The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1 Read Online Free Page A

screaming my lungs out.
    I guess it’s good I had no memories of the actual accident. Amnesia, post-traumatic stress, whatever—I’d blacked it all out. I woke up on a skinny mattress in a tiny, antiseptic-smelling hospital bay in the emergency room, with wires hanging off me, while Dad peered completely panic-stricken into my face.
    At that point, Mama was only missing two hours. Dad probably thought she escaped the wreck, and wandered off, dazed. Too bad we’d never seen or heard from her again. Where had she gone? Why had she left?
    Over the years I learned enough about our accident by overhearing what people slipped in conversations, as well as what I googled. The police investigated, but never found the car, or the driver who rammed us. They never found my mama; suspected she used the accident as a ‘Get Out of Jail Free,’ card. Escaped her life as a mom and wife to start someplace new.
    Dad never bought that. But after she’d been gone two years, he gave into mama’s family’s request and had her declared dead, so she could be officially mourned. Eventually, people pretty much forgot I was that poor girl whose mom disappeared. I was able to introduce myself without getting socked with questions, or the all-too-familiar looks loaded with pity.
    So, sitting here now back at the scene, I didn’t know whether to feel surprised, shocked, or nothing. Between getting dumped by Brett, the possibility of losing my scholarship to Preston Academy, and having a panic attack—today was awful.
    I thought that if I had the courage to return to the scene of our accident and sit for a while, perhaps even tried to meditate or pray, I would remember what happened. Then I could have less fear, and feel more peaceful—and be able to climb a stupid ladder. But the only things I felt right now were confusion, and a heavy ache in my chest.
    I looked around the parking structure and noticed a bunch of gang tags painted onto the concrete, next to newer model cars. Apparently people weren’t scared to park here. They’d probably never even heard of the accident that happened ten years ago, in this very spot.
    What was I thinking? That she’d show up and explain why she left ten years ago? That she’d drop off a box of chocolates with an, ‘I’m sorry I abandoned you ,’ note? I’d been here for a couple of hours, and other than the obvious outcome—my lips were probably blue and my fingernails definitely white—I hadn’t gained anything by coming back.
    I rubbed my hands together, held them to my mouth and blew on them. I wondered what my life would have looked like, felt like, if Mama had never disappeared. Frankly, the only person I would have missed, would be my stepmom, Sophie.
    I heard a jangle of keys and an older guy said, “Hey, kid. You look cold. Need a ride?”
    I looked up at the man who belonged to the voice. He was late forties, handsome, full head of dark hair, thin, and tall. He walked up the ramp toward me wearing crisp khakis, and a fine, dark brown, weathered, leather, bomber jacket. I heard the low, throaty hum of a finely tuned car engine in the distance—probably his ride.
    “No, thanks.” I waved him on.
    “I’d believe you except that your fingers are purple.” He held out his right hand in front of me. “Look at mine. Wow. They’re a normal fleshy color.”
    “Kudos on your great circulation,” I said.
    “Look. Whatever your beef is, you need to get out of the cold, call your folks, and talk it out.” The guy reached in his pocket and held his cell phone out toward me.
    I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
    “Right. If you don’t want to talk to them yet, at least find someplace safe to stay tonight. I can recommend a couple of shelters.”
    “It’s not what you think.” I heard a high-pitched, grating sound, and some lame car backfired a couple of times. Busted. Dad drove his beater ride, and huffed up the garage incline toward me.
    He screeched to a stop in the middle of the ramp,