The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(2)
Author: M. Leighton

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know which question you missed.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you still haven’t read In Search of Schrödinger’s Cat like I told you to. I’m sure the question you missed was about quantum entanglement.”

And he was right, which never set well with me because he seemed always to be right. I rolled my eyes, but held my tongue.

“That’s what I thought,” he said smugly.

I stuck my tongue out at his feet then silently scolded myself for the childish act. “How’s the car coming?”

“Just finishing up the exhaust. Why don’t you change and come on back down?”

“I thought I’d go for a run before I start dinner. Can it wait until after?”

There was a pause, a pause in which I knew he was considering my motives. While Dad was insistent that I learn…everything, he was equally insistent that I stay in shape for some reason. I’d never really understood why I needed to be able to run ten miles without stopping, any more than I understood why he felt like I needed to know how to rebuild an engine, explain string theory, clean a Glock, track a wounded animal, use Krav Maga and start a fire from nothing more than dry moss and a flint, but he did.

For the most part, I didn’t mind, but sometimes I just wanted to be normal. And the only time I felt like I could even get within a mile of being normal was when I ran. I could be a regular girl when I ran, a star athlete even. I could be by myself when I ran. I could daydream all I wanted when I ran. I could escape when I ran. So I ran.

“Alright, but no excuses after dinner.”

“Ok, Dad.” With that, I went inside to go through the mail then change.

Less than five minutes later, I was clothed in shorts and a tank top, hair in a pony tail, feet on the pavement. My mind drifted to all the places that it could only go when I ran. It went to another world where I had a mother and siblings, where I was popular and my biggest worry was what to wear for prom rather than how to get engine grease out from under my fingernails.

I was twirling through a slow song at my prom, in the arms of Stephen Fitchco, the best looking quarterback I’d ever seen, when I heard the horn. By the time I looked up, it was too late; the black Honda was upon me.

CHAPTER TWO

Someone was calling my name over and over again, shaking me. I wondered how this all fit into my daydream, but a thick layer of cobweb had settled over my mind. On and on, someone continued calling my name and shaking my shoulder. I wanted to tell them to stop; it was extremely aggravating. But for some reason my lips didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

Again, someone called my name. This time I noticed that the voice sounded vaguely familiar. And in a good way, too. It induced a very pleasant sensation somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

I pushed my way through the cobwebs, my eyelids the first body parts to respond to my commands. They opened to a scene that dipped and swayed and doubled. I closed them, counted to ten then opened them again. This time my vision was clearer, though I suspected that I might still be daydreaming. The handsome face of none other than Stephen Fitchco hovered over me, his sandy eyebrows pinched together in a worried frown over clear blue eyes.

“Carson! Carson!” It was his voice. And he knew my name!

“What?”

Stephen let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. “Thank God you’re ok,” he said.

Ok? What’s that supposed to mean? I thought. Then I noticed that Stephen’s head was framed by blue sky. Just then, the sting of gravel biting into my back penetrated my brain. Then I remembered the black Honda.

“Am I dead?”

“What? Dead?”

“I must be dead. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” I reasoned.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re not dead. Can you move?”

Good question. First I tried to wiggle my toes. To my intense relief, they moved inside the confines of my tennis shoes. Whew! No spinal damage. I wiggled my fingers and shrugged my shoulders. Everything seemed to be in working order.

“Yes.”

Stephen smiled a handsome smile that made me feel pretty and special, two things I didn’t feel very often. “Good. Let me help you sit up.”

Stephen slipped one arm under my shoulders and grabbed my hand with his other then gently urged me into a sitting position. My head swam dizzily.

“Wh-what happened?”

“You nearly got run over.”

“But I didn’t?”

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice adopting a strange tone that caused me to look over at him.

“Then wh- how—” I trailed off.

“I’m not really sure how you did it, but you, like, jumped on the hood of my car then sort of ran across the top and fell off the back I think.”

Well, that didn’t sound like something I’d do at all. And surely I would remember such an amazing feat.

“Hmm” was my only response.

“It was actually pretty cool,” he said, his admiration obvious.

“Hmm,” I said again, though I liked the admiration.

“You don’t remember any of that?”

“No.”

“What do you remember?”

“A horn. And seeing a black Honda’s grill coming toward me.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Maybe you should get checked out. You might have hit your head when you fell.”

At that moment I was far too enamored of him to dwell on his idiotic statement. I was lying in the middle of the street and I’d obviously been unconscious. Of course I’d hit my head. Duh!

“Hmm,” was all I said for the third time, still not yet fully engaged in reality.

“You know, maybe I should take you to the hospital. Just to be sure you’re alright.”

That got my attention. “No. I’m fine. Really.” To prove my point, I pushed myself to my feet then promptly fell into Stephen when the world tilted on its axis.

“You don’t seem ‘fine’.”

“Well, I am.”

“At least let me give you a ride home.”

Extend my fantasy a little longer? I was all for that. “Okay,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Come on,” he said, pulling me snugly against his side and guiding me around his car to the passenger side.

After helping me in, Stephen climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. Music heavily laden with guitar and drums blasted through the speakers.