Lonely Souls
Karice Bolton
The Witch Avenue Series
Lonely Souls
KARICE BOLTON
Copyright © 2012 Karice Bolton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events either are the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design: PhatpuppyArt.com
DEDICATION
A big thank you to all of the wonderful book bloggers in the world who tirelessly search out the next great read to add to their TBR piles.
And to my wonderful husband, mother, aunt and uncle who have been so very supportive of my writing! And to my dad who is looking down over us all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to say a simple thank you to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and all of the other avenues available for the indie publishing world. It allows the art of storytelling to continue to flourish in unexpected ways!
BOOKS BY KARICE BOLTON
THE WITCH AVENUE SERIES
LONELY SOULS
ALTERED SOULS (FALL 2012)
THE WATCHERS TRILOGY
AWAKENING
LEGIONS
CATACLYSM
Watchers Novellas coming Winter 2013
TO CONTACT THE AUTHOR PLEASE VISIT HER WEBSITE AT
WWW.KARICEBOLTON.COM
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EMAIL
[email protected]
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FOLLOW HER ON FACEBOOK or TWITTER
@KARICEBOLTON
PART I
Lonely Souls if we dare to see
Are no worse off than you and me
By others sins they’ve come to be
But with your love they’ll be set free
Chapter 1
“Mom!” I hollered more for my benefit than hers.
I wasn’t in earshot yet, but I loved the way my voice carried into the wind off the sea. The constant sloshing of the waves guided me to the rocky beach where my mom was collecting her thoughts and anything else that might catch her fancy. It was a pleasant night with only the moon’s warm glow lighting my way on the very uneven path that weaved through the overgrown blackberries and tall beach grass. Doing my best to dodge the prick of the thorns, I carefully managed to stay on the trail. I didn’t need to be all scarred up for my upcoming celebrations.
This little stretch of beach was hard to get to and rarely frequented by anyone, which was why we loved it. The beach wasn’t what most people pictured when they thought of a beach. The beaches along Washington’s coast, more often than not, had tiny rocks and pebbles in place of sand and many boulders and downed logs that made for awfully fine seating, not places to spread out on a beach towel and soak up the rays.
The makeshift trail finally ended, allowing me to spot my mom’s pile of things. I hoped she was ready to leave. It was getting a little chilly, and I hadn’t prepared to be here long. We had a crockpot full of chili waiting for us both, but she wanted me to meet her here at our special spot, so she could tell me something. I had no idea what it was that she wanted to tell me, but since so much was going on in my life right now it could be about anything. I just graduated from high school. My eighteenth birthday was almost here. Our huge summer solstice celebration, Litha was fast approaching, along with the big event, my acceptance into the Witch Avenue Coven on the same day.
“Mom?” I hollered, as I trudged my way over to her bag, looking around the empty beach.
Only the crashing of waves answered.
I didn’t see her anywhere.
“Mom?” I tried again, batting down the worry that wanted to make its way into my consciousness.
Realizing my voice was no match for the roar of the waves, I started walking toward one of the larger boulders, in case she was sitting where I just couldn’t see her. The pebbles were loose, creating an extra treacherous journey since I was only in flip-flops. Poor planning on my part, but I didn’t think that I’d have to hunt her down. She could be sidetracked so easily.
Finally making it to the mammoth piece of black rock, I became annoyed when I saw she wasn’t there. I wasn’t in any way prepared to be marching up and down the beach looking for her. I grabbed my cellphone out of my pocket and dialed her number as I went back toward her pile of things to sit. Maybe I should stay put, and she’d return soon enough. As the phone rang on my end, I got closer to my mom’s pile and heard her bag ringing. Darn! She didn’t take it with her—odd. That was always a rule of hers when hiking or at the beach. We carried our phones with us at all times.
I squatted down to see what she brought with her, hoping an item might lead me in the right direction to find her. If she were gathering plants, then I’d know better where to go. I opened up her bag and panic set in immediately. The shirt she was wearing when she left our house was stuffed in her bag, wrapped around the shoes she was wearing. This made no sense. Her wallet and jewelry were in this bag. She wouldn’t just leave all this stuff for a stranger to steal. Something was wrong. Jumping up, the insides of the bag dispersed onto the beach, but I didn’t care.
“Mom!” I screamed, kicking off my flip-flops so that I could run up the hill closest to me.
Reaching the top of the hill, I scanned the grassy area quickly seeing nothing. Spinning around, I looked back toward the rocky beach. From this vantage point, I was able to see everything and nothing. My heart started pounding as I began dialing 9-1-1.
“911, what is your emergency?” The operator answered.
“My mom. She’s missing,” I hollered into the phone, dread spreading everywhere.
“Calm down, ma’am. Where are you located?”
Calm down? I’m not hyper, just scared!
“I’m at the beach just off of Snoqualmie Avenue, down the trail,” I replied
“Is your mother in the water? How long has she been missing?”
“I don’t know!” I screamed into the phone. “Please just send help.”
Okay, now I’m panicking! I can’t calm down. My mom isn’t where she’s supposed to be.
“Ma’am, help is on the way. What is your name?”
“Triss,” I replied, as I ran back down the hill to search the beach or the water, or anywhere but where I was.
Could my mom be in the water? I didn’t even think of that. She wouldn’t be in the water, would she?
“And what is your mother’s name?” the operator asked blandly.
“Veronica Spires,” my voice panted with the exertion.
“Where are they? When will they get here? She needs help!”
I reached the edge of the water. The waves were lapping against my bare feet. Looking out toward the sea, I saw nothing but water and rocks illuminated by the moon’s light. There was no way she would be out there. She never went into the water without someone with her. Oh, my God, where could she be?
The police sirens, off in the distance, were becoming louder by the second. Help was on the way but not nearly soon enough.
“Veronica! Mom! Veronica!” I kept hollering. “Where are you?”
“Ma’am, help has arrived. They’re making their way down the trail. I’m going to stay on the phone until they reach you.”
My body crumpled. Falling on my knees, the tears began pouring down my face. This couldn’t be happening. I turned off my phone. The police were almost to the beach, and I didn’t need the operator to hear my cries. The police chatter of CB radios began rolling through the air mixed with the barks of the K-9 units.
This was a nightmare. There was no way this could be happening. My eyes darted back to the hilltop that I had just left. A man was standing on the
hill, watching me, with the darkness working in his favor.
“Hey,” I yelled, looking at him, trying to see any sort of distinguishing features. He froze in place.
I jumped back to my feet, with my jeans soaked from where I had been sitting. I started running up to the hill, and the stranger took off.
“Miss!” a policeman hollered.
“Someone was watching me!” I cried, not stopping my run. “They might have my mom!”
I reached the top of the hill in a flash, and there was no one to be seen.
A policeman came up right behind me.
“Are you, Triss?” His voice was gentle, probably used to dealing with lunatics, not sure which way they were headed in any given situation. “I’m Officer White.”
“Yes, my mom. She’s not here.” The tears started again. “I was supposed to meet her and all that’s here are her things. I can’t find her. Clothes, wallet, jewelry are all that’s here.” I took a deep breath. “Then there was a guy, I think staring at me.”
“Where at?” he asked immediately.
“Right here,” I replied. “He was standing right here. I think it was a guy. That’s why I came this way. It’s so dark it’s hard to tell. I was sitting on the beach right before you got here and noticed the person.”
“Where are your mother’s things, Triss?” he asked, scanning the area and coming up with the same thing as me, nothing. There was no one here.
I pointed over to the beach, completely defeated.
He nodded and looked briefly at the ground for any sign of tracks besides mine; he then turned to the officers at the base of the hill and signaled for them to wait.
We walked back down the hill, and Officer White explained to the others the situation. I had no idea how he got so much from my few sentences. He pointed at the two officers who were in control of the German shepherds, and he motioned for me to come with them to where my mom’s belongings had been dumped by my carelessness.
“Triss, we are going to allow our K-9 members, Sunny and Brandy, to smell some of your mother’s items, okay?” Officer White asked, looking intensely into my eyes. He had to be well over six feet tall and commanded the attention of anyone who looked in his direction.
All I could do was nod. It felt like if I even opened my mouth to breathe, I would break down again.
One of the female officers, who had her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, came over to me and touched my shoulder softly. She quieted her chattering CB on her belt.
“Is there someone we can call for you?” she asked.
“My aunt,” I muttered, staring off over the darkened sound again, my eyes filling with tears.
One of the other female officers gave commands to Sunny and Brandy and off they went in the direction of the hill. The very same hill I had just come from with Officer White. They were racing off into the distance with the humans following right behind. My mom had been in that area. The dogs caught her scent.
It seemed like hours, but Aunt Vieta finally arrived. Her eyes wide with horror from the scene she witnessed in the parking lot. I couldn’t even begin to count how many police and search and rescue arrived. There were divers already out in the ocean, and everywhere I turned, there was activity.
I had shutdown. I was merely operating on autopilot. Aunt Vieta started running toward me and scooped me into her arms.
“We’ll find her, Triss. We’ll find her,” she kept mumbling into my ear, but it did little to comfort me.
“I know we will,” I nodded in agreement.
She released me and stood back looking at me.
“Here, I thought you might be freezing.” She shoved a coat into my arms that she had tied around her waist.
“Officer White’s over there,” I said, pointing toward his direction. He was busy getting updates from the teams that had spread in various directions. “He’d be the best person to fill you in. I don’t think I could.”
I appreciated my aunt’s presence, but I would rather just sit on the beach listening to everyone’s updates, hoping I would find something out that would bring my mom back immediately. Instead, I was bombarded with statistics about the longer the victim was missing how exponentially the odds of finding them decreased. I doubt that was for me to hear, but I did. And those words would forever haunt me.
“The waters are getting a little rough. We’ll start again in the morning,” were the first of many sentences that etched a place in my mind, creating a level of despair I didn’t think possible.
Chapter 2
Sitting on a pew in the front row for my mother’s memorial service was nothing I imagined for this day. This particular day, my mom and I were going to go shopping for everything related to my receiving ceremony into the Witch Avenue Coven. There was nothing right about today, and it was hard for me to imagine that there would be anything right about any of the days to come without her.
My aunt squeezed my hand, but I couldn’t squeeze it back. I knew the priestess was about to begin the service, but I didn’t want to hear the words. This was the same priestess who was going to be welcoming me into adulthood, into our coven. Now, she’s about to start speaking about my mother in the past tense. I tried repositioning myself on the well-worn wooden pew that I had been making home for the last hour because I didn’t want to socialize with anyone. I didn’t want to hear what they had to say. I was sure I wouldn’t agree with it.
Looking around the room, I saw many familiar faces and several unfamiliar ones. Shockingly, none of my school friends could make it to the service. I didn’t blame them. It’s after graduation, and they had all moved on to their new college-bound lives; most weren’t even in the state any longer.
I scanned the room one last time hoping that my mom’s best friend made it in, but her flight was delayed, and it didn’t look like luck was on my side. Pushing my focus up front again, where the candles were flickering in every direction, I did my best to fight back the effects from the overwhelming fragrance of freesia. I’d been holding onto rose petals with my left hand, probably crushing them to nothingness, trying to keep myself together. My nails were digging into my palm as I promised myself that I was going to hold in the tears because I knew she wasn’t really gone. There was no way she could be gone.
The brilliant music began echoing off the walls as Mozart’s “The Countess’ Aria” began pumping into the room. My aunt immediately looked at me and bent over to my ear.
“Did you pick this song, sweetie?” my aunt asked, her voice low.
“No, it’s what my mom had listed in her preparations,” I whispered, not really sure what the big deal was. “Why?”
“We’ll discuss it later. It’s a peculiar choice is all.”
Doing my best to dismiss whatever my aunt had on her mind, I focused on the beauty of the opera that my mother must have wanted me to hear. I only wish it was in English, so I knew what the words were telling me.
As the music was quieted, the priestess began speaking words that seemed to matter to everyone in the room except me. They wouldn’t bring my mom back. I was staring at the photographs everyone had placed up front of my mom. She always surrounded herself with nature.
There were pictures of us together at the floral shop that my mom owned, and I grew up working in. She always had the best aprons on and everyone loved them. She was sporting some of her finest in these photos. She actually sewed them herself. She’d wear polka dots, stripes, and ruffles one day and switch to lace and paisley the next. She even started selling them through our shop. The burn of sadness in the pit of my stomach was attempting to escape, but I wouldn’t let it.
There was a picture of my mom and I on one of our hiking adventures to gather plants for the tinctures that she was always busy making for our pantry. That was a particularly fun day. Only I would know the background of this picture. My mom looked a little more frazzled than usual. I had to stifle my laugh, thinking back on it. I had been so proud of myself rounding up water hemlock, thinking i
t was Queen Anne’s lace before my mom had to stop me and quickly find a lake to dunk me in. We planned on making large batches of Queen Anne’s lace jelly with all of my handiwork. However, our plans came to an abrupt halt when my mom realized I’d been picking the wrong greens. Apparently, the plant I had found was toxic——deadly actually. Evidently, not only are the leaves, flowers, and seeds of water hemlock poisonous, but also the liquid inside was even worse. So as I squeezed and snapped stems off, I had it all over my skin. We decided it was best for me to do a little more studying before I started collecting herbs and flowers again. It took an entire year before I went out on my own.
Finally, my eyes fell on the picture of my mom near the ocean. It was her favorite place to be, which is why living in Seattle was so ideal. She loved the chill in the air that the sea provided. She loved taking me for walks on the rocky beaches up and down our coast, always stopping at our favorite little fish hut for fish and chips. The most disheartening thing that probably happened to my mom was finding out her daughter got seasick. She tried so many times, taking me on various size boats, to brush it off as something else only for me to come back as green as could be every time. We always managed a way to find humor in all of our misadventures. I was going to miss that.
My heart started filling up with a mixture of both grief and happiness reliving these memories. I was filled with the most conflicting of emotions, and I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do.
In memory of my mom, I plastered a smile on my face but then my thoughts switched topics once more.
I started getting hot as I thought about this entire spectacle. That’s really what it felt like, a spectacle. There wasn’t any proof that my mom died. In my mind, she was still missing and what was the big hurry and push to have this memorial? Things didn’t seem right. Realizing I let myself go on another tangent trapped in my psyche, I looked back up at the priestess as she was asking for a moment of silence. The flames from the candles waved left to right from the breeze as the priestess moved into place. Nothing about this memorial service followed our tradition because nothing about it seemed plausible. For starters, there’s nobody to give back to the earth. How can we bury someone who might not even be dead? Why would we want to?
