An Extraordinary Few Read online

  An Extraordinary Few

  The Extraordinary Series

  Pam Eaton

  Cooper Ave Press

  Copyright © 2017 by Pam Eaton

  Cooper Ave Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Editor - Jana Miller

  Cover Design - Molly Phipps with We Got You Covered Book Design

  Created with Vellum

  To my parents.

  Thank you for filling our home with books.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  This probably isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Definitely not in the top ten. Actually, I feel like I’m in the opening of a horror movie. Any minute, a man in some ridiculous mask is going to come out of the woods to my left. And I’ll be the no-name girl who gets murdered because I thought it was such a great idea to come run the unlit track at night. Next, the school’s security guard will come running, try to save me, and fall victim as well. If this were a movie, my name in the credits would read “Rebecca Hunter: teenage girl runner who dies in scene one.”

  It doesn’t help that the track is on the edge of campus, bordering the nature preserve. It also doesn’t help that every freaking twig snap, leaf crunch, and owl hoot is amplified thanks to the track being surrounded by trees. It’s the perfect amphitheater for terrifying noises.

  Did that bush just move?

  It totally did.

  Don’t people say that fear has a scent?

  I’m definitely going to attract every predator within a mile.

  And yet, my feet still thud against the gravel track. The woods surrounding me are more of a flimsy barrier than a place for a murderer to hide. The light from my dorm pierces through the branches. And what serial killer cares about prep school kids? Still, my eyes scan the darkness. Running at midnight isn’t a great idea, but ever since my knee surgery, my gait is super awkward. I need it to be what it used to be. I need to get my speed back. Maybe even reclaim my scholarship.

  I round the bend. Only a hundred meters left and I’m done. The distant sound of tires crushing gravel makes my head swing to the right. Crap. If the night guard finds me, it’ll be detention for a week. I pick up the pace, my knee twinging, and cross my imaginary finish line.

  A car door slams.

  I stumble. Should I drop to the grass, make a break for the woods, or succumb to my fate? No, I can’t have detention, because the idea of being in Miss Aniballi’s class any more than necessary makes me want to rip my hair out. And hers too, if I’m being honest.

  The distant sound of several male voices makes my decision for me. There’s only one security guard at night. I make for the trees. Barely five feet in and my knee buckles. “Mother –”

  Gravel crunches under heavy feet.

  I drag myself over to the closest tree. Hundreds of curses flow through my mind as I try to slowly lower myself to the ground. Pretty sure if my knee had a mouth, it’d be cursing too, along with my doctor. Bark cuts into my fingers, but I refuse to be murdered at my high school’s track.

  “Think she saw us?” a man with a deep rasp asks.

  She? Me?

  Cold fingers of fear scrape down my back.

  I look around the trees and see two men standing on the track. It’s too dark to make out anything other than their basic shapes.

  “Who knows. They aren’t watching her, though, so she hasn’t changed,” the other man says. This guy must be in charge. Something in the tenor of his voice practically sings dominance. Fear like I’ve never known before seizes me, crushing my lungs. How do they know about the change? About me? “She’s worthless to us right now. Why don’t you fan out and see if you can spot anything.”

  My mouth drops in horror as I watch two men quickly turn into six. Who the hell are these guys? One of the guys steps away, and like some bad sci-fi movie, four men break off from the one guy. They all start walking in different directions on the track. Suddenly, they all turn as one. Man, that’s freaky. “It’s too dark. And I doubt you want me using flashlights. But if you want, we can search and grab her,” the one in the center of the five guy says.

  “Those aren’t our orders. Yet.”

  Yet? I have to tell someone about this. But what am I going to say, “Some creepy guys were hanging out at the track talking about me”? That’ll get me in huge trouble. And I’m not sure my principal would believe me. Not to mention their rules are pretty iron clad, especially the no-tolerance ones.

  I shift, causing pain to blast through my knee. I rock to my side. Tears stream down my face and I shove a fist in my mouth to silence my agonized moans.

  The fading crunch of gravel loosens the tightness in my chest.

  Car doors slam, and relieved tears course down my cheeks.

  The sound of the engine firing and pulling away clears the clogging fear from my mind. Time to leave.

  My hand still grips the bark of the tree. I pry it loose and rub at my chest. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll burst through my shirt.

  Who was that?

  What was that?

  I have to get out of here. What if they come back? My fingers dig into dirt and decaying leaves. I hop up on one leg and test how much strength I can put on my other one. Not too bad. But after a few inches, I need a break.

  I flop onto my back. Heavy breaths leave my lips. I’ll just rest a minute. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

  A sob rips out of me. I’m going to die here. They’re going to come back.

  I can’t even run away.

  I’m going to be the girl they point at in the school’s yearbook and say, “This is why you don’t go out after curfew.”

  Tears continue to stream down my face. I test my knee again. It hurts, but I can make it. I take a deep breath…

  A wave of pain erupts behind my eyes, eclipsing the agony of my knee. It shoots down my neck. My chest kills like it’s being shredded by a ravenous beast. Flames of pure agony lick up my legs and into my arms, burning and biting at every pore. My muscles stretch and flex like an over-used rubber band. I bite down on my lip to silence the scream that wants to break through. Blood pools in my mouth from my cut lip.

  My body arches off the ground, tearing a piercing scream from my mouth, scattering the once-sleeping birds above.

  The famil
iar smells of Band-Aids and bleach are the first things to register.

  I slowly open my eyes. The infirmary.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter, we have a no-tolerance policy. It’s not negotiable. She’s suspended for two weeks,” my principal, Mrs. Knell says.

  I follow the sound of her voice. Grandpa Joe and Mrs. Knell stand near the door.

  I close my eyes again, wishing for the all-encompassing blackness to return.

  Suspension?

  Forget any chance of getting my scholarship back now.

  “Fine,” Grandpa says.

  Heels click away and the soft footsteps of my grandpa come closer. The smells of Old Spice and coffee flood my nose. Scents of home.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he says.

  “Busted,” I say, my voice hoarse.

  I open my eyes and stare into a pair of familiar blue ones. They look tired. One of his soft, weathered hands brushes the hair off my forehead. “You scared us,” he says.

  Things click, and it finally registers where I am. I latch on to his arm, causing him to stumble forward. “Grandpa, it happened.”

  His eyes scan the room. “Not here,” he orders me.

  “But –”

  “Not. Here. Calm yourself,” he tells me.

  I nod my head.

  “You heard, so you know that you have to leave school. How are you feeling?”

  I go to bend my knee, bracing for the pain.

  Nothing happens.

  Not even a whisper.

  My eyes go wide.

  I flex my fingers.

  Point my toes.

  “Perfect,” I whisper. Even I can hear the awe in my voice.

  “What do you mean perfect?” His voice jars me.

  “My knee. It feels like nothing ever happened to it.” My voice gets louder.

  He shushes me with his hands. “All right. We’ll talk more in the car. For now, we need to get to your room and grab your stuff. Probably most of it.” The last part he mutters more to himself than to me.

  I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, getting ready to stand, when I’m drawn back to what occurred to me moments ago.

  “I just received my—”

  Grandpa covers my mouth.

  Powers, I finish in my mind.

  Wait. A huge knot forms in my stomach. If I just received my powers, it can only mean one thing.

  My mom’s dead.

  Two

  “Tell me everything,” Grandpa says as he puts the car in drive.

  “I was out running—don’t look at me like that. You know why.” He makes a noise low in his throat. “I know, but I didn’t want to stop trying,” I tell him.

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “You might have to give it up now,” he says in a gentle tone.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Becca,” he responds, but the tone of his voice says, Really?

  “What?” My voice rises with my temper.

  He shakes his head, eyes never leaving the road. “Finish,” he commands.

  So I tell him about running, the men, the moment the pain seized me.

  “You’re sure they didn’t see you?” he asks.

  I lean my head back against the seat. “That’s what I’m hoping. They didn’t hang around or search for me.”

  His hand starts tapping on the steering wheel, the pace slowly increasing. I watch, fascinated, as this former D.C. hotshot lawyer shows his nerves.

  The tapping abruptly stops.

  “I got a call from Grandma before we left.”

  Bomb dropped.

  My stomach starts to knot. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” His tone sounds weighted.

  I already knew she was dead. That’s the only way I would have received my powers, and that’s the only thing she ever told my grandparents about it. Some people inherit a house or money. I got saddled with a power I know nothing about. Part of me wants to see what this power is, but a large part is afraid. Maybe it’s the unknown that frightens me the most. Ever since my grandparents sat me down after my tenth birthday and told me about it, it’s almost felt like our family’s dirty secret. I thought I’d have years before I had to worry about this.

  What’s going to happen to me? My dad’s parents have done their best to shield the outside world from who my mother was, but I’ve already felt like an outsider my whole life not having my parents. An outcast, even among my own family. Really, this unknown is downright cruel.

  “And?” I ask, almost afraid to confirm the suspicion bouncing around in my mind.

  He clears his throat once, twice, three times. “She overdosed.”

  I rub a fist across my chest, desperately trying to get rid of the hollow feeling that’s beginning to spread.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Do you—”

  I slice my arm through the air, cutting him off.

  I lay my head against the window, closing my eyes and trying to close off any feelings of sadness for a woman who once again chose drugs over me.

  “Grandma?” I call as we walk in the front door.

  I’m immediately encompassed by the smell of cinnamon and sugar, more scents of home. The familiar smell alone eases some of the tension in my shoulders. At least I can take comfort in being here in my safe haven. Sitting at the kitchen table, Grandma gives me a forced smile and raises one finger to her lips before talking into the phone. “Yes, Friday at noon should be okay.”

  Her face drops. Her eyes quickly fill with sorrow and glisten with unshed tears. “Exactly, the grave right next to our son, Jonathan.”

  Sometimes I forget that I even had a father. I never got the chance to know him. How sad is that? It’s pretty freaking pathetic, if you ask me.

  She hangs up the phone and motions to me with open arms. We squeeze each other tightly. “Was that about my mom’s funeral?”

  She gently strokes my hair, pushing stray locks behind my ears, and nods her head. “We’re just going to have a graveside service. I figured that would be okay with you. I don’t think anyone will be there besides us.”

  I shrug my shoulders, pretending to be indifferent. “Fine by me.”

  I shift my gaze to over her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. “Do you think it’s bad that I probably won’t cry? It’s not like she was a part of my life.”

  I look back toward her face, catching her cringe and her eyes flashing with disappointment. “You know, she wasn’t the best mother and was pretty absent in your life. But I know she loved you, and I know that your father loved her dearly. If you feel like crying, then cry, but if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

  I stay silent, eating the words that will only disappoint her more.

  But my silence causes her to press her lips tightly together. She stares at me for a moment, then releases her pinched mouth. “We’ll have the service in two days.”

  “Okay” is the only response I can give her.

  Three

  “What’s left is but a shell. For the soul is where our true hearts and minds reside. But today we pay respect to the body that housed this glorious soul.”

  This minister is absolutely full of it. Would it be completely inappropriate to laugh? My mom was a lot of things, but I highly doubt she had a glorious soul. And she left behind a lot more than a shell.

  It should be raining. Right? Doesn’t it usually rain during funerals? It’s not supposed to be this warm fall day. I’m pretty sure I hear birds singing. And this grass is ridiculously green. Then again, why would it rain? It’s not like the earth would mourn the loss of my mom.

  The minister’s ridiculous words bring me back. “As we remember to celebrate her life…”

  Does this guy not realize he’s at the funeral of a drug addict and possible prostitute? Are we celebrating the fact that she abandoned her daughter as a baby? Or how about the fact that she died from an overdose?

  I snort. I can’t help it. Grandpa Joe gives me his behave look, tight mouth and pissed-off eyes. Luckily the minister keeps g
oing, but as I look to Grandma Mae for her reaction, she’s stuck in her own head like usual.

  Her eyes are focused on her son’s grave, my long-gone dad. She discreetly wipes tears from her eyes as she slowly gravitates toward him. His eternal resting place is nothing special, a smooth stone with his name and the dates of his life. He could have done remarkable things or been a monster, but I’d never know that from standing above him. All of his deeds, memories and sacrifices died with him. I don’t want that to be me as well. I’m only seventeen. I want to leave some sort of imprint on this world.

  This has to be the cruelest place for Grandma Mae to be. Her son is here, and I can see she yearns to be with him by the way she strokes the tombstone and clears away the debris with one hand while the other strangles the daises in her grasp. The grief is evident on her face, her eyes reflecting the hollowness of the grave below her. Her only child lies dead beneath her feet. I don’t understand her heartache. How could I? I never had a chance to love my parents like she loved her son.

  “Let us pray.”

  Prayer. I prayed for years that my mom would get herself clean. Trying to picture her in my mind now, all I see is a pathetic woman, covered in dirt, clothes torn, begging in a gutter. Am I an awful person to feel this way? If I could have been at the hospital before she died, I would have screamed and shaken her. Even now I can feel the rage inside of me. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down on my cheek to keep from cursing. How could she just leave me? I want to know why she’s gone, why she never saw me, why she didn’t love me. Why was I never enough?