Gift
by Dianna Hardy
Smashwords Edition
Published by
Bitten Fruit Books
(From The Pen Of A Child)
Gift
©1993, Dianna Hardy (written at age 14)
Published by Bitten Fruit Books, via Smashwords, September, 2011. Second Edition.
First Edition was written under the name Vanessa Dudeney, and published in 1993 by the Reprographics Department of Biddenham Upper School, Bedford, UK, as part of the Year 9 Stories Anthology.
All rights reserved.
In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination, or they are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. This work may be freely shared, but credit must be given to the author of this work (Dianna Hardy) at all times. This work may not be modified or used for commercial purposes. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.bittenfruitbooks.com
From The Pen Of A Child, is a short range of stories written by Dianna Hardy between the ages of ten and fifteen. The author has made the decision to publish them and offer them for free, to encourage and support children and young adults who want to write.
Cover images:
© Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
© Pavel Kapish | Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Dianna Hardy
Bitten Fruit Books
Surrey, UK
http://www.bittenfruitbooks.com
Author's Note
A note to all reading this: firstly, thank you for doing so. Secondly, my aim in offering this work for free, is to encourage all young writers to follow their passion. We're now living in an age where digital and self-publishing is possible. Before the internet, writing as a career was seen as a "waste of time" or a "flowery dream" that would never get you anywhere. Let's be realistic – the chances of earning lots of money from writing are slim. BUT, writers don't write to become millionaires – they write because they can't not write, and because they love it. Nowadays, it is possible to write part-time, publish via the internet, and even make enough money so that you can call what you're doing "earning a living" – it is possible. As a writer, there's never been a better time to follow your passion. So if you want to do it – do it.
I thought about rewriting these stories and publishing them as "better" pieces of work. Then I pondered on the meaning of "better". Better for whom? Better for my adult self, maybe, but for my childhood self, these stories rocked, and I didn't want to take that away from the teenager inside me who wrote these. I wanted to be a published writer when I was that young, and now, that child inside me can say she was. These childhood stories are not outstanding literature – they're certainly not bad considering they came from the pen of a child – but the point of this exercise is for [young] readers to see what can be possible from an early age, especially nowadays when we can publish our work so easily. If I were a teenager writing fiction now, I would be publishing as much as I could for practise as well as fun, and ecstatic about the fact that I could follow my dream, right now.
About this story: I wrote this when I was fourteen. At the time, I was reading S E Hinton books and was really inspired by the fact that she was a seventeen year old published author. Then my English class asked us all to write a story for an anthology competition, and that is how Gift came about. It even came first place. Looking back and re-reading all the stories in the anthology, I don't necessarily think it should have. Some of the other stories that were included in the anthology were much more clever – Gift is a YA paranormal thriller that's more of a soap opera in words, rather than a intelligent piece of literary fiction. But it was fun to write, and is quite fun and easy to read. That's how I like my YA books – fun and easy, action-packed, with elements that tug at your heart strings. In places it's a little dramatic (I was fourteen), but still a good read.
Unlike most of my current work, this story is set in the USA, so I have modified the spelling to be US Spelling, not British English. There are a couple of references to British things, but nothing complicated, so I've left them in.
If at any time you want to ask me questions or leave comments about any of my stories, feel free to do so. Enjoy the read!
Website: www.YoungAdult.DiannaHardy.com
Email: youngadult@diannahardy.com
Prologue
(Kansas, 2nd July, 1975)
"Come on, Sarah, don't let me down now. Just one more time; one, two, three, and PUSH!"
Sarah tipped her head back and arched her back, trying to follow the doctor's instructions. Her mind was a big, white blur and the pain was excruciating. If she'd known that giving birth would have been this hard, Sarah would never have gotten pregnant in the first place. She took in another big gulp of air, and pushed.
"YES – you've done it! Congratulations, you've got a beautiful baby girl."
Sarah looked up at the doctor's tired face. "I've done it? You mean it's all over?"
"Yep. Well done, Sarah. That was one of the smoothest births I've ever seen."
Sarah tried to smile through her fatigue. "Is she all right?"
"Perfect."
"Thank God." Sarah closed her eyes from total exhaustion and almost immediately fell asleep.
(3rd July, 1975)
Slowly, the baby opened her eyes, and closed them again almost at once. Everything was so bright, so blinding. Instead, she slowly brought her arms up into the air and opened her mouth to let out an incredibly big yawn. That's better. She was just about to go back to sleep when a loud noise made her jolt in her cot. A big pair of hands found their way into the cot and gripped her under her arms. The uncomfortable gesture made her cry and kick, but then the hands started to talk in a soft, soothing voice. Boldly, the baby opened her eyes once more. The woman holding her was dressed in the most awful, dazzling color. Forcing herself to keep her eyes open, she looked up into the woman's face and giggled. It was the strangest thing. Oh, the face was ordinary enough; the strange thing was the voice. It wasn't coming from her mouth as instinct told her it should, it was coming from her head.
The nurse, with the baby in her arms, walked out of the room and down the corridor, slowly making her way to Room 13. She walked inside.
Sarah Colowsky was sitting up on the bed. Dark circles were still noticeable under her eyes, but when she saw the baby – her little girl – in the nurse's arms, the biggest smile brightened her face completely. Grinning from ear to ear, she took the child from the woman's arms and held her close.
"Hello, my little bunny," she cooed. "Oh, but I can't call you 'my little bunny' all your life, can I? No; I'm going to call you Beth, after your great-great-grandmama."
In her head, Sarah began humming the tune of a short lullaby that her great-grandmama used to sing to her.
Beth looked up at her, totally transfixed by the hypnotizing song. Again, Beth realized that the words weren't coming from her mother's mouth as they should be, but from her head. Beth didn't care. It was a lovely song, and she could feel her big green eyes, getting heavier and heavier with every word.
Her eyes: two sparkling emeralds that concealed the most wonderful, the most painful, and, indeed, the most fascinating power in the world.
Chapter One
(Manhattan, 11th December, 1992)
She stood there, looking down at the open casket.
Dead. Murdered.
The words echoed in her mind, as if she'd just awakened from a nightmare. How? How could this have happened? Her father was the most wonderful, generous person she had ever known. Why would someone want to kill him?
Beside her, her mother sobbed quietly. People around her talked in hushed voices, but Beth knew what they were saying. She had the gift – the power. She could read people's minds, hear what no one else could hear, see what no one else could see. No one knew of her power, not even her mother. How could she tell anyone when she didn't understand it herself?
"Come on, Mom. Let's go."
"Why, Bethy? Why did he have to die?"
Beth didn't answer; couldn't answer. Nothing made sense to her anymore.
Mother and daughter made their way out to the car, parked a few yards down from the cemetery.
"Don't worry, Mom, I'll drive. In you get." Beth got in behind the wheel, turned the ignition on and, after checking her mirrors, pushed down lightly on the accelerator.
"Mom, are you all right?" asked Beth, looking briefly at her mother. She had stopped crying.
"Yes. Beth, there's something you should know about your father."
"What is it?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know by the tone of her mother's voice.
"Your father … oh, I'm not sure how to tell you."
"Just say it, Mom."
"Well," she began, hesitantly, "he was an FBI agent."
"What?!" Beth, astounded, brought her foot down hard on the brakes. The car skidded slightly, then stopped. Horns were blaring at them from all directions, but Beth, for once, was oblivious to them.
"He was working undercover," her mother tried to explain.
"Dad? Undercover? Mom, Dad didn't know the difference between sugar and salt, let alone cocaine, and he hated violence of any sort. What could he have possibly had that was of any use to the FBI?"
Sarah Colowsky sat next to her daughter, her face in her hands. This was crazy. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She felt Beth's warm hand on her arm.
"Mom, please don't shut me out." Her voice, so young, was softly pleading, trying to get the truth out of the forlorn looking woman sitting beside her.
Sarah looked up. "He was psychic – well, kind of. He had this gift that allowed him to see and hear things that no one else could. He could tell what other people were thinking – it's hard to explain."
"He had the gift," said Beth in awe, not so much a question as a statement.
"Actually, it was more like a curse."
"But, how come I never knew? Why didn't he tell me?"
"The more people who knew, the more dangerous it became."
Beth's mind was going round and round in circles. – she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything was happening too fast. Then, a thought struck her. "That explains it," she said, aloud.
"Explains what?" asked her mother.
"Oh, nothing important," Beth muttered back.
The rest of the journey home was both silent and intense.
Thank God I'm not the only one, thought Beth. It also answers a lot of my questions, like the time I discovered I had this power – I went around trying to read everyone's minds, but when I tried to read Dad's, he blocked me out. I could literally feel him pushing me away with his mind. That was really disturbing, but now I know how he did it. After that incident, he must have known I could do it too, so why didn't he tell me?
Beth turned into her driveway and stopped the car. "Mom," she began, "there's something I've got to tell you too." Beth stopped. Where should she start?
"Well, what is it, honey?"
Beth hesitated, not certain how her mother would react to the news.
"Come on, Bethy, you can tell me."
"I'm psychic too."
"Beth? Oh, Bethy; tell me you're just kidding."
"But I'm not!" she cried, and suddenly everything she'd ever wanted to tell anyone about this power, came pouring out. All the confusion, the pain, the thrill, the anguish and anger. She told her mother about the time when she heard her best friend tell the school creep that she was a slut, the time when she "saw" her boyfriend kiss another girl, even though she wasn't with him at the time. And during all this, her mother held her close, whispering soothing words in her ear, telling her it wasn't her fault, that she wasn't to blame.
At last, Sarah pulled her daughter away from her. "Oh, Beth. Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"I didn't know how. I didn't even understand what was happening to me myself, and," she paused, "I didn't know how you'd react."
Sarah's eyes softened as she looked down into her daughter's face. Her mass of dark hair flowed down to her waist and framed her delicate features. Her deep, green eyes were like two precious jewels full of beauty and mystery.
"Beth, you're my daughter. You know I'll always love you, no matter what."
"I know, Mom. Thanks."
There was a moment of silence, until Beth spoke again. "What happens now?"
"I'm not sure, but I've been thinking about this, and I think we should tell the FBI."
"But, why? I mean, there's really no point, is there?"
"Beth, hear me out – this is very important."
"I'm listening."
"Your father told me something about this guy he was helping to catch. From what I can remember, he's very dangerous and is wanted for first degree murder. Beth, I think he killed your father."
"No – how can you be so sure? How do you know all of this? Mom, it could have been anyone."
"Trust me on this one. Do you remember that night when your father didn't come home until four in the morning? The reason for that was because he was being followed. The FBI had to hide him until they were sure this guy was gone."
"Why was he after Dad, though? Why not any of the other men he was working with?"
"Beth, you're asking me so many questions and I can't answer them." Sarah sighed. "All I know is what your father told me; that this guy is crazy – a psychopath. I don't know what goes on inside his head but if we're not careful, he'll be coming after us."
Chapter Two
(15th December, 1992)
Beth walked into the big, gray building, her mother by her side. "This is crazy," she argued. "We should never have come. How could I, in any way, help the FBI?"
"You don't have to help them," her mother replied. "Just tell them that you're just like your father – that you're psychic."
"Haven't you thought about the risk we're taking? If we want this psycho to stay away, we should keep right out of it. At the moment, we're practically asking to be killed. We're sitting targets!"
"Do you think it's going to be any easier if we don't tell? The FBI were so nice to us when they came to offer their condolences, the least we can do is enlighten them to the truth."
They walked down yet another corridor, and through yet another door. Even though the agent outside had given them a map, Beth hadn't the faintest idea where she was or where she was going. She was just about to lose hope of ever seeing daylight again, when a young man dressed in a bluish-gray uniform appeared out of (it seemed to Beth) absolutely nowhere.
"Can I help you, ladies?" he asked, a soft, southern drawl giving away his origin.
"Uh, yes," answered Sarah. "We're looking for a Mr Hilton."
"Yep, follow me."
Sarah and Beth trailed behind the man, both wary of their surroundings.
"He looks a bit young to be working here, doesn't he?" whispered Sarah into her daughter's ear.
"Well, don't ask me; I don't know the first thing about the FBI."
He led them into a big room, full of people, either on the telephones or tapping away furiously at their typewriters, and then into a narrow corridor which was completely empty except for a door on the right.
"If you'd just wait out here for a minute, I'll see if Mr Hilton is ready for you."
The man disappeared through the door after knocking on the glass pane.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Sarah. "Quite a nice young man, wouldn't you say?"
Beth looked into her mother's twinkling brown eyes and smiled. It was nice to see her joking after everything that had happened.
"Yes, Mother, he was very nice. Pity I can't say the same about this place."
"What do you mean?"
"I wish I knew. I don't know what it is, but something just doesn't feel right."
"Well, can't you place it? You're meant to be psychic, remember?"
"That's the weird part. I can usually tell where these things come from, but this is different. It's like I'm being blocked out."
Like Dad, Beth added, silently.
"You're free to go in now," said the man, just coming out of the room. As he passed Beth, he slipped a piece of paper into her hand. Beth didn't even flinch. She knew he liked her. She knew his home phone number was scribbled all over it, but she kept it anyway. Something told her she might need it later.
Sarah and Beth, strode into the room. A dark-haired man stood up behind his desk and offered Sarah his hand.
"Mrs Colowsky, how nice to meet you. Sorry you had to wait so long. Please, take a seat."
"Thank you, and please, call me Sarah. This is my daughter, Beth." Sarah turned in her chair to look at Beth. "Beth? What's wrong?"
Beth was standing by the door. She hadn't moved since she'd entered the room; she hadn't wanted to. The feelings she'd had when she'd walked into the building had been faint, but this – it was so strong. The whole room was infested with vibes, bad vibes, all of them coming at her like a hurricane. But whereas hurricanes were caused by violent winds, this was caused by a man. A dangerous man. A lunatic. Now, as Beth looked into the mind – the incredibly twisted mind – of this man shaking her mother's hand., she knew that he was the one. The psychopath. The man who had killed her father.
Chapter Three
"Beth? What's wrong?" Her mother's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Mom," she said, sounding as if she'd just woken up and didn't know where she was. "Oh, nothing's wrong. I'm fine, really." Beth slowly made her way toward Mr Hilton's desk, never taking her eyes off him for a second. The man extended his hand once again and Beth, reluctantly, took it.
He knows, she thought. He knows that I know.
Wiping the thought from her mind, she managed a slight smile. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Hilton," she said through clenched teeth.
"Likewise, I'm sure," he replied.
I'll bet, seethed Beth's mind.
"So, what can I do for you?"
"Well," Sarah began, "we're not sure how important this is, but we thought the FBI should know about it anyway. I'm really not sure how to begin – it's just that—"
"What my mother is trying to say," interrupted Beth, "is that I'm psychic too – like my father. I know every move you make, every thought you think, everything you see, everything you hear." Beth's green eyes blazed with anger as she tried to intimidate this man.
"Interesting," he said. "You mentioned that you know what I'm thinking; can you also communicate with people using your mind?"
"Where's this leading?" asked Beth, unable to hide her surprise at his question.
"If you can communicate in that way – and my guess is that you can – then you're not only psychic, but telepathic too."
Beth sat back in her chair, stunned. "So, what if I am? Should that make any difference?"
"Mr Colowsky was psychic, but he was never telepathic."
"I see," said Beth, the truth finally beginning to dawn on her.
"Beth, I wonder if you'd like to help us with this investigation. It will set everybody's minds at rest when this killer is caught, and I think you can catch him." He was taunting her. His coal-black eyes met hers; his conniving, hers blazing.
Sarah sat up to protest, but Mr Hilton stopped her with one of his infuriating smiles.
"Sarah," he coaxed, his voice dripping with honey, "I promise you that we will take the best care of Beth. I'll have her life insured personally and we won't leave her by herself for one minute. There'll be agents with her all the time."
"Well, I guess it'll be all right," said Sarah, a shadow of doubt still visible in her eyes.
"Tell you what," he said, opening the bottom drawer of his desk. "Read this. It's a copy of your husband's contract. Beth's will be similar if you agree to let her help."
As Sarah read the copy, Mr Hilton turned his attention to Beth, a challenging smirk covering his face.
"You had all this worked out, didn't you?" asked Beth, speaking with her mind.
"Are you surprised?" asked his own mind.
"Not really; I'm beginning to understand what happened to my father. You killed him, didn't you?"
"Clever girl, aren't you?"
"Don't patronize me. Dad didn't know it was you at first, did he? You would have killed him immediately if he did. He wasn't telepathic, so he couldn't just read your mind in an instant, and when he began to suspect you, he must have tried to get inside your head, but you just blocked him out."
"You know too much for you own good."
"So, what now? You going to get rid of me like you did Dad?"
"Haven't you figured it out yet?"
"Why don't you surprise me?"
Mr Hilton's mind laughed. A bitter and cruel laugh that chilled Beth to the bone. "I could kill you faster than I can blink if I wanted to; but I like you, so I won't."
"Am I supposed to be relieved?"
"Meet me at the park tomorrow night, by the gazebo."
"Why?"
"I want to challenge you to a duel. A duel of the mind. The mind can do great, powerful things. I could kill you with my mind if I wanted to."
"Why don't you?"
"I might tomorrow night; but you could kill me too. We have exactly the same abilities, so let's put them to the test."
"You're crazy."
"I know."
Beth was about to refuse this ridiculous offer when suddenly, out of nowhere, the image of her father appeared in her mind. Immediately, she remembered all the good times, all the fun they'd had together, from when she was little to when he'd died. Her fear and doubt were replaced with anger and determination.
"Okay. I'll be there."
"Ten-thirty?"
"Done."
~*~
As they were driving home, Beth thought through the whole situation. It was dangerous, stupid, and most of all, totally crazy. But Mr Hilton was a crazy guy – what did she expect?
Why did I agree to this? What the hell am I trying to prove? But even now, she knew it wouldn't have made any difference. She was doing this for Dad. He had discovered the truth and paid the price.
But Mr Hilton killed my father, argued Beth, against her own mind. He killed Dad, so now it's his turn to pay the price.
~*~
"Beth, wake up, we're home."
She slowly opened her eyes, releasing herself from her thoughts. "What time is it?"
"After nine. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."
Beth laughed. "I'm glad you did. I'm not sure if I'd have wanted to sleep in the car."
Sarah looked over at her daughter and sighed. "I'm so lucky to have such a beautiful daughter. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."
A twinge of guilt pulled at Beth's heart. She wanted so much to tell her mother everything she knew.
"Mom," she said, taking her hand. "You know how much I love you. Nothing's going to happen to me – I promise."
"I know. I just can't help worrying, even though you're seventeen."
Beth smiled. "You're not the only lucky person around here you know; I'm lucky to have the most wonderful and understanding mother in the world. You're my best friend, and don't you forget it."
The two people hugged tightly for several minutes before going into the house. When they finally did enter the house, they went straight to bed. It had been a long and tiring day for both of them. Tomorrow, would be even longer.
Chapter Four
Beth got up early the next morning and picked up the phone by her bedside. Dialling the number she'd memorized, she hoped that he hadn't left for work already.
"Hello?" answered a drowsy voice, thick from sleep.
"Hi, Peter. This is Beth Colowsky – we met yesterday at the FBI Bureau."
"Well, hi!" said the voice, suddenly coming alive. "Hey, how d'ya know my name?"
"Uh, Mr Hilton told me," said Beth, cursing herself for making such a stupid mistake. "Are you working today?"
"Nope. Mr Hilton gave me the day off."
"Thank God," she sighed, relief washing over her like cold water on a hot day. That meant that Mr Hilton hadn't figured out her plan and, with any luck, that's the way it'd stay.
Peter's rich laugh floated towards her through the receiver. "Well, I'm glad I've made you happy."
She laughed along with him. "Believe me, you have. Listen, can you meet me down at Carrie's Café in an hour? I know it's early, but—"
"Hey, don't worry. I'll see you there."
"Great, I really appreciate it. 'Bye."
"'Bye."
~*~
Peter put down the receiver and jumped out of bed. "YES!!!" he shouted at the top of his voice, and ran into the bathroom, dragging all his bedsheets behind him.
~*~
Beth gulped down the last of her orange juice and collected her bag and coat.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked her mother, cleaning up the table.
"I'm meeting Peter down at Carrie's Café. He's that guy that you thought was so nice yesterday at the FBI Bureau."
"Oh, I see."
"Oh, do you?"
"Making any plans for tonight then?"
"Might be."
"Okay, okay – I can take a hint. Go on, get outta here!" screamed Sarah, chasing her daughter around the room with the dishcloth. Beth squealed and flew out the front door, Sarah right at her heels. "And don't come back until he kisses you!"
Beth laughed even harder, stitches already beginning to form at her sides. It was an old Colowsky tradition that originated in Kansas: the girl must be kissed by the boy before returning from her date or else it would be considered bad luck.
Still laughing, Beth made her way down the road towards the café. Eventually, the laugh began to fade, a deep frown replacing it. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, she thought. What makes me think he's going to agree to this? I don't even know the guy – he'll think I'm crazy. She stopped in her tracks. Maybe I am crazy – as crazy as Mr Hilton. After all, I am going through with this.... Stop! Beth brought her hands up to her head and shook it slightly, trying to get rid of the disturbing thought. This is exactly what Mr High-and-Mighty Hilton wants you to think. Don't give in to him, Beth – you're better than that!
Beth took her hands down from her head and opened her eyes, which she'd squeezed shut. People were staring.
"Are you all right, lovey?" asked an old woman. "Only, back where I come from, I've seen people acting like you are. I was once a nurse, you see. Now come on, lovey, you can tell me what's wrong … are you 'allucinating? Only, a lot of you teenagers nowadays are taking bad things that make you go funny."
Beth could feel her face burning from utter humiliation. No – after listening to this old lady rambling on, Beth could safely say that she wasn't crazy. She cleared her throat loudly. "Uh, thank you for your concern, but I'm feeling fine now, really." And with that, she quickly made her way past the curious onlookers and hurried down the road.
It didn't take long to reach the café, but that little episode with the old lady had delayed her somewhat. Beth walked into the small, hut-like building and looked for Peter. She spotted him sitting in the far corner.
"Hi!" she called out, making her way towards him. "Sorry I'm a bit late – I got held up."
"You don't worry 'bout a thing. Can I get you a drink?"
"Cup of coffee would be nice."
Peter went over to the counter to order, then sat down again. "They'll be bringing it along in a minute.
"Thank you."
They sat there in silence, neither of them knowing how to break it. The waitress came with the coffee.
"Thank you," said Beth for the third time that day.
"So, is this meant to be social, formal or what? 'Cause to tell you the truth, I really don't know what to say, and maybe that's because I don't know what I'm doing here," said Peter, finally dispersing the silence.
"You're right, of course. I'm just not sure how to tell you and I really don't know how you're going to take it."
"Take what? Tell me what?"
"You won't believe me anyway."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that. Come on, Beth – it is Beth, isn't it? You can't ask me to meet you at a café at nine o'clock in the morning and not tell me why."
"Okay, but don't interrupt. Just let me finish before you make up your mind about anything." And so, she told him everything, from her father's death, to the meeting of Mr Hilton. She told him about her powers and about the crazy idea to meet at the park that night. All the time that Beth talked, Peter didn't say anything. He just sat there, listening, picking his ear-lobe in concentration.
"And that's it," finished Beth. "I don't expect you to believe me, and I guess I don't expect you to help me in any way; but it would be awfully nice if you could." She looked up at him expectantly, her fingers crossed behind her back.
He looked down at her, as if wondering what to make of all this.
"Well, say something."
Peter smiled. "Your coffee's cold."
Beth let out an exasperated sigh. "I knew you wouldn't believe me."
"Hey, whoa – did I say anything about not believing you?"
"Then, you do believe me?"
"I don't think you've left me much choice. I've been thinking about it, and I can't find any reason in the world why you'd lie about something as big as this."
"Well, of course I wouldn't," said Beth, indignantly. "And even if I did, why would I tell you?"
"Why did you tell me?"
"'Cause I've got no one else to turn to; and besides, you know Hilton better than I do."
"Doesn't your mom know about this?"
"Obviously she knows about me, but not Hilton. I can't tell her – it would break her heart."
"You can't keep it from her."
"Maybe she won't find out."
"Are you nuts? You think you can do something like this and hope she won't find out? You are nuts!"
"I don't know! I don't know what to do anymore. I'm confused, totally exhausted, and my head feels as if it's about to explode!!! I don't care – I don't care what you think, just tell me if you'll help me or not and I'll stay out of your way." Beth was almost screaming, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry. Don't start crying, okay? Of course I'll help you. I don't like the idea much, but it doesn't look like you've got any choice."
"I haven't. If I don't go, he'll just find some other way to get rid of me. I'm scared, Peter. I don't know what he's going to do to me."
"Come on, I'll take you home. And think positive – whatever he can do, you can do too, and probably a hell of a lot better an' all."
"But I don't know how to do it."
"It'll come. Just give it some time."
"Thanks."
"Now, we're gonna go over to your house, make you another cuppa coffee, and then we are gonna make up the best and most devious plan since Guy Fawkes tried to do-in the Houses of Parliament."
They got up, paid at the counter, and made their way over to Beth's house. She was feeling slightly better than before. She just hoped that Mr Hilton wouldn't find out about their scheme.
Chapter Five
She stood there in the dark, her jacket only barely keeping out the cold. Everything was completely black, as if someone had thrown a bag over her head. Even standing right next to the gazebo, Beth could hardly see it at all. She sat down on the steps leading up to the gazebo and wondered if this wasn't all just a wild goose chase. From what she could decipher about Mr Hilton's state of mind, he didn't seem to be the type to go back on his word – even if it was crazy.
Between them, Peter and Beth had tried to decide what would be the best way to tackle this situation, and came up with nothing. Whatever they decided would carry a certain amount of risk and they were already walking on very shaky ground. In the end, Beth told Peter to call the FBI and tell them everything if she wasn't back in an hour. Personally, she didn't think it would take that long.
She waited, the seconds ticking away on her watch almost as loud as the beating of her own heart. She looked at it: ten-forty.
He's not coming, she thought, half relieved.
Then she felt it – the vibes. The same as in the office yet, somehow different. More dangerous, more menacing. Maybe it was just because of the night – the silence, the total blackness … where was the moon? From behind her, a rabbit scurried by and stopped, its nose sniffing the air. Suddenly, its body went rigid and its eyes opened in unseen terror. Quickly, it sprinted away into the trees. That's when Beth realized – she was on her own. Alone. Alone in the night and about to face the greatest terror known to man – the terror of the mind.
Cautiously, she tried to back away from the vibes, but they were all around her like a heavy mist – blinding, suffocating. Next came the laugh. That chilling, demented laugh that could only be produced by a horribly deranged mind.
Beth stood up, feeling the skin crawl on the back of her neck, but not daring to look around. "You're late," she called out, her voice shaking.
"Better late than never," was the reply.
Yes, thought Beth. That's just the kind of thing he'd say.
"Where are you?" she asked aloud.
"Can't you tell?"
Slowly, she turned around so that she was facing the gazebo; and there he was, his silhouette faintly outlined against the darkness. As he came closer, his shape became clearer.
Beth firmly stood her ground. "So, how do we do this duel thing?"
"It's easy once you know how. Here, let me show you."
Beth waited, then felt a sharp, stinging blow across her face that nearly sent her flying. "You slapped me," she started, then stopped. Hilton was standing a good six feet away from her. He couldn't have slapped her even if he'd tried, unless....
"You did that with your mind," said Beth, astounded.
"Comes in quite handy at times."
"But how … I mean … it was real – it felt real, but you never even touched me."
"But I did touch you – with my mind. The mind is an invisible force. Imagine it as another body within yourself. When you see things, you're seeing them with your mind's eye. When you're communicating through the mind, you're doing it with the mind's mouth – see how it works?"
"So, just now, you hit me with your mind's hand?"
"You learn fast."
"Can I do it too?"
"Why don't you try?"
Beth squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. Holding her breath, she tried to hit Hilton with her mind. Nothing happened. Hilton laughed. Beth took in another deep breath and tried again. Her head began to feel heavy, her lungs were about to burst and during all this, Hilton's laugh kept teasing her, echoing in her mind, over and over again, as if bouncing off the walls of a cave. Beth let her breath out and opened her eyes. Everything looked blurry. Mr Hilton seemed to be everywhere. Twenty pairs of out-stretched hands came toward her, all of them ready to squeeze her life away. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. The air was too hot – too claustrophobic. She had to get away … get away....
"Get away!" screamed Beth, flailing out with her arms.
Hilton, taken aback by her sudden outburst, hesitated for the slightest moment. It was enough for Beth; she turned and ran into the woods, driven by blinding fear. Behind her, she could hear the footsteps – his footsteps – getting closer by the second.
Somebody help me! cried out Beth's mind, despairingly, as she ran. Please, it pleaded, I can't run forever.
Then, as if giving up all hope, her legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed in an exhausted heap on the ground, the soft muddy grass cushioning her fall. Slowly, her eyes closed, and the world seemed to sway slightly, before disappearing completely.
Chapter Six
Beth was walking through the same woods with her father, but this time, in daylight.
"Beth," he said, "Do you remember that day when we came here picking berries in the summer? You were around nine, I think."
"Uh-huh."
"Do you remember what I told you?"
"No."
"You'd just come home from school. These boys were bullying you, and you came running to me, telling me that your legs were tired from running home every day just so they wouldn't catch you."
"Oh, yeah. They sure ran when you set our dog on them."
Her father laughed, his green eyes – almost the same shade as hers – twinkling in the sunlight. "You still don't remember what I told you that day?"
Beth furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, but still remembered nothing.
Her father turned to her. "I guess I'd better tell you again, then. Beth, never give in to anything that you think is wrong or doesn't feel right. Fight for what you believe in. You are the strongest person in your life. You are the person who makes the decisions about your life, no one else – just you. The last thing, and maybe the most important is, never run away from reality, no matter how scary; 'cause once you start running, you'll just keep on running forever."
~*~
Beth awoke with a start. The memory of her father's words, still fresh in her mind, was so vivid – so real. As the day's events came rushing back at her, she quickly realized that she was not, by any means, out of danger. She was also stuck in the middle of a ditch, in a dense wood, with no sense of direction whatsoever.
Hilton was still there, though. She could feel those vibes from a mile away. He was hiding, patiently waiting, like a hunter stalking his prey.
That thought didn't do much for Beth's nervous system, but this time, she wasn't going to run.
"Hey, Hilton!" she cried out. "Over here. Come on over. I'm not going anywhere – I'm stuck in a ditch!"
He walked over to the ditch and looked down at her. "Give in?"
"I never give in, Hilton. You may end up killing me, but at least I'll die fighting, not quitting."
Hilton laughed. "You haven't got a hope in hell," he sneered, as he jumped into the ditch. The he began his manipulating, his wild punches and kicks.
Beth blocked them out, trying to defend her body the best way possible, but never once attacking. Violence wasn't her strong point.
"How can you do that?" bellowed Hilton, outraged at this sudden change in Beth. "It's not fair; I'm stronger than you."
"In what way, Hilton? It's all very well having the physical strength, but you need the willpower – the mental agility – to balance it out. I could easily win this duel, Hilton."
"Impossible," he scoffed.
"Nothing's impossible. You, of all people, should know that."
"How? How can you win? Your father tried, but didn't."
"Dad didn't know how, but I do. You see, Hilton; I've got the one thing that's stronger than your deformed mentality, the one thing that can win me this duel. I've got my sanity – the only thing you haven't got, but the one thing you'll need to beat me."
Hilton kneaded his eyebrows in confusion. Suddenly, he looked like a small, defenceless child trapped within the faint, but cruel line which divides the insane from the sane – like a lost child not knowing the way home.
For a moment, Beth felt sorry for him – almost.
"Come on, Hilton. What are you waiting for? Hit me!"
"But you'll just keep defending yourself, and I'll get tired," he whined.
Yes; this had become the voice of a child – a small boy.
"No, you won't. You're stronger than me, remember?"
"No I'm not. My arms are already hurting and I've got a headache. Please, Mommy – don't make me fight. You always make me fight. I want to stop, but you won't let me."
Beth tensed, listening to the weak, pleading voice. He sounded so hurt. "What do you mean? I'm not your mother."
"Please, Mommy, I don't care about the money. I didn't think you did either, but you took it all away."
"Stop this! Hilton, what on earth are you talking about?"
But Hilton seemed totally unaware of Beth's presence. He was staring towards her, but not at her. Still, his pleas continued. "Mommy, can I go to the bathroom? But I don't want to fight – I don't like to fight." Then, suddenly, his voice changed. In fact, his whole character changed. He was no longer a weedy, little boy, but a monstrous ogre.
"GO AWAY!!" he screamed, rage audible in his voice. "Why did you come back?! You made me fight, you took my money – MY money – and then you left me by myself to look after Dad! You never even told me he was ill, you bitch! I had to wake up every night to hear him screaming, and I had to watch him during every one of his fits to make sure he didn't kill himself or anyone else! You have no idea," his voice quietened, "of what I've been through. You didn't see him. His eyes were bloodshot, all the veins in every part of his body were visible, he began to froth at the mouth. It was like watching a horror movie. I never knew what would happen next, and you left me with him. I began counting the days, the months, the years, waiting for him to die; but he didn't. He carried on living, making my life hell. At last, I couldn't take anymore – I killed him, and laughed while I did it. It was such joy to watch – to feel – the knife sinking into his flesh, the blood spurting out. That night, I rejoiced – but inside, I didn't feel any happier. Inside, my own heart was bleeding for the death of my father – for what I had done. When you were with me, you shattered my life. When you left me, you took the broken pieces with you."
Beth stared, unable to hide her astonishment. She was even more astonished when Hilton sank to his knees and began to cry, quietly at first, then loud, uncontrollable, heart-wrenching sobs.
Slowly, Beth extended a shaky arm, and went to rest her hand lightly on his shoulder.
"DON'T!" he screamed. "Don't touch me – I'm evil!"
Beth instantly removed her hand as if she'd been slapped.
Hilton quickly got up on his feet and scrambled out of the ditch, Beth at his heels.
"Wait. Stop! I'm sorry about what I said before. I didn't realize...."
"Just leave me alone. I can't take any more." With that, Hilton ran through the woods, trying to lose Beth, but she insisted on following him. Together, they sprinted through the dark. The trees sped by on either side of them like lightning, but still they ran on, and on, and on.
Hilton stopped when he reached the outskirts of the woods. Beth came up behind him, panting. Hilton, remarkably, didn't seem tired at all.
"How can you run so fast?" asked Beth, half jokingly.
Hilton didn't answer, but stared straight ahead. Beth followed his gaze, and saw a twenty-yard stretch concluding with an endless (so it seemed) drop.
"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking?"
He didn't answer, but walked towards the end of the cliff.
"No! You can't do this. You can change, make a new life for yourself."
No reply.
"Stop, please!"
They reached the edge.
"Why are you running from me?"
Hilton turned, and looked directly into Beth's eyes, but this time, there was no anger. All the vibes seemed to have gone. For the first time, Beth saw the "sane" Mr Hilton – the real Mr Hilton.
"I'm not running from you, Beth. I'm running from myself."
He jumped.
"NO!!" But Beth's shout was immediately replaced by Hilton's scream.
Not a scream of physical pain, but of thirty years of mental torture. His scream echoed through the darkness, tearing the night apart. It soon ended after the soft thud as he hit the bottom, but for Beth, it went on forever. She could hear it as clearly as a dog would hear a dog whistle, as if her hearing was fifty times its normal level.
But she didn't hear the police sirens behind her, or the sound of Peter's pounding shoes as he ran towards her, or the sound of her mother sobbing as she held her in her arms.
The police led her into the car and drove them all down to the station. Sarah was telling Beth how Peter had told her everything after she'd left, and how they'd both decided to phone the police before anyone got hurt; but Beth heard nothing. Nothing except that agonizing scream, that would live within her soul for the rest of her life.
Other titles in the From The Pen Of A Child range:
Just Another Vicious Circle (speculative fiction, war)
Lucinda (contemporary, second world war fiction)
About The Author:
Dianna
Hardy is a UK-based, independent author of Paranormal Romance (for
adults), Urban Fantasy, Gothic Poetry (A
Silver Kiss - Vampire Poetry) and the
Occult. As well as The
Witching Pen Novellas, she is working on
The Last Angel and the Project Veil series, which
will bring together demons, vampires and angels in an
Earth-shattering way.
The Elementals Series,
due out in 2012, is her first step, as an adult
writer, into the world of Young Adult fiction.
She began to
write at the age of ten, and has had several poems published in small
press magazines over the years. Her background is in alternative
medicines, Pagan and Shamanic philosophy and practice, as well as the
Creative Arts, having studied Theatre and Acting at Drama School. She
pens Mind, Body, Spirit / Occult non-fiction books in her fields of
practice.
An advocate for the freedom of self-expression and
personal choice, Dianna is an avid fan of self-publishing ("such
a vital tool for all levels of communication"), and
provides free poetry and short story downloads through The Creative
Commons License, in support and encouragement of budding writers
following their passion.
Dianna lives in the UK with her
partner and their daughter, where she devotes her time to parenting,
publishing and writing.
Website: www.YoungAdult.DiannaHardy.com
Email: youngadult@diannahardy.com