Unexpected: Secret Series

By Grace Simmons

Eight kids eight secrets, Sally Jenkins is just an average girl, but
that all changes when she takes a routine ride on a safe road and
it turns deadly. What she thinks is a freak accident turns out to be
intentional. She soon figures out that someone is out there watching
her and her friends, trying to hunt them down. She and her two new
friends, Thomas and Talia, work together to uncover the truth about
her dangerous past, but can all seven of them work together long
enough to stop evil from rising? Can they manage to stay in the same
room without ripping each others throats out? Will they be able to
survive this adventure? But most importantly, will they succeed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479750825

Grace Simmons

Grace Simmons is the eldest of three sisters. She is a published author of a novel with the first in the series titled “Unexpected.” The first book was written at the age of eleven, released in 2012. Upon launching the book, she used the opportunity to tour a few schools, with the hopes of inspiring other children and teens to pursue their dreams and work hard. She organized a book club in her middle school in order to challenge students to read more and expand their vocabulary. She intends to use some of the book’s profits to give back to the community through charity. Her books are available for sale online at Barnes and Nobles, Amazon.com, and are also available for e-book.

Book preview

~Dangerous Delilah

What happened? Why am I in the hospital? I questioned, disoriented, which I was told was normal considering I’d just been the victim of a hit-and-run.

It’s okay, the doctor said reassuringly. He looked around twenty-five years old and a bit too young for the job. Why is he treating me like a mental patient? I thought with an aggravated roll of the eyes as I moved to an upright position. You were in a vegetative state for three days, he explained, Do you remember anything?

Yea— I stopped midsentence and realized that I didn’t even know my own name. I took a deep breath and thought out my situation.

Ah hem, the doctor coughed, trying to get my attention. Ms. Jenkins, you are very lucky you survived. Unfortunately for you, that status is only temporary. I turned toward Mr. Lab-Coat, immediately realizing something was wrong, and found a woman standing in his place. Toward the end of the sentence his voice sounded different—more feminine, and edgy. Maybe, a nurse came in and I didn’t notice, I thought trying to rationalize the situation. I’d just woken up from a coma; it made sense that my mind would be playing tricks on me. For whatever reason, I still felt the primal urge to run, but my body wouldn’t or couldn’t move. I tried to decipher the name tag pinned to her shirt, but it was illegible—a jumble of letters I couldn’t read. My eyes darted around the room trying to find any indication that what was happening to me was normal: The sound of pagers buzzing, elevators moving, footsteps walking the halls, anything. The search came up empty—one glance outside the door, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the place were deserted. Everything seemed hazy and out of focus, like a blurred photo with a soft touch filter added. This discovery only validated my suspicions that something strange was going on.

May I ask what your name is? I said casually. My own voice sounded foreign to my ears.

I’m Delilah, She shut the door to my room, daughter of Eris. A little too much information in my opinion, I thought as the lock clicked into place. At that moment, I wanted to jump out of the linen covered bed and dash down the hallway, but something told me to do otherwise—that that was exactly what she expected and wanted me to do.

Okay, I clapped my hands together, It’s obvious you’re crazy, and it’s been nice chatting, but I have to go now. So if you could just call my parents… I’ll be on my way.

She unclasped a barrette from her hair, and it morphed into a slender dark-bladed knife. I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.

Whoa. I scrambled backward, hands held upward like a white flag. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to insult someone who was clearly unstable. My hands latched around a necklace I didn’t quite remember owning, and my fingers undid the clamp. The locket warmed in my palms, and in a surge of bright light transformed into a… stick.

What a lackluster reveal.

I stared down at the object in my hands, eyebrows drawn up in confusion. Out of all the things it could’ve turned into…

What’s that going to do? she asked amused by my disappointment, My friends call me Dangerous Delilah for a reason. She paused, before continuing, If I had any friends. The knife plunged right where my leg would’ve been, if I hadn’t dashed out of the way in time. Aren’t you a smart sorceress? she stated with a crazed grin, blade still in hand.

Lady, you’re crazy! I shouted, out of breath as I dodged the next series of her attacks. Bed rest didn’t really do much for my reflexes.

Why are you so hard to kill? she replied mildly frustrated, further proving her point by attempting to stab me, and only accomplishing the creation of several new holes in the linens.

Too bad, I said, because it’s about to get harder. Letting instinct take over, I leapt off the bed. My casts evaporated, as soon as I landed on the tiled floor.

The wand elongated and sharpened into a double bladed sword—crystal on one side, obsidian on the other. Blue marble sized sapphire stones surrounded an engraved flame insignia, identical to the one found on my locket. I stared into Delilah’s cold blue eyes analyzing them for any weakness.

Before I knew what she was doing, the blade came down. I sidestepped, but the weapon nicked my arm, and drew a decent amount of blood—a flesh wound. I only wish it felt that way. The gash started to sear and throb with a pain that made me feel like my whole arm had been ripped raw.

You’re going to wish you didn’t do that, I growled through gritted teeth. I stooped down to trip her as she went in for another jab. Stumbling and losing her balance, her weapon hit the curtains and clattered to the ground. A black ink spread where the blade pierced its surface. It grew until the entirety of the drapery was consumed.

If it did that to an inanimate object, then what would it do to my arm?

No time to think about it.

I pointed the blade of my sword to Delilah’s chin, pushing just hard enough to draw beads of blood. Well, what are you waiting for? she asked. Did she want me to kill her? The maniac laugh that followed soon after gave me my answer. I resisted the urge to draw back in repulsion.

I’m not like you, I said more to myself than her, And I never will be, so back off. It was an order, not a request.

Let me think. She placed a finger on her chin. . . . No.

I propelled the sword forward, and Delilah disappeared in a puff of smoke. Whoever she was, I knew she wasn’t human, and I had a feeling I wasn’t either.

Hospitalis, I said, repeating the word in Latin. I added that to the list of things I had no clue I could do.

In a flash of light, I was back at the hospital at the same moment Delilah entered. At first, I thought I was crazy, but the more I replayed what happened, the more it made sense. Do you remember anything? the doctor repeated.

No, I don’t, I answered.

Amnesia, Mr. Lab-Coat declared. All your memories should come to you eventually. By the way, your father’s here, along with someone named Bridgett, who claims to be your best friend. He ruffled through some papers on his clipboard, scrunched his face up in confusion, and then exited, muttering the words, No… No… This can’t be right.

Before I had time to process what had just happened, my father entered the room, flanked by my alleged best friend Bridgett… I think that’s what her name was. Will’s sorry he couldn’t make it, she handed me a bouquet of flowers. He told me to give you these.

Thanks. The name brought back some fragments of my shattered memory.

Will and I should’ve been on that road with you, she said. She and my dad each took a seat in one of the gray bedside chairs. You asked us to come, she continued, but we were too busy planning your birthday surprise party. Some surprise, right? I could slowly feel my memory returning to me just from listening to her monologue.

It’s okay, I said, I’m alive, aren’t I? Somehow, even though I was the one in the patient getup, Bridgett managed to look like the one who needed her pulse checked. You have to admit though, I said to the both of them, this would make a pretty killer story to tell when we get home. Besides, nothing gets your imagination flowing like a near death experience. They laughed nervously.

I got you something to do while you were in here. The person, who I presumed to be my father, handed me a blank sheet of paper, along with pre-sharpened pencils. I graciously said thank you and then began drawing Delilah. I wasn’t really ready to believe that our run in actually happened, but until I had time to sort through recent developments, it was the closest thing I had to coping. I detailed her pale complexion and her ice-cold eyes, which looked startlingly like mine, flecks of red included. Overall, the homicidal maniac who tried to kill me looked unnaturally beautiful, and strikingly similar to the face I saw in the mirror.

That’s a great drawing, Bridgett said, glancing at the page behind purple-rimmed glasses.

I shrugged, Could be better. A second later, the white walls fell away replaced by the dark landscape of Westmont.

I was back at the scene of the accident.

Someone’s headlights temporarily blinded me, explaining the flash of light. The next thing I know the vehicle comes lurching toward me, stopping just short of running me over. The force of the impact launches me backward, and I end up snacking on asphalt. The door opened, revealing two people. My vision was blurred and spots checkered everything I viewed, but I eventually made out a face, and it was that she-devil Delilah. That’s it. I’ve had enough of that girl. I tried to lift my head up to get a better view, but I was too weak and dazed from my concussion, not that my other injuries were helping. As one of the faces came closer, I realized I recognized the person. It was my mother.

She had the same brown complexion, black hair, and the same blue eyes with flecks of red, a rare trait all three of us seemed to share.

Are you okay, Sally? She pulled out a necklace. It was the same one I woke up with at the hospital. I looked closer and noticed a flame etched onto its glinting, silver surface. Listen to me carefully, she began, When you join that group, know that you’re different, more powerful, and more dangerous than the rest. She glared at me with an unfamiliar look of urgency.

Hurry up, sister, before I run you both over, Delilah beckoned, honking the horn. Though I would be more than happy to.

Coming! My mother called back, I just have to make sure you didn’t kill her, with you not wanting to leave a trace, and all, it would be bad if you were tracked.

Honestly, what’s another body, Delilah shrugged, She’s fine anyway.

Alright, She shot an aggravated glance over her shoulder, just let me collect my things. I’ll be over in a minute. I wanted to say something—anything—she wasn’t making any sense, and I needed clarification, but all I could do was gag on the metallic taste filling my mouth. It was an effort just to keep conscious, let alone form a coherent question. Just be sure you know who your true enemies are, she said in a whisper before fixing the locket around my neck. She hopped into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and drove away as fast as she came.

Sally! Sally! two voices shouted in unison, shaking me by the elbow.

I pulled out of their grip. Hey, guys, how’s it going? I said in an unsuccessful attempt to throw the attention off me.

You okay? Bridgett asked.

Fine, I’m fine, I replied more quietly than I meant to. Mr. Lab-Coat burst into the room.

How did you get those cuts? he questioned.

Why does it matter? My dad asked.

Yeah, I added with a groan, I’m not really in the mood for an interrogation.

They matter because you weren’t checked in with them. He took one look at our confused faces and continued, I ran a blood test, and it seems to have a high concentration of three highly toxic poisons. So far, I’ve only been able to identify two. I would put together some type of additional treatment, but seeing as you’re not dead, I suppose I don’t need to, he said with a chuckle. I didn’t feel like laughing, quite the contrary actually.

Oh! he began after the obligatory chuckles died out, Mr. Jenkins, Ms. Bueratary, visiting hours are over, but I would like to keep Ms. Jenkins overnight for observations. I just need you to sign a consent form, he finished, ushering them through the door, before leaving himself. Once left to my thoughts, my mind returned back to the wound I sustained, and I knew Delilah was real.

The good news: I wasn’t losing my mind. The bad news: there was a psychotic teenager named Delilah out to get me.

I made up my mind.

Mr. Lab-Coat had another thing coming if he thought I planned on sticking around.

After combing the room for security cameras and coming up empty, I took off my casts. I also unhooked my IV, along with the wires that were probably monitoring my brain patterns while I slept, which thoroughly crept me out, but I didn’t pay much attention to the thought.

My arm could barely move because of the beating it took earlier, and I knew I couldn’t walk around in hospital attire without the residents of New York thinking I escaped from the asylum down the street. At this rate, I’d be all over The Afternoon News with Wendy Wu by noon. I shuffled around in my bag until I found something decent to wear. Tucking my locket in my shirt, I was almost out of the door when I heard sounds—voices to be exact. My ears zoomed in on the voices, and I made out one sentence: She cannot make it out of here alive. It had a familiar obnoxious inflection, and I knew instantly who it was.

Delilah.

I glanced outside the door and caught a glimpse of the group right as they rounded the corner. She gathered with a cluster of doctors—Mr. Lab-Coat made up a fifth of the coalition. Their voices grew closer at an alarming rate. There was only one way out, and my window for escape was closing with each second. I’d have to run for it.

Flying sneakers, oh, I paused, realizing my mistake "Volatilis sneakers," I repeated in Latin.

The necklace reverted back into a wand. I placed it on the floor, and it began glowing and changing into a pair of black-and-blue bulky high tops. The color wasn’t my first choice, but with no time to waste I urgently put them on and rushed out the door. They were chasing right at my heels.

Come back, we won’t hurt you, a chorus of voices coaxed.

Liars, I mumbled. I turned a corner and slammed right into a wall. My body immediately exploded with pain. Once I recovered, it was only then I realized the trouble I was in.

I reached a dead end.

Once again I was left with one option:

The window.

What I decided to do would most likely get me killed, but in my mind that was better than letting Delilah get ahold of me. So, I did the sensible thing—I jumped out of the fenestration—falling face first at terminal velocity. You probably thought I realized something profoundly life-changing on my way down. I did. I realized I shouldn’t have jumped out of the window, but at that moment, I was a little too preoccupied trying not to break my neck.

"Aaah! Aaah! I’m going to be a pancake! I don’t want to be a pancake!" I yelled during my relatively short plummet to the ground. Not exactly the most mature choice of last words, but it was the first thing that came to mind with the fear of severe injury hanging over me. Luckily, I landed in the rosebushes, and they just so happened to have thorns. Today is not my day, I declared groggily. With a single glance upward, I realized I only jumped from the second floor, and my fall lasted about four seconds.

It could’ve been worse. The tenth story didn’t seem too appetizing. It really would’ve been a nightmare if my leap had been from higher up, I thought, shuddering as my eyes scaled up the hospital’s stories. I didn’t seem to have any broken bones either, so I stepped out of the bushes, dusted myself off, and took off sprinting.

And, that is how I got my fear of hospitals.

I weaved my way through New York without a problem. I earned a few suspicious stares due to my ragged appearance, but nobody asked any questions. I considered myself lucky for my relatively low profile, because I stuck out like a sore thumb otherwise. My clothes were ripped, and twigs and leaves were lodged in my hair. Since, all the kids were supposed to be in school around that time, it made me that much more conspicuous.

When I got home, I finally had time to evaluate the continuous string of strange events that were happening to me. My fall wasn’t deadly, but if it were one more story, it would’ve been. I sat down on my couch and turned on my flat-screen TV. A news reporter was stationed at the hospital I left moments ago. I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

Is it true, Miss, that there was a child seen jumping out of a second-story window at the nearby Hospital Center, Wendy Wu asked. She passed the microphone to a girl with frizzy red hair who spoke in an out-of-place Southern accent. Weirder things have happened.

Yup, and please call me Kathy. I saw this girl, She began, She just jumped out of this here window, screaming somethin’ ‘bout pancakes. I hid behind my parked car because I thought she was a bit unstable, and as it turns out, I was right.

Kathy, can you tell the public what to look out for?

It would be my pleasure. She had bangs with purple and red highlights, and she was wearing a really messy ponytail— Kathy was cut off by Wendy yanking the microphone out of her hand.

Shoot, I shook my head in disappointment, I thought no one saw me. I knew my modus of escape would come back to bite me in the future. I just didn’t expect it to be today.

Looks like New York may have someone dangerous on the loose. This is Wendy Wu at the scene. Keep your doors locked, and your eyes peeled—Good day and bye-bye. When Wendy finally finished talking, I turned the TV off—fuming—and called Bridgett.

~Suspicions

Sally

So, you’re telling me that because this girl… Delilah tried to kill you twice, you decided to break out of the hospital by jumping out of a second-story window? I nodded. And you came out of this completely unhurt? She spit the words out with skepticism. I gave another nod. Am I missing anything?

I made the six o’clock news, I added. That was definitely a highlight of this ordeal. Bridgett just sighed and buried her face in her palm.

Well, in other news, I have a new club application. She slid the piece of paper on my kitchen table, I think we should join it together. The offer threw me off. Usually, I was the one pushing to get her to try new things, not the other way around. I just kept my suspicions to myself; after all, if you hang out with someone for nine years, they tend to rub off on you.

Sure, I answered, I guess I could go.

Great, the first meeting’s tomorrow, Bridgett got her bags, and left, before I even had a chance to ask what I was getting into.

No use stressing over it, I decided, retreating to my room.

I pulled out my laptop and opened a blank word document. I was going to work my way through this unusual situation, and make sense of it the only way I knew how—with writing. After fifteen minutes of contemplation this was what I came up with:

The times Delilah tried to kill me and what they may mean

1. When she ran me over: She probably did that for fun and thought I was just a regular pedestrian.

2. When she tried to stab me: Found out I existed and decided it would be better if I didn’t.

3. When she forced me to jump out of a second-story window: Didn’t get the job done the first time.

Once I finished organizing my thoughts, I was exhausted.

I settled to call it a day and turn in early for the night. As soon as I closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me, I was dropped into a gigantic study. Rows and rows of books occupied the walls, followed by an equal ratio of shelves. I glanced toward a table and saw my mom knee deep in stacks of handwritten pages. Were they notes? The image was like some sort of cruel joke—hearing the call of the ice cream truck, but not having any money to buy anything—I felt a surge of desperation.

Mom! Mom! I screamed as I struggled with the force that held me rooted in place.

She can’t hear you, a voice said. I recognized it, but couldn’t quite place it.

Who are you? I asked almost deliriously, turning frantically in every direction.

Your mother is safe, The voice said answering my unasked question, For now. I was robbed of my short-lived relief. A short glance at my mom confirmed the statement. She didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, and that had to be enough for me. My breathing slowed, and the disembodied voice continued on explaining in the same bored, indifferent tone. As for who I am, I am your patron, the voice answered. I realized what they were doing. They wanted me put at ease, so I wouldn’t go into hysterics, but was still scared enough to take value in what they were saying.

I don’t even know who you are, and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a patron.

Are you sure about that? Think back in your memory, chosen one. I sifted through my mind, trying to remember that voice. I knew I heard it somewhere, but the further back I dug the more broken and fragmented my recall became. The earliest thing I could remember was a blinding room, more disembodied voices, and… fire. My mind snapped back to my current situation.

Nope, I answered, . . . I still have no clue who you are. I prayed she couldn’t smell the dishonesty.

. . . You owe me your life, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re paying… with interest, the voice said in a businesslike tone, after the brief period of quiet. I need you to find— Static cut off the remainder of the sentence. My eyebrows rose in confusion, and the voice attempted to speak again. Find— The same thing happened once more. My self-proclaimed patron growled—growing more and more frustrated by the second. Never mind, she sighed, this conversation is not over. My power fades.

And just like that the dream ended.

I must have had a really overactive imagination—that or the need for a psychiatrist. Despite that thinking, I didn’t deny the slight possibility that all the unexplainable things I’d gone through were real—not just a trick of the mind—and all leading up to something. As for what the something might be?

Well, it was a bit too early to worry about it.

I woke up staring at a Logan Steeler poster my mom got for my ninth birthday. Wondering why I kept it all these years, and finally settling on its sentimental value, I rolled over to the side of my bed and read the alarm clock, 2:30 a.m.. I had six hours until my first day of school, and I didn’t feel like occupying the majority of it staring at Logan Steeler’s face. Sleeping wasn’t much of an option either. The last thing I needed was another impromptu invasion of my subconscious. As far as I was concerned, dreams were Sally time, and I needed my Sally time, especially after all the weird stuff that kept happening to me. I—still groggy—got out of bed, stubbed my toe, and tripped over a suspicious box while trying to exit my room.

Great, just what I needed, more excitement.

I rose to my feet and glared angrily at the poster. It would’ve been nice if things were that simple. I could take out all my anger on that poster, and this mystery would magically solve itself and things would revert back to their normal boring, uninteresting states. But, I knew it wasn’t that easy, and I had other priorities, so punching Logan Steeler could wait ‘till later.

The comforting thought still didn’t change the fact that I was agitated. It was half past two, and the sun wasn’t even up yet, so the feeling was only natural, especially after a less than restful sleep. After nursing my stubbed toe, I picked up the box only to realize it was locked.

It took ten minutes of pacing to realize I had something that tipped the scales in my favor. Magic. Key, I whispered, then realizing I forgot to say it in Latin added, Clavis! As soon as I said the word, the necklace morphed into a silver key. I placed the key in its designated place, and found—much to my annoyance—it didn’t fit. I jammed it in several more times, without a different result. I gave up, reverted the necklace back into its original form, and placed it under my pillow. I deemed the effort useless. I couldn’t really do anything more in this state—decked out in my Hello Kitty Pj’s, disoriented, and confused from a rude awakening (pardon the cliché). You couldn’t really classify my brain as awake, but I was determined. I knew I would find out what was in that box, even if it was the last thing I did.

But, I also knew it wouldn’t come to that.

Wake up! Wake up! My eye’s fluttered open; I instinctively reached for the wand, but it was only my dad.

Whoa! He backed away from the sudden movement. I bolted up in my bed, and hid the wand under my pillow, and he continued. Get ready for school. You don’t want to be late, so up you go. I tried to roll out of bed, but I just landed on the floor. My scary killer bunny nightmare left me pretty out of it. It was probably just my subconscious trying to provide some obscure metaphor for how chaotic my life was getting, but today things would change. I would be a normal kid again, or at least as close to normal as I could get with someone out there threatening my life. I just needed