Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) Read online

  I don’t know why I’m afraid to look at the stories this morning. I just feel…off. Like there is something hanging over my head and if I acknowledge it, it’s going to fall. Stupid, right? I bring up the news sites and browse through the top stories, most of which are about the Holocene shower. It’s everything I expect to read and nothing weird. Several on-line pictures confirm that it was as crazy as I remember. It hadn’t been a dream. So what’s bothering me so much?

  Shrugging, I exit out and turn off the computer. Maybe it’s because of Dad. Thinking back I try to recall what he had said about the shower. I know he studied it extensively because it was a rare event, but I don’t know why he thought it was so important.

  Three years ago he talked about taking the whole family to Egypt to see his parents. I was always bugging him to go, but when he suggested it for my birthday and that we watch the shower to celebrate my ‘sweet sixteen’, I was surprised. I didn’t think we could even see the meteors that good from Egypt. I know I asked him about it, and what was it he had said? Something like: “it didn’t matter and we’d be safer”. I thought his response was strange and out of character for him. He said something else another time and I drum my forehead, trying to remember.

  Closing my eyes in concentration, to my surprise I am taken back a year later, to the day my parents left for their trip to Egypt. The last time I ever saw him. We were in his office and he was getting their passports. He hugged me and whispered that we might have to change my birthday plans. I had pulled back and looked at him quizzically. My birthday was still almost two years away. Smiling, he drew me in for one final squeeze. He told me not to worry, that we would talk about it when he got back from Egypt. Only he never returned. With everything that happened in the weeks after, that had seemed so irrelevant that I’d forgotten about it. I still don’t see why it should matter now.

  When my birthday had rolled around, there was no way that Mom could afford to take us all to Egypt. I don’t know if she would have, even If money weren’t an issue. There were too many bad memories. She gave me a list of options, but in the end, I decided that I didn’t want to be anywhere else but here. I had a modest party with my family, a few friends from school and my best friend Missy flew in from Idaho. We grew up here together, but her family moved last year because her dad got laid off and Idaho was the only place he could find a job. It sucked.

  Grabbing a robe off my bed, I wander down the hall and stop at the door to Dads office. I go in every once in awhile, when I’m feeling alone. The door squeaks slightly as I push it open and step inside. I love the smell of this room; a mix of polished wood, old books and antiques.

  Flipping on the light, I look around at all the familiar, comforting things that belonged to him. Hanging on a peg next to his desk is his duty belt from work. His Glock pistol, taser, and other items he’d purchased himself are still there. It hasn’t been touched since he worked his last shift, four days before he died.

  I walk across the room to my favorite item, nestled in a rack on the far wall. Running my hand down the smooth stock of an aged rifle, I let it linger on the intricate carving on the wooden butt. I assume the work was done by my Great Grandfather, who had passed the rifle down to his son, and then to my dad. Who knows? Maybe it dated back even more generations than that.

  The rifle may be old, but it still works. Dad taught me how to hunt with it. I shot my first deer not far from here, hidden in a blind that he built himself years before.

  There are two other guns on the wall, both which look just as nice, but this one is my favorite. The memories associated with it are precious, and although it was never formally left to me, I think of it as mine. Mom didn’t say a word the first time I took it out by myself, about a year after his death. I didn’t bring anything back. I’d had a nice little buck lined up in my sites, but after several heartbeats…let it walk away. It just hadn’t seemed right.

  Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turn to the other wall, where there’s an assortment of fishing poles. Grabbing two of them, I turn to go, but am stopped short when I see a book out on Dads desk.

  Leaning over, I try to read the tiny text on the yellowed, brittle paper, but I can’t figure out what it is. Setting the poles against the wooden desk, I sit down to examine it. The cover is made of worn leather, and even though I have poured through his collection several times over, it doesn’t look familiar to me. Frowning, I try to read the title, but it’s too faded and I don’t even think it’s in English. What is that, Latin?

  Turning the pages back to where it was left open, I can see that there’s a combination of what I’m guessing is Latin and hieroglyphics. Hand-written notes are scribbled all over the margins in what has to be my fathers’ unique script. “Since when did Dad speak Latin?” I ask the empty room. “And who left this here?” Perplexed, I rise to go find Mom and question her about it.

  Before I reach the hallway, I hear wet, rattling coughing from her room next door. Dropping the book back on the desk, I rush towards the sound of my mom gasping for breath.

  “Mom! Are you okay?” She’s sitting in the middle of her bed, surrounded by used Kleenex. Her nose is red and her eyes have heavy bags under them.

  “I’m okay now,” she says as she tosses another wad of tissue onto the pile. “I just needed to clear my throat. I swear I feel like I’m drowning in snot!” Lying back against a stack of pillows, she looks closely at me. “You’re not sick. That’s good. Going fishing?”

  I look at the poles in my hand. I don’t even remember picking them back up. “Oh! I was thinking of taking Jacob down to the creek, but we don’t have to go. It wouldn’t be right leaving you here when you’re feeling this crummy.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic Alex; it’s only a head cold. If it’ll make you feel better, you can get me some breakfast, and bring me a bunch of vitamin C. Then go do whatever you want, there’s no reason for the two of you to be cooped up in here with me.” Rubbing at her nose again, I can tell she is trying her best not to cough.

  I know Mom well enough to understand it’s best to do whatever she says. I would never win this argument, and she’ll be happy if Jacob and I enjoy the sunshine, even if she can’t. “Got it!” I tell her, smiling. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

  I go to the kitchen, but just stand staring into the open refrigerator, unsure of what I want to attempt. None of us are great cooks. That was Dad’s department. There’s a carton of eggs and a couple of other things I could use, but honestly, the only reason we have eggs is because our neighbor keeps bringing them to us. She’s very proud of her hens.

  After some internal debate I close the door without removing them. Instead, I grab a pack of frozen waffles. Sticking four of them in the toaster, I go in search of some vitamins. I locate them in the back of a cupboard at the same time that the waffles pop up.

  I’m rather proud of myself when I place the food and other items in front of my mother. I even found some orange juice. “Thank you Alexandria,” she says with a mock British accent, tucking a napkin regally into her nightshirt. Laughing at her, I’m glad that she still has a sense of humor. That’s a good sign.

  “Jacob! Breakfast is ready!” I yell on my way back to the kitchen. I find him already there, his mouth crammed full of food, including what was going to be mine. Fighting the words that threaten to come out, I instead get the box back out of the freezer. It’s easy enough to make some more. Jacob can be a bit…sensitive, and I want today to be positive. “How about we go fishing when you’re done?”

  Looking at me with a huge grin on his face, he nods excitedly. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” I reply, pointing to the rods in the corner for proof. “I think we might find some trout down in the creek.”

  “Sweet! I haven’t even gotten to use my new pole yet. Grandpa has to stop getting me that stuff for Christmas; I have to wait too long! Watch him get me a snow sled this summer for my birthday.” Jacob rolls his eyes for emphasis as he swirl
s the last of his waffle in a puddle of syrup.

  Eager to leave, he drops his empty plate in the sink and runs to his room. Our Golden Retriever, Baxter, chases after him. The two have been inseparable ever since an old friend of Dad’s gave him to us, right after his death. It was strange at the time, because we didn’t even know him, but Mom was polite about it and didn’t want to refuse the gift.

  Once the guy left town, she swore that we’d have to find the dog a home. It was the day after Dad’s funeral and Jacob hadn’t spoken or interacted with anyone for almost two weeks. It all changed that afternoon when Baxter went to him in his room and proceeded to lick Jake’s face until he started to giggle. It was like music to my mom’s ears. From that moment on, boy and dog were one, and Mom was in love. Baxter seemed to know Jacob needed his help, and it was amazing to see how therapeutic their relationship was. It took time, but Jake slowly came back to us and Baxter stayed.

  Running back down the hall to my room, I pluck my phone off its charger and send a quick message to Missy. While waiting for a response, I decide to look through some pictures I’ve taken and slide my finger over the screen. I love this phone! It was my main birthday gift, and even though I had begged for several months, I never really thought I would get it. Dad always had a thing against cell phones. He and Mom eventually had to have them for their jobs, but they weren’t smart phones. I feel kinda guilty, because mine is nicer than Moms. I thought I might get an old style like hers, but I didn’t expect this.

  A little chirping noise indicates I’ve got a response and I quickly read it: Ya, sunny here 2. Going on a bike ride. Wish U were here!!!!!!

  Missy likes to use lots of exclamation marks and smiley faces. I already miss her. It was nice to see her for my birthday, but it seems like months ago, not two weeks.

  We’ve probably been setting some sort of texting record ever since, although both our parents laid down the law about not texting after ten at night and turning them off if we’re driving. I guess the thrill of it is wearing off a little bit, because I didn’t even take it with me last night. It dawns on me that I could have used it to record video of the meteors and groan at the missed opportunity. It probably would have gone viral!

  I type out a quick response, telling her that Jacob and I are going fishing, and then toss it on my bed. No way am I taking it out in the woods with me! I know we’ll end up in the water, and I would die if it got ruined. Not to mention it was made very clear to me that it would NOT be replaced if something happens to it.

  By the time I get ready, check in on Mom and go out to the garage, Jacob and Baxter are there waiting for me. Jacob has some lures in his hand and seeing me, holds them up. “How about these?”

  Smiling, I open up a different tackle box. “Those are nice ones, but way too big for these trout.” I pull out some foul smelling glittery fish paste and red salmon eggs. “These will work better.” Putting them back, I latch up the small box and pick it up. “You wanna carry the poles?” In reply he drops the hooks and grabs them from me.

  “Should we bring some sandwiches?” he asks, always thinking about food like any ten-year-old boy should. I consider his question and the time. It’s almost nine, and we’ve got a good half hour hike each way plus we like to take our time. Figure at least two hours in the creek and we’re definitely going to be getting hungry.

  “Hold on,” I tell him and disappear back inside. A short time later we’re on our way with a backpack full of water, sandwiches, and power bars.

  The trail from our backyard is small but well worn and we follow it silently. The sun is filtered through the trees, creating patterns across our arms and backs, warming the morning air enough to remove the chill. The heat has reached the ground today and the smell of warm pine needles surrounds us. I love days like this and never get tired of the scenery. It’s timeless here in the woods, and always alive with animal sounds and whispers of wind in the trees.

  I pause, tilting my head. That sounded like more than wind. Jacob and Baxter quickly disappear ahead of me, around the next bend.

  We have just left the mix of green leafy trees that line the edge of the forest; mostly cottonwood, birch and maple. I am now in the middle of massive pines and cedars, the lowest branches above my head. I step off the path and onto the bed of needles, looking back to where I think I heard the voices. The thick leaves of the birch and cottonwood obscure my view behind us, but I’m not hearing anything now. Perhaps it was the wind. Turning to go, I step back onto the tramped down dirt created by years of use.

  “Alexandria…..”

  I spin back around, certain I heard someone. “Who’s there?” I demand, scanning the trees again. Nothing.

  “Alex! Hurry up!” This time the voice is ahead of me, and undeniably belongs to Jacob. Baxter comes bounding towards me, and I kneel down to pat his head.

  “Hey buddy.” Taking a hold of his furry face, I look him in the eyes. “Is there anyone out there? Do you hear anything?” Cocking his head to one side he gives me a quizzical look. Pulling away from my grasp, he stares intently at the thick foliage down the trail, even sniffing the air. Chuffing, he turns his deep brown eyes back to mine and licks me on the nose. His decision final, he runs back the way he came and I get up to follow him.

  Baxter is a smart dog. If he doesn’t feel threatened, then I shouldn’t either. “Coming Jacob!” Trotting to catch up, I resist the urge to look back again. There is nothing there except my imagination. Today is going to be a good day.

  THREE

  Once at the creek, with our feet in the water and poles loaded with stinky fish bait, I feel better. We call it a creek because half the year it isn’t very big, but the other half it’s more like a river. The melting snow and rain from the mountains above feed into it, so it’s always icy cold.

  Our favorite fishing hole is an amazing place that’s also our best kept secret. We’ve never encountered anyone else here and it’s as if it were made especially for us. Created by thousands of years of running water, the carved out rocks make a bowl about twenty feet wide and up to ten feet deep. It’s fed by a small waterfall and has just enough logs caught up in it to make the fish feel safe. Along one side moss covered stones provide the perfect place to sit and are warmed by sunlight when the sun is directly overhead on days like this.

  We’ve been at it for over an hour already without any bites and are debating if we should try digging for some fresh worms. I decide to stay put while Jacob starts scrapping at the dirt with a rock. Baxter catches on quickly and aggressively digs his own hole nearby.

  “I called Brent while you were getting ready,” Jacob informs me, while holding out a small worm. Taking it from him, I put it on his hook and hand the rod back.

  “Oh. So why isn’t he fishing with us?” Brent is Jacobs best friend. They’ve been hanging out pretty much every day for over a year now, since he moved to our neighborhood. I assume he called to invite him fishing. Both of his parents work on the weekends, so he can usually come over. Better than being home alone.

  “He’s sick. So are his parents.”

  “Well that’s too bad.” I look over at him when the silence draws out, like he’s expecting me to say something more. I find him staring at me. “What?”

  “They were all there last night.” Again, he looks at me with his dark Egyptian eyes, like that’s supposed to mean something.

  “At the park? I didn’t see them. They must have gotten there after we did.” A small butterfly floats through the air between us, and I’m momentarily distracted by the bright colors of it wings. Refocusing on Jacob, I can see that he really seems concerned about something. “So what? Are you upset Brent didn’t find you?”

  Clearly frustrated with me, he shakes his head. “They were all there last night, Alex. Them, Mom…and Scott. Brent said that he’s sick too. Don’t you think that’s weird?” Scott was another friend from school that he hung out with.

  “Okay, so they all got the same cold. That happens. You and
I were there last night and we’re fine. Oh! You got something!” His line has gone tight, pulling the rod down towards the water. Reacting on instinct, Jacob yanks it straight up, setting the hook. With a few turns of the spool, he pulls a trout close to 2 lbs from the clear water.

  Laughing, I quickly scoop up some water in our big bucket that we always bring. Jacob expertly frees the fish from the hook and drops it in. Dad taught us the trick of keeping them alive until we get home. They taste better that way, or at least, we think so.

  “So worms it is! Get to work Baxter, we need more.” Baxter barks back at me excitedly and then resumes digging in the hole he had been creating.

  Jacob smiles, seeming to relax again. “I guess you’re right Alex. I dunno, maybe it’s because I don’t like it when Mom’s sick.”

  Pulling him to me, I give him a quick hug over the fish bucket. I understand his fear. Looking into his eyes, I ruffle his thick, dark hair the way I used to when he was smaller. “She’ll be fine Jacob. We’ll take good care of her. Tonight she eats trout!”

  After breaking out our sandwiches, we spend another two hours fishing before calling it quits. By the time we head home, we have three nice sized fish. I plan on cooking two of them and sticking the third one in the freezer. I’ll give it to Mr. Jones the next time we go to the store.

  The trip back is uneventful and I turn on the gas BBQ to pre-heat before heading inside. I find Mom sound asleep and figure it’s best to let her rest. On my way back out I grab a good filet knife, some tin foil, butter and a lemon. I may not be much of a chef, but I know how to cook a fish.

  Jacob has taken care of the unpleasant business of killing them, so I agree to do the rest. By the time I have them wrapped up in foil and cooking, it’s well past three. It’ll be an early dinner, but that’s okay. I’m already hungry and if I am, than I know for sure Jacob will be.