Unhinged

by Shelley R. Pickens

  Unhinged

  The Haunting of Secrets #2

  by Shelley R. Pickens

  Published by

  Fire and Ice

  A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.fireandiceya.com

  Unhinged, Copyright 2015 Shelley R. Pickens

  ISBN: 978-1-68046-098-8

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Caroline Andrus

  To my pumpkin and monkey: Never be afraid of the tornadoes you encounter in life. It’s the only way you can learn how to fly.

  UNHINGED

  by Shelley R. Pickens

  Being normal isn't always a good thing, especially if it ends up killing you.

  Aimee, the sixteen year old girl who can see your every memory with just one touch, is fresh out of the torture room after risking everything to capture a killer. Despite her instinct to avoid contact with others, she tries her best to find a new normal at school—perhaps even a boyfriend. But for those who are cursed, happiness and normality aren’t easy to obtain. A bizarre illness spreads like wildfire through the school and causes those around Aimee to lose their sanity before falling into a coma. Slowly, all the people she loves succumb to this strange disease.

  Alone and terrified, she must use her curse to find a way to save her family and friends. As she delves deeper and deeper into their memories, she realizes David, a delusional person from her childhood, is the bigger threat that could destroy her. Despite the danger that surrounds her, she struggles to solve the puzzle before it’s too late to help those she cares for the most.

  But as David moves closer to eliminating her, one puzzle still remains. Will she be able to save herself?

  Table of Contents

  "Unhinged"

  Preface

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  Previews

  “I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.”

  - Edgar Allan Poe

  Preface

  ~ The End is Only the Beginning ~

  He drew me here, to this house in the middle of nowhere, to die by his hand. I’ve never liked guns, but they sure do seem to like me. In fact, I’m staring down the barrel of one right now. The clarity of mind you have, knowing that death is coming for you any second, is astonishing. There are so many things I would have done differently, yet so many memories I wouldn’t trade for the world. Funny hearing myself say that. For me, memories have never been something to cherish. They were always something to fear. I have absorbed so many memories in the short sixteen years of my life that it is hard for me to figure out which ones are real and which ones are borrowed. Needless to say, few of them are good.

  Knowing what I know of the people in this world, I should welcome death.

  But I don’t.

  I have a reason to live now—Logan.

  He is the reason I haven’t gone insane; the reason that I came here tonight to willingly give up my life. This insane asshole pointing his gun at me says that it’s my fate to die by his hand. That’s the funny thing about fate; people think it’s written in stone. They believe the age-old adage that you must ‘accept’ your fate; but that just isn’t true. It’s simply a way for people to accept the things they can’t change. If something good happens, then “fate lends you a hand.” If something awful occurs, then “fate is cruel.”

  Yet either way, the fates I believe in aren’t left to chance. I believe you make your own fate; that life is fluid, ever changing and what you make of it is completely up to you.

  So tonight, if I have to die to save the ones I love, then that is what I choose—no one else. But who says I have to go down easy? If I go down, so does he. Tonight, I will look fate straight in the eye and tell her to go to hell.

  Chapter One

  ~ Evil Rising ~

  David grabs his head with his hands, the pain so intense that he sees silver flashes before his eyes. He falls onto his bed and allows only one groan to escape before shoving his shirt into his mouth. He settles in for the inevitable gut wrenching pain he’s about to experience. The plan he formed a few short months ago, when the bomb he planted to kill Aimee backfired, is now in full action. But, the price he is paying for his brilliance is steeper than he ever anticipated. The feeling of knives piercing his brain continues as he tries to focus. Though the pain feels like someone is jamming a pickaxe in and out of his brain, David gets through it by remembering what’s at stake: Aimee’s death and his ascension. This unanticipated side effect will be worth it if he’s successful. The end will totally justify the means.

  To bare the pain, David imagines Aimee’s face before him, covered in blood, frozen in a state of agonizing torment. Her hand will be reaching out for help and David will simply smile at her, for none will come.

  After what seems like an eternity, the pain slowly ebbs. David removes the shirt he had stuffed into his mouth and inhales deeply, grateful to be able to breathe again. He gets up and makes his way to the small kitchen. He can afford better than the poor excuse for an apartment he's currently renting, but everything he does is meticulous and serves a higher purpose. Keeping a low profile is essential to his plan. No one can know his true identity until his ascension has been achieved. Then, and only then, will the world know his name. And with that knowledge will come the power and reverence he deserves. He will be both loved and feared.

  David takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water at the small sink. He looks down and sees the water from the glass spill over onto his hands. They are shaking violently. Rage like he’s never known wells up inside him. None of this would be necessary if that bitch had died as she should have. If he had absorbed her power as he had planned, his brain wouldn’t be deteriorating, unable to handle the onslaught of new and old memories.

  Like an echo from afar, he hears glass shattering. Bewildered, he looks down and sees the water glass, broken into pieces in the sink. The water now runs red with his blood. He no longer feels pain. All he feels is rage. That is all he needs to win this game, and win he will; for the prize is worth more than any pain this world could throw at him.

  Aimee has no idea he exists, no clue that he’s coming for her. And better yet, she won’t realize the danger she’s in until it is too late. By then, her fate will be sealed. And all that she has will be his.

  Chapter Two

  ~ The New Normal ~

  “Stop being such a chicken, De
jana, and just take my hand,” I chide my best friend, as her perfectly manicured hand hovers inches above mine. “It doesn’t hurt. And you were the one that talked me into touching you, so just do it already,” I say, impatient to get this little experiment over with already.

  “Go easy on her, babe,” says Logan from the seat next to me at the cafeteria table. “It isn’t like petting a puppy. You’re going to absorb all of her memories. Not to mention, every secret she ever had. No matter how good a friend you are, that is unnerving. Give her a break.”

  I look at my boyfriend. For the thousandth time since we started dating two months ago, I ask myself how I could be so lucky. Logan, the boy who brought me back from the dead, is staring at me with those hazel eyes that always seem to sparkle. I could drown in those eyes for days. Three months ago, he and I were trapped in an underground hell and tortured by a killer with an affinity for knives, bloodshed, and murdering young girls. The killer stabbed me and I died.

  I welcomed death then. A testament to the horrid life I led, due to the memories I absorbed from some not-so-nice people. It was Logan who brought me back to life. Logan that helped me see that life was worth living. And for some unfathomable reason, he chose me for a girlfriend. No one said life had to make any sense. In fact, most days it confuses the hell out of me.

  Still absorbed within my memories, I tear my eyes away from Logan and look around the newly renovated cafeteria at our school. Since the old one was bombed five months ago, they have since re-constructed this new cafeteria on the other end of the school. The old site was converted to a memorial for the thirty-seven victims who died there.

  If you had told me three months ago that I would be sitting here, in this new cafeteria, talking to a boy—a boy without even the word friend added—I would have laughed and told you that you were out of your mind. Yet, here I sit, with two of the most important people in my life, and I’m content. I never thought that was possible for me, but here I am, living it. And I honestly never want it to end. But cursed people don’t get happy endings. Sadly, the cursed never live long enough to see them.

  From the seat across from me, Dejana’s sharp remark brings me out of my daydreams.

  “Okay Aim, I’m ready now for sure,” she says as her perfectly polished hand shakes fiercely.

  I look up from our almost touching hands and see the one thing I never want to see on my only friend’s face: fear.

  “You really don’t have to do this you know. I know you're curious about how my curse works, but you don’t have to experience it to understand it. I can tell you all about how I absorb memories if you’d like. You can paint one of the happier memories for me. It would help me separate the good from all the bad that I witness,” I suggest.

  Reprieved, Dejana looks up at me; her eyes no longer clouded with fear. Yet her brown eyes staring back at me mask something else entirely: disappointment? Or perhaps relief?

  Dejana opens her mouth to say something, but a loud scream from the other end of the cafeteria interrupts her. We both stand up a bit too quickly, knocking our chairs to floor. We are all still on edge from the bombing. The slightest scream sends us both into a panic. I turn to reach for Logan, but as it turns out, there wasn’t a need. His hand is already reaching for mine. I quickly move to put my glove back on, since I removed it for Dejana’s little experiment, but Logan grabs my hand before I'm able to.

  After a lifetime of not being able to touch anyone, it goes against everything I am to have any part of my skin exposed. But for Logan, I would do anything. He told me once after we kissed, that the jolt of electricity that accompanies my touch is addicting.

  Great, now I am a drug.

  Another scream diverts my attention back to what is happening in the cafeteria.

  “What do you think is going on?” I ask Logan, fear coursing through my veins. You hear all sorts of sounds in the cafeteria of a big school like Mountain Creek High. Even a squeal or two while flirting. But this scream was different. This scream was born out of terror.

  I involuntarily rub the scar on my abdomen. The mark is what remains of my knife wound. It serves as a constant reminder of the hell I went through to get back to life—back to a reality where I actually want to live. Logan peels himself from my side and moves to climb up onto the table to better see around the mob that’s forming. Once on top of the table, he holds out his hand so he can pull me up onto the table beside him. I don’t hesitate at all before I take it with my ungloved hand.

  Instantly, I feel the familiar jolt of electricity, but this time it’s stronger. It sends a huge jolt down my spine, sending tingles throughout my body.

  Wow, that’s new.

  I usually love to feel Logan’s touch; love to lose myself in the pure pleasure I feel when his skin touches mine. But I am too distracted right now to appreciate it.

  Using Logan as my anchor, I lean up onto my tip toes and take in the scene before me. Nothing could have prepared me for what I see next.

  A tall and lanky boy is standing dead center of a large circle of students. Some are daring to get nearer, while others are clearly trying to move away. The boy has a crazed look in his eyes, and his dark hair is standing on end. His white shirt is ripped in long slits down the front and it’s stained with blood. The rips must have come from the knife in his hand. He is wielding like a sword, striking out at anyone who comes near him.

  “Don’t touch me!” he yells at the top of his lungs. “I won’t let you near me with those machines again. No more damn electric shocks!” he yells in spurts. “I told you a hundred times that I don’t know anything! You can put those damn electrodes on my head and push the button over and over again but I don’t know where it is! So go away and leave me the hell alone!”

  The insane boy runs his hands through his disheveled hair, pulling some of it out by the roots. He pounds his fist against his head and mutters in a soft voice only he could possibly hear. It looks like he’s arguing with himself. Fleetingly, I wonder who would win—the sane one or the crazy one. From here, it looks like the sane side is losing the argument, and badly.

  Blood is trickling down his black basketball shorts causing droplets to spray out all around him as he walks back and forth within the circle. I count three teachers and two administrators on the outskirts of the circle. They try talking to him as they calculate the best way to approach the boy armed with a four-inch blade. As a general (and obvious) rule, knives are not allowed in school. From this distance, it looks like a common cutting knife, which could be easily smuggled into school in a lunch box.

  Mr. Hardigree, the physics teacher, slowly separates himself from the mob and enters the circle. For the moment, the boy is too busy arguing with himself to notice. Hardigree slowly positions himself to subdue the boy from behind, being very careful not to enter his line of sight. From the other side of the circle, a safer distance away, a student that apparently craves bloodshed begins to chant: “Stab, stab, stab,” at the top of his lungs, heckling the poor guy. As if on cue, some other unruly students join in the chant.

  The crazed boy looks up in obvious confusion, laced with a heavy dose of agitation. He turns his head toward the jeering students’ side of the circle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hardigree approaching him from behind. He faces the middle-aged man and lets out a feral snarl. I watch in horror as he lunges at the science teacher, knife grasped firmly in hand like a spear. A loud gasp fills the cafeteria as we watch the events unfold.

  Hardigree tries to back away, but he’s not fast enough. The younger, more agile boy lunges for him, yelling, “Not again!” and plunges the knife into the teacher’s gut. Blood spurts out, spackling the Pizza Line sign behind the teacher. Still more blood launches in spurts in various directions, hitting the other students unfortunate enough to be near the altercation. The two assistant principals and the other teacher lunge at the boy simultaneously and tackle him to the ground.

  Stunned and bewildered, the boy goes down without a fight. He drops
the knife now stained dark crimson. Clarity seems to return a bit as he looks in horror at what he has done.

  “Mr. H?” he says in a voice dripping with bewilderment and turmoil. “Mr. H, what happened to you?” he repeats, his voice a scream, seemingly aware of the horrific act that was committed, yet unable to comprehend that he was actually the perpetrator. Looking down at himself, the boy grows more panicked by the moment.

  “Why am I covered in blood?” he asks no one in particular, his voice rising in pitch with every word. “Let me go!” he screams to the adults holding him down. “You need to help Mr. Hardigree! Why are you doing this to me?” he finishes, still completely unaware that the reason for all of this blood is because he went nuts.

  All around the cafeteria students are scrambling, some to get closer to the actions, others to flee from the bloodshed. Logan, Dejana, and I stand like statues on top of the table, unable to move from pure shock. We’re horrified that blood is once again being spilled in the cafeteria of our school. The teachers are too concerned with getting the boy out of the school and securing the cafeteria; no one cares about a few kids standing on top of a table, far away from the scene of the crime.

  It doesn't take long for the ambulance and police to arrive. They take care of Mr. Hardigree first, as expected, before hauling the boy covered in blood out of the cafeteria and into the police car. He's still rambling and muttering to himself in between bouts of clarity. The sane side of him appears and disappears like a switch flipping off and on. Maybe he has mental problems we didn’t know about. Either way, I could go years without seeing anything else like it again.