Faded (The Flicker Effect, Book 3)

By Melanie Hooyenga

Even the best intentions have consequences.

Biz didn’t think life could get worse after the tragic events that surrounded her last flicker, but when she accidentally flickers on her eighteenth birthday after a pre-party celebration—she’s forced to face the consequences of her actions in a way she never imagined.

As her life falls apart, she turns to the one person who promised to protect her, only to have her trust shattered—again.

And when an anonymous email threatens to reveal her secret, Biz must decide if flickering is worth the permanent damage it could cause her body or if she needs to stay in this timeline.

Forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Hooyenga
• Release date: Jun 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310328350

Melanie Hooyenga

Multi-award winning young adult author Melanie Hooyenga writes books about strong girls who learn to navigate life despite its challenges. She first started writing as a teenager and finds she still relates best to that age group.Her award-winning YA sports romance series, The Rules Series, is about girls from Colorado falling in love and learning to stand up on their own. Her YA time travel trilogy, The Flicker Effect, is about a teen who uses sunlight to travel back to yesterday. The first book, Flicker, won first place for Middle Grade/Young Adult in the Writer’s Digest 2015 Self-Published eBook awards, and The Rules Series has won ten awards, including Finalist for MG/YA in the 2019 BookLife Prize. The first book in her new series, Chasing the Sun, won gold for young adult general fiction in the Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards and was named one of the Best Indie eBooks of 2020 by Barnes & Noble Press.When not writing books, you can find her wrangling her Miniature Schnauzer Gus and playing every sport imaginable with her husband Jeremy.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

If your birthday has to land on a school day, having it on a Friday is far superior to the rest of the week. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Amelia, my best friend and biggest cheerleader, has planned a party to end all parties and she’s convinced me to hang streamers from every permanent fixture in her house.

I grab a roll from the plastic bag. This one reads Happy Birthday. Remind me why crinkled paper is essential at a party. Aren’t we getting a little old for this?

Amelia pouts, but it’s quickly replaced with a huge smile that lights up her face. That one goes over the kitchen table.

I tilt my head.

For your cake!

Do we really need to announce that it’s my birthday?

Biz, eighteen is a big deal. Huge. You should be excited!

I sink into a chair. I am excited. Sort of. I just wish... I trail off.

She stops in front of me, clutching a roll of tape to her chest. I can still invite him.

I shake my head. No. I haven’t spoken to Cameron since Katie’s funeral. I don’t think a party is the right time.

When is? You can’t go the rest of the year not talking to each other. You and Cam have been best friends since forever. Two months ago he told you he loves you. That doesn’t just go away because his sister died.

My heart flinches. I thought I loved him, too, but too much has happened. Sometimes it does. It’s been two months since Katie killed herself. I have no idea if he still blames me for not trying hard enough to stop her, but I couldn’t flicker three times. I shake my head.

We’ve had this conversation before and Amelia has yet to find a way to justify the fact that Cameron was willing to risk my life to save Katie. A double flicker—going back a second time before I’ve caught up to the time of the first flicker—already led to brain surgery once, and when I went back the second time to help Katie, we didn’t know how close I’d cut the timing. Cameron knew the risks, and even though Martinez, my brain doctor, managed to fix me up without surgery, at the time Cameron didn’t know if I’d need another operation. I understand why he pressured me, but I’m still upset that he was okay with me getting hurt when I’d already failed to save her. Twice.

Amelia bites her lip. After a moment, she holds up the roll of tape. I was hoping we wouldn’t need it but—be right back. She sprints up the stairs to her room. Moments later, she’s back at my side, hand behind her back.

I told you not to get me a present.

This isn’t really a present. It’s more of a celebration! She pulls out her hand, revealing a flask of vodka.

Seriously?

Seriously.

Since when do you have alcohol? Amelia drinks the occasional beer, but only when it happens to be at a party. She doesn’t have her own stash.

I know you’re upset about Cam and I want to make sure you have fun tonight. If Mr... she turns the bottle to read the brand. ...Stoli needs to help, so be it. She twists off the cap, sniffs the top, and wrinkles her nose. I don’t know who the crazies are who say vodka is odorless. It smells like paint thinner.

I laugh. Don’t offend Mr. Stoli. He’s just trying to make us happy. I can’t remember the last time I drank alcohol. My last brush with vodka was the first night Katie killed herself, when she was still alive, holed up in Maddy’s room and refusing to let us help her. Before everything fell apart.

I grab the bottle from her hand and take a small sip, followed by another longer drink. The liquid sets my tongue on fire, burning my throat as it slides to my stomach, sending a warm glow through the rest of my body. I take another swig, then tilt my head back for one final swallow that’s so big it almost makes me gag. I hand her the bottle. Happy birthday to me.

The vodka pushes away the all-encompassing numbness that seems to follow me everywhere these days, replacing it with a different sensation that makes me more comfortable in my skin. I could get used to this, but I won’t. I don’t drink often, and when I do, I’m always responsible about it. Speaking of which.

I should have my mom pick me up. I told her I’d meet them at the restaurant for dinner, but considering, I waggle the bottle in the air, I probably shouldn’t be driving.

Amelia leans forward, eyes wide. You’re still coming back, right? The epic party will lose its epicness if you’re not here.

I pull the bottle toward me. How much have you had?

She giggles. Just a couple sips.

I replace the cap on the bottle and tuck it inside a bag of party supplies. Take it easy. You need to be fully alert to get me through tonight. I pull out my phone to text Mom.

Me: Can you pick me up at Amelia’s? I don’t want to lose my parking spot.

Will they know you’ve been drinking?

I don’t think so. If they get suspicious I’ll just say how super excited I am to finally be eighteen. I smile despite myself. The last few months have nearly sucked the life out of me—Katie’s suicide, her funeral, then radio silence from Cameron ever since, plus the fact that Dad’s health is getting worse every day—but maybe this birthday is the start of better things.

Or maybe it’s just the vodka talking.

Amelia’s face breaks into a smile that lights up her face. That’s the spirit! Then she throws the streamers at me. Now climb on the table and wrap this around the chandelier.

My phone dings as I’m taping the final piece to the light fixture. My heart jumps as a reflex, but I already know it’s not him. I untangle myself from the long strands and pull my phone from my back pocket.

Mom: Sure. Be there in ten minutes.

I jump off the table, landing with a thud that shakes the dishes in the china cabinet. Time to go. My mom’s on her way.

Is this... she pauses, chewing her lip.

What? It’s not like Amelia to not say what’s on her mind.

I was just thinking about your dad. Is he okay enough to go out to a restaurant? I mean, I know he has the wheelchair now so walking isn’t an issue, but I wasn’t sure if he has enough energy to go out.

Outside of my family, Amelia knows the most about my dad, including the fact that he’s not actually dying from epilepsy: he’s dying from years of flickering. Until he found out that I flicker, he’d never told anyone—including his doctor—the real reason for his seizures. He learned the hard way that there’s a limitation to our ability. It’s like we only get a certain number of flickers and once you pass it, your body starts to shut down.

There’s a Greek restaurant they’ve gone to for years so the staff is really helpful. Not like they’d kick him out or something because he has a wheelchair, but there’s a whole new set of challenges to getting around when you can’t walk. Dad’s mortified to be seen in public in a wheelchair, but it’s relieved a lot of Mom’s stress since she no longer has to worry about him falling. He jokes that she just likes it because now she can push him around, literally. I like it because it keeps him contained if he has a seizure, so he’s less likely to hurt himself.

That’s nice he can go out for your birthday, especially since... she trails off again.

Since this is my last birthday he’ll be alive for. A lump forms in my throat and tears spring to my eyes, the warm fuzzies from the vodka slipping away. I know.

A car beeps in the driveway and I scan the mess on the table. I’ll help you finish up when I get back.

She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. Are you kidding? I’ll have this done in twenty minutes without you here to slow me down.

I laugh against her shoulder. Thanks, Amelia. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head outside. The sunlight blinds me for a moment and I blink to clear my vision. Dad waves a thin arm out the window and I hurry to open the back door. Thanks for picking me up. Amelia said half the school might show up and I didn’t want to have to park a mile away.

Mom smiles at me in the rearview mirror. It’s no problem. We were already loaded and ready to go. Meaning she’d already helped Dad into the car and lugged his wheelchair into the trunk.

I lean forward to squeeze his shoulder. How are you feeling?

He presses his cheek to my hand. I’m ready to celebrate. His voice, while sounding upbeat, comes out a whisper.

You and me both, Dad. I lean against the seat and stare out the window, and my thoughts drift to Katie. I’m slowly learning to forgive myself, but I can’t get past the fact that I brought this upon all of us. A photo I took for class led me to discovering that it was Mr. Turner, my teacher, who kidnapped Katie. Everyone was beyond thrilled that she was back home, but the damage was already done. After watching Katie die three times I didn’t think I had tears left, but the sight of her small, white coffin surrounded by white lilies and roses, combined with the mournful music playing in the church and Cameron’s parents sobbing in the front row, pulled on a reserve of tears I didn’t think existed. After the service, I mumbled out an I’m sorry for the hundredth time, then left the church and haven’t spoken to Cameron since.

I wipe my hand across the tears sliding down my face and study my fingertips in horror. They’re tingling.

No.

I’ve been so wrapped up in the past that I’m not paying attention to where we are.

The sunlight filters through the trees and it’s too late to stop the effects.

Please no.

Not when I’ve been drinking.

The tingling shoots down my legs to my toes, followed by the intense weight that nearly leaves me breathless.

What was I doing yesterday at this time? I think I was with Amelia and—oh crap!

Before I can grab Dad’s shoulder to alert him, the crushing heaviness strikes. I have a fleeting thought that I should record this for Martinez, but there’s no time. It’s coming too fast. The weightlessness sweeps through me and I’m floating, floating and—

—the steering wheel jerks under my hands, sending the car straight toward a giant tree on the side of the road while Amelia’s screams pierce through the fog in my head.

CHAPTER TWO

Biz! Amelia grabs the wheel but it’s too late.

It’s like I flipped a switch to zoom my camera lens on the tree, but it’s not slowing down. I slam both feet on the brake but in seconds the tree is looming over us, its branches pulling us closer into a deathly embrace. Metal screeches as the front of the car crunches into the massive trunk. I tuck my legs closer to my body as the passenger side buckles around Amelia and the airbags explode around us.

Omigod! My leg!

The car stops against the tree and the airbags slowly deflate. A hissing sound comes from the front of the car, but no smoke, so hopefully this is the end of it. I fumble with my seatbelt, my head still catching up with the fact that I’m no longer in the backseat of my parents’ car, and reach for Amelia.

She’s slumped over the deflating airbag. I gently move her hair off her face, not sure if she’s conscious, and gasp. Tears stream down her face. She’s clutching her legs, or at least I think that’s what she’s doing since her hands are out of sight beneath the mangled dashboard.

Are you okay? I know she’s not. The acid in my stomach churns as she lifts her head to face me.

M-my leg’s stuck. I c-can’t move it.

Shit. I lean closer to try to see, but she pushes me away.

Biz, what happened? We were just driving— she takes a shuddering breath, —then you jerked out of nowhere— another breath, —and drove us straight into the tree! Fear and confusion battle on her tear-streaked face. Her lip quivers and her eyes seem to have trouble focusing as she reaches for her leg again and winces.

I rest my head on the steering wheel. I flickered.

I hear a small intake of breath. Just now?

I meet her gaze. Yes.

She exhales, and her shoulders slump. I think I need an ambulance. Her eyes flutter closed, then open again. I don’t think I can walk. She pulls out her phone.

I touch her arm, stopping her. There’s more.

She pauses, waiting.

We were at your house. Drinking.

Her mouth falls open. Are you drunk?

Not drunk, but not not-drunk.

Oh, shit.

Yeah.

Biz, I’m really sorry, but— she takes a couple shallow breaths, —we have to call for help. You know I’d keep quiet if I could, but... she looks at her leg, her voice growing soft. Her jeans, which looked normal a minute ago, are now soaked in blood.

I close my eyes for a beat before pulling out my phone. I did this. I’ll call. I press 9-1-1, flashing back to the last time I had to call that number. Katie was unconscious on the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of pills by her side, Cameron cradling her head in his lap. That situation was totally different than this, but I can’t stop the fear that crawls through me, wrapping around my throat and squeezing my lungs until I can’t breathe.

9-1-1. What’s your emergency?

I clear my throat. I just had an accident. I hit a tree. I glance at Amelia, and gasp again. Her head rests against the window, eyes closed, her face ghostly pale. And her jeans are more red than blue. My friend is hurt. She’s bleeding and her leg might be broken. I reach for Amelia’s hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back.

A keyboard clacks over the phone. I’ve got your location from your phone. Sit tight. An ambulance will be there soon.

Please hurry. I end the call and press my hand to Amelia’s face.

Her eyelashes flutter, but there’s no other reaction.

I reach for her leg, but stop, hand in midair. I’m not a medic. I’ve already done enough damage. I brush the back of my hand against the tears that burn my eyes. Amelia is my best friend and is always there for me. She has to be okay. I touch her face again and she moans softly.

Amelia, I’m so sorry.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. I lean my head against her arm and wait for the ambulance, anxious for them to hurry but dreading who will be shortly behind them:

The police.

They don’t take long. One minute I’m telling Amelia silly stories in an attempt to keep her awake and distract her from her leg, and the next the red lights of an ambulance are filling the inside of the car, along with a steady stream of panicked thoughts: What if Martinez is in the ambulance? Will I be arrested? Will they take me to jail?

Amelia glances out her window and I rest my hand on her arm. I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the party tomorrow.

She faces me, fresh tears in her eyes. Me either.

I cover my face with my other hand. I’m so sorry. I’m always so careful about flickering.

Her gaze drifts to the window, eyelids half-closed. W-what are you going to tell them? Won’t it seem weird that y-you were drinking but I wasn’t. That I let you drive?

I push aside my fear of being arrested to come up with a story that will keep Amelia out of trouble. We’ll say that I picked you up and you didn’t know I was drinking.

She leans forward, then winces at her leg and sits back. But you’re going to get in a shit-ton of trouble. Oh, wait. She grabs my arm, but her grip is shaky, her usual exuberance gone. She looks so weak I don’t know how she’s still talking. Your birthday is tomorrow so you’re still a minor. That will help, right?

Not with legal stuff. Seventeen is considered an adult.

Maybe they won’t realize— she pauses to take a breath, —alcohol...has anything...to do with this. It’s still pretty early...for drunkies on the road. You big...lush. She pokes my side, a lazy smile on her lips, but it’s wiped away by a sharp rap on my window.

I roll down the window and look into a pair of concerned, blue eyes. Not Martinez. Strong hands grip the door as the eyes peer further in and assess Amelia. He looks me in the eye again. You hurt?

I shake my head, hoping alcohol isn’t oozing out of my pores. My friend is. I am the stereotypical drunk driver: I don’t have a scratch but I broke my best friend.

He moves around to the passenger side and tries to open the door. Metal creaks, causing us both to jump, but the door doesn’t open. He taps the window and Amelia reaches to roll it down, but she doesn’t have the strength. I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over her, doing my best not to injure her more as I roll down the window. The EMT places both hands on the edge of the door and yanks with all his strength, shaking the entire car. I bounce against Amelia, who moans in pain. Sorry, he mutters. I’ve almost got it. Don’t want to use the Jaws of Life if we don’t have to.

Jaws of Life? How badly did I hurt her? Amelia’s eyes widen and for the hundredth time in the past few minutes I wish I could undo this.

The car jerks again and the door opens with a screech of metal. The EMT crouches next to Amelia and slides a hand beneath the dashboard, examining her leg. I flinch at her sharp intake of breath, and another wave of guilt and nausea sweeps over me.

Amelia, I’m so sorry.

She reaches for my hand, eyes closed. I know.

If I could—

Shh. Her jaw flexes as she presses her head against the back of the seat while the EMT pushes on the dashboard.

He pulls away from Amelia and she drags the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of blood on her pale skin. We might have to wait for the fire department.

The color drains from Amelia’s face as we stare at him. I lean closer and touch her face. Her skin is colder than it should be. You can’t leave her here!

They’re already on their way. It should only be a few more minutes. He looks past us down the road, but the only other vehicles are bystanders who stopped to gawk. On any other day I might be one of those people, except I’d have my camera glued to my face, intruding on a situation I really shouldn’t be a part of.

I turn my focus back to Amelia. Her eyes haven’t opened. I squeeze her hand.

She doesn’t respond.

Panic builds in my chest. Breaking a leg is bad enough, but what if it’s something more serious? Can’t you do something for her?

Before he can answer, a female EMT appears with a bundle of life-saving equipment. She swipes Amelia’s arm with a piece of gauze, slides a needle into the crook of her elbow, and hangs a clear plastic bag from the open door.

I’m transfixed by her delicate fingers. They look like the same ones that slid a tube down Katie’s throat as she laid unconscious on Sarah’s bathroom floor. I start to ask her if she’s the same person, but a small moan drifts from Amelia, pulling me back to the present.

Is she going to be okay? Is it just her leg or is something else wrong?

She tightens her lips. We won’t know until we get her into the ambulance. But don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.

I feel like she’s placating me, but I’m not in a position to argue. And once they find out I was drinking, any niceness they’re showing now will be gone.

The color in Amelia’s cheeks is a little better since they hooked up the IV, but she still hasn’t opened her eyes. I lean forward until my forehead rests on her arm and whisper another apology. I’m so, so sorry. If I could take this back, you know I would.

But you can, she whispers.

I raise my head to peer at her half-opened eyes.

You can, she mouths.

I shake my head. I promised I wouldn’t. And I can’t risk another double flicker.

Her gaze drifts from her leg to the IV in her arm, before her eyes close again.

I can fix this. If I time it perfectly, I can flicker back to the moment before the crash and prevent Amelia from getting hurt and avoid all the trouble that’s about to come down on me, but I promised my dad I wouldn’t. He’s dying because he flickered too many times, and while Martinez hasn’t figured out why it happens, we all agreed that I need to learn to live with the consequences of my actions instead of always taking the easy way out.

A siren wails in the distance and the EMTs both stand.

I exhale in relief. Help is here for Amelia. They’ll get her out of the car and to the hospital and she’ll—

I freeze. The lights bouncing off the windshield aren’t the red lights of the fire truck.

They’re blue.

The police are here.

CHAPTER THREE

The police car parks behind us and I close my eyes. This is the final moment before all the shit in my universe hits the fan. Gravel crunches outside the car and I open my eyes.

Two cops stands next to the EMTs, hands on hips, faces serious. I can only hear snatches of their conversation.

Broken leg.

Lost a lot of blood.

Possible DUI.

My gut clenches. They know? How do they know? I put my hand in front of my face and exhale, then immediately cough at the smell. I may as well have a bottle of vodka taped to my forehead.

I am screwed.

The taller cop walks to my side of the car and bends forward so he’s looking in the window, directly at me.

Sweat erupts from every pore in my body. I have never been in this much trouble.

I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I unfasten my seatbelt and open the door. My legs tremble as I stand and I have to grab the door to keep from falling.

He catches my arm and holds me upright. Have you been drinking?

I glance at Amelia, unable to meet his eyes. I’m freaked out from the accident.

That’s not what I asked. His deep voice forces me to look at him, but I focus on his name tag. BUSTER.

Seriously?

Is this funny to you?

I finally meet his eyes. There is no joking with him. No! No. I’m really worried about my friend and sometimes when I’m panicked it comes out in really inappropriate ways. Shut. Up. Biz.

I’ll ask again. Have you been drinking?

At this point I think it’s pretty obvious, but he’s not going to stop until I answer. I hang my head. Only a little.

His grip on my arm tightens and I let out a yelp.

Buster, take it easy, the other cop says from behind me.

His grip relaxes but he doesn’t let go. Come with me. He steps away from my car and heads toward the front of the cruiser, giving me no option but to follow. We stop so the headlights are shining on us—why are the headlights on since it’s still light out?—and he releases my arm. He turns to face me, arms crossed. How old are you?

I swallow hard. This is really happening. I’ll be eighteen tomorrow.

The other cop steps closer to us, seeming ready to say something, but Officer Buster waves him off.

Buster points at Amelia, who’s still trapped in my car. Did you think about the fact that you could have killed your friend when you decided to drink and drive?

I didn’t mean—

Stop, the other officer says, stepping between us. She’s a minor. You can’t question her without her parents. You know this.

Buster clenches his jaw and exhales several times. I get that underage drinking and drunk driving are bad, but his reaction seems to have more to do with than just me and my arrest.

The other officer faces me and I finally see his name tag. Reece. We need to bring you to the station.

My heartbeat kicks up a notch. What about the hospital? I peek at Amelia. Her head is drooped against her shoulder, the EMTs crouched next to her. I can’t leave her here. I face Officer Reece. Shouldn’t I be checked out? You know, to make sure I don’t have internal injuries or something?

Buster scowls. You don’t look injured.

Reece holds up a hand, silencing him. "They can