Brush with Death by E.J. Stevens
A little voice in my head whispered hauntingly, but managed to be heard over the incessant roaring. Don’t pass out now, girl. If you do, the J-team will get you. Oh yeah, those thoughts were so not helping.
I shook my head, took a step closer to the door—and froze.
I knew that I should get a grip. It was just a small, messy storage room filled with the typical boxes of school supplies—no sweaty jocks or insane J-team. Not today. But the boxes of chalk and toilet paper still loomed like specters, silent witnesses to my humiliation and fear.
Did that room hold some echo of past events? One thing I’ve learned from my experience with the paranormal—anything is possible. If spirits of the dead can leave behind smell impressions, then why not a feeling of terror in a place where I had experienced such intense emotion?
At first, when I was abducted I had been scared, but then I got angry. Trapped and tormented by narrow-minded jerks had made me so mad, I thought my blood was boiling. The cold, emptiness…the utter terror? That came later.
Now I stood as if frozen in carbonite. Unable to run, blink, or scream. Han Solo, eat your heart out.
My body was as traitorous as Lando Calrissian.
Unlike carbonite freezing, my condition didn’t cause temporary blindness. I wish that it did. I was forced to stare wide-eyed at the door that led to my darkest, most frightening nightmares. As with any bowel-churning nightmare, mine happened to feature evil jocks.
The room had been filled with members of the football team, but they were lead by the J-team. Those two were the ghouls who haunted my existence, but one of them was pure evil. Jared Zempter’s threatening pose and obvious willingness to carry out any order from Jay had been terrifying enough. But the specter who tormented my dreams, and that my mind warned still lurked behind the supply closet door, was Jay Freeman.
Jay’s eyes had gleamed with sadistic pleasure as meaty-hands Eddy held me down. Jay had wanted more than just answers. He had wanted to play with me, like a cat plays with a mouse. The look he had given me made my stomach churn and my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be the defenseless mouse.
Jay’s words from that day rang in my ears. “Yeah, freak, that’s why we’re here,” he said. “Well, that and a little fun after.” It was the “fun after” that had worried me then, and terrified me now. What if he came along and decided to finish what he had started?
No, I was not letting that creep ruin my life. Not anymore. I had sworn that day not to give up, and not to show fear. I wouldn’t give the J-team the satisfaction while being held captive by the entire football team, so why start now?
A flash of heat loosed my frozen muscles and unclenched my jaw as anger burned through me. I swallowed the growing lump in my throat, blinked away tears, and bolted past the supply closet.
Nobody knew just how afraid I still was. I worked hard to smile and pretend that I was fine. But I’m far from okay. No, I’m light-years from that place. Maybe someday I’ll make it there, but for now, I’m flailing around in limbo.
How did everything get so out of control?
I need to talk to Cal. I have been keeping the worst of my feelings from that day hidden, but that obviously wasn’t helping anyone. Maybe talking things out will help me banish my demons, before they swallow me whole.
Chapter 9
Emma
Yuki was so wrapped up in her own mind that she didn’t see me standing there. Leaning against the painted concrete wall, I watched as Yuki froze in fear and then bolted past the supply room door like it was a yawning grave trying to suck her in.
She was getting worse.
I first noticed Yuki’s weird behavior two weeks ago. I had completed all of my English assignments, so my teacher gave me permission to work on the school newspaper during that period. Walking to the media room brought me past the supply closet and Yuki’s daily drama.
I had no idea she’d been suffering so badly since her kidnapping. In hindsight, I was mad at myself for not recognizing the symptoms. Yuki was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress. I’m still angry at her for abandoning our friendship, and treating Simon like garbage, but now her personality change made more sense. So what the heck do I do about it?
After the second time I caught her freaking out in the school hallway, I’d gone to the library. The books and periodicals didn’t let me down. I almost wish they had.
I can still see the bold typed letters on the page of Neuroscience, as if the sentences burned themselves into my brain with an exceptionally wordy cattle-brand. I’ve petitioned and marched against the barbaric practice of branding livestock, but I felt, in the case of this metaphorical brain-brand, that I deserved the constant reminder.
According to my research, PTSD symptoms are grouped into three categories; re-experiencing symptoms, avoidance symptoms, and hyperarousal symptoms. Re-experiencing symptoms include flashbacks, bad dreams, and frightening thoughts. Avoidance symptoms can include staying away from places, people, or items that are reminders of the traumatic experience, feeling strong guilt, depression, or worry, feeling emotionally numb, losing interest in activities that were enjoyable before the trauma, feeling like you have no future, and having trouble remembering the event. Hyperarousal symptoms include feeling tense, being easily startled, having difficulty sleeping, and having angry outbursts.
After my trip to the library, I watched my former best friend more closely. Since we weren’t talking to each other, I couldn’t ask Yuki how she was doing. I would just have to observe. I decided to keep tailing Yuki during fourth period to see if she continued freaking out.
I secretly hoped that my suspicions were wrong and that Yuki would show the old confidence I’d come to expect from her. No such luck. Yuki exhibited all of the documented PTSD symptoms. I felt like such a jerk.
Yuki definitely had a problem. And as much as I didn’t want to come face-to-face with Calvin right now, I knew what I had to do.
It was time for an intervention.
Chapter 10
Yuki
Garrett Hamlin paced at the front of the classroom, his heavy combat boots and wallet chain thumping and jingling with each lanky step. His tight black jeans and winged-skull t-shirt matched the eyeliner that rimmed sullen eyes. I used to think Garrett was totally hot, until I fell for Calvin.
Garrett wasn’t hard to look at, but it turned out he was kind of a tool. According to the rumor mill, he had a paranoid streak and was prone to jealous outbursts. A few weeks ago, he accused his girlfriend of cheating on him…in red sharpie, all over her locker. So glad I dodged that bullet.
He continued his restless pacing, black nailed fingers flying to the ceiling as he punctuated his words. Garrett wasn’t happy.
Our final project for art class was to complete a piece of art and present it to the class. Part of the presentation included a question and answer session. Garrett’s sculpture wasn’t bad per se, if you’re into modern art, but he wouldn’t tell anyone what it was. Either it was a last minute, night before creation that really didn’t represent anything, or he was too paranoid to share with the class. If he didn’t answer the question soon, he was going to get an F. Dude should just make something up.
I sighed and looked around the room. Most of the other students were texting or whispering to their friends. There were only a few students left with presentations to give. Everyone else just had to attend class. Unfortunately, I was one of the students who still had to give my presentation…and I hadn’t even started work on my painting.
Every day after school, I planned on scoping out the perfect spot to paint. I had good intentions—even placed my easel and backpack filled with paints and brushes on the bench beside my front door. All that accomplished was making my dad complain about how there was nowhere to put on his shoes.
Today, I swear, I’ll work on it today. I do not want to flail at the front of the class like Garrett was doing. It was embarrassing.
My pocket vibrated once. Curious, I slid my phone
Love you.
Luv u 2.
I really did have the best boyfriend ever. Too bad I was the worst girlfriend. Graduation was in two weeks and I still didn’t have a present for Cal. Procrastinate much? I know it was turning into a running theme for my life. I just had no idea where to begin shopping. Something told me that Cal wouldn’t like a store bought gift anyway. And working as a ghost guide to the ever-after doesn’t pay so well, anyway.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and scanned the room again. This time, I noticed the artwork displayed along the walls and on a row of standing shelves. A nature landscape painting caught my eye.
Oh em gees. I totally knew what Cal’s graduation gift was going to be.
Cal would love it if I made something for him with my own hands. A painting of the outdoors he loved would be the perfect gift. And I already had to create a piece of art for class. Two birds, one stone.
My dad was also going to be happy. He’d be getting his bench back.
This idea rocked.
Chapter 11
Simon
A light breeze carried the scent of stress, relief, and hormones across the parking lot. Students streamed out of the school building, yelling and cavorting in all directions, but I kept my focus on the front door, waiting for Emma.
More students appeared, girls whistling as guys tore off shirts in the summer heat. Tires squealed and stereos blared, making my wolf restless, but still I waited.
Finally, Emma stepped out into the sun—a pale goddess amidst a crowd of savages. A low growl ground past my teeth like rocks as a sweaty kid ran past Emma, hitting her shoulder and knocking her backpack to the ground, as he rushed to catch up with his friends. I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to run to her side…or tear out his throat.
Instead, I continued to lean casually against Emma’s car. After a momentary pause to glare at her assailant and retrieve her bag, Emma strode gracefully through the lingering crowds of students and speeding cars.
It still surprised me that she wasn’t one of the Old Blood. Emma was human, but she moved with the sinuous grace of a wolf, or a snake.
Emma hadn’t mentioned her ability to listen to snakes since the talent first emerged, but I noticed how she went rigid and cocked her head to one side whenever a snake was near. She may prefer to keep her newfound gift to herself, but I knew it continued to flummox her. Our animals, my wolf and her snake, were something we needed to discuss further. I wanted to know everything about her, and vice versa, but Emma had a way of distracting me from things like talking.
Like she was doing now.
“Kiss me,” Emma said. She dropped her bag on the pavement and grabbed the front of my shirt.
“Bad day?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. I wanted to fulfill her demands, but it seemed polite to ask about her day.
“The worst,” she said. “No more talking.”
Emma reached up, fingertips trailing teasingly along my neck, then plunging her hands into my hair as she pulled my lips onto hers. Emma may not be a werewolf, but she had her own teeth and claws—and knew how to use them.
Her fingers released as our kiss deepened, nails following a return track down my neck to follow my spine. Hands resting on my hips, Emma pulled away far enough so that our eyes met. With a mischievous smile, she nipped playfully at the scar on the edge of my lips then proceeded to drive me crazy with another long kiss. Fingernails dug into my back, arms pulling me closer.
When we finally parted, Emma trembled and I was panting like the wolf that I am. But I didn’t drool, much.
“Sorry you had a bad day,” I said, breathing in the scent of Emma’s shampoo as I whispered into her hair.
“It’s getting better,” she said.
Yes, it certainly was.
Chapter 12
Yuki
Getting rid of Cal was harder than I expected. He wasn’t exactly clingy, but we usually spent time together after school, especially since things with Emma went nuclear.
But today I had other plans—secret graduation prezzie type plans—that did not include Cal. I was on a mission to find the perfect spot to paint, for Cal’s gift and my final project for art class. I hadn’t felt this excited about anything in weeks.
I waited for Cal’s truck to round the corner then skipped up the front steps. I told Cal that I had to stay home and do homework, or I was going to fail my classes and flunk out of senior year. Hasta la vista graduation. It wasn’t a total complete lie. I was working on homework, and passing art class and graduating high school depended on completing this project, but I wasn’t studying at home. It was just a teensy little white lie about where I would be spending the afternoon. No big deal.
I unlocked the front door and walked through the dark house to the kitchen. My parents were both at work. They’d be gone for at least three more hours, probably longer. I unzipped my backpack and started filling it with supplies. I may be on a mission, but even secret agents have to eat, right?
I considered tossing in a few frozen veggie burritos, but I’d have no way to cook them and they’d be gross cold. If I had a car, I could get one of those toaster ovens that plugs into the lighter and runs off the battery. That, of course, was a pipe dream. Smelling, and now seeing, ghosts is so not conducive to safe driving. I’d had more than enough brushes with death.
Nope, it was a bicycle, and a lifetime of mooching rides off my friends, for me. The burritos went back in the freezer and a bag of trail mix and two bottles of water went into my backpack. Grabbing the marker hanging from a piece of ribbon attached to a magnet on the fridge, I left a note for my parents on the dry erase board.
Working on school project, be home soon.
I retrieved the satchel holding my easel and paint and snatched a hoodie from a peg above the hall bench. When my dad came home, he’d have a place to take off his shoes. This plan was awesomesauce.
I went out the front door, locking it behind me, and waddled down the driveway with my armload of supplies. I cut across a strip of lawn and set my supplies on the grass beside my bicycle. My bike leaned against my mom’s gardening shed. I strapped the easel and a small folding stool to the back.
Next, I grabbed the sides of my long skirt and tied knots into the fabric. The last thing I needed was to catch my skirt in the wheel spokes while riding. Secret agents don’t going flying over their handlebars—it attracts too much attention.
I reached into my skirt pocket and turned off my phone. Secret agents also don’t have loud annoying ringtones. Plus, my phone would probably go flying out my pocket the second I started pedaling, or turned a corner. I transferred it to my backpack instead. I could check in with my folks later if I was running late.
I checked the straps of my backpack and walked my bike down to the street. Looking both ways, I jumped on, my boots gripping the pedals and the wind in my face. For the first time in months, I felt like I was moving forward.
I felt like I was free.
Chapter 13
Emma
Simon wasn’t overly thrilled when I dropped him off before reaching the cabin. He probably had envisioned a romantic evening together, but I needed to talk to Cal, alone.
On the ride over, I explained about Yuki’s recent behavior and how I suspected she had some deep-seated issues related to her abduction. Simon raised an eyebrow at my concern over Yuki, we hadn’t been acting like BFF’s lately, but when I started describing her PTSD behavior he agreed that something needed to be done.
Simon could understand the potential risks of leaving a person dealing with post traumatic stress to their own devices. He understood in spades.
I had learned of Simon’s battle with depression, and drug addiction, a few months ago. After we reported the Wakefield meth lab to the police, Simon and I had had our first heart to heart talk about his past. I
Unfortunately, Simon had been far from the support of his family when Meredith was shot. Simon and Meredith had traveled to England to attend college together and experience something new and different away from the pack. Instead, Meredith died and Simon was left to mourn her death in the worst way possible. He dealt with his grief, self-loathing, guilt, and growing anger by turning to drugs.
After nearly killing himself with heroin, and burning every possible bridge with his college mates, Simon finally returned to the states, and his pack. But he was forever changed. There’s a darkness that can be seen behind his eyes sometimes when he thinks no one is paying attention. A pain that never healed made all the more raw by a shame he can never escape.
Simon became an addict and did things he’s not proud of. But he had been all alone. He may be angry with Yuki and her exasperating recent behavior, but now that he knew the cause he would stop at nothing to prevent her from falling into the downward spiral that nearly swallowed him whole. It was time to cast aside petty arguments.
Of course, he was still disappointed that we wouldn’t be spending our afternoon kissing. Simon stood there pouting in my rearview mirror before moving into the trees. Poor guy, he has to go let his wolf run, and cool off.
I smiled a wicked grin and followed the dirt track to the cabin. I’d make it up to Simon later over dinner. He offered to meet at my favorite vegetarian restaurant in town, so I knew he was eager for our date. I just hoped that Cal would have a plan for helping Yuki.
My grin faded as I got out of my car. Cal’s truck was parked outside, but I didn’t know if he was alone. I should have called ahead, but I’d been distracted by my worry for Yuki, and kissing Simon. If Yuki was inside, my plan would fall apart like a bride stranded at the altar.