Hidden deep book 1 of th.., p.1
Hidden Deep: Book 1 of The Hidden Trilogy (Fantasy) (The HiddenTrilogy), page 1
HIDDEN DEEP
Book One of The Hidden Trilogy
Amy Patrick
Copyright © 2015 by Amy Patrick
All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. All trademarks are the property of their respective companies.
HIDDEN DEEP is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover design by Cover Your Dreams
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
Print ISBN: 978-0-9904807-7-8
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Chapter One
Not Hypothermia
The first time I saw him, everyone convinced me he was a hallucination caused by hypothermia. It was the second time that really messed me up.
* * *
It was only noon, but I couldn’t wait anymore. The need to get out there had been growing stronger every day. With everything my mom had going on, maybe she wouldn’t give me an argument this time. The screen door slammed behind me with a loud creak and double-bouncing bang.
“Ryann? You going out?”
I exhaled loudly then turned and faced my mother as she followed me out onto the back porch. She was dressed in her new red interview suit, a face full of going-somewhere makeup, and her hair up in clips where she’d been straightening it in sections. She’d rushed to the door in her stocking feet, causing a fresh run to start near her big toe.
“I left a note on the counter. Just going for a walk—you know.” I shrugged. No big deal. Glancing down, I nodded toward her foot. “You’d better change those.”
“Shoot!” She hiked up her skirt and started ripping off the pantyhose. “What the heck am I doing? I haven’t worked in sixteen years. They’re going to laugh me out the door.”
She wobbled to one side, off balance. I reached out to steady her. “They’ll love you.”
Mom wrinkled her nose, brushing off my reassurance. “You’re right. How could they not want such a strong job candidate? Thirty-six, living with my mother again, and did I mention the part about no work experience? Don’t ever get yourself in this situation, Ryann. Depend on you—no one else—”
“Mom.” I interrupted before she could launch into the full mantra. “They’re going to love you.”
She balled up the ruined stockings and gave me a doubtful smile, the shallow lines on her forehead deepening. Her eyes closed for a long moment, and she let out a resigned sigh. “Why do you want to go tromping around in those buggy, thorny woods every day, Ryann? You know I hate it.”
“I won’t go far. I’ll probably be back before you even get home.”
I knew exactly what this was about. In my mother’s mind, I was still six years old, likely to wander off and get lost, and this time, never return. There was a pause, and I could see the surrender forming behind her eyes.
“Well… spray yourself so you don’t get eaten alive.” She picked up a can of insect repellant from the porch railing, thrusting it at me. “And stay on the trails. And don’t be late.”
“You don’t be late.” I took the can and smiled at her, already backing down the porch stairs. “And good luck.”
Stepping out into the pine-scented heat was a relief. We’d moved way out into the sticks, but we hadn’t left the tension behind in town. A giddy sense of freedom swept me up, and I practically ran to get to the trees bordering my grandma’s house. My home now, too, as of three days earlier.
I’d come here for visits my whole life. Now it was a little more permanent, which was fine with me. I’d always loved this place. The hot clinging air, the rambling log house, and especially the deep, dense woodland surrounding it. The locals would probably think that was kind of strange, since most of them remembered when I nearly died out here.
Sticks snapped under my sneakers as I walked, listening to birdsong and whining insects. All familiar and welcoming. And a familiar feeling wrapped around me as well. Of hoping for… something. I wasn’t sure what.
I’d promised not to go far, and I didn’t intend to, but once I got going, it was too tempting to keep on walking, exploring deeper into the woods. The further I went, the lighter I felt. The sensation was like exhaling after holding your breath for way too long. Anyway, if I’d kept my promise and stayed on the trail, I never would’ve found this place.
The spring-fed pool was so clear I could see the large flat rocks and green plants lining the bottom. Leaves pirouetted from the surrounding trees, landing and floating on the glassy surface. Sunlight streamed through the treetops in little pockets, making a kaleidoscope pattern on the moss and springy wild ferns growing along the water’s edge. It felt like my own magical discovery.
My t-shirt and shorts were plastered to me at this point, and my skin actually felt thirsty. Late May in Mississippi is not for wusses. Looking at the clear water, the idea of an outdoor bath started to seem too delicious to resist. It was kind of crazy—I mean, I hadn’t exactly packed a swimsuit for my little nature walk. Whatever. I could use a minute or two of crazy in my life right about now.
I shucked my sweaty clothes, leaving my bra and panties on. There might have been six hundred acres of my grandma’s posted forest land between me and the nearest person, but I wasn’t that brave.
I stepped into the cool water. It felt unbelievably good, and I slipped under, blowing out all the stuffy humid air in my body. After a minute my lungs burned. I resurfaced, stood up in the waist-deep pool, and waited for the water to stop running down my face. Then I opened my eyes.
There in front of me, kneeling on the mossy bank and staring right at me, was a guy. A big blond guy, about my age.
I know him. No—wait—I don’t know.
It didn’t really matter because he shouldn’t have been there. No one should’ve been there, but he was. I’m basically naked and alone in the woods with a stranger. Not good.
My chest was on fire. I wasn’t breathing, and then I was breathing too much, too quickly. My mind spun and scrambled for anything like a rational thought. If I’d been watching myself in one of those stupid screamer movies, I’d have been shouting at the screen, “Move! Run! Do something.” But it was like that time when I was home alone and thought I heard an intruder. I just froze.
The guy looked almost as shocked as I felt, seeming unable to tear his wide-eyed stare away. Like me, he was frozen in place.
Then his face relaxed. And he smiled.
Sure. Alligators can smile, too. At least the sight ripped me out of my temporary paralysis. I finally moved, lunging toward the bank, intending to climb out and run, or at least get my clothes.
Oh. My clothes. I plunged myself back into the water up to my chin. I had no idea what to do. I was basically at this guy’s mercy—miles from anyone who could hear me scream, ridiculously outsized and overpowered. He still hadn’t said anything. No “I’m sorry,” or “Hello there,” or “Why no, I’m not a rapey stalker.”
“Get out of here. You’re trespassing.” My attempt to be threatening came out sounding kind of pathetic, breathy and high-pitched.
The guy jerked back, lost his balance, and ended up on his rear. For a minute I was hopeful—maybe he was actually buying my bluff—but he got back up slowly to his haunches, and the corner of his mouth eased up along with one eyebrow.
“Trespassing? Well. There must be some law against public indecency, too. You shouldn’t be out here like…” He gestured toward me. “…that.”
His voice was deep, mature-sounding, though he wasn’t more than eighteen, and his amused grin said he couldn’t have been more pleased I was out here like this.
Who does he think he is? “No, you stupid ass—you shouldn’t be out here. I own these woods, and You. Are. Trespassing. Now leave.” That was it—I’d used the only cuss word I could pull off convincingly, and I sure did hope it worked, because if it didn’t, I had nothin’.
My tough talk made me feel slightly less afraid. But I was still stuck in the shamefully clear pool, and he was still there grinning and looking at me like the kid who’d found the Halloween candy stash.
He stood, and I had to squint up at him. His dark blond hair was haloed by the rays of sun slipping through the leafy canopy above. Strands of lighter gold glinted through the loose curls. I was cornered by possibly the world’s most angelic-looking peeping Tom. Or serial killer. Neither thought was comforting.
Our standoff continued for long moments. Then suddenly he was moving toward me. He reached down and grabbed my pile of clothes on the bank and extended them out over the water to me. “Sorry,
I willed myself to breathe again. “Talk to me? No. Just leave. Go away or…” Or what? I’d scream, and all the forest creatures would rush to my rescue? I’d stay in there until I shriveled like a Craisin?
He looked at me, waiting for me to finish my empty threat, I guess. When it was clear I wasn’t going to, he narrowed his eyes and twisted his lips in a calculating expression.
“Okay. Listen, if you don’t want these clothes, I’ll toss them over there, and go sit down awhile against that tree. My arm’s getting kind of tired.” He stretched it to demonstrate his point, grinning widely at me again. If I could’ve reached him, and done it without giving him another free peep show, I’d have slapped that perfect smile off his face. So… maybe I wasn’t dealing with someone dangerous here, but he sure was annoying.
I had a choice—argue with the guy holding the only thing standing between me and full-frontal, or stay there wearing my arms for a shirt and hope he’d eventually get bored and leave on his own. Right. I snatched the clothes out of his hand and scowled at him.
“Could you at least turn around?”
He paused a second then turned his back, and I set a world speed record for underwater dressing. Then I crept up the bank, grabbed my shoes, and took off running. He might have been harmless, but why take chances? I managed a few yards and didn’t hear him coming after me. Then the huge golden-haired guy dropped out of a tree right in front of me.
I let out a squeal as my wet body slammed hard into his. He grabbed my upper arms, steadying me. I started screaming and slapping at him with my sneakers, dropping them in the process.
He immediately let me go and raised his hands in surrender. His words came out in a hurry. “Hey, calm down. I know I scared you. But I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to talk to you. Please.”
I stepped back and rubbed my arms where his fingers had been moments earlier. “I guess you’re not going to give me a choice. All right then. You want to talk? You go first. What are you doing on my land, and why were you spying on me?”
“Your land. Right. Well, I wasn’t spying. I was walking back from the library.” He nodded toward a scattered pile of books on the other side of the pool. “I saw your clothes and shoes there—I was going to keep going so I wouldn’t scare you, but then you didn’t come up for so long. I was just checking to see if you were okay. I didn’t mean for you to see me. And then there you were, and you were all…” He swept his hand up and down in my direction and blushed deeply.
“Exposed? Half-naked? Don’t try to make me believe you were embarrassed. Sorry, but I’ve got the market cornered on humiliation today.”
“I’m sorry. Really. It’s not like I planned this.”
I studied him. Though I had no rational reason to believe him, I did. Something in his voice told my self-preservation instinct to stand down.
“Okay then, assuming you’re not a registered sex offender—you’re not, are you?”
“No.” He looked insulted.
“Unregistered?”
“No!” He gave a frustrated huff of a laugh.
“Okay. So you were walking back from the library… to where?” I thought of the few houses bordering my grandma’s property. Most of the owners were old, like her. Maybe he was somebody’s grandson, visiting for the weekend.
“I live… near here.”
“Near here, like, off the county road, you mean?”
He glanced around. “Uh… yes.”
Now that I was calm enough to care, I noticed he looked… different… not like any of the guys I’d ever seen in school. He was fresher somehow, healthier-looking, like no artificial color or flavor had ever crossed his lips. I couldn’t decide if it was the skin or something else, but he looked like he’d never had a bad night’s sleep. There were no freckles, no marks on him anywhere. His eyes were a pure, clear green, like sunlight shining through a leaf.
He wore ripped, faded jeans and an ancient plaid shirt with cut-off sleeves. It hung open to expose his smooth light brown chest and stomach. His feet were bare. It was like an Abercrombie ad gone wrong, because you didn’t want to buy the clothes, just… him.
“You don’t go to Deep River High. Did you just move here?” I had to ask—if I was going to have Spanish class next fall with a guy who’d seen me almost naked, I wanted to be forewarned. Bonitas chichis, Senorita.
“Oh, no, I uh… I’m home schooled.”
“Good,” I said quickly then slowed myself down. “I mean, all right. So what’s your name?”
He hesitated but answered. “It’s Lad.”
“Okay then. Lad—I’m Ryann.”
“I know.”
Not what I was expecting to hear. I fired back at him, “How do you know my name?”
He looked away for a second then back at me. His eyes held a pleading I-know-I’m-busted look. He shook his head and opened his hands, palms-up to the sides. “I just… do?”
Wrong answer. I didn’t care how cute he was, this was all too weird. I started backing away. “Well, um, Lad, now that we’ve talked, I have to get home. My mom and grandma are going to have the National Guard out here combing the woods soon.”
He moved toward me and wrapped a large hand around my arm, the pressure not bruising, but firm. The heat of it sizzled on my wet skin.
“No. Not yet. Please, I have to show you something.” He tilted his head down and stared directly into my eyes, lowering his voice. “You must come with me.”
His gaze was so intense, almost like he was pushing me with his eyes, like he thought he could simply will me to agree with him. Right. My breath evaporated along with any feeling of comfort that had begun to develop. I leaned back, putting some space between us, and laughed nervously.
“You know what? The only thing I must do is get home. I’m not kidding about the National Guard. You’ve never met my mom or you wouldn’t doubt it.” I tried for flippant, but it came out sounding stressed.
“I can’t let you go yet.” He paused and then his tone turned up, like he’d just had a great idea. “I have something of yours. I want to give it back.”
“What could you possibly have of mine? No thanks. I’m leaving.” I wrenched my arm free, turned and stomped off, praying he didn’t repeat that freaky dropping-from-the-branches move, and growing more nervous every second about this guy’s inability to take no for an answer.
“I found your book.”
His quiet words stopped me. I slowly turned to face him again, my stomach lined with ice. Finding the breath to respond was a challenge.
“What book?” But I already knew what he was going to say.
“The book you left out here… that night.”
Ten years ago. “How do you know about that?”
“You can have it back. You want it, don’t you?”
I did. More than that, I wanted to know how this stranger knew about my beloved childhood book. And what was he doing with it after all this time? There was really only one explanation.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
He smiled and just looked at me, those scorching bright eyes like a magnifying glass over a dry leaf, burning a hole through everything I’d believed for the past ten years.
Chapter Two
Fireflies in January
Ten years earlier
We always had New Year’s Day dinner at Grandma Neena’s house—collard greens and black-eyed peas with ham hocks for good luck. Berry cobbler, my favorite, for dessert. As usual, there were plenty of old people and no young cousins to play with. I was the only child of two only-children.
The grownups stayed at the table for what seemed like hours, drinking coffee and talking about things I didn’t remember. Bored, I sought out my favorite reading spot, a cozy chair by the picture window overlooking my grandma’s backyard.
As the sun set, a spark in the gray winter landscape outside caught my attention. Fireflies. In January. Even at six years old I knew that was strange. Still clutching my book, I slipped out the door to get a closer look and maybe capture a few for a nightlight like I did every summer.
