My Delicate Destruction: Book One of the Wolfegang Series (10 page)

Finally done, I grabbed everything I needed and cleaned up the desk. I left the library without looking at anyone and got back into the car.

I reached to turn the ignition, but my stomach clenched in panic, and I felt cold sweat on my brow. I tried to breathe but couldn’t. Thoughts raced through my head of their own volition. What if I couldn’t find him? What if I was caught? What was I? Was I cured? What if I wasn’t? Would I die today or next week? I couldn’t stop the onslaught of questions. I wanted to curl up in the corner and cry. But I didn’t have the time to waste. I couldn’t sit there and have a breakdown or a panic attack. It wasn’t time yet. I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself with the knowledge that I could have time to freak out as soon as I was on my way to my brother.

That thought helped enough to let me get some control over myself. I turned the ignition and heard the engine roar. I immediately felt better when I heard it. I ran my fingers over the steering wheel until I could breathe normally again.

I put the car in reverse manual mode, because apparently the car could drive on its own since there was an auto-pilot option, even backwards. I backed out onto the street. The car wasn’t too hard to get used to. It was generally the same, except it had a lot more options and features than a car of my generation. I typed in the address of the hospital into the GPS.

I just wanted to get my trunk and get to the docks
before I was found. My mother had left my trunk at the hospital so that I had anything I needed when I woke up.

I stayed the same speed as everyone else on the road, using the high tech map to find my way back. I reached the hospital right as the sun was setting. It shed colors over the ruins of what was once a great hospital.

I crawled back into that tiny little hole and found my trunk tucked behind a desk. It was incredibly heavy. I looked around. There had to be a way to get it out of the basement. A sign hung crookedly over a door to the stairs. I pushed the trunk over to the door and heaved it open. More rats ran towards me. I jumped out of the way, holding my breath so I wouldn’t scream.

I dragged that stupid trunk up two flights of stairs and then had to kick open the door. There was so much debris; it took me several tries to get it open. When I finally did, dust scattered as the debris smashed to the ground. I coughed as I dragged my trunk through the main floor to the car. I pushed the trunk through the slats that I originally left through, and it broke them as it fell to the ground outside.

It was getting dark a lot faster than I expected. I opened the trunk of the car and heaved it in there. The car became noticeably closer to the ground. I got back into the car and inserted the address for the cemetery where my parents were buried. I had one more thing I wanted to do before I left Los Angeles, my home.

I headed towards Santa Monica. The sun was slowly setting. I got off the freeway, turned down a side street, and went a few more miles before I parked. I got out of the car and gazed at the rolling hills covered in graves. The sun had left a warm glow on the headstones. I walked slowly through the gate onto the hallowed ground. The cemetery was eerily familiar. It seemed like just last year I was there for my grandfather’s funeral. I was silent as I headed toward my family’s plot.

I was scared. I didn’t know what to think or feel. So much time had passed, and so much had happened while I was asleep. I reached the southwest corner of the cemetery and saw my grandparents’ headstones first. I touched them softly as I passed, offering a silent prayer. I moved swiftly until I was only inches away from the next headstone.

“Betty Anderson,” I read, my words barely a whisper. My mother was buried alone. It made my anger at my father burn more. He was buried with his second wife, Leila. A tear ran down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly. I hated crying. It was so weak.

Something caught my eye. I turned to get a better look. My jaw dropped, and I moved towards it as if in a trance.

There was my brother’s headstone, and right next to it was mine. It felt odd to be looking at my own grave. I fell to my knees and traced my name. It said, “Katerina Marie Anderson, beloved daughter, sister, and friend.”

Tears streamed down my face unchecked. A sob tore at my throat. I gave in and cried. I leaned against my own grave, my head against the warm stone. I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to say no and finish out my life with my family and friends. Even if it was short, I would still have had more time with Kevin and my twin and my mother. I would have been with them longer than if I had chosen to undergo the stupid experiment.

The wind dried the tears on my face even as new ones coursed down. The cold air was a reminder of the changes. It was now winter, all in the blink of an eye.

I mourned for who I was, who I could never be again, for the life I could never get back. The sun set as I sat there. Any prayer I had was gone. This was not a bad dream, and I would not wake up to the life I remembered.

My old life was dead.

The Wolfegang Series continues with Shadows in Darkness: Book Two of the Wolfegang Series.

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Acknowledgments

This series has been a long time coming, and it never would have manifested if not for the help of the people around me. Most importantly my family. I wanted to thank my parents from the bottom of my heart. You always supported me, and believed I could do anything, even if it seemed far-fetched. My father especially. You handed me my first Science Fiction/Fantasy novel when I was eleven.
Dealing With Dragons
by Patricia C. Wrede. That book was what made me realize I wanted to be a writer. You took me to the bookstore and let me read whatever I wanted, feeding my addiction for books. My mother, you are always the cheerleader. You told me art could be a career, regardless of what anyone else thought. To my sister, for always wanting to read my work, even if I wasn’t ready for it to be seen. Thank you for being one of my proofreaders, an invaluable service you have no idea. You have no idea what it means that you truly like what I write. To my brother, one of my best friends, I got so lucky with you. Most siblings don’t get along, or aren’t that close. It means the entire world to me that I can hang out with my brother and sister, and be actual friends, not pretending to like each other.

My grandparents, you are awesome. Ada, somehow you managed to be the coolest grandma ever for enjoying my young adult science fiction :) I love you guys for being so supportive, and allowing me to be who I am. Grandpa, you don’t really get the ‘art’ thing, but you still support me and gave me a chance at education I never would have had otherwise. I like to think the education has helped me with my writing skill, so thank you!

I also want to thank Brooke, my editor, for helping me get this book into shape. I want you to know I appreciate you putting up with all the commas I put everywhere, regardless of any rules. To Lauren, you point out things that no one else does, and the things that make me want to facepalm myself and everyone else who read it before you.

I want to thank two of my best friends, Shannon and Lindsey. You listen to me when I’m going on and on about writing, and book covers when you don’t really understand what I’m talking about. You guys have been endlessly supportive through everything.

And last but definitely not least, I want to thank Mike. You sat with me almost ten years ago when I started writing the baby version of this series. You answered every question I had without telling me I was stupid. You’ve read every version of this story that exists or has existed. You point out the parts that don’t make sense, and helped me shape this into a career instead of just a hobby. You give me the time to write. You’ve done everything and are almost as big a part of this work as I am, from being my photographer, photoshop teacher, cover creator and formatter (three different formats), making sure I had Scrivener, and all the tools to use it, and helping me create my website. Literally, I couldn’t have done it without you.

This book and this series would not exist in published format if not for all of you, so I want to say one more time: Thank you and I love you all.

About the Author

Jillian Ashe lives and works in San Diego, California. While writing the Wolfegang series she attends University in pursuit of a Masters degree followed by a Doctorate in English and Creative Writing. She has been writing since age twelve and even wrote a few pieces for The La Jolla Light Newspaper. She is part of almost every fandom out there, and she loves makeup, Steampunk, making her own costumes when she has the time, and geeks out about Disney on a regular basis.

Jillian is working on finishing the Wolfegang series, and has a dark fairy tale series in the works called the Rose Chronicles. Kick-ass female protagonists is her favorite thing to write about, regardless of genre. She loves her readers, so feel free to contact her!

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