When Lightning Strikes: Lightning Series, #1

By Kathleen Rovner

The island hides a mysterious secret…

Julie Marin has it all: supportive parents, incredible talent, and the almost-realized dream of becoming a professional dancer. When she's attacked leaving practice one night, her seeming perfection comes crashing down.

Without notice, her parents pack up the house and move Julie and her brother to a remote island. As she realizes her dreams may not come true after all, Julie starts to expect that everyone around her is hiding a secret. Meanwhile, she finds herself drawn to the disturbingly alluring Lucas and the arrogant but handsome Rory.

With her thoughts clouded by love and a strange island phenomenon, Julie learns that if she's going to have any chance at the life she wants, she'll need to solve the mystery before it's too late.

When Lightning Strikes is the first book in a series of suspenseful young adult fantasy novels with a touch of romance. If you like captivating stories, strong female characters, and mysterious paranormal twists, then you'll love Kathleen Rovner's first book in a compelling series.

Buy When Lighting Strikes to travel to the island today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willabby Press
• Release date: May 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513063546

Book preview

Also by Kathleen Rovner

Lightning Series

When Lightning Strikes

When Lightning Ignites

When Lightning Burns

When Lightning Strikes

Kathleen Rovner

For my family.

Cover Illustration by Melody Barber

Edited by Jeni Chappelle

Copyright © 2015

All rights reserved

Chapter 1: A Minor Discovery

≺≻

Sweat clung to the little dimple at the end of Julie’s upturned nose. It dripped down her face, stinging her eyes, wetting her lips and leaving a salty taste on her tongue. Her hair loosened from the tight knot at the nape of her neck, and a few auburn strands plastered the side of her face. She wanted to pull it tight again but couldn’t. If she lost her focus now, everything she’d worked so hard for would fall apart.

Julie’s muscles were on fire. Her breathing was controlled and timed with the moves, even if she wanted to gulp in a big deep breath.

She wouldn’t stop. Months of practice, and in a few more steps, she would nail it.

Julie, what are you still doing here? Everyone else left hours ago.

Julie ignored Tom’s gruff voice. She smiled blankly at the walls and mirrors as they spun by in the last turns. Her cheeks were so used to this expression, it almost hurt not to smile.

She came to a rest on her toes, arms stretched up fully in a perfect circle, middle fingers touching slightly. She extended back as far back as possible without toppling over, letting her left arm flutter out in a graceful line to help her to keep her balance.

The smile slipped slightly as she held the pose. This was the part that hurt. Julie tugged the practiced smile back into place. She wouldn’t spoil the show.

She could picture it all clearly. On the stage, the rest of the dancers would spin around her as they finished their own sets and came to a rest. The curtain would come down slowly. It would all happen deliberately, as she held herself, back bent as far as she could without collapsing.

This was the hardest part. Holding absolutely, perfectly, effortlessly still. Her left calf muscle twitched. A muscle in her upper arm twinged.

Just a few more seconds…

She would have to massage it, or the cramp would develop into a spasm. Which meant she would limp home—again. Her smile started to slip.

No thoughts, no pain. My mind is just an extension of my body. Quiet.

A warm feeling spread throughout her body, ending in a tingle in her fingers and toes. When this happened, Julie knew she was golden. She could hold any pose now. The weight of her body disappeared. It was exhilarating, as if a million tiny strings were holding her up.

It was like she could fly. Like she could float up into the air and feel no pain.

Her mouth quirked. She could picture Tom’s face if she floated up to the ceiling. The kind old janitor would freak out. Julie, Julie how did you get up there? You got to get down.

She held in a laugh and then gasped. The pain of staying this way came back sharply but faded again.

She was getting better and better at this over the last year. It had to be what the great dancers could do. Mind over matter, and all that. Their bodies trained to perfect condition to withstand poses like this one.

There was one problem. She was always more tired after getting into this groove. Sometimes she had trouble staying awake on her short bus ride home.

Count down time. One–one thousand, two–one thousand, three—

Girl, you have to stop. I got to get home, or my wife will be all over me. Again. And I don’t mean the good way. Tom sighed. Julie, come on. I waited to sweep and mop this studio last as it is.

Ten–one thousand! Julie shouted the last number of the countdown. Then she let her body go limp and collapse to the floor.

S–sorry. Staying in that pose made her heart work hard. Her chest heaved, and she gasped between words. Had…to…finish…perfect.

Yes, yes, fine, fine. I will start over there then—as usual.

Julie listened to the familiar sound of the mop bucket squeaking across the floor. Water sloshed onto the worn pine planks, and Tom grumbled more. They were the sounds she heard at the end of most practices. She stayed late as much as possible.

Tom, I nailed it. She flung her arms out to lie limply on the floor.

Humm. The mop squelched. She rolled her eyes. He didn’t get how big a moment this was.

I just nailed the hardest set of my life. One designed to bring the maximum amount of pain possible to the dancer as it is performed but keep the audiences’ eyes fixed on you. It is perfect. I know that the Academy will take me.

Her lips broke in to a real smile. This one made her violet eyes sparkle as she stared at the dimpled white ceiling tiles. Tom wasn’t listening to her natter on. He never responded with more than a grunt. Over the years she had learned that he must like her since he always cleaned where she practiced last.

I doubt there are more than five or ten dancers in the whole world who can do what I did. Just think what I can do if I go to a prestigious school like the Academy. Oh, I wish we lived in New York and not stupid Atlanta. She slapped her hand on the floor.

All she wanted was to be a professional dancer. Even as a little girl she had pushed and pushed to get from one dance studio to another until she was in the best that Atlanta had to offer.

But now she was stuck. She needed to get to the next level, and it was not in Atlanta. It was the Academy in New York.

You said the same last week.

Julie sat up and crossed her legs, watching Tom mop. She had already picked up the trash in the room to help him. Whatever gave her extra time and kept her on his good side. She kneaded her left calf muscles methodically as she rocked back and forth happily.

I’ve been dancing since I could walk, all so I could get to this point, this dream. My dream. Her eyes narrowed. And more importantly—no one else in the company can do this. Not even Rose.

Tom shook his head. Wasn’t Rose a friend of yours? Didn’t she used to stay and practice with you?

She laughed. Not since I beat her in that audition a few months ago. Ever since then, she hasn’t talked much to me. Didn’t you notice?

He shrugged and continued to slosh the mop across the floor, swinging it closer and closer to where she sat.

I’ll stretch over here and get out of your way. She eyed the mop as the brown water got closer.

Do what you like, since you will do it anyway. But he smiled as he said it.

Julie hid her own smile by reaching down to her toes with her palms, willing her muscles to relax. Tom always grumped, but in the end, he came to this room last. She was always nice to him. Her parents were firm believers in being kind to everyone. Maybe firm was too soft a word. More like militant. Sometimes she wondered if one of them was horribly teased in high school or something. No, that wouldn’t make sense. They always did everything perfectly.

Not all of the girls were kind to him though. They ignored him or gave him more work to do, acting like the spoiled brats that take expensive dance classes.

Over the years Julie had come to like him better than her friends at the dance studio, especially once it became clear that she was more talented than the rest of them. They didn’t pick on her, but they didn’t want to hang out with her anymore. She sighed. It would be nice to have a friend to dance with.

She caught Tom as he passed by, grasping his head in her hands and jumping up to give the stooped sixty–something man a quick peck on the cheek. His bronzed and lined face reddened. She loved making him blush.

Thanks for doing this room last and giving me the extra time.

Ahh, s’nothin, he sputtered. Be careful on your way home. There was a storm raging the whole time you were practicing. It’s died back now, but you can’t dance if you slip and break your leg.

Julie wrinkled her nose. There’s always a storm when I dance well. I think I should plan performances around weather reports.

Be careful. I know you don’t like storms. He patted her on the back.

I’m not going to let the weather stop my good mood. Besides, it sounds like it’s over now.

Pulling her hair the rest of the way out of the bun, she shook out the long layers and massaged her skull with her fingertips. No matter how many times she pulled it up, it always felt wonderful to let it down. Even if the part near her scalp was a little sticky with sweat.

It’s not as if she had a date or anything. Boys were a distraction from dancing, and she hadn’t met one that seemed worth time away from it. She glanced around the familiar mirrored room. This was her true love. The place she felt whole.

Reluctantly, Julie twisted her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She pulled out her clothes from her bag and slipped the ratty old Hotlanta shirt and jeans over her leotard and tights. She might like her practice stuff more, but wearing her dance stuff outside around here was a bad idea. With the hoodie pulled down over her eyes and her red wool scarf wrapped around her neck, in the dark she was often mistaken as a young boy. She didn’t mind. In a dancer’s world, less girly shapes equaled a better range of motion.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she sighed. Outside the air would be clingy mist, which made the night seem much later than it was. If she walked quickly, she could reach the bus stop a few blocks up the street before the 8:55 bus.

In the city there was always a buzz of talking, cars, sirens, and the whatever of busy city lives. She liked it that way. It felt like the whole place was one big organism that kept pace with its peoples’ lives.

Tonight Atlanta was quiet, like the city was holding its breath. It was early spring, and the air was too thick. The street lamps’ glow had trouble penetrating more than a few feet beyond the poles. People couldn’t be bothered to leave home to brave wet, dark streets.

The mist penetrated her hoodie after only a few steps on the street. Her shoulders slumped, and she started to shiver.

There was a loud boom, and white light flooded the sky above.

Julie jumped. The air crackled with electricity around her. Then the world was silent again. Just thunder and lightning. Perfectly natural and perfectly normal.

She pulled her hoodie tighter around her and walked faster. She didn’t like thunder. But she hated lightning.

She had good reason. Lightning had it out for her. When she was thirteen years old, lightning had come into her room while she slept, leaving the wall unmarred but killing all the appliances in the house. After that day, it followed her everywhere. It blew out a power box on the road beside her school one day and hit the road behind her when she was in a friend’s car. Electricity went out around her house all the time when storms hit because lightning hit the power lines.

Her friends joked that they should wear rubber suits around her. She didn’t bother telling her parents about any of it. They might tell her she needed a break from dancing, and then she’d feel prickly and tense, like something was building up inside her.

When she turned sixteen last May, the lightning stopped following her. A storm was just a storm again. Except on nights like tonight where the air prickled her from the inside out.

Thunder boomed again.

The lightning illuminated the neat three– and four–story buildings and narrow alleys dotting the street. She walked faster.

Boom.

There was a clatter off to the left. Julie squinted down the dark alley, but the lightning flash blinded her. A trashcan rolled into view. Her skin prickled, as if she was being watched. Maybe a cat or dog, scared by the lightning.

She hurried by the alleyway. A scrape echoed off the pavement behind her. She whipped her head around, but there was nothing there.

Still, she walked faster. Atlanta was holding its breath and the streets were empty around her. Some people preferred these renovated old buildings as apartments and stores since they had character. At the moment, the old gables and trimmings added to the creepy factor.

Another scrape sounded, closer this time.

A shiver rushed down her spine. She gulped back a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to turn around but had to.

Julie started. A man was right behind her. His lanky brown hair stuck out at odd angles, and his eyes were bloodshot. His jacket and pants were splattered with mud.

He ran at her.

She froze, like a deer in headlights. His hands wrapped around the top of her small arms. She was trapped.

Give me money, and I let you go home. The man shook his head. The reek from his rotting teeth took her breath away and made her eyes water.

She sputtered and coughed.

He shook her. She gagged, swallowing the bitter taste. A wave of cold fear washed over her. The man might hit her if she got sick.

Are you dumb or something, boy?

Julie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

The man shook her again, and her hoodie slipped off. A lock of auburn hair fell over her face. He grabbed the hair, and his eyes went wide. He leaned in, his breath coating her skin.

You ain’t no boy. Something nasty sparked in his eyes. A smile came over his chapped lips.

She willed herself to move or run—do something. She screamed.

Hey. He winced, and his hold on her arms slackened for a moment.

The scream broke her fear. Julie wrenched herself free, spun around, and ran. It was a few seconds before she realized that she went straight down a dark alleyway.

Boom.

The storm lit up her surroundings. She started, stumbling a bit in her run. For a moment, she saw trashcans lined neatly along the alleyway’s sides. The rain was making a grimy rivulet down the middle. There was a loud crash behind her.

Stupid trash can. He kicked away the trash can he’d stumbled over as he came after her.

Boom.

The light blinded her again, but she kept straight. He was fast. He wasn’t drunk. Maybe he was on something else. Her eyes adjusted back. She could see the other end of the ally. The streetlights beyond the dark rectangles of the two buildings to either side of her shone like a beacon.

The next street was like the one she was on. Deserted. At least she would be out in the open. Why hadn’t she run down the other street?

Pain cut across her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Something held her tight—the straps of her bag. Her feet still moved, but she didn’t.

Gotcha. He wrenched her around and threw her to the ground, dropping down on top of her.

I have got to pee on myself. They always say you should pee on yourself.

Her bladder felt shriveled to the size of a pea as wave after wave of cold fear washed over her.

How the hell am I supposed to pee on myself?

A hysterical giggle started to rise in her throat, but she cut it off with a squeak. She had to think.

The duffle softened her landing, but she lay at an awkward angle with her right arm pinned by the bag’s strap. He easily held her left arm with one hand. Pain lanced along her left leg, and spasms clenched her calf muscle.

She sucked in a breath and gagged. His foul, chapped mouth smashed down on hers, forcing her head back into the alleyway’s rivulet. She choked back another gag while trying to keep her lips tightly sealed.

She could bite him. But she couldn’t bear the thought of her teeth cutting through his greasy skin and his blood getting inside her mouth. Instead she gritted her teeth and pushed her face as far to the side as possible. The dirty cold water trickled against her mouth and into her ear.

Don’t fight it, and it will be easier. He laughed as he wrapped his other hand around her long ponytail. Julie opened her mouth to scream. He jerked her head back painfully and pulled out a small knife from one of his jacket pockets. He pressed the end to her exposed neck and jabbed it against her windpipe. I can cut that scream off. You better remember that.

She closed her mouth with a sob. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest as she tried to suck in her next breath.

He ran the hand with the knife down her chest. His bloodshot eyes stayed fixed on her face as he found the bottom of her hoodie and put a hand underneath. The butt of his knife pressed against her stomach as he searched for the edge of her leotard. What’s this?

It’s all one piece. She was unable to keep the happiness out of her voice.

He smashed his fist straight down on her face. Pain arced across her left cheek, and lights danced along her vision as everything went dark.

Cold water running into her ear woke her up a few minutes later. She felt something sharp scrape along her leg. Her pants were down, and the man was trying to use the knife to cut away her leotard. His pants were already down.

Julie screamed.

He lurched up and smashed her face over and over. Her head jolted from side to side. She started to black out again.

If he kept hitting her, she wouldn’t remember. Maybe that would be better.

Fight, Julie. Fight it.

She tried to move her arms. Her fingers curled, but her arms seemed detached from her. She blinked back the dots dancing across her eyes and gagged with dizziness.

Dimly, she heard him cursing as he kept trying to cut away her leotard. She shut her eyes, feeling like she was about to float away from the dizziness and pain. It made what was happening less real.

Then something inside of her—something balled up—unraveled.

Boom.

White light filled her vision, even behind closed eyelids. Every vein stood out in stark relief. Every hair on her lifted at once. The cells in her body vibrated as if they were dancing in a warm water stream that washed over her, wave after wave after wave.

Was she dying?

Then it stopped. It was brief and intense but not painful. A feeling of release swept over her, like some secret locked up place in her soul was now blissfully open. Her whole body relaxed.

Boom. The sound brought her back to reality.

The man stilled. His grip on her left arm tightened convulsively and then slackened. He collapsed. His face smashed down on her chin, cutting her lip open, and his weight pushed her further into the muddy water.

Julie sucked in a few breaths. The strong odor of singed hair filled her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose. Where was it coming from?

It took a moment for her to realize that the man wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing. The singed smell was his hair, his skin. Her stomach roiled up in a heave. The movement caused his face to roll over on her chest. His eyes were wide and blank.

She screamed.

Pushing at him with her free arm, she was able to move him off her a little. He seemed impossibly heavy—he didn’t look that big. Or she was too weak to move him.

The movement made her head spin. Another wave of nausea came up, and Julie leaned to the side to retch. Stomach acid burned down her cheek, mixing with the dirty water in her ear.

She pushed at him again, trying to roll him off. It was harder this time to move. Her arms and legs felt weighed down, even where the man wasn’t lying. She strained her arms until they wobbled and gave out.

Her eyes rolled back as a stronger wave of nausea washed over her. She vomited until her throat felt raw. Little white spots danced across her vision. Her head pounded. Another wave of nausea swept over her, and she retched again.

Help, she croaked out. Help.

The alley stayed quiet around her. The steady drip of moisture falling off trashcans and drainpipes was the only sound. No lights came on in the surrounding windows.

Oh my god, please help me. Please someone help me. Please find me. Her words barely made it past her bloody lips. Tears mingled with the dirt and vomit on her cheeks. She started to shake as another wave of nausea hit. Her stomach ached.

Julie took a deep breath. She needed help. She needed…her phone.

She forced her hands to move to her jean pocket where she normally kept it. Instead, her fingers found the slick fabric of her leotard. Shit.

He must have been lying on top of where her phone was. She blinked back tears and stopped a sob at what had almost happened.

She hesitated. A wave of nausea hit her again. Her head throbbed, and she could barely keep her eyes open. She wanted to slip away.

She could do this.

Carefully, trying not to think about it too much, Julie wiggled her free hand between herself and him. She sniffed and tried to squeeze back the tears.

She found the top of her jeans and felt a small lump that had to be her phone. Her hands worked around, trying to find the opening to her pocket. Her fingertips closed around the smooth plastic case.

Another wave of nausea hit, even stronger than the last. The stomach acid left a bitter taste in her mouth. More of it dribbled down the side of her face, stinging both her cut lip and her cheek. She blinked back more tears.

She wiped her face with the cuff of her sweater but pulled it away quickly. It smelled like old sweat and burnt hair. Like him.

The misty rain continued to pour down and slowly washed her face. Her eyelids started to close. Her fingers struggled to keep a tight grip on her phone.

Julie pressed the green button, knowing it will go to her last call. Her mom. Somewhere her mom’s cell rang. She saw the call connect through narrow slits. Finally it