Chasing Hearts_An Underground Series Novel Page 9

  “…come home.”

  My eyes widened, snapping up to look at Brandi. “What did you say?”

  Brandi’s lips tilted in a frown at my question. “I said, I’m not surprised you came home after all this time. Almost everyone comes home eventually. Really, Katherine, this is an interview, you really should be paying more attention.”

  “Sorry,” I grumbled, too fixated on what I thought I’d heard. Come home. The words had plagued me for over a year now.

  It started shortly after my twenty-first birthday. At first it was a whisper in a dream that I’d brushed off as being homesick, but then it bled into my waking life. I’d hear it in the breeze, or in my economics class. One time I swore my own reflection said it back to me. I had also been drunk out of my mind at the time, but it was hard to believe they were all coincidences.

  So, here I was, back in my hometown, and the words were still taunting me. I was home. I couldn’t get any more home than Iowa. I was even looking for a job. Not that I had high hopes for this interview, but with an English Literature Degree, there weren’t many options available. I learned that painful truth back in New York; I should have been an accountant.

  “I see here you were a library assistant in high school.” Brandi's voice had a high-pitched, ‘bless-your-heart’ tone to it that grated on my nerves.

  “Yes, Brandi. We went to high school together, you already know that.” I crossed my arms over my black silk blouse, careful not to catch my thick copper hair on the buttons of my sleeves. My choice to wear a black shirt over a white one, like my mother had suggested helped to keep me from jumping over the desk to wring her grace’s little neck. I didn’t want to match Brandi in any way, shape, or form.

  Brandi’s brown eyes peeked around the side of the piece of paper, which held my meager life experience, bare to her over-accentuated eyes. “Katherine, as I told you before, I won’t let our history together affect my judgment. No matter how offensive.” She sniffed as her gaze returned to the paper as if her thinly veiled reference to my previous transgressions didn’t affect her.

  Like I had ever given two shits about what she thought.

  Years ago, when I was an angry teen rebel full of sarcasm and black nail polish, I had the displeasure of going to school with Brandi and her swarm of over-medicated vultures. While everyone else in our class was trying to make as many memories as possible, I had spent the majority of it applying to every coast school I could afford. No place was far enough away from them.

  So, when the miraculous day came and I got my acceptance letter to New York University, I didn’t waste any time with long goodbyes. I gave Iowa a middle finger salute and made my way out of town screaming ‘fuck you’ to every innocent bystander I saw on my way down Broadway.

  I probably should have been more selective of my targets, but how was I to know I would be sitting in an interview with one of the few people who actually deserved it?

  My eyes narrowed at my captor, and I growled out, “Kat.”

  “What?” Brandi did not offer me her eyes this time.

  “I like to be called Kat, which you also know.”

  For more than the first time – hell it was more like the hundredth time – I regretted coming to the interview. I would have turned tail and ran the moment I saw her, but my mother had gotten me the interview. If I left without even giving myself the chance to fail, I would never hear the end of it. I had to sit and swallow the half-assed insults to my person and abilities and hope to whatever deity was listening that I didn’t get the job.

  “Of course.” Her voice still held a sickly sweet tone. “I’ll make a note of it in your file.” Her neatly manicured fingers gripped her pen as she scribbled onto a notepad.

  I doubted she was actually making a note of it. It was probably a reminder to get her roots bleached again, or to tell the vultures about how Katherine Nottington had sloppily begged for a job. I am sure they would all have a good laugh over their next mani-pedi excursion.

  “Well.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t really have the qualifications we are looking for in a librarian. An English Literature degree is all fine and dandy, but you never learned the Dewey Decimal System.”

  “I completely understand, I will just–” I stood up, happy for the interview to finally be over.

  “But.” Her tone stopped me. “Your mother is a good friend of ours, and she contributes quite a bit to the funding of this town’s community. It would be rash, not to mention unchristian like, to toss you out into the cold when you have been brave enough to come back to our – what was it you called this town?” She paused, pretending as if it were not on the tip of her tongue. “A prehistoric cesspool that didn’t deserve the pavement it was built on?”

  Why could she remember a nonsensical insult stated under the influence, but she couldn’t remember I liked being called Kat?

  My brow furrowed at her words. “So, I got the job?”

  “You’ve got the job!” Brandi threw her hands up as she hopped out of her seat and enveloped me in a tight embrace.

  My body tensed at the sudden intrusion to my personal space. She dwarfed me in her three-inch heels. My nose went smack to the middle of her neck where it was assaulted by her top-shelf perfume.

  I had gotten the job. How the hell had that happened? I hadn’t been pleasant. Hell, I had been snarky at best. I knew she didn’t want me on her staff any more than I wanted to be there, but money talked, and if there is one thing my family had going for them it was money.

  “Yay.” I gave a small, half-hearted response.

  “Let me introduce you to our team!” Brandi finally let me go and led me out to the main circulation desk where the other employees were waiting.

  The ‘team,’ as she called it, consisted of two people. Two. And they seemed to have as much enthusiasm for Brandi’s leadership as I did in being there. Yay just about covered it.

  “This is David.” Brandi pointed at a guy about my age who gave me a shy smile and then a nervous cough at Brandi’s overshadowing presence. “He does most of the shelving, but he also works the desk with Mrs. Jenkins here.”

  Mrs. Jenkins was an elderly lady. She had dark-brown skin that contrasted nicely with the whitest hair I had ever seen. That kind of white hair wasn’t seen in the city if it didn’t come out of a box or a salon. I must have been staring, because the old woman’s eyes narrowed into a glare.

  “You got a problem?” Her voice was raspy as if she had smoked too much.

  “Only on days that end with y.” I gave a half smile at my own joke, and then frowned when her brow furrowed further before she barked out a laugh causing David and Brandi to jump.

  “That’s nice. I think we are going to get along just fine.” She turned a sharp eye to Brandi. “I half expected another one of those prissy little chits you keep hiring.” She glanced over at me with a crooked smile. “Couldn’t stand them, with all their ‘rules are rules’ nonsense. Bah. Brandi here knows what’s what.”

  “Yes, well,” Brandi began, she seemed nervous with Mrs. Jenkins’s attention on her. “We decided to take a chance and go a different direction this time.”

  The fact that the old lady ruffled Miss Prim and Proper’s feathers made me instantly like her. At least someone in this place had a sense of humor. I needed some humor in my life.

  Come home, the voice had said. I was home. So why was I still feeling like I had somewhere to be?

  * * *

  A WEEK LATER AND nothing extraordinary had happened. I went about my mediocre life and the ever-present words that followed me were deafeningly silent. I was afraid to let my guard down, not that my mother would let that happen.

  I found myself having my usual argument with my mother over my social life, or rather, the lack of a social life, of which I had become so proud. We had already gone over everything new in her life, so of course she had to start in on mine. My hands were busy washing dishes with anal-retentive detail as my mother harped in my ear. />
  "Katherine, I just don't understand why you won't at least have dinner with Kevin. He's a nice boy, and he has a job!" My mother's exasperated voice grated on my ear as I held my cell phone between my shoulder and face.

  "Because, Mom, I don't want or need a boyfriend. I am fine on my own."

  I surveyed the dish I was cleaning, making sure all the food had been rinsed off before putting it in the dishwasher. Nothing got on my nerves more than food stuck to a plate, but at the moment, my mother was riding in at a close second.

  "Oh, yes, a twenty-two-year-old woman all alone in that big house— in the middle of nowhere—is completely fine."

  I rolled my eyes at the sarcasm in her voice.

  "It's Iowa, Mom. The whole state is practically in the middle of nowhere." I shoved the sleeves of my gray, NYU sweatshirt back up over my elbows and switched the phone to my other shoulder. "Besides, Crescent is only a few minutes outside of town and Grandma needs someone to take care of her house while she's off playing in Florida."

  "And she told you you could sell it and put it toward a house in town. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be independent, Katherine, but being a hermit is drawing the line. Isn't being a librarian seclusion enough for you?"

  A snort left my nose before I could stop it. The fact that she disapproved of the very job she pulled strings to get me was astounding. Though, it shouldn’t have been surprising, she was always the one who brought up her disapproval of my career choices.

  She had been one of the ones who had griped at me to pick a sensible major, like accounting or, God forbid, political science. She never understood my love for the English language. I wanted to be an editor, or maybe even a writer. If I could ever buckle down and write something worth reading.

  Lately, though, it seemed like I couldn’t do anything right. This was probably due to my sister, Linda, also known as Miss Fucking Perfect, who was getting married this month. My mom had it in her head that I needed to find a man and be more social, or I would be doomed to be an old maid by thirty.

  "You don't want to still be marking single when you're thirty do you?"

  I should have bought a Powerball with how right I was.

  There were worse things out there than being single at thirty. I could be dying of cancer or be a drug addict. No, my mother cared more about how my being single reflected on her.

  "I'm not secluded at the library,” I argued, ignoring her question completely. “Plenty of people are in and out every day. Plus, there are other workers there, not just me. Mrs. Jenkins works there, and so does David."

  "Ha! Hardly suitable companionship for a girl your age. A senile old lady who has probably been there since the library opened, and David is more of a hermit than you! Though, if you dated him, at least you'd be dating. And Lord knows you’d never have to worry about him cheating on you. He hardly has the looks to be picky."

  David was a nice guy, even if he was not the most attractive. He had a slightly hooked nose and a pudgy build, but after a week of working with him, I found his hesitant smile and soft-spoken ways endearing. If I was looking for someone, and I was not, he had a lot of the qualities I would want. Too bad he was taken.

  "I'll make sure to tell his fiancé you think so."

  I almost dropped the dish in my hand when she gave an uncharacteristic chortle. "Even that spud has someone! Doesn't that tell you anything, Katherine?"

  My knuckles turned white as I gripped the plate in my hands. It started to make a tiny cracking noise, and I put it down. My mother had that effect on me. We would start fighting and she would pick and pick at old wounds until they bled. Sadly, my dishes were always the ones to suffer.

  I slammed the dishwasher closed as I took a deep breath. "You know what, Mom? If it will make you happy, I will go out with Kevin, but not this week." I waited for the comment that was sure to come because she wasn’t getting her way.

  "But if you don't go out this week, you won't have enough prep time to have him be your date to Linda's wedding."

  Linda’s wedding. Of course, that’s what she was worried about. No way would it be about my happiness.

  "I'm in the wedding, Mom. The groomsmen assigned to me will be my date." I yanked the hair tie from my copper locks and set to work on tying the messy bun again. "Besides, I’m busy this week."

  "Oh? Busy with what? That old garden?” I could almost see her rolling her eyes even though we were on the phone. “You know nothing good ever grows in your grandmother's yard. I should know. I grew up there."

  "Yes, the garden, and if you'd bother to come over you would see how great everything is growing. I even have a carrot patch–"

  As if knowing I was talking about it, a loud crash came from the backyard signaling my trap had gone off again. Damn rabbits!

  "I've got to go.”

  “But Katherine, what about–”

  “I'll talk to you on Sunday at lunch. Love you, bye," I cut in hanging up the phone before she could answer. I dashed to the door, shoved my feet into my sneakers, and took off toward the sound.

  I scanned the backyard for any sight of the little thief who had been plaguing me for weeks. I skipped going into the garden. I knew my trap would be empty like it always was and skimmed the trees for any sign of the white devil instead. My forest-green eyes caught sight of a white streak bolting for the woods behind the house. Not wanting to lose him, I took off into the dark.

  "Where did you go?"

  The green of the trees created a darkened gray, making it hard to see as they blended into their surroundings. The rustling leaves to my left drew my attention just as the dull white streak made for the clearing up ahead.

  "There you are!"

  My sneakers thudded against the ground as I chased after him, and the whispers returned. With each footfall they chanted. Come home. Come home. Come home. My heart beat faster in my chest and my bare legs seemed to catch on every single branch I ran past, leaving little scratches all over my skin.

  I ignored the stinging in my legs and kept my eyes on the white coat that glared neon in the visible moonlight from the clearing. Though I had a clear view of him, he was still too fast for me to catch. I wasn’t in the best of shape, and my short legs could only get me so far.

  The wind picked up as I bent over to catch my breath. The words floated on the wind as it whipped bits of hair out of my bun and into my face. I glowered at the single section of blonde that had fallen, its contrast so different from the rest of my copper hair. A birthmark at the nape of my neck had caused the discoloration. I usually kept my hair down to hide it. The fact that I even let it show at home would cause my mother to start a tirade about how I should just color it.

  I didn’t really care about it, and probably should have given into her urgings, but I didn’t see the logic in buying a box of hair color just for a single section. I wasn’t so vain to think the expense was worth it, so it hung freely underneath my hair with none the wiser. Plus, it pissed my mother off, which was reason enough in my book.

  Standing up, I noticed the rabbit had stopped next to the little pond my sister and I used to fish at when we were younger. It wasn’t a very big pond, and to our dismay, it had more frogs than fish in it. It did have a great little hiding spot. There was a cave where water from the Missouri River trickled into the pond, and sitting right outside the cave, taking his time as he enjoyed my carrots, was the long-eared fiend.

  He munched away at one with every confidence he had lost me. I took a moment to try to get the jump on him by moving across the field toward where he was sitting. Luck was not on my side, however, because as soon as I was about to sneak up behind him, he saw my reflection in the pool and panicked. He shoved the carrot into his mouth and darted toward the mouth of the cave.

  “Shit.”

  The rabbit was more trouble than he was worth and a lot smarter than he seemed. I had tried everything to keep him out of my garden. Animal repellent, traps, even wire fencing. It still didn’t keep him out. He
had somehow even cut a hole in the fence big enough for him to get in and out with my carrots.

  No clue how he pulled that one off.

  I once mused he was a runaway lab rabbit that the government had been doing experiments on him. As a result, he’d become a superfied genius rabbit. Though, if that were true, nothing short of a high-powered security system was keeping that rabbit out of my carrot patch. So, since I couldn’t afford that kind of tech on a librarian’s salary, I decided to take him out.

  In order to not spook my prey again, I inched my way toward the cave's entrance. It wasn’t very big. At ten years old it had been quite easy to go in and out as I pleased, but as a moderately chested grown woman, it was a tight fit.

  I tried to be as quiet as possible as I sucked in my stomach. Think thin. I was as thin as a rod, as skinny as a Victoria Secret model. This wasn’t making me claustrophobic whatsoever. Finally, I got through the entrance and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the cavern.

  The cave I remembered was usually pretty dark with only a sliver of moonlight coming through the opening, but to my surprise, it was brighter in the cavern than it was outside. As my eyes adjusted to the cave an ominous feeling washed over me. Weird, neon-white painted symbols covered the walls.

  What the hell?

  My fingers traced one of the symbols, and I realized it was not paint at all. It was as if they were part of the wall itself. I didn’t remember them being there the last time my sister and I had ventured into our little hideout. I would remember mysterious nightlights, wouldn’t I?

  As conspiracy theories started to circle my mind, a sneeze from the back of the cavern reminded me of my purpose. I turned away from the mysterious symbols and moved toward the sound. Every step I took felt heavier than the last, and a chilling thought came to mind—what if something, or someone, was in the cave?

  With that disturbing thought, my footsteps became more cautious, and my eyes darted around. No one was going to get the jump on me. I had read enough horror novels to know I was a prime candidate for being abducted or killed by some lunatic with a skin fetish. I really should work on my sense of self-preservation.