The Crescent

THE CRESCENT

by

Jordan Deen

* * * * *

The Crescent

~ Book one of the Crescent trilogy ~

ISBN: 9781310519819

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 by Jordan Deen

All rights reserved

Cover design by: K Keeton Designs

Edited by: Reader's Favorite

Interior Formatting by: Sharon Kay

http://www.jordandeen.net/

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any use of name brands herein is done so under the Fair Use Act.

Licensing Note: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be resold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Table of Contents

Contents:

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Acknowledgements

Without my friends and family, this novel would never have happened. I appreciate having you in my life each and every day.

In loving memory of CJS. I miss you and I think of you often.

c h a p t e r

ONE

Blink 182 blared on my iPod as I shuffled down the sidewalk from my house leaving the stupidity behind me. My house slippers, wet from the dew on our lawn, left weird footprints as I walked. I tried to drown out the sound of my parents’ yelling in my head, their most recent argument still ringing in my ears. Being the only child meant being dragged into the middle of their arguments, each side using me as a pawn in their selfish and insensitive game of chess.

The war raging in my living room wasn’t about religious freedoms or Constitutional Rights; it wasn’t even about lying or cheating.

No, it’s midnight and the topic for tonight was who used their ATM card at the gas station. Yeah. That’s right. People are dying of AIDS, kids are being abused and abandoned, but my parents find it necessary to fight over $25.42. Oh, I forgot the $.50 processing fee for using debit instead of credit. So technically, the argument boiled down to $25.92 (including tax, of course). But if you asked my father, it’s about the principle.

The more they fought the more eager I became to get away from them. Next year I’d be enjoying the sand and sea in San Diego – the home of my aunt’s alma mater and my future college, not to mention that it is 500 miles away from this hellhole. My parents loved each other at some point, but it is obvious that had to be years ago, maybe even before I was born. As I walked past the Johnsons’ house, I wondered if they knew my father was a drunk-in-denial and my mother had recently started popping pills – uppers in the morning, downers in the evening. Then again, I always thought Mr. Johnson was a pedophile since he watched the preteen girls from the neighborhood playing hopscotch from his bedroom window with binoculars. My family secrets probably wouldn’t scare him in the slightest.

The streetlight at the end of the block turned my skin a fake tan color as if I had spent the whole summer at the beach, but I hadn’t. I looked towards my house; by going back now I’d risk being dragged into the argument. But it was already late and I had nowhere else to go. I could go to my best friend Jillian’s house, but it would be my luck if her brother would be outside smoking and rat me out. Ricky hit on me a few years ago and it freaked me out since he’s five years older than me and I had known him since second grade.

Kicking a few pebbles on the asphalt, I crossed the street and walked back towards my house. The faint shadows of my parents crossing the front room window of our house told me they were still fighting. I considered making another pass when an unsettling breeze rushed through my body, shaking me to the bone. PJ’s and slippers probably weren’t the greatest idea for walking around the block at night. This isn’t a bad neighborhood, but for all I knew, Mr. Johnson lurked in the bushes waiting to pounce. I quickened my pace as the sense of being watched grew in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to look behind me, but when I did no one was there. I contemplated pulling off my slippers and running barefoot, but decided that it would be a gross overreaction if I weren’t in danger. The Carsons’ cat was probably following me for a midnight snack. I hated that stupid cat; he always knocked over our trash cans and pooped in our yard.

I glanced behind me again and still nothing. My heart pounded in my ears and sweat collected in the bends of my arms and in the palm of my hands. Bushes on the opposite side of the street spooked me as they rustled in the wind. I broke into a run, the tail of my hoodie flying behind me like Superman’s cape, but I didn’t feel too super right now. All the houses on the street were dark other than mine and it felt like running in slow motion to the house; if only I could fly or have nerves of steel.

The road to my house had been stretched or maybe I was stuck on the treadmill from hell because it took forever to get to my house. My skin expanded with the force of blood rushing through me as my heart thumped in time with my feet on the pavement. I wondered if whatever pursued me enjoyed terrorizing teenage girls in the middle of the night.

Finally I rounded the end of the sidewalk in front of my house and bounded up the stairway to my front door. My hands shook as I turned the doorknob; the inherent danger that lurked in the yard relied on my failure, just waiting to claim me as its next victim. I considered pounding on the door, but that would alert my parents that I had left the house and then I’d really be in deep shit.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder just as the hedges in my lawn kicked up in the wind, blowing freshly fallen leaves into a cyclone. I would’ve stayed to watch the beauty of it longer – if I wasn’t shaking so badly. The door felt as if it were made out of cement as I got it open. I threw my body against it to get it closed, afraid that my weight wouldn’t be enough to stop whatever was about to start pushing it open. I twisted the deadbolt until the lock clicked, not that I really thought the small lock or door was any match for what my imagination knew had chased me to my house. My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath with my back firmly pressed to the door waiting for something, anything.

My parents’ argument was still in full swing and it was apparent that neither of them noticed my little excursion into the neighborhood. Swallowing hard, I glanced out of the front windows into the yard, not really sure I was ready to see what was waiting for me. I was disappointed and relieved to see that the yard was empty and the hedges were ghostly still: no monsters, no demons, and thankfully no Mr. Johnson. I just ran all the way back to my house over nothing; hopefully, none of my neighbors saw me. Maybe Jill and I had watched one too many slasher movies this summer.

Laughing at myself, I took several deep breaths to get my heart to catch up with the rest of my body. My breathing was almost normal again when I realized the voices coming from the kitchen were different from any other petty argument they’ve had. I sprinted to the doorway just in time to see my father’s fist land squarely on my mother’s jaw line. Time stood still as I watched my mother, all hundred and twenty pounds of her, fly backward and land on the kitchen table. She rolled onto the floor and tried to regain her composure. I focused on my father’s clenched fists and the veins protruding from his neck. I had never seen my father so upset, so enraged before in my whole life.

Dad, NO! I shouted when he started to step forward. Mom stood between us and pushed her weight against me trying to force me from the kitchen. Stop. What have you done? I screamed ignoring my mother’s firm grip. I was at least three inches taller than her and outweighed her by ten pounds. It would have been easy to push her out of my way.

My father slumped back onto one of the counters, as Mom whispered to me to go to my room. For some time I avoided looking into her eyes, but when I finally did I saw that we were both crying. The cheek beneath her left eye was already pink and swollen from the blow; I reached out and gently touched the spot with my fingertips, not sure it was real.

Shhh … My mother’s voice was almost a whisper as I started to talk again. Go … go to your room now. She turned to look at Dad; the counter was the only thing keeping him upright. I fought the urge to smack him by glaring at him instead; if I hit him then I would be no better than he was.

Is he drunk? I didn’t bother lowering my voice. I wanted him to be humiliated.

Go to your room, now. My mother’s blue eyes were unrelenting. She wasn’t up for my Joan of Arc routine tonight.

Scowling at my father, I pushed the earphones back into my ears and leapt up the stairs to my room. I got the music playing but not before my father and mother started yelling at each other again.

Their heavy footsteps on the stairs rattled my windows and then their bedroom door slammed shut. Now I wished I didn’t have the room right next to theirs. My iPod was loud, but not loud enough to block out my mother’s high pitched screaming. I couldn’t stand another round of this. I headed back downstairs and took one look at the front door. It wasn’t safe to venture out there again, not after the last experience. I went out into the backyard instead. I settled onto one of the swings of my old play set and pushed myself back with the tip of my toes. The rusted metal of the chain crackled and squeaked as I glided forward. The houses to either side were still dark and the small patio light cast creepy shadows across the grass. A cool breeze shook Mom’s rose bushes and the few hedges that surrounded one side of the patio. But when the wind stopped, the bushes didn’t. I froze staring into the darkness trying to see the threat that was waiting just to the side of my family home. I held my breath trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it. I couldn’t hesitate much longer. Rising slowly from the swing, I lingered again trying to judge the distance between the swings and the safety of the kitchen door.

Can I make it before it gets me? IT! Coming outside again tonight was a bad idea.

That’s when I saw them. Two monstrous golden brown eyes peered at me from the hedge. I wasn’t imagining those eyes. They were menacing as they went from full moons to half and then to crescents. My heart raced as I took possibly the last breath of my life and sprinted for the door.

c h a p t e r

TWO

Dad had gone to Grandma’s house again. I’m not sure whether Mom kicked him out or if he left on his own this time. After Mom left for work I headed to the kitchen to pull out the biggest butcher knife from the drawer, preparing to go to the backyard. At least I was ready, or thought I was ready, for whatever could be waiting for me. Just in case, I pulled on my best running shoes and headed out the sliding glass door, determined to flush out whatever was spying on me from the rosebush, although I really hoped it would be gone by now.

I knew I looked stupid as I kicked and hacked at the bush the eyes had been staring out of. HA! Now what? I said just as my neighbors’ nine-year old daughter, Megan, witnessed my insanity from over the wooden fence separating our yards. I slinked back into the house in shame and replaced the knife back into its hiding spot, hoping my mother wouldn’t realize I had defiled her bush with one of her most expensive knives.

I climbed the stairs back to my bathroom, pulled out a towel and hopped into the shower. My muscles had almost relaxed from my bush attack when my cell phone started ringing. I almost fell trying to get out of the shower rushing to my phone.

Hello?

Hey you up? That’s my best friend, always stating the obvious.

Well, I answered the phone, didn’t I? I gave her my best morning dose of sarcasm.

Serious Lacey. I mean are you out of bed? Did your parents go ballistic last night or what? She was crunching on something.

What are you eating?

Ok Miss avoidance … She half laughed and crunched some more. So are you grounded or what?

No, they didn’t ground me but they did go ballistic. I hesitated, the terrifying golden brown eyes flashing through my mind. They were already fighting before they realized I was home.

Your parents amaze me. Crunch Crunch Crunch.

Could you stop crunching in my ear? It’s a little early for that.

It’s almost 9! Jillian’s voice rose. I’m sure her parents were already up but there was no way Ricky was. What are we doing today? Wanna go to the mall?

Another day at the mall? We’d spent most of the summer at the mall and the movies. We needed something else to do; neither of us had a boyfriend, or even a prospect, and no other close friends to really speak of. We were loners, but by choice, and that choice was getting a little tiring (not to mention boring).

Jillian and I met when we were in second grade and had been practically inseparable ever since. I was there when she got her heart broken by Jimmy Lewis in Junior high and she was there for me when I had to put my beloved dog, Tippy to sleep. No topic was off limits for our conversations and no story that we didn’t know about each other. Except my father’s drinking; I shared that with no one.

What about the beach? Jillian chimed. She got an A+ for effort but I wasn’t sure a day in the sun was really what I wanted, but the alternative was fluorescent lighting and the same $1.50 movies playing at the Cineplex. Ok.

Don’t sound too excited! Crunch Crunch.

You’re crunching again.

Sorry! I need to eat before Ricky gets up. He’s going to take over the kitchen as soon as he emerges from his cave. He has some sort of track meet coming up and he’s been carb loading.

Yeah, whatever, just tell him he’s getting fat and move on. We both started laughing. Ok so I’ll see you in an hour?

Ok! Jillian was more enthused about this plan than I was.

I wasn’t back in the shower long when the phone rang again. I abandoned all hope of getting to finish as I crawled back out of the shower reaching for the phone. What now? I snapped figuring it was Jillian again.

Is that how you answer the phone at 9am? Oh great.

Mom.

Hey Mom. Sorry I thought it was Jillian. We are going to the beach today.

Well you need to pick up your room. Can you fend for yourself for dinner tonight? She hadn’t realized I’d been taking care of my own dinner for weeks.

Yeah. My response was bland; she wouldn’t be pleased.

Lacey Marie. Great, she pulled out the middle name.

Yes, Mother. I got off the phone as quickly as I could to set to the task of picking up my room. I guess I should’ve asked her what she was doing tonight that she wouldn’t be home, but the fact was, it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be home and Dad probably wouldn’t either; that was nothing new. It left me a lot of freedom to hang out with Jillian and come and go as I pleased.

Jillian and I soaked up the sun on giant beach towels for the rest of the day. We shared magazines and books as chiseled men playing beach volleyball distracted us frequently. A sandy haired boy in his twenties came to retrieve their ball once and my body tensed slightly when the back of his hand brushed the top of my foot. I knew I needed to get out and expand my friend horizons to include some boys.

Wow … Jillian whispered as the boy ran away, looking much like an extra from Baywatch in his red board shorts. They don’t look like that at West Brooke.

That’s probably because that boy isn’t in high school. I didn’t take my eyes off him for the next hour. Sunglasses are the best invention ever; without them he may have filed for an emergency restraining order against me.

My parents were fighting by the time Jillian dropped me back off at home. Sure you don’t want to come home with me instead? She looked sympathetic. I’m sure everyone on our street could hear the argument.

No. It’s cool. I pulled out my headphones and dangled them between my fingers. I’ve got Blink to keep me company.

Jillian smiled. Ok, well, if Travis isn’t enough tonight, call, ok? I nodded and hurried up the sidewalk.

I watched longingly from the stairs as her Ford pulled out of sight. Taking a deep breath, I tried to hear what the argument of the night could possibly be. They were towards the back of the house, so their voices were too muffled to understand. I waited to see if they’d come back to the living room as a few neighbors walked by with their dogs and a few kids peddled by on bikes. It was just after dusk and the street lamps had started to illuminate the street with a strange amber orange