Christine Rees - The Hidden Legacy

Published byEvernight Teen at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright 2016 ChristineRees

ISBN: 978-1-77339-118-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Stephanie Balistreri

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction ordistribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of thisbook may be used or reproduced electronically or in print withoutwritten permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodiedin reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names,characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualevents, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This book is in loving memory of those who willnever be forgotten.

Michael Rees

Grandma Anne

Grandpa Norman

Ricardo Codina

Hans Berkhout

Diane Alexander

THE HIDDENLEGACY

Hidden Legacy,1

ChristineRees

Copyright 2016

Screams filled thedarkness. The kind of scream that resolves itself into a whistle. Atrain whistle. A bright light. A train was headed this way. Theclatter and vibrations of metal tracks shook beneath my weight.Panic settled in with a powerful grip, holding me paralyzed. Allhope of rational thought seemed lost. How did I get here in thefirst place? More importantly, how was I going to get myselfout?

A cry has made its way to me from thedarkness . Anguish. Pleading.I cannot place the voice. Did it come from me?

There is fog. A lot of grey fog. Theblinding light and the thunder from a fast-approaching train areall I can see.

Hello! I screamed into the shadows. No soundreturned.

The pleading voice wa s gone. The train was not.

A pounding train. A pounding heart. Thump, thump, thump, thump .

Every inch of exposed skin has nu mbed from the chill. Exposed. Naked to the elements.Am I even wearing clothes? I look down but my body has been encasedin darkness. It will be in the light soon. The screaming whistlewill not let me forget about its presence. Closing my eyes, Ibegged to be let free of this nightmare.

The whistle blows again. Louder this time. As if itsfunneled into my ear so it can rattle around my brain. My eyespopped open in horror as the circular light the Cyclops at the front of the trainbarreledonward. The tracks shake more wildly. Dust flew upward, fleeingfrom the scene while it can. The dust has a better sense thanme.

Run stupid, why dont you run?

But I have nowhere to run.

I suck ed in air.Wheeze. Cough. The dust has climbed its way into my nose. Everysense has been assaulted by the grime. A layer of it has formed onmy tongue.

The harbinger of my doo m must have picked up speed. Its even more thunderous andbrilliant up close. One thought has formed, pushing out the soundIam going to die. My senses have begun recording my finalmoment.

On the verge of laughing at the absurdity of it all, I liftmy head but recoil when I connect with something hard. My eyes open a second time.Instinctively, I raise my hands to cut off the glare from thebarreling metal Cyclops. As pink fingers filter the light, realization hits. Sunlight.

No Cyclops. No train. Nosound.

My pulse and breathing slow ed down. Much slower than I would have liked. But theyslowed. None of it was real. And yet I felt like I wasthere.

T he once hostile,hateful, burning light has turned warm and welcoming. My eyes openwider as the difference settled. There is a smudge on the Camaroswindow where I banged my head. It had to be a nightmare. I hoped itwas a nightmare.

Yo u fell asleep,Carly commented.

I straightened my back against the leather seat. The AC in the car was tepid compared tothose rattling train tracks.

I guess so, I said,clenching and unclenching my hands to make sure I could feelthem.

Glancing sideways at me, my step mother looked much younger than her age. Onlookersoften mistook her for my older sibling even though we lookednothing alike. Her black hair was knotted into a side braid thatshifted with the movement.

Faye, it sounded like you were having a bad dream. Iseverything okay? Carly asked, but her tone wassuspicious.

Must have been a nightmare, I informed my stepmom as weentered Astoria,Oregon.

I didnt want to think about it anymore .

Youre sure thats all it was? Carly pressed. Her blue eyes turned back to the road.She didnt really want to know the answer.

What else could it be? I carefully countered. She wasimplying something more.

This subject was always a dance forus.

Carly s blue eyesremained on the road for the duration of the drive. The voice onthe GPS provided directions to a destination we hadnt been to inyears.

Carly married Dadafter my mom ran out on us years ago. Carly didnt like kids. Shedidnt want kids. She had no idea how to act around her recentlyturned sixteen-year-old freak of a stepdaughter, but she wastrying. We seemed to find a balance between polite andawkward.

She was never mean, but I knew what she thought of me. Ihad heard enough conversations between her and my father. Shethought I needed help. Lotsand lots of help. Maybe she was right.

Now that I was hersole responsibility, she was chauffeuring me to live with Grams.Carly thought staying with a relative of my fathers in a smalltown would be a better fit.

As we pulled up to a petite house with a crooked porch and peeling blue paint, Icouldnt decide if I was nervous or relieved. Would this be betteror worse than living with Carly?

The humidity hit fastafter sitting in the air-conditioned Camaro. Astoria, Oregonusually had mild weather. But there was an ongoing heat wave thesepast few days.

I brushed my blonde hair back. The blue strands in my bangs threatened to stick to myforehead. Why couldnt I just sit inside the black car and blastthe AC?

Carly opened the trunk.

Right. I was being forced t o live in a new home.

I met Carly at therear of the car for my two suitcases. The only scraps I wasbringing into my new life.

Well, Faye, look atyou all grown up, a familiar voice said from the front of thehouse.

I looked up and smiled, walking to the screen door with a suitcase in tow.

Look at those beautiful hazel eyes hiding behind all thatmakeup. Grams tsked . Her curlyblonde hair was beginning to frizz from the weather.

I wasnt wearing much makeupeyeliner and mascarabut Grams didnt like makeupwhatsoever.

Hi, Grams. We huggedbefore struggling to move one of the suitcases up the front porchstairs. They were old and painted a worn-out blue that wassplintering.

Let me help you with that, Grams said and tried to takethe suitcase fro m me, but Irefused. A young girl shouldnt be forced to carry such a heavybag. Grams gave Carly a pointed look, but Carly was too busytrying to bring my other suitcase to the door to notice.

I pitied Carly . Shereally was trying.

Im sixteen, Grams. Im becoming a big girl now, I joked to lighten themood. Tension between Grams and Carly alwaysexisted. Grams was my fathers mother. And even though Grams neverspoke of my mom, no woman could compete with her. Everyone knew howGrams felt, so our visits became shorter and lessfrequent.

This would be a good change. We couldspend more time together.

A floorboard creakedas I stepped inside the quaint house. The cool air was refreshing,especially compared to the mugginess we thankfully left outside.Even my feet were chilled by the floor temperature when I took offmy flip-flops.