Scorched: Book 1 of the Scorched Trilogy Read online

  Scorched

  Book 1 of the Scorched Trilogy

  Lizzy Prince

  Copyright

  Copyright ©2020 by Lizzy Prince. All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected].

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

  http://www.lizzyprince.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dedication

  To my beautiful babies. You’ve inspired me to be more than I ever would have thought possible.

  Chapter One

  2 years ago

  The sounds of chaos, the hiccupping breath of someone crying, and the yelling of others fading in and out somewhere nearby were what first broke through the blackness that engulfed me. The smell of smoke, ash, singed hair and skin permeated the air warning of death.

  My limbs were frozen and stiff, even though I could feel the blazing heat of a huge fire blasting nearby. Water misted my skin and damp grass beneath my back soaked into my shirt and shorts, chilling me completely. Someone was holding my hand and petting my hair as if I were a small child, but it didn't provide comfort. It was disconcerting because I didn't know who it was.

  Someone was sobbing, and I cracked my lids, blinking rapidly as my eyes watered from the ash and smoke hanging heavily in the air. The giant maple with the tire swing I’d sat on too many times to recall jerked my mind into recognition. I was laying on my front lawn, a shiny mylar blanket covering me from shoulder to toes.

  Looking up, I saw a woman near my head, not petting my hair as I had supposed, but trying to get an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. Agile fingers adjusted the strap carefully to keep it in place and the uniform with the patch on the chest told me she was a paramedic.

  My eyes began a frantic intake of everything I could see from my prone position. I struggled, trying to sit up, but the paramedic pushed my shoulders back down with little effort.

  “Don’t try to get up.” The voice was calming and kind, but panic was bubbling up inside me when I realized the sobbing I was hearing was coming from me. My chest heaved as I tried to get oxygen into my lungs, but I couldn’t stop the wracking cries that were ripping out from my lungs.

  “What… is… going… on?” I said between gasps of breath. The paramedic looked to the right and I tracked her eyes to see my house completely engulfed in flames.

  “My Mom? Dad?” I could barely speak. The lack of oxygen in my lungs, as my throat closed off in panic, was making the world spin around me, blackening at the edges.

  “We’re going to get you to the hospital sweetie, then we can find your family.”

  I wanted to reply. I wanted to ask more questions and scream out “Mom! Dad!”, but the world around me faded, altered forever as the darkness pulled me under.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you having the nightmares every night?” The petite blond asked with her pen poised over a notebook. She liked to use the black and white marbled notebooks that I’d always thought serious writers used when I was little. Now I associated them with hipster writers who were probably writing shitty fanfiction.

  My name, Annalise Quinn, was written in fat black letters across the front cover, although no one had ever called me Annalise, not even my mother. I wasn’t positive, but I think this was notebook number four from nearly two years of our therapy sessions.

  Dr. Janus was sitting across from me in a gray and blue polka dot armchair that matched the one I occupied. The two chairs were set off to one side of the room with a small end table tucked in between. It held a lamp and a ubiquitous box of tissues that made me wonder if her other patients wept through all their sessions.

  The walls in the office were a boring white and nearly bare save for a degree that hung over the end table. The official piece of paper looked a bit lonely and pathetic in a bland wooden frame, making it seem like an afterthought. It always made me wonder if she was obligated by the state to hang up her credentials.

  Dr. Janus had a private office in a small strip of storefronts. I can remember approaching the front entry with Sara the first time I’d come for an appointment and how the unconventional location had thrown me. Even now, I could clearly recall asking my best friend’s mom what kind of quack she was sending me to.

  After that initial meeting, I had ended up liking Dr. Janus. She had a small practice and limited her patients. She'd told me when we'd first met that she enjoyed traveling and never wanted to be so overwhelmed with work that she couldn't get away every once in a while. Not to mention that working with traumatized teens was probably extremely depressing and stressful.

  Her appearance made her seem like a perky cheerleader; she was small in stature, with golden blonde hair that could have only come from an expensive salon. I assumed she was somewhere close to forty give or take a few years. She was attractive, although there was always a slightly hard look to her face that probably went hand-in-hand with listening to moody teens with PTSD complain, evade and vent all day, every day.

  “I wasn't,” I answered the same question she'd been asking me once a month since I'd started seeing her.

  Dr. Janus had wanted to set up weekly sessions but my insurance wouldn’t cover more than once a month so that is what we had to stick to. It still made my skin buzz with anger that I had to deal with shitty insurance companies right after my parents’ death and argue with them about how often I needed to see a therapist to work through the trauma of the incident.

  Dr. Janus made a quick note in her book and returned her gaze to me. “You weren’t but now you are?” She prompted.

  I shifted my eyes from her, staring at a crack in the wall across from me. “I was having them a lot less often, once every few weeks maybe, but the last week or so I’ve been having them every night.” I rubbed my eyes feeling suddenly weary.

  I hadn’t been sleeping well. The nightmare, a rehashing of the night our house had burned to the ground and my parents had died, had been playing on repeat every time I fell into a deep enough sleep. At least, the parts of that night I could remember.

  Dr. Janus lean forward slightly but I avoided looking at her. In theory I knew the therapy was good for me, necessary even, but I was frankly sick of thinking and talking about that night and everything I couldn't remember.

  After a moment of silence, she spoke. “You just had your birthday, didn't you?”

  I nodded in confirmation. I’d celebrated my eighteenth birthday just the Tuesday before. I’d been eighteen for four whole days and had gotten less than four hours of sleep each night since I’d officially become an adult.

  Dr. Janus sat back in her chair with a g
lint in her eye that I couldn’t identify and set her notebook down. She so rarely put it down that I couldn’t help but give her my focused attention. She smiled understandingly.

  “It's a big milestone, Annie. It's normal for someone who has your history to see an increase in symptoms around these types of watershed moments.” She paused before continuing. “Has anything changed with the dreams?”

  “No, it’s the same every time. I wake up on our front lawn and see the house burning down. Every. Time.” The words came out with a bit more anger than I’d intended.

  She nodded at me, her lips pursed slightly at my tone. “Okay, let’s wrap today with a focus on improving your sleep and anxiety.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded. Dr. Janus always ended our sessions with hypnotherapy. I personally thought this part was a load of shit, but it did seem to help me feel more relaxed and lighter somehow, so I just went with it.

  “Okay Annie, take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling, each to the count of five, listening to my voice for guidance.”

  I couldn’t even recall reaching five before Dr. Janus was snapping her fingers and wrapping our session up for the month. What felt like mere moments later, I was confirming my next appointment and heading out the door.

  My best friend Maggie was waiting for me in the parking lot, arm slung out the window of the beat-up Subaru wagon that had been her mom’s for a thousand years before Maggie had inherited it. She was playing on her phone, not bothering to watch for me.

  I'd been friends with Maggie since the second grade when she and her mom had moved across town and into my school district. She'd shown up that first day wearing knee-high rainbow striped socks, a pair of rainbow-trimmed gym shorts and a My Little Pony t-shirt that I'd instantly coveted.

  Her strawberry blond hair had been styled in two high-set messily braided buns that I’d come to learn fit her personality, which was adorable and quirky. She had emitted this carefree and confident quality and it had pulled me to her like we were fated to be best friends. Her style might have been what first made me invite her to sit next to me at lunch that day, but Maggie had turned out to be hilarious and kind and we’d bonded immediately over our love of 80’s movies. Laughing over the ones both of our mothers had made us watch.

  “Do you have any candy?” I asked in a creepy voice as I got close to her window. An unimpressed eyebrow lifted at my comment before Maggie swung her head in my direction.

  “Are you trying to bait me into kidnapping you? I think you have this all backward.” She tossed her phone down to the center console and started the car.

  “I’ve heard it both ways.” I laughed as I hopped in the passenger side.

  “Hey, Annie. Are you all sane again?” She asked the same question she did every time she picked me up. It was her way of checking in on me without being smothering.

  “Not even a little.” I replied with my usual response and rolled down the window, sweating in the oppressive late-September heat.

  “God, I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know had sweat glands.” I groaned.

  “Get ready to sweat some more. We are going out for your birthday!”

  I laughed as Maggie started dancing in her seat, making the entire car shake which was amazing considering her small frame.

  “Can I at least go home and shower first?” I asked, looking down at my cut off jean shorts and flowy tank that was sticking to my skin.

  I knew that Maggie had invited a few of our friends from school to meet us at The Stoneman, a small club that allowed eighteen and older in on Friday nights. Maggie had turned eighteen the week before me, and we had a handful of friends who were old enough to join us. There was a local band playing tonight and the plan was to dance until our feet hurt too much to stand.

  “No point in showering. You smell like a daisy and you are only going to immediately get disgusting when we get to the club. You know they’re too cheap to put on the air.”

  “Ugh, fine, but don’t blame me if I’m so stinky that no one will come near us.”

  Maggie tossed me a huge grin and cranked up her stereo, throwing her hands up in the air to “raise the roof” like a total idiot, shouting, “More Annie for me!”

  “Oh my God. I refuse to claim you.” Trying to pretend I was too cool to be with such a nerd, but her good humor was infectious, and I found myself repeating her stupid dance moves while she grinned at me like I’d just given her a pony.

  “Hell yeah! Food first, then dance party ‘til we drop!”

  ***

  The Stoneman was in the basement of a restaurant in downtown Dubuque. The walls were all gray stone block, with stone pillars and archways breaking up the space into a dancefloor, a lounge-type seating area, and some pool tables. There were no windows and though it stayed relatively cool because we were essentially underground, the crush of bodies that had come to see the band made the air steamy and thick.

  Maggie had been right, we’d been dancing in the middle of the crowd almost the entire time and I was dripping sweat. I’d given up on any semblance of looking cute and just said screw it, caring more about having fun with my best friend than how gross and sweaty I was. It had taken less than five minutes before I’d pulled my long dark hair up in a looped ponytail to get it off my neck and face.

  There was something in the air tonight, something that pulsed around us that made the energy feel like a living being. It was sweeping through the crowd and electrifying everyone, so that the crowd seemed to bounce and sway to the music like one symbiotic entity.

  I looked over at Maggie and mirrored the huge grin that she wore on her face as she threw her arms up over her head and bounced to the fast beat. She eagerly bumped her hip into mine before giving me a look that clearly said oh my God!

  With the music blaring there was no way we could hear each other, so I just shook my head at her and gave her a confused look, mouthing, “What?” back at her. She gave one hard nod of her head with her eyes bugging out in the direction of the bar, and I turned to see what was getting her all crazed. Standing at the bar, talking to one of his buddies, was Sam Weston.

  He’d lived four houses down from Maggie most of her life. When we were younger we’d played kick the can and had other neighborhood shenanigans together on a regular basis. We always remained friendly but had drifted apart as we’d gotten older and found different social circles.

  Sam was a skater in the warm months, a snowboarder in the winter months. He was small and scrappy and quick to laugh. I was pretty sure that Maggie had always been a little in love with Sam, even back in our grade school days, but she only just started admitting it to me within the last year. So far she’d been too chicken to do anything about it, which blew my mind because it was pretty obvious that Sam felt the same way. Still, the two of them couldn’t seem to figure out that they both liked each other.

  Maggie’s eyes took on a slightly wild look and she mimed drinking a glass of water and pointed to the bar, then pointed at me and gave me a quirky smile. Our little mime game was making me laugh and I shook my head, pointing down to let her know I’d stay on the dance floor. If I could have heard her over the music, I’m sure there would have been an ear-piercing squeal.

  Maggie gave me a quick hug and darted off for the bar. The band chose that moment to take a break and the stage lights darkened. A Frank Ocean song came on and the crowd thinned a little with the slower pace of the music. There were still a lot of people out on the dance floor but they were standing in small groups, talking and swaying a bit more slowly to the music.

  Moving off to the side to a tall pub table, I didn’t question my luck to find it empty with a stool still tucked underneath it. There was sweat dotting my forehead and I wiped at it before fixing my ponytail. Sitting down I heaved a sigh, grateful for the brief break for my feet, and was glad I was wearing a comfy pair of slip-on sneakers. I was beginning to regret not going with Maggie to grab a water, but I'd wanted to give her a chance to talk to Sam by herself.


  Half standing on the rung of the stool, I craned my neck to look over at the bar and saw Maggie beaming up at Sam. He looked at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and I wanted to clap with happiness for Maggie. Good lord, I hoped those two figured things out soon. Someone needed to lock them in a closet together until they made out and just be done with it.

  Moving to sit back down, I halted when a trickle of awareness fluttered over my skin. The small hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as if someone was holding a static-rubbed balloon close to the skin there. My eyes darted over the crowd trying to figure out what this sudden feeling was, and the sensation of being watched made my ears start to buzz as my heart started thumping rapidly.

  I sat back down on the stool, trying to appear inconspicuous, as I looked over the people in the room. The club was mainly filled with people my age or slightly older. Since this was one of the only bars in town that allowed eighteen-year-olds in, that age group sort of dominated the space. I recognized a few friends from school and around, and a few other people that I knew in passing. There was a group of guys playing pool in one corner that must have been in their mid-twenties, but no one there seemed to be paying attention to anything other than their game.

  Nervousness crept like tendrils of a vine up my spine and I felt a drop of sweat slide down my back as the sense of being watched intensified. Couples were dancing on the dance floor, people were laughing at the bar, but I still didn’t see anything that looked off. Until I spotted him. He was leaning against the wall almost directly across from me on the other side of the dance floor. The bar was dark, and the lighting pretty shitty in general, and he was half hidden by shadow making him even harder to see. Still, I could feel his piercing eyes locked on me.

  The lights on the stage were flashing and spinning out over the crowd, changing colors as they swept over people’s faces. There was a strobe light that the DJ had turned on and it made everyone’s movements jerky and robotic. It was disorienting, and I started to feel dizzy from the light and the intensity radiating off of the stranger in shadow across from me.