Wingless Book Series (book 1) Read online

  Wingless Book Series (book 1)

  Title Page

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  By Holly Hood

  The Wingless Series

  Polar

  Scattered and Broken

  Prison of Paradise

  Letters to You

  ~

  Heart of Gypsies

  Road to Ruins

  Contact Holly Hood: [email protected]

  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.

  WINGLESS

  Printing History

  2009

  All rights reserved © Copyright 2009 by Holly J. Hood

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN-13: 978-1456561581

  ISBN-10: 145656158

  To

  All my friends and family who believe in me

  And who encourage me with their support And good words

  - Always know I appreciate you all!!

  Acknowledgments

  It is with profound gratitude that I acknowledge the help of my Husband, Robert and Mother’s Karen and Anne. They all have done everything they could to help me keep pushing forward toward my goal of completing this book series.

  I would like to mention my children: Zoey Bella, Zaynah Brianne and Rlee. Also my nieces Jorden Taylor, and Kylie Briana, and my nephew Dane Soloman. They are my driving forces to keep my goals alive. I want to be a strong role model for them, and show them anything is possible. I would also like to say how much I love them and how proud of them I am.

  Introduction

  Death is around everyone’s corner, people try to run and hide from it, but it always catches up with them. Like a bad scene from a horror movie. Death stalks you like a lion, waiting for just the right moment to attack. You can run but sooner or later you’ll trip and death will devour you. Did anyone know the secret to outrun death? No one that lived to tell about it, that’s saying something right?

  Wingless

  By Holly J. Hood

  Chapter 1

  Usual

  I was walking to the cemetery on a wet Wednesday. I had in it my mind that I would visit with him. If I was dead, I thought, I would have loved the company. Who was to say we really did die?

  I loved him so much I couldn’t bare leaving him all alone in a cemetery, and on the days when I was not so afraid to step foot inside one, I would walk there. Usually, I ended up in the cemetery after a drinking binge with my best friend, Vanessa. She was my best friend, but he was truly the best.

  I kicked the cemetery gate hard with my foot, hurrying to make it in. It was getting dark. I had left Vanessa in the woods by my house- the usual spot we hung out. The idea had hit me and I was determined to visit him.

  It was always the same feeling of sadness that washed over me when I drank. I never understood why I hadn’t realized that if I stayed away from liquor, I might not be so depressed all the time about him. Maybe it was a sick form of torture that I really enjoyed. If anything it got me a little closer to him.

  I was Eve, the reckless small town girl from the same place I was attending school. My family was by all means successful. My father ran his own business and my mother was a lawyer.

  I had an older brother, Gray, who was the “All American guy”; he played football in school and went on to bigger and better things in college. I also had a sister with what they considered the “best husband” in the world; she had the perfect little life with two perfect children.

  I was the youngest, the one who didn’t know what path to take, heck I didn’t even know where the path was.

  I think I was so used to so much success that I’d had enough of it. I just wanted to be me. I just wanted to go with the flow and not stress so much about it all. That was a constant in my family: stress about it all until you get where you want to be and then stress some more when it’s perfect until you pop an artery.

  I was the free spirited one, the one that wanted to laugh and go gaze at the stars. My mother called me her wingless hippy. I never truly understood what that meant, but I figured, seeing hippies were so free spirited, that’s what she associated me with. The wingless part, well, that just didn’t make any sense.

  School was ending and I planned on living it up, doing as much as possible before I was sucked right back in. I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth, not sure I was even going to graduate. If I went home now, I was only going to hear my parent's moaning and groaning about me not going. It also meant that I wouldn't have to explain at family gatherings the "reason”....

  Living it up to me meant getting drunk in the woods by my house; it meant losing myself in anything that could take the past away. I wanted to be numb; I wanted to never feel again. After all that had happened in the last couple years, I just wanted a way to forget it all.

  That was why I was walking the cemetery in the rain, the sun nearly setting. My clothes clinging to my body as I stumbled around looking for his name.

  He was my brother, Marcus Cardwell. And he was barely twenty when he died. He had barely lived and he was dead. It was sad, yes. What more, it was pathetic. It made me hate the world. It made me feel empty and worn on the inside. You never understood that death meant until it claimed someone you were so close to. When it did, then you truly shook death’s hand.

  Death had a way of slapping you back into reality. And even though I was miserable most of the time I was coping, I knew there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to improve my existence- you took what you were given.

  I hurried to my brother’s gravestone, dropping to my knees to get more comfortable. I let out a sigh, really sprawling out. The rain soaking into my shorts and tank top, misting my body, my wavy brown hair spilling everywhere as I closed my eyes, taking in the moment.

  The cemetery was quiet and soothing, the one place you could be truly alone. And for just a little while I could be with Marcus, I could feel him with me. That was all I ever wanted.

  I went back to the day that he passed away. It was summer. The day was so hot and I was so bored. Of course, Marcus had to work; it was all he did anymore. So, instead of going with me on a hike, he blew me off to work. He made sure to kiss my cheek and tug on my hair to make me feel better about his adult-like behavior. It was partly our mother who had pushed him away; our parents were doing well financially.

  Marcus hated being tied down and told what to do so working was his escape. My mother despised his carryout job, but she also said at least he was focusing on more than just hikes and writing all the time.

  I never understood her need to make him into anything but what he was: the mos
t amazing person ever. He was free. He enjoyed life the right away. He liked nature and poetry, he loved words and reading. The simple things made him happy. She only saw him as a waste unless he was in school “bettering himself” as she put it.

  The day was dragging without Marcus around to keep me entertained, so I got on my bike and made my way through our small town in Jersey to the carryout. I remember the moment like it was yesterday.

  I tossed my bike on the ground near a dumpster and headed inside Q-mart. Marcus was always glad to see me, and even if he was busy, he never let on. He always leaned over the counter beaming his goofy smile and talked to me.

  I remember the last thing he said to me, he told me he would wake me up when he got home, unless he decided on a walk, then he would tell me he was sorry later on.

  A little part of me was bothered by his statement and I even prodded him about why he would not fulfill his promise, for he was never that kind of person to me. He shrugged me off, running a hand through his brown curls, his messy hair never sitting quite right on his head. His bright eyes gave a flicker as he smiled at me, shooing me away. He sensed our mother would be calling any minute to bug him. He said he was sorry and that if it were up to him he would let me come to work with him every day, because, like him, I was a free being that was only being stifled by “Kay,” as he called her. Marcus never called her “Mom.” He said it was just a title that gave her control, and he refused to let her have any more.

  So I headed home, bumping into two teenage kids on the way out. One of them snapping at me to learn how to walk, his buzzed head standing out to me as he rushed by. The second one was stocky with flaming red hair, a bunch of piercings in his ears. He barely looked at me, saying nothing as he kept his eyes on the store.

  I shook my head, grabbing my tossed bike and pedaling home slowly, taking my time because I knew it would annoy my mother.

  That was the day Marcus died, the day my world crumbled beneath me. It was the day that I learned that nothing would ever feel right again. And that I would never heal. I would just bleed out emotionally until one day I was gone, too. Everything went dark and never came back to light.

  I remembered lying in bed listening for Marcus’s old pickup to come rumbling into the driveway, its low growl creeping into my room as it always did. I remember never hearing it and feeling angry that he had left me to take a walk.

  I covered my head with a pillow, and that wasn’t even enough to deafen my mother’s shrieks and screams that blew through the house. I still remembered the frightened sick feeling that instantly attacked my body.

  My heart raced, my mouth went dry and my head felt dizzy as I listened from my room, too afraid to move, because if I did, I would become part of the nightmare.

  “He’s been shot!” was all she could get out repeatedly, making it more real every time.

  I bit my lip, the taste of blood washing over me because I knew I had seen the killers. I knew before anyone could even tell me so. I knew he was dead before I was dragged from my room by Gray and forced to take the drive to the hospital.

  After that, the next week was a total blur, my life was ruined. Marcus was gone and I swore to never let him fade from my memory. I swore I would hold onto him because losing him meant I had lost myself. I knew after that, that people did shape who you would become.

  Some people were significant and changed you so completely. There were bonds that could be broken. And I was Eve, but he would never be Marcus again.

  I stood up ready to go home; I felt like the visit was ending as fast as the sun was setting. Standing up I made my way back out of the cemetery, walking on wobbly legs back to my house. Tomorrow was the last day of college and then I could breathe for a few weeks.

  Chapter 2

  Patience

  Making my way out of classes, I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even made it feeling as I did that morning. I was never going to learn when it came to drinking.

  Outside, I stayed under the shade of the tree waiting for Gray to give me a ride home. I finally found him in the crowd, red backpack slung over his shoulder like usual. He gave me a wave showing me I needed to move it, he wasn’t waiting around.

  I sighed, nearly running to catch up to him. He wasn’t caring like Marcus was- he was all business anymore. Sometimes he was nothing but mean and rude. I learned to get used to it.

  “Ready?” he asked me, walking toward the parking lot.

  “Yeah.” I said, following him.

  “How were the last of your classes?”

  “Same as usual.” I threw my backpack in the back of his jeep and hopped in the front. “I’m just glad it’s over for a while. I need a break.”

  “Break from what? You barely, have a C in any of your classes.” He paid close attention to the road as he began driving.

  “I just need a break, I’m not like you who wakes up every day and is happy to go to school.” I tapped my foot in vexation.

  “I think you would like it more if you actually paid attention.”

  “I think I would like it more if I didn’t have an older brother who wanted to talk to me like he was my dad.” I turned the radio on. “God Gray can you ever lighten up, life’s short.”

  “Yeah that it is, that’s why I choose to make the most of it.”

  “Oh right, and is that why you have the most depressing girlfriend?” I asked him, jabbing at his brain. I liked to rile him up.

  Gray’s girlfriend, Devan, although quite beautiful, was stuck up and nothing at all like what I imagined Gray to be with. She seemed like all she would do was bring him trouble and keep his mind far away from his studies.

  Devan was tall and blonde, a big toothy smile which she only gave to Gray. I swore she could have been a model- she had legs up to her neck. The thing that annoyed me most about her was that she never spoke to me, which to me was just rude. Gray said I just didn’t understand her.

  “She is not depressing, there is a difference between you and her, believe me,” he snapped.

  “What? I’m not depressing,” I snapped back.

  “Why else would someone with so much potential throw it away to just be?” He pulled into our parent’s driveway; I glared at him slamming his car door with enough force to rip it off the hinges. Gray followed behind me. I was hoping he would trip or something. He didn’t of course, because he was perfect.

  “Hey guys!” my dad exclaimed, beaming at the two of us- I could have sworn it was more for Gray though. I threw my backpack on the bench in the hallway.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, hugging him briefly.

  “We got a nice dinner planned tonight for all of us to celebrate your end of school, and I think your sister may be coming as well.” He headed out the door- he must have had some kind of work to finish up because it was the only time he would leave with a briefcase.

  My dad owned several restaurants all over the city. It was supposed to be just a small thing but he had spawned it into quite a successful project. He barely ran it now that he had people to do that for him. He was the head guy who everyone looked to and he expected nothing but the best out of the people he chose to run his restaurants.

  My mother was in the kitchen chopping onions, I could tell because she looked like someone had died.

  “Hey Hun,” she said, throwing them in a big mixing bowl.

  “What are those for?”

  “Salad,” she said, wiping her tears as she cut.

  “Why don’t you hire a chef to do that, it pains me to see you cry,” I joked, grabbing a soda out of the fridge and pulling up a stool to sit at the counter across from her.

  Although my mother was spastic and worrisome, sometimes I enjoyed talking to her. And although she never gave me the benefit of the doubt, she made me feel better- occasionally.

  Gray came walking in the kitchen. Going up to my mother and wrapping his arms around her from behind, he lifted her off the floor. I rolled my eyes.

  “And how are you today?” she smiled
at him.

  “Good, things went smoothly. I pretty much know what I am doing next year and everything is set for the summer,” he boasted, running his hand over his almost nonexistent buzz haircut.

  I always thought my brother would be so much better looking if he grew his hair out. But he said it was more manageable. I said he just was an idiot who had no sense of what looked good. Or maybe his girlfriend told him she liked it that way.

  “And what about you Eve?” she asked me as she starting chopping carrots.

  I thought about what to say to make her pleased. Gray looked over at me with a furrowed brow; I could tell what he was thinking. “Good Mom. I may not be like Gray and have my life’s journey mapped out down to how many times I brush my buzzed hair, but things are good.” My mother smiled in amusement at me. Gray shook his head and snatched a piece of carrot.