Chapter 1—Grayson

Three Years Later

“I know what I felt Dad. It’s her. She’s alive.” I practically yelled. “Son, I know you want her to be alive, so do I. We all do. But their car exploded in that fire. She couldn’t have survived it.” He told me with sadness in his voice. I know he missed her too and wished she was here. But he couldn’t feel what I felt. It was her. I grasped the amber bracelet I always wore. The one that she had the other half of. It made me feel something. Nothing in this world could make me feel anything since she’d been gone. “It doesn’t seem possible, but I know it is Dad. I felt her emotions, for the first time in three years. She was afraid, and she was angry. I can’t feel anyone else but her.” “You are afraid and angry, those are your emotions Grayson, not hers.”

It was no use having this argument again. He wouldn’t believe me until I brought her home. And that is exactly what I was going to do. I turned and stormed out of the room. My anger wasn’t going to help Dad see the truth. I needed to think rationally, not emotionally. I had to go out to California and look for myself. That’s where the accident was, and that is where she will be. I could sense from the one short burst of emotion I got a few days ago, that she was far. The same distance she was the last time I ever felt her. Why hadn’t she come home to Colorado? It didn’t make sense. None of it did. How did they go over that cliff? Her Dad was a skilled driver. Something must have distracted him. But what? All my questions would be answered as soon as I found her.

I set in motion the plan I had formulated the day I felt her. I had to travel to California and get closer to where she was. I would feel her presence more strongly there. We were bonded. I would sense her. I knew I would. I had my fake I.D.s, birth certificates, and passports ready. We were always ready to go at a moment’s notice. I double checked that my bank account still had all the money I’d been saving from the apps I made. It would last me for years if I needed. But I know it won’t take me long to find her, once I’m out there.

I needed a place to stay that would be portable. A recreational vehicle was the best choice. I could have all my computer equipment safely inside wherever I went without nosy hotel staff snooping around. A home away from home. I could rent a car once I got out there. I packed clothes and other necessities into just a couple of suite cases. I went to my nightstand and took out the little photo album I kept of all her pictures. Some of just her. But many more of us together. Some of our families as well. I packed my camera, tablet, laptop, and other electronics. You can’t do any serious hacking without your gear. I grabbed all my cash as well. Sometimes cash can get you answers from people who don’t like to talk. And I had lots of questions.

I made my way into town. No one had noticed me leaving. I would park my truck someplace where they could come pick it up later. The R.V. dealership was right in town. The owner was friendly and more than happy to sell me one of his nicest motorhomes. Thanks to my fake I.D., he didn’t wonder why a 17-year-old kid would be dropping a ton of cash on it instead of a sports car. I told him I wanted to travel the United States before settling down. He bought it.

I started my journey to find the girl I loved. The one I was bonded to at birth. Her and I were born to be together. I wasn’t going to let anything stand in our way. I had wasted three years believing my family when they said she was dead. Now I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to find her and save her from whatever was keeping her from me. What had made her so scared? I hoped I would find out soon.

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Riley I sat in what looked like an interrogation room at the police station for the second time in as many days. They wanted to know what happened. The cop sitting across from me seemed nice enough. But I could see the colors of disbelief swirling around him. I could also see that he wanted to believe me. I wish I could tell them how it all happened. I just didn’t know. One minute I watched my foster father beating my 4-year-old foster sister, and the next, I was on him with such power and strength that I scared myself. I don’t know what possessed me or gave me the nerve to stand up to him like that. He had beat me before as well, and I never stood up for myself. Maybe I was just older now. But I know that wasn’t it. I had a power that I had never felt before. It just welled up inside me and came out as I watched him hurt her. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. It had never been this bad before. I watched him beat my foster mom, but I had never come to her aid. Maybe because she was almost as bad as him. But she never looked at me the way he did lately. His gaze was much worse. He went from hurting me, to having desire in his eyes. The colors swirling around him were anger and lust. And that, I would never stand for. He disgusted me. I would die fighting him if it came to that. I wasn’t his to take.

Once again, I explained away his injuries as accidents. He broke his arm when he fell. He hit his head on the corner of the table. He was drunk, he could barely stand up. That one was true. My foster mom wasn’t there at the time. She worked the night shift at a bar across town. So, I took care of the younger ones at night. Sadly, that’s when good old Dad would wander in drunk most nights. Avoiding him had become harder and harder. He started coming home earlier. They guessed at my age when I went into the system, and I was soon to turn 18. He made me sick just thinking about his reasons for hanging around more because of my age.

The police asked me more questions, and this time, I told them all about the abuse we had all suffered for the last three years. I never wanted to start anything, to be removed from this home. I didn’t want to go back to a shelter. I would be old enough to be on my own soon. And I wanted to look after these younger girls as long as I could. But I knew it was only going to get worse for them if he was still around. I wanted him to go to jail. My foster mom wouldn’t have enough money without his income, but I could give her more of my check, if it meant locking him up.

When I finally exited the room, my foster mom, Gwen, was there still waiting. She looked mad. I could see all the dark colors swirling around her. She knew I had spilled my guts. She didn’t say a word as we got into her old, beat-up Chrysler. The drive home was painful. The air was thick with unsaid words. Her colors were a mixture or fear and hate. When she pulled into a parking spot near the apartment, she finally spoke. “You know I can’t pay the rent without his check. Why did you have to ruin everything? You’re an ungrateful brat. We give you a roof over your head and food on your plate. And how do you repay us? Getting your dad arrested.”

I sat carefully thinking about my next words. I could tell her that he wasn’t my dad and that the monthly check she got for me more than covered my expenses. But I decided to be humble instead. “I will give you all of my paycheck.” I offered. I didn’t know how I would pay for clothes or school supplies, but I would manage. “You sure will!” she yelled as she exited the car and slammed the door. Wow, I didn’t expect that.

The girls wouldn’t be home from preschool for another hour. I would be starting my senior year in a couple of months. I would have the summer to help with the girls and earn some money for the family. After that, I don’t know what will happen. I will be 18 and she won’t get a check for me anymore. I’ll have to figure out someplace else to live. She said I could stay if I babysat and paid rent. But the amount she wanted was more than I could make while in school. I guess I could quit school and work full time. Or I could find a roommate and rent a place of my own. If I got the scholarship I was working toward, that would be perfect. Some of it would go toward dorm expenses. But that seemed like a dream. Good things like that didn’t happen to me.