TIED (A Fire Born Novel) Read online

  T I E D

  LANEY MCMANN

  J. Taylor Publishing

  TIED

  Published by J. Taylor Publishing

  www.jtaylorpublishing.com

  Copyright © 2013 Laney McMann

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-937744-30-4 (Paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-937744-31-1 (EPUB)

  First Printing: September 2013

  For B,

  Who fought to keep the fire at bay.

  I miss you.

  Rest In Peace.

  1

  My window opened easily. The same way it had so many times before. Climbing out on the ledge, I found the ground empty and dropped from the second floor—a jump I’d made a hundred times. In another life.

  My feet sunk into the sand, and I followed the well-worn pathway through the dunes. Even the strong evening winds hadn’t misshaped the deep gully. The ocean’s breeze lashed at my hair as the moonlight glinted off the water’s surface. Seagulls flew up from their nesting grounds. They should have recognized me, since I’d been wandering at night for so long. Wrapping my arms around my knees to block the slight chill, I settled in the sand, and the birds quieted in a tight huddle, the wind blowing their feathers in awkward angles.

  My gaze fell on a figure standing beyond the dunes edge, a shadow hidden within the darkness. My pulse quickened, but I didn’t move. Another trick—an illusion. Weary of the games my mind continued to play, I bit back tears and the catch in my throat. I should have been immune to them—the hallucinations—the way they haunted me and followed me, but I wasn’t.

  Forcing myself to blink, I turned my head away. The visions had grown worse as I’d become older. I’d tried to convince myself they were nightmares—or weird dreams. Hoped for years they were, but only people who sleep dream.

  Unable, or unwilling to stop myself, I glanced back over my shoulder, thoughts flooding my brain. Memories I knew couldn’t be memories but I cherished all the same. For years I’d tried to shake them away. To make myself forget.

  I couldn’t.

  ••

  A stone raps against my bedroom window. I creep over and peer through the blinds.

  “You’re late.” I lean out over the sill, grinning at the boy staring up at me.

  “Come on, let’s go before she comes,” he says.

  I climb onto the window ledge. “Be nice. She’s my friend.”

  “Okay. Jump.” He waves at me to go faster.

  “Move, and I will.”

  He takes one casual step to the side.

  The jump isn’t too high; I make it all the time.

  He grabs my hand when I land beside him in the soft sand. “Ready?”

  I nod.

  “One, two …”

  “I’m going to tell!” Benny runs across my yard toward me, her blonde pigtails flapping in the wind. “You’re not allowed to talk to that boy, Layla! Your mom said!”

  Max tightens his grip on my hand.

  “Shut up, Benny! I’m old enough.”

  “You’re only nine. Don’t go! “

  “Three!” Max and I leave the ground.

  “You’re going to get in so much trouble.” Benny’s yell rings in the distance.

  Our feet touch down in the wet grass of the Otherworld, icy sea air whipping at my face.

  “Hopefully, she won’t follow us again.” Max lets go of my hand.

  “She won’t. I told her not to.” I lead the way down the cliff face to the ocean.

  “She never listens to you.”

  I glare at him and keep walking.

  “Wait.” He scrambles down the path after me, losing his footing on the rocks for a moment before he catches himself.

  I reach for his hand, my fingers brushing over the leather bracelet wrapping his wrist—the one that matches my own. “Let’s go see if the water spirits are out.” Pulling him beside me, I run through the last stretch of pebbles to the sand.

  “The Merrows don’t like to be gawked at. Let’s do something else.” He tries to yank his hand away, but I tighten my grip and hold it in place. “We could play skip the stone.” His voice rises above the wind in my ears. “I’ll let you win this time.”

  “I’m the youngest, so I get to choose what we do.”

  “You chose last time. And who said you were the youngest? Anyway, the Merrows hate us. Let’s do something else.” He trudges along behind me, pouting.

  My laughter rings on the wind.

  • • •

  The sting of loss reverberated in my chest as the chill of night air seeped into my bones. I opened my eyes to the darkened shoreline and glanced again toward the dunes.

  No shadow remained.

  No one stood watching me.

  I had lost my mind.

  2

  I tiptoed up the steps to my house, the wooden planks on the deck creaking under my feet. Easing the backdoor open, careful to keep the hinges from squeaking, I brushed the sand off, and ducked in time to miss the new wind chime hanging from the ceiling. My mom wouldn’t be understanding if she found me sneaking in again, and I’d never been able to explain what kept happening to me.

  Creeping down the dark hallway, I dodged the night-light’s glow and crawled into bed. Five A.M. pulsed on my alarm clock, turning the white ceiling a fluorescent shade of orange. I stared at the light until my eyes watered, the weight of exhaustion blanketing me in a continual haze. I didn’t sleep. Not much, anyway. Staying awake kept most of the visions at bay—the ones I didn’t invite in, visions that used to wake me in the middle of the night in a cold, terrified sweat.

  I lay, staring blurry-eyed into nothing. The face I knew so well came into focus, and I smiled in spite of myself, knowing I should push the thoughts away—knowing I made myself crazy by thinking about him.

  I missed Max more than I’d ever missed anyone in my life. For years, I’d tried to will him to return. He never did. Max didn’t exist. Somehow, I’d created an imaginary life, and my heart ached for it. For him.

  I wiped the tears from my face, got out of bed and pinned down my mass of scraggly hair. The sound of my mother banging around in the kitchen reached my room, her percolating coffee permeating the air. The aroma, I loved; the drink, I didn’t.

  Bare feet peeked under the refrigerator door as I rounded the corner into the kitchen from the stairs, our cat meowing hungrily at the hem of my mother’s pink bathrobe.

  “Aw, Teine. Look at you.” She reached for my cheeks over the top of the door, but I dodged her hands. “Your eyes are so dark. I think you’re overdoing it.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “You’re continually trying to convince me of that, but …” She shook her head, eyes cast down toward my clothes.

  I glanced at my worn-out pink ballet tights with only a few holes, and my black faded leotard, partially covered by a too large, and beat up, grey sweatshirt. “What?”

  She shook her head again. “Teine …” She sighed. “Benny is outside. Can you feed Kaevnor before you leave, please? She’s been pestering me all morning.”

  “Why is Benny here?” Kaevnor ran to my sid
e as I poured her food. “I’m supposed to pick her up.”

  “She didn’t say. I asked her to come in.” My mom shrugged and began unloading the dishwasher.

  I pulled on my old, low-top Converse shoes and grabbed my dance bag from beside the front door. “Bye, Mom.”

  “Take it easy today, Teine.”

  I opened the front door, but before I could leave, my mom rushed up behind me, breathless. “You forgot your juice.” She held it out, tucking stray hairs behind my ears and smoothing out my bun before shaking her head.

  My shoulders slumped. I hadn’t forgotten, but I’d hoped she had. “Mom …” I groaned. “I hate that stuff.”

  “It’s good for you. Drink up.”

  I held my nose and gulped it in one swallow before breathing again. “Ugh. It tastes like freshly mown grass.”

  “Old family recipe. Keeps you strong and focused.”

  “Yeah, right. More like weak and nauseous.”

  Thick early morning air hung on my clothes as I walked outside and found Benny dancing in the driveway next to my car with her iPod blaring.

  “I was supposed to pick you up,” I said.

  She pulled her ear buds out. “What? Oh, yeah, I know.” She smiled and slid into the passenger seat of my nineteen seventy-seven AMC Gremlin—rated nineteenth out of fifty of the worst cars of all time.

  I slung my dance bag into the back seat and climbed in after her. The car stalled twice before it started, the engine screaming like a cat caught in the fan belt. I gunned it out of the driveway, afraid it would cut off again, spinning my tires and throwing gravel everywhere.

  “In a hurry?” Benny clipped her seatbelt, eyebrows raised.

  “No.” I avoided her gaze and turned out onto the road.

  “Why so grumpy?” She tilted her head.

  “Why so cheerful?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “What’s up with you, Layla? You’re like the walking dead these days. I don’t see one speck of green through all the red in your eyes. Your clothes are all random, too. Did you roll out of bed and get dressed in the dark?” Her eyes made an up and down movement as if scanning my entire body.

  Next to me, Benny resembled a walking ad for Capezio with her perfect pink tights and her hair tucked into a flawless bun. I leaned over and cranked the portable satellite radio—the only decent feature about my car—in an attempt to drown out any further conversation she might try to start.

  Benny gave me the sideways glare as M83 blared through the speakers. I took the warning as, ‘You better be taking care of yourself, or I’ll take care of you’, as she turned the volume down.

  “I’m fine. Drop it.” I turned the music back up. I didn’t need to hear how awful I looked. I knew.

  “Your hair’s a mess. Did you sleep?” She shouted loud enough that I could actually hear her.

  I groaned, trying to block her out.

  “Who doesn’t brush their hair before they leave the house? Have you even washed it?”

  “Benny. Stop.”

  She eyed me again and scrolled through the songs on her iPod before shoving her ear buds back in and hitting play.

  We drove down US-1, along the coast to school, crawling at thirty-five miles per hour due to tourist season. The blustery weather from the night before had all but vanished, leaving a calm gleam across the surface of the ocean. Devon flew past us, music blaring, and waved out his open window.

  We only had a couple weeks until summer break. After that, our senior year would begin, and the sizzle in the air was like a live wire.

  “Your boyfriend is going to get pulled over one of these days.” Benny mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I ignored her, focusing instead on reaching my goal—Historia Performing Arts School. The only one of its kind within a hundred mile radius, it was the reason we lived in Historia. I’d been dancing as long as I could remember, and my mother made sure it was a part of my everyday curriculum. Not that I minded. Dancing had become my life, but more than that, it had become my escape.

  Our high school appeared to be as old as the city itself, which was founded sometime in the late sixteenth century. The building resembled a crumbling stone castle—which I supposed it was in its original state. Although beautiful in its own way, the deep cracks snaking through the walls made it eerily decrepit. Beyond the football field were endless views of the ocean, but unfortunately, those views didn’t extend to many of the classrooms, most of which had oddly high windows and drafty undercurrents. I imagined them as dungeons hundreds of years ago.

  Live oaks dotted the massive campus lawn, and every year, at least one tree would inflict some sort of damage on the school during hurricane season. A thousand pound limb might crush the side of a building or an entire tree might fall on an old artifact. It was always the same, but they never cut those trees; they were as important as the buildings themselves.

  My mother even sat on the historic preservation board for the city, which had control over the school. I never understood why she got involved, considering she didn’t attend any of the meetings. She just insisted the school be maintained in its near original state, which meant it was in constant need of some kind of repair. Why the school heeded her rules, I had no idea.

  The student parking lot filled as the warning bell rang.

  “Took you long enough.” Devon opened my car door, a mocking grin on his face. “You okay?”

  “She’s … tired.” Benny answered before I did. She’d been my best friend all my life, and she was fiercely protective of me. The same way my mom was. It was annoying.

  Rolling my eyes at her, I grabbed my stuff from the back seat and started the walk towards the dance wing, sick of all the remarks, her questioning glances, and Devon’s constant worrying. They climbed the hill after me. Whispering. Surely discussing their newest concern.

  “Lock the Grim, Layla.”

  “For what?” I shouted and turned around to find Benny with her arms on her hips. “No one’s going to steal it. Look at it.” I pointed to where my car, the Grim as Benny liked to call it, sat parked. It was the color of mud and looked like a semi-truck had smashed into the tail end of it at about ninety miles an hour. It had bug-eye headlights and a thick faded orange stripe running up each side toward the hatch-back where it flared out in three smaller stripes. The makeshift convertible top the previous owner had attempted to rig himself was so loose it barely kept the rain out. No one in their right mind would steal it.

  I turned my back on both of them and resumed the climb across campus, sighing as they continued to whisper. I knew my behavior was upsetting them—my angry outbursts—my temper spikes, especially since I’d stopped trying to control them all the time.

  No one, though, was aware of my visions, or whatever they were. The more I tried to understand them, the more confused I became. The angrier I became. I’d tried to block the thoughts, to push them away and ignore them all, but years had passed since my last cherished memory, or what I’d hoped with all my heart was a memory. For six years—since I was eleven—I’d seen strange, unexplainable things.

  After bringing up Max’s name so many times that my mother threatened to send me to a psychologist, I’d stopped asking about him—stopped talking about him altogether.

  Even worse, I could only remember pieces of my past. While other kids recalled skinned knees and sleepovers, I conjured up snippets of voices and muddled colors. Besides my mom, Benny was the only constant in my life, and even memories I knew I had to have had with her were sometimes impossible to call up. I didn’t understand it. Who doesn’t remember the majority of their life?

  “Layla, wait.” Devon jogged up to me and reached for my arm. His golden eyes implored concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

  My shoulders relaxed. “I’m tired. Benny was telling the truth.” It’s only a small lie.

  He bowed his head, peering down at me. “Okay, well, as long as that’s all.”

  I nodded, giving hi
m a half-smile.

  “Meet you at lunch.” He kissed me on the cheek and ran off as the second bell sounded. As sweet as Devon was, he would never understand me, and sometimes, knowing that, made everything worse.

  • • •

  All the other dancers sat in huddled groups on the scuffed wood floor of the studio as I walked in. The morning light reflected off the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, casting tiny rainbow prisms along the walls, as the stench of sweat hung in the still, thick air.

  “Shh! She’s right there.” Dena, my understudy for the spring show of Sleeping Beauty, sat across the room. She dropped her stare when my gaze met hers. We’d been through the same dancing drill together for years. Same classes. Same performances. Her disdain for me was known. She twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, obviously pretending I hadn’t busted her running her mouth again. Between dancing as my understudy, and me dating Devon—the only boy she ever ‘truly’ liked—her hate was ingrained. Not that I cared.

  “Places along the barre. Quiet down. First position please.” Ms. Trudy clapped her hands together. “And one, and two, and three. Chins up, heads high, shoulders down,” she said in time with the classical music. The steady repetitive rhythm, the music I’d known all my life, the same low droning chant of Ms. Trudy’s voice, all of it fell over me.

  Sunlight shone through the high windows in cascading sheets, its warmth touching my face. I closed my eyes, raising my head to meet its heat, my grand plies repeating in perfect unison, and let the slow music take over.

  “Nice, Layla. Very nice.” Ms. Trudy’s voice rang out right before it faded.

  ••

  The sun blazes through the tree line, and Max paces in the underbrush, halfway hidden by thickets and shadows.

  “Where have you been?” He rushes forward.

  “Benny was on alert all morning. She’s been setting traps to catch me,” I say.

  “What?” His eyes widen.

  I shrug, picking beggars’ lice off my shirt. “She doesn’t like you.”

  “Maybe you should go back.” He drags a hand through his hair.