Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I depressed my thumb again, Chillax... I finally told her I want to hang out-CH

  What? You actually talked to Jade? This is the worst time in the world Caleb; and I hear she's a hater.- John Terran.

  Swiping my thumb, She doesn't 'hate', she's just quiet.-CH

  Are you going to tell her? About...-John Terran.

  No profanity-block! way Caleb, it's bad enough that Carson and Brett know, we can't have this Jade-complication!-MJ.

  I have a feeling about her. Just trust me and stop being ass-clowns about it.-CH

  The screen went dark for a moment:

  K, but she needs to see your skills, you feel me? Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I talked to the real ass-clowns, (must be Brett and Carson I thought...) it is them, do you have your thumb on the touch pad Caleb? I'm getting feed back.-MJ

  I jerked my thumb off. That was stupid, sometimes I forgot to lift.

  Okay, now I can see just myself, LMAO. They're idiots, I told them they're too chicken profanity-block! to try it. It worked shrugs. They'll meet us at the cemetery, same day and time.-MJ

  You gonna get the hairspray from your mom?-CH

  Aqua Net, my man. And yeah, she never uses every squirt. I scoped a can in the reprocesser, I'll snag it.-MJ

  Isn't she gonna notice? If she's like my mom, she's a total freak for the reprocessing credit on the garbage bill.-CH

  Nah, I'll offer to take the separator out for once and she'll be so happy I volunteered for a chore she won't care, LOL-MJ

  I think we're going to be sorry.-John Terran

  Cork it pal, don't be a fun-sucker.-MJ

  sighs, we gotta get to band. I'll bring your pick, you left it at my house.- John Terran.

  That was John, all-business and worrying.

  Thanks. K, talk to ya later Jonesy.-CH

  Later.-John Terran.

  See ya.-MJ

  I swept my thumb over the touch pad setting my pulse to hibernate.

  ****

  Band was a righteous seventh hour class, a subject I actually liked, alien concept. John's parents believed in music, they were zealots (old zealots, they were my grandpa's age). John could play everything but he really jammed at the piano. He could read music and play a piece he listened to only a few times. I struggled through learning the notes. Oh well, it was the only time during the school day that I could drown out the whispering.

  John and I jammed together on a new piece Mr. Pierce had given us. We were working out the kinks, the volume on the amp turned up three quarters to full volume making my teeth rattle in my head. John flashed me a grin. He was a pretty serious dude most of the time. I was lucky to have the Js, which made me think of Carson and Brett and the cemetery.

  John heard me hit a flat in my chord and winced. My concentration was sucking big time.

  We wrapped up the session, hanging our guitars on the rack with about fifteen others. I made a basket with my pick in the box marked Caleb S. Hart (swish).

  I followed John out of class. Fresh, late-afternoon spring air hit my lungs and I sucked it up. I could taste summer on my tongue and that meant Gramp's house at Lake Tapps. No school and screw off time with the Js.

  John and I walked in companionable silence for a few blocks. “Why start something with Jade, Caleb?”

  I took some time to answer John, he was way-different than Jonesy. He wouldn't press me for an answer.

  “You don't see that she's special?” I asked with a duh in my voice.

  “Well, she's good-looking but complicated. And that we don't need right now. And you heard about her family, right?” John asked.

  I stopped walking and looked at him. “Yeah, I know her dad's a psycho, so?”

  “Hey, don't get defensive on me. But you do like a project.”

  I was back to walking, with a scowl.

  “Jade's not a project.”

  He sighed. “It's more than that. She lives at her aunt's and she's not much better than the dad.” John said, as if by sheer force of logic I could control who I liked. Attraction doesn't work like that.

  “So how's that her fault?” I stopped again on the side of the road, hands hanging loose at my sides. Cars drove past, breaking the sweet smell of spring with their passing. I felt that pressure building in my head. Getting pissed seemed to make it harder to block out. And the odd road kill hanging around didn't help, I thought sourly.

  John saw my expression. “I shouldn't rant on Jade. I don't feel great about including her in this mess.”

  “Like I pulsed ya, I trust how I feel about Jade. And besides, you guys are stressing about my AFTD but have you thought about what you'll test-out for?”

  “I have thought about it,” John conceded.

  “Have you noticed something?”

  “No... there won't be anything for me. I'm already halfway through puberty and nothing. The tests will confirm that. Not everyone manifests.”

  I looked up at John, way up. He was a pretty tall dude for fourteen. He'd be fifteen soon, in September. His dad was taller, like NBA-tall. His hair stood about four inches away from his head like he had stuck his finger in a pulse socket, a fro-and-go (I smiled thinking of Jonesy's names). He let it riot, that was John. He was him all the time, the most real person I knew.

  “Hey dude, you don't want this,” pointing at myself.

  He grinned with a wistful expression “No way. But I'd have something cool like psychokinesis.”

  I rolled my eyes... whatever. “John, you know that's pretty rare.”

  “Yeah, but look at you? AFTD is the rarest.” He looked uncomfortable because we both knew it wasn't the ability to have. I bet Jeffrey Parker wished he didn't, all it got him was a one-way ticket as a government puppet.

  “True.” I turned and we walked again toward my house. More cars rushed past as we walked single file on the shoulder.

  Grinding metal pierced my ears and fingers lassoed my arm hauling me into the ditch, our butts landing in water which instantly leeched into our pants.

  A car that had been behind us was sliding on the street, careening sideways where a lone, black dog was standing in its path. It was obvious the driver had swerved to avoid the dog and almost clipped us on the side of the road.

  A surreal moment ensued, the car ramming into the dog and it sailing at least ten feet to land about two car lengths from where John and I sat in the ditch. We looked at the crumpled heap of the dog on the ground and in that moment time seemed to pause.

  The driver, an older balding guy, got out of his car, kinda dazed looking, and approached the dog. But not before he gave a nervous glance our way.

  “You kids okay?” Baldy asked, moving on before we could answer.

  Oh he gave a shit, right.

  “Yeah.” John mumbled anyway.

  I looked away, not saying anything because... because, the dog was sending things to me, images. It knew it was dying and was sending out some kind of distress signal, that only I heard, my body humming in response.

  I got to my feet without ever noticing I stood, as one compelled.

  John startled, then followed me. He wasn't one to ask stupid questions. We walked across the pebbled pavement, oily from last night's rain. As I drew closer, that unique pressure built in my head, straining for release.

  The dog lay before us, just a mutt. There was not a breath of life. Wait... yes there was.

  I knelt down and reached my hand out, John at my back, when Baldy said, “Don't touch it!”

  Without hesitation, I placed a gentle hand on its fur, and felt that small spark of life ignite. Unbidden, that part of me that heard the dead released and poured, no fell over the dog.

  I grasped that spark and thought... live. Warmth welled up under my hand like liquid heat and I watched the dog's ribs expand for a shaky inhale. Its eyes opened and it looked at me. In that moment I knew he was mine.

  Baldy stepped away from John and me, giving us a look that I never wanted to see on an adult's face, revulsion mixed with fear. I ha
dn't noticed before but now I saw a semi-circle of wary faces. What had they seen?

  I glanced at John who said in a low voice, “We're screwed.”

  Ya think? Just the kind of proof I was avoiding.

  The dog was sitting up but still looked injured. Its eyes followed me like I was all that mattered. My creepy new reality.

  Wonderful.

  A cop moved through the small crowd with a notebook in hand.

  “You boys there,” we looked up, his name tag read Garcia. “Step away from the dog.”

  We did, the dog dragging behind me with a limp.

  Garcia-the-cop approached the dog reaching his hand out, the dog growled low in the back of his throat, showing teeth. Garcia backed away, his eyes remaining on the dog, he brought out his pulse.

  After he depressed his touch pad he looked up again, “I've pulsed animal control. They'll be here soon.”

  My heart sped, I didn't like the dog being taken away.

  “Okay,” Garcia said. “Somebody start talking.”

  Baldy stepped up, wringing his plump hands, “I was driving along, doing the speed limit, when this dog just appeared out of nowhere,” he spread his hands wide to show how it was just one of those things. “And these two boys,” he gave us an accusing glance, (wasn't this turning out special), “were on the other side of the road and I had to avoid them.” He gave that last word special emphasis, as if us walking on the side of the road was a crime.

  Garcia opened his hand, “Identification, please?”

  Baldy gave us an unfriendly look and handed over his driver's license. I felt the pressure building and tried to rein it in. When I was upset it was way worse to manage.

  John looked down at me. “What's the matter?”

  “That guy's a turd. I wanna get out of here.”

  “Yeah he's a dick.” John gave a chuckle, “But we have to see this thing through and act like the dog thing wasn't talent, just coincidence. You got me?”

  I nodded, I got it alright. I didn't know if AFTD was talent, but it was annoying.

  Garcia and Baldy had their heads together, one a cue ball, the other an eight ball.

  Finally, the cop turned to John and me. “Mr. Smith here,” he motioned with his notepad to Baldy, “said that you did something to the dog?” He raised his eyebrows.

  How to answer without getting my butt in a sling?

  John spoke before I had a chance, “Caleb's a major animal lover,” he said.

  I kept the shock off my face. That wasn't exactly accurate, but...

  “That's not what Mr. Smith said: 'he was',” he looked down at his notepad for the exact quote, “...'sure the dog was dead.' Then you touched it and everything 'got funny' and the dog was suddenly alive again.”

  “Can you explain that?” he asked.

  Actually no.

  John looked down at me with an “I tried” expression. Lying sucked, let's see how creative I could be.

  “John's right.” Garcia turned to John, seemingly taking him in for the first time. “I couldn't seem to help myself, seeing it lying there,” I looked down at my shoes, hiding my expression, giving myself time to continue, “I don't know how it got better.”

  That was mainly the truth. Before today, I didn't know dying things could also “call” to me, image me. Everything, every being was unique: an insect was not a dog, a dog was NOT a human being. I held Garcia's stare and he seemed to decide something, “You boys live around here?”

  John answered, “Yeah, Caleb lives right there,” John pointed over the top of the rise, “and I live about half a mile from here.”

  Garcia held his pen poised over the notepad, “Names?”

  “Caleb Hart.”

  Garcia's head jerked up and he looked at me more closely, “The scientist's kid?”

  “Yeah,” I answered with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Now that's a cool relative to have,” he commented with a smile.

  “I guess.” Whatever, he was just my dad to me.

  “John Terran.” John said, effectively getting me off the hook of dealing with the awkward, your-parent-is-kinda-famous moment.

  “Okay, you kids get in the police car and I'll give you a ride home.”

  “What about the dog?” I asked. The dog looked up at me and whined softly. As if on cue, animal control arrived. A ginormous gal poured into an unflattering light tan uniform barreled through the crowd accompanied by a skinny partner. Two more opposite people you'd never see. The dog's posture immediately changed, he was alert.

  I was bothered by the dog's suffering so I reached out and several things happened at once, Garcia tried to pull me away, the huge animal control gal cleared her evil-looking baton from her utility belt and John pulled me back. I missed purchase on the dog as Garcia did on me. The dog eluded the baton with an attached noose, parking himself behind John and I.

  Garcia said to me directly, “I don't want any trouble and I already told you boys not to touch that dog.”

  “I thought I could help, he seems to like me,” I said.

  “Let animal control do their job, son,” Garcia said.

  Ignoring him, I put my hand on the dog thinking... sleep.

  “That's it!” Garcia said. He strode the two feet over to where John and I stood and took us each by the arm to his patrol car. I chanced a look behind me and saw the dog knocked out cold. Garcia was tallish, my feet skimmed the ground as he hauled me and John to the car where we were unceremoniously dumped inside.

  He pointed his finger at us. “Stay put.”

  We watched him walk away. He lingered with Baldy for a short time who nodded his head vigorously, casting dirty looks at us whenever Garcia turned away. Then he spoke with animal control who were collecting the dog. Skinny was the “collector,” and Humongous was “supervising” this process while standing importantly with Garcia.

  Garcia jogged back to the patrol car. John and I were surveying the inside of the patrol car and I deemed it pretty gross. I could see remnants of goop all over the back of the seat, floor and handles on the door. The black upholstery didn't hide it either. There were dried patches of “mystery fluid” in strategic locations. The contents of lunch began to rise in my stomach. John reacted similarly, hunching in on himself so less of him touched his surroundings.

  Good luck with that one.

  Garcia slid into the front seat and turned around to look at us. “I am required to take your statements with your parent or guardian present,” Garcia said, in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Sounded like he had said that a few times. My parents were gonna have a turtle when a police car pulled up in front of the house!

  Thoughts swirled in my head like: how did I stop that dog from dying? Why didn't I need blood to do it? Was that a coincidence at the cemetery? Or, because it was a person (before) and it was “fully dead,” I needed something extra? I didn't have those answers. As I put my head between my knees to quell the dizziness that threatened I knew tonight I'd read some more about paranormal abilities and Jeffrey Parker. It was time to get up close and personal with AFTD, I needed to rule it, not the other way around.

  CHAPTER 6

  Garcia surveyed my house briefly. “That's unique.”

  It was a ranch style with cream-colored arches across the facade, covered in stucco, really different for rainy Washington.

  We followed Garcia and Mom came through the door and under the open archway before we had a chance to get to it.

  Garcia seemed to “get it,” putting his hand out in an inoffensive way like, everything’s okay.

  “The kids aren't in any trouble Mrs. Hart.” Garcia began, but my mom cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Ali's fine.”

  “Okay... Ali,” he paused, “they witnessed a vehicular accident in which a dog was hit and I need to take down their statements with an adult present.”

  Mom's face looked relieved that some catastrophe (she was always ranting about my safety, which got to be annoying) had not befallen u
s. She stepped backwards, to let Garcia pass. While she waited for us to trudge through, I watched Garcia look around our house. It smelled like cookies and bread, those were good smells. John gave the air an experimental whiff too.

  The Appetite Beast was alive and well.

  Garcia sat down on the psychedelically colorful couch.

  “Do you care for anything to drink, Sergeant Garcia?” she asked, checking out Garcia's name tag.

  “Ah, sure, thanks.”

  Mom usually made cookies once a week. Jonesy liked to show up just as they came out of the oven.

  As if I had just conjured him up, he walked through the door.

  “Hey Caleb, what's with the cop car outside?” he asked loudly so there was zero chance to deflect it. The words landed like a bomb in the middle of the room, John cringed.

  Garcia turned to Jonesy. “Caleb witnessed an accident so I am taking his and John's statements.”

  “No kidding? Well, I'm going to stay for this!” Unfazed by the cop in our living room, he proceeded to ask mom what she'd made today.

  “Peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Yes!” Jonesy pumped his arm up and down. Garcia sorta looked down, smiling.

  For Jonesy, Garcia just happened to be in my house where Mom made cookies and there may be a cool story as a bonus. John just looked at me and shrugged, what do we do with him?

  Garcia took a long gulp of water, then turned to John and I, Mom perching on the armrest of the couch.

  “Okay Caleb, tell me what happened,” he glanced down at his notepad briefly, then looked up, “you heard a 'screeching,' then, you saw Mr....” he tapped the notepad, “Smith's 2023 champagne-colored Ford Grun strike a dog.” He looked at me, then John.

  “Is this accurate boys?”

  I was opening my mouth when Jonesy busted in with. “Did the dog die?”

  I gave an inward grown, my peripheral vision telling me John was trying to alert Jonesy to shut up. That never worked. Getting Garcia away from thinking about the strangeness of the dog was epic-fail with Jonesy bringing attention to it. I looked over at Jonesy happily stuffing cookies and slurping milk.