Chaos (The Realmwalker Chronicles Book 1)

  CHAOS

  By

  CM Fenn

  Chaos

  by

  CM Fenn

  Published by CM Fenn

  Copyright © 2014 Carrie Fenn

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Editor: Sharon Honeycutt

  Cover art: Damonza.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9903864-1-4

  For Jensen Adam

  “It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a façade of order – and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order.”

  —Douglas Hofstadter

  American Novelist,

  & Pulitzer Prize Winner

  Chapter 1

  Falling. I’m falling. Again. I’m always falling when my dreams bring me to this place. This time it’s a vast and empty desert that stretches out below me. Last time, it was a dark, angry ocean. There’s no sound but my desperate, uneven gasps while I fight to breathe against the wind rushing past me as I fall out of the sky. I can’t hear the wind, even though it’s so strong that it whips my hair and clothing around violently. I can’t hear the fabric snap and ruffle as it threatens to tear from my body. I can hear only my breath and it’s louder in my ears than it should be.

  Color is also absent from this place. Though my eyes sting and tear, I’m able to see that everything is a blurred and muted black and white. As I fall, the details of the desert are at the center of my vision, but the edges of the scene are fuzzy, out of focus. I’m able to view it calmly at first. I’ve experienced this dream so many times that I’m able to push past the initial feeling of terror and take in as much detail as possible. I’m not sure why it’s important for me to do this.

  I’ve never experienced this level of clarity in any of my other dreams. In this dream, I know that I am dreaming. I know that I’ll wake up soon and it will all be over. This helps me past the panic.

  That is, until the very end.

  Right before I am about to slam into the hard earth, the terror rises. My heart hammers in my chest against my ribs. Harder. Faster. My mind tells me it’s only a dream but my body screams. My arms and legs flail, trying to push back against the air. My head and neck arch backward and turn away in an attempt to further distance myself from the solid ground that’s rushing up to meet me all too quickly now.

  I gasp for breath desperately. It’s so loud in my ears. I squeeze my eyes closed as tight as I can to hide the sight of the jagged rocks and shrubs littering the hard earth. My mind tries one last desperate attempt to convince myself there is no impending impact.

  Stop! Stop! Wake up! It’s too real! I can almost feel the heat from the desert air. Maybe it IS real this time! Maybe I won’t wake up soon enough! I fight the scream climbing up my throat but it’s tearing its way through, up and out and I open my eyes and the ground is—

  “ADELAIDE! ADDY! Stop screaming!”

  Someone’s shaking me. It’s so dark. Is it over? Is it over now?

  “Sheesh, Addy, you scared the crap outta me! You probably woke the neighbors. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call the cops.” Jana reaches above me and snaps on the bedside lamp. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when they do, I see my older sister sitting on the bed in front of me looking very annoyed. My anxious mother suddenly appears in my doorway. She’s in her lavender pajamas and wielding a … pumice stone?

  “What is it? Jana? What’s the matter? I heard a scream! Addy? Is everything all right?” I’ve never seen my mom so wild-eyed and panicked. She clutches the neck of her pajama shirt as she tiptoes into the room, eyes darting to the darkened corners.

  “Mom, it’s okay, we’re okay. It was just another bad dream. Sorry,” I apologize sheepishly.

  Jana explodes with laughter. “Gee Mom, let’s hope there aren’t any bad guys around with really rough skin. You’d show them who’s boss, wouldn’t you!”

  Mom gets an indignant look on her face. “Well, it was the most threatening thing I could grab in a hurry.”

  “Oooooo, calluses BEWARE! Bunions cower in fear!”

  “It was either this or my loofa!” she says indignantly and turns a shade of pink. Poor Mom, she does her best.

  I shove Jana. “Hey, it’s more productive than sitting there shaking and yelling at me.” I realize I’m dripping in sweat. Ugh, even my sheets are soaked. The disgusted look on Jana’s face tells me she’s noticed it too.

  “Next time you decide to wake up screaming bloody murder at the crack of dawn, make sure it’s on a day I’m not visiting. A girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep, you know.” She pats me on the head as she gets up to leave. “Anyway, stop reading those books of yours before bed. They give you nightmares,” she says as she walks back down the hall to her room. I glance guiltily at my favorite suspense author’s latest novel on my bedside table, dog-eared two-thirds of the way through.

  My mom takes Jana’s place on the bed. She looks really concerned. “Another falling dream?”

  My mom and talk a lot about my dreams lately since they’ve gotten worse and more frequent. The lack of sleep has begun to take its toll. She thinks stress at school is causing the dreams. I’m in my last semester of my senior year and I’m swamped, prepping for finals.

  “This one was worse than all the others. It felt so real, Mom. I was almost convinced it was, right there at the end. I keep waking up later and later, or in other words, closer to becoming a pancake.” I can’t fight the shiver that runs through me. “This time I must have been just feet from hitting the ground. Maybe inches.”

  She notices I’m shaking and motions for me to scoot over so she can sit next to me. She puts an arm around me and pulls me close. I try to shrug away. “No Mom. I’m sweaty and gross.”

  “Nonsense. Now tell me about this one, if it helps.”

  “Thanks.” Telling her about the dreams does help, as if voicing them makes them less real and almost silly.

  “Well, it began a normal dream, like always. We were at Gram’s. Jana and I were younger and we kept asking her if we could swim in her pool, which is weird because Gram doesn’t have a pool. Anyway, she made us wait until you were in your bathing suit. Then I was on the diving board and Jana kept saying, ‘Belly flop! Belly flop!’ I jumped up and shouted, ‘Cannon ball!’ but then there was no water. Instead, I was above a desert. You know the rest.”

  My mom sighs heavily. She’s frustrated. She wants so bad to help me, but what can you do when it comes to nightmares? “Maybe there’s some truth to what Jana said. Maybe the book you’re reading is getting to you. Or maybe you’re worried about your physics final and it’s seeping through your subconscious into your dreams.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh. While physics is a difficult class for me, I put in plenty of study time for the final and I know I’m ready for it. I’m too tired to argue the point so I concede. “Maybe Mom. Anyway, I’m already wide awake so I might as well shower and get ready for school. I can even use the extra time to go over my physics stuff a
gain before the final today.” I grin at her, hoping to dispel some of her worry. While she’s not completely fooled, she does seem mollified a little.

  “All right, sounds like a good idea. I’ll make your favorite this morning while you’re showering. Maybe blueberry pancakes can chase away any bad feelings the dream left behind. Only … let’s let Jana think it’s because she’s visiting!” She giggles a bit deviously at me.

  “Ooo good plan!” I hug her tightly. “Thanks Momma, you’re the best.”

  “I love you, sweetie.” She gets up and kisses me on the cheek before she leaves.

  I know my Mom babies me. I know it can appear quite nauseating. I endure it. It’s the least I can do for her after everything she’s gone through. Jana and I are all she has now and she holds us that much closer because of it.

  The rest of the morning is typical of the Shepherd home. Jana and I tease each other mercilessly all through breakfast, as is our routine. No one understands our relationship. Fighting is how we get along. It’s when we aren’t giving each other a hard time that you need to worry something’s wrong. I really have missed her. This was her first year away from home. She’s only a few hours north of us, at college in Flagstaff, so she’s still comes home every few weeks.

  Home is Queen Creek, Arizona, a desert land much like the one from last night’s dream, only some farmers have tamed the land here enough to raise corn and cotton. Some of my neighbors raise horses, and there’s even a dairy farm a few miles up the road, close enough for a strong wind to remind you it’s there.

  Queen Creek is a quiet place, filled with good, humble, salt-of-the-earth people. Everything is slower here. But travel twenty minutes north and you find yourself in the middle of the bustling, busy, metropolis of Phoenix, Arizona.

  Jana comes into the bathroom to do her makeup while I’m brushing my teeth. I watch her put on her eyeliner. She’s concentrating so hard on the task that I’m tempted to bump her, but I think better of it.

  She’s focused on what she’s doing, so I take the chance to examine her. We don’t really look like sisters. She got Mom’s petite, girly features: a small, delicate frame; light brown hair; crystal-clear blue eyes. And here she is, flawlessly putting on makeup like a supermodel—like she even needs it! Then there’s me: I can’t tell my eyeliner from lip liner. I never got the whole makeup thing. Heaven knows Jana’s tried to teach me time and time again, but after that last mascara massacre, I feel like she’s finally given up on me.

  No, I didn’t inherit my mother’s natural beauty and grace. I follow more after my father. I loved his face so much that, while I’m not a “conventional” beauty, I can’t help but be proud of what I see of him in me. I have his thick, dark brown hair that halfheartedly curls like it can’t make up its mind—curly or straight? We have the same smile and our eyes are the same shape, only different colors. His were a light cucumber green, while mine are a very light golden brown. “Honey eyes” my parents would call them.

  I finish getting ready, kiss Mom goodbye, and run out to “Old Blue,” my dad’s old pickup. She really was blue at one time, but the hood is so rusted over it’s hard to tell anymore. Mom’s offered to trade it in for something younger and “cuter,” but I love this old hunk of metal. Even after all this time, I swear the cab still smells like my father’s cologne. The memories that smell stirs up are priceless. I sit there this morning in the pre-dawn light and think of him. It’s been four years since he died. My mind takes me back to that night.

  It was mid-August, which for Queen Creek and the surrounding areas is monsoon season. You wouldn’t think a desert could get so much rain. But when it rains here during the monsoons, it pours. For hours. Sometimes for days. I used to love the rain. In the sweltering heat of the desert, rainy days were holidays. But now they’re depressing, like they are to the rest of America.

  I was thirteen that August. My dad had picked me up from my friend’s birthday party and we were on our way home. It was dark out and the rain pounded the windshield. Dad was asking me about the party and which friends were there and if I had a good time. He was that kind of dad, one that knew the names of all my friends and how I felt about each of them. He wasn’t only my dad, he was my friend. I remember his favorite country station was playing quietly in the cab of the truck. He was driving slowly because the rain had collected and pooled in the streets, making it difficult to drive. While the rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers was soothing, they were useless against the constant downpour. Visibility was at a minimum.

  Up ahead blurred red and yellow lights blinked on the side of the road. As we got closer, Dad recognized the small black car. It belonged to Patricia Greenwood.

  Patty is an older lady, a widow, who lives four houses down from us. Dad never questioned why she decided to go out into a storm. He didn’t call her a crazy old lady, and he didn’t hesitate at all. He pulled over behind her, turned on “Old Blue’s” hazards, and told me to stay in the truck—he’d only be a minute. I remember those green eyes as he smiled at me that last time. So clear, so kind.

  RAP RAP RAP! The loud noise startles me and I jump and look out the window. Mom’s waving a brown sack next to her grinning face. I crank the window down and she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you. You were really in the zone, you know? Going over equations in your head?”

  “Oh … yeah. Just some last-minute stuff to make sure I have it all down,” I lie as I shake the fog from my mind. I can’t tell Mom what I was thinking. I can’t bear to see the heartbreak that’s still so plain on her face whenever she thinks of Dad.

  “Well, I’m glad I caught you before you left. I got you a little something for lunch today. For extra good luck! Do your best today, okay sweetie?” She hands me the sack lunch.

  I peek in the bag and see my favorite chicken salad sandwich wrapped in cellophane tucked next to a square of last night’s homemade brownies. I smile and thank her. She winks and wishes me good luck as I back out of the driveway.

  Instantly I’m back in the land of teenager, where my biggest worries are the test in third hour, and getting the library set up for the end-of-the-year art exhibit, and whether or not I’ll get up the nerve to speak to Kevin Ludlow in fifth hour.

  If only I can shake this feeling that my nightmare has left behind. Like something big is coming. That gnawing sensation that something awful is on the way twists my stomach into sour knots. My gut tells me there’s a storm on the horizon, my only question – can I make it through unscathed?

  CHAPTER 2

  I pull into my usual parking space in the south lot on campus. It’s one of the farthest spots from the buildings but it’s also under a large tree. Parking in the shade at this time of year can mean the difference between getting into a 120-degree car at the end of the day and getting into a 150-degree car.

  It’s still pretty early and there are only one or two other students around, so I find a bench next to the lockers and begin studying for the umpteenth time. Submerged in my notes, campus buzzes with the chatter of students before I know it. I look up and scan the crowd for familiar faces. Everyone seems more upbeat than normal. The school year is almost over and the anticipation for lazy summer days is palpable. It doesn’t hurt either that tomorrow is Friday, and for most of the students here, the last day of finals.

  I see Kevin about ten yards off and heading in my direction. It’s no coincidence I’m sitting on the bench closest to his locker. His adorable, floppy brown hair bounces in his eyes as he walks. He brushes it away and looks up.

  All right, Addy, smile. Just smile at him. It isn’t hard. His eyes travel toward where I’m sitting and my heart does a quick double-beat. There’s a funny fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I’m deciding how big my smile should be, and what type of smile I should give, and how long I should maintain eye contact, Kevin’s best friend Josh runs up to him and puts his arm across his shoulders, commanding all his attention.

  Darn.

  A shrill voice pie
rces through the crowd noise. “What … in the hell … are you wearing?”

  I clench my jaw and sigh inwardly. Tori. My best friend. As she stomps over to where I’m sitting, her stilettos clack-clack-clack angrily on the concrete and her earrings and wrist bangles jingle frantically.

  “Good morning, Tor!” I smile up at her, hoping to dispel the coming rebuke, but to no avail.

  “My gosh, Addy. Why do you do this to me?” She gestures somewhat hysterically at my clothing. “I know you own nice clothes! I bought them for you!” Her voice gets louder and higher in pitch as she goes on. “You’ve had that shirt since the fifth grade, for crying out loud!”

  People are beginning to stare. I glance toward Kevin’s locker and find to my horror that he and Josh are watching the scene. I look down into my physics notes on my lap to avoid seeing Kevin’s face. I can’t bear to see if he’s laughing. My cheeks are hot and I know I’m blushing.

  “It isn’t that bad, Tor.” I say defensively as I examine my clothing. I’m in a pair of slightly torn and faded jeans and my old black Felix the Cat shirt. They’re both worn thin and as a result have become soft and light and are the most comfortable clothing I own.

  “I wanted to be comfy for finals,” I explain.

  She rolls her eyes and heaves a sigh as she plops down next to me. As she begins rummaging through her oversized designer purse, she says, “Whatever, Addy. You need to keep in mind you’re almost done with your high school career and you’re going to have to grow up sometime.”

  Tori and I have a bizarre relationship. We have absolutely nothing in common and I don’t believe that either of us particularly likes the other. But we continue to call each other friends. We met in third grade and were instantly best friends. We spent every weekend through the school year together playing, and every day in the summertime. Then in the seventh grade, her estranged grandfather died quite suddenly and left an obscene amount of money to her father. It might sound like something straight out of the movies, but it really happened.