Boston's Quest

By Shanae Branham

The external drive containing the information for building a hologram machine is stolen and sold on the black market. Now someone has connected a new hologram machine to the Internet, forcing people to fight for their lives in an online fantasy game. Trapped inside this deadly scenario, seventeen-year-old Boston Manning learns that her weakness for tolerating abuse is stopping her from unlocking her elven powers. Can she overcome her character flaw or will she die trying?

In book 2 of the Holoquest Fantasy Series, Boston and Jason return with another action-packed, romantic adventure. Boston’s Quest will electrify your imagination as you experience elves, dwarfs, trolls, priests, vampires, and demons as you’ve never experienced them before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanae Branham
• Release date: Jun 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781511964081

Shanae Branham

I am a professional writer with a bachelor's degree in creative writing and a minor in grammar. I have also attended several years of classes and workshops in screenplay writing at the Los Angeles Screenplay writer's Expo.I love suspenseful, action-adventures and clean, young adult, romance stories. I was born and raised in a small town in Idaho. I am the second out of six children. When I was in my early 20's my mother was killed by a drunk driver. This one incident drastically changed my life. I have always had a passion for reading and writing fiction. Owing to a life long struggle with Dyslexia, early teachers discouraged me from pursuing a career in writing.As I have spent over twenty-five years transforming my language disabilities into professional writing skills, God has honed my insatiable passion into an incredible vision.My Christian upbringing has instilled within me the belief that "...with God nothing shall be impossible" (Luke 1:37). This has sustained me through the hard times. Because of my dyslexia, I have had to learn the structure of the English language like math, syntax building block upon syntax building block.I am grateful for this weakness because it has developed in me a skill and love for diagramming sentences, which unfortunately is becoming a lost art.

Book preview

Boston’s Quest

By

Shanae Branham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2015 by Shanae Branham

All rights reserved.

This book is dedicated to the people who truly live the golden rule.

Especially the man who taught me how important a simple act of kindness

at an unexpected moment can be to the person receiving it.

One below zero, Alaskan winter morning, I came out of a therapy swim-session

at the local pool to find my car had a flat tire. Normally, this situation would not have been a huge obstacle, but with a hurt back and my husband working out of town I was devastated. Before I could even pull my cell phone out of my pocket, a stranger walked up to me and offered to change my tire. Within minutes, my car was ready to drive.

When I thanked him, he said something I’ll never forget: If my wife has a flat tire and I’m not there, I hope someone helps her like I have helped you.

"And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise." Luke 6:31

I’d like to also thank:

My copy editor, Annie Crawford

My beta readers—Barret Branham, Sierra Branham, Heather Snelders,

Max Snelders, Michael Obinger, Michael Young, Jocelyn Carlin, Lauren Ritz,

Jan Newman, Linda Cox, Danie Jolley, Michelle Petersen, Niki Swan, Joseph Gould, Luetta Robinson, Jodi Weaver, Amber Anderson, Julie Irvine, Rebecca Shelley,

Matthew Shelley, Mariah Porter, GayLynn Bohman,

Lindsay Branham, and Toni Miller.

CHAPTER ONE

The Gift

Boston Manning

Tuesday, April 12th, afternoon

The smell of disinfectant hangs in the air of the psychiatric ward. Happy birthday to Boston, I whisper, sneaking a cupcake out of my purse and placing it on the couch between Isaac and me. The chocolate frosting is smudged on one side, but the candle still stands in the center. I cast a conspiratorial smile at my friend, but his noon meds dull his eyes.

Isaac and I have a special connection. We both know what it’s like to be alone. His parents are dead and my mom won’t tell me who my real father is, only that my dad was a jerk. I glance around the visitor’s lounge at the Anaheim Institute. The attendant is busy helping a patient with a coughing spasm on the other side of the room. This is my chance. I position my body between the attendant and Isaac, light the candle with a match from my purse, and blow it out before the smoke can give us away.

Make a wish, he says, more lucid. Usually it takes an hour to an hour and a half before the drugs wear off enough for him to understand me.

I wish life were easier. I give him a halfhearted grin. I wish you could go to high school with me. I don’t want him to go to school with me. I’d be embarrassed if he saw me there, because at school I feel like a dress-up doll that says the right things to please the right people. But that’s all going to change next year when I go to college, because I won’t have to live by the same social expectations. Mom won’t be looking over my shoulder, dictating what I have to become.

Isaac touches my cheek and I glance at him. He’s staring at me with wide, childlike eyes. What’d you get?

Mom hasn’t given me a present yet. My chest aches. I sigh. The odds Mom will give me anything are slim to none. I take out the candle and hand Isaac the cupcake. He grins and gulps it down in three bites.

Holding his hand, I sit back against the uncomfortable vinyl as the bell attached to the door dings, announcing an arrival. I look over my shoulder. My stomach flutters. Isaac’s brother, Jason, strides through the door, his muscles taut beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt. The solid shape of his quads is outlined beneath his black jeans. Ever since his dad died, Jason’s become restless. He spends three to four hours every day running, doing calisthenics, or lifting weights. Sometimes, he looks less like a man and more like a caged panther. I love wild animals.

We came here together, as usual, but Jason’s been talking with the doctor privately about his brother. He hangs back against the wall behind a table with two large women playing checkers and motions for me to come to him without Isaac. I hand his brother a car magazine I purchased especially for him. I’ll be right back.

Okay. Isaac studies the magazine with a smile.

I join Jason on the other side of the room. His arms are folded across his chest. He stares at the back of Isaac’s head.

What did you find out? When he doesn’t respond, I touch his arm and he comes out of his stupor.

The doc lowered Isaac’s meds and he’s been reacting normally. He’s hopeful that therapy has helped him, but he won’t know how much until Isaac meets with me.

After spending so much time in the hologram machine, Isaac lost touch with reality because his dad allowed him to create digital copies of people he knew—like his dead mom. These copies became so real to him that Isaac thought Jason had murdered them when the hologram machine blew up.

My muscles tense. Now? But wouldn’t he do that in a session with just the three of you?

Jason looks at me with so much intensity that his gaze feels like it cuts through me. He wants to do it in a casual setting like this. He wants me to wait until he gets here with a couple of orderlies, just in case Isaac gets violent. Again.

I nod as the bell above the door dings. Doctor McCarthy and two large men in white scrubs enter and pause near us. Doc McCarthy is round faced with bushy eyebrows. Jason grasps my hand. He’s shaking. If this goes badly, I’ll wait for you in my car.

Okay.

It’s been six months since Isaac was lucid enough to recognize his brother. Jason lets go of me. The nurse clears the room of other patients. My heartbeat quickens. I trail Jason across the room, and Doc McCarthy and the orderlies follow us. I feel like I’m part of a funeral procession. Isaac is Jason’s only living relative. Jason just wants to be closer to his brother, but Isaac hates him for saving his life.

Jason steps in front of the sofa where Isaac is sitting. Hey, bro.

Isaac’s head jerks up, his eyes protrude and he lunges at his brother. The car magazine falls to the carpet. Murderer! The force of Isaac’s moving body hits Jason slamming him against the wall. Isaac’s hands grip Jason’s throat, squeezing.

Jason’s body goes limp and he averts his eyes. Jason is twice as strong as Isaac. He could easily crush him, but he doesn’t. Guilt must be eating away at him.

The orderlies yank Isaac off Jason, wrestle him to the ground and sedate him. Jason bends over, taking a couple of deep breaths. He rubs his neck where violent red marks are appearing. Then he looks at me and runs from the room.

***

Jason Tanner

Tuesday, April 12th, afternoon

As I slide behind the wheel of my convertible, a dog growls from the car parked beside me. I glare at it and it shuts up, backing away from the window. All I can think about is putting Dr. Paden behind bars for life. Not only did he murder my father, he turned my brother against me. Pressure builds inside my head. The need to go home and lose myself in a computer game consumes me. Quest games have taken the place of the virtual reality room in my life. If it weren’t for the possibility of Isaac getting well or spending time with Boston, I don’t think I’d come back to reality at all.

A cool breeze chills the air. I put on my jacket and glance at my watch. Sunset is less than an hour away. I want to get out of here, but Tuesday- and Friday-night sunsets are Boston’s and my thing. Let’s go, Boston calls, jumping over the door onto the front seat. She brushes a gentle kiss across my cheek.

How’s Isaac?

She touches the red marks on my neck. She smells like wildflowers. Sleeping. You were brave in there.

I don’t really want to think or talk about Isaac. I look straight ahead, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands as my muscles tense.

Boston pulls back. How’s your shrink?

I smile, relieved at being given an easy topic, and look at her. Shrinking.

She laughs.

I’ve been seeing Miss Tandia weekly for five months. We’ve developed a routine. After a stifled, formal greeting, I sit back on her couch and bide my time while she does her best to engage me in conversation. The stipulation is a session a week to receive the money Ms. Stickel left to the Comfort Killer victims. For ten thousand dollars a month, I can sit and smile at anyone. Bruce never said I had to talk to her to get the money.

Boston’s smile disappears and her eyes narrow. Jason, you should take advantage of your sessions.

I feel like Bruce, Lisa, Miss Tandia, and Boston are all ganging up on me. You mean I should stop gaming and do something with my life.

She raises her hands in surrender. Hey, they said that.

But you believe it.

I believe you’ll do what you need to do to succeed.

Good answer. She drops her purse on the seat, puts on her cream suede jacket and buckles her seatbelt. The jacket’s light color looks rich against her tan skin. Her long blonde hair falls an inch below her shoulders. She’s pretty, but more than that, she’s comfortable to be around.

There’s a gleam in her eye and a tilt to her chin when she looks at me again. I could use a few sessions myself.

Yeah, Drop Kick could do a lot for you. Miss Tandia’s stupid toy poodle sits near her desk and growls at me at the beginning of each session. I’ve got all kinds of colorful names for it.

Boston puts her hands on her hips. You’ve got to be nicer to her dog.

I’ve got to do a lot of things. I push the gas pedal. The tires squeal as I peel out of the parking lot. Ten minutes later, wind blowing through our hair and music blaring, we turn onto a dirt road at the outskirts of town.

Grinning, she squeezes my hand and my heart races. I slow down and drive through a grove of pine trees, the fresh scent of rain clinging to the branches. The tires splash through a puddle. The dirt road narrows and winds upward around the mountain to Pioneers’ Point.

The trees thicken as we near the top. The sun is sinking fast. With any luck, we’ll make it to our parking spot with enough time to see the sky light up. I get butterflies in my stomach as I remember the present lying in the backseat. I’ve been planning for Boston’s birthday for five and a half months—the time it took to design, develop and build her gift. I can barely wait to see her reaction.

When we arrive at the top of the mountain, the dirt parking lot is empty. It’s early in the hiking season for most people to come up here. I park the car and look out over the valley as the horizon transforms into dazzling reds, golds, and oranges. Clouds roll in from the west along the sparse edge of woods lining the ridge. Boston is staring across the valley with large, wide eyes. Her lips are softly parted. Warmth overwhelms me. She’s the best thing in my life.

As the sky dims, she turns to me. Her breath catches, and we kiss. I’m lost in the heat. Nothing has ever felt so good.

Happy birthday, I whisper after we come up for air.

Her green eyes sparkle. Thank you.

I’ve got something for you. I reach into the backseat to get the festive blue-and-yellow wrapped shoebox.

Taking the gift in her hands, she gently turns the box over, examining it. Lisa wrapped this for you?

I nod, grinning from ear to ear. Lisa and Bruce have been the best. I couldn’t have asked for better guardians. You can open it.

She smiles. Not yet. I need to savor the moment.

Her savoring the moment is killing me.

How about we play a little game? I’ll guess what it is and you say hotter or colder.

Okay. Not what I want, but I can’t refuse her.

She sets the gift on the dashboard and leans back against the seat, pursing her lips. Is it something I can wear?

Hot.

A shirt?

Cool.

Jeans?

Colder.

The pale white scar on her forehead wrinkles.

Panties?

I blush. Freezing.

She picks up the box again and jiggles it. Nothing moves. Knowing she might try to guess what was inside, I’d packed it so tight she wouldn’t be able to tell what it was by shaking it.

Jewelry?

Antarctica.

She frowns, sets the gift down on the dashboard, and rests her head against my shoulder. I can feel her heart pounding. How long have you been planning this?

My pulse races. A long time.

Is it store-bought?

Cold.

She sits up, crossing her arms over her chest and tightening her jaw. Homemade. The word isn’t a question but a statement, almost an accusation.

Warmer.

Does it contain computer parts?

Steaming hot.

She stares out the front window, the moon’s glow against her face. In another day the moon will be full. My heart beats so hard I’m afraid she’ll hear it. The longer she looks ahead, the more concerned I become. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong.

I signed up for the SAT test at the end of next week, she finally says.

Good for you. I look away, my heart in knots. The drastic change in conversation confuses me, but I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want her to know how much I need her to like my present.

Have you thought more about going to Rocky Mountain College with me next year?

I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what I can do to change her mind so she’ll stay in Ponderosa Point with me.

Yeah?

Yeah. I fix my eyes on a tree in the distance. Its branches are mangled and worn as if it’s endured a small tornado. I can’t bring myself to look at her. The next few minutes crawl by in silence.

Isaac said something strange before he went totally under, she says low, as if she’s talking more to herself than me. His words made me wonder if he heard about the victims’ families appearing on the Covington Ford show. I hate how they’re crucifying Bruce.

I glance over at her. Her body is tense. She’s looking out the passenger window. I know. It’s not fair. Bruce saved our lives.

The wind picks up, pushing dust against the windshield. Clouds pass overhead, and soon we’re covered in darkness. I need to know what she thinks of my present. I look at the shadow on the dashboard where the wrapped box sits, but instead of Boston, my poor brother comes to my mind. What did Isaac say before the sedative took effect?

Goodbye. Her voice is flat. But it wasn’t goodbye, exactly. It was more like I won’t see you for a while. I asked the doctor about him, but he said everything will be fine. They’ll have him on suicide watch.

I hate the fact that my brother doesn’t want to live. The moon returns, softening Boston’s features. I gulp down the lump in my throat. Are you going to open my gift?

Her face pales. Jason, why did you put me in this position?

What’s she talking about? What position?

"The gift you gave me has something to do with your gaming obsession. You know Bruce, Lisa and Miss Tandia have told me not to support that addiction. She pauses, her chest heaving. Your brother just attacked you. She swallows hard and looks me in the eye. How can I hurt your feelings when you’re so down? If I say yes, then I’m going against Bruce and Lisa’s wishes, but if I say no, then I hurt your feelings."

I didn’t mean to put her in an awkward position. I clench my fists. Please open it.

First tell me I’m wrong. She stares into my eyes. Tell me the gift isn’t something that will involve me more in your gaming world.

I can’t. We should get going.

She looks at the dashboard. Yeah, Mom needs me home for a late birthday dinner.

The ride back is subdued. By the time I drive up in front of her house, I’m kicking myself for even getting her a birthday present. I shut off the engine and she waits while I walk around and open her door.

Thanks for thinking of me. She picks the present up and climbs out with it.

My lips tighten. You don’t have to take it.

I want to. She steps past me and walks up the driveway. I glance across the street at the burned-up lot that was my home less than a year ago. Now a For Sale sign sticks out of the soil near the road. For a moment, I wish life could go back to how it was when Dad was alive. But life moves forward, even when I want it to stop. I turn back as Boston reaches the front door and sigh. Hey, Boston.

Yeah. Her cheeks flush. My heart flips.

When you put it on, push the red button and I’ll be there.

***

At the Durante home, I get some meatloaf from the refrigerator and dart through the living room, trying to tiptoe past Lisa before she realizes that I’m home.

So what did Boston think of your gift?

My feet cleave to the carpet and I clutch the plate of food tighter. Behind me, the TV clicks off. The wood in the fireplace crackles and pops. I feel her stare like an iron hot on my back, but I keep looking at the staircase leading to my room. If she pushes me for more information I’ll break down. What should I do? I can’t run upstairs without being rude. This is the price I pay for letting her wrap the shoebox. I can’t blame Lisa for wanting to know what happened. She’s trying to fill the void left by the mother I don’t have. But I’m not ready to be that close—only six months have passed since Dad’s death.

I hear her walk toward me. That bad, huh?

Worse. I turn around to face her. We’re standing a few feet apart. The look of compassion on her face sends tingles up my spine. No taller than five foot five, she looks more like a younger sister than a reporter in her late thirties.

Don’t disturb Bruce, Lisa says, and I relax as I realize that she’s let go of her need to know about what happened between Boston and me. He was demoted from detective to patrol officer today.

What? The idea is ludicrous. Bruce is an amazing detective. Why?

The victims’ civil case against him is causing too much bad publicity for the department. The mayor told the police chief something had to be done.

That’s unfair. He gave his soul to put that killer behind bars.

She sighs. I know. But Bruce wronged a lot of people when he had the spirits of the dead victims call their loved ones.

Everyone thinks Bruce manipulated voice recordings of the victims to taunt their families. They don’t know the truth, but even if they did, would they believe it? Paden would have killed us if Bruce hadn’t done what he did. It’s Paden’s fault. He’s responsible, not Bruce.

The victims’ families heard Bruce’s voice on the phone, not Paden’s.

Dr. Paden needs to get the electric chair for what he did. Did the court push Paden’s trial back again?

She nods. The trial date moved from April twentieth to June sixth. I know it seems like it’s taking forever for Dr. Paden to be convicted. But he will receive the death sentence. She brightens. Hey, I signed you up for the SAT test next week.

This is the last straw to an already bad day. I don’t want to go to college. Life sucks. What’s the use of planning a future when madmen like Paden can destroy everything I love in less than a day?

I wish you’d reconsider. It’s tough out there without some kind of degree.

Lisa tries to give me a hug, but I push her away. The plate of food slips from my hand and shatters against the polished wood floor, meatloaf splattering.

She crouches, scooping up the pieces. It’s my fault. Don’t worry about it.

Sorry, I mumble and run to my room.

***

Boston

Tuesday, April 12th, night

Jason’s words …put it on, push the red button, and I’ll be there haunt me as I stand in the front doorway of my house, watching him drive off. He didn’t deny my accusation. He’s a genius. He has to have made me an invention that will make it possible for me to join him in his gaming world. I don’t want to throw it away, but I’m not supposed to encourage his addiction. He’s supposed to want to spend more time with me in the real world. He’s such a great guy. Why does life have to be so hard for him? Why does life have to be so hard for both of us? Ever since the hologram incident I’ve been trying to do everything I know to stabilize our lives, but life won’t fit into a neat little package.

At least Mom’s sober now.

Boston, Mom calls from the living room. Is that you?

Yeah, Mom, I’m home.

Hurry, I have something for you.

I smile, quickening my step. She remembered my birthday after all. Passing through the kitchen, I notice the table is empty and the countertops are clean. Exactly the way I’d left them—so much for a birthday dinner. I pause, turning Jason’s present over in my hands, appreciating his kind gesture if not the actual present.

Walking into the living room, I can’t get used to the new look. The fancy artwork hanging above the fireplace, large-screen TV, designer couch and recliner must have cost a fortune. They were all purchased by Mom’s new boyfriend for her Valentine’s Day gift. He’s been doting on her so much since then that she’s stopped working at the diner.

Mom’s dressed in a low-cut, red evening gown. Even though she’s thirty pounds overweight, she looks attractive with delicate features and thick brown hair pulled up in a fancy coiffure. She sees the present in my hand and frowns. "You were out with him again."

She doesn’t understand my connection with Jason and Isaac. I can’t even explain it. Spending time with them is like breathing, critical to my survival. Maybe it has something to do with the truth and my need to remember what happened to me.

When we came home last November, reporters begged my mom for interviews, but she wouldn’t allow me to speak with anyone. She agreed with Bruce that the best thing for us kids was to cover up our connection to the Comfort Killer and the existence of the hologram machine.

Boston, did you hear what I said?

I scuff my feet on the carpet. She points the remote control at the television and freezes a picture of Covington Ford sitting across from Sylvia Collins.

She’s taped the talk show where Bruce was publicly humiliated. Mom? I say realizing I’m about to get another lecture on the evils of the Tanner boys instead of a present. I bet she doesn’t even remember it’s my birthday.

Have you seen this?

I gulp. I heard about it at school.

Covington Ford just crucified Detective Durante and the Tanner boys on national television. She slams the remote onto the coffee table and turns to face me head-on, chin tilted and one eyebrow arched in warning. Now can you see how important it is for you to stay away from them? You have your reputation to uphold.

Of course I do. My reputation’s all she wants me to think about. Sometimes I feel like a teenage Barbie. She controls my diet and exercise, cheerleading being the only approved physical activity. She’d pick my friends if I let her. I wish she’d go back to how she was before the incident. In some ways it was easier when she was intoxicated all the time.

Don’t frown, honey. Her sugar-sweet tone twists my gut. I was shopping at the mall today and found the perfect miniskirt for you. All you have to do is lose a couple more pounds. I mixed up a green smoothie for your dinner. It’s waiting for you in the fridge. Oh. She forces a giggle. I almost forgot. I left the miniskirt on your bed along with more information about Notre Dame University. I spoke with your counselor today and she said you have a real shot at getting in.

I wish she’d stay out of my life! But I want to go to Rocky Mountain University. RMU has a topnotch photography program. Plus, I can afford in-state tuition.

Nonsense. She waves her hands. How will you ever find a rich young man with a great reputation if you go there?

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Her criteria are so different than mine. It’s a good school, Mom.

I glance down at the coffee table. Pieces of a photograph have been torn up and scattered across its surface. I pick up the largest piece and examine it. It’s part of the picture of the three-year-old neighbor boy being squirted with the hose by his sister. It’s the photograph I wanted to enter in the Today’s Child magazine photo contest. Jason helped me fill out the paperwork for the submission last week. I gave Mom the picture and the permission slip to sign this morning before school.

Why?

Her face hardens. Young lady, when are you going to grow up and realize you’ve got to stop wasting your valuable time on that crap?

This isn’t crap! I throw the paper at her. And Jason and Isaac are good people! I hold the present up in front of her. At least Jason cares enough about me to remember my birthday!

She backs up and her shoulders droop. I just want what’s best for you. I hate it when she tries to manipulate me with guilt. She sniffles and her eyes tear up.

I’m the one that’s hurting not her. I frown. Stop it, Mom.

The doorbell rings. She answers it. Howdy, Ivan calls from the doorway, his booming voice impossible to ignore.

Hi. I look at the floor while she gives him a hug.

Ivan is what I’d call a bottom sucker. He reminds me of a muscular, greasy car salesman. Bald and over fifty, with a beer gut, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. If it weren’t for his money, Mom wouldn’t even speak to him.

Mom turns back to me. Ivan’s taking me out to Giorgio’s. Don’t wait up. The excitement in her voice is nauseating.

With Mom gone, our house feels empty and huge. I slump down on the couch, rip the wrapping paper off the shoebox and pull out something hard enclosed in bubble wrap. Yanking off the puffy plastic, I find a thick black visor with small computer parts and a large red button. I put the visor on. There’s a dark screen in front of each eye. I consider pressing the button but then I stop. Joining Jason right now won’t help him. I have to keep him grounded, not run away into a superficial fantasy world with him.

I take the visor off and hide it in the back of a bottom kitchen cupboard where Mom won’t find it. Grabbing my healthy shake from the refrigerator, I turn off the main lights and walk to my bedroom. The bleakness of my room’s bare sheetrock walls, a stained carpet, and lack of furnishings is familiar. The only furniture is a workbench, a dresser, and a single twin mattress with no frame. Black plastic covers the windows, blocking the light. The workbench is set against the wall adjacent to the bed. It holds tongs, bottles of chemicals, and three trays arranged like a processing station for my dry darkroom area. The wet room area is set up in the hall bathroom. A line of photographs is clothespinned to a rope that stretches from a