A/N: Certain chapters in the book will be R-Rated. As per Wattpad Rules, you will have to follow me to read them.
Please note that this is unedited! If you see any mistakes send me a message.
The first 2 chapters move a little slow and are long, but pick up when the story reaches present day. (Chapter 2) I wrote them with the intent of self-publishing so they are in ebook format.
These original chapters were written in book length for publishing.
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Grayson
The haunting voice cries out
No face to ease my pain
Obsession now consumes me
I'm forever changed- Dark Rain
7 years ago...
"Dammit!" I kick my ancient nemesis and hobble over into the shade of an orange tree. It's my usual luck, that today, the day I have zero extra time, the rickety mower finally dies.
In less than 3 hours, I have to be in Tampa, where my band, Dark Rain, is competing in a Battle of the Bands finale. If I screw this up because I don't have gas money, or I'm late, my bandmates will kill me.
Not only are they counting on me to play the drums, but my truck hauls our gear. No matter what it takes I need to get this yard finished, get paid, and get the hell on the road.
I stare at the mower, looking for an answer. I'm no mechanic, but I am pretty sure the gray smoke billowing out from underneath, is a certain sign of death. Two things I know about this mower: One, it is like 10 years older than me. And two, there is enough duct tape holding it together that I could make a tux for prom. Beyond that, my knowledge is pretty limited.
When it comes to mechanics, I am clueless. If Kason, my older brother was here, he would have the mower up and running in no time. Hell, if he was home the mower wouldn't have issues to begin with. He is too much of a perfectionist to let that happen.
My first instinct is to beat the hell out of it with a hammer. No, it won't fix the problem, but at least I'd feel better, right? My motto, "when all else fails, hit it." Probably the reason I became a drummer in the first place. Well, that and my Mom's insistence that I hit something other than people.
When I was younger, I had what some would call "anger issues." My opinion; life handed me lemons so I figured I'd beat them into lemonade.
My Mom, normally a patient woman, was not pleased with the way I handled my anger. Not long after my 8th birthday, and the second time I was suspended from school for fighting, she brought home a well-used drum set. Anytime I showed the least bit of anger, she'd send me to my room to wail on my drums. Somewhere between banging out a beat and weekly karate lessons, my temper became manageable.
Now, back to the problem at hand. Since I am a somewhat logical person, I am aware that hitting the mower will likely make matters worse. I need a plan B, and quick.
My eyes drift to the double wide next door. The gutters are hanging down into the yard, half of the skirting appears bent or missing, and most of the windows are in need of new screens. The metal of the trailer was either yellow or brown at one time, but the hot Florida sun has bleached it to a dirty white. I haven't met or seen the people who recently moved in, but judging by the outward appearance, they are going to need a lot of work done. Maybe I could make a deal with them, borrow their mower in exchange for some labor. That is if they have one. The odds don't look in my favor.
I am hesitant to go over and knock on their door with my offer. The last thing I want to do is offend my new neighbors, but standing around isn't going to solve my problem either. I guess I'll see if anyone is home and wing it.
I take about two steps in that direction when a beautiful sound stops me in my tracks. Goosebumps rise on my skin and every hair on my body stands at attention. The melodic voice of an angel, unlike anything I have ever heard, besieges me. It's bluesy, soulful, with a hint of twang, full of emotion and pain.
My eyes close and I unintentionally lean back against the tree, letting the soothing tone wash over me. I feel calm, something I am not used to. Music has always been my kryptonite, but this, this is something different.
My feet take on a life of their own, carrying me towards the songstress. Then, silence.
I scan everywhere in search of my Siren. Nothing. Sweat forms on my brow, dripping into my eyes. I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up to wipe my face.
My skin prickles with the awareness of being watched. I lower my shirt in time to see a little girl walking towards me. She appears to be about 10 or 11. Her clothes are over-sized and hang loosely from her small, frail body. A mass of long blonde hair hangs in disarray sticking to her sweat-dampened face. Our eyes meet and the most brilliant shade of green holds me captive. My chest tightens with familiarity. What the hell?
I can't break eye contact with her, even as she stands directly in front of me. The longer I stare into her eyes, the more I see. It's not just the size and color of her eyes drawing me in, but the hurt, and yet wisdom, in the emerald depths. They shouldn't belong to such a young girl.
Her voice finally breaks the odd spell. "Hey there, I'm Emerald Lane. My Mom and I just moved in next door."
The cutest grin is spread across her face. I want to smile back and talk to her, but the feeling passes when I remember my dilemma. Instead, I walk over to the mower and tug the rope.
I can't completely ignore her. I am not that much of a dick, so I at least tell her my name. "Grayson Thomas, I live in the house at the dead end."
Feigning disinterest, I give another pull on the rope. I don't have time for chit-chat with a little kid, not even one this intriguing. I need this mower to start, like yesterday, and then I need to call a shrink.
She steps closer and looks from me to the mower. "Don't keep pulling on it, you'll flood it!" She kneels down in front of it and her little pink tongue darts out of the corner of her mouth. She is staring at something in concentration and begins poking around with her dainty little hand.
Yes, I am looking at her like she's an alien from another planet, and yes I am trying really hard not to laugh. How does this tiny little girl know what "flood it" means?
"No offense, but I am kind of in a hurry Little-bit, and I don't have time to..."
Her small hand flies up, shushing me. "I learned how to fix stuff from my Daddy" she interrupts. "And don't call me that." She mumbles something to herself about big stubborn oafs then, orders me to lift the mower up. I can't help the chuckle that escapes, nor can I resist the urge to oblige her.
She reaches underneath, pulls out what looks like a huge clump of grass, and a spring, and then winks at me. "There now, try that."
I am sure my mouth is hanging open, as I take in everything about this little spitfire. Did she really just wink at me? Before I give the mower another try, I glance around. If there are hidden cameras and someone yelling that I have just been Punk'd, I'm going to kill my best friend Jasper.
When I look back at her she is standing tall, hands on her hips, glaring at me with an unspoken challenge in her eyes.
She's for real, she is adorable, and if I had the time, I might enjoy this a little more. Here goes nothing. I give the rope a tug.
Holy shit! It starts! With ease! No freaking way did this little girl just fix the damn thing. The guys can never find out about this.
"See ya' around" she yells.
I look up to say "Thanks," but she is gone.
******
It's after 3 a.m. when I get home from one of the best shows we have ever played. It doesn't happen often, but tonight, we were musical perfection. Not that we aren't always freaking awesome, but we played with no mistakes, no mishaps, and the music gods clearly smiling down on us.
The crowd was insane, mostly college kids, pumped up, and completely into the music. It was intense, everything I love about performing live. Oh, and yes we took the big W.
Dark Rain is officially the Edgewave, North American, Battle of the Bands Champion!
On any other night that would be enough, more than enough, but it gets better. The rumors were true and several agents were there.
Jay Jameson, one of the most respected names in the music biz, sought us out after the show. He was impressed with our "sound, our look, and our vibe" his words, not mine. He offered us a deal so good, that tomorrow, or technically later today, we will be signing on the dotted line. Dark Rain will officially be, a band with an agent.
Sharing the news with Kason and my Mom is all I have been able to think about on the ride home. Being the only minor in the group I need my Mom's permission to sign anything. It won't matter in 4 months, but I'm not willing to wait that long and risk holding the band back from success. I'd quit first. Thankfully, my mom will be ecstatic about it. She has always been my greatest supporter.
Carolina, my Mom, is the best parent any child could ever ask for. She has taken care of Kason and me, on her own, since my Dad cut out on us 6 years ago. We have had rough times, but we are definitely better off without him here. An alcoholic, with rage issues, is not the kind of Father you miss.
Mom is happier since he left. Despite having to work multiple jobs, she always has a smile on her face. My brother and I have never wanted for anything, and she goes without to make sure of it. She doesn't think we notice her wearing the same clothes year after year, while she buys us new ones. Or that her car had a plastic bag duct taped to the passenger door window, while she matched us dollar for dollar on down-payments for our first cars.
She still tries to refuse any money we give her, but we no longer let her. I long for the day I can get her out of here, buy her a house right on the beach, and tell her she never has to work another day in her life unless she chooses to.
Adrenaline is still rushing through my body as I slide my key into the lock. Sleep will certainly be hard to come by tonight. I never sleep well after a performance, too wound up. Unless I hook up with a chick and work off some energy. I didn't have time for that tonight.
Maybe I'll wait up for Mom and make her breakfast before she goes to work.
I reach out to push open the door when a noise startles me. I freeze and turn my head towards the sound. It's probably a freaking possum in heat, come to hump my leg, and infect me with rabies. Those damn things give me the creeps.
If it is, I need to deal with it now. Otherwise, it will end up in the trash cans, and give my Mom a heart attack.
I hear it again, but this time it's more like a whimper. I reach behind me and grab the first thing I touch, a rake. Oh yeah, this is a good idea, I can see the news story now. "The young man was discovered in his yard, clinging to a rake. A possum hanging from his neck had sucked the blood from his body." Wait, do possums suck blood?
I walk to the end of the carport and cautiously glance around...nothing. Hoping for the element of surprise I lunge around the corner, holding the rake Louisville Slugger style, ready to swing.
I notice someone lying in my hammock. At least, I think it's a "someone," they aren't very big. I inch closer, practicing my mad ninja skills.
Is that the little girl from today? She is facing away from me, but I am pretty sure it's her. Trying to be as quiet as possible I whisper: "Hey, you okay?"
She jumps with a startled look on her face. Her mouth opens in what I assume is about to be a scream. In a lightning-fast move, that would make my Sensei proud, I clamp my hand over her mouth, smothering the unshed sound. Her big green eyes darken with panic. I shake my head and speak with a soft hushed tone to calm her. "You don't want to do that Little-bit, you'll wake the whole neighborhood."
Her face softens a little, she doesn't look as terrified, so I keep talking to her. "I am going to pull my hand away, but you have to be quiet. Okay?"
She nods, and her expression morphs into anger. Before I can blink, she's scolding me.
"For Heaven's sake, you don't just sneak up on people. I'm laying here minding my own business and...what are you gonna do with that rake?"
She is staring at the rake, eyes fixed. I imagine I look like a lunatic, so I gently lean the rake against the tree and hold both hands up in the universal "I'm harmless" pose.
I had no intention of frightening her, but the situation is irritating. She has no business being out here, this late, by herself. My reply may come across as asshole-ish when I answer her.
"Are you kidding me? This happens to be my yard. What the hell are you doing out here in the cold?" Today may have been in the 80's, but it's November and the nights tend to get cold. It can't be more than 40 degrees right now.
"I don't want to talk about it. G-g-go away." She stammers.
"Go away, hah!?" That is the last thing I am going to do. "You can't stay out here, you'll freeze to death. And again, this is my yard, so you know the whole not going away thing!"
She shivers, so I take off my leather jacket and drape it over her shoulders.
"I'll take freezing to death over being in there." Her head tilts in the direction of her trailer. She pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
She has managed to snuggle down into my jacket until only her face is peeking out. God, she is such a little thing. When she turns, the street light illuminates her face, her eyes appear red and swollen. Shit, she's been crying!
"Hey, it's ok." I drop down beside her and gently touch her arm. She looks at my hand and jerks away, fear flashing again on her face. She has no reason to fear me. Someone has hurt this little girl, and just thinking about it fills me with an anger that has been absent for a very long time.
"Don't cry, Emerald, right? Tell me why you are out here, by yourself, this late, and maybe I can help you." For some reason, I want to be the one to help her.
"It's my Mom's party night, and the house is full of drunken idiots. And I'm not crying. I don't cry." Her whole body trembles as she speaks, but it isn't from being cold. Anxiety consumes her.
"Did somebody hurt you?" I ask, not sure if I want the answer. The rage begins to boil in my veins, even considering her reply.
She doesn't answer right away, but she doesn't need to. I see everything I need to in her lucid eyes. She looks sad and vulnerable. Defeated. The urge to wrap my arms around her and hold her is overwhelming, but I know that would scare her off.
"Not tonight" she mumbles. "But, I can't go back there right now." Her eyes dart around like she's looking for a quick escape. My conscience won't allow me to let her go God knows where with God knows who. I need to convince her to stay until I figure out what the hell is going on.
She is so young and small, thinking of someone hurting her...I shake my head. I can't go there, I need to calm down, think rationally. If I let my temper get the best of me I will likely scare her to death.
"Maybe we should call the cops?" I ask tentatively.
"GOSH NO!" she shrieks, and then in a hushed tone, she explains: "They will take me away and things will get worse. Please don't let them take me away!" "My Mom loves me. She's not bad. She just hasn't been the same since my Dad died. She makes stupid choices."
With no clear idea what to do, I go with instinct. Someone has to protect her, and it looks like it is going to be me. I reach for her, but stop short, offering my hand. Hopefully, she will accept. I need her to trust me in order to help her.
She hesitates for a few seconds, before finally placing her tiny hand in mine. I wrap my fingers around hers. A strange sense of peace comes over me. What the hell?
There is something about this girl, but I can't figure out what. She still regards me with caution, but judging by her expression she feels the strange connection too.
"You can stay with me tonight, but we have to be quiet. If my Mom wakes up, there will be hell to pay."
I lead her over to my bedroom window and let go of her hand. "Give me 2 minutes and I'll unlock the window. Then, you can climb in. Okay?" She nods.
I slip in the front door as quietly as possible and tiptoe down the hallway. My Mom has caught me with girls in my room before, but never a situation like this. She is pretty laid-back about it, although the next day, I do have to listen to the old "safe sex" speech.
But that was a whole different story. Emerald is only a kid, Mom would freak if she knew I found her sleeping outside. She would want to call the police or speak to her parents. And like Emerald said, that would only make things worse for her.
The lock on my bedroom window sticks so I have to jiggle it a few times before it gives. I slide the window open and look out. Crickets are chirping, mosquitoes are buzzing, but Emerald isn't there. Shit.
I whisper her name, worried that she has taken off. Panic grips my chest and I have a sudden urge to jump out of the window and hunt her down. I am halfway out when I hear her small voice, "down here."
Relief washes over me when I see her, crouched down, curled up in the bushes. "Why are you hiding in the bushes?"
"I heard somethin' creepy, and got scared." This is the first time I notice her sweet southern drawl. It's completely endearing.
Holding out my hands I reach for her and smile. This is going to be an adventure. "Come on Little-bit, let me help you in."
******
Emerald
His arms surround me as he lifts me into the window, and I feel something I haven't felt since my Daddy died...Safe.
No, it isn't the smartest thing to trust someone I just met. But there is something about this Grayson boy that makes me feel warm and cozy, like drinking hot chocolate on a winter's day, while sitting in front of a huge fire.
He lifts me into the room and sets me down. He is surprisingly gentle, despite his size.
Grayson's room is toasty warm, but I can't relax. I mean, he is a stranger, and honestly, my juju sucks.
Visions of a crazy clown jumping out of his closet hit me. I shiver. I hate clowns. Of course, I'll take one hundred clowns over the possible fate that awaits me at home.
I swallow the lump in my throat and decide not to think about that anymore tonight. I am beyond exhausted and all I want to do is sleep. I haven't slept peacefully through the night since my Daddy died 4 years ago.
My eyes have gradually adjusted to the dark as I study the boy who is helping me. He is standing a few feet away laying blankets on the floor.
Mary Chapin-Carpenter, he is the hottest boy I have ever seen.
His eyes are a deep blue, like the color of the ocean when you view the Earth from space. The moonlight glows in their reflection, and I swear I could stare into them all day. His black hair hangs down to his shoulders. It's messy, and he looks like a bad boy.
He's much taller than me, with sun-tanned skin, and lordy his muscles have muscles. He can't be much older than me, but he looks like a grown man.
Wait, what was that? Did he say something? Snap out of it Emerald. "Huh, Uh, What?"
"I said you can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."
I am nervous, so as usual, my mouth takes over.
"Oh, you don't have to do that. I can sleep on the floor. I don't mind. I am smaller anyway and I appreciate you letting me crash here. It's really nice of you to offer, but it's not necessary."
Realizing I am still standing by the window, I move a few steps in his direction. He grunts at me and lies down on the blankets. Grunts, like a caveman. I almost laugh, but I don't want him to think I am making fun of him. He is being nice to me and he doesn't even know me.
"Grayson, how old are you?"
"17, you?"
"14."
"Wow, you look much younger than that."
"Thank you, my Aunt Ruthie says one day I will be happy to look so young."
I spend about 10 minutes going on and on about my Aunt and her crazy Yankee wisdom, all while I climb into his bed. The bed that smells like him and... Oh Gosh, I hope he didn't just notice me sniff the pillow.
His faint chuckle stops my motor mouth. Great, now he thinks I am a psycho. I need a change of subject.
In the far corner of his room, I notice a drum set. It would be so cool if he plays. We would have something in common. I point towards it and ask him.
"Yeah, I am in a band, Dark Rain. That's why I'm just getting home. We had a gig tonight."
"That must be so awesome. I love music."
My Daddy used to tell me I was destined for greatness.
"I used to sing with bands, but I haven't in the last 4 years. I miss singing." And I miss my Dad.
He looks up at me, and cocks his head to the side, like a confused puppy. "Were you singing outside earlier today, right before I saw you?"
"Probably, If I'm not talking I'm usually singing" I giggle.
No statement could be truer. My Aunt was the first person to notice that I could sing. When I was about 4, she would ask me questions, and I would sing the answer to her. She said it was the cutest thing.
Once, when I was 6, she came to visit us in Tennessee. Daddy took us out to eat, and they had those little jukeboxes at the tables. She told me she would give me $20 if I would pick a song and sing for everyone there.
Well, let me tell ya, I am not one to back down from a challenge. I stood up on the table and sang at the top of my lungs. When I finished the restaurant erupted in applause. I was hooked.
"Wow," he seems surprised.
"I would have never guessed that was you."
He is still looking at me funny and if he is about to say something mean, I swear I will smother him in his sleep. I don't care if he did just save me from having to sleep outside with the mosquitos, rabid possums, and who knows what else.
"And why is that?" I sit up and huff.
"Whoa, hold up, I didn't mean it in a bad way. It's just, you're such a little thing and you sounded like a woman singing." He pauses and looks at me like he knows something I don't know.
"You have the best voice I have ever heard."
Holy Frank Sinatra, I am pretty sure I just blushed all the way to my toes. Thank God it is dark and he can't see my face. No one, since my Daddy, has said nice things like that to me. I think I just fell a little in love with my new friend Grayson.
"Thank you, that means a lot to me. Singing is something I love, and I don't get to do it much anymore. I think it reminds my Momma of my Daddy. She usually tells me to hush I am giving her a headache."
"Well, she is Crazy! I could listen to you sing every day, all day long."
"Grayson?"
"Yeah?"
"You are my new Best Friend."
I hear his laugh before he flops down and says, "Goodnight, Em."
"Goodnight, Gray."