Inception

By Merilyn Dignum

When Mia was very young, the ability to channel her emotions into other people when she touched them started without warning, or any plausible explanation. But it’s an ability that’s helped her survive on the streets where she’s been on the run and living off the grid since she was twelve.

At seventeen she crossed paths with a small group who survive in the shadows of the city by doing jobs for ‘clients’ from all walks of life. She now finally feels like she belongs somewhere. Life finally looks good. That is until the group takes in a new member and trouble arrives soon after.

As Mia struggles to stay ahead of those who want to capture her and take advantage of her ability, she discovers the truth behind her unique genetics.

She discovers she’s not alone.

** This series contains feisty characters, and some coarse language and violence. **

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merilyn Dignum
• Release date: Aug 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476341262

Merilyn Dignum

I was born and raised in Adelaide, a city I love, where I still live with my husband and two Great Danes. I've done a bit of travelling but there's no place like home.I do read a wide variety of genres but my first loves are Fantasy and Science Fiction which is probably why ‘Ties That Bond’ doesn’t quite fit comfortably into either genre yet happily sits in the grey area in between.

Book preview

Inception

Ties That Bond Book 1

Merilyn Dignum

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Merilyn Dignum

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to Dave and Judi my beta readers who have been with me from the beginning. Your feedback, insights and encouragement have not only been sincerely appreciated but have also made this a better book.

Janette, your random e-mails of encouragement, sent after one of our chats, were also sincerely appreciated and made me smile. Thank you also for joining my small pool of beta readers.

Thank you to Steve for asking the hard questions that helped with the decision to hit the delete key.

Jess, thank you for your help with the final prep work, enabling me to push on and publish.

To all my family and friends, thank you for the support you have shown me in so many different ways.

For Charlton whose love, support and encouragement made this book possible.

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Connect with me on-line

Chapter 1

Lying back, I surround myself with the sumptuous pillows piled high on the bed. I can’t believe how comfortable this is. The pillows are soft, their covers are silky, and they have a sensual feel to the touch. The quilt beneath me feels just as wonderful with its thick, soft filling. With the moonlight coming in through the window, I can see that the quilt cover matches the pillows perfectly. This bed’s just like the ones I’ve seen in one of those glossy magazines. I’m in heaven. This is the life. It just isn’t my life.

I’ve almost drifted off to sleep when I hear the footsteps coming up the hall—good thing I have excellent hearing—and my eyes fix on the door. The handle turns slowly, no doubt to minimise any noise, and a figure slips in, closing the door with a soft click.

Good thing Aunt Sarah’s a heavy sleeper, Jade.

The figure jumps and fumbles for the light. The face that turns to glare at me could be my own, except for the fair complexion framed in wispy blonde hair.

I can only assume one of us must have our mother’s colouring and one our father’s. I’ve not seen any photos of them, been told none exist, and I have shadowy memories of him, but none of her. Aunt Sarah’s always refused to talk about either of them.

We’re like night and day, complete opposites. She’s fair with blonde hair and light blue eyes. I’m dark, with a tanned look even though I don’t spend a lot of time in the sun, dark brown, almost black hair, and dark blue eyes with violet flecks. It’s a strange colour and often gets me extra attention from guys. Not that I need it though, I don’t reckon it would matter what colour my eyes were.

We’re both tall, I’m a centimetre taller than her at 180, and we’re both slim, but still have the dangerous sexy curves that drive guys crazy, and we both use them, just in different ways.

There’s only one thing we have in common, one thing that shows we’re related—our face. We could pass as twins. Our faces are almost identical, but in reality there’s ten months between us. She was born in January and I was born in November.

Either our mother wanted to get the birthing part of her life over and done with as quick as possible, or someone screwed up the birth control. We’ll never know. She disappeared a few months after I was born. I have a vague memory of hearing someone say something about it. Two babies were probably too much for her.

Then he disappeared when I was about four. Like I said, I have shadowy memories of him, very shadowy. I remember a tall man, but then when you’re four, everyone’s tall.

We both came to live with Aunt Sarah. Well. for the first year, but when I was five, she shipped me off saying I was too hard to handle. She said she couldn’t cope with me as well. At least, that’s what I was told.

What the hell are you doing here? she growls.

Is that how you greet me after all these months?

You’re not supposed to be here. In fact, I should tell those people you come here every few months so they can wait for you, and take you back to whatever home you’re supposed to be in.

It’s her usual threat, the one she never follows through on. In fact, I suspect she’s more uncomfortable with the thought of me back in the foster system than she is with my surprise visits, but there’s no way for me to be absolutely sure about that. I’d told her once that the only way they’d get me back in was over my dead body, or someone else’s. I reckon she actually believed me.

The foster system sucked. Well, for me anyway. I never stayed long in any foster home I was put into. Sometimes it was weeks, a few I lasted a month or two. I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that when I was sad or angry, and one of the foster parents tried to comfort me, as soon as they took my hand, they became sad or angry. After the second or third incident, off I went to another home.

As I got older, I tried to keep to myself, tried not to make physical contact, because for whatever reason, that was the beginning of the end. I was fine with it, but the damn shrinks insisted my behaviour was unhealthy and needed to be dealt with. They assumed my behaviour was a sign of abuse from somewhere in my past, and that I needed to be shown healthy forms of contact and love, and they always insisted on the current foster family doing just that.

You would’ve thought eventually something might’ve clicked in their heads, idiots, but no, they told the next family the exact same thing. It was as frustrating as hell that no one would listen to me. I was only a kid and my opinion was worth shit.

The last home still gives me nightmares sometimes and was my shortest stay ever, a real record—one day. I was twelve.

The wife was a nurse on afternoon shift, so she wasn’t there for dinner and bedtime. Might’ve been different if she had, but then, it just might’ve taken a little longer to happen, who knows. The husband wasn’t interesting in just tucking me into bed.

I can still picture his large silhouette leaning over me, feel his hot disgusting breath on my face, feel his weight. There was no one to hear me scream. I pummelled him with my small fists, which only made him laugh. I tried to push him away. Fear and hate burst up from somewhere deep inside me, and in desperation I put my hands to his temples, trying to push his head away from me, and that’s when it started. His eyes flashed with fear, then pain, before glazing over, and he fell to the floor screaming, holding his head.

I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it was my chance to escape. As his screams rang in my ears, I jumped out of bed, grabbed the clothes and shoes I’d worn that day, and the small plastic bag that held a few more items of clothing, all I had, and ran. I haven’t really stopped running since.

I give her a dejected look. Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that I might just wanna say hello and catch up, considering we don’t see each other that often? Don’t you think at least one of us should make the effort? We are blood.

It was true. I wanted to catch up and make sure she was doing all right, but I knew she didn’t believe me.

I was about thirteen when she pushed me away and told me to leave her alone forever. She said she didn’t want me spoiling things with her and Aunt Sarah. It hadn’t been a happy reunion, especially when she called me a freak because I tried to explain to her what was happening to me. She didn’t understand, couldn’t I guess, because it wasn’t happening to her.

That’d hurt, but it didn’t stop me from caring about her. After all, she’s the only blood relative I have. I don’t count Aunt Sarah seeing how she dumped me into the system.

She glares at me. I told you to leave me alone, and I meant it. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it, so get out.

I sigh. So, you don’t believe me about catching up, huh?

You only show up when you want something. What do you want now?

So, no sisterly hug then, I’m guessing.

You reek. I’m not coming anywhere near you. When was the last time you washed?

She has a point. Real showers aren’t a regular luxury for me at the moment. I don’t have the access, but I try to do my best with the old splash and wipe, or swim, and the occasional borrowing of someone else’s bathroom.

And those clothes are disgusting. When were they last washed? Get off my bed. You’re filthy, she adds.

I look down at what I’m wearing. Yep, another good point. They could do with a clean too. These two gripes of hers are, from my point of view, the major downside to not having a proper home.

Okay, down to business then. I swing my legs off the bed and stand. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a piece of paper, unfold it and dangle it in front of her. It’s a printout of a still taken from CCTV footage. She tries to grab it, but I pull it out of her reach. It’s a nice clear picture, don’t you think? What’s it worth to you?

She only ever seems willing to believe I want contact to get something, so in the end I always play along. I have to admit it makes it a little easier to deal with our completely opposite existences if I score from her while I’m here, but it only supports her belief she’s right, which always leaves me a little empty inside, but I’d never let her know. She wouldn’t believe me anyway, so what’s the point? It seems we’re destined to replay this emotionally destructive cycle for the rest of our lives.

I wish we were closer like we used to be when we were little, but fate, destiny, the universe, whatever you want to call it, put a stop to that and now it’s too late. Too much has happened.

You’re a bitch. She drops onto the bed.

So, what’s it worth to you to keep your squeaky clean image? I wave the photo in front of her again, just out of reach.

For whatever reason, Aunt Sarah seems to believe my sister’s an angel, and not capable of doing anything wrong, or acting like a normal teenager. Then again, maybe she doesn’t want to know any different. I don’t know what’s really going on, and honestly, I don’t care. I just use the situation to my advantage. It gives me a valid reason, well it’s valid as far as she’s concerned, to make contact.

Why do you do this? You never change. Her voice is so soft I would’ve missed what she said if my hearing was normal.

Neither do you. I move around her room, looking at all her little possessions. She’d need at least two large suitcases—no, scratch that, definitely more than two—to pack all this up. Puts my backpack with its meagre contents to shame, but then, comparing our two existences, puts everything about me to shame. I have a few things back at the squat, but they’re what I use on jobs, and easy to replace. Everything I value is in my backpack.

I run my fingers over the necklaces on her jewellery stand, lots of coloured beads and crystals, flashy and cheap, none of it real. Below the necklaces in a tray are rings and bracelets. There, buried under all the cheap gaudiness, is her jade teardrop on a fine silver chain.

Hey, what’s this doing buried? Don’t you wear it anymore? I hold it up, and the light catches the stone and seems to glow from within.

She glares at me. Put it back. That’s one thing you can’t have.

Why would I want it when I have one of my own? I pull a chain up from under my T-shirt to show my teardrop made of amber.

Thought you would’ve hocked that by now.

She sounds a little too sarcastic for my liking, but I let it go. It’s the only thing I still have from my childhood. The only thing that makes me believe I might’ve been happy once, but something I don’t think about often. There’s no point.

I tell you what… I go to her wardrobe and remove a few items I had looked at earlier when I was bored. You think about the photo, and I’m gonna sneak up the hall and take a shower. It’s up to you whether Aunt Sarah wakes up and finds me here or not. I pick up my bag and slip out the door.

I know she won’t want Aunt Sarah finding out I’m here. The shit would really hit the fan if Aunt Sarah thought I’d been hanging around here. If she knew I picked the locks and let myself in now and again. So, as long as I’m quiet, I won’t be the one to wake her. Aunt Sarah can sleep through an earthquake.

I actually haven’t come face to face with Aunt Sarah since before I left that last foster home. A caseworker used to organise the occasional visit so I could spend time with Jade. I know Aunt Sarah hated those visits, and mostly ignored me, probably because I always asked her questions she refused to answer. My visits always seemed to make her and Jade uncomfortable.

I lock the bathroom door behind me and undress, dropping my clothes in a pile on the floor, before stepping into the shower. In a recess in the wall stands a range of different shower gels, shampoos, and conditioners. I stare at them, deciding which to use as the warm water runs over me. Choices. It’s so rare that I have choices.

The places where I sometimes borrow the bathroom—okay, break-in to shower—don’t have a variety to choose from. In fact, most use home brands.

When the need arises, I stake out a place that looks like it might be an easy target with no alarms or complicated locks on the windows or doors. Basic locks are easy to open. I’d learnt that skill years ago through necessity. If it looks like the owners might’ve gone away for at least a day or two, I hang around and keep watch. If no one comes or goes during the day and into the evening, I let myself in after midnight. I nearly got caught once, but only once, and that’s one reason I don’t do it too often anymore.

I always clean up after myself and don’t steal anything. I don’t count using soap, or taking food as stealing, even though it technically is. I never go through their personal stuff and take anything like jewellery or money. That’s not why I’m there. In the past I might’ve gained a shirt or a pair of jeans, here and there, but not anymore.

After showering, I dress in the clean clothes, remove a plastic bag from my backpack, put my dirty clothes in it, and put it back in my bag. To be honest, I’d gone through her wardrobe and drawers earlier, and liberated a few clothes that looked cute yet practical, and don’t want what I’ve been wearing to mess them up. She won’t miss them, she has so much.

I walk back up the hall and into her room. She’s still sitting on her bed. So, have you decided?

She doesn’t look at me or speak as she points to the end of the bed where a few notes and coins lay.

I count the money as I pick it up. That’s it? That’s all you’ve got, $67.55? Wow, has Aunt Sarah cut your allowance?

She doesn’t look at me. That’s it. I’ve been out, and that’s all that’s left. Take it or leave it.

Fine. I flip the folded paper to her and it lands on the bed next to her leg. Cute guy. Who is he anyway?

She unfolds it as she picks it up and stares at it. He’s none of your business, she snaps.

It’s obvious I’ve had a negative effect on her mood, as usual. I always feel down after one of our little get-togethers and it’ll take a while for my mood to lift. I can only assume it’s the same for her.

Yeah, whatever, just remember I am watching you, Jade. Hugs and kisses.

Climbing out her window, I blend into the shadows and head home.

Chapter 2

I slip through the side door of the old warehouse, stroll across the large open area, and up the stairs near the far wall. About halfway along the landing, there’s an open hallway to the right that has offices, and a large kitchen running off either side of it. We use all the space. The main office door’s on the corner of the landing, and the hallway. That’s my destination. This upstairs area has large support beams underneath it, and we’re lucky that all the floors are still solid.

From outside, this place still looks abandoned. It’s in the middle of two other warehouses, in worse condition than this one, on a wharf right by the Port River. No one can tell we’re living here. We’ve blacked out all the windows, and filled a few large gaps we found in the metal walls, so our lights won’t draw attention to us. We don’t have any neighbours to worry about. In fact, there’s no housing around for at least 2k’s. We just have to be careful of passing boats.

There are still small rust holes in some of the metal sheets, but nothing big enough to make our lights obvious. It’s not like we turn all the lights on at once, and the rooms we use the most have everything plugged.

Trent looks over at me as I enter. You get it?

Yeah, here’s your share. I throw a twenty his way.

That’s it?

What can I say? We got her on a low night. She’d already been out partying. I thought some was better than none, but hey, if you don’t want it, give it back. I throw myself on one of the old couches in the opposite corner of the room, where there are also a couple of old armchairs, and well-worn bean bags.

Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. Grinning, he pockets the money.

Well, maybe next time I’ll catch her with more. Keep an eye out for something juicier.

Trent turns back to the computer screens in front of him.

I’d stumbled upon him and his crew about eight months ago. At first two of them thought I might be a fun little toy to play with, but I soon set them straight.

I’ve discovered over time that my fear and anger causes people to suffer if I touch them, not just change their mood. As I’ve gotten older, my touch has become more potent. The very first time had been that foster parent, but there have been many more since him who I’ve learnt to refine my… let’s call them skills, on.

Unfortunately for a few of them, with weakened blood vessels or arteries, I caused a fatal aneurism or heart attack. It was after the third incident, with the body count rising, that I realised what had to be happening. That’d been quite a shock, and I’d had a hard time dealing with the truth, but I gradually came to accept it. The fact is, they caused the situation by trying to take advantage of me, and if it came down to me or them, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.

I’ve become used to the fact that my hands can be very useful weapons if I need them to be. Although sometimes I wonder if I’m too used to it, if it makes me a little too reckless, but that still doesn’t give them the right to try anything. Honestly though, I don’t like having blood on my hands, even if it’s in self-defence.

There’s a positive side to my skills, though. My joy and pleasure can intensify someone else’s, a very handy tool. It’s one that has, in the past, enabled me to feed and clothe myself well, when I’ve needed to, and there was no other choice. Although, as I found out the hard way once, if you pick the wrong mark, there’s the real possibility they’ll want to put you to work. Now, I don’t have a problem with that type of business, but it’s just not for me. Whatever I do, I do on my terms, no one else’s.

Anyway, both sets of skills have helped me survive, and they definitely helped me with Trent’s guys.

The first one of his group that tried to grab me was the last. The first burst of fear I felt at his touch was quickly replaced with anger, anger I channelled into him. His screams of agony made sure the other one kept his distance, but also bought the rest running. As he let me go, I swung behind him, placing an arm around his neck and a hand on his shoulder.

I reduced the amount of anger flowing into him and let just enough seep through to cause him discomfort. Then I set them all straight on how I expected to be treated. I only had to increase the level again once, when he gave me a bit of trouble, and he soon realised it was better for him to shut up and stay still. When I finally let him go, he was left with a pretty intense headache, but no other side effects.

After they saw what I could do, we sat down and discussed a possible working relationship. None of us had a choice, not really. I’d discovered them, and there was nothing they could do about that, and I needed a safe place to stay.

Using large surges of my emotions drains my energy levels quickly, which leaves me vulnerable. If it didn’t, I might’ve chosen to take them all on, try to make them forget me, something I’m still not good at, and run. But I was tired of running, and there were too many of them.

Thankfully, they—well, Trent and the rest followed his lead—realised the skill I’d revealed had potential uses for the work they did. So, I agreed to help out on some of their jobs, and