Chimera

By B.D. Swan

Like most girls in high school, Kyanna Kash is caught between two guys. Unlike most girls in high school, only one of them is real. Or so she thinks.

The gorgeous defender resides only in her dreams—dreams born from humiliating fainting spells. Each blackout takes Ky deeper into a war-torn world; where deadly beasts are trained to hunt women; where royal soldiers betray their king; and where the protector she's fallen for exists. But when her dreamed-up Adonis soon disappears in a ferocious surprise attack, Ky will never know his fate––her new medication stops the faintings.

Stopping the meds will jeopardize Ky’s life, and that kind of news makes it easy to forget about silly dreams. Besides, there’s more important things to focus on, like deciding on a college with her majorly coveted boyfriend. Well, that is until she finds Grandma’s letter.

Her discovery implies the impossible. Grandma could not have been there––the dreams can’t be real. He cannot be real. The doctors all said Grandma was crazy, but what if she wasn’t? If she wasn’t, Ky must bring back the fainting spells. The soldier in her mind has captured her heart, and now he’s missing ... or worse. But what if Grandma really was crazy?

Ky is faced with a pulse-pounding decision: should she stop the meds to bring back the faintings? Time is of the essence, but returning to her dreams might carry grave consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.D. Swan
• Release date: Nov 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9780984846405

B.D. Swan

B.D. Swan (1982-present) was born and grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah. His path toward his first book began with earning his psychology degree from the University of Utah. During his studies, he began competitive public speaking where he represented the state of Utah twice and ranked nationally in an annual international speech competition through Toastmasters International--this taught him creative writing. After earning his degree, he moved to Cleveland, Ohio where he is currently pursuing a law degree. His legal education, he feels, substantially contributed in writing his debut novel. The legal mindset has taught him to find and cure the logical flaws other writers inadvertently overlook. This skill makes even his creative fantasy writing realistically plausible to the reader.The aspiration to write is fueled by his desire and ability to convey compelling themes entwined with thought provoking depths. He hopes that his readers not only enjoy reading his work, but find and ponder the deeper elements.He is married and has three beautiful daughters.

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Chimera

By B.D. Swan

Copyright © 2011 B.D. Swan

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Author’s Note

For Alexis, Samantha, and Faithe.

You each have a great purpose

Find what it is and make it so.

Prologue

Follow your dreams, my dad always told me. And don’t stop until you make them reality.

It was good advice when I was ten, but if Dad would’ve known his words would end up being the source of strength I relied on as I contemplated the hardest and most dangerous decision of my life, he may never have said them. But it was too late now. His words were all I could think of as I stood in our basement bathroom, holding my little orange bottle of pills over the toilet--trying to decide if I should follow my dreams.

The events that led me to such a drastic choice started around senior prom. In the weeks leading up to the big dance, I was an absolutely, nothing spectacular, totally normal, average girl. So average, in fact, that if it weren’t for my all-state boyfriend and a couple of extremely attractive friends, I might have gone through high school completely unseen.

Yes, I was that girl.

Being average has its perks. However, you tend not to notice them until your life, for some reason or another, turns completely opposite of normal. Celebrities often say how they miss being normal and walking down the street without getting mobbed by a mob of fans. Well, in some twisted sense, I now know how they feel. A huge part of me wishes I was normal again.

My fainting spells started happening for no reason at all, and each time they did I felt a greater and greater sense of fear that I was losing control of myself. However, each time I felt my legs buckle and turn to Jell-O, the simple thought of possibly seeing him instantly overrode that fear. Just laying eyes on him made me almost look forward to blacking out. But now I’m faced with the agonizing decision of whether or not the blackouts should stop.

The toughest part of making any decision is not necessarily determining which choice is the right choice, but knowing that the future of each choice is only an idea. Nothing becomes reality until we choose and start walking down the decision we made--and that’s with an ordinary decision, a decision between two options that we know are real. But what do you do when you must choose between something you know is real, and something that might not be?

That’s what made my decision so hard; the only thing I had to go on was a stupid letter written by a woman who spent her final days in mental hospital. But the vivid reality of my dreams is enough, in my mind, to prove the letter possibly true. But I can’t help but think, what if I’m wrong? What if I flush my pills and end up blacking out while walking across the street or driving my car? There are consequences to every decision, and mine could be fatal.

In the midst of the spinning confusion in my head, I did know two things for sure: there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with than my best friend--my boyfriend; and I am madly in love with a chimerical man--the protector who exists only when I’m unconscious.

My name is Kyanna, and this is the story of what led up to the quiet, three a.m. moment in my basement bathroom where I closed my eyes and answered the question of whether or not I should follow my dreams.

Chapter One

So Ky, have you picked out your dress for prom yet? Steph asked with a hint of somberness while she exchanged her books at her locker.

Steph was a true girly-girl and adorned the inside and outside of her locker with flowered magnets and hot celebs’ photos and scattered pictures of all of us girls we’d taken together throughout the years. She also had a chaotic array of magnetic words and letters she’d arrange to say things like i love matt and too sexy.

My mom’s taking me shopping this weekend, I answered as I pulled my history book out of my own picture plastered locker. You know, senior prom, mother living vicariously through her daughter kind of thing.

I tried to downplay it. Steph hadn’t been asked yet, and I could tell by the tone of her question that it bothered her. There was a good chance she’d be asked about a week before the big dance because that’s what usually happened with her. The truth was, she should’ve been the first girl in the school to be asked for every dance. Visually, she was everything a high school guy would ever want. She was prettier than I was, much prettier. She stood about two inches taller than me, which put her at 5’7"--in my opinion, the perfect height, because not only could she appear normal wearing flats, but she could also wear high fashion heels and still fall an inch shorter than any average guy. Her blonde hair always had a natural shine and her eyes and skin were flawless. If guys are as visual as everyone says they are, then it was amazing to learn that she was always one of the last to be asked. But sadly, her lavish looks made her come across high-maintenance, and in the end it kept the guys at arm’s distance.

I made a quick effort to change the subject to something that didn’t hint toward her dating status. Are you going to the game tomorrow?

I don’t know yet. My parents are talking about a date night, so I might be babysitting, she said as we started walking toward class.

Do you want company? I asked.

Oh, no. You need to be at the game to support Lincon.

On principle she may have been right, but Lincon was not the needy type. I’d been to most of his games over the past two years, but whenever I had to miss a few, it didn’t matter the reason, he always understood. Besides, when it came to the preseason baseball games it was often cold and rainy and he never really expected me to be there. But I usually showed up anyway just to show him that I could play the girlfriend role in even the worst of weather.

"I don’t have to be there. It’s a preseason game. It doesn’t even count on our region record. I’m telling you, if you want company, I’m happy to sit in your warm house with you and watch your brothers and sisters."

No, you need to support him. And you don’t want to watch my ADHD brothers … believe me, you don’t.

Your brothers aren’t that bad.

Steph looked at me, the kind of look that gives you one last chance to tell the honest truth before you’re met with an unnecessary argument.

Okay, they are that bad, I said with a slight chuckle.

See, she said. You know it’s a constant battle field when my parents are home, let alone when they leave. Whenever they’re gone I spend my time scraping spit wads off the bathroom ceiling.

Sounds to me like you need the help.

Duh. Don’t be dumb. I’d feel awful the whole time you were at my house, cleaning up spit wads and laundry detergent, when you should be at the game.

All right, all right. I got the hint. You don’t want me at your house.

Yes, thank you for finally catching the hint, brainiac.

As we talked we made our way through the senior ramp, an inclined hallway that connected to another wing of the school. It was also known as the hall of fame because it was where all the popular seniors--which consisted mostly of football players and their familiar following of cheerleaders--claimed their territory. In high school in Dallas, Texas, football players were kings and we had to walk through their royal court to get to class. We quickly hung a right turn, cutting sharply through the ego-mania and walked into our history class.

Did you hear Brandon Serose asked Jessica Manning to prom? Steph asked, setting her backpack on her desk and unzipping it.

No! I said in disbelief. He doesn’t waste any time, does he?

Nope. Just a couple days after he heard about her and Ty.

I set my history book on my desk and sat down. The newsflash was spicy because Jessica had just dumped Ty after she caught him cheating on her with some college freshman he’d met while bird-dogging girls down at Baylor University. Evidently, Brandon had swooped in like a hawk on a wounded squirrel.

Has she answered him? I asked, putting my backpack under my chair.

Not yet, but word is she’ll say yes. She’ll do it to get her mind off Ty.

How’s Ty going to react to that?

Give you one guess. Her tone indicated the obvious: Ty would flip and my already drama-filled school would add another drop of juice to the already overflowing cup of high school scandals and controversy.

The bell rang. The chattering conversations around Steph and me instantly muted and Mr. Huffner began writing the day’s topic on the board: PRE-REVOLUTIONARY WAR.

My grades were stellar, but every year history was my detriment. The class was so boring--nothing but boring dates and names of boring people. Most of the stories in the textbook had to do with war, government, and politics, things I inherently didn’t understand. Amidst my struggle, I’d always been able to land at least a B-plus, which was an ugly eyesore standing against the six other A’s on my report card. But I didn’t mind so much; I believed it rounded me out and kept me down to earth. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

After class, Steph and I met Brit at her locker and the three of us went to lunch. Lincon had a different lunch hour than I did, so he went to lunch with his buddies while I went with my girls. It worked out well, too much of your boyfriend can lead to a breakup; I’ve seen it happen more than once. In any case, it gave me the opportunity to keep my girlfriends close. I refused to be one of those girls who forgot their friends as soon as they had a steady.

The three of us were so different in our tastes and interests that we probably wouldn’t have ended up friends--or even have met each other--if it weren’t for the two week volleyball tournament in our sophomore gym class. As fate would have it, we ended up on the same team and all with a common enemy on the other side of the net--Katie Drysdale. Katie had her own high status clique and for one reason or another she ousted Steph, started rumors about Brit, and stole my boyfriend at the beginning of sophomore year--which worked out well for me because I met Lincon right after, but I still didn’t like her. As a return for her offenses, Steph and I would set the volley for Brit, who would spike the ball as hard as she could at Katie. And it was through the two weeks of strategic setting and spiking that the three of us bonded against our enemy and have remained allies ever since.

Our school’s lunchroom wasn’t large; in fact, for the size of the school it was relatively small. Most of the upper-class students left campus for lunch to hit the nearest fast food spot. During my junior year I fell prey to the prestige of being able to leave campus, but it lasted only as far as my checking account allowed. Soon I saw bigger fast food withdrawals than paycheck deposits, so I started brown bagging it. Really the only benefit to leaving campus for lunch was the sheer fact of being able to tell people that you were leaving campus for lunch.

So are you guys going to the game tomorrow night? Brit asked as she took a bite from her apple.

Brit was the more health conscious of the three of us. She was a natural athlete with hand-eye coordination that would humble any pro baseball player. I was coordinated and sporty, but Brit made me look like a wobbly toddler in comparison. She was also stunningly attractive, almost as beautiful as Steph. And for an eighteen-year-old, she had an incredible build thanks to some serious weight lifting.

I have to babysit, Steph replied. My parents planned a date night. But Ky’s going to the game. She has to.

"I don’t have to."

Oh, sure you do. Does the name Lincon Payne ring a bell? ‘The Wall’? The best catcher in the state? The top recruit in the region? Your boyfriend? Steph rambled in her usual sarcasm.

I keep telling you he understands that I won’t be at every game. I’ve missed a handful of games over the last two years, and besides, it’s not even regular season yet. He doesn’t care if I’m not there for the preseason games. The tone of my voice hid my true annoyance. I hated when people implied that my relationship status should control my life. People in relationships can still be independent; where’s the rule that says otherwise?

"So do you have something else to do tomorrow?" Brit butted in.

No.

So you’re going to the game then, Brit nearly commanded. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.

I swore she could sense that we were slightly intimidated by her with her squared shoulders, and was sure she used it against us. She knew we didn’t dare get into a serious argument with her, especially over petty things like going to a baseball game. I admired her confidence with confrontation. It was a quality I lacked.

Sounds good, I said, although it didn’t. The baseball games were fun, just not in March when it barely hovered above fifty degrees.

Our school had two powerhouse sports that always were in contention for state titles, football and baseball. In Texas, high school football was the state’s religion, but our school’s baseball games got a respectable draw, much more than schools in other areas, or so I’d heard. I loved baseball games. It was a sport I could understand, unlike football. I loved watching my boyfriend lunge and react to each pitch. He really was a wall. All last season he allowed only two passed balls. My favorite thing to watch though, was his occasional play at home plate. Lincon was tough, and when any base runner rounded third looking to score, more often than not he found himself either tagged out or knocked out--another reason for Lincon’s nickname.

At our school, Lincon was the man, and being the girlfriend of a guy with his status had natural consequences. To be the girlfriend of number nine required that you wear a target on your back for all the other jealous girls to aim for. The verbal assaults weren’t just at games, although that was when they were the most prevalent; they happened everywhere. "He’s dating her? was a common dig. Why would he settle for that? was almost as common. And of course, my personal favorite: I just don’t get it."

Truthfully, I didn’t get it either. It wasn’t that I was unattractive, but a guy like Lincon, who could have any girl in the school, should have Steph, or Haley, or even hard-bodied Brit on his arm. I paled in comparison to them--to most. I was a little shorter than average, which made me feel compelled to wear heels more often than tennis shoes just so I could appear normal in a crowded hallway. But my height I could live with; it was my boring brown colored hair I would trade first. I styled it and made it look good, but I’d trade it in for Steph’s bouncy golden silk with streaks in a heart beat. And the only muscle definition I had came from the naturally thin disposition of my genetics.

I did have one feature, however, that surpassed all the other girls--my eyes. My thick lashes were naturally long and curled, touching the bottoms of my eyebrows without any help from the tortuous lash crimpers. Although my eye color was bold enough not to need it, I liked to add a vibrant smoky shadow as an extra exclamation point. Lincon said he was impressed with my intellect, but mesmerized by my deep blue eyes. And when you find a feature that is able to ‘mesmerize’ a guy like Lincon, you play it up as much as you can. My extra unique eye characteristic, however, was the natural shimmery gloss, which gave them a constant reflective sparkle in the light. People always told me that they could tell I was a genuine person from the way my eyes sparkled.

Fortunately, my girlfriends didn’t judge me like the other girls did. They thought I was lucky to have the state’s best catcher as a high school sweetheart. And I was. After all, he treated me like gold. He knew my locker combination and never let more than two weeks pass before he surprised me with a small gift left inside it to brighten my day. My favorite was a snapshot of the two of us he’d put it in a dainty little frame and set neatly on the top shelf with a little stuffed animal. The funny thing was, he wouldn’t mind being seen with a little, pink, stuffed puppy dog, but he wouldn’t be caught dead holding a bouquet of flowers. It was one of those quirks I couldn’t explain but was in love with anyway.

Brit leaned over to Steph. I have it on good authority that Chad Trenton is going to ask you to prom.

Shut up! Steph yelled, throwing her food down as if it were poisonous. Chad was our student body vice president--a real charismatic guy, and good-looking too. Who did you hear that from?

Chad’s friend, Dan. They always hang out. I’d put my money on him asking you.

What did Dan say? Steph asked.

Well, he’s in my Mythology class and we’re always talking, right? Well, we start talking about prom and he asks if you’ve been asked yet. I say, ‘No, why? Are you wanting to ask her?’ He says, ‘No, it’s my friend,’ so I asked who, and he wouldn’t say. We went back and forth until finally he said, ‘Okay, if you promise not to tell Stephanie and ... show me your abs, I’ll tell.’

Oh my gosh! What did you do? Steph asked in a tone of excited shock.

I gave him what he bargained for and he gave me the name, Brit said nonchalantly. Guys are so easy, she said, biting into her apple again. Brit’s carved abs, along with her tanned skin, was a constant fascination with the guys at our school.

Steph looked at me with a wild fire in her eyes. I smiled back. I was genuinely happy for her. It would be incredibly awkward going to prom with the most desired guy in school while your two best friends, who have perfections that look like they were hand picked, sit at home. The news was actually quite relieving. Now if only Brit would get asked.

Lucky you. Chad is really cute, I said to Steph emphatically.

I know, huh?

I looked at Brit curiously. She was acting like she’d had a secret crush on Chad for quite some time.

Did Dan say when he was going to ask? Steph piped back in.

No. He was only trying to find out for Chad if you’d been asked. That’s as much as I got out of him, Brit said.

Should’ve showed him your butt. He would’ve spilled everything, Steph added, sounding as though she genuinely meant it.

Brit laughed. To get information for myself, maybe, but not for you. You’re lucky I was in a giving mood.

The interesting thing about Brit was that she was incredibly grounded. Out of all the girls in school she was probably the most deserving to flaunt her body and show off her hard work, but she didn’t. Episodes like the one with Dan were a rarity. She had every right to dress in short shorts and tank tops, to show off the lines in her legs and arms, but she dressed like the typical upper-middle-class high school senior. And although I couldn’t figure out why she was so reserved about showing off her sculpted definition, I admired her for it.

When lunch ended, a familiar headache made its unwelcome appearance yet again. The pain isolated at the back of my head and produced enough pressure to make the rest of the day extremely long, but not painful enough to be debilitating. The strange thing was that lately I had had these headaches come on without warning and they were always evil, sometimes lasting the entire day. Some were worse than others, but all in all, they were consistently horrid. The only thing I could figure was that I might have been sleeping wrong over the past couple weeks because up until recently I’d never had such painful and consistently isolated headaches before. Luckily I had only two classes after lunch--AP French and Wildlife Biology--and I just needed to make it through them before I could get home to my lovely painkillers I left at home.

Wildlife Biology was my favorite class. To me, the study of wild creatures was fascinating. If there were any occupation I’d choose at this particular juncture of my life, I’d choose something to do with animals--wild animals. Probably something like wildlife rescue. But I knew that deep down, that really wasn’t what I was destined for. So, until I discovered something better, I’d probably end up following the dream my dad had for me--a hard working lawyer.

After surviving the day despite the pain, I met up with Steph and Brit at our usual meeting place--the intersection leading to the gymnasium--and we walked out to the parking lot together. Lincon had baseball practice right after school and his final class was right by the locker room, so unless there was some special reason to meet up, we usually didn’t see each other after school. I was used to his busy schedule during the season; it came with the territory of dating Mr. Baseball. Though he also played football, baseball season was much busier than football season and I found myself missing the not as busy football schedule.

Normally, the girls and I tried to carpool to school, but it was a rare instance when we were all found in the same car. Most days, at least one of us was running late and would end up texting the others to tell them to go on without them and not wait. This morning I had been the late one and had to drive in by myself. I waved goodbye to Steph and Brit and found my way through the new Beamers, Mazdas, and Acuras to my car--my new white Civic.

On the occasions when I drove home from school alone, I enjoyed the quiet time. Lately, whenever I drove, I’d been driving with the radio off trying to find the answers to the questions that were eating at me. I wasn’t sure what would come after graduation, which was kind of scary considering it was coming up so fast. All I knew was that Lincon was being recruited by some division one schools and he wanted me to go with him. The problem was I received scholarships to some really good schools and was also admitted to some top ranked ones. To go away to school with the guy I was madly in love with meant saying no to a world class education. But saying yes to a world class education meant saying no to the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. In my mind, that was the dilemma because long distance relationships just don’t work, especially when one of you has Lincon’s looks--and stock.

Engrossed in the heartbreaking thought, I hadn’t even realized that I had entered my neighborhood. We lived on a quiet little street in a conforming subdivision in a suburb of Dallas, Texas. The houses in our neighborhood were all big and brick, with sharply manicured yards. Some would call us rich, but by no means was my family upper class.

Hi, Sis! How was school? my mom asked when I walked into the kitchen. She had called me Sis ever since Logan was born.

Not bad. How was your day? I responded, but I already knew the answer--it was the same every day.

She let out a sigh. Oh, it was hectic. I am so close to pushing this deal through I can almost taste it. But the sellers are digging their heels in over seven hundred bucks. She gathered some papers and put them in a folder near the phone on the counter. If Mom were able to push through every deal that she was so close to pushing through I’d be in boarding school right now and applying to Harvard.

My mom was a real estate agent. After years of jumping job to job she finally landed in the position of helping people buy and sell homes. She told us she did it for the flexibility--to work from home and be there when Logan and I got home from school. Actually, I think I’ve come home to an empty house more often than an occupied one. Since she got her license a year ago, she’s lived on the phone and is always out showing homes to clients. I can’t talk to her for more than five minutes without her cell phone rudely interrupting.

I’m sorry, I said, filling a glass with water and swallowing two Tylenol. I’m sure it will all work out.

What’s the matter? she asked, concerned.

Nothing, I just have a headache. I think I’m gonna go upstairs and lie down and try to kick it. Normally I refrained from meds, trying instead to tough out any pain, but the isolated headaches I’d had in the back of my head lately were next to a migraine on the pain scale.

Okay, is there anything I can-- Her cell phone cut her off. Hold on a sec, Sis, I need to take this.

I drank the rest of my water while I listened to the first minute of the conversation. When I could tell she was going to be on the phone for minutes instead of seconds, I snuck up to my room and lay down on my bed.

On the ceiling above my bed I had glow in the dark stars. They were my thinking stars. Whenever I needed to just relax or think, I would lie on my bed and look up at them, hoping they’d magically alter their positions and form themselves into a glowing green constellation that would spell out the answer to whatever problem I threw at them--like a magic 8-ball of sorts. So far, they had failed miserably in performing the feat, but they were pretty to look at when the lights went out.

As in the car, my thoughts immediately went to my future--what was I to do after graduation? Why spend money on a college education when I didn’t know what I wanted to do afterward? Perhaps the whole thing was too far away to really be worrying about it. After all, I was only eighteen and hadn’t even finished high school yet. I had plenty to keep me happy--the world’s greatest boyfriend, a solid academic record, a nice home, a new Honda, well-intended parents, and the best couple of girlfriends I could ask for. So why was I even worrying? Maybe I should just let my life’s purpose come to me instead of seeking it. Isn’t that what a lot of people do?

As the back of my head pounded, a strange and unfamiliar dizzying feeling suddenly came over me. I’d never felt dizzy while lying down before and the experience was a little frightening, especially when, for a brief moment, I could’ve sworn I felt outside of myself. But before I knew what was happening, the feeling was gone and the stars on my ceiling stared back at me, silently mocking me as they stubbornly refused to spell out any indication of what just happened.

Chapter Two

Twenty minutes later my headache started to subside. My glow in the dark thinking stars retained their original configuration as they once again left me answerless about my future--which made me feel only like a small and normal person in a world full of important giants. I could hear my mom on a new business call as she was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen trying to cook. Since dinner was obviously not ready yet, I decided to do some writing to avoid going down and being around the energy of her negotiations.

Every Saturday I volunteered at the assisted living care center. When I first started, I played cards or board games with the senior citizens in effort to give them a couple hours of fun conversation, but about four or five months ago my role there changed.

I had been spending time with Ruth, a little old lady who seemed to be growing more feeble by the day. One day she asked me about my interests and I told her how much I love to write, and about the upper level calligraphy class I took my junior year. Ruth then did something I’ll never forget. She held my hand in hers and asked me if I would write her love story--the story of how she met her husband. I of course agreed and brought a tape recorder with me the next Saturday. She told me as much of her story as her strength would allow, and we continued recording her story over the next three weeks. Then, for the next two weeks I worked furiously to write her story by hand, in calligraphy. After spending my own money to have the short story bound, I presented the finished book to her. Her tears gave me a greater gift than I could have asked for and at that moment I found I had a gift--the power of the pen. Before she died Ruth gave the book to her daughter, who told me the gift was invaluable to her. As childish as it was, I hoped one day I’d be able to write a love story of my own for my daughter to read--Lincon and Ky: Our Story. I liked the sound of it. Hopefully we could make it through college, even if we didn’t attend the same school.

After about an hour of writing I heard the garage door open--Dad was home. My dad was an attorney for the state. For the past fifteen years