I See Me (Oracle 1): Chapter 2, Part 1

For those of you who haven’t had a moment to read I See Me (Oracle 1) I’m sharing a few chapters as a lead up to the release of the final book in the trilogy, I See Us (Oracle 3) on October 6, 2016.

Begin reading here: Chapter 1, Part 1

Reading order for the Adept Universe.

I See Me (Oracle 1) paperback

AMAZON and KOBO and iBOOKS and SMASHWORDS and BARNES & NOBLE 

I See Me (Oracle 1)

Chapter Two

Part One

“It was your mother’s,” Carol said as she handed me a ratty royal-blue-velvet jewelry box. It was about the length of a sunglass case, but thinner.

“What?” I asked, because I wasn’t really listening. I’d signed some papers, retrieved my passport, and was now ready to walk out of this part of my life.

“Held in trust by the ministry.”

“Sorry?” I asked. “You kept something of my mother’s for nineteen years?”

“It would have been … if you had been adopted …” Carol took off her wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed her eyes. She was a series of shades of brown. Brown eyes, hair, and freckles. Even her sweater, belt, and shoes were brown today, but none of the shades matched. Too much yellow in one, too much orange in the other. Her hair was dull, devoid of shine. Her eyes needed a day off, even though — since it was Monday afternoon now — she’d just had two.

Carol had only been assigned to my file for about a year and a half. Sharon, the social worker who’d given me the mittens, hadn’t returned from maternity leave. I’d already forgotten the name of the temp worker who’d been assigned to me in between. Carol didn’t really know how to talk to me, about anything. She saw my thick file and it made her sad.

Early on, she’d talked about the possibility of teen adoption. I’d had my name taken off the list the day I turned twelve and was legally able to express my opinion on the matter. I’d had to miss a couple of meetings with Carol, and suffer from a hallucination in front of her, before she let the subject drop.

It was nice that she cared, though. I’d just had more than enough of nice in my life. I wanted more than nice, but I didn’t believe that more existed. So I’d take nothing — and no one — on my own terms every day, starting today. Nice just didn’t work for me anymore.

“You kept this because you thought I’d lose it?” I asked.

“The ministry —”

I waved off Carol’s explanation and snapped open the box to see a gold necklace attached to an antique white rock. The quartz, or whatever it was, was about the size of a nickel and roughly hewn. The chain’s links were wide — almost industrial looking — and tarnished. The necklace was attached by gold eyelets that appeared to be drilled right into the stone, but one of them was broken. The metal of it was oddly stretched out, as if some force had pulled the chain apart.

“Did they rip it off her?” I was whispering as I stared at the broken necklace, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Excuse me?”

“The paramedics,” I said. “Did they rip the necklace off her when they pulled her from the car? Or later at the hospital when she was dying and I was born?”

“I … I …” Carol replaced her glasses and turned back to the thick file on her desk. She always kept my file closed but in sight when we visited. Occasionally, she placed her hand on it when she was discussing something she deemed very important. When she’d taken over the office, she turned the desk so it was against the far wall. That way she could sit facing the guest chairs without the desk as a physical barrier. The framed inspirational quotes and the fleece throw on the third chair were also meant to add a cozy feeling to the room. Unfortunately for Carol, the item that probably got the most use in her office was the Kleenex box.

She opened my file at the very beginning and began to scan the pages.

“It’s not in there,” I said. “I’ve read all that. I’d already know about the necklace if it was in there. There’s a note about belongings, but I assumed it meant clothing that had probably been burned after she died, since I hadn’t been given anything.” I weighted that last part with every ounce of disdain that I could muster over something I’d only learned about moments before — so not much, but more than usual.

“Oh … I … you’ve read this?”

“Yep,” I answered. “More than once. It’s a bonding exercise. I guess you hadn’t gotten around to offering yet.”

“Well, I … that is unorthodox —”

I picked up the necklace. It was as heavy as it looked. “It’s broken,” I repeated.

“Yes, I saw. I thought about getting it repaired, and cleaned.”

For some reason, it incensed me that this woman had seen this piece of me, this piece of my history — maybe even touched it — when I hadn’t even known it existed.

“Is the box hers?”

“What? Oh. No, I don’t think —”

I stood up and tossed the velvet box on Carol’s desk behind her.

She flinched back in her comfy black desk chair. She gripped one of the vinyl arms, then deliberately relaxed her hand when I noticed. Her light coral fingernails were chipped at the very tips. I knew she had a panic button underneath her desk. She’d used it when I was hit with the hallucination that I’d had in her office about a year ago. If she had just let me leave, let me get some fresh air and sketch as I’d requested when I felt it coming on, then she wouldn’t have had to use the button. Then I wouldn’t have had to suffer the touch of strangers and the questions of the paramedics. I should have left without permission, but I knew that usually resulted in reprimands and restrictions. Also, they kept the front doors barred — literally gated. I had to be buzzed through both the exterior exit and the door between the reception area and the offices if I wanted to leave.

I really hadn’t wanted Carol to see me in the grip of a hallucination. Part of me hated her for having seen me so vulnerable. She’d talked about it as a bonding experience afterward. I’d kept my mouth shut.

I coiled the necklace in my palm, then tucked it in the inner zippered pocket of my bag, along with my passport and the big wad of cash I was more than ready to unload. I turned to leave.

“Wait,” Carol cried. “What about … will you be staying at the Residence tonight?”

“Doubt it,” I answered as I sauntered out through the door. Social workers always kept their doors open during client meetings to thwart any accusations of abuse. And, of course, so they could call for help. Though as previously noted, they also had a panic button for that. I didn’t think any of us foster kids were supposed to know about the panic buttons.

“You need to check in,” Carol said as she jumped up from her seat to follow me into the hall. “You need to be careful about stress and … and … everything.”

I quickly crossed by the other open office doorways. It was almost four o’clock, so most of the offices were empty for the day. At the top of the stairs, the room to my immediate right was painted in what was supposed to be cheerful colors. Kid colors. Egg yolk yellow, deep sky blue, and grass green. The room was filled with a tidy array of toys, low plastic chairs, and a navy blue cushy couch that had seen many better years than this one.

I looked away. I’d always hated that room. I’d met two of three sets of prospective adoptive parents in there. I’d also spent an entire day captive in there — three times — after I’d been voluntarily surrendered to the ministry, but before I’d been assigned my next foster placement. Everyone here was overworked and underpaid, including the foster homes. The rest of us were stuck in the nowhere that was between the two.

But not anymore — not me, not now, or ever again.

“Check in with me,” Carol continued. “With your doctor, with your —”

“Shrink,” I said. “Yeah, I know. How about we leave the counseling to the experts?”

“I’m a certified —”

“I know to get my white blood count levels checked once a week,” I said as I trotted down the stairs with Carol at my heels. “I also know that there will always be a room for me … if I give you enough notice. I get that you aren’t tossing me onto the streets.”

I got stalled at the locked glass door inside the front waiting area. This door could only be opened by code, or by remote if the receptionist was around. She wasn’t.

Unfortunately, this meant that Carol caught up to me and managed to drag me in for a hug. Being all of five-foot-three had its disadvantages, and overly emotional hugs from chesty people was one of them.

“Right,” I said, as I withstood the unwanted human contact without screaming. “Great.”

I patted Carol’s back.

She didn’t let go. “I just loved that picture you drew for me. I’ll always cherish it.”

“Okay, then.”

Carol finally drew back from the hug, but she didn’t let go of me. “Oh, no! I bought you something. Special pencil crayons.”

Great. I didn’t draw in color. “I’ll grab them from you later.”

“Oh? Okay.” The loose promise of a visit got me a smile. She was teary, but not crying.

“Is this your first aging out?”

Carol nodded.

“You’re doing great.” I really hated to lie, but I really had somewhere to be.

“Really? I was so worried when you were late —”

“Buses, you know.”

“I’ll miss our monthlies.”

I hated it when she called our meetings ‘monthlies,’ like we menstruated together or something. “Okay, sure, but I’ve got to go now.”

“All right. Be safe, Rochelle,” Carol said. “I’ll always be here for you. I care about you.”

I nodded. This motion caused the migraine I’d just fought off to ping-pong through my head. Carol wasn’t being false or anything, but I just needed to go. I needed to think about the necklace, and I had more errands to run. Errands I’d been planning for months. I didn’t want to get derailed.

My entire life had been dictated by other people’s tragedies and shortcomings, but now I had a future that was just mine. A hallucination, a mushy social worker, and a dead mother’s necklace weren’t going to slow me down.

“Thanks for everything, Carol.” Then I said what I needed to say to get clear of the door, of the building, and of all the many caring-but-overworked-and-underfunded social workers that Carol represented. “I’ll call you next week.”

“Perfect,” Carol said with a teary smile. “Happy birthday, Rochelle.”

She even managed to say that — to wish me well on the day of my ill-fated birth — without a hint of irony.

She buzzed me through the door, then through the exterior door with one last wave.

I wasn’t going to call Carol next week. I might check in later, just so she didn’t send the police looking for me. Though I might be brain-damaged, I was polite. Some might say I was well trained by the system that had raised me.

I thumbed the automatic lock on the secondary security gate that stood two steps in front of the exterior, then slipped through it onto the sidewalk. The ministry was serious about protecting its workers. And with some of the loopy, estranged parents I’d seen raging around here, that wasn’t surprising.

The gate clanged closed behind me. The sound made me smile.

I was never going to hear that again.

∞∞∞

Continue Reading:

Chapter 2, part 2 (Sept 30)

Chapter 3, part 1 & 2 (Oct 1)

Chapter 3, part 2 & 3 (Oct 2)

– Shares welcomed and appreciated –

oracleseries_comingsoon

I See Me (Oracle 1): Chapter 1, part 2

For those of you who haven’t had a moment to read I See Me (Oracle 1) I started sharing a few chapters yesterday as a lead up to the release of the final book in the trilogy, I See Us (Oracle 3) on October 6, 2016.

Begin reading here: Chapter 1, Part 1

Reading order for the Adept Universe.

the-oracle-ebook-fit

AMAZON and KOBO and iBOOKS and SMASHWORDS and BARNES & NOBLE 

I See Me (Oracle 1)

Chapter One

Part Two

Tyler gave me the peony tattoo as a birthday gift. He was cool like that, though he could easily get a hundred and sixty an hour for his tattoo work. I was pleased with the results. I’d drawn a section of the peony’s petals like they were pierced by the barbed wire, so it looked as if the flower was hanging over my shoulder blade by that precarious attachment alone. I could extrapolate that the placement reflected life, or could read something boring and tenuous into it like I was the black peony and the barbed wire was life, but that was hokey as hell. I wanted it to look that way, end of story. Though obviously I wouldn’t be flashing the new tattoo to my shrink or social worker.

And it wouldn’t be any of their business in a few more hours anyway.

Cue stupid grin plastered across my face. I was riding high on life today. Again, I wouldn’t be mentioning that to anyone who took notes in a thick file folder. Like, never.

I slipped out the back door of Get Inked into the alley to avoid the guy out front, though I hadn’t seen him there for over an hour. It wasn’t raining yet. The sky was still a light, overall cloud gray as I skirted the metal recycling and garbage bins. Alleys in Kitsilano were cleaner than any alley I’d ever seen east of here. Even the alley behind the Residence, where I’d lived for the last two years in the Downtown Eastside, had to be cleaned every day, and that block had been updated only a couple of years ago. Part of the revitalization of the parts of Vancouver that freaked the tourists out. Picking up garbage was one of the crappy lottery chores a resident could pull as part of their room and board at the Residence every month. I’d been there two years and only gotten stuck with it once, though.

Anyway, the buildings in this part of Kitsilano were a big mixture of old and new. The tattoo parlor occupied an older two-storey block of concrete, but it was freshly painted, clean concrete. Some trendy coffee shop, a florist, and an interior design place filled the brand spanking new multistorey building next door. I couldn’t believe the money people blew on things like that. Crap that they just consumed or threw out after a couple of years. Though I secretly lusted after the white orchids in the front window of the florist.

The brilliant snow-white blooms were as big as my hand. The plants were planted in pots that looked like they were made out of ash-gray concrete. Little smooth black and white rocks nestled among the moss on top. I hadn’t even bothered to check the prices. They probably cost as much as my tattoo would have if Tyler had charged me, and the blooms lasted like all of three weeks or something.

I had to take two buses from the tattoo parlor to get to my next appointment — the much-anticipated social worker appointment of my year — and I was going to be late now. But there was no way I was going to waste any money on a taxi. I had a plan for every cent in my pockets today.

I pulled my mittens out of my bag. I never went anywhere without my hand-painted satchel. I wore it slung across my chest, against my left hip, and filled with my art supplies. The mittens were hand knit in ivory-white cashmere and worn to hell. They’d been a gift from my last social worker three years ago. A gift given when she’d told me she was going on maternity leave and had to transfer my file … again. No biggie, really. I’d had so many social workers and caregivers — their term — that I didn’t bother to count anymore. They were all genuinely nice people who couldn’t do more for me than they already did. Guilt gift or not, the mittens rocked, especially because it was actually cold in Vancouver today. It got chilly this time of year when it wasn’t raining.

I crossed out of the alley onto West Broadway a couple of blocks away from Get Inked. I didn’t think the guy from out front was following me or anything. He was just annoyingly chatty.

And now he was standing next to the bus stop on the corner of Arbutus Street.

Great.

“Hey,” he called, lifting his paper coffee cup to greet me. Geez, either that was the same coffee he’d been drinking hours ago or the guy was seriously caffeinated.

I forced myself to continue walking toward him. Obnoxious guy or not, I really needed to catch the next 99 B-Line.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said. His accent was full-on American, though I didn’t know the difference between the States.

“Yeah?” Ignoring his cheesy attempt at a pick-up — if that was what was actually going on — I looked over my shoulder for the bus. I wasn’t religious, but I’d been having a good birthday so far and I’d pray for it to continue without this guy chatting me up to whatever God would have me.

“Rochelle, right?” he said. “I’m Hoyt, remember? You heading downtown?”

“Sure,” I answered, completely lying.

“Maybe we could grab that slice?”

“Nah, thanks. I’m not big on pizza.”

The 14 bus pulled to a stop in front of us, and the other bus stop occupants shuffled into line around Hoyt and me. I went along with the crowd, making a show of digging into my bag for my bus pass.

“Pasta then, or Mexican?” Hoyt was glancing around like he was worried about someone seeing him talking to me.

We shuffled along to the front door. Hoyt stepped up on the first stair and I took the opportunity to peel away from the line.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” I called as I jogged to the back of the bus. “I just remembered I’ve got somewhere to be.”

The 99 B-Line pulled up, and I cut to the front of the line that was forming for it so quickly no one really noticed.

“Cool,” Hoyt called after me. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I didn’t answer. I flashed my pass and made my way to the back of the bus, pushing through the annoying people blocking the aisle.

I noticed that Hoyt hadn’t gotten on the 14. He was standing to the far side of the bus stop, texting. He looked up to scan the windows of the 99 as it pulled past him, and I turned my back. I really wasn’t interested in exchanging waves — again, if that was what was going on. What someone like Hoyt wanted with me, I had no idea. Nor was I interested in finding out.

My day was unfolding perfectly, as planned. And that never happened.

Even though it was one of those double-length accordion buses, I had to stand because the bus was crazy-full of school kids. Standing was cool. I preferred not to sit by anyone anyway, but the kids were annoying. Sure, they were only a couple of years younger than me, but still. School didn’t make them any less oblivious. Predictably, most of them got off one stop later at Granville Street, either to shop or transfer to downtown.

I still didn’t sit down. Honestly, I liked the way I had to counter the pull and push of the bus’s momentum. With my feet solidly planted, I hung, swaying from one arm. My right hand gripped the chrome bar overhead. I was actually left-hand dominant, but I never used my left hand for such menial tasks. I reserved it for art.

Vancouver — or at least this part of it — sped by outside the wide bus windows but I didn’t bother to look. I knew this street and these people more than I wanted to know it or them already. I knew every part of Vancouver that I could get to by bus or SkyTrain. I’d never been anywhere else. Not even on school trips, because I never bothered to track down whoever was currently my official guardian to get permission slips signed. I would just camp out in the school library and read and draw on the days my classes went anywhere.

I should have put on my earphones, but I didn’t. So when the hallucination struck, I had nothing to disguise my reaction. Listening to music was a good cover for involuntary spasms. I hadn’t had an incident in months, though, so I’d relaxed.

Six years of ‘incidents’ and you’d think I’d be smarter. I wasn’t.

I could still feel the sway of my body as the bus driver tapped on the brakes, as well as my hand gripping the overhead bar far too tightly now. The bones of my hand pressed painfully into the metal. But as the familiar headache rolled up over the back of my head from the top of my spine, I couldn’t see anything but white … endless rolling mists of white. The pain settled across my forehead. I tensed every single muscle in my body even while willing myself to relax … even as I silently begged my mind to let it go. Just let it be. Please.

A dark-haired man appeared out of the mist, obscuring my sight.

He was tall. Maybe slightly over six feet. Pale-skinned and wearing a dark suit but no tie. His short black hair was neatly parted and combed. I had no idea who he was, but that didn’t stop me from seeing him in my broken mind. I’d been seeing him like this for years now.

I squeezed my eyes shut, though I knew it would do nothing to stop the hallucination as it threatened to overwhelm me. The delusions were always threatening to break me, just as they’d broken me last fall.

The dark aura that radiated from the man was what had first inspired me to favor simple charcoal on paper for my artwork. Each time I offered a new sketch of him for sale in my online Etsy shop, it was purchased within the hour.

Other people wanted to be haunted by my imaginary friends so much that they willingly paid hundreds of dollars per sketch. My shrink would point that out as a silver-lining, but I’d prefer working at McDonald’s over delusions, any day.

Today, the man’s hair gleamed with the moonlit inky blackness that surrounded him. He was standing by a pile of stones, or maybe by a stone wall? He wasn’t ugly, nor did I think he was evil, but he was blackness. Could I call a figment of my imagination evil? He turned his head to look at someone I couldn’t yet see.

Oh, God. I didn’t want to see.

As he raised his hand to touch the crimson stone amulet he always wore concealed underneath his crisp dress shirts, I dug blindly through my bag, frantically searching for a pencil or a piece of loose charcoal.

I reminded myself of what the world actually looked like right now. Of the chrome bar I was still gripping … of the aisle in which I was standing … of the bag I was digging into with my left hand, which was a gift from another Etsy seller — an online friend — who repurposed it out of an old army duffle and painted it with black ivy reminiscent of my arm tattoo. While I was still attempting to not appear frantic, my edging-on-desperate digging through the bag caused the new tattoo on my shoulder to sting.

If I could just hang on to my surroundings … if I could just ground myself here on the bus, I wouldn’t end up screaming on the floor and being dragged to the psych ward … again.

It had taken me three days to get released into the care of my social worker and my shrink last time. The hallucinations had come and gone for that entire time. They’d continued for a couple of weeks after, actually. I had just gotten very good at hiding them. When I wasn’t blindsided as I had been just now.

A woman laughed. The sound of it came from the hallucination, not from the occupants of the bus. Thankfully, I knew the difference now after so many years. That helped me hide my illness from everyone else.

A chill spiraled up my spine to follow the path the headache had taken. Not because the laugh was terrible — it was actually quite musical — but because I knew who was laughing even before the hallucination expanded to reveal her golden curls and jade-green knife. The knife looked like something out of a fantasy movie, but the blond woman almost always wore T-shirts and jeans when she appeared in my delusions … except for last fall. Now that he’d seen her, the dark-suited man’s gaze was glued to the blond, but whether he was enraptured or enraged, I didn’t know.

I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see.

I closed my hand around a piece of charcoal. I felt the grit of it against the skin of my frantic fingers. And that was just enough to help me focus.

The hallucination faded, leaving only a residue of blurry, blank spots in its wake.

I’d headed it off before it could expand in my mind, before it could completely overwhelm me.

I was shaking, clinging to the bar like the lifeline it was so that I wouldn’t collapse to the floor. So I didn’t show my weakness to the press of people around me. So they wouldn’t know how broken I was. How utterly broken.

I’d taken my pill that morning, but just the regular dose. I should have accounted for stress. I never actually felt stressed, as far as I understood the sensation. Not until a second before a hallucination seized me. But my shrink, who was actually a psychologist, kept telling me I had to learn to anticipate the life moments that were stressful to everyone else.

To regular people, she meant.

And anyone else would find aging out of the foster care system that had raised them their entire life stressful.

Well, anyone else without an unknown psychotic disorder. Anyone else who wasn’t on meds to keep them focused and calm.

The bus rolled to a stop. I swayed forward and then back, but my feet were grounded. I wasn’t going to fall. I wasn’t going to falter further.

I looked up to see I was at the Commercial Drive bus stop, which was the best transfer point for the 20 bus. I could barely see through the hazy pain of the migraine that would still try to pull me under if I let it.

Just one more bus.

I was halfway to beginning my life.

I was going to make it the rest of the way today.

I shoved through the press of the crowd trying to enter the bus and stumbled onto the sidewalk.

I wasn’t sure how many years I’d been seeing the dark-suited man — at least six — but the blond girl, who was only a few years older than me, was new. Well, newish. I’d been hallucinating her for a little over a year now.

Her hair glowed golden, just as the wicked knife in her hand sparkled green, but I’d never drawn her or him in color.

Real life didn’t look like that. Real life was rendered in tints and blurs of gray all around me. The streets, the buildings, and car after car were gray, gray, and gray.

I pulled my charcoal-covered hand out of my bag. I was still gripping the piece that had rescued me from the clutches of the hallucination. I also grabbed the medium-sized sketchbook that I carried with me everywhere. Still trying to get my bearings, I stumbled over to the low cement wall that backed the bus stop. I sat down. I needed to catch a bus up Victoria Drive to get to my social worker’s office, but I couldn’t manage that right now.

I flipped open the sketchbook to a blank page, ignoring the pages and pages of other drawings it contained. Ignoring buses as they came and went. Ignoring the people staring at me.

Using the charcoal-covered fingers of my left hand, I began to shape the hallucination.

If I could just steal a bit of it … if I could tie this stolen bit to the page, it wouldn’t haunt me. The sketch would free me from the grip of the delusion.

I didn’t know why that was — why sketching worked to calm me. It just always had. I’d drawn for weeks after the terrible bout last fall … weeks and weeks recording and discharging the hallucinations. Weeks of acknowledging them, tying them to paper, and walking away. This is why I sold my work. I released the hallucinations from the confines of my mind into the world through charcoal and paper.

I concentrated on the knife — a jade-colored knife that looked to be hewn out of actual stone — and the way the blond woman held it.

If I could just get the knife right, I could capture the hallucination in the sketchbook, then walk the rest of the way to my appointment.

The walk would give the headache time to abate. My social workers had always made me remove my tinted glasses inside, whether or not I complained about the fluorescent lights in their offices. My eyes were always weird after a hallucination — even paler than usual — which typically made my social workers launch into questions about drugs and other garbage. I didn’t need that any day, but especially not today. Today was my birthday. Today I would be free … well, as free as my mind would let me be.

If I could just render the shading of the blade’s edge perfectly.

∞∞∞

Continue Reading:

Chapter 2, part 1

Chapter 2, part 2

Chapter 3, part 1 & 2 (Oct 1)

Chapter 3, part 2 & 3 (Oct 2)

– Shares welcomed and appreciated –

oracleseries_comingsoon

I See Me (Oracle 1): Chapter 1, Part 1

For those of you who haven’t had a moment to read I See Me (Oracle 1) I thought I’d share a few chapters over the next few days as a lead up to the release of the final book in the trilogy, I See Us (Oracle 3) on October 6, 2016.

Reading order for the Adept Universe.

ISeeMe_catchaglimpse_promo

AMAZON and KOBO and iBOOKS and SMASHWORDS and BARNES & NOBLE 

I See Me (Oracle 1)

Chapter One

Part One

“There’s that guy again.” Sprawled facedown over the black vinyl chair, I had a perfect view of West Broadway through the storefront window of Get Inked.

“What guy?” Tyler muttered as he hunched over my bare shoulder with his two-coil tattoo machine. Someone had to come up with a better name for that, other than ‘tattoo gun.’ Most ink artists hated calling it that.

“That guy … from the pizza place two days ago. The guy who tried to buy me a slice of pepperoni, like I eat meat.”

I didn’t point. I wasn’t stupid enough to move my shoulder and risk ruining the ink. All Tyler had to do was look up and he’d see the guy drinking a venti Starbucks and leaning against the pockmarked concrete wall of the convenience store across the street. A tall, skinny guy wearing black jeans and a knit hat in an attempt to look like a hipster, but really just hiding stringy, dirty blond hair. I was serious about the ‘dirty’ part, as in actual dirt. If the guy let his teeth yellow any worse, they’d match his hair. At least he hadn’t actually smelled when he sidled up to me a couple of days ago.

“The daisy would look so much cooler with some color,” Tyler muttered. He wasn’t easy to distract once he had the two-coil in hand. Normally I liked that about him. “Red … pink?”

“It’s a peony.”

“What?”

“A peony. And daisies aren’t red.”

“Fine. I’ll stick with the boring black, as usual.” Tyler snapped a used cartridge out of his tattoo machine and plugged in a new one. Then he started filling in the edges of my newest design. I’d copied my peony sketch onto transfer paper about two hours ago, and Tyler and I had argued over its placement for another hour. It had taken me three months to get the flower design exactly right — as perfect as I’d seen it in my head — and ready for its permanent place on my shoulder.

I had a tattoo of barbed wire with various things snagged in the spikes running up my left arm. The ‘things’ were eclectic — keys, spiders … even a black-and-white Canadian flag. With the addition of the peony, I was getting Tyler to extend the tattoo over my shoulder now. Eventually, it would meet and intermingle about two-thirds of the way across my back with the ivy leaf pattern that ran up my right arm.

“I don’t like him,” I said. The guy across the street was playing with something, rolling something silver around in his hand. Pedestrians were steadily passing by him in either direction, but he hadn’t once bothered to glance up from his phone.

West Broadway was a major artery through this part of the city. It ran all the way from Burnaby up to the University of British Columbia, which was pretty much as west as it got without running into the Pacific Ocean. As was typical for January in Vancouver, the day was gray. Despite the cloud cover, I kept catching flashes of silver when the light hit whatever the guy was fooling around with. It was probably some creepy magic trick with coins or something.

“He tried to talk to me.”

“He must be insane then. Who would want to talk to you?”

Tyler was joking, but it wasn’t that far from the truth. I could count my friends on one hand. If I included my social-worker-of-the-day, I’d have to use my thumb.

I didn’t like people, so I tried to make sure they knew it right away. The moment they saw me, actually. I dyed my pale blond hair black, and wore it cut blunt just above my shoulders. I also wore white-framed tinted glasses over my weirdly pale gray eyes no matter the weather, and covered myself with as much black ink as I could without getting kicked out of the Residence. So nothing on my neck, face, or hands. I couldn’t even get the multiple piercings I wanted, so I hadn’t bothered with any. Not even in my ears.

That would all change today.

Today was my nineteenth birthday.

The Residence, which was what we nicknamed the group home for older kids, wasn’t going to kick me out. Not right away, at least. Not without another place to stay. But I’d be encouraged to move on. Hell, they’d been ‘transitioning’ me for two years now.

And yeah, I was an orphan. Something that wouldn’t even rate mentioning after today. Because no one cared if an adult had parents. As far as I’d seen, most adults tried to pretend they didn’t have parents. Except my shrink, who’d tried to invite me for Christmas dinner last year. As if I wanted to be trapped next to a huge turkey carcass with twenty people I didn’t know. Twenty strangers who all knew exactly who I was.

I doubt client confidentiality kept anyone’s mouth shut about me, ever. I was such a sad case. Cue the tiny violin. Orphaned at birth. Mother killed in a terrible car accident. Her body never identified. Father and extended family unknown. Surname unknown. Never adopted, though a couple of families gave it a good try. And — wait for it — with a diagnosis. The shame. The stigma. Gasp.

Excuse me while I choke on your sympathy.

Two more hours, and I could leave the country if I wanted.

And that was exactly the plan.

I was done with Vancouver. For now, at least. I might even get around to changing my name, if I could ever think of anything better than Rochelle Saintpaul. Yeah, the nurses at St. Paul’s Hospital nicknamed me ‘little rock,’ because I never cried. Flattering, huh? I’d seen the nickname in the nurses’ handwritten notes in my Ministry of Children and Family Development file. Then, when it came time to fill out my birth certificate, my social-worker-of-the-day figured out that Rochelle meant ‘little rock,’ and bam, I had an official name.

Whatever. Who wanted to live where it rained every day anyway?

∞∞∞

Continue Reading:

Chapter 1, part 2

Chapter 2, part 1

Chapter 2, part 2

Chapter 3, part 1 & 2 (Oct 1)

Chapter 3, part 2 & 3 (Oct 2)

– Shares welcomed and appreciated –

oracleseries_comingsoon

James reviews I See Me (Oracle 1)

Okay. I wrote this entire blog post, then deleted it because I was boring myself. Ha. Instead, I will leave you with a screenshot of the review that inspired my deleted blog post and let you make your own observations.

James – I hope you don’t mind me sharing this but I loved finding your review over on Amazon today.

James reviews I See Me

I just write the stories that haunt me, then cross my fingers and hope that readers might enjoy them. Thankfully some of you do!

Okay! I’m off to the Northwest Chocolate Festival in Seattle. See you on the other side.

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Fourteen and Fifteen

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

 I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 14 CHAPTER FOURTEEN – important beats:

  • BELIEVING (and colour). “I believed everything laid out before me in black and white. No color anywhere on the page. No color to confuse or beguile my senses. No color to soften the message, or soothe the pain.”
  • CHOICES (right or wrong, choices must be made). “I was never handing over something precious to another person for safe keeping. No matter how trustworthy they seemed, or should be. Never, ever again.”
  • FATE/DESTINY. “I reminded myself that I didn’t believe in fate.” and “Causality, fate, and destiny were just too much to think about, ever.”
  • Blackwell texting – LOL

Favourite Quotes

Beau had found me in that diner. He bought me a piece of apple pie and rescued me from the living hell of my broken brain. I’d believed I was broken. For Beau, I’d act like I was whole. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 14

I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 15 CHAPTER FIFTEEN – important beats:

  • Rochelle and Blackwell make a deal. Though – other than his obsession with Jade – it’s not completely clear what Blackwell is hoping Rochelle will see, what future he is hoping to thwart? Perhaps simply any future he doesn’t like the look of.
  • Too many realizations to sort through … “I didn’t have an unknown psychotic disorder.”
  • Questions about magic? If it’s real, then what? “Was magic energy? The energy I felt when I touched Beau, Jade, and Blackwell? Energy from where? And why me? What purpose did the visions have?”

Favourite Quotes

 ” … it’s a treat to be so near something of Jade’s creation without being stabbed by it.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Fifteen.

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One
Chapter Two & Three
Chapter Four  & Five
Chapter Six & Seven
Chapter Eight & Nine
Chapter Ten & Eleven
Chapter Twelve & Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen & Fifteen (above)
Chapter Sixteen

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Fourteen and Fifteen?

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Sixteen

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

Last but certainly not least when it comes to the plot of Oracle 1. Here are my thoughts on the final chapter. Feel free to ask any questions or share any thoughts about I See Me (Oracle 1) here. Anyone reading this far shouldn’t accidentally happen upon any spoilers.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – important beats:

  • CHI WEN, the far seer!!!
  • Rochelle’s parents get names!
  • “An oracle by birth.” Important wording here. 😀
  • “As you will see mine.” – this practically innocuous observation of Chi Wen’s is a HUGE hint to how he sees Rochelle’s role (specifically within the Dowser Series). But you’re going to have to wait for Dowser 5 and 6 to really know what he’s talking about 😛
  • Fate/Destiny/Luck – Chi Wen weighs in on the possibility of changing the future. “Magic moves where it will, not where we wish it.” This is an important hook into Oracle 2.
  • Rochelle seeing herself in the rearview mirror – “I didn’t recognize myself.”
  • Beau, Rochelle, and the Brave. Both have made ‘deals’ to save/protect the other.

Favourite Quotes

And wait, dragons were real now? Like fire-breathing, treasure-hording dragons with wings and scales and wickedly long claws? – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 16

Beau lifted my left hand and pressed a kiss to the black butterfly on my inner wrist. “I’ll follow your luck anywhere. Then I’ll fight and survive at your side if it runs out.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 16

“Me and you, beyond luck.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 16

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One

Chapter Two & Three

Chapter Four  & Five

Chapter Six & Seven

Chapter Eight & Nine

Chapter Ten & Eleven

Chapter Twelve & Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen & Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen (above)

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Sixteen?

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Twelve and Thirteen

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE – important beats:

  • Beau’s abandonment issues: “Don’t leave me,” he whispered fiercely. The idea was utterly preposterous. I laughed.”
  • The Dowser!! And Kandy 🙂
  • Getting to hear how the cupcakes taste from Rochelle’s POV. Love, love, loved it.
  • The alchemist fixes Rochelle’s necklace.
  • TENSION between Desmond and Jade.
  • All hell breaks loose. 😀

Favourite Quotes

I had a split second to mourn Beau. I was terribly sure that if I ever gained consciousness again, it would be without him. And what good would waking up be if I had to wake up without Beau? – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 12

“It’s broken,”I said. “It’s broken like I’m broken.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 12

I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – important beats:

  • Rumble in the house!
  • First hallucination with the drugs out of her system and her mother’s necklace attuned to her magic.
  • More B/G of how the Pack functions – “sharing magic,” etc

Favourite Quotes

 “If we can’t have Paris,” Desmond said. “At least we’ll always have Blackwell.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen.

I was within the vision. I breathed in the white light. I consumed it. It was me. It had always been me. This was me. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen.

My hallucinations up to this point certainly hadn’t been filled with fluffy bunnies. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen

She flinched. All that power, all that electric magic I could feel rolling off her, and I made her flinch. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen

“I don’t believe in fate or destiny.” Jade laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “It believes in you.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen

Then, propelled by a force I couldn’t deny any longer – that I couldn’t hope to control – I sat on the bed to draw. Right now, that was all I could do. But later, I was going to thwart destiny. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Thirteen

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One

Chapter Two & Three

Chapter Four  & Five

Chapter Six & Seven

Chapter Eight & Nine

Chapter Ten & Eleven

Chapter Twelve & Thirteen (above)

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Twelve and Thirteen?

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Ten and Eleven

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

 I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN – important beats:

  • Going to the Pack for save haven … and “ignoring the most important thing [Beau’s mother] ever taught” him.
  • Lara!! From a different POV (not Jade’s). “I’ll gladly dance naked on his bloody, well-gnawed bones.”

Favourite Quotes

Don’t play nice, Rochelle. I want you, not the fake you who’s just pretending.” “What if the fake me is all I have now?” “Look deeper.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 10

Beau reached around me to grab my seat belt, but I slapped his hand away. “I’m crazy, not a moron” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 10

“Yeah, I knew how to deal with predators. Don’t be prey.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 10

I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN – important beats:

  • Audrey! Learning to be a good beta, and failing at it.
  • Desmond! Everyone who thinks the Alpha is ‘handsome’ needs to reread Rochelle’s reaction/description of him. Also some intriguing displays of the Alpha power/magic that hasn’t been explored much in the Dowser Series.
  • Texting with Kandy – I love this scene.
  • Are cupcakes a possibility? LOL
  • Rochelle’s bravery is so compelling and even heart wrenching through these few chapters. She is totally lost, and yet willing to do anything for Beau. Even defending him against the Pack.

Favourite Quotes

“What magic to you wield, witch?” Desmond asked me. I raised my chin. “I’m not a witch.” “What are you then?” I thought about this for a second, then answered, “Crazy. Though psychotic might be a better word choice.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Eleven.

“Rochelle doesn’t eat meat,” Beau blurted, as if he was confessing some terrible sin. The three other shapeshifters turned to stare at me, completely aghast. Like I was condemning their religion or something. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Eleven.

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One

Chapter Two & Three

Chapter Four  & Five

Chapter Six & Seven

Chapter Eight & Nine

Chapter Ten & Eleven (above)

Chapter Twelve & Thirteen

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Ten and Eleven?

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Eight and Nine

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

 IMG_0344

CHAPTER EIGHT – important beats:

  • The bike – Beau gifting Rochelle with freedom
  • BLACKWELL!!! “A dark-haired, dark-suited man walked through the entrance with not a drop of rain on him.”
  • And what does Blackwell want?
  • Heartbreak … if Beau can see and ‘interact’ with Blackwell, then Beau is just an elaborate hallucination. Which Rochelle allows herself to believe because why else would someone like him be with her? If not for the fact that he wasn’t real?

Favourite Quotes

Jesus, my mind was wicked. Brilliant but wicked. To have conjured someone so complex, as compelling and terrifying as him … Blackwell. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Eight

But … the hot apple juice was a lie. A lie of love whispered in my ear by my evil, broken brain. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 8

I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE – important beats:

Beau, Beau, Beau – beautiful Beau knows when he is over his head, when he perhaps hasn’t handled a situation properly and he’s not afraid to go for help/back-up.

More BG on Beau here. Hints of a nasty childhood … is it better to be an orphan like Rochelle or have parents like Beau? I pick neither 🙁

Rochelle thinks everything … the necklace, the Brave, and even Beau are all part of some massive hallucination. One she is unwilling to wake up from now that she ‘conjured’ Beau.

Favourite Quotes

“And you love me.” Beau was crying now as well, shaking with it. “You love me, without question. Like no one has ever loved me. Not because of how I look, or what you think you can get me to do for you. And you think it’s a lie. You think it’s a lie.” – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Nine.

“It can’t be true,” I whispered. “That would be even crazier than I already am.”  – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter Nine.

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One

Chapter Two & Three

Chapter Four  & Five

Chapter Six & Seven

Chapter Eight & Nine (above)

Chapter Ten & Eleven

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Eight and Nine?

I See Me: Author-Read-Along: Chapters Six and Seven

*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS*

IMG_0342

CHAPTER SIX – important beats:

  • APPLE JUICE!
  • Eyes changing colour (magic).
  • Some hints to Beau’s not-so-great BG
  • Rochelle’s art from Beau’s POV. He sees the magic, but doesn’t know how to talk to Rochelle about it.

Favourite Quotes

He’d had the bakery heat up apple juice for me. I shouldn’t read too much into the action. There was no way he could possibly know what apple meant to me, just because I ordered apple pie last night. But still, my throat constricted, and when I tried to hold the emotion at bay, it flooded with a wave of heat through my face and neck. I gasped when the tightness moved to my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Oh, God. I think this was … happiness. Extreme, insane happiness. This didn’t happen in real life.

“It’s okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I choked out. I looked up from the hot apple juice in my hand to lock my gaze to his. His face was blurry through my unshed tears.

“Don’t kick me out,” he said.

“I won’t.”  – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 6

IMG_0343

CHAPTER SEVEN – important beats:

  • Pocket of bliss (including the references to the function of the Brave in Chapter Six “a microcosm of our own design.”) and Rochelle’s disbelief in “true love” or “fate,” which is VERY important later.
  • Hoyt is back. Silver reflection – Rochelle getting some hints here about magic (etc) that she promptly tries to reason away.
  • Beau stays.

Favourite Quotes

I was broken in a way that couldn’t be repaired. I could only endure. I really, really hoped that Beau staying meant he’d endure with me. – I See Me, Oracle 1, Chapter 7

I See Me (Oracle 1) read-a-long

Chapter One

Chapter Two & Three

Chapter Four  & Five

Chapter Six & Seven (above)

Chapter Eight & Nine

What were your thoughts, comments, and/or questions on Chapter Six and Seven?