by Ashley Drake
Ashley Drake
The Price of a Gift
Book 1 of
The Price of Secrets Series
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright 2014 Ashley Drake
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, recording, photocopying, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.
I want to thank my wonderful husband David for being the level headed one in our marriage and for letting me be the dreamer. A big thanks to my three children for helping me remember what it's like to be a teenager. Also to my best friend since 7th grade, who has always been and forever will be my version of Jaycee. And last but not least, my mom and dad who have been there for me my entire life.
I love you all.
Dad, I dedicate this book to you. I could not have written it without being your daughter. I think you know why.
Chapter 1
Normal is a word, my word, I have wanted to be able to use to define myself my entire life. I’ve always had the need to fit in and to be, for lack of a better word, regular. I think all teenagers strive for that. Although I’m guessing not for the same reasons I have. Little did I know that, in the not so distant future, I would change my word to extraordinary.
Dear diary,
My dad, the shrink, thinks that keeping a diary will help me deal with things going on in my life. So here it goes. My name is Hannah Price. My friends call me Han or Price tag, for obvious reasons. My dad calls me Hannah Banana. Luckily, he doesn't do it in public anymore. I'm turning 16 on Nov 1st. My mom said she made sure she had me after midnight because she didn't want me to have to share my birthday with Halloween, even if most of my parties are costume themed. I just finished my freshman year of high school, and so far this summer has sucked! I haven't got to hang out with Jaycee, my best friend since kindergarten, at all. First she went to Myrtle Beach with her aunt and uncle, and now she is on a freakin cruise with her parents. So she's probably gonna come back all tanned with stories of hot guys falling at her stupid, perfect, bikini bodied feet! I could be with her right now exposing myself to UV rays if my mom and dad would have let me go. They said it was too far and way too expensive. It seems that my dad has this belt he keeps talking about tightening up. And my parents seem to think that if they have to sacrifice, when they are the ones that actually bring home a paycheck, I should also. How unfair! Just because I don't make money I can't have fun? (Yeah, I know how selfish that sounds.) So it doesn't look like I'm getting out of Hudson, North Carolina this summer. We are selling our house and moving. Not just moving, but into a smaller house. Apparently it's called 'downsizing'. My mom is only working part time now as a real estate broker. Not many people are buying houses right now because of the economy. Dad claims this move will be the beginning of a new adventure and we will have more money to do things and grow closer as a family, and blah blah blah. One good thing about this move is we have found 2 houses that are both in my district, so I won't have to change schools. They are supposed to make up their minds, soon, and pick one. My vote is for the one with the pool. So, what else can I complain about? Oh yeah, my vacation is almost over and Josh hasn't called or text me. I mean, I know we decided to just be friends, but I kinda miss him. And aren't friends supposed to call and text each other? And dang it, he should miss me too! I bet Megan broke her short, fat, neck chasing after him when she found out we broke up. The whole school knows the only reason she made cheerleading was because her mother is the head of the PTA. (It's hard to believe that politics start in school. But it does, usually as early as middle school and even elementary.) I can’t believe we were friends all through elementary. I wasted my whole 9th grade year on him and if he starts dating that skank I will never speak to him again. Josh knows, ever since she told the entire gym class in 5th grade that I started my period, I can't stand her. The boys wouldn't talk to me for weeks after that, including Josh! But Jaycee got revenge by telling everyone Megan stuffed her bra. Jaycee’s always there for me. She's the closest thing to a sister I'll ever have, except for right now, because right now she should be miserable and having a pity party here with me. Ok, enough 'expressing my feelings' for one day.
I reread what I wrote and cringed. Dang, I’ve made myself sound like an ungrateful brat. I'm sure that’s not what my dad had in mind when he told me I should start a diary. But it just feels weird writing down my deep dark secrets that only my parents and Jaycee know about. And really, what am I supposed to do with it, give it to my future children? 'Oh here kids, read this. Cause crazy runs in the family and there is a really good chance you're gonna get it in some form. So be prepared. And don't tell anyone about it, cause they'll have you committed.' Yeah, that won't freak them out at all.
"Hannah," Crap, mom's gonna ask me if my room's clean, "come here."
"Coming!" I replied as I hurried to make my bed. A room always looks cleaner with the bed made. I folded, tucked and added throw pillows. Done!
The back stairs would be quicker but I haven't used them in three years. That was the first time I ever saw a ghost. Or as I like to call them; the living impaired. He was harmless really but at 12 I didn't care if he had rainbows and skittles falling out his butt. He was a freaking ghost and he was talking to me, and worse, I could see him. My first encounter with him was just me screaming and running down the stairs to my dad's office, always to my dad. My mom is totally supportive, and I do share things with her. Mainly stuff like who's dating who, or guys I think are hot, or who Jaycee’s boy of the month is. But this so called 'gift' runs on my dad's side of the family. My dad is an empath. He feels what people around him feel. He said when he first developed his ability it almost drove him crazy. One minute he wanted to kill himself and then ten minutes later he was on cloud nine. He finally learned how to distinguish his own feelings from others. He also learned when to try to help someone, with whose feelings he was picking up on, and when to let it go. So of course being a therapist was a natural career choice when he grew up. With his level of education he could be making a whole lot more money, but Dad claims that wouldn't be right. He says that he was given a gift and it was to be used to help people, not to see how many vacation homes he could buy. Why can't you be helpful while being oceanfront?
He said trying to read my feelings was like trying to walk through mud; he could do it, but it was difficult. I'm getting better at blocking my feelings and it's starting to make it impossible for him, which is great for me, because a teenage girl does not need their father knowing their every emotion. What’s even better is that I have learned how to block picking up on their feelings. I was so tired of feeling Moms anger at Dad for coming home late or not taking out the trash, or Dad getting mad at Mom for nagging at him. And I absolutely did not like picking up on them making up. Gross. So running to Dad was a natural response. When I told him about the old man he was shocked. But only because we thought I already had my 'gift' and we were dealing nicely with that. I am psychic. Not the whole, crystal ball let me read your palm, psychic. Psychic is kinda a word for many different things. My Dad calls it a jack of all trades but a master of none. I can see images of peoples’ thoughts, I share my dad's empathic abilities, I have dreams that come true, and I can read auras. I can also tell when people are lying, which drives Jaycee crazy when I call her on it. Sometimes I don't like someone just from the energy they put off, which usually means they're not a
good person. But that can also get reversed. Certain people get nervous when I’m around them, because they can't quite figure out what's different about me. I think those people are sensitives and Dad agrees. Then there is this thing with my ears, when something good or bad is gonna happen, they ring. I have no freakin clue what that's called. So it's like I minored in all these things, but majored in nothing.
Dad helped me with the old man. His name was Howard. Poor Howard was always in a state of confusion. He kept calling me Caitlin. It took many conversations with Howard, because he kept popping in and out, but I finally convinced him that I was not his granddaughter Caitlyn, and helped him move on. It was actually kinda easy, I winged it. While he was on my stairs one night I lit a white candle, said a prayer for him, and told him to go into the light. I let him know that he was dead and he had family waiting on him on the other side. Then he just disappeared. I knew it was for good that time, I just felt it. Dad told me he figured Howard probably suffered from Alzheimer's when he was alive. Howard is the only living impaired I've helped crossover. I think the others just visit because they feel my energy and they come to check me out, so to speak. Over the past year or so I have been able to block spirits from visiting me. It's the same way I block my Dad from feeling my thoughts. I guess I really should add that to my diary. I will tonight before bed.
"Hannah I thought you were coming down?" Mom brought me back from the past.
Running down the front main stairs, I announced my arrival. "I'm right here. Sorry, I got sidetracked on the landing." Enough said. I saw the comprehension in her eyes. My parents know that getting sidetracked is a daily occurrence for me.
"The Carver's are coming over for a second showing, so we need to leave for a bit. I'm going to the grocery store. Do you want to ride with me?" Mom asked.
Crap, I hate this. Mom and Dad found this house, after they got married, when Mom first got into real estate. The before pictures showed that it needed tons of work. They said that's how they got it so cheap. Mom always says to buy the worst house in the best neighborhood. Over the years they have fixed it up and it has more than doubled in value. The house is huge for just the three of us. My parents had planned on a large family, but mom had complications and wasn't able to have any more children after me.
"Will you drop me off at Phoebe's? I'll text her real quick and see if it's ok." That is if she's not doing something with Kayla.
"Just hurry." Mom said while giving me 'the look'. She doesn't really like me hanging around Phoebe because she thinks Phebs is too wild. Which is true, but that's what makes her so much fun. I almost made it out of sight when she called after me. "And make sure your room is clean!" Told ya so.
Running back up the stairs to my room I saw my black, leather covered diary lying on my bed. I needed to hide that and I knew just the spot. In the back on my closet, behind all the shoes and the unhung clothes, there is a loose baseboard. I used to put things in there when I was younger, like papers that I had wrote the name of whatever boy I liked all over it, to keep Jaycee from seeing it when she came over. Then last year when Jaycee and I thought trying a cigarette would be a good idea. After choking on one puff, we hid the pack in there. It stayed in the three months before I remembered to throw it out. And now that spot will be perfect for this, now for texting Phoebe.
-Hey can I come over while my mom goes to the grocery store?
It didn't take long for her to respond. -Of course and I can tell you about this guy, Dillon, I met at the mall. And he has a friend name Jake! Girl I'm so gonna hook you up! Shallow, girl gossip, guy talk, Phoebe time. Just what the doctor ordered.
After spending two hours with Phebs I felt better. I'm not even jealous of Jaycee's cruise anymore. Well, there is still a little twinge, but it's so small it's hardly worth mentioning. I even added to my diary all about Howard and about Dad's gift, and mine. Once I started writing I couldn't stop. I have tried so hard, for as long as I can remember, to keep the knowledge of my gift a secret. I’ve always been afraid of people finding out and treating me as an outcast. Writing it down was like getting it off my chest. So I went on to write about the small things my parents told me I did when I was younger. Like one day when I was four, I was coloring and out of the blue I stopped and looked up to tell my mom that Grandma was on her way to visit, then resumed coloring. Ten minutes later Grandma pulled into the driveway. Then there was the summer when I was three and I spent most of it on my swing set talking to a woman named Lily that only I could see. I told my parents that she had white hair now but it used to be long and red when she was younger. I would share with them all the stories Lily told me about her life on a farm and her love of horses. My parents never really thought that was my gift, because my dad says all children can see spirits when they're young. That the ability is lost when parents tell them it's just an imaginary friend, or when they just get too old to believe and get self-absorbed and jaded.
I even wrote of my grandma's death. Grandma, my dad's mom, died on my 13th birthday. I waited for weeks wondering if she would visit me. I think my dad was waiting on it too. He never said anything, I just felt the anticipation from him. But my grandma never did, which to me meant she had no unfinished business and she was ready to go be with Grandpa. A part of me wished I could have seen her one last time, but the other part was relieved because I wasn't sure how I would handle seeing her ghost. I don't think that's something I would have been able to get over. I ended my entry with writing about Samantha. I can't really figure her out. She has came to me while I've been awake and in my dreams. She doesn't remember much at all about her life, just the basics; her first name, she's 16 years old, and she was somehow separated from her family. She wants my help so she can move on, but she thinks the key to that is to remember her life and how she died. I really feel protective of her. I don't know if it's because she died so young or because she seems so fragile. Maybe it’s because I feel like that could be me and I would want someone to help.
Ok, I'm making myself depressed. Dad said the only way to make it through my teenage years with this gift is to have balance. So, I'm gonna follow his advice by doing what every ordinary 15 year old girl does, mini makeover! I walked into my zebra themed bathroom to look through my nail polishes. Not having to share a bathroom is just one of the perks of being an only child. Jaycee is always complaining about having to take a shower after her little brother, Brandon, does. To hear her tell it, there is a rotten egg stench that seeps out of pre-teen boys and lingers for hours. So, needless to say, most sleepovers are at my house. I found the nail polish. Pink, no. Purple, to dark. Orange, will look good with my tan, perfect. I needed to remove the old polish first, I hate that part, or maybe I can just paint over the old light pink color. I'm a genius. It's not like anyone is gonna be up close and personal with my toes to inspect them.
Just right outside my bathroom I heard the floor creaking.
"Mom, Dad?" No response. So I put the nail polish down to go investigate. I had to do the heel walk, so I wouldn't mess up the three toes I've already painted, into the hallway. No one was there. "Mmmmooooooommmm." I screamed over the railing, because yes I'm that lazy, instead of walking down the stairs.
"In the kitchen. What do you need?"
"Were you just up here?"
"No Hannah, I'm loading the dishwasher. Which is something you should be doing." She can turn any conversation into a guilt trip.
"What about Dad?"
"No, he’s in his office. Why?"
Well crap, it sounded just like someone walking down the hall. "Thought I heard you. Nevermind."
Back in the bathroom, I finished my toes while singing with the radio. I have an ipod but I always either misplace it or forget to charge it. Plus, turning on a radio is so much easier. I put on a face mask, then a coat of polish on my finger nails. While waiting for my nails to dry I examined my reflection in the mirror. Aside from the green goo on my face, I think I'm pretty, even though I would love to have Jaycee's blondish b
rown hair and blue eyes. Or Phoebe's Long straight black hair and piercing green, almond shaped eyes. And then, of course, there's Kayla with her sun bleached blonde hair with hazel eyes.
But even being stuck with just plain brown hair, and eyes that I think are too big, would be fine, except I hate my curly hair. It's so thick that I can only use a straightener on it when I know it's not going to rain or be humid, which, summer time in the South, is never. Mom says that when she was my age people paid good money to have their hair look like mine. It was called a spiral perm or something like that. Giving up on a new hairstyle, I opened my drawer to find a hair bow to clip my hair up, and I froze. I felt someone up here with me. And this time I knew it wasn’t my parents. This someone felt wrong. To the point I was feeling nauseous just from the waves of energy coming off of it. No wait, IT is a he. It’s a very strong male presence.
My legs began to shake and my ears were ringing so loud I couldn't even hear the music from the radio in my room anymore. I couldn't move. Hannah get ahold of yourself. This is your house, your stupid gift, you have to make it leave. I tried to block it but it wasn’t working because I can't focus. Wait, what if it isn't a spirit? What if it's a person hiding in my house to rob us.... or worse? My parents are downstairs! I have to go warn them. Ok, on the count of three, run. One, two, three! I started running out of the bathroom, but not as fast as I had planned because my legs still felt weak. It was like trying to run in a swimming pool. Once in the hall I made my way toward the stairs, which are down the hall to the left. Straight in front of me, at the end of the hall, is a spare bedroom. The bathroom light makes the room lit up just enough that I could see that something was moving near the bed. That stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't get my legs to move, as if the connection from my brain to my limbs had been turned off. But my lungs still worked. The scream that came out of my mouth was so loud it echoed throughout the entire house. In mere seconds my parents were up the stairs and at my side. I saw their approach only from my peripheral vision, because I couldn't take my eyes off of the large, black, thick, shadowy mass in the bedroom that was slowly fading away.