Page 2 of Haunted

Snagging the one marked “Sheila,” I ripped it open and dumped the contents on the top of the desk.

“What the fuck?”

I jolted back, my lungs seizing and my stomach revolting at the images scattered before me. A woman, beaten all to hell, tied to a chair. The same woman, lying naked, spreadeagle on a dirty mattress, covered in blood. Each picture was worse than the last.

My hands shook as I pushed away from the desk, being cautious not to touch anything else, and reached in my back pocket for my phone. Dialing the one person I trusted besides myself, I waited breathlessly for him to answer.

“Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“N-No, Jasper.” I stuttered. “Everything is fucked.”

1THIS WILL NOT BREAK YOU

Keaton

Jose Cuervo and I were old friends, but no matter how many splashes I managed to swallow down, nothing could have drowned out the images. Nothing ever did. Yet every year on the anniversary of the night my life imploded, I found myself imbibing in a shot or twelve, attempting to drink away the pain.

I was sitting on the couch with Jasper, giving my statement when I heard the front door open, slamming into the wall behind it from the force.

“Calvin,” he bellowed.

Two of the federal agents in the room quickly positioned themselves in front of me. Whether it was to intercept my father or protect me from the fallout, I had no clue. Honestly, I didn’t need them to do either. I wanted answers and there was only one person who had them.

Without another thought, I stood abruptly and stormed past the agents, ignoring their shouted demands to come back as well as Jasper’s pleas. When I rounded the corner to the foyer, my father was struggling with three other agentsattempting to put him in cuffs. His head snapped in my direction, his eyes laser-focused and a look of fury like I’d never seen before was plastered across his bright red face.

“What the fuck did you do?” he screamed.

Stopping dead in my tracks, my blood began to boil.

“Me? What the fuck did you do, you sick son of a bitch?”

“You ungrateful little shit. After everything I’ve given you, this is how you repay me?”

I laughed, an eerie calm settling into my bones.

“Given me? You murdered my mother. Rot in hell, you twisted fuck.”

He started yelling again, but I was done listening to his bullshit. Turning on my heel, I practically smacked into Jasper, who apparently followed me. Putting his arm around my shoulder, he led me back to the sofa.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“You’ll come live with me and Heather. After that? We’ll figure it out one day at a time. You’re strong, kid. This will not break you.”

He was right, yet so very wrong. You’d have thought discovering the bastard had not only murdered my mom, but was a serial killer the FBI had been hunting for almost two years would have shattered my psyche. It almost did. Had it not been for Jasper and his wife, I probably would have curled up into a ball, content to watch time tick by from inside a padded room. They pushed hard when it was needed and held me close as I fell apart. Basically, they refused to give up on me.

My other saving grace was Agent Waverly Mitchell. She hadn't been at my house when the shit hit the fan, however, she showed up at Jasper’s the next day, and told me in no uncertain terms she was my new shadow. I threw every bit of attitude I could muster at her, except unlikemost people who let me get away with it, she called me out on my bullshit; told me to refocus the rage bubbling inside into positive energy which could make a difference in the world.

That was the day I found my purpose in life, my calling. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, I wanted to join the FBI; to find justice for the victims of heinous crimes, like my mom. The huge chip on my shoulder didn’t miraculously disappear with my revelation, however, it didn’t seem quite as heavy.

After being ruthlessly hounded by the press for months, Jasper and Waverly suggested a transformation of sorts. So with their help, Keaton Clarke was born. I’d never liked the name Calvin anyway and using my mom’s maiden name—Clarke—meant I’d always have a piece of her with me.

I buckled down, studied my ass off, and started taking college courses while finishing my senior year in high school. I graduated from the University of Virginia with my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice by the time I was twenty, then applied to the academy at Quantico. It was a grueling process and there were times I wasn’t sure I’d make it—mostly due to the aforementioned chip—but sixteen long weeks later I was an FBI agent.

By that time, Waverly had moved up in the ranks, becoming the Resident Agent in Charge of a small satellite office in Huntington, West Virginia. Convincing the powers that be I’d be the perfect addition to her already established team took some finagling, but when I was finally given the green light, I hauled ass to the college town and never looked back.

“Need another one?” Camden, the owner of Sunset—the only decent bar and grill in town which wasn’tinundated with barely legal college students—tipped his head toward my empty glass.

“Nah. I’m gonna head out.”

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