Breaking Away (The Man in the Shadows)

Breaking Away:

The Man in the Shadows

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013

by Erin M. Truesdale

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

ISBN: 1484063732

ISBN-13: 978-1484063736

Connect with Erin M. Truesdale:

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/erinmtruesdaleauthor

Amazon Page:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00CZ5TA7C

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/yagudin21

Thank you for downloading Breaking Away!

For DLT

You’re forever in my heart.

Table of Contents

Forward..........................................................5

Chapter 1........................................................9

Chapter 2......................................................45

Chapter 3.......................................................87

Chapter 4......................................................121

Chapter 5......................................................157

Chapter 6......................................................195

Chapter 7......................................................225

Forward

This story is the culmination of many years. Even as a child, the only thing I really enjoyed doing was writing. My best friend Katie and I would hang out together, no matter the locale, with a notebook and pen in hand, write a chapter and then swap them to see what the other had written. Those moments, all those years ago, really sparked my passion. However, after high school, this wonderful gift I had was forgotten to boys, going to college, moving out, and getting a real job.

In 2012, I decided it was time for a comeback. Over the past twelve years, I had written down snippets of stories, but none of them ever panned out. But once I heard about National Novel Writing Month, I knew something special would emerge. I wrote the entirety of this novel now in your hands during November of 2012. Other friends of mine, Katie included, were writing right along with me for support. I had a job at the time doing courier work, that would have me drive numerous hours at a time, and many of the ideas I got for this story occurred during those long hours driving from Superior to Safford, down to Tucson and back to Phoenix. The wonderful sights I observed during these prolonged drives are where this story began to grow.

I would first and foremost like to thank National Novel Writing Month. I am not exaggerating when I say that this novel would not have been written, nor would it have been published, without this wonderful organization. Additionally, all my thanks go out to Katie, because without her friendship, writing would have faded from my life long ago. I’d like to thank my mom for always supporting my writing and other academic pursuits (even when her daughter would write ‘mature’ murder mysteries in the 6th grade!). Even though she will not read this, I’d also like to thank my grandma Dutch, for her love, her laughs, and her kindness. She made my time in Arizona worthwhile.

Thank you to: Mark, Jarrod, Louise, Jenny, Jen, Adam, Ryan, and Lorin. You all stuck by me during the hardest time of my life and helped me. Your kindness has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.

I hope you, my wonderful reader, enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it.
Of all the wonderment in the world!...

-Erin M. Truesdale

April 9, 2013

Chapter One

“Who’s there?”

She stared out into the darkness. If she focused really hard on one point, she imagined that her super human power to suddenly be able to see in the dark would activate. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she could. She strained her eyes as she simultaneously strained to listen. She thought she had heard a rustle, a whisper. Someone breathing in her ear. All she heard now was the faint sound of traffic whizzing by on the highway outside of her bedroom window. Her eyes were still as wide as she could make them without pulling a muscle, when she summoned the demon again.

“Hello?”

Still nothing.
Am I losing it?
she thought, as her eyes and ears relaxed. She brought both hands up to her face, rubbing her sleepy eyes up and down. The eery sound made her feel too awake to fall back asleep right away, so she swung her legs out of bed. Her toes wiggled to locate her slippers, found them, and immediately pivoted to turn on the lamp, now that she was brave enough to move. She felt like she was being watched, but she knew that was silly and irrational. She lived in a 400 square foot apartment, if there had been someone there with her, she would have known as soon as the light bulb lit up. Her eyes darted around, and her rational mind scoffed,
See. There is no one here but you. Stupid.

She got up and walked into the bathroom, poured herself a glass of water, and gulped it down. She was parched. More than parched, her throat was sandpaper. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Maybe she had had a bad dream. But about what?

“An intruder,” her own voice answered. She looked up to see her face in the mirror. A combination of her bed head hairdo and answering her own question conjured a laugh. The smile flattered her face, even now, in the middle of the night, with such messy hair one would think she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She laughed harder. “Silly girl,” she whispered to her reflection.

She turned to leave the bathroom and was greeted by her cat, Bubba. He was a large house cat, but within his big, gruff body was the spirit of a puppy. He looked up at her and she smiled at him. He meowed her a question, his inflection sounding vaguely like concern. “I’m fine,” she answered him, and rubbed his head gently. He raised his back up to meet her hand, and he closed his eyes at her touch, savoring the affection. He turned around and jumped up on to her bed, walked around in a circle two times at the end of it, and laid down. He was ready for bed.

As she thought about it, so was she. This was not the first time she had heard voices in the night. In her studies, she had read that hearing voices as one was just drifting off into sleep was a sign of an active imagination, the result of many neurons going off in the frontal lobe of the brain when they were supposed to be quieting down. The transition between the waking and sleeping world is flawless for most, but a few people experience voices or noises during the transition.
That’s normal, right?
she wondered.
To hear voices?
She’d also heard, on the internet of all places, that it could be spirits talking to her in the night. She had always dismissed these theories with a great deal of displeasure.

She jumped into bed quickly, and was hesitant to turn off the light. She always felt like she had eyes on her. From the dark spots in the room, through the window, or perhaps even by a hidden camera. Not only at night, but all the time. She clenched her jaw and forcefully thrust the thoughts from her head.
It’s all rubbish!
she told herself. She leaned over to her night table, where she kept several framed pictures. Her fingertips skimmed each of them, recalling pleasant memories of the few people in her life who had brought her joy. Her fingers made it to a picture of her father, who had died six years previously. The death was sudden, so she didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye, but now, all these years later, he served as her angel. When she had issues or problems, she didn’t pray, she talked to her dad’s spirit. The only angel she dared to believe in, to keep her dad alive in her memory forever. Always.

She picked up the photograph and studied it. Her dad, so handsome, was leaning against one of the many cars he owned in his life. This particular photo was taken in the 1960s. He was leaning against his beloved 1967 Camero. In the air force then, he was lean and muscular, and all of his air force buddies called him Superman, because of his sleek black hair and dark rimmed glasses. Just looking at him calmed her heart. She put the picture back in its place, turned out the light briskly, and laid back down. She cuddled her blanket closer to her face and whispered, “Good night, Bubba.” After a moment, she added, “Good night, dad.”

***

Maika couldn’t help it. She was a sucker for a man with a guitar. Weren’t all girls? She leaned forward slightly, as her friend Ethan played the guitar for his upcoming gig in Austin, a city about 100 miles south of Minneapolis. His band was struggling to be discovered, and at the same time they were struggling between themselves. The band consisted of three members, and each one had their own vision regarding the direction their music would (or should) travel. Plus, they each wanted to lead the band in whatever direction they envisioned. Thus, the band was being pulled in three directions, and Maika was bracing herself for an impending explosion, sending musical instruments, papers, and band members in every direction.