Unseen Evil

By Kelly Hashway

How can you fight what you can’t see?

Seventeen-year-old Kaylan Bradford has no idea what she wants to do with her future, but dying sure as hell isn’t on top of her list. Yet everywhere she goes, strange accidents happen, each one nearly taking her life. Someone or something is after her.

Reese, the sexy new guy in town, immediately takes an interest in Kaylan, and something about him makes Kaylan feel more alive than ever. Reese isn’t the only new face in Kaylan’s life, though. Riley is beyond gorgeous, and he saves Kaylan’s life more than once.

But Reese and Riley are both keeping secrets—secrets about Kaylan’s future. The more Kaylan discovers about herself, the more the attempts on her life begin to make sense.

Kaylan is desperate to change her fate, but when she discovers the identity of the one who’s trying to kill her, she may not have a future at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370037865

Kelly Hashway

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Total darkness smacks me in the face as I open the back door of Hip Today, Chic Tomorrow, the clothing store where I work every day after school. I stumble on the steps leading to the parking lot, twisting my ankle on my four-inch platforms employees are required to wear.

Damn broken street lights. I reach for my ankle, which is probably already swelling, and yank off my shoe. I hobble the rest of the way to my car on one platform and one knee sock. Yes, knee sock, because Mrs. Rockworth dresses us like roller derby girls instead of salespeople. She has no sense of fashion at all, but vintage is hot right now, so the store remains in business and my humiliation continues. If only she’d pay to fix the broken lights in the parking lot so I could get to my car without breaking an ankle.

I pull my keys from my pocket, but the ring catches on my belt—if you can call it a belt. It’s really a series of bronze hoops that hang from my hips. I untangle the keys, and they clatter to the ground.

Wonderful. I can’t see a thing, so I crouch down, using the flashlight on my phone to try to find my keys. My bent knee grazes what can only be chewed gum. Gross! I jerk upright. My bad luck seems to have no bounds today.

The blare of a car alarm pulls me from my misery, and blinking headlights illuminate the parking lot. Well, at least I can see now. I find my keys and snatch them up before realizing that something or someone must have triggered the alarm. I scan the lot, which isn’t easy with the flashing lights. Shadows dance across the asphalt, and my imagination turns each one into a figure straight out of a horror movie.

Relax, Kaylan. It was probably a stray cat or something, I reassure myself, hitting the button to turn off the car alarm. I hobble toward my car again just in case I’m wrong, my eyes continuing to scan the parking lot. I don’t see anything, but the back of my neck prickles with that creepy feeling that I’m being watched. What was I thinking when I volunteered to close up tonight? No, I know what I’d been thinking. My family needs the money. Dad got laid off two months ago, and things have been really tight ever since. Mrs. Rockworth pays well, which is why I put up with the crazy uniform and the occasional late hours.

A pebble skids across the parking lot in front of me, making me freeze. It came from my right, which means I didn’t kick it. So who did? I look around, my pulse racing and echoing in my ears. Hello? I doubt anyone ever stopped an attacker by being polite, but I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I can trick whoever is in the parking lot with me to reveal him or herself in some way.

Um, we’re closed for the night. We’re having a sale tomorrow, though, if you want to come back in the morning. No answer. I start toward my car again.

Why does Mrs. Rockworth have to insist we park so far away? Customers rarely ever use the back lot, but she confines employees to the last row at the far end. I unlock my car, watching the headlights flicker in response to my keyless entry. I don’t want to have to fumble with my keys if anyone is lurking nearby. I’ve seen it too many times in the movies. Other than running upstairs and trapping yourself in your bedroom when the killer is in the house, fumbling with your keys is the stupidest thing you can do when you’re being followed. And I’m sure I’m being followed. I just have no idea why or by whom.

I dial 911, but I don’t press send. No need to overreact. Not yet at least. I have 911 dialed on my phone, so whoever you are, you better leave before I press send. No response. Damn it. I never knew silence could be so freakin’ scary. Despite my sore ankle, I ditch my platform shoe and run the rest of the way to my car. Let Rockworth charge me for losing part of my uniform. I just want to get inside my car and far away from this place.

I reach for the door handle, but it’s locked. Crap! I didn’t get in the car soon enough after unlocking it, and it relocked itself. I press the keyless entry again and hear the car unlock. I tug on the handle, but as I do, I see the locks relock. Like someone pressed the button. Someone inside the car. Someone I can’t see.

No, that’s impossible. I look down at the keys in my hand. Maybe I hit the lock button when I reached for the handle. That has to be it. I press unlock again and make sure I don’t hit any buttons on the keyless entry as I pull on the door handle. Like last time, the lock clicks back into place.

It must be a defect with the car—some recall I missed in the pile of bills that are filling up our mailbox. Yeah, that’s it. A defect. There’s no invisible creature inside my car, locking me out, keeping me in the parking lot for whatever is following me. Oh crap! I hit the unlock button again and tug on the handle. As quickly as I can unlock the car, it relocks itself.

I slam my open palm against the window. Come on! I hear footsteps behind me and whirl around, pressing my back against the driver’s side door.

Who’s there? My eyes scan the lot. Nothing. This isn’t funny anymore. I’m calling 911. I press send on my phone.

911. What is your emergency?

Before I can answer, my car starts and the tires squeal as it pulls backward out of the spot. What the hell? The headlights come on, pointing right at me. I’m too blinded to see who’s driving my car, and I have no idea how they got inside. I only turned my back for a moment, and I never heard a car door shut. The engine revs, and the car shoots forward at me. I scream and dodge sideways behind a clunker that’s been parked in the lot for the past three months. I duck down behind it, peering around the hood to see where my car is. It backs up again and waits. Waits for me. I’m not about to believe my car suddenly took on a life of its own and is gunning to kill me. Someone is inside it. The same someone who set off the car alarm and followed me through the parking lot. Someone wants me dead and plans to use my own car to do it.

I can’t stay hidden. Eventually, the person will get out and come after me on foot, and I’m not about to sit here and wait for him to do that. I look around for a place to run—somewhere the car can’t follow. Unfortunately, there’s an empty parking lot to my left and a side road to my right. The car could easily follow me down either one. I tug on the door of the clunker, and it comes open. I say a silent prayer and hop in, hoping my luck will continue and the keys will be inside. Whoever owns this piece of junk obviously doesn’t intend to come back for it, so maybe there are keys lying around.

I frantically search the glove compartment, the middle console, and behind the visors. No key. And I don’t have a clue how to hot-wire a car. Although if I live through this, I’m going to find out. The last place I can think to check is under the floor mats, so I bend down to pull them up when I hear tires squealing. My car surges forward, right at me. I dive across the front seat and onto the pavement as my car collides with the clunker. I try to scramble out of the way, but the clunker skids sideways into me, knocking me flat on my back. Gravel scrapes against my elbows and hips, tearing my clothes, and warm blood trickles down my arms.

I’m going to die. That’s all I can think. This person is hell-bent on killing me, and I can’t get away. Not on foot. Not beaten up and bloody.

My car reverses, and I can only imagine the driver is getting a running start before plowing into the clunker and trying to run me over. I roll onto my side and force myself to my knees. Using the side of the car, I pull myself up. There’s no time to run away, so I get in the car and cover my head with my arms. At least the beat-up car will offer some protection.

The sound of metal on metal sends me curling up into a little ball. I wish I would’ve thought to put on my seat belt to avoid being thrown, but there’s no time now. The car crumbles around me. Glass shatters down like sleet, cutting my arms and back. I scream even though I know it won’t help. If anything, my cries will only egg on my attacker. If only I knew who he was. Why won’t he man up and show me his face?

That’s it. If I’m going to die tonight, I’m going to see the face of the person who kills me. I deserve that much. I open the car door and step out as my car reverses again. I’m probably sentencing myself to death, but I don’t care. I step to the side of the car, shielding my eyes with my hand and squinting against the headlights. I need to see the driver, but I can’t even make out a shadow. How is that possible?

My car speeds toward me, and I do the only thing I can think of. I jump onto the hood. I regret my decision immediately as all the air is forced out of my lungs by the impact. My chest throbs like someone whacked it with a sledgehammer. I grip the hood with one hand and a windshield wiper with the other, holding on for dear life. The driver reverses, no doubt trying to throw me from the car, but I manage to hang on, despite my lower half sliding all over the hood. I raise my head to get a good look at the guy who wants me dead, but all I see is the driver’s seat. The empty driver’s seat. Either I’ve entered the Twilight Zone and my car has come to life as a killing machine, or my attacker is actually invisible. Or there’s option number three: I’m losing my mind and all of this is one giant hallucination. Only, the blood and pain are proof I’m not hallucinating.

So the question remains—how do I fight what I can’t see? The steering wheel turns hard to the right, and the car goes into a full spin. I’m about to hurl the Big Mac I scarfed down on my break when the brakes screech and the car slams to a halt. I slide almost all the way off the hood, hanging on by a windshield wiper. I scramble back up and grab the edge of the hood before the car takes off again. This time, the car heads straight for the big green dumpster outside of Hip Today, Chic Tomorrow.

I pull my knees up to my chest so my feet are flat beneath me. Right before the car collides with the dumpster, I let go of the hood and jump. I land on the edge of the dumpster, legs dangling over the side. My car reverses, and I know what’s coming. The bastard is going to try to take my legs off. I pull myself up and into the dumpster, landing on bags of garbage. Luckily, most of them are fabric scraps, so they break my fall without injuring me further. I brace myself as my car smashes into the dumpster.

For the first time, I realize I lost my phone and my keys. Keys… How is someone driving my car without the keys? The dumpster is offering me more protection than the clunker of a car, but I need the police to show up or I’ll never get away alive. Did the 911 operator hear the car and my screams? Will she trace the location of my call and send an officer to check on me? I pile bags of garbage on one side of the dumpster and climb up so I can see over the edge.

As my car comes at the dumpster again, I check out the damage to the front end. It can’t possibly take much more. My car is going to burst into flames soon. This time, when the car gets close, I drop down into the dumpster. If there’s going to be an explosion, I want to be covered, even if it’s by garbage.

Sure enough, I hear the engine go up in flames. My eardrums feel like they’re going to burst from the sound: a combination of metal crunching and something exploding. Flames shower down on the dumpster. I scramble out of the way, realizing I have to get out of here before all the fabric scraps create a huge bonfire with me in the middle of it. I climb on top of the garbage bags and pull myself up and over the edge of the dumpster. A flying car part heads my way, and I drop to the ground to avoid being hit.

My left leg hits the wooden steps on the side of the dumpster, knocking me off balance, and I slam my right knee into the pavement. My kneecap erupts in pain, like it’s shattered, but I use the dumpster to stand and drag my leg behind me. Tears stream down my cheeks as I look for my attacker, knowing damn well I won’t see him. He’s freakin’ invisible! My car comes into view around the red and orange flames. But this time, I do see someone.

He’s tall—at least six foot four. His slightly wavy golden-blond hair looks like the sun in the light of the fire. And he’s gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. He doesn’t even look my way. He yanks the car door open and pulls someone out. Someone I can’t see. I step forward, trying to get a better view when something crunches under my bare foot. I wince as I look down at my phone. It’s beat-up but still working, considering the display is lit up. Maybe the 911 operator heard everything. Help might be on the way after all. I pick up the phone and click the camera icon, determined to get a picture of this mystery guy and the person he’s dragging from my car.

He slings something over his shoulder, but to me it looks like air. He turns, and his eyes meet my camera as I snap the picture. His face scrunches in what can only be anger, and I’m afraid he’s going to advance on me. I lower the phone, stashing it in my back pocket. I want to run, but my knee is busted up pretty bad, and by the looks of this guy, he could run a marathon and think nothing of it.

He takes one step toward me, still balancing an invisible weight on his shoulder. Go home, he says, his face stone-cold serious.

He’s letting me go. I can’t get my mouth to form words, so I nod. He gives me one last look before turning and walking away. I watch him head down the back street, leading to the seedier section of town. I don’t know who he is or where he came from. Only that he saved my life. He saved me from the invisible monster kids have nightmares about. I’m alive because of him.

I think about that as I dial Trisha’s number. She’s the only one I can call. Mom would freak out and probably get into an accident on her way to pick me up. Dad would blame himself since I’m only working because he got laid off. And Mrs. Rockworth would be more concerned about her store and the damage to her precious dumpster than me.

Hey, what did you do, stay late? Trisha asks when she picks up on the third ring.

I need your help.

Are you okay? You sound…I don’t know, weird, shaky.

I lick my lips, which are dry and split down the middle. I can only imagine what I must look like. Probably like someone tried to run me over a few times. Someone was in the parking lot when I got out of work.

Someone? Wait. Are you saying you were jumped? Trisha’s voice rises an octave.

Yes and no. Someone stole my car and tried to run me over with it.

Oh my God, Kaylan! Her voice is so loud and high-pitched I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

Believe me, I know. Can you come get me? My car is trashed. It actually exploded. I busted my knee and can’t even walk.

I’ll be right there. Don’t move.

Couldn’t if I tried. I hear her fumbling around on the other end. An engine starts, and I know she’s on her way.

Kay, why would someone want to hurt you?

I have no idea.

Well, did you recognize them? Was it a guy or a girl?

I don’t know. The parking lot was dark. You know the lights don’t work.

Ugh, stupid ass Rockworth! You could sue her, you know.

I don’t want to sue anyone.

You sure? Your family could use the money right now.

I swallow hard and bite my lip, which I instantly regret. The metallic taste of blood seeps into my mouth. We don’t say another word for several minutes, but Trisha stays on the line in case I need her.

I’m pulling up to the parking lot now. Where are you?

I see her black Escape enter the lot, and I wave while saying into the phone, Over here by the back steps. Just head past my flaming car.

Good to see you still have your sense of hu— She stops when she sees me. She’s out the door with her arms around me in seconds. I can’t hold the tears back any longer. The reality of what happened tonight slams into me, and I feel every cut, every bruise, and every ounce of fear that comes with knowing I barely escaped death. My shoulders shake as I sob on Trisha’s designer jacket. She pats my hair without saying a word, giving me the time I need to come to terms with what happened before she drills me with more questions. We don’t pull apart until we hear the sirens of the fire trucks. 911 must have traced my call—that or the fire from my car got someone’s attention.

Trisha steps back and looks into my eyes. My God, Kay. What happened tonight?

That’s what I’d like to know.

Chapter 2

Can we get out of here? I don’t feel up to talking to the fire department or the police right now. I touch my bloody lip. I want to go home and wash this awful night down the shower drain. Not that I think that’s really possible.

Trisha shakes her head. "Sorry, Kaylan. This is the scene of a crime, one you were involved in. We can’t leave. If anyone sees us, it’s my plates they’re going to report. I can’t afford to get in trouble with the police. My dad would have my head." Trisha’s dad is in the Army and is a model citizen. He’s rarely ever home, but when he is, he does everything by the book and makes sure Trisha does, too.

I let out a long sigh. Mom and Dad are going to lock me away until I’m eighty after they find out about tonight.

Nah, they won’t be around when you’re eighty. It will probably only be until you’re in your sixties at most, so don’t sweat it. She gives me a smile to let me know she’s kidding.

The fire department gets right to work extinguishing the fire that was once my car, and shortly after, a police officer pulls up and questions me about the incident as he calls it. I tell him as much as I can without making myself sound crazy, which means I leave out the part about my attacker being invisible.

You didn’t see your attacker, but you did see the person who carried your attacker off? Officer Tamlin asks, scribbling away on his notepad.

Briefly. I reach into my back pocket for my phone. I got a picture of him.

Officer Tamlin leans closer as I flip to the most recent photo. My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. The picture only shows my open car door and an empty parking lot. No guy with an invisible person slung over his shoulder.

I— No more words will come. I have nothing. Did I imagine it all? Am I going crazy? No. I didn’t beat myself up. That’s impossible. But the only explanation is just as crazy. The guy who saved me can make himself invisible, too. I’m sorry. I thought I got a picture of him. I guess I was wrong. I don’t know how I find the will to speak, maybe it’s self-preservation kicking in, but I get the words out and pocket my phone again before Officer Tamlin gets suspicious.

He nods sympathetically. You’ve been through a lot this evening. It was good you tried to get a photograph. You were thinking on your feet, and under the circumstances, that couldn’t have been easy to do.

Thank you. At least Officer Tamlin is nice. Do you need anything else from me, or can my friend drive me home now?

He takes a business card from his shirt pocket. Here’s my card. If you remember anything else, give me a call. In the meantime, go home and get some rest. I advise you to see your doctor first thing in the morning to fully assess your injuries, but for now let the paramedics give you a quick once-over. If they clear you, you’re free to leave. Normally I’d insist on a full exam right away, but other than hobbling a little on that leg and some scrapes here and there, you look okay. I plan to follow up with your parents in the morning though, so make that doctor’s appointment.

I will. Thank you. I give him a small smile and turn to see the paramedics already at my side. There’s nothing majorly wrong with me, so they let Trisha walk me to her Escape. I lean my weight on her so I don’t have to drag my leg. I don’t want Officer Tamlin or the paramedics to change their minds and drive me to the emergency room.

Can you get in the car on your own? Trisha asks, opening the door for me.

I look back at Officer Tamlin, watching me like an overprotective father. Yeah, I can do it. Luckily, it isn’t a big step up into her Escape. For an SUV, it’s pretty small.

Once I’m settled into the seat, I wave to Officer Tamlin. Trisha waves too as she backs out of the parking lot. He’s pretty hot for a cop.

I roll my eyes, not at all surprised she was checking him out. Trisha’s hormones operate on overdrive 24/7. Any guy under the age of forty falls victim to her radar, and she rates them