Tainted Energy (The Energy Series Book 1)

All
Rights Reserved

Copyright
© 2014 by Lynn Vroman

Cover
Design © 2014 by Sean Hayden

Cover
Photo © 2014 by Kozzi/Outsider

All rights Reserved. This book or
any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of
brief quotations in a book review.

Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the products of the author's imagination and or used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published
by Untold Press LLC

114
NE Estia Lane

Port
St Lucie, FL 34983

www.untoldpress.com

PRODUCED
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Writing
is a solitary endeavor, and it takes strong people who love you to understand
and give that space.

I’m fortunate enough to have people
like that in my life.

To
Victoria, Katherine, Olivia, and Rhys,

I’m the luckiest person on earth
because the four of you call me Mom. Always, everything is for you.

There are so many people who made
this book possible, and no matter how many times I might have said it, a simple
thank you will never be enough.

First, I’d like to thank Jen and
Sean for their faith in this project. They are not only in the business of
publishing, but in the business of making dreams come true, as well. I will be
forever grateful.

I must give huge thanks to my
critique partner, Jadah McCoy, who has been my constant cheerleader and drill
sergeant, encouraging me when I needed it most. I have no idea how I lucked out
finding her, but I’m glad I did. Thanks to Diane Holiday and Madison Trevino,
who were just as quick to point out what wasn’t working as they were to express
love for what was. Also, my beta readers, Dave Fichtner, Jenn Wescoat, Daina
Wagner, and Lindsay Gieseler, whose willingness to read this book in its many
stages helped me immensely.

And lastly, I’d like to thank my
husband, Steve, and our four kids for supporting me while I chased this crazy
dream. I love you all.

Lena

N
othing annoyed me more than crappy
best friends. The type who did stupid stuff, like grab my shoulder and scream
right in my ear, "Help me, Barbara!"

I jumped
and a cloud of popcorn exploded above us. The kernels remaining in the tub I
threw in Zander's face.

We sat
in the back row,
Night of the Living Dead
on the screen. No emergency
exit signs interrupted the darkness, adding a little more to the scare
department. But Zander killed the mood as soon as the graveyard scene popped
up.

"You
promised to watch, now watch." I chucked the popcorn tub at him when he
wouldn't stop laughing.

"Fine,
but my hands are stayin' in my pockets this time." He rubbed the tiny
crescent-shaped marks on his left hand. "I have no idea why you watch
these things. You can't sit through one without a week of nightmares."

"Not
true.
The Ring
was just extra freaky."

"Ah,
and so were
The Shining
and
Paranormal Activity
..." His
southern accent rolled off his tongue like sap from a maple tree. "I think
you like bein' afraid all the time."

I hated
it when he was right. "Shut up."

Fear
triggered the fight-or-flight mechanism in our brains. The signal that proved
we still wanted to live. That was my theory, anyway.

Maybe I
was a masochist, but I did like experiencing the fear. It ensured the numbness
hadn't completely taken over. Numb could be good. A takeover, though…not so
good. Zander shoved that logic in my face and smeared my nose in it every time
I decided to make sure fight or flight still worked.

"All
right, but when you're lyin' in that floating bed tonight, don't expect dream
guy to save you."

"Don't
worry." I slumped in my chair, focusing on the screen. During a weak
moment, and after a couple stolen beers from Dad's case, I told Zander about
Him
–my
dream guy with gray eyes and dimples. He acted odd afterward, especially when I
admitted what
Him
always promised:
I'll find you
.

Yeah,
Him
was what I called my imaginary guy. No one ever accused me of being creative.
Point was, for the last month Zander decided to make a joke of it. I'd never
told anybody about my dreams, and I guess I should've kept it that way.

Hey,
self, remind me again why Zander held the bestie slot?
Oh, right. He was the only one who
applied for the position.

The next
hour we watched in silence. I'd seen this movie
at least ten times
already, and so his concern of me mauling him never happened.

About
the time Barbara annoyed everyone in the house with her relentless
Where's
Johnny
question, Zander's constant slurping and ice-crunching crawled under
my skin. "It's empty."

He took
one last noisy sip and stood, blocking my view. "I'm gonna get a refill.
You want one?"

"No.
Christ!" I bent and twisted to see around him while he countered every
move with a grin. I didn't want to admit it, but that grin always caused my
brain to cloud. Hell, having him within a ten-foot radius caused a huge case of
head fuzz. But to be clear, I wasn't the only mountain dweller who found that
smile, or that accent, hot.

"Suit
yourself. Be back in a sec." He gathered up some empty wrappers and went
out the door, creating a quick flash of light in the room.

Once he
left, it didn't take long for the dark to fold me into its arms as the moans on
the screen grew louder. When a particularly menacing zombie ate Barbara, I let
out a tiny yelp–even though I knew it was going to happen. My face heated, and
I looked around, happy no one witnessed.

I'll
go with coward for $500, Alex.

Sinking
deeper into my seat, I watched the whole house get taken over by zombies, my
heart pounding and the hairs on my arms standing at attention. Two minutes
alone and I was already freaked out.

I
gripped the armrests, stealing a glance at the exit. My nails dug into the
plastic. Leaving was the obvious remedy, but my legs refused to walk toward the
door.

A zombie
eating black and white brains filled the screen.

Screw
this.

I was
out of there whether my legs were ready or not.
Yes! Fight or flight still
in perfect working order.

Zander
was right. I had issues.

I
planted my feet on the cement floor and tensed to run. As I hopped up, my arms
refused to come with me. I made the mistake of looking down.

What
the…?

The
armrests curled around my hands, the plastic ends separating into thin,
spider-like fingers. I screamed, trying to yank my hands away, but the armrests
became stronger, forming rows of fingers that encased the whole length of my
arms, burning them. Tears flooded my vision, the pain branding my skin.

Panic
turned into terror when the theater filled with whispers that brushed through
my hair like wind and hit me in the face like an open palm. The whispering
slipped into my throat when I opened my mouth, gagging me while it pushed me
back into the seat. I struggled as the chair sucked me in and gasped for enough
air to yell, the sound coming out as a grunt.

My head
stayed glued against the seat, my scalp searing as I tried to yank it free.
Then the movie stopped playing. Total darkness swallowed me, the blackness
stealing the last drops of my courage. No matter how hard I tugged, my arms
refused to pull free. I strained to turn my head toward the exit, but it stayed
nailed to the chair. All I could do was look forward and try to relax my arms
to stop the burning.

The
whispers grew quieter, and the hold it had on my head weakened when I stopped
moving. I cleared my throat. "Zander!"

My arms
loosened a fraction.

"Help
me!"

The hold
slackened even more, and my head snapped forward.

"Let
me go!"

I didn't
know who or what I was talking to, but I managed to pull my right arm free.
After a deep breath, I hollered for Zander so loud, my voice cracked.

My left
arm pulled out of the chair.

I
sprinted to the door as it burst open. Jake, my boss, ran to me, and I fell in
his arms, tears pouring down my face.

When my
knees gave out, he carried me from the room. "Lena? What happened?"

I tried
to find a coherent way to tell him, but words started vomiting from my mouth. "The
seat... whispers..." I glanced at my arms, red and already starting to
bruise, "my arms...the movie."

Zander
came up behind us. "What's going on?" Worry flooded his brown eyes as
he threw his soda into the nearest garbage can.

I
gripped my boss' shirt, ignoring Zander. "The screen, Jake, check the
screen."

Jake put
me down and opened the door. Zander wrapped an arm around my waist and followed
him. We all caught the tail end when the dumb cops shot the hero.

"I
don't understand." I stumbled away from the door. "That wasn't on. It
wasn't there! The movie stopped." I held out my bruised arms. "I
couldn't move. The chair, it came to life. I-It had fingers."

Chaos
swarmed inside my head. The worried looks they gave me proved all that crazy
showed on my face. Neither one of them said anything for a minute. Jake patted
my shoulder, while Zander rubbed the small of my back. The image would've been
funny under different circumstances.

Zander
interrupted the awkward pat-rub fest. "I shouldn't have left you alone in
there, but you've seen it a hundred times..."

Jake
piped in–and yelled. Something he tended to do when scared. "That's it! No
more movies that scare the shit out of you."

"It
wasn't the movie. Something happened in there." I shoved my arms in their
faces. "Does it look like I'm making it up?"

"What'd
you do?" Zander held my arms for a closer inspection.

"
I
didn't do it. The chair tried to suck me in."

Zander's
fingers stopped mid-inspection. His eyes hardened and his shoulders tensed. In
seconds, he relaxed and continued his examination.

Strange.

He
rubbed an ugly red mark on my left arm. "You need to go home, get some
rest. Jake's right. No more scary movies."

"
Get
some rest
?" My attention jumped between the two. "I'm not making
it up." I pulled my arm away from Zander and focused on reasoning with
Jake. "Whatever happened in there wasn't just in my head." I held out
my arms one more time. "Look!"

Jake's
face softened with pity, but he did check the bruises purpling my arms. "With
the move...track season coming up…your dad…" He tilted my chin. "You
know I won't let him hurt you."

"This
isn't about my goddamn dad, Jake." Yelling wasn't working, so I switched
to quiet anger.

His
answer was to swing open the door again and flick on the lights. Credits rolled
on the screen, and the only evidence of Zander and me were the empty popcorn
tub and my spilled soda cup under the last row of seats. The chair appeared as
innocent as it did when we first sat down. Nothing crazy. Nothing supernatural.
Everything appeared normal.

I backed
out of the entryway, holding my hands up as if to fend off an angry dog. "I'm
going crazy."

"Let
me take you home," Zander said, coming closer with every word.

Jake
looked at his watch. "Yeah, good idea. It's closing time, anyway." He
went to turn on the closed sign and lock the front doors before coming over to
hug me. "You're not crazy, Lena, just stressed. One month and I'll be
around every night."

I nodded
into his chest, wanting to believe him. But what happened in that theater was
real, or at least I thought it was. Either way, a huge problem.

∞ ∞ ∞

Zander gripped
the wheel so tight the veins in his forearms fought to escape his dark skin as
he sped down the street. Mount Pocono cops didn't bother patrolling too much on
a Tuesday night, but they were around. The last thing Zander needed was a
speeding ticket. I didn't tell him to slow down. Who'd listen to a person who
swore a chair tried to eat her, anyway?

He
maneuvered his car through the muddy, pothole-filled lanes of the park leading
to my trailer, not even bitching like usual. There wasn't anything I could say.
Either I was going nuts or something impossible happened and no one believed
me.

When we
pulled up to my trailer, he let go of the wheel and turned to me. Before he
said a word, tears filled my eyes. "I don't know what's happening."

He wiped
my cheeks, his eyes transforming back to the soft, deep brown I knew so well.
He even managed a small grin. "Shh, don't cry."

"Whatever
that was, I can't explain, but I'm not crazy." I wasn't so sure about
that, but he didn't need to know it.

He shook
his head, his eyes clouding over before he turned to gaze out the windshield. "Get
some sleep. I'll see you later."

"Tomor–?"

"'Night,
Lena." He never cut me off–ever. Maybe this put him over the edge. But I
wouldn't beg him to stay.

As soon
as I shut the passenger door, Zander drove off, not bothering to avoid the
potholes.

My whole
body rang and my legs shook as I climbed the cement blocks that made up my
front "porch." Maybe I did need some sleep...on a frosty, broken
waterbed. No chance sleep would be comfortable.

I
stepped into the trailer, and the smell of stale beer and skunky dope hit my
nose, turning my stomach. There was Dad, in the same chair he usually slept in,
wide-awake. Mom must've already gone to bed, which was surprising. The bastard
liked to make her sit up with him so he could remind her how much of a piece of
dirt she was. But Dad sat alone tonight, looking at his Native American
pictures, taking a huge pull off a fat joint–smoking the rent money, no doubt.