin blanket, careful not to put too much pressure on my now swollen cheek. My eyes closed, and I tried to block out the noise from the other side of my door. I rolled over on my side and stared at the wall. There were stickers there. Stars that I counted when I had trouble falling asleep. Every night I wished on the largest one in the middle.

  I stared at it.

  “Take me away to a place where someone wants me,” I whispered. Slowly, the music and voices faded away, and I drifted to another place as sleep claimed me.

  I ran through tall grass up a hill. As I reached the peak, I could see the pond I had drawn nestled between the hills. I reached down, and picked a handful of flowers, and others instantly bloomed in their place. Putting them to my nose, I breathed in their heavenly scent. A gust of wind pulled the flowers from my grasp and twirled the petals into the air. The ducks called out, shifting my attention down to the pond. Without another second passing by, I ran. I ran as fast as I could and dove into the purple water. It lapped at my cheeks, seeming just as happy as I was. Something warmed expanded around me, enveloping me in a bubble within the water.

  My eyes snapped open, fluttering the dream away. I tossed the cover to the side and touched the back of my lower half. Light shined across my floor from outside, and I stared at it, petrified of what was to come. The thought of telling my father I had wet the bed made me sick. It would only end in one way. The closet. I listened for movement on the other side. Maybe everyone was gone. The music had stopped. There were no voices. My feet hit the floor, the chilled linoleum instantly causing me to shiver. The door halted my progress, and I waited there, ear presse
d against the cool wood. Still nothing. My heartbeat quickened as I turned the knob. I peeked out, searching the hallway. It was empty. I walked carefully, avoiding any spots that caused noise. If I could get to the bathroom and wash off, he would never know.

  I paused at the door and looked into the living room. People were slouched on the couch, their heads rolled to the sides. A sigh of relief escaped as I pulled at the knob. I stumbled out, hitting the wall behind me at the sight of a man and woman with no clothes standing near the tub.

  The man pulled away from the woman’s backside, his private parts dangling freely. “What the shit?” he screamed, reaching down and yanking at the jeans crumpled around his ankles. He stormed toward me as the woman behind him laughed and tugged at her own clothes. He grabbed me by the forearm, his fingers digging into my flesh, and towed me into the living room. “Jess!” he screamed. People stirred around us. One by one, their heads rolled up to see what was going on, each with a foggy expression across their face. My father was curled in the corner recliner with some type of rubber band tied around his arm. “Jess!” the man screamed again, digging his nails even farther into my skin. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.

  “What?” my father finally said. He blinked, looking from the irate man to me.

  “I caught this little piece of trash trying to be a pervert. Spying on me and Heather in the bathroom.”

  My father’s face hardened over like stone. My hands trembled. I tucked them into balls to shield them from him.

  “Looks like she pissed her pants too,” another onlooker said from the couch. That gained a laugh from the room.

  Everyone except my father, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me. He darted over. My eyes widened as he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me backward. The man let go of my arm, which sent me crashing to the floor and knocked the breath from my lungs.

  That only made the crowd go even more crazy with laughter. I shrieked, panic rattling my core. He was taking me to the closet. My back ached as I watched the cracked ceiling moving above me. The latch snapped free, and the soft swoosh of the door opening surrounded me.

  I kicked my legs wildly, not caring about the repercussions. He could beat me until I fell asleep like so many times before — anything but the room. His elbow fell across the bridge of my nose. The overwhelming sense of dizziness made my limbs drop like dead fish at my sides. My body was moved once again, and somewhere through the haze, the faint sound of the latch being replaced reached me. I shot forward, touching the lumpy surface of the door to confirm. My hands balled into fists and pounded against the wood. When they ached too bad to continue, I shifted, pushing back against the items stored there and kicked. It wouldn’t do any good. He knew I would eventually give out.

  And I did.

  I curled into a ball and wiped the dried blood away from my nose with the back of my hand. Tears rolled freely across my face and dropped off below.

  “Piper…”

  I pretended not to hear the voice. Fear bolted up my spine, locking my muscles into place.

  “Piper…” he said again, this time with a little more force. I could practically feel the heat from his lips. A person I had never seen and just from the feeling he gave me, I knew I never wanted to.

  “Please. Leave me alone.” At any moment, I would fall apart and let the fear take over. The way I always did.

  “You’re meant to be with me, Piper. Promised, I should say. The time is coming.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear the door down and run away. But somehow, I stifled it. It would only make the voice angry. He was watching me. I didn’t know how, but he was. Every time I was put into this closet.

  I recoiled, pinching my eyes together so tight it hurt. Sweat beaded at my temples and rolled down through my hair.

  “Go away. You’re not real. Go away. You’re not real.” I repeated the words over and over again. It was like a ritual.

  His voice stopped, but the nagging feeling of whatever he was didn’t leave. He was still there, only silent.

  The room became hot as my breaths came out in spurts. I shook all over. It was times like this I wished I didn’t exist, that I could close my eyes and die. What was the point of my being here? I was a bother to the one man who was supposed to love me. He hated me. I could tell by the way he looked at me. By the way he talked to me. And enduring everything he had done to me, I still loved him. He was my father. Maybe he was sick. I vowed to never be like him. If the day came and I had a child to care for, it would never go through this.

  I wasn’t sure how long I had been locked up. Time always seemed to go by so slow. I had been asleep and back awake a few times. The nagging stiffness of being bent so awkwardly to fit didn’t allow for long naps. A gentle tap stirred me. Footsteps padded on the other side of my door and kept going. I didn’t hear the front door open though.

  “What do you want?” I heard my father’s shaky voice call out.

  Odd. He never sounded that way greeting one of his guests.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not letting you in. Now go away.”

  I listened closer. Whimpers. He was scared. Knocks sounded again through the house. I flinched with each one.

  “Go away!” he yelled again. A loud wail escaped after the plea. A moment later, silence fell over the house.

  I strained, wishing the whimpers would come back — anything to let me know he was okay.

  The sound of the front door opening startled me. Why would he open it if he were terrified? I scooted back until my body touched the wall and pushed items in front of me. I don’t know why I did it. I was locked in a dark room. Whoever came in would have no idea I was here. But a gut feeling told me it was what I needed to do. Maybe it was the sudden uneasiness that came over the house. Like Death itself had walked in.

  “You don’t damage what is his,” a child’s voice finally said. “Consequences can’t be avoided.” The last statement was as cold as ice. The words came out so harsh from a voice that sounded so innocent.

  “What are you talking about? Who is he? And what the hell do I have that belongs to whoever this person is?” My father tried to reason with the owner of the voice.

  “It’s too late now.”

  I pushed farther back, tucking my legs in. Footsteps sounded in front of my hiding spot, and doors began to slam. Items were thrown into the walls. I held my breath as the steps came closer and stopped right outside of the door to the closet. Light flooded the dark space as it opened. Through a small crack in the items I’d moved to block me, I saw a pair of small worn shoes no bigger than mine. The door closed again but was left unlocked.

  “No one else is here,” another voice said.

  “No. No. No!” My father’s pleas became higher and higher.

  The front door slammed one final time, and the house was left in silence.

  Eighteen Years Later

  The night the storm rolled in was when I saw him. He stood under a streetlight, motionless. I couldn’t make out what he stared at. But it was the type of concentration nothing surrounding him could break. His clothes were worn, tattered, and thinning. Despite a chilled wind shifting the fabric against his frail frame, he didn’t shiver. He didn’t move an inch.

  I found myself wondering where he came from and what he had done to get himself in this situation. The possibilities were endless. The streets hadn’t been easy on him. Even from across the road, safe in an oversized house, I could make out the deep-set wrinkles creasing his forehead. Had he at one time been a manager at a high-end store that catered to rich and ego-inflated? I could see him in a form-fitting suit. Lifting an arm while bowing ever so graciously to those that looked down on him for his groveling nature.

  My finger drummed across my cherry glossed lips. Maybe he was a war veteran who couldn’t handle the pressure of civilian life. What if he had family that missed him? My chest clenched at the thought, faltering the grip I had on the silk curtain. He might be alone, like I was, in this cit
y. No family, but at least I had friends and a boyfriend to ease the loneliness.

  I shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate. I knew what it was like to have it hard. My nightmares wouldn’t let me forget my early childhood. Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t sleep without some type of nightlight. I was lucky enough to have made it out and to a place where I experienced nothing but love.

  My grandfather raised me better than to not help a person in need. And the stranger beneath the streetlight appeared to fit the bill. Despite my heart yearning to run out in the middle of the night and battle the increasingly high gusts this weather was producing, my gut held me rooted to the high-backed, cushioned chair. A chair that every Friday night, I would give anything to escape. It was my own personal prison. One that I was bound to as long as I was in a relationship with Nolan Foast, son to prominent socialites, Mr. and Mrs. David Foast.

  David and Vivian had made their best effort to accept me as Nolan’s girlfriend. Their best effort wasn’t saying much. Most of their pleasantries sounded rehearsed and forced. I was beneath their standards. I didn’t come from money or a high prestigious family they could brag about to their equally snotty friends. I was a simple southern girl from Alabama. One who had paved her own path in the big city of New York.

  “Whatever are you staring at, Piper?” Vivian’s voice sliced through the silence. Her styled hair flipped at the ends, resting on a collared dress. Round chestnut eyes bored into me, waiting for an answer. I dropped the window dressing, running both of my hands down my dress as if to straighten wrinkles. It was something I seemed to do around her. A nervous tic, I guess. She always had the ability to make me feel less than her.

  “Nothing.” We were in a gated community. The houses tended to be so high the sun fought to peek through. Homeless men weren’t something seen here. It was unsightly.

  She stared at me, puckering her lips into the tight-lipped frown I had grown to loathe.

  I smiled at her, despite the evident dislike, hoping she would buy it.