Authors: Kelly Thompson
Storykiller
STORYKILLER © by Kelly Thompson
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except in small excerpts for review purposes, without written permission from the publisher. For information regarding permission write to 1979 Semi-Finalist, Inc at: [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Digital Mobi Version (Basic) © 2014
ISBN-10: 0991649230
ISBN-13: 978-0-9916492-3-5
Cover Illustration by Stephanie Hans
Cover and Book Design by Kelly Thompson
Ebook Formatting by Max Bliss
For Mom, Dad, Scott, and Dave—your support and patience have been endless and I couldn’t have done much of anything without you.
For Joss Whedon’s exceptional Buffy, for without Buffy there would be no Tessa Battle and so many other wonderful women (fictional and not) that I’ve come to love.
& for Adam, as ever.
‘There’s something wrong with me,’
boomed through Tessa’s head on repeat. She nearly shattered the flimsy stall door as she kicked it in with her combat boot, getting over the toilet only seconds before she vomited what felt like everything she’d ever eaten. A pair of girls at the sinks behind her groaned and got bitchy.
“Ewww.”
“Gross. Way to go, new girl.”
Tessa stepped on the flush with her boot and staggered out of the stall, glaring at them.
“Double ewww,” the blonde said, looking Tessa up and down and making a gagging sound. Tessa thought for a moment about punching her in the throat, but the pinch of pain in her stomach made her feel strangely kittenish. Instead, she just moved to the sinks and turned the tap, which immediately snapped off in her hand as if she was The Hulk.
“Balls,” Tessa muttered, tossing the broken knob to the floor. “Piece of junk,” she said, squinting her eyes shut through a wave of sharp pains while the cool water gushed from the faucet. Tessa leaned over the sink and rinsed out her mouth as the girls slid from the bathroom giggling and calling her names. She washed her face, not caring that her hair or the heavy black make-up around her eyes was getting wet.
She glanced at her watch.
2:25 pm.
She’d been 17 for three minutes.
What an awesome start to what was sure to be a banner year back in Lore, Oregon.
After the first two stops the school bus was almost empty, not that it had been full to begin with, but now they were only three. Tessa in the very back and a pair sitting a dozen seats in front of her that seemed like the kind of best friends you only read about in books. The boy and girl had a laughter and intimacy that rivaled the closest brother and sister. It had Tessa so envious she thought beams of jealous green light might come out of her eyes.
She felt weird.
Nothing had been quite right since she’d thrown up in the bathroom. Actually, it had all gone wonky just before that, but she wasn’t sure why or how.
Also, someone was following the bus.
And not the kind of person that you think of when you think of creepy people that follow school buses. She’d been behind the bus since it left the school. She was obvious as all get-out and not just because she followed too closely. It was more the fact that she looked like some kind of albino supermodel in the most expensive-looking vintage silver jaguar convertible Tessa had ever laid eyes on. Big black sunglasses covered the woman’s eyes, but her pale skin glowed as if lit from within. She was also wearing the lowest cut sweater anyone had ever bothered to design. It was thin silvery fabric, unreal in how it moved and caught the afternoon light—glittering like a damn sparkly vampire. It plunged,
literally
to the woman’s belly, showing off even more porcelain-like flesh and defying all kinds of laws of physics in how it didn’t expose, well,
everything
.
Tessa knitted her brow. The lady wasn’t exactly trying to blend in. Bizarre outfit be damned, she was also the kind of beautiful that didn't seem real—almost as if she had been shaped from stone and born of imagination, not the messy business of flesh and reality. The bus slowed to a stop and Tessa stood, watching the woman curse at the bus when her hair—white as the driven snow—blew across her face as she was enveloped by a burst of dirty bus exhaust.
Tessa stepped off the bus and glanced at the two friends who had also gotten off and who were now looking at her curiously. Tessa turned for home and began walking.
“Hey!” the boy called out. Tessa knew he was talking to her, but she ignored him, she still didn’t feel well and wasn’t in the mood. “Hey. Don’t I know you?”
Tessa turned around and was surprised to see the boy and his friend just a half dozen feet behind her, as if they’d followed her. Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. He was on the tall side, shorter than Tessa, but she was tall so that wasn’t particularly notable. He was lanky and lean, a bit disheveled. Cute in a kind of ‘mad scientist that doesn’t know what to do with himself’ kind of way. His brown hair was slightly mussed and he wore a Flash t-shirt and jeans. Tessa didn’t recognize him.
“I don’t think so,” Tessa said honestly, turning back around to continue her walk.
“No, I think I do,” he said, and Tessa could tell that he and the girl were still following her.
“Brand,” the girl said, a warning tone creeping into her voice. “Leave her alone.”
“You used to live here, right?” Tessa didn’t stop walking but he was right. Maybe he had known her a million years ago, back before her mom left, before her dad shipped her off to the first of many, many boarding schools in Europe. “I think we used to go to school together. You have a cool last name or something. I swear, I remember, it’s like—” he trailed off, as if it was on the tip of his tongue.
Tessa stopped and turned around. The boy and girl were so close on her heels that they crashed into her. They both fell back awkwardly onto their butts. Together, they looked up at Tessa from the sidewalk, apologetic.
“Sorry. Our fault,” they said, almost as one. Tessa smiled a little bit. They were kinda funny.
“What are you sorry for? You’re the ones that fell down.” Tessa reached out her hands to help them up.
“Thanks,” the girl said, brushing herself off as the boy continued to scrunch up his face trying to remember Tessa’s name.
“Battle,” Tessa said, filling it in for him.
“Excuse me?” the boy said.
“Battle. My name. It’s Tessa Battle.”
He pointed his finger at her. “Yes! That’s it!”
The girl rolled her eyes at him and even groaned. Tessa smiled again. They
were
funny, like a little comedy troupe. The girl reached up and her small hand poked out of her giant sweatshirt to adjust large black-framed glasses on her face.