Midnight Surrender (A Paranormal Romance Anthology) Read online

Down the Rabbit Hole: Prequel to River’s Recruit of The Sanctuary Series

  By Charlotte Abel

  Jonathan glanced at the address scribbled on the back of Dr. Harrison’s card then at the tiny cottage across the street. What sort of therapist worked out of a house painted eggplant purple? The kind that claimed they could cure phantom pain with hypnosis; that’s what kind. What was he expecting? A high-rise office building?

  He gritted his teeth against the pins and needles sensation in his left hand — or what his nervous system still believed was his left hand. Pain meds helped, but not enough. That’s why he was here, knocking on the Pepto-Bismol pink door of Bluestar Morninglory’s Holistic House of Healing.

  The door creaked open. A black and white striped cat darted between Jonathan’s feet. He spun around and grabbed it with his right hand. The crazy cat dug its claws into Jonathan’s forearm. He gritted his teeth and turned around to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She looked pretty good for an old broad. Her faded jeans and old Bolder-Boulder t-shirt from 2009 hugged her curvy body, but her tanned-leather face and grey streaked hair kept Jonathan’s libido in check.

  She took the cat and nuzzled it against her neck. “Thanks.”

  Jonathan rubbed his arm and glared at the cat. “You should keep an eye on that thing. He won’t last long outside with the coyotes.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for a hypnotherapist.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  Jonathan held out his left arm and rotated his myoelectric hand. The tiny gears and servos of the robotic device hummed as he manipulated it. “The phantom pain never goes away. My doc said hypnosis might help.”

  The woman’s eyes softened as she lifted her gaze from Jonathan’s prosthesis to his face. “All right. Come on in. But next time, call first and make an appointment.”

  “I can come back later if it’s more convenient.”

  “You’re here now. My name’s Bluestar, but everyone calls me Blue.” She motioned for Jonathan to enter with a sweep of her arm. “The first session is free, after that, it’s a hundred dollars an hour.”

  Jonathan doubted he’d be back as he followed Blue into a small, windowless room illuminated by candlelight. Thin ribbons of smoke curled from the tips of incense sticks. The cloyingly sweet scent of patchouli gave Jonathan an instant headache. Floor to ceiling shelves held an assortment of rocks, crystals and … animal bones? Maybe the cat would be safer outside with the coyotes.

  And maybe the main qualification for a hypnotherapist shouldn’t be how close they were to the Dillon Dam Brewery. Jonathan’s mouth watered as he thought of the giant cheeseburger waiting for him when he was done with this woo-woo business.

  Blue nodded at a worn out recliner. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I go brew you some tea.”

  “Uh … that’s okay. I’m not much of a tea drinker.” The pins and needles sensation in Jonathan’s missing hand intensified. In a few minutes it would be the smashing-his-hand-in-a-vise sensation. Phantom pain, my ass. There’s nothing phantom about it.

  “It’s all natural, brewed from organic plants I grow myself.” When Blue returned, she handed Jonathan a steaming mug. “It’ll help you relax … which will help with the pain even before I get you into a trance.”

  Jonathan took a sip. It tasted like mint and dirt but with a ton of honey. He took another sip. Blue sat on one of those inflatable exercise balls and rocked back and forth as she talked about the coming ski season. Jonathan hadn’t quite finished the tea when his eyes drifted shut. He blinked them open and shook his head. Blue wasn’t kidding when she said the tea would help him relax. “What sort of plants did you say were in this?”

  “I didn’t say.” Blue took the cup from Jonathan’s hand. A trail of pink light followed her every motion. “It’s a secret blend.”

  Jonathan had never experimented with hallucinogenic drugs, but he’d had enough super-powerful pain meds in the hospital to recognize the effect. “Did you use psychedelic mushrooms or something?”

  “Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it carry you back to the day you lost your hand.”

  The smell of gasoline, melting rubber and dust burned Jonathan’s sinuses. Searing pain shot from his missing left hand up the length of his arm. Every muscle in his upper body contracted. He arched his back, pulling his shoulders towards his ears.

  Blue’s voice sounded as if she were speaking from inside a tunnel. “Calm down. Go to a happier time. Relax. Breathe with me. In … out …”

  Jonathan didn’t want to go back to a happier time, he wanted to get the hell out of Blue’s creepy house. But thanks to her magic mushroom tea he could barely keep his eyes open, much less get out of the chair. Jonathan knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t force himself to breathe out of sync with Blue’s commands.

  “Good job, Jonathan. Close your eyes. Let your mind wander, as you drift into the past. Where are you? What do you see, hear, smell…”

  “Lasagna. I smell lasagna. Mom’s cooking it for Franklin.” The double-edged sword of grief and guilt plunged into Jonathan’s heart. He tried to ignore it, but it was buried to the hilt. He dug his fingers into the recliner’s arm rest and tried to open his eyes but they might as well have been glued shut.

  Blue’s monotone voice, soft as dandelion fluff, invaded Jonathan’s mind. “Relax. Let your emotions wash over you as you travel back in time. Embrace the pain, let it heal you.”

  “No.” He’d had enough of the ‘whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ bullshit from the army shrinks.

  A rainbow of multi-colored lights exploded behind Jonathan’s eyelids as he floated on a patchouli scented cloud. “This is nice.”

  He heard an echo of quiet laughter, then watched in awe as sound waves rippled the air around him. And then he fell … spinning, turning, around and around … down … down … down.

  Jonathan’s bare feet sank into soft, warm carpet. What happened to his shoes? He opened his eyes and wiggled his toes. He recognized the royal blue pile of the area rug in front of Franklin’s bed immediately.

  “What do you want, Jonathan?”

  “Frankie?” Franklin was alive — sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, frowning. But he wasn’t frowning at Jonathan. He followed Franklin’s gaze and saw a younger version of himself. Unscarred. No prosthesis. Two hands.

  Jonathan ignored his doppelganger and wrapped his arms around Franklin. But they passed right through him, leaving behind a trail of blue and purple light. He might as well have been a ghost. Am I dead?

  The room slipped sideways. An invisible force pulled Jonathan forward and shoved him into his other body; his perfect body, with two hands.

  He wanted something … He wanted Franklin to do something …

  Jonathan ran his left hand over the shiny gold figure perched on top of Franklin’s latest trophy. It was almost as tall as he was.

  Franklin didn’t even look up. “Stop molesting my trophy and get out of my room.”

  Jonathan leaned over Franklin’s shoulder to see what he was reading. “Lord of the Rings? Again? Ya know, Bro, they made that into a movie. You don’t have to read it.”

  “What do you want, Jonathan?”

  “Can I borrow a shirt and a pair of jeans?”

  Franklin put a finger in the middle of the page, then twisted sideways to look at Jonathan. “Why? You hate my clothes.”

  Jonathan knew better than to lie to Franklin. “You know why.”

  “Then the answer is no.”

  “Come on, Frankie, what’s the point of being identical twins if we can’t use it to our advantage?”

  “What advantage? Why do you want to be me?” Franklin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Or is there some reason you don’t want to be you?”

  “I need to talk to Naomi.”

  “So?”

  “She won’t answer my calls or texts or let me inside
her house. She won’t even look at me.” Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “She un-friended me on Facebook.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Come on Frankie. I’d do it for you.”

  “How is pretending to be me going to change anything?”

  “There’s a party out at the mine tonight. If I can just talk to her—”

  The wheels of Franklin’s chair clattered across the hardwood floor as he pushed away from his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “You mean seduce her.”

  “No. I mean talk to her. I just need her to understand how that whole thing with Harleigh was nothing but a mistake. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “That’s no excuse and you know it.”

  “If that doesn’t work, I’ll do the concerned brother routine… Please, just talk to him. He may be suicidal.”

  “You’re pathetic, but you aren’t suicidal.”

  “I can’t live without Naomi.”

  “That would be easier to believe if you hadn’t boinked her best friend.”

  “I didn’t boink Harleigh. I just made out with her. And like I told you … I was drunk.”

  “And like I told you … that’s no excuse.” Franklin turned back to his book. “Besides, Naomi’s going out with Rich Blanchard now.”

  Rich was a senior and the state heavy-weight wrestling champion. He had the strength, thick skull and temperament of a silver-back gorilla, but only half the intelligence. There was no way Naomi actually liked him. “She’s just trying to make me jealous.”

  “Probably. She doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she gets her way. Find someone else — half the girls at school are already in love with you.”

  True, but Jonathan didn’t want anyone else. He didn’t want to start over either. It had taken him two months to get his hands under Naomi’s shirt and another three weeks before she let him unhook her bra. If he hadn’t messed up with Harleigh, he was sure that he and Naomi would have had sex by now.

  Jonathan would have just grabbed a pair of Franklin’s baggy jeans and one of his nerdy polo shirts out of the laundry without asking if the neat freak hadn’t already put his clothes away. He hopped onto Franklin’s bed and bounced on his toes. He couldn’t think unless he was in motion and he definitely needed to think of a new plan …

  Jonathan dropped to his knees, then bounced back to his feet. “I could talk to Heather while I’m impersonating you. Ask her to homecoming or something.”

  It was ridiculous the way Franklin turned bright red and stuttered every time he tried to talk to the girl. There was nothing special about Heather Compton. She wasn’t ugly or anything, but she wasn’t exactly hot either — not like Naomi.

  Franklin slammed his book shut. “You can’t hit on Naomi and Heather at the same party.”

  He had a point. Jonathan stopped bouncing. “Unless … you go to the party and pretend to be me. Lay low until I ask Heather out for you and convince Naomi to talk to me. Once I’m done, we’ll sneak inside the mine and change clothes. You can hang out with Heather while I make up with Naomi in the back of the Rover.”

  The corners of Franklin’s mouth did that subtle little twitchy thing that meant he was going to start stuttering. No one besides Jonathan ever noticed the twitch. They’d both stuttered as little kids. Jonathan out grew it, Franklin didn’t. Stress made it worse, especially around girls. “The f-first t-time I open m-m-my m-mouth, everyone is g-going to know I’m n-not you.”

  “You don’t have to talk. Just grab a beer, park your butt against a tree and act broken hearted. I guarantee at least one hot chick is going to try to console you by cramming her tongue down your throat. Just don’t let Naomi see you. I’m already in enough trouble.”

  Frankie wrinkled his nose and frowned. “I’m not going to start drinking just so I can make out with some random fan-girl of yours. And get off my bed.”

  Jonathan grinned and started bouncing again. Heather was the perfect bait. All Jonathan had to do was set the hook and reel him in. “Just smile and nod your head while they jabber at you. It’ll be good practice for when you go out with Heather.”

  “Do you really think H-Heather w-would go out w-with me?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? You’re almost as good-looking as I am.”

  Franklin rolled his eyes but his grin was so wide it looked like it hurt. “We’re identical, you moron.”

  There was a small parking lot at the trailhead that meandered past the old McKnight mine, but it was already full. Jonathan didn’t want to park on the side of the road so he pulled in behind Rich Blanchard’s souped up Dodge Ram and cut the engine.

  “You can’t park here. You’re blocking three cars.”

  Jonathan set the emergency brake. “I can park wherever the hell I want.”

  “You know who owns that truck, right?”

  “Quit whining. Rich isn’t going to want to leave before we do. In fact, he’ll probably get so drunk he won’t be able to find his truck before daylight.”

  “And if you want anyone to believe you’re me; quit saying ‘hell.’ I don’t swear.”

  “Okay, Mom … it’s no big f—”

  “Hey!”

  “—freakin’ deal.”

  Jonathan laughed and hopped out of the Land Rover, slamming the door behind him. “Keep your chin up and head straight for the keg—”

  “I already told you, I’m not going to drink.”

  “Then grab a beer out of one of the coolers—”

  “I said I’m not—”

  “Calm down. I didn’t say you had to drink it. Just hold it and pretend to take a sip occasionally. Can you do that?” Jonathan’s patience was wearing thin.

  “Okay, but remember the only kind of beer you can drink is root beer.”

  Jonathan was definitely going to need a couple of real beers if he was going to get through the next hour without popping Franklin in the mouth. He’d just have to be discreet about it.

  About twenty people milled around the bonfire in front of the mine. Another half-dozen or so jostled each other to get to the keg. Music blared from someone's portable audio system. It was amazing what you could do with a car battery, an amp and a couple of speakers. The thump, thump of the heavy bass reverberating in Jonathan’s gut lifted his mood. He had to remind himself not to move to the beat as they walked up the trail. Franklin could dance as good as anyone, but he never did it in public.

  That needed to change. Jonathan punched Franklin’s shoulder. “Loosen up, bro. Try to relax. You’re supposed to be excited to be here.”

  Franklin huffed and rolled his eyes.

  They were about halfway between the parking lot and the bonfire when Naomi and her current top three friends spilled out of her Prius. Great. How was he supposed to talk to her with those three hanging around? They openly dissed him in front of Naomi, then came on to him behind her back.

  Jonathan turned to Franklin, hoping he could enlist his help to distract Naomi’s friends for a few minutes, but he should have known better.

  Franklin was already twitching. Jonathan lowered his voice and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Go grab a beer and pretend to drink it … now.” He stepped in front of Naomi then dropped his gaze to his feet. Franklin would never have the courage for direct eye contact with any girl, much less a hottie like Naomi. “H-h-hello, N-Naomi. H-how are y-y-you?”

  She stopped and did a little double-take. “Franklin?”

  Jonathan chanced a quick glance at Naomi’s face. She curled her upper lip back so far it practically touched her nose. What the hell was her problem?

  “C-can I t-talk t-to you for a m-minute?”

  She made that half-grunt-half-coughing noise in the back of her throat that she usually reserved for thespians and members of the chess club. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jonathan’s been so depressed since you b-broke up with him. If you w-would j-just t-talk
to him—”

  Naomi interrupted him with a cruel laugh. It was nothing like the musical giggle that always warmed Jonathan’s heart. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand and sneered at him. “How the hell did that cheating, scumbag brother of yours ever talk you into this? Did he threaten to st-st-steal your t-t-teddy b-b-bear?”

  Jonathan’s world shattered. No one made fun of Franklin’s stutter. No one. Not even hot ex-girlfriends. Did she treat Franklin like this whenever Jonathan wasn’t around? He glanced over his shoulder. Franklin was leaning against a tree with a goofy grin on his face, staring into the fire. If he’d heard Naomi’s mockery, it would have devastated him.

  She needed to be taken down a notch or two. And Jonathan knew just how to do it. “Jonathan told me I could have one of his rejects tonight. I was hoping Harleigh would show up, but since she didn’t, I guess you’ll do.” He sighed and grabbed her hand. “Come on. I have a sleeping bag in the back of the Rover.”

  Naomi jumped back and hissed like an angry cat. Her friends giggled and snorted behind their hands. She was still spluttering incoherently when Jonathan turned his back on her and walked away. It was time to sneak into the mine, snag a couple of beers, and light up the blunt hidden in his pocket.

  When Jonathan came out of the mine, he found Franklin in the middle of a crowd of drunks, chugging beer out of a clear plastic cup. Jonathan should have been happy Frankie was loosening up, but it pissed him off. Franklin was the good twin. He was on track to serve a mission, go to BYU, meet a nice girl, marry her in the temple and start popping out kids as fast as they could make ‘em.

  Franklin crushed his empty cup then belched half the alphabet. The idiots around him howled with laughter, but Jonathan didn’t think it was funny. In fact, it killed his buzz. Was he that disgusting of an animal at parties? It was something to think about, but right now, he needed to save Franklin’s sorry ass before he did something really stupid.

  By the time Jonathan worked his way through the crowd, Franklin had another cup of beer in his hand.

  “I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Jonathan tried to pry Franklin’s fingers off the cup without spilling it all over both of them.

  “Oh, I don’t think so Frankie, I haven’t had nearly enough. In fact, I think it’s high time you joined me.” Franklin laughed and punched Jonathan’s shoulder. “High time… get it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jonathan grabbed Franklin’s arm and whispered, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Hey! Tyler.” Franklin leaned back and lifted his hand in the air, index finger extended, as if he were trying to signal a waiter. “Get a brewski for my alter-ego here, would ya?”

  Jonathan didn’t know what had changed Franklin’s mind about drinking, but he wasn’t about to ruin his immaculate reputation by joining him. Besides, Franklin was already plastered, so Jonathan would have to drive them home. “Are you too drunk to remember my vow to never so much as taste alcohol?”

  Franklin swayed on his feet. “You need to lighten up. Live a little before you die.”

  Jonathan grabbed Franklin’s shoulders to keep him from stumbling into the fire. “How many beers have you had since we got here?”

  “Hmm … I’m not shlure.” Frankie turned to Tyler and cocked his head to the side. “How many beers have I drunk…? Drank…? Drink-ded…?”

  Tyler held up three fingers and shrugged.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. He would not be this plastered after just three beers.

  Franklin belched a cloud of beer-scented gas in Jonathan’s face then giggled like a girl.

  Jonathan wanted to bitch-slap him until he followed Franklin’s gaze to the crushed cans of non-alcoholic beer hidden in the side pocket of his suede jacket. Wow. This was just an act? Jonathan leaned in and whispered, “You’re not really drunk?”

  “Of course not.”

  The man deserved an Oscar for his role as Drunk and Obnoxious Jonathan McKnight.

  “If you spill even one drop of that nasty fake beer on my coat, I’ll kill you.”

  Tyler coughed into his fist and said, “Heather’s here.”

  The sound of bell-like laughter floated up from the trail.

  Franklin froze then started backing away before the girls were even in view. “I’m gonna puke.”

  He bolted into the bushes like a frightened deer.

  Heather jerked her head back then squinted her eyes and leaned forward. “Was that Franklin McKnight? Is he drunk?”

  Time to intervene. “H-h-hey H-Heather, I’d like t-to talk to you as s-soon as I m-make sure J-Jonathan’s okay. He’s had a little too m-m-much to drink.”

  Jonathan held his breath to make his face turn red and hoped that would convince Heather that she had the boys mixed up.

  “Of course, do you need any help?”

  Tyler smacked Jonathan on the back. “I’ve got it covered. You go talk to Heather while I make sure your drunken brother doesn’t fall down a mine shaft or something.”

  “Um … okay.” Jonathan swallowed loudly and rubbed his palms on his jeans as if they were sweaty. Franklin wasn’t the only one that could act. “D-do you w-wanna g-g-go somewhere t-to talk?”

  Heather lowered her gaze and peeked at him from under thick lashes. She was actually sort of cute. Jonathan grabbed her hand and led her back down the trail, away from the fire and the crowd. He didn’t want an audience in case this blew up in his face, so he waited until they were out of everyone’s line of sight to turn his full attention to Heather.

  She stared at their linked hands and grinned. “So … what’s on your mind, Franklin?”

  “I… uh… yeah, well… I was w-wondering if you w-would go to H-h-homecoming with me?” Jonathan’s voice cracked when he said ‘me’ but Heather didn’t seem to notice — or maybe she just didn’t care. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled changed her whole face. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Maybe because she’d never smiled at him. She was more than just cute. She was adorable. And perfect for Franklin.

  She stepped forward and put one trembling hand on Jonathan’s chest. “I would love to go with you.”

  Jonathan smiled, flashing his dimples.

  Heather rose up on her toes, slipped her hand behind his neck and tugged.

  What do I do? If I pull back, it’ll hurt her feelings. But I can’t kiss her. She’s Franklin’s girl.

  Heather made the decision for both of them. Jonathan kept his mouth closed and his eyes open. The snap of twig alerted him that someone was close.

  He pulled away just as Franklin stepped around the bend. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The look of betrayal in his eyes said it all. He shook his head then stepped off the path, giving Jonathan and Heather a wide berth.

  Jonathan grabbed Franklin’s shoulder as he passed. “Wait. I can explain.”

  Frankie jerked out of Jonathan’s grasp then ran down the trail.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” There was nothing down there but the parking lot. Franklin wouldn't leave without him. Would he? Of course he would. Jonathan didn’t like leaving Heather alone on the trail, but he needed to straighten things out with Franklin. 

  She should be fine as long as she went back to the group around the fire.

  “Heather, sweetheart, I need you to go back to the party and find your friends. Stay together and stay away from Rich and his group. I need to see what’s up with that crazy brother of mine, but I’ll be right back.”

  He’d forgotten to stutter, but Heather just nodded her head and started walking back up the trail.

  Jonathan was about halfway to the parking lot when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Two guys were pulling a very drunk girl off the trail into the bushes. Not cool. Jonathan had no idea who the guys were, but either they’d heard about the party and decided to crash it or they just stumbled on to it and decided to take advantage of the opportunity — and the intoxicated girl
they were half-carrying-half-dragging between them.

  Jonathan didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her at school. She was only a freshman. What sort of perv takes advantage of a drunk kid?

  “Where do you guys think you’re going with the jailbait?”

  “None of your business, punk.”

  Since there were two of them and only one of him, Jonathan struck without warning or mercy. A gut-busting sidekick dropped the strutting peacock on his right to his knees. Before he hit the ground, Jonathan threw a right cross to the jaw of his scrawny companion. It snapped the creep’s head back a good six inches. But it only made him mad. Never judge a book by its cover — or a potential rapist by his size.

  The guy danced around with his elbows tucked in and his fists in front of his face like a boxer. He obviously knew how to fight. Jonathan didn’t mess around. He knocked the guy out cold with a round-house kick to the side of his head.

  The perv was lucky Jonathan and Franklin had switched identities. If he’d been wearing his hiking boots instead of Franklin’s running shoes, the blow might have killed him.

  The girl he’d just rescued was too drunk to walk. Jonathan wanted to get to Franklin, but he couldn’t just leave her lying by the side of the trail. He picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bonfire. She thanked him by puking down the back of Franklin’s parka.

  When he got back to the party, Jonathan lowered the girl to the ground, yanked his arms out of Franklin’s ruined parka and turned it inside out. He used it to position the girls head so she wouldn’t drown in her own puke if she threw up again. He didn’t see Heather, so he grabbed the first halfway sober girl he saw and enlisted her help.

  “Hey, Carrie, do you know this chick?”

  “Sort of. She’s just a freshman. What’s she doing here?”

  “Getting herself raped.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a little “O” before she frowned.

  “A couple of guys were hauling her into the bushes. I roughed ‘em up pretty good, so I don’t think they’re going to be a problem, but can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she doesn’t wander off. I gotta go find my brother.”

  Jonathan suddenly felt light-headed as the last of the adrenaline from the fight left his body. He sagged onto the log next to Carrie and grinned when his car keys poked him in the butt. Franklin wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  “Sure. But, you might want to find Jonathan before Richard finds you.”

  Jonathan had almost forgotten about the whole switched identity thing. “Why?”

  Carrie made a sour-lemon face then cocked an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not ask Naomi Huffman to have sex with you in the back of the Rover?”

  “Oh.” A sudden headache tightened Jonathan’s scalp. He’d forgotten about that too. What a mess.

  “I didn’t ask Naomi to have sex. I only implied it.”

  Carrie snickered and nudged his shoulder. “You’re actually pretty funny when you loosen up a little. Anyway… Naomi told everyone that Jonathan put you up to it—told you she was easy or something. She cried on Richard’s shoulder until he got so wound up he wants to kill both of you.”

  “Shit. I really fu — messed it up this time.”

  Carrie’s eyebrows shot into her hairline.

  He’d already tarnished Franklin’s reputation when he put Naomi in her place. Dropping the F-bomb wasn’t going to help. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  When Jonathan leaned forward to stand up, Carrie grabbed his hand. “If you ever get over your crush on Heather Compton, give me a call.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  Carrie snorted and spread her fingers, releasing his hand. “Everyone knows you’ve been crushing on that girl since the day she moved here. You should just tell her, ya know? She likes you too. Or at least she did. She’s pretty pissed off about you propositioning Naomi.”

  Jonathan swore again, but didn’t bother to apologize this time.

  “Like I said, if things don’t work out with Heather, give me a call.”

  “Jonathan’s single. Do you want me to tell him to give you call?”

  “Hell no. I have too much self-respect to go out with that two-timing man-whore.”

  Jonathan cringed then tried to hide it behind a shy smile. “Okay then. I guess I better go check on the man-whore … try to keep him out of trouble.”

  Carrie snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  Jonathan found Richard, and everyone else, crowded around the entrance to the mine. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and tapped Rich on the shoulder. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  Instead of taking a swing at him, Richard tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. “Your brother went inside the mine. We’ve been yelling at him for like, ten minutes, but he won’t come out.”

  “Well, quit yelling. You’re going to trigger a cave in.” Most of the timbers and support beams inside the mine were over a hundred and fifty years old.

  Franklin knew better than to go inside the mine. Never mind the fact that Jonathan went in there all the time to access his stash of pot and beer. He knew what he was doing and never went so far in that he lost sight of the entrance. He prayed Frankie was just screwing with him. Trying to get back at him for kissing Heather.

  He frowned at Rich. “You’re sure he went inside? This isn’t just some prank?”

  There were too many solemn faces and wide-eyed stares for it to be a prank.

  Rich shook his head. “It’s no joke.”

  “Has anyone called 911, yet?”

  Naomi extricated herself from Rich’s arms. “You have to find him, Franklin. What if he’s hurt?”

  A premonition of disaster gnawed at Jonathan’s gut, but he couldn’t just sit and wait for help to arrive while Frankie was in danger. The longer he was inside the mine, the more likely something bad would happen; if it hadn’t already.

  “Any of you guys have a flashlight? Or a rope?” Jonathan had both in the Rover, but all he had on him was his cell phone and the light from the screen wasn't enough.

  “I got a lighter.”

  Jonathan didn’t even try to guess which moron came up with that bright idea. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. The faint glow flickered and shimmied across the rubble and splintered beams that blocked the tunnel. When he aimed it between the cracks, the oily darkness inside the mine swallowed the light before it touched the ground.

  “Here, take this.” Someone handed him an LED flashlight and a climbing rope. Jonathan muttered a quick “thanks,” and turned his back on the crowd. He focused his breath to calm himself and crawled over the pile of rubble. A broken beam scraped his back and left behind a swath of splinters. He really wished that girl hadn’t thrown up on Franklin’s parka. The deeper he went, the colder he got.

  Five minutes later, he rounded a bend and found Franklin sitting on the ground, knees bent, with his head on his forearms.

  He sighed, but didn’t look up. “Go to hell, Jonathan.”

  “I’m sure I will, but I’d rather it not be tonight. Come on, let’s get outta here.”

  “You can have anyone you want, why’d you have to go after Heather?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Franklin’s head jerked up. “I saw you kiss her.”

  “No, Franklin. You did not see me kiss Heather. She kissed me but only because she thought I was you!”

  “It should have been me.” Franklin dropped his head back onto his forearms.

  “Shoulda, coulda, woulda. You’re such an idiot! You could be kissing her right now. But you’ll never get to kiss anyone if we die in here. You know it’s not safe this far back in the tunnels.”

  Jonathan reached out towards Franklin. His left arm was still extended when the support beam collapsed.

  Hot, searing pain shot up Jonathan’s arm from his le
ft hand into his armpit. The agony lifted his mind out of the trance just enough for him to remember that none of this was real. But it sure felt real. Worse than real. He’d broken his hand in the mine, not severed it.

  The creaks and groans of settling debris pulled Jonathan back into the mine. His heart raced. He had to get Franklin out of the mine before another beam gave way.

  “Frankie?” A quiet moan sifted through the pile of rubble. At least he was alive. “Frankie, are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep from screaming and clawed at the beam that held him pinned to the ground. It wouldn’t budge, but in his scrabbling, his hand brushed against the flashlight. He turned it on and discovered a narrow rift between the beam and pile of rubble. He shone the light through the gap and found Franklin lying on the ground. The same beam that pinned Jonathan’s left hand had splintered and driven a piece of wood through Franklin’s torso, impaling him.

  No. This isn’t right. Franklin’s only injury in the mine had been a mild concussion. He died in Afghanistan. This isn’t real. But the nightmare didn’t stop.

  “It hurts Jon-Jon.” Franklin’s head lurched forward as he struggled to free himself. “Get me outta here!”

  “Stop it Franklin! You’re making it worse. Hold still.”

  Why is this so much worse than what really happened? Blood oozed around the three-inch diameter wound in Franklin’s belly, soaking his shirt. “You’re okay, Frankie. This isn’t real. This isn’t how you die.”

  Franklin tried again to lift his body off the pike then fell back with a groan. His hand went limp, but his chest rose and fell in rapid shallow pants.

  “Hang on, Frankie. I’m coming. I’ll get you out.”

  A sinister creak reverberated overhead. The beam that had impaled Franklin and trapped Jonathan shifted. Franklin screamed.

  Stop this. Please, someone make it stop.

  Jonathan and Franklin’s chances of getting out alive were decreasing with every second. The constant moans of shifting debris and Franklin’s pleas for help gave Jonathan the courage he needed. He ignored the agony of his broken ribs, curled up into a ball, positioned his feet against the beam on either side of his trapped hand, and exploded backwards.

  Jonathan hadn’t expected his hand to separate so easily. He sat on his butt and stared at his arm. He tied off the bleeding stump with his belt as best he could. He was wasting time fretting over his stupid arm. He clawed at the rocks with his right hand and begged God to save them both.

  God didn’t answer.

  An ominous sound, like a runaway freight train, echoed through the tunnels.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no … please God, no.” Jonathan doubled his efforts to dig through the rubble. He even used the bloody stump of his left arm, but he’d never get Franklin out before the mine flooded.

  “Don’t leave me, Jon-Jon. I don’t want to die alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. I promise. Live or die, we’re in this together.”

  The ground shook as the roar of rushing water grew louder. Jonathan squeezed through the gap and wrapped his arms around Franklin. He lifted him off the splintered beam and held him against his chest. “I’ve got you, Frankie. It’s okay.”

  A wall of icy water slammed into Jonathan’s back, ripping Franklin from his arms. Jonathan screamed, but the churning river of debris swallowed the sound. His lungs burned, starving for air. Instinct took over. The first lungful caused his body to convulse, expelling the life-stealing water. His diaphragm rebelled and forced more dirty water into his lungs. Through it all, Jonathan never stopped screaming Franklin’s name.

  “Jonathan. Wake up.”

  Jonathan barely heard the voice. His ears and sinuses still throbbed with each desperate beat of his heart. His lungs were still full of water. He couldn’t breathe.

  “Snap out of it!”

  Jonathan’s body jerked like it sometimes did right before falling asleep. He gasped and choked as more water found its way down his trachea. But this time, the water tasted clean. And it was mixed with patchouli scented air. His eyelids fluttered open. Blue’s face hovered over his.

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry about throwing water in your face, but you refused to come out of trance and I have another client in ten minutes.”

  “What the hell did you do to me?”

  Blue patted his knee. “I didn’t do a thing except guide you into a level six stage of profound somnambulism. The rest was all you.”

  Yeah, right. Jonathan wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, but his body refused to cooperate. He was still flying higher than a freaking kite.

  Blue glanced at her notes then back at Jonathan. “You seemed to be experiencing an amalgamation of two separate traumatic events. Can you elaborate on what happened?”

  “Yeah. I was drugged without consent and then mind fucked.”

  Blue’s eyebrows twitched, but that was her only reaction to Jonathan’s accusation.

  He hoped he’d be able to sort out his memories. He’d been a little more claustrophobic after he and Franklin were rescued from the mine, but now… just the thought of going into a mine made him dizzy. He hoped it was just an aftereffect of the drugs.

  Blue poured a cup of what smelled like coffee into a mug and handed it to Jonathan.

  He shook his head. “No thanks.”

  She had the nerve to actually roll her eyes. “It’s just coffee. The caffeine will help you shake off any lingering effects of the trance.”

  Jonathan climbed out of the recliner and headed for the front door. A middle-aged woman was sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through a new-age magazine. She looked up when Jonathan walked by.

  He nodded towards the beaded curtains. “Whatever you do, don’t drink the tea.”

  Learn more about Charlotte Abel and The Sanctuary Series at: www.CharlotteAbel.com

  River’s Recruit is available now