The Ascender

By Tracey L. Pacelli

Billy Magnusson, a twelve year-old boy, has been the target of The Mandela Effect, an energy wave that attacks him, erasing pieces of his past and adding new details to his life script. Billy would describe the attacks as like riding a surf board atop waves he can’t see coming, and he never knows when the next energy wave might hit him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing
• Release date: Mar 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781619506060

Tracey L. Pacelli

Tracey lives atop a beautiful mountain in Asheville, NC, with her talented teen daughter, and her seafaring husband, Daniel, who is a vessel captain. She spends much of her time chasing after their marble-mouthed parrot, Blackie, and King Charles puppy, Oliver Dudley, who is indeed king of their beautiful castle.TIME WARPED is Tracey's first teen novel, but there will most certainly be more to come, she promises, as she looks forward to a long and fruitful relationship with Gypsy Shadow Publishing.Tracey has had extensive face time with the paranormal, as a journalist and editor for PsychicAccess.com. Over the years she's investigated many unusual topics and was Chief Editor for The Psychic Times Newsletter, which she ran for over two years. More recently, she has become an avid student of astrology, and offers readings to friends and family.Her work in the entertainment arena is vast, and includes administrative positions at CBS Networks, HBO, The NBA, New Line Cinema, and The Fifi Oscard Agency. She's also worked in several law firms, in New York and in Charleston, SC. and was even a ballroom dance teacher for a very, very brief time, before she shuffled off to Asheville, NC.Who knows what she'll be up to next. But you are welcome to investigate by checking on her website: www.timewarped.net, following her daily blog, becoming a friend on facebook, or perhaps by reading some of her fan fiction at fanfiction.net. If you're a fellow Gleek, you'll be sure to find her there.

Book preview

Contents

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

About the Author

The Ascender

by

Tracey Pacelli

All rights reserved

Copyright © October 28, 2019, Tracey Pacelli

Cover Art Copyright © 2020, Danielle Townsend

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

ISBN: 978-1-61950-606-0

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: March 11, 2020

Dedication

To my beyond wonderful, gorgeous, talented daughter, Rachel, with her own novel soon to be published (SPOOLS OF RED TWINE). She's a voice who’s always in my head—knowing my every thought! Really, how do you do that? Thanks for educating me about The Mandela Effect. Thanks to you, I can never look at C-3PO’s silver and gold body the same way again!

To my handsome seafaring guy and life partner, Daniel, who’s weathered some rough seas these past 3 years. But through all the adversity he never stopped being my best cheerleader!

To Danielle Townsend for her amazing cover art. What an emerging new talent you are! Kudos to you for drawing a pic that surpassed my vision.

To Poppy, my dad—Sci-fi’s not really your thing, but steadfast loyalty is, and I know, wherever you are, you’re proud!

To my mom—still glam, ever-present, smart, loving, and always wise, this novel is probably way too sentimental and hopeful for your depressing book club! But maybe you’ll get them to try something completely different—who knows?

Henry, Jackie—bro and sistah… sistah… I’m a blessed gal to have such loving support. Matt… Greg… Steve… Meg… Jess… Sonja… Jack…Yelena… Julianne—The loving wellspring from which I flow.

And, to Charlotte Holley and Denise Bartlett at Gypsy Shadow Publishing. Your welcoming spirit, warm support, supreme talent, and undying dedication, persistence and devotion to this challenging field qualifies you for a medal of honor in my book (pun intended). So incredibly, indelibly lucky to have you two in my corner!!!

Finally to all unseen readers out there… Thanks for buying The Ascender. Hope it rises to the occasion. I invite you to write to me at [e-mail].

Chapter One

It was a sunny spring day in Raleigh, North Carolina. Billy Magnusson opened the kitchen window to let in a warm breeze. He turned to address the AI head on the counter. How long do I have?

Your bus will arrive in approximately six minutes, Billy, replied a robotic teen head in a Brit dialect, its face rubbery and pasty like a statue. The features shifted with exaggerated expression, every syllable broadly acted out on its face.

Billy nodded. Plenty of time.

For you, six minutes is practically an eternity, the head agreed.

Billy fixed himself a bowl of cheerios, leaned over the sink to save time, and shoveled the cereal into his mouth.

A loud commotion from outside froze Billy’s spoon on its way to his mouth.

Sounds like Ron Lemon is having a bad day, the AI responded, its sensors instantly recognizing the voice next door.

Lemon shouted again, his voice cracking like thunder. What did you do?

Billy listened intently, all senses trained on the drama next door. He heard a Whack! Then a Yelp! Followed by a long, plaintive howl that tore through his heart, overloading his emotions quicker than his mind could process what was going on. Dread, anger and fear began to snowball.

Stay out of my room! Lemon exploded, yet again.

Another terrible cry rang out from the poor creature. Then nothing… Just eerie quiet.

Billy dropped his spoon and tore from his home, blind rage propelling him forward. He hopped the white wooden fence that separated their nicely tended homes, with the speed and ease of an Olympic pole vaulter.

No one was in Ron Lemon’s yard anymore. Billy wrapped on his back door till his knuckles were raw. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to save the puppy, an adorable black lab runt from a litter down the block.

There was no answer, and Billy was about to return home and phone 911, when he suddenly heard the puppy bark. It sounded fine—at least physically, anyway.

Billy saw the school bus go by with Ron Lemon seated at the back window, his face grim.

Billy couldn’t afford another tardy. He hopped on his bike and pedaled the two miles to his middle school, all the while a fire blazing in his belly, as he thought about Ron Lemon abusing his dog.

By the time lunch rolled around, Billy’s anger was like molten lava. He was seated at a table with the usual group of four, kids he liked well enough to keep at arm’s length. Today that length grew even longer. Billy was staring Lemon down at the next table.

Lemon felt his unwavering gaze and the heat kept building until he finally reacted. Lemon left his table to stand beside Billy. What’s your problem, Magnusson?

Billy kept his head even and replied through clenched teeth. I know what you did this morning!

Lemon’s eyes momentarily flickered with surprise. He then placed a deceptively friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder, a hand that squeezed around his shoulder like a vice. I think you’ve got the wrong guy, Lemon said, cool as a cucumber, then leisurely walked back to his table, rejoining his friends.

Billy’s shoulder stung, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wouldn’t give Lemon that satisfaction. From then on, his accusing eyes never veered from Lemon’s, as he continued to stare the bully down.

Cool it, Billy, a freckled boy at Billy’s table warned.

Come on, Billy. He’s the class president, said the high-pitched boy beside him. And he’s got his squad with him. It’s like picking a fight with the Godfather.

The cute pixie-haired girl beside Billy was frowning. Ron’s a nice kid. He’s hardly the Godfather. What did he do to you, anyway, Billy?

Billy didn’t answer. He was too busy glaring.

The skinny friend of the pixie girl gushed, Ron Lemon is the poster boy for perfect. He’s like this blonde Adonis.

Billy’s also blonde, the pixie girl argued, clearly smitten with Billy.

Ron’s tall.

Billy’s got silver streaks in his hair and his hair is way longer than Ron’s.

I like short hair.

Billy’s got dimples.

The freckled boy examined his hands. I have unusually long fingers I’m told. My mom says I could be the next Beethoven.

Who’s Beethoven? the pixie girl shrugged.

I didn’t know you played piano, the other boy said, ignoring her stupidity.

I don’t play piano, the freckled boy answered. But if I did, I’d be a sick virtuoso.

Billy heard all their banter, filing everything away as he always did. But he was way more interested in the other table, his ears picking up conversation between Lemon and his VP sidekick.

How should I know what’s with him? Lemon shrugged, pretending innocence.

Looks like he wants to punch you, the VP replied. What does he think you did?

Lemon’s face reddened. If I did anything at all—and I’m not saying I did—IT deserved it, he defended.

That was it for Billy. He launched himself on the smug puppy beater and punched him good in the face.

Their hulking gym teacher, his belly as big as a basketball, had just seated himself at a table with a steaming hot meatloaf—his fork halfway to his salivating mouth—when he was forced to abandon his favorite school meal.

He yanked Billy off of Ron and hoisted him up by the collar. It’s the principal for you, he announced. He checked on Ron’s face and didn’t think his nose had been broken. Get to the school nurse! he ordered.

The stocky gym teacher accompanied Billy down the hall when suddenly, a powerful WAVE hit Billy full-on. It was like an energy ball straight to his head, causing his ears to ring loudly and his vision to unravel. He was so dizzy he couldn’t stand any longer. Billy doubled over, clutching his head.

The gym teacher, convinced he’d been faking it, dragged him down the long hall without sympathy. By the time they arrived at the principal’s office, the wave had ended, and Billy felt normal again.

The no-nonsense principal was quick to inform Billy that the school had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to fighting. Wait out in the lobby, he ordered.

Before exiting his office, Billy observed the round wall clock that he owned ticking loudly. It was green with the word Army stamped in its center. Made sense.

An elderly secretary showed Billy to a bench where Ron Lemon also sat waiting for his mom to pick him up.

Ron held an icepack over his nose and when he saw Billy sit down beside him, he naturally squirmed.

Why’d you punch me? Ron asked innocently, no longer smug as he was in the lunchroom.

If you ever hit your dog again, you’ll have a lot more than a black eye and a sore nose to think about.

Ron lowered the ice pack and felt around his tender eye. Is it really turning black?

Yes, Billy replied, feeling neither pride nor embarrassment for what he did. Giving him a black eye was just something he had to do.

So… why’d you hit me? Ron asked.

Why’d you hit your dog? Billy fired back.

I didn’t… I don’t have a dog… I don’t even like dogs.

Wait… No kidding? Billy said, the room suddenly pulsing, seeming smaller, caving in on him, as a creeping truth began to take hold. Your parents didn’t buy the puppy from the litter on the block?

No… I’ve never had a dog.

Oh… And there was nothing more Billy could say. When the WAVE changed something, no one else ever seemed to know about it. Only Billy knew it had happened. It was his burden to bear… alone. Always alone.

You on drugs? Ron asked.

Not drugs, he said distracted. This is something else, he mumbled.

Billy was thinking about the change the wave made and how he was going to deal with it this time. He had to know why this otherwise quiet kid would punch a puppy—even if he no longer had one to punch. So… you hate dogs.

I don’t hate anything… But I don’t like messy animals, Lemon said.

Billy took in Ron’s clean appearance, a trait they shared. They were both neat, well-groomed—really organized guys. Only Billy loved animals and would NEVER hurt one, not for any reason. But if you were to have a dog… Billy said.

I wouldn’t want a dog. I wouldn’t have time to walk it. I keep pretty busy, Ron confided.

Right… I never see you around except for class. Where do you go?

I volunteer a lot… after school… and on weekends… My brother needs the help.

It was like he was apologizing for his busy life. Billy already knew Ron’s family history. Everyone did. He’s got down syndrome, right?

Yeah… but he’s a happy kid… I don’t mind helping… I definitely like doing it… he said a little too strongly.

Sure… that’s great… but I bet it must get pretty frustrating not having any time to yourself. Billy was seeing a bigger picture emerge and he was even beginning to feel a little guilty about punching Ron now. The guy was not a bully… not now… but he was earlier. He definitely was a monster earlier that morning. But that’s one of the things a wave did—it confused you. Made you reevaluate, see things differently.

All the while, a pressure was building inside Ron Lemon. His face grew red and he suddenly pounded his chest with a fist. He then burped so loud, it was like a long-held burden was being released from a cannon. Lemon felt better immediately. He laughed, but there was no joy in it. Me, frustrated…? Magnusson, you have no idea.

I have a pretty good imagination.

Lemon turned away, like he couldn’t bear the shame. It feels really good to help my brother out… It’s a really nice place. They look after him there… I mean I’m lucky to be born the way I am… not challenged, ya know, the way he is.

Definitely… only you have a lot on your plate.

Yeah, a lot…

Billy nodded, sympathetically. And if, let’s say, your parents one day came home with a puppy for you, maybe you’d resent having to take care of it. One more thing to deal with. Like maybe your parents meant well, but maybe that puppy was the thing that made you snap. I mean… they didn’t even ask you if you wanted it. They didn’t ask how you felt, and that’s not right, dude.

Lemon got this weird look on his face, like Billy had gone on way past the point of expiration. Magnusson… there is no puppy!

Billy realized his mistake and came back to himself. I’m just a verbal DJ, spinning scenarios, you know?

Yeah, sure… Look, whatever drug you’re on, I think you should get off it, Ron Lemon said.

Wish I could… But it’s not up to me.

Billy’s mom was walking through the door. Billy was beyond relieved to see her, and immediately rose to greet her. He knew he was in trouble, but he didn’t care. What mattered most was that she was still there. She hadn’t disappeared. Despite whatever chaos, her very presence made him relax, feel sane again.

She was blonde and had clear blue eyes like his, only hers were carrying a heavy weight. They were saying, No, not this again.

Chapter Two

Billy’s mom, Shirley Magnusson, a brilliant woman who could dazzle with logic, talked the school principal into allowing Billy to finish out the school term, but he would not be allowed to return the next year.

Time to change schools again. But that was nothing new for the Magnussons. Nearly every summer they moved to a new place. And every summer included the annual mother and son camping trip to celebrate Billy’s birthday.

This year mother and son ate tacos, roasted marshmallows and cooked up scary stories by the fire—or, rather, Billy made up the stories, as his mom wasn’t the overly imaginative type.

It was a beautiful, warm evening, and when it grew late, they’d decided to sleep outside their tents. Billy fell off instantly, as he always did. No one could fall asleep quicker than he could. But his twelfth birthday didn’t usher in with ease. It landed on him like a grenade.

A wave of dizziness struck Billy, invading his body without warning, attacking him in his sleeping bag, under a clear, twinkling sky that held no bad omens. He had no weapons to fight it, his only option to endure the onslaught, to take deep breaths and grit his teeth till the dizziness, the quaking that rattled his bones, and the jarring buzz in his ears were gone.

Each attack was as terrifying as the first.

The assault always began with the ear ringing. This one woke him at once. He bolted upright and frantically sought out his mom across a still smoldering campfire. She was sound asleep, snoring soundly, blissfully oblivious to what he was seeing. The pounding in his heart increased with the weird distortion he was observing. His mom’s entire body was morphing, bit by bit, like some kind of alien transformer, into something dark, a thing that didn’t resemble his mom at all. Slim features widening, wavy blonde hair turning to ash, all of her pulsating as though something was being hatched from her cocoon, something abominable… something not to be tolerated.

But it was only the dizziness that made her seem to be changing. Fear could make anyone manifest a monster that wasn’t there. Billy stopped watching the hideous transformation play out, overtaken by a churning in his belly that demanded immediate attention.

He rolled over onto his side to barf out the tacos he’d personally requested for his birthday meal. As he did so, he wished he could erect a wall around his intestines to keep the Mexican food out—his sense of humor not leaving him, not even at death’s door.

Only one solution for the nausea, to shut his eyes and trust that his mom would still be there when he opened them. She’d be back. She had to be. He wouldn’t lose his mom. THIS CHANGE WAS NOT ALLOWED.

Billy clamped his eyes shut and counted down from ten to one in his head, repeatedly, a formula for panic attacks he’d read online that seemed to work for him. Ten… nine… eight… He kept counting, till the ringing in his ears finally subsided and he could hear the battle between the crickets and the screech owls in the background again.

The event passed as quickly as it had come. Sleeping peacefully and physically unchanged across the campfire, his mom was still his mom, and he hoped in the morning all of her would be the same as he remembered. He eased himself back into his sleeping bag, his energy spent.

Every attack acted as a sleeping tonic for him. And as he began to drift off into a deep sleep, the