My Soul to Keep (The Soul Keeper Series - Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (2 page)

“Whoa,
I’ve got you.” He wraps his sure arms around me. They feel impenetrable, like a
steel cage, my reprieve from the impending collision with the rock hard Texas
clay I am sure we are barreling toward at breakneck speeds. Somehow my terror
melts away and I decide this is as good as any place to be right now. My hot
tears still flow freely, dampening his blue shirt, and he holds me tighter. The
floor bucks forcefully under our feet. We should be bouncing off the walls like
a ping pong ball, however we are not. We are still, steady, even, oddly serene
in this damn coffin of a bathroom.

The
screams outside grow desperate and alarming. I bury my head into the stranger
as far as I can. The baby boy cries and I want to pull him in here with us, I
want to save him. The captain is saying something over the intercom but I can’t
make out what it is. The arms of my steel cage mute their pleas. I feel gravity
pulling me toward the sink once again and I am bewildered as to why we aren't
falling with its pull.

“
Shh
,
shh
,” The stranger whispers.
I hadn’t realized until then that
I was sobbing uncontrollably.

I
quiet myself and with a ragged breathe I ask, “Are we going to crash?” My
little fingers wind around his t-shirt for insurance.

“Now
don’t you worry about that Brennen, I will always keep you safe.” His voice is
a soft whisper. Sadness washes over me when I realize I can no longer hear their
cries. How does he know my name, I wonder?

“But…
we’re going to die,” I whisper back. He shakes his head no. It is then that I
began to smell the scent of home – pancakes dripping with syrup, bacon, and
salty sea air. It comforts me somehow. I want to go home, now. I want my daddy,
is my last thought before the world around me fades to black.

A
deafening reverberation causes me to open my eyes; bright light forces them
shut again. I brace myself for the impact. It never comes, I’m afraid to open
my eyes. I peek out of one. Darkness surrounds me like a moonless night, the
loneliness of it is consuming. Everything is now perfectly quiet. Had I died? I
hope this is not my final resting place. All of eternity in a black room,
lovely, I think.

“Hello,
is anyone there?” I listen but hear nothing, no answer. Great, this is super
cool. How the heck did I get in here? Okay I was on a plane, a crashing plane,
with a big guy wrapped around me. Where did he go?

“Guy?”
I shout. Okay crashing plane logically means I’m dead. Ten years, is that all I
get? I never even went to Disney World. I sigh with frustration. I walk around
the room for a long time looking for a way out. Each step I take echoes,
bouncing around the room. The resonating sound makes my arm hair stand at
attention.
 
This is beyond creepy.

“I
think I found one!” I hear a man’s voice say, as my ears prick back.

“I’m
in here,” I call out, but my voice is faint.

“Help
me I’m in here.” I try to be more audible, it too comes as a whisper. I hear more
noises getting closer.

“Oh
my God she’s alive!” I hear him say right next to me. I feel hands on my body
and when I look down I see nothing. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of the
sun on my skin. I think I’m outside. I
squint
my eyes
shut even tighter. The light is too bright after being in the pitch black.
 
I go to shield my eyes from the sun with my
arm and find it’s already been restrained.
 
The air smells foul. I’m on a gurney being wheeled somewhere fast. I can’t
look around either; my head and neck are also restrained. The air is beginning
to clear but the smell still lingers, thick with the stench of death. (No, not
all those people).

“You
are going to be okay, little one.” I hear the medic say. They lift me in to an
ambulance. My eyes adjust and I am finally able to see. The men slam the doors
and we’re on our way. They hook my finger to a monitor and check my blood
pressure. I hear numbers that don’t mean anything to me, their voices laden
with stress.
 

“Where
is the guy that was with me? Did you find him?” I manage to get out, though my
voice sounds harsh and broken. The medic that is nearest my head looks at me
with sorrow written on his face, as he checks my pupils for dilation.

“Are
you in any pain?” he asks and I think about it.

“No,”
I blurt out with an angry tone. He stares at me in disbelief.

“It
could be the adrenalin,” he says to another medic.

“Can
you feel this?” He pinches my toe. I wiggle my foot.

“Yes,”
I say, growing more annoyed that my question never got answered. He continues
his evaluation all the way to the hospital, where it is all thoroughly repeated
by a barrage of doctors. I am fine. How am I fine?

“Did
we crash?” I keep asking but no one answers any questions I have. I still didn’t
know if we just had a rough landing, if we crashed or if anyone else from the plane
was here with me. My anxiety grows with my frustration. As soon as my
restraints are undone, I spring free of the bed. I stagger on my feet and a
dozen hands move to steady me, causing me to crouch down like a feral cat on
defense.

 
          
“Will
someone please tell me what the hell happened?” They all freeze for a second, staring
at me with wide eyed disbelief. The older doctor lowers his lids and I can tell
by the pity in his eyes that he will divulge the truth. He puts his arm around
my shoulder and guides me back to the bed, dismissing the crew with a wave of
his hand.

“Brennen
is it?” his voice laden with sorrow. I nod and take in a lungful of air to
ready myself for whatever he may tell me.

“Your
plane went down just outside El Paso; they believe there was a fire on board.
They don’t know the cause, but according to the local authorities the Captain
managed to get as close to the ground as he could before he perished. You are
the only one we found alive. You were found under a large piece of metal
debris. We think it is a miracle you survived the horrific crash. Yet you don’t
have a single broken bone, not even a scratch or bruise anywhere. I have never
seen anything like it, in all my years. Do you remember anything?”

“I
remember everything,” I trail off, except now I didn’t. Now I don’t remember
his face. My steel cage is now just a blur, a shadow, a mist. I do however
remember every other face and as I take in the catastrophic fact that two
hundred and forty three passengers will never make to their final destination,
I weep. That little baby boy, his momma, the elderly sisters, an entire soccer
team, all dead. And I get to live. Hot tears run down my cool face as the
doctor holds me in a comforting embrace.
Then I wake up
with new tears that I shed every morning for the lost souls of flight 206.

Nearly eight years have
passed and I have no more answers then I did back then. I still remember all of
their faces except for one. Did he really even exist? I ask myself every day
and I still don’t know for sure. My therapist believes I hit my head and passed
out and that he was just a vivid dream, my minds way of coping with survivor’s guilt.
Except, they didn’t find any bumps on my head.

***

I stand in my room
wrapped in a towel trying to decide what to wear on the first day of my senior
year, in this way too big of a house, all by myself. I pull a peach floral sun
dress from the hanger and slip it over my head.
 
I tug on my well-worn brown leather boots. My dad always preferred me to
wear dresses, so this one’s for you dad.

 
    
I’ve come to like Virginia a lot. My
grandmother bought this grand five bedroom house when my dad was stationed here
for a brief stint, before I was born.
 
It
has a stunning oceanfront view right on Sandbridge Beach, a small town just
south of Virginia Beach. I have moved around so much with my dad being in the
service that this is the one place that always felt like a real home to
me.
 
I like the small town vibe here.
Everyone knows everyone's business, except mine I hope.
 
I drive forty-five minutes to Norfolk to go
to a magnet school for politically minded individuals.

***

     
I pull my
SUV into the lot at school and apply a touch of gloss to my lips. Inside, Emily
Reed bounds over to me and wraps her arms around my neck. She was the first
person to acknowledge my existence when I enrolled here my junior year. We were
still in the “getting to know you” phase of our friendship. She wore her
mahogany hair in a loose braid today, it suited her. She was on the heavy side
but carried herself with confidence and grace. I admired that about her.

“Bren, oh my goodness
look at you! How was your summer?”

 
    
“Emily, hi, you look amazing. My summer was
nice.” I shrug. I catch the small turn of her brow. She spots something off.
 
I am a horrible liar. I turn and hurry off in
the other direction, pretending to be late for class. “I'll see you at lunch,”
I trail off and make a B-line to my first class. Mrs. Cohen, my English
Literature teacher is at her desk.

“Good morning Ms.
Hale.” The teacher speaks in a very proper British accent. I am going to love
hearing Jane Austen in that inflection.

“And to you Mrs. Cohen,”
I respond.

 
I walk down the center row of student desks
and take a seat in the rear of the class. The room is bright and cheery. She has
made it her own with posters of Victorian garden parties. On her desk sits a vase
of fresh pink roses positioned on a lace doily.
 
As the class begins to fill, the most popular girl in school Ari
Campbell sits in front of me. As she primps herself, her long unnaturally black
locks almost slap me in the face. I back away, knitting my brows together.

 
A very tall, golden haired boy takes the seat
next to mine. I think he is new here. He brushes his feral waves back with his
fingers as he smiles at me. His well-worn jeans look soft and hug him in that
way that makes me wonder things I shouldn't be wondering about at seventeen. He
is in a plain gray t-shirt and black, scuffed as hell, western boots. Simple,
understated, he has no clue that every girl in this room is mentally caressing
his lean torso right now. I return a small smile and quickly look away. Wow,
his eyes are rich amber brown, the color of maple leaves in fall. They add
charm and kindness to his face. He has an athletic build for being so tall. I
wonder what sport he plays.

It’s apparent that Ari
notices him right away too. She whips around almost side swiping me with her
hair again. I give her a look that screams –girl you are about to get a new
style if I have to unpack my scissors. She notices this time and apologizes by
mouthing sorry to me. I retract my claws as she turns to the new guy.

“Hello, I’m Ari. Are
you new here?” She flashes her full red lipped mega-watt smile at him.
Geez Ari, subtle much?

I watch as he takes her all in. Yep she’s every
guy’s fantasy. In a barely there tank and short red skirt that shouts –I’m not
a hooker but I play one on TV.
 

“
Sam,
and yes I am.” He stretches those long legs out as he relaxes in his seat. He
has a thick southern accent that I guess came from…

“Texas?”

 
    
Did I just speak?
Yes you did.
Well own it then
.
I look up at him. I hope that he can’t hear my heart trying to pound out of my
chest. He grabs his lower lip suppressing a smile.

“Ft.
Worth,
is it that obvious?” he asks with a half-smile pulled to one side.
 
Oh my goodness, he is adorable. His molten
eyes soften as he recovers his languid gaze back up to me.

I nod and giggle.
Are you kidding me?
I did not just
giggle like some giddy school girl with her first crush.

“My apologies, it seems
you have me at a disadvantage,” he says as he lowers his head and awaits my
response.

“Oh sorry, Brennen
Hale.” I flush ten shades of crimson, which I never do. I do not blush, giggle
or fawn over boys.

“That’s a pretty name,”
he says with his full attention on me. His compliment causes my mouth to go unexpectedly
parched. I feel like a road kill frog that has baked on the hot asphalt all
afternoon, yes, he has reduced me to frog chips. I notice how a light smile
highlights his kind eyes. It’s all very charming. While trying to advert my
eyes to somewhere other than the fit of his t-shirt, I also observe the fact
that Ari doesn’t like how much attention he is paying me at the moment. She
shifts in her seat so that her skirt rides up, showing a little more thigh —she
is proposing a challenge.
Hmm
, God
help him, he’s all yours Ari.

“Thank you,” I reply to
him and fix my gaze back to the whiteboard where it belongs. I don’t know why
my hormones were all ramped up over that guy. The last thing I need is to draw
any further attention to myself this year. I need to keep people way out of my
business. If anyone finds out what I am hiding, my life could be ruined. I need
to be invisible, at least stay under the radar.