by Bette Maybee
Evernight Teen
www.evernightteen.com
Copyright© 2012 Bette Maybee
ISBN: 978-1-77130-225-8
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Marie Medina
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Exactly four years ago, my then thirteen-year-old daughter, Allison, uttered the words that would change the course of my life. “You should write a book.” The words were simple. Innocent. Inspired by a thirty-three-year-old love letter I decided to share with her after we had a poignant mother-daughter moment in the midst of reading the Twilight saga together. And so, I did. I started that day and I’ve been writing ever since.
Allison didn’t know what effect those words would have on our lives. Many nights my family would dine on take-out. The dishes would go undone. The clean laundry would wrinkle in the basket. My sons, Tim and John, were at college, so they didn’t experience this first-hand until they came home to visit and I would have to choose between writing and visiting with them. “Mom’s writing.” “Mom’s in the zone,” were words that would become the norm in our house. Now, two complete novels later, I’m finally able to thank them in the proper way.
PHOENIX: THE RISING is dedicated to you, my family. Thank you for your sacrifice, your understanding, and your encouragement. You are my inspiration.
PHOENIX: THE RISING
Bette Maybee
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One: First Kill
He was going to do it, and there was absolutely nothing she could do—nothing she could say—to stop him. He had no fear.
She tried one last time.
“Damn it, Clark! Get your ass down here!”
Clark smirked, raised his fist, and flipped her the bird.
“Screw you, Allison. I’m Superman!”
Then he jumped.
His short, red, pajama cape fluttered behind him as he flew from his perch on top of the refrigerator, then flipped over his head on the quick descent to the cool marble tiles below. Pain contorted the little monster’s face as he crumpled into a broken ball on the kitchen floor.
“Crap!” Allison peeled her legs loose from the tangle of appendages Clark’s brother, Clayton, had pretzeled around her and raced into the kitchen, sliding to a stop in front of the boy. She didn't know whether to strangle him or sweep him up in her arms. At least he was down.
“Ooo ... you are in so much trouble!” Clayton peered breathlessly over her shoulder as she examined the wailing boy’s ankle. “My parents are gonna kill you!”
The little shit was right. Allison knew she was in trouble. She had just maimed the high school principal’s son. She would never get another babysitting job in Palisades, and no babysitting jobs meant no car for her senior year. She was doomed. Time to kiss butt.
“I’m so sorry, Clark!” Allison tugged the freezer open. “Want a popsicle?” Cherry. He loves cherry! Grabbing the box, she rifled through the frozen treats looking for a hint of the coveted ruby color, knowing full well that Clayton had scarfed the last one down before dinner.
“Oh, Allison...”
Allison stopped her frantic search and turned. The eight-year old twins stood side-by-side, dead-ringers for the towheaded terrors from The Village of the Damned. Allison shuddered, half-expecting their eyes to start glowing. Instead, Clark’s face twisted into a maniacal leer.
“You are such an idiot!”
The two brothers bolted from the kitchen before Allison even realized that Clark had been faking it. As she rounded the corner to the family room, the boys were already using their mother’s prized Natuzzi roll-arm sofa as a trampoline.
“Hey, Allison, we got somethin’ special to show you.” Clayton, the thicker of the two, cupped his hand to his brother’s ear and whispered. Clark nodded. “On three. One, two, three!”
Clark whooped as he flipped her the bird again, and Clayton one-upped his brother when he bent over and pulled the back of his Ninja Turtle pajama bottoms down, mooning Allison with his pudgy, white, eight-year-old butt. He waggled it at her while Clark decided to use both hands to flip her a succession of double-birds.
“Thanks, guys! I can’t wait to show this to your parents.”
Both boys stood motionless on the couch, their jaws hanging slack as they stared at the cell phone in Allison’s hand.
“I’m sure they’d love to see how you behave when they’re gone.”
Allison stuffed the incriminating evidence in her pocket, smiled, and perched herself on Mrs. Paulson’s favorite wingback. She grabbed a People magazine and thumbed through it as she hummed to herself, silently gloating that she beat the two little shits at their own game. The boys looked at each other, then hopped off the sofa and approached Allison.
“We’re sorry, Allison. We’ll be good.” Tears welled up in Clark’s milky blue eyes.
“Please don’t tell. We’ll even go to bed early. Just don’t tell them!” Clayton sniffled, wiping his runny nose on the back of his already snot-smeared hand. Real tears flowed down his reddened cheeks.
Allison fought back the urge to laugh. Blackmail was such an awesome motivator! “Okay. I won’t tell them. But you two are going to bed now, and when I check on you in fifteen minutes, you better be asleep.” Without a word, the boys turned and headed upstairs. Clark stopped at the top.
“I really am sorry, Allison.”
Allison’s heart melted ... just a bit.
“I know you are, Clark. Now go to bed.”
****
Allison was just beginning to nod off when she heard two car doors slam. She swung her feet off the Natuzzi and scanned the room. TV—off. Cushions—straight. Dirty glasses—in the dishwasher. Just as the front door opened, she yanked her almost-forgotten ear buds out, cutting off Katy Perry in mid-chorus, and stuffed both the buds and her iPod in the pocket of her running shorts. Allison pasted on a smile as first Mrs. Paulsen—and then Mr. Paulsen—entered the room.
Mrs. Paulsen, a slightly overweight, frump of a woman who looked closer to fifty than her actual age of thirty-four, smiled sweetly with her too-red lips and cocked her head to the side as she patted Allison’s arm.
“How’d things go tonight, dear? Did the boys give you any trouble?”
Allison raised her eyebrows and lied through her newly braceless teeth. “It went really well. The boys had a good time.”
Mr. Paulsen pulled out a money clip and sauntered over to Allison as his wife went upstairs to check on the boys. He was obviously on the far side of forty, but tried to dress the part of a younger man in low-riders and a striped tee pulled dangerously thin across his bulging mid-section.
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?” Mr. Paulsen handed her a twenty-dollar bill, warm and limp from the ride in his front pocket. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my favorite babysitter.” Paulsen’s eyes shifted from Allison’s face down to her chest, where they stayed for several uncomfortable seconds before moving back up.
Allison felt the hot rush of blood to her face as she folded the bill and stuck it in her pocket. She wiped her hands down the front of her shorts. It didn't help. “No thanks, Mr. P. I’m training for cross country. Besides, my parents are fine with it.”
Paulsen thought for a moment then traced his tongue between t
he seam of his lips. “All right, but if you change your mind, just call. I can be there in a flash.” Forcing a smile, she pulled open the front door and sprinted away, trying to gain as much distance in the shortest amount of time possible between herself and the ogling pervert.
Allison fell into her pace, running parallel with the broken yellow line down the middle of the road that led to her father’s small sheep ranch located just two miles outside of Palisades. Cars rarely frequented this lonely stretch of road, so it was quite a surprise when she saw the dim glare of headlights headed her way.
The car, which was coming at a good clip towards her, slowed as the headlights illuminated Allison’s moving form. Her heart skipped a few uncertain beats, and she instinctively moved to the side of the road. A rush of adrenalin kicked in and her pace quickened. As the car passed, a hand shot out the driver’s side window and waved.
“Hey, Chica!”
Allison breathed a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she waved back. She recognized the voice as one belonging to a Paiute boy from her History class, but she couldn’t recall his name.
Allison returned to the middle of the road and settled into her pace once again. She removed a band from her wrist, gathered her curly auburn hair and secured it into a high ponytail, never breaking stride. About a half mile up the road, she saw the lights of her house and decided to sprint. As she kicked it in gear, the roar of a racing engine came up behind her. She turned to see headlights bearing down on her. Too late.
The crack of bone and snap of ligaments registered in Allison’s brain at the same time her face slammed onto the hood of the car. It was at that moment she realized she had been hit, and she wondered why it didn’t hurt. A microsecond later, she was airborne, catapulting off the hood when the driver hit the brakes.
I’m Superman! Clark’s words echoed in her head as she flew through the air. She could see her legs extending outwards, following her in flight, but they didn’t look right. The knees were bent the wrong way. Backwards. Backwards was not good. She couldn’t run with them backwards.
She heard another crack as she landed. The blacktop seemed to mold itself around the back of her head, cradling it like a stinky, black, memory foam pillow. Allison felt no pain, only a muddy sluggishness that seemed to be clouding her senses. She was, unfortunately, still lucid enough to taste the metallic tang of blood as it pooled in the back of her throat, choking her. Still lucid enough to come to the horrible realization that she couldn’t turn her head to spit it out ... or cough ... or feel her body. As she struggled for one last breath, someone spoke.
“See, I told you she had green eyes.”
Chapter Two
Julie Mason threw her book bag into the backseat of her best friend’s Honda then plopped into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. Digging around in an overstuffed canvas bag, she produced a cigarette and a small blue lighter. She flicked it once, lit the cigarette, and tossed the lighter back into her bag. Taking a deep drag, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d had a shitty day and now had an ominous feeling that it was about to get shittier.
“Holy crap, Jules! Did you hear about that girl over in Palisades?” Charsey Winters slid into the driver’s seat, grabbed the cigarette out of Julie’s hand and took a quick drag. Julie opened one eye, glared at her, and snatched the cigarette back.
“Smoking’s bad for you, Charse.”
Charsey pulled down the visor and took a look at her reflection. She wet the tip of her finger on her tongue and wiped away a stray smudge of eyeliner. “Well, did you?”
Julie took another drag, then flicked the cigarette out into the parking lot and watched as it rolled across the neighboring parking space. It lodged itself against the front tire of a motorcycle. “Did I what?”
“Hear about that girl over in Palisades,” Charsey flipped the visor back up, “the one that went missing Saturday night?”
“Yeah, I heard they found her body.” She slid a bit lower in her seat as a young man sitting on the motorcycle looked over at her and dismounted. He bent down, picked up the still-smoking cigarette, and turned towards her with a slight smile tipping the corner of his perfectly shaped lips. A shock of raven hair hung down, brushing the outside of one eye—one sapphire blue eye—the bluest Julie Mason had ever seen.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Charsey continued.
Julie swallowed a lump in her throat and sat up quickly. “Weird?” Her heart began to race as the young stranger approached her side of the car and held up the cigarette.
“Yeah, I guess they found—” Charsey stopped mid-sentence when she saw the young man by Julie’s window, raised an eyebrow, and smiled.
“I believe you dropped this.” A tanned, muscular hand presented Julie with the stray cigarette. Julie took the cigarette out of his fingers with her own trembling ones. “You really shouldn’t smoke, you know,” he continued, “it could kill you.” Julie was speechless.
Charsey’s voice, however, had not abandoned her. “Thanks. I’ve been telling her that for weeks.” Charsey smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Are you new to White Mountain?”
The young man leaned over and looked in the window.
“I just signed up for classes. I’ll be starting tomorrow. He reached across Julie to shake Charsey’s hand. “I’m Eli Sullivan.”
“Charsey Winters.” Julie shot Charsey an unmistakable ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look. “And this is Jules, I mean, Julie Mason. She’s new here, too—and catatonic, obviously.”
Eli stifled a laugh as he stood back up.
“Well, nice to meet you, Julie Mason.”
He made a move to shake her hand, but Julie just sat there. Her mind seemed to go blank as she stared at him. Damn it! Why was she reacting this way? He pulled his hand back as the telltale heat of embarrassment climbed up her neck.
“If I were you, I’d close that mouth of yours before a fly decides to take up residence.”
Julie snapped her mouth shut then flicked the cigarette at Eli’s feet. He placed the toe of his boot over the cigarette, gave it a grind and snuffed it into oblivion, then took a couple of steps back from the car as Charsey put it in gear.
“Eli Sullivan is hot!” Charsey gushed as she drove away. “I got dibs!”
Julie still felt the burn of embarrassment on her face. “Whatever, Charse. He’s a jerk. Now, what were you saying about that girl?” She looked over at Charsey, who was smiling and glancing in her rear view mirror.
“What girl?” Charsey asked, obviously lost in thought.
“The girl they found over in Palisades.” Julie sighed. Charsey had a one-track mind and right now it was on the Eli Sullivan Express. “You said something about it being weird. What did you mean?”
Charsey seemed to regain her senses and glanced over to Julie. “Weird, yeah. You didn’t hear?”
Julie took a deep breath trying to calm her voice before speaking. “Charse, I wouldn’t be asking if I had, now would I? Now could you just please answer the damned question?”
Charsey crinkled her brow. “You don’t have to get all snippy, Jules.”
Julie bit her lip and looked out the window. She felt bad for taking out the day’s frustrations on her ditzy friend. It wasn’t Charsey’s fault that she ended up with a detention for being late to AP Biology three days in a row. It also wasn’t Charsey’s fault that she froze up in front of Eli Sullivan today, completely and utterly embarrassing herself. She just was not having a good day.
Charsey sighed. “Well, I heard that they found her body along the road to her house this morning.”
Julie continued staring out the window. “I told you I already knew that. What’s so weird about it?”
“Jeez, Jules, don’t you ever listen to the news?” Charsey stuck a piece of gum in her mouth and began chomping. “A search party had been up and down that road a zillion times since Saturday night. They didn’t find a thing, except for a splotch of blood on the road. Then, this morning, they find her
body. It was in plain sight, just lying in the ditch. Somebody obviously dumped it there.” She blew a bubble then cracked it between her teeth. “I heard her neck was broken.”
Julie closed her eyes briefly and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Was anything else done to her?”
Charsey shrugged. “Somebody said she was naked, but I wouldn’t want to spread any rumors.”
Right. Next to lengthening her list of male conquests, spreading rumors was Charsey’s favorite pastime!
Julie didn’t have it in her to carry on this conversation, but it wasn’t just because of Charsey’s naïve insensitivity. She’d heard enough. The topic of death was something she’d tried hard not to think about for the past few years, so she was relieved when Charsey popped in her earbuds. The moment Charsey’s head started bobbing in time to the music, Julie knew she’d have at least a few minutes of peace as her friend entered her own little musical world. Julie closed her eyes, leaned her head against the window, and tried to erase the picture of the dead, bloodied girl their conversation had conjured...
“Hey!”
Julie’s eyes shot open. She turned to see Charsey staring at her with a big-ass grin spread across her face. Julie couldn’t help but smile. Charsey might be dippy at times, but Julie could always count on her to pull her out of her doldrums. Just what a good friend was supposed to do.
“Hey what?”
Charsey bit her lower lip and started bobbing her head up and down again. “I got a feeling...”
Oh, no! Julie’s eyes widened as she turned the next line into a question. “That tonight’s gonna be a good night?”
A half-smirk tilted one corner of Charsey’s mouth as she nodded. “That tonight’s gonna be a good night.” She yanked the buds out of her iPod and The Black Eyed Peas ‘I Got a Feeling’ blasted into the car as the two girls sang the next line in unison, “That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night...” After that, there was no holding them back. If there was one thing they had in common, it was their mutual, ridiculous obsession with The Black Eyed Peas.