Beyond the Eyes: YA Paranormal Romance



  Beyond the Eyes

  Book 1

  Rebekkah Ford

  Beyond the Eyes

  By Rebekkah Ford

  Copyright © 2012 Rebekkah Ford

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Interior formatting by Tugboat Design

  Second Edition September 2015

  Other Books by Rebekkah Ford

  Beyond the Eyes trilogy

  Dark Spirits

  The Devil’s Third

  Tangled Roots (a companion to the trilogy)

  By Moonlight (Paranormal box set):

  15 novels and novellas from your favorite or soon-to-be favorite paranormal authors

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Premonition

  Chapter Two: Confusion

  Chapter Three: Suspicion

  Chapter Four: Torn

  Chapter Five: Heartache

  Chapter Six: Answers

  Chapter Seven: Nathan’s Story

  Chapter Eight: Sickness

  Chapter Nine: Tree’s Visit

  Chapter Ten: The Lion’s Den

  Chapter Eleven: Searching

  Chapter Twelve: Frustration

  Chapter Thirteen: Confrontation

  Chapter Fourteen: Disagreement

  Chapter Fifteen: Mystery

  Chapter Sixteen: Information

  Chapter Seventeen: Mom’s Answers

  Chapter Eighteen: Devastation

  Chapter Nineteen: Brayden’s Promise

  Chapter Twenty: Anwar

  Chapter Twenty-One: Ambush

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Telling Secrets

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Revelation

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Friends Forever

  Preview: DARK SPIRITS

  DARK SPIRITS: Chapter One

  About the Author

 

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband and best friend Kevin Ford. There are no words that can express how grateful I am for your support and encouragement. I love you, always and forever.

  I’d like to thank the wonderful and talented Valentina Cano for her support and friendship. It means the world to me.

  Thank you, Dad and Mom Wilhelm for believing in me. I love you both.

  I want to give a special shout-out to my cover artist, Stephanie Flint who did a terrific job on my cover and is a pleasure to work with. Thanks, Stephanie. www.sbibbphoto.com

  Thank you, Chase Nottingham, for editing this manuscript. I appreciate your help more than I can say. You’re awesome.

  I would like to acknowledge Joe Ford. Even though he left this earth in 1999, I know if he were still here, he’d be cheering me on. I miss you, Joe.

  And last, but certainly not least, I want to thank you, the reader. Yeah, you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and every inch of my being, for reading this first book in the trilogy. Without your support, my book would be sitting on a shelf collecting dust, sad and lonely. I hope you enjoy it.

 

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

  Psalm 23:4

  Chapter One

  Premonition

  I never thought I would die at the age of seventeen, so when I received the death message, I was a little freaked out.

  It happened on a Friday, late afternoon in March, at my favorite hangout spot–a coffeehouse called Café Nation. Routinely, my friends and I went to Café Nation to sit around, drink coffee, and bullshit about mindless, but entertaining crap. It was a way to decompress and forget about things for a while, like the biology essay due on Monday, or the SAT that was creeping up on us. Café Nation was a place where we could be ourselves and not have to worry about some adults scrutinizing us because we didn’t fit the wholesome, apple pie a la mode ideology crap we’d heard them talk about. Not that I didn’t respect adults, I totally did. I just wished the ones who judged us so harshly would extend the same courtesy.

  Anyway, Matt and I were sitting at our usual table in the far corner of the café, and he was talking nonstop in his caffeinated babble. The silver hoop protruding from his bottom lip seemed to flap a million miles an hour.

  I eyed the five empty espresso cups scattered in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t order another one. His jacked-up energy exhausted me.

  “The Bible was written by man, not God,” he said, going off on one of his religious tangents. Again. He paused, and a devious smile formed on his lips, as if he knew a secret he wasn’t willing to share. “The people who wrote it knew what they were doing.”

  I loved history, and Matt was a genius when came to it, but lately we’d been having the same conversations about religion and humanity, and I was tired of it. I had no interest in mocking other people’s beliefs. I mean, I wouldn’t want people to mock mine or me for that matter, which I was painfully aware could easily happen if they’d found out my secret.

  “Most people don’t know what the hell is really going on, and they’re easily manipulated, and …”

  I tuned him out and thought about what I was going to do on spring break. I’d love to go to Scotland or Ireland. But then again, that would totally suck ass to be crammed in a seat for like ten hours or however long it took to get there. I wondered how much a first class ticket would cost. I took a sip of my latte, tasting the warm, sweet vanilla against my tongue, and that was when it happened.

  The voice spoke.

  Normally, I would have ignored it like I always did, but it said my name, which it had never done before. And then a harsh grinding noise erupted.

  I glanced at Matt who continued on babbling, then my frantic eyes searched the café for any hint of acknowledgment to the voice I’d just heard.

  There were a couple skaters sitting on the brown patchwork couch across the room, animatedly talking. The rest of the café was filled with hippies, Goths, and people in suits.

  Of course they hadn’t heard it. What was I thinking? It wasn’t like anybody had before.

  Then the ghostly voice spoke again, startling me. I flinched, and stared at the dark wood grain on the table as the voice repeated the same cryptic words:

  “The arms of death are opening up to you. The name Paige Reed falls from its lips. Tears of sorrow will be shed, bringing you closer to your destiny.”

  “Paige, what’s wrong?” Matt’s voice sounded distant, like it was tailing the wind from a faraway canyon.

  And then my ears rang in a high-pitched noise that was totally annoying. A squealing pig combined with a tiny bell was what it sounded like.

  What the hell?

  I blinked and jabbed a finger in my ear, wiggling it. Matt was watching me, and when I looked at him, something flickered in his eyes, like a lightning bolt in the clear blue sky. I wasn’t sure what it was, though, because he looked away.

  Dropping my hands into my lap, I stared at my fingers as the ringing began to fade. I could feel Matt’s questioning eyes on me. He was waiting for an answer.

  My heart pounded.

  Nobody knew I’d been receiving cryptic premonitions from a ghostly voice for years. Not even Carrie or Tree (his real name was Jack, but we called him Tree because he was tall and had a bitchin’ Mohawk), my two best friends in the whole world knew. I wished I could tell them, but my fear of them seeing me as a freak prevented me from doing so. So I had to play it cool with Matt and mask the sudden terror I felt with indifference, an act I had performed many times. />
  The coffee grinder stopped, and the café resumed its natural hum of chattering patrons.

  I slowly breathed in the fresh yummy smell of coffee and shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just distracted by a disturbing thought.”

  Matt leaned forward. I kept a straight face, trying not to waver under his gaze. “What disturbing thought was that?” His words were slow but alive with interest, and his eyes bore into mine as if he were trying to lift the answer out of my mind. It was kind of spooky, but then again, I was a little spooked out.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really,” I repeated, looking away to avoid his scrutiny, but out the corner of my eye I saw him glowering at me. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and grunted.

  Great. Now I pissed him off. It was bad enough I had a premonition in front of him and even worse the message had to do with me, and I didn’t know what the hell it meant.

  I scanned the café seeking a diversion and saw Ashley at the counter with one of her leg-puppies beside her. She was the cliché of a head varsity cheerleader: blonde, athletic, and snobby. I mean, she was so full of herself it made a person want to throw up. Seriously.

  “I think Ken should grow some balls and tell Barbie to piss off,” Matt said after Ashley waved an accusing finger in Darren’s (leg-puppy) face, then stomped off to a table beside a window. I looked at him, not realizing he had been watching as well, and he had a sardonic smirk on his face. “But the dumb jock prefers to be whipped, instead of a real man who wouldn’t put up with her shit.” He stuck his hand out toward Darren and continued. “If this is a prelude to what men are going to become in the future, the human race is much more slow-witted than I thought.”

  “That’s kind of harsh,” I said, and he shrugged like he didn’t give a crap. I frowned and saw Carrie entering the café. She smiled and waved. Her black hair now had dark red tips that touched her shoulders, and she wore a vintage Cure T-shirt with Robert Smith’s face poking out of her black cargo jacket.

  “Do you like it?” She swung her hair from side to side.

  “It looks really good on you.” I forced a smile, trying my best not to allow my rattled emotions show. But her attention was focused on Matt instead, and when he nodded in approval, she lit up like a Christmas tree. I had to suppress an eye roll. I mean, yeah, she had the hots for him (it was so obvious), but she could at least be more dignified about it.

  She snatched a lock of my hair and held it up to hers. “I wanted the tips to be the same color as your hair, and I think it’s pretty close to it.”

  “So, Carrie, I’ll pick you up at nine tonight, and then we’ll pick Paige up.” Matt rose from his seat, not interested in sitting through a conversation about hair color.

  I had totally forgotten about going to The Lion’s Den and really wasn’t in the mood to go. What I really wanted to do was try to figure out my premonition before something bad happened. But then again, maybe being around friends would do me some good. And maybe, if I was lucky, it would take away this knot in my stomach. But truthfully, I wasn’t a lucky person.

  As we were leaving, Ashley gave us a disgusted look. I ignored her like always, but Matt couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be rude. He leaned behind Darren and wiggled his tongue at her. Ashley’s mouth dropped, clearly surprised at Matt’s bold move. Carrie and I exchanged humorous looks, and as we pushed past Matt, Carrie grabbed his hand, pulling him with us out the door into the gray, cloudy world. The air had a dank, fishy smell that caused me to wrinkle my nose.

  “Did you see the look on her face?” Carrie asked, giggling.

  Laughing, I nodded. That was one of the fun things about Matt; he had no inhibitions.

  Matt smiled and pointed at the window where Ashley sat. “She deserved it, especially with the way she treats Paige.”

  Right then, a thought occurred to me. What if antagonizing her wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, for the past six months, Ashley had been nothing but rude to me, and I still didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I had ever done anything to her. And yeah, she had been rude to Carrie as well, but for some reason I was her favorite target.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” I said, the raspy part of my voice cracking. It always did that when I was worried, scared, or upset, and I hated it.

  They looked at me like I’d grown another head.

  “Paige, have you forgotten about the whole Zack situation and the shit she said about you?” Carrie reminded me.

  “No,” I said. How could I forget? Ashley had told everybody I was such a loser that my own mother didn’t want to be around me. The next day Zack came up to me at the beginning of class and said he couldn’t go out with me because he had to wash his jock strap. My gut twisted when the vision of Ashley and some of my classmates snickering, entered my mind. I had been totally humiliated and wanted to die right there. That night, I’d cried myself to sleep because what she’d said about my mother had slammed me pretty hard.

  Carrie pointed a sharp finger at me. “So don’t you go feeling bad for her. She doesn’t deserve your guilt, and don’t forget about the shit she said about me too.” She pressed her hands into her hips and glared at me.

  “You’re right,” I admitted, heading across the street, leaving the rows of shops behind, “but she’s never been mean to you, Matt, so what’s your excuse?”

  He kicked a rock. It bounced off the curb into a gutter. “I don’t like her.”

  Carrie laughed as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “You’re too funny.” She bumped her hip against Matt, totally crushing on him. I wondered if they’d end up dating. I hated feeling like a third wheel and was already starting to feel like one. Thank God we reached my car first.

  Almost two years ago on my sixteenth birthday, Mom had bought me a black 1991 Morris Mini Rover. It was her way of telling me she loves me and buying off her own guilt for not being around like a normal mom, which was fine with me. I mean, this car totally rocked, and I wasn’t about to begrudge her intentions behind it.

  “I’ll see you guys later.” I stepped inside my car, breathing in the vanilla aroma wafting off my Hello Kitty sachet. I flicked the scented bag with my finger, causing it to spin beneath the mirror.

  I sat there for a few minutes, watching them walk across the lawn of the courthouse square. The purplish-gray sky and the skeletal black trees around the white courthouse reminded me of a Tim Burton movie. And as I sat there pondering over my premonition, a distinct feeling of being watched came over me. It wasn’t Carrie or Matt. I’d seen them like a minute ago wave goodbye to each other and head in opposite directions. I twisted in my seat and peered out the back window. The street lamps popped on, casting a yellow glow across the zebra-striped crosswalk. A couple with two young kids going inside Tasty Cone were the only people around.

  They weren’t watching me.

  “Stop being paranoid,” I told myself, backing out onto the street. But then I caught a glimpse of someone darting behind the courthouse, and my heart sank.

  I panicked, thinking about the premonition again, wondering if a crazy person was going to murder me. I mean, the voice did say the arms of death were opening up to me. So were the arms of death some psycho killer who wanted to torture me? But what about the tears of sorrow bringing me closer to my destiny? That didn’t make sense. If some dude was going to kill me, how could that bring me closer to my destiny?

  On the way home, my mind conjured up scenarios of how someone would try to kill me. When I finally reached the gray and white bungalow style house nestled among cathedral trees, I was home. With a shaky hand I pushed the garage door button. The door gave off a loud rattling sound as it slowly crept up, unnerving me. Finally, it jerked to a stop–metal grinding against metal. I parked the car and bolted inside the house. I quickly turned the lights on and stopped in the hallway that divided the kitchen from the living room. The brown couches and matching recliner appeared undisturbed. Beside the flat screen TV was the remote, where I’d left
it this morning. I glanced in the kitchen. All four chairs were tucked neatly under the table, and my coffee mug sat on the counter beside the sink. I breathed in the familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg while I listened for any movement in the house.

  Silence.

  But then I thought I heard a clattering noise outside the front window. I hurried over to it and peeked out the curtains. The street was deserted, except for a cat walking toward the house. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sat on the couch, and held my forehead in my hands.

  “This isn’t like you,” I mumbled to the floor. “You need to get a grip on yourself and forget about these stupid fears.”

  Yeah, I must try. But damn it. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it in my bones, and it had to do with me. Why? Why couldn’t I be like a normal teenager? What had I ever done to deserve this? Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers through my hair, telling myself again, I must try to forget about it and act like a normal teenager. With determination, I set out to do just that, ignoring the constant gnawing in the back of my brain.