The Father Hunt: Flawed Series

By Becca J. Campbell

Fifteen-year-old Graham has always wanted to know his real father, but his mom won't share that hidden part of her past. When he discovers an old love letter stashed in her closet, he suspects this clue may lead him to the truth.

 

While vacationing at the beach, Graham, with the help of his feisty and beautiful friend Violet, searches for evidence of this mystery man. Will digging up the past lead Graham to find his real father? The secrets he discovers are bigger than he ever expected.

 

Download this novella-length companion to the Flawed series, and join Graham as he tackles the mystery of his missing father.

 

Suggested Reading Order for the Flawed series: 
-Empath (The Flawed Series Book One) 
-Constricted (A Flawed Short Story) 
-Outsider (The Flawed Series Book Two) 
-Protector (The Flawed Series Book Three) 
-The Father Hunt (A Flawed Story) 
-Enchanter (The Flawed Series Book Four) 
Also: 
-Pulled (A Flawed Short Story) 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Surreal Media Studios
• Release date: Mar 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524298159

Becca J. Campbell

An avid lover of stories that tiptoe the line between fantasy and reality (even when they plunge off one side or the other), Becca J. Campbell looks for new angles on bridging the gap between the two. She holds a special place in her heart for any story that involves superpowers or time travel. Her passion is defying the limits of her own creativity. Becca’s journey into writing began as many of her other creative endeavors do – by daring herself to try something new. The question “what if I wrote a novel?” and some hastily scribbled notes on a church handout were the inspirations that jump-started her first book. Since then, she has written half a dozen additional novels and several shorter works. As the wife of a musician and mother of three young boys, Becca’s life is never dull. Whether it is writing, painting or knitting, she enjoys making stuff that wasn’t there before.

Book preview

A Flawed Story

Becca J. Campbell

Published by Surreal Media Studios, 2016.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

Written by Becca J. Campbell.

Cover Design by Steven Novak. Edited by Jessie Sanders.

THE FATHER HUNT

First edition. March 22, 2016.

Copyright © 2016 Becca J. Campbell.

All rights reserved.

This could change his world. It was so innocuous, the creased slip of pale, cream paper Graham Vega held in his trembling hand. And yet, it could redefine life as he knew it.

It had hid in a small shoe box at the top of his mom’s cramped closet as if it had been there the last fifteen years, a tiny testament to who he was and where he came from.

It kills me to say it, but I can’t be with you any more. I wish I could fix everything, but I can’t. Please don’t hate me for this.

Graham reread the letter in its precise, right-sloping script. He’d always been fascinated by the antiquated art of handwriting, and this penmanship was beautiful, down to the X with its scrolling ends that looped back on itself. He tried to imagine the hand that had penned the words, the face of the man that had been twisted in grief and lost to regret.

He couldn’t do it.

All his life he’d tried to conjure images his father, but in his fifteen years this was the first time he’d had something tangible—proof he’d had a father at all—and he still couldn’t summon a possible face for the man.

He let his gaze drop to the next to last line.

Take care of our little one.

Graham’s trembling intensified, and his legs felt weak. He sank to the floor next to the shoe box. He was the little one mentioned in the letter.

His father had known he was alive.

Yet he’d never visited his son. Not even once, to introduce himself. Not since Graham could remember, anyway. Had he come to see Graham as a baby?

So many questions rattled around in Graham’s head, all woven around this mysterious figure in his life. One stood above the rest: who was his father? He’d never been able to answer that question before, but now he had a clue. He held a piece to the puzzle.

Letting his hand drop into his lap with the letter still clutched tightly in his grip, Graham turned to the small box next to him, analyzing for the first time what it really was. It had quickly morphed from some random box to a hallowed object akin to the ark of the covenant. He picked it up and turned it around in his hand, realizing for the first time that it wasn’t big enough for a pair of shoes—definitely not his size tens, but not even his mother’s shoes would fit in a box this tiny. He examined the branding on the side.

Little Runner.

A realization dawned on him—it was a box for baby shoes. Probably, they had been his—maybe his first pair. He wondered if this was relevant to the contents inside.

Graham folded the letter and placed it back in the unmarked envelope—no clues there. His attention drifted to the other items. A single rose with petals that had darkened into a deep wine color looked fragile enough to crumble at his touch. A black shoelace, possibly from a men’s dress shoe. A few loose seashells—possibly his mom had saved those from one of their trips to the beach. She’d always loved to go shelling with him.

The only other item in the box was a simple matchbook, glossy turquoise with a turtle on the cover. He plucked it from the box and flipped it over in his fingers, remembering that his mom used to smoke. She quit when she got pregnant with him, and she often warned him on the dangers of nicotine. He wondered why she’d kept the matchbook, since she felt so strongly against smoking now. She’d probably forgotten all this stuff was here.

He would’ve never thought to look in her closet if he hadn’t been searching for his Broncos baseball cap. Not being a sports fan, he hadn’t worn it in years and thought it might have been given away in one of their garage sales, but it was worth searching for because today, of all days, he needed a totem.

Brooke’s favorite team was the Denver Broncos, and he needed every bit of luck he could muster if he was really going to step out of his comfort zone and do what he was planning on doing today.

Graham’s gaze settled briefly on his mother’s nightstand clock, and a pang of anxiety gripped him. Crap. He was late for school. Scrambling up, he tossed the letter into the box and shut the lid before cramming it back up on the top shelf where he’d found it. His eye caught on the matchbook lying on the carpet. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket, hurrying to grab his book bag and his house key.

As Graham huffed on his bike, booking it up the few hills toward his high school in Colorado Springs, a few white flakes fluttered through the frosty air and landed on the hard, bare ground. The December cold wasn’t able to distract him from the thoughts rattling around in his brain. The mystery of his father’s identity pulled at him, but he’d have to save it until later. Maybe he could ask his mom about it when she got home.

Now at least he had a clue—and a chance at getting his questions answered.

~

At school, Graham pushed thoughts of the letter from his mind and focused on another nerve-racking thought: sharing his writing with the pretty girl at school. He hiked his book bag up farther on his shoulder and nodded passively at his friends’ conversation.

During the day at school, Graham had checked no fewer than three times to make sure he’d brought the piece of his very soul--a dog-eared journal filled with his stories. Normally it stayed tucked safely into the drawer of his nightstand, shared with only his mother. Even then, he only showed her small bits, the excerpts he loved most. Giving all of this to anyone was huge, especially giving it to Brooke.

Jason said something, and Rico laughed in a high-pitch screech, making his voice crack. That made Jason break into his own hearty chuckle. When the laughing subsided, both boys looked at Graham with expectant faces.

He blinked at his friends, wondering what he’d missed. Huh?

Jason rolled his eyes. Where are you today, man?

Yeah, Rico said. You look a little wigged out. What’s going on with you?

Nothing. Why? Graham’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag. His hand was clammy with perspiration.

For one thing, you’re holding onto that bag like you wanna make out with it or something, Jason said.

Rico snickered.

Graham swallowed and ran his free hand through his hair. If only he’d found the hat. I’m just…ready for break, is all.

Jason’s eyebrow told Graham he didn’t buy it, but before he could protest, Rico spoke.

Seriously. One last class and then we’re done for the year. I’m so ready to be out of here.

You’re just excited about Annie’s Christmas party, Jason