Discovering Aether

  Copyright © 2018 by Emily James Taylor

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise- without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Curly Haired Fashion Model was purchased through Canva Pty Ltd using the Extended License Agreement. Space stock photo through Canva Pty Ltd.

  Cover, Design & Formatting by Kaila Duff of Duffette Literary Services

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  That’s it for Discovering Aether

  Follow the Author

  To Amanda

  You show me what it means

  to have patience.

  I don’t know how you do it.

  You make me strive to be a nice bitch

  just like you.

  To Stephen

  You’re an awesome little big brother.

  I loved that I had you to

  walk me down the aisle.

  You’re the best asshole I know.

  Special Thanks to Kaila Duff

  I am so grateful for all your help

  I loved having a nerd to look over my work.

  Thanks Super Fluffs

  (I love that name now)

  You’re Awesome.

  and Also to Michelle,

  Thank you for all the help.

  This new Edition was possible

  thanks to you.

  “Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t you. So you can be who were meant to be in the first place.”

  - Paulo Coelho

  Was I ever going to find a decent place to live? I whined internally, wondering if my luck will ever change. I pulled my long curly hair into a messy bun, fastening it atop my head and took my glasses off, I was getting a headache from staring out of them. With them on, I can’t make out the faces of the people sitting near me on the patio or the street names on the signs, as if surrounded by a fog. But now with them off, I see everything so clearly. I swear I’ve needed glasses all my life and now all of a sudden my eyes seem to have perfect vision. I’ve just been so use to wearing them, it’s hard to break the habit of putting them on each morning. Thinking back over these past few years it seems like my life isn't going to improve like my eyesight seems to have, sadly. I shove the glasses into my navy backpack, the only luggage I brought with me, pull it over my shoulder and make my way towards the street.

  Last week I turned eighteen. I went straight home after my last shift at the diner, packed my backpack and left my step mom, Brenda, behind. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight so I didn’t have to do a halfassed goodbye. I never understood what my father saw in that woman and I wasn't going to stay and try to figure it out.

  My dad married Brenda when I was eight. They met at the diner she owns, Heaven on Earth. The place was really outdated but Dad fell in love with the food the first time we ate there. It was Pennsylvania Dutch style, it had everything from chicken pot pies and red beet eggs to classic desserts like shoofly and whoopie pies, so of course we started eating there once a week. My dad had a strong craving for comfort food, which you never would have guessed looking at him. Always active and doing something, he was in great shape. What started as an owner just asking how the food was, turned into her sitting down and chatting with my dad every time we went.

  At first I thought she was nice, she would tell me how well behaved I was, talk to me and would ask me questions about myself. An actual adult treating me like more than a dumb child, she made me feel important. But even with all the kindness she showed me, I still had this nagging feeling that something was off about her. It might also have had to do with the involuntary shudder and the nausea I felt every time she came into the room.

  My dad started to go on dates with her which then turned into them hanging out on a daily basis, including numerous sleepovers. I remember one morning, she snuck out of the house clutching her shoes in her arms. She caught me peeking through my cracked door and stopped, giving me a smirk that gave me chills. Turning away, she flipped her tangled hair over her shoulders and sauntered down the stairs. Dad assumed I had no idea she stayed over some nights. After I caught her slinking out, my dad sat me down for breakfast. He made me his delicious pancake and bacon sandwiches. Once I was eating food guaranteed to put anyone in a good mood, he asked me how I would feel about him marrying her.

  Bile rose in my throat and I tried to swallow it down as he continued, saying it would be great for me to have a woman around to help me when I got older. Even though it seemed my whole body was warning me against this, he seemed so ecstatic about it, so I agreed. She had always seemed pleasant up until that point and I was hoping that my gut feeling and my physical revulsion towards her was wrong. Maybe it was because I still didn’t feel ready for a woman in our lives, at least that’s what I tried to tell myself. It had always just been the two of us. My mother left as soon as I was born.

  Once they were married and she was living with us, she would brag about her sex life with my dad, whatever nasty and inappropriate thing she could think of. One thing I remember her telling me in the beginning, was how my dad liked her to suck his cock. Why the hell would I, a child at the time, want to know that about my own father, let alone what the women who was suppose to be my role model did to him?

  Brenda didn't stop there. No. As I matured, she started to attack me. She would berate me for my appearance, specifically, she loved to target my hair and wide frame. I would roll my eyes, mentally of course, and ignore her; I never took her insults to heart.

  I was in no way considered fat. My body has always been a little wider than most girls my age, but that's because I developed my curves early on. Brenda was jealous at how well my body was filling out and couldn't stand that hers would never be as appealing as mine. She had put on a lot of weight, and I know she, like most other women, would kill for my curves and my long, natural wavy hair.

  But after awhile, the constant insults starts to wear on a person. This went on for years. My dad never knew, and, not wanting to upset him, I kept it inside. The bigger and more unappealing Brenda got with age, the meaner she became. The name calling started - whore, slut, skank, etc... I had never even kissed a boy, and yet she felt threatened enough to want to bring me down. But still, I kept brushing off her comments as best I could.

  Dad was happy to have a woman around to round out our little family, regardless of how shitty she was to me when he wasn't around. I just couldn't bring myself to tell him.

  He was a freaking saint, he raised me by himself after mom left us, a sixteen year old boy whose parents turned him away when they found out about me. He always put me first and protected me, maybe sometimes too much, so why would I try to ruin something that brought him happiness?

  Three years ago everything changed. My father went missing. It took the officers four days to find his car. He had an accident with another vehicle. They went off an embankment, the police found the other person’s body but not my father’s.

  To this day, I can still see the accident scene clear as glass. His door to his dark grey truck was open. The polic
e assumed that he got out but must have become disoriented, fell and got dragged away by some sort of animal. A black bear was the top choice based on the bites and claw marks left on the other man. The weirdest thing was boot prints leading from my dad's door, they abruptly stopped. No drag marks, no body print telling us he fell. Nothing. Like he vanished into thin air.

  The cops could only guess what happened with not enough information to go on and only one body left at the scene.

  Furthering the mystery was the other person. The putrid smell announced that decomposition set in. It was so strong that I had to cover my mouth with my sweater and breathe through my mouth to stop from gagging. The carnage was immense. Animals had started eating him, body parts were missing and his abdomen was torn open. I still wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares about that horrific night. With the damage the animals caused, they couldn’t tell if he died on impact or if the animals had done it. The mystery is that the police could never identify him. No one in our town had gone missing aside from my dad, at least that was reported. The officers just assumed he was someone driving through and put it into some database hoping to get a hit on a missing person from out of town. They never did. It makes me sad to think that a family is out there missing him with no idea that he’s buried in an unmarked grave in our town cemetery. They’ll never get closure, unlike us. Even without my father’s body, we know what happened to him.

  After that, Brenda didn’t have to pretend to like me anymore, there was no one left in the house for her to impress. I think it was a relief for her. It was almost like my dad’s death meant nothing to her, she only cried when we were around other people, like she wanted the attention. At home, she went about life like nothing happened, she did her normal routine and only closed the diner for a week. I remember her saying something like as soon as she opened back up, customers would flood her restaurant. And they did.

  And that’s when Brenda declared that I should work in the diner. Of course, she was letting me stay with her out of the goodness of her own heart, but she needed ‘help.’ My dad never wanted me to work while I was still in school, but now I didn’t have a choice. I think it was another way for her to punish me, and to get back at my dad. In the year before his death, I could tell his feelings for her had changed, lost their luster. Brenda could tell too. She was trying to punish both of us, but I was the only one she could hurt.

  Still, I saw it as an escape. By working at the diner, I was able to save money here and there, as much as I could. Brenda, the giver that she is, decided that I should pay to live under her roof. With my dad gone, she allowed me to live in our house, but at a price. She even made me pay for the food in our refrigerator.

  With the influx of business at the diner, I stayed busy. Good thing too, it helped me take my mind off losing my dad. That the thought of him helped me leave and escape that vile woman.

  With all that was going on with my father's death and Brenda being Brenda, I noticed my friends were changing. They were careful, they wouldn't tell me what they really thought. Because really, who would be mean to the girl who lost her dad? Oh, the joy of living in a small town.

  My best friend was what really pushed me away from people. Kathy. Well, the closest thing I had to a best friend. Even before my dad died, I never truly let people in. I never felt a connection with anyone but my dad. Kathy told me she didn’t know what to say to me anymore and that I wasn't fun to be around now. I was grieving, how was I supposed to act? As if nothing happened? Like the only person who ever loved me was now gone and I was supposed to be okay with it?

  I rub my eyes as tears start to fill them. Just thinking about that still brings up strong emotions I thought I had finally gotten over. Even though I despise her now, it’s hard to forget the fun times we shared at school before everything went to shit. I shake my head quickly and try to focus on what got me to this point.

  After that was when I started to plan; as soon as I turned eighteen I was going to get out of there. I needed a couple thousand at least and a place to focus on moving to. On a whim I chose Philadelphia. It was the closest major city near me.

  So I saved up everything I made and got by eating ramen noodles while Brenda ate like a queen. My mouth still waters thinking of the lobster and steak she ate at least once a week. It’s funny, her diner served Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine because, man, that women loved surf and turf.

  She thought it was hilarious that I had no time to hangout and meet people. She would often ridicule me, try to hurt me just for her own twisted pleasure. But I knew that having friends, making those attachments, would only make it harder to leave when the time came. Plus, if I did have friends, then Brenda could have a way to find out about me after I left. There's no way in hell that I would want them to slip up and let her know where I ended up. So having friends, attachments, was out of the question.

  I’m going to start over completely, a clean slate. Soon, I'll make some friends, form attachments, without the fear of Brenda ruining everything.

  Today, I decided to walk around Philadelphia after staying for the past week at a cheap hotel right outside of the city, looking for places to move. If I find a place to stay, it’ll probably be cheaper than paying for a hotel room each night. I saved a little over two thousand dollars before I got here but while seventy nine dollars a night is a great deal, it eats away quickly after five days. First, I need a place to stay, then I need to find a job. I’m sure there is a restaurant somewhere in this city that’s hiring. Hopefully they can accept my work experience from the diner and have no need to call Brenda.

  But maybe I need to rethink my plan. Three different places, THREE! I checked out this morning, were all way too expensive and they looked like dumps. Even if they retouched the paint, they all had a moldy smell to them. One even had a rat jump out when I opened a kitchen cabinet. How do people do this? I should have thought about the cost of living here realistically and waited to have more money saved. Maybe Brenda was right, as much as it pains me to admit. I can just picture her double chin bouncing as she laughs at me for thinking I could leave and start over in a new place without her.

  It’s just everywhere I went in that small town, I was the girl whose father disappeared and was never found. I got the pity looks, the ‘tsks’ and even a few pats on the shoulder. I hated it. It’s been three years. I know he’s gone, probably dead, and I just want to be somewhere where everyone doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know me.

  Turning back, I look at the restaurant I just left, there are still people sitting around laughing with each other on the cobblestoned patio. It’s a cute upscale burger joint with potted plants and patio lights strung up for decoration. A group of women take pictures of the burgers they ordered giggling, probably over who they think will comment on their social media accounts. I’m so envious of their joy. I’m ready for the chance to feel like that. Happy and carefree with life. I need to figure out a way to make this new life work out so I could finally find friends and go out with them like that. After securing a home and a job, that’s next on my list: actual friends. Not fake people being nice just because my dad is presumed dead.

  Checking the road is clear, I cross the street heading towards what looks like a church on the corner. If I ever needed divine intervention, this is it. I mean, am I a spiritual person? No, not really. But praying to a higher power wouldn’t hinder me either.

  As I turn the corner, looking for the entrance, the sign on the side of the building comes into view. Strive for a better life. Strange. I guess it could be a religious quote.

  But as I step away from the sign and really look at it. The realization hits me that this definitely is not a church. There’s no crucifixes or religious symbols displayed on it. Just a historic looking building, that has aged brick and stained glass with a breathtaking display of colors. It looks well taken care of, and wow, it's bigger than I thought; at least five stories. How are people just walking by this place and not taking notice of it? Huh, wonder if they
would let me have a look around. I feel this strange pull to the building. It sounds weird to even think about, but I feel with every fiber in my body that I need to get inside of it. I’m having a hard time keeping myself from just barging in. Maybe I have finally gone completely crazy.

  Jogging up the concrete stairs, a set of large, arched wooden doors lay before me and I knock. Not hearing any sound or indication of a response forthcoming, I knock once more. Hmm, maybe I should wait a few seconds before I try to open the door. As I start to tap my foot, I hear footsteps coming from inside. The door opens and out steps the most handsome guy I have ever seen. He steps out into the bright sunshine and my heart flutters. Olive skin and dark brown hair that brushes his shoulders on one side. Oh man, his eyes are such a deep brown, I have a hard time trying to looking away even with the daggers they are shooting back at me. He even has a strong looking jaw, square and defined. It ticks with annoyance. He’s wearing a brown tank top that does an excellent job of showing off his biceps, the cargo shorts on his lower half display his huge calves. Shit, I’m in trouble. He’s actually making me go weak in the knees. I didn’t actually think that was a real thing. Crossing his arms across his chest, his muscles bulge and his glare intensifies, emphasizing his angry demeanor. The height advantage he has over me, should make me turn around right now. I’m 5’ 7”, most guys don’t stand too far above me in height. I just can’t shake this feeling that I need to get in there.

  “Umm, hey!” I start wringing my hands together trying to give myself something else to focus on while I talk. “My name’s Adaline Jacobs and I was just wondering if I could step inside and look around this place. Is this building open to the public? It’s so beautiful. I didn’t even know it was here, I’m new to the city and I would just love to look around.” The words fall out of my mouth in a rush. I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried.