Hide: The Omnibus: The HIDE Series

By Jax Spenser

THIS IS ALL FIVE EPISODES IN THE FIVE BOOK SERIES

 

Sixteen-year-old Keegan Roe rarely has a good day. He's prone to blackouts and his abusive mother has just beaten him within an inch of his life. When his estranged father, Billy Roe, finally helps him escape her terrifying reign by driving out of state and due west, things go from bad to hopeful. That is until they pick up the very creepy John Bruce in the desert. His arrival marks a complete turnaround in Keegan's life: he goes from zero to hero as he and his father commit to a new life in the just-out-of-the-package desert town of Sedonia Falls. 

Questioning his new status in high school as the boyfriend to the most popular girl in school, Keegan soon finds that things are not as they seem in this increasingly bizarre town where everyone has two first names and everything seems to be too perfect. As Keegan falls for the one normal girl in town, Lizzy Bruce, he soon uncovers the secrets that lie underneath everything. Including his own mother's history of abuse. Disturbing, non-stop action packed with horrifying paranormal encounters propel this tale of alien invasion toward a surprising conclusion. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jax Spenser Books
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393847052

Book preview

PART ONE:

Untethered

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Chapter 1

I FEEL LIKE SHIT. Worse than the normal shit.

The taste of metal in my mouth makes me want to puke. I’m positive Mom’s parting gift of a broken nose has something to do with that. I’m sweating too. Bad. My clothes are sticking to me and I’m dizzy, like the ground is moving under me. Maybe I hit my head when I fell and blacked out. Again.

The rumble of an engine. Someone’s driving somewhere. Could it be that Mom’s actually trying to help me? Yeah, right, like that’s even possible.

The smell finally hits me, a menthol Tiparillo, Dad’s cheap wannabe cigar of choice. I force open my eyes. The early morning sun hurts and I cover my face with a hand.

I attempt to sit up in my seat but my knee bangs against the glove box. A spasm of pain makes my body jerk. I push through it and turn to him, Dad? Why didn’t you come? I stop because a rush of disappointment and anger dead-ends in my throat.

Okay, okay, easy. Take it easy. I was late, Pal. Don’t get all ... you know ... just relax. He smiles but his eyes run away from mine to somewhere safe, the road.

You promised. I bite back my words and take a deep breath. Are we going to the hospital? I sound stuffed up. I vaguely remember Dad parking somewhere and talking about cotton to stop the bleeding.

Nope. We’re leaving. 

What? Really? No way. I almost don’t believe him. I want to smile, but my constant sadness puts a stop to that.

He clears his throat. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? See, I listened. He always clears his throat that way, like a picked-on kid at school trying to speak up to the bully, but never really being heard.

I try again to sit up but the aches remind me of the one-sided battle royale I just survived. There’s pounding in my ears. I look at him, Promise me we’re not going back. Just promise. Are we really leaving? Are we going to California? Can we go to California? Is he lying to me? Is it just another lie? Always lies. His lie, her lie, and my fading memory. The memory is the hardest to take.

Look, Keeg, I was late getting to the house, I know. When I finally came, she was already gone and you were just ... lying there. In a pile. On the kitchen floor. I wanted to call the police but— He chokes up. I’m ... just so ... sick of this shit, Keegan. Sick of it. It never used to be this way, I swear— He stops, unable to continue. Is it real?

I want to believe him as he rubs his eyes and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. But I know he thinks as long as he holds the wheel and watches the road, he’s safe. Safe from my ass getting beat. Safe from being a real dad.

I stare at him with my broken face and try to decide if this counts as him finally doing something. I should probably be doing a victory dance and high-fiving him. But I can’t. Because what if it’s all some cruel joke Dad’s playing? Why should I trust him now? Lies and more lies.

Hey, can you believe how much blood came out of ya? Hell, it was like a water faucet. Small talk, another safe place for him. He finally says, Sorry, I was late.

A sorry. More than I thought he would give, but he’s still not taking his eyes off the road. That stupid road. He must really think we’re free if he’s offering sorries. But I don’t feel free one bit. For all I know, she could be hiding in the trunk or the backseat, waiting for me.

He takes a drag of his wanna-be cigar and blows it out. My stomach heaves but I hold it down.

Dad, I say, not caring anymore, the smoke’s killing me.

Ah, shit, sorry, Keeg. I’m not thinking. Just ... this last bit. He sucks on it once more like it’s his oxygen. Or courage. There, done, okay? Watch. And like that he flicks it out his window and exhales the last of the smoke with it.  

So we going to California?

California? Uh, well, we’ll drive a ways and then see if we can’t get you fixed-up better. She really did a number on you. That woman can put the hurt on. I guess talking helps, right?

That’s his plan? He wants to talk it out? Pisses me off! Here’s an idea: how about some justice? How about we make little Mom voodoo dolls and throw her into the radiator fan, or zap her with the battery cables? I don’t want to talk about it. Talk never stopped a fist.

"Look at me, Dad. Mom did this to me. Your wife."

Ex. As if it mattered. He doesn’t look. What do you want from me, Keegan? I’m not in the house any more. And, you’re almost a man now. I’m not respons—Damn it, shit happens!

"Oh thanks, shit happens, thanks a lot, Dad!" The weak stuff hits my eyes. I try to block the tears. Turn away. There’s no way I’m going to let him see me like this. Not after I proved I can take whatever Mom could give.

I look out the window on my side trying to push down the anger. I get no relief from the rows and rows of stupid fields flashing past my window. An occasional dumb cow. Just miles of flat, burnt-out dirt. I’ve been waiting so long to get away from her and now that it’s happened, it’s nothing like what I hoped it would be. There’s so much rage it doesn’t feel like anything good is ever going to happen.

I finally ask, Dad?

He clears his throat yet again, Yeah, Keeg?

Just tell me where we’re heading.

I don’t know, Pal, far away I guess. Maybe we could start by heading west. That okay with you?

He knows it is; I’ve only begged him like a million times to go to California. But I think I really need to hear it now.

Yeah, I guess. My backpack? I finally remember, Did you get my backpack?

He glances sideways at me. Sorry, Keeg, I had to carry you out, didn’t really have time to collect a bunch a worthless junk. A smile runs across his face, always a bad liar. Happy Birthday, Keegan. I’m late with that too I guess. Pack’s in the back.

Oh yeah, some birthday. What did I get? A broken nose from Mom and my own backpack with my own stuff.

I reach for it a little too quickly and sharp pains stab at me.

Shit, it hurts. Dad’s right about one thing, she can put the hurt on.

I take a deep breath and turn slowly this time.

There on the back seat is my backpack. He did get it. Great, that’s two.  Two for two today, Dad, but two for one thousand the rest of my life.

I look through it and I see some little kid stuff Dad’s thrown in randomly: seven baseball trading cards, an MP3 player with only eleven songs, the only comic book I owned, Superman #775.

And my Memory Book. The only gift from her I ever wanted to keep. Not really wanted to keep it, more like had to keep. It’s the only thing that connects me to who I am and what I have to go through. It’s the journal of my messed-up life.

I pull it out and run my fingers over the cover. I smile remembering how I dropped a slice of pizza on it once, leaving a wicked pepperoni stain. In fourth grade, I drew the stain into a crazy looking zombie I called Mombie. In the bad times, which were pretty much all the time, the book’s always been with me, listened to me, like having a friend who didn’t judge me. And Dad remembered. It almost makes me want to forget (which will probably happen anyway) everything he’s done ... and not done.

I open the book to last date and start writing. My right hand shakes and I have to steady it with the left.

July 22nd

Last night Mom broke my nose. Dad finally rescued me. We’re driving far away from her. I hope I never see her again in my life. And if I do, I’ll kill her!

CHAPTER 2 

HAD TO MOVE TO the back seat to lay down ... not sure how long I’ve been here. It feels like forever. It’s so hot my skin itches but I don’t want to move. It’ll only bring more pain.

The engine sputters and sounds like a dying bull and I can feel the car start to slow.

Awwwww, for Pete’s sake, come on you piece of ... not now! Hey, where’d he come from? Idiot. Can’t be too smart if he’s out here, Dad says to himself. As far as he knows, I’m still a heap of sleeping mess.

The car comes to a jerky stop. I can’t tell if Dad’s braking or if his shitty car is finally dying.

Dad, apparently not concerned about the car, fixates on something outside. I sit up just enough to get a look at what he’s checking out but it’s too bright outside and all I see is some blinding, sun-warped shape coming toward us. My vision is a bit blurry from waking up and the windows are layered with dust, except for a patch of window that Dad must have wipered clean. Can’t really tell where we are.

Then the passenger door opens and I duck down. Great. Dad’s giving someone a ride.

A wave of heat stings my eyes. I wipe my mouth; it’s wet, full of drool. And there’s a nice little pool of spit and blood on the back seat where my head was. How long was I out? How long has Dad been driving? And why would anyone pick up a hitchhiker?

Thanks for caring, Dad ! 

There’s no justice for the backseat. Not if you’re bleeding. Not if you’re a kid. He’d rather be with a stranger than be alone with his beat-up and passed-out son. It must be guilt. Who wants to be alone with the nightmare he let happen?

Dad says to the guy, Hey, buddy. Where in the world do you think you’re going? You know people die out here?

From way back here I can’t hear the stranger’s answer.

I’m telling you the car’s dead. Dad listens. Alright, alright, I’ll try it. Dad keys the engine and it turns over. Well, look at that! You’ve got the Midas touch. Jump in, Buddy, while she’s still running. I can’t bear to think I left anyone to die. Except for me that is.

The door slams shut and the vibration makes me spasm in pain again. Dad continues, I’m Billy Roe ... got a name?

John Bruce, the stranger replies. His voice sounds dry.

Well, John, it’s your ...

"John Bruce," he repeats as if Dad didn’t hear his last name.

"Okay. Um ... John Bruce then.  Dad sits up in his seat, lays on the gas and we’re moving again. Me and my buddy, Ike, hitchhiked through this desert once. It was so damn hot! Kinda like today, but worse. Ike, he got blisters on his ears and nose. I guess we were just stupid-ass kids. Now that was a bad situation. Mark my words, the desert’ll kill you."

The desert. I knew it felt hotter. I lean closer to try and hear the stranger.

Yes, it is good you came along, Billy Roe, he says.

Dad laughs, Billy. Just call me Billy. The only person calling me Billy Roe is that bitch at the unemployment office.

The stranger doesn’t laugh.

I can see the top of the stranger’s head from my position. He turns toward Dad, his head barely making it above the headrest. A red baseball cap covers up what could be dark brown or black hair. Sunglasses sit loosely on his nose. They seem so big on him, or maybe it’s something with his head.

Your name is Billy Roe, is it not? He asks. It’s funny how he speaks. Like he just stepped out of some old movie where the characters talk all proper.

Yup. That’s my name. Dad clears his throat, yet again. So, John, uh Bruce, where’re you headed? 

A-ri-zona. The stranger says as if sounding out the word for the first time.

Alright, well, we’re heading that way it looks like. I’ll take you as far as I—

—To a little town in A-ri-zona. I think you would like it, Billy Roe.

Dad glances at him. He must hear it too. The guy’s voice doesn’t sound right. I had a friend with a cleft palate who sounded kind of like this guy. What was that kid’s name? Damn, he was my good friend too. My fucked-up memory. Can’t I even remember a friend’s name? It’s like someone pulled a magnet over my hard drive.

John Bruce tilts his head, If you drive me, I would greatly appreciate it. It is quite hot in the desert. Air rushes out after every other word, like he's got a leak.

What the hell’s making him talk that way? I got to know so I peek over the front seat. He’s turned the other way and I can’t get a good look at this face. But I can see that his hair is definitely black and skin is incredibly pale. Paler than Mom, who is practically as white as a bed sheet. Another thing about his skin ... it’s weird because he doesn’t seem fat but he’s got that turkey gizzard thing, the extra skin under his chin. But nothing is as odd as his head, which seems so small compared to those huge sunglasses. It makes me want to knock them off his face.

Curious, I inch further up.

What happened to you, Keegan Roe? the stranger says without turning.

Shit!  Uh ... Did he catch me looking? What? The cotton in my nose makes me sound like I have a cold. I sit up and immediately the car feels like it’s spinning. I drop one hand to the seat to steady myself. Then hold my stomach with the other. Please don’t puke.

He lives! Hey, Pal, we picked up a weary traveler. John Bruce. 

Hey, I manage, How did you know my name?

Dad says, Yeah, did I—

Billy Roe told me. John Bruce tilts his head from one side to the other. Strange, I don’t remember Dad saying my name but I’ve given up on my memory as a place to hold facts.

Dad doesn’t argue. Then John Bruce does a slight turn toward me and I see his eye through the side of those oversized sunglasses for a split second. It catches the light in some bizarre way. Your face, what happened to your face, Keegan Roe?

None of your business, I want to say. I ... fell. I bet Dad’s crappy fix makes me look all trauma victim with the bandages.

The stranger shifts in his seat. Silence.

I poke my loose tooth with my tongue as I stare at the back of his undersized head.

The stranger glances at Dad.

Dad finally, Oh no, it wasn’t me, he says, Keeg’s just clumsy is all. Right, son?

Uh ... I play with the idea of making Dad squirm. He deserves it. I guess.

Dad clears his throat again. So. Are we close to this town of yours, John Bruce?

Not far. It is under two hours from this location. He’s got a funny way of saying things. Like a pilot talking to passengers he doesn’t want to scare.

I don’t know, two hours. Dad looks at me in the rearview mirror. What do you say, Keeg? Should we help the man out?

Hell no! my gut yells. But nobody ever listens to my gut. Even I’ve gotten used to ignoring it. And Dad’s grin makes it clear he’s going to do it no matter what I say. He must enjoy watching me sit helplessly on the sidelines because he knows I’ve never been allowed to say no in our home. I don’t think ... whatever. Blood collects in my mouth from the tooth. I swallow it.

There you go, you hear that Mr. Bruce? Keegan says we’re going to help you out.

Thank you. You are kind, he says. Yeah, thank you for choosing Air Psycho.

It doesn’t matter where we go. Dad never has a plan. It’s the one thing about Dad that makes me feel like trouble is waiting right around the corner. The Billy Roe way; out of one bad situation, into another. Jump in a car and start driving. Damn using your head, right Dad? Then pick up a stranger in the middle of the desert. Why? Because he can’t stand to see someone in trouble? That’s bullshit. What about me? I was in trouble. Why’d he wait so long to help me?

Anger boils from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. I want to reach over the seat and steer the car off the road into some telephone pole. Instead, I’m forced to watch Dad make real plans with a complete stranger while his son sits like road kill just two feet away.

Definitely no justice for the back seat.

I look up at the stranger ... and he’s looking right at me. There it is, his whole face at last. There’s no reason for his weird speech. No deformed lips. Nothing. My arms start tingling and my neck itches; I’m officially creeped out. I have to take a piss, I say and look away.

Dad grunts to let me know he heard me but I can tell it’s not going to be any time soon. God forbid I should slow down bringing the stranger home.

I look out the open window and try to remember how I got here. I can feel the last day all over my body. In bruises. In a broken nose. In a loose tooth I can’t quite get out of the way of my tongue. The aches eventually calm ...

***

I wake. I was sleeping again? I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much unless that part of my memory’s being erased too. Not only did I sleep again but I did it with the stranger in the car. We could have been chopped into little pieces! I hold back a laugh at the thought but it sets off a chain reaction of pain. I’m feeling worse today than I was yesterday when Mother Doom came at me. Have to keep reminding myself she can’t get me anymore.

Dad’s rambling on about all-things cars but I don’t think the stranger’s really paying attention. He keeps staring out his side window. Good, as long as he’s not staring at me.

The Memory Book pokes out of the backpack and it occurs to me, with everything that’s happened, I should probably start writing down the details of our exit while I can still remember.

The sound of the car and the wind whipping outside starts to blend into the background, and I soon lose track of Dad’s attempts to get John ... what was his name again? Bruce. Trying to get John Bruce to talk. I open the book and look back at the other entries.

July 13th

Mom told me I wasn’t going to have a birthday this year. She said we’d all be better off if the day just disappeared. Why does she hate me so much?

I flip back several pages, two years before Mom and Dad separated:

December 18th

Dad and Mom had a major fight ... because of me. I went shopping with Mom at the mall today and I passed out in the dressing room. She got so angry she left me there and went home. She sent Dad to pick me up. The paramedics had me on a gurney when Dad walked in the store. He told them about my condition and they said they had to call the cops because Mom left me there. But he saved her. Can you believe it? He covered what she did. He gave her an excuse, said she thought I made plans to hang out with my friends. What he didn’t tell them is that she’s supposed to be watching me because of the blackouts. It makes me feel completely helpless. So why does he always look out for her and not me? 

Then I go back to the very first entry. Before everything changed. Back when Mom was a real mom. It’s from my 5th birthday.

The handwriting’s different. Mom’s handwriting:

July 21st

Keegan got his brand new bike from his daddy yesterday. Billy pushed him off for the first time so the big boy could pedal on his own. But instead of pedaling he fell and hit the ground hard. It was awful. The poor baby received five stitches on his chin. We found out later from a doctor that he blacked out while he was on his bike. So they kept Keegan overnight and ran several tests.

Today, the doctor said the blackout must have been a hidden disorder. Dormant. It would have happened sooner or later. I told the doctor she must be wrong, because Keegan is a perfect little boy. She didn’t understand what I meant. No one ever does. She told us Keegan will sooner or later have more blackouts. And he’ll have them for the rest of his life.

Even with a for-shit memory, I remember that caring Mom—where did she go?

CHAPTER 3

I WAKE UP JUST as we pull into the rest area. The Memory Book’s still open on my lap.

I remember the stranger we picked up and lift my head to see if Dad’s gotten rid of him. Nope, still there in the front seat.

Why? Why would anyone help out this freak?

Please, Dad, just give this jerk the boot!

Instead, he parks. Whatever hope I had of Dad coming through for me, must have fallen out the car while I slept. I yank the cotton out of my nostril and tear off a blood-soaked piece of gauze that’s taped to my nose. If only I could take a shower to wash the dirt and blood off of me. Maybe then it would make me feel