I not only write, I read. A lot. Probably more than is healthy. There are a lot of things I love about self-publishing/indie authors, and a lot of things I'm not a fan of. Just personal preferences, no disrespect meant. So when I decided to self-publish, I made some promises to myself to try my hardest to avoid doing those things I didn't like seeing/happening in other stories. Now I would like to make those promises to you, the reader:

I promise
to never leave you hanging. If I write a story with a cliffhanger ending, I will only publish it when the second part is completely written.

I promise
that all
cliffhanger sequels
will be published within 16 weeks –
maximum
– of the previous part (i.e., part
two
will come within four months of part
one
. Part
three
will come within four months of part
two
, and so on, and so forth). You will never have to wait six months, or a year, or
years
, for a sequel to any
cliffhangers
that I might write.

I promise
that, while I am an
unsigned indie
author, I will never raise the price of any part of a
series
above $2.99. I will not “hook you” with book one, two, and three at $1.99 and/or $2.99, and then suddenly book
four
is $4.99. I refuse to pay for series that are like that, so I will never do that to you.

I promise
that if I am lucky enough and blessed enough to have fans, I will interact and communicate with them as much as possible – you are who this is all for, after all.

If at any point in time, I fail to live up to any of these promises, you have my permission to tar and feather me, beat me, leave me for dead, or worst of all – call me out.

No work is ever really completed, no story ever completely told, but I will always try my hardest to bring you my best.

Thank you for reading.

DEDICATION

To anyone who has ever been frustrated, or anxious, or scared of being different, or uncomfortable in their own skin, or wondered why they couldn't just be normal.

I know exactly how you feel.

The Bad Ones

PART I

“Ms. Travers, I know we're not even half done with this year, but I think it's crucial we develop a plan for next year. You'll be a senior, and frankly, I'm worried,” Ms. Poulter, the guidance counselor at Fuller High School, said with a sigh.

Dulcie Travers nodded, but didn't look at the other woman. She kept looking out the window. There was a huge maple tree just outside and the leaves had all begun to change. It looked like the tree was on fire, with the fronds rustling in the wind likes sparks in the sky.

I wish I could take my camera out.

“
Ms. Travers!
”

“Yes,” Dulcie responded quickly, finally looking across the desk. “Yes, I'm listening.”

“Now, I see here that at the conclusion of this year, you'll only have two credits in math. What kind of math will you be taking next year?” the counselor asked.

“No math next year.”

“None?”

“I only need two math credits to graduate. So once I'm done with this year, I'm good,” Dulcie explained. She felt like this was something the guidance counselor should've known on her own.

“Well, yes, two is all you need to graduate, but many colleges require three credits. Possibly more! Now, I'm going to sign you up to take -” Ms. Poulter began prattling away as she clicked away on her keyboard.

“No,” Dulcie interrupted her.

“Pardon me?”

“
No.
I don't want anymore math classes.”

“But Ms. Travers! If you want to get into college -”

I'm gonna lose this amazing light if I don't shut her up, and I have to get a picture of that tree.

“This is stupid,” Dulcie snorted, and she picked up her bag as she stood up. “Let's be real. I'm not going to college.”

“Your grades are perfectly acceptable, you could apply -” Ms. Poulter was practically sputtering.

“My grades are 'perfectly' average – who's gonna pay my tuition, huh? I'm not getting a scholarship, and no school is just gonna let me in based on my GPA. I'm like you, I'm like my family, I'm like everyone else in this town.
Stuck here
. One more math class won't change that; I know it, and you know it. So how about I get out of here, and you can use the rest of our scheduled hour to look up cat videos on the internet,” Dulcie suggested.

There was silence for a moment. She began to think the counselor would argue with her. But Dulcie was right, and Ms. Poulter knew it. Unless a student's grades were astronomically good, or he could throw a perfect spiral straight to its target, he was stuck in Fuller, West Virginia. Basically like purgatory, adjacent.

“It's your future. If you can't be bothered to care about it, then I simply don't have time to help you.”

It was a dismissal, and Dulcie didn't hesitate. She muttered a hasty “thank you”, then bolted out the door.

She threw the strap of her bag over her head before she began digging around inside it. Normally, she was okay with using her phone's camera, but for really spectacular shots, she pulled out her precious. The ridiculously expensive digital camera she'd bought herself for Christmas.

School wasn't over for another two hours, she should've gone straight back to class. Or hidden in the library. She supposed she could've cut and just left for the rest of the day, but she didn't really have the means – she didn't have a car, and no one was around to give her a ride. Dulcie usually avoided trouble, she liked to fly below the radar as much as possible. But she couldn't resist getting a picture. Just a couple snaps, then she'd go back to class. No one would even know.

A couple snaps turned into about fifty pictures. She got the tree from almost every angle. She even laid down at one point and took a shot straight up. That's when the magic happened. Just before she pressed the shutter, a leaf fell loose from its branch. It spiraled slowly towards her, and she got pictures of it every inch of the way down, all the way up until it landed on her lens.

Dulcie smiled as she slowly sat up, plucking the leaf away from her camera. She twirled it around in her fingers, then on a whim, she took a textbook out from her bag and pressed the dry leaf between the pages. A memento of a stolen moment and a beautiful picture. Then she put it away and climbed to her feet.

She was staring at the screen of her camera, not paying attention to what was going on around her. She was heading back to the front doors of the school and was vaguely aware of someone yelling in the distance, but figured it was some luckier students, escaping in their car for an early day.

When the sound of footsteps broke through her deep thoughts, though, she realized she wasn't alone. She looked up just in time to see a guy barreling towards her. His head was turned around so he could look behind him and as a result, he rammed right into her. She shrieked as they tangled together. Limbs were everywhere and she got a mouthful of his jacket collar. Her camera was momentarily crushed between them and when they ricocheted off each other, it fell to the ground. She, however, didn't fall. The guy grabbed her arms, holding her upright. She lifted her head to see what the hell was going on.

“Jesus, Dulcie, I didn't even see you.”

She stared up into a pair of very deep blue eyes and was shocked into silence. Everything seemed to grow quiet for a second, then a gust of wind ripped across the front of the building. It was strong enough to push her forward, into his chest, and a whirlwind of leaves flew through the air, surrounding them for a moment.

His full name was Constantine
Masters.
It just had an evil ring to it, like a crazy megalomaniac. Or an insane preacher, leading a doomed cult to its judgement day. Maybe even a serial killer, stealing through a window late at night. His friends called him Con for short, and so much is in a name. Con didn't seem quite as scary as
Constantine
. But still, there was something about him that had always given her the shivers.

She wasn't sure how long they would've stood there just staring at each other. It was a surreal moment, with the wind and the leaves and the quiet. But then it was ruined when someone began shouting from around the corner.

“What are you doing?” Dulcie asked, and the spell was broken. The wind died down and Con stepped back from her.

But he kept a hand on her arm.

“I was just -”

“
Masters!
”

They both turned and looked at where the voice was coming from – its owner had appeared. It was the gym teacher. He was jogging towards them, huffing and puffing away. He looked
pissed
.

“Mr. Tully, hey, what's up?” Con replied nonchalantly as the out of breath teacher came to a halt in front of them.

“Don't you give me that shit! I got you now, you little bastard! I don't care who your daddy is, I'm gonna nail your ass to the wall,” Mr. Tully swore. Dulcie was shocked. She'd never heard a teacher talk to a student that way, and had
never
heard anyone say anything but glowing remarks about Constantine Masters. She glanced up at the boy who still held onto her arm, as if he was afraid she'd leave.

Or as if he doesn't want me to get away …

“I don't know what you're talking about, sir,” Con replied in a calm voice, which to Dulcie just made it seem as if he
definitely
knew what the teacher was talking about.

“Don't give me any of your bullshit. I know it was you who lit that car on fire. I got your ass now, Masters. No more football, no more parties. I got your number, alright. Stupid punk. Thought you got away with it, huh? No alibis this time,” Mr. Tully sneered.

Dulcie watched as Con winced at first, but then his eyes grew hard. He was staring very hard at Mr. Tully, and a muscle began to tick in the side of his jaw. But his breathing stayed even and the rest of his body appeared relaxed.

Still, though. That muscle.

“What are you talking about?”

Dulcie was shocked to hear her own voice. She'd just blurted it out, no discussion between mouth and brain. Mr. Tully started at her voice, too. As if he hadn't even realized she was there. Con didn't look stunned at all. He looked as if he'd been waiting for her to say something.

“None of your damn business, missy! What're you doing out here, anyway? You should be in class!” the teacher snapped at her. She took a step closer to Con, surprising herself even more.

“I know. I really wanted to get a picture of the tree, but I wasn't tall enough for the angles I needed – Con offered to take the shots,” she lied smoothly.

“Like hell, he did! He was just -” Mr. Tully began to argue.

“Look what you made me do,” Con interrupted. “All your shouting, I dropped her frickin' camera. You made me break it.”

Dulcie watched as Con squatted down and collected the shattered remnants of her camera – she hadn't even realized it had gotten damaged. Her heart broke a little as Con stood up, the pieces cradled in his hands.

A year's worth of tips, gone. All because some jock wasn't looking where he was going.

“What? You expect me to believe you were out here, taking pictures of a goddamn tree?” Mr. Tully sounded incredulous.

“It was for an art project, for a class,” Dulcie's voice was soft as she continued staring at her poor camera.

“Nice going, Mr. Tully. Sorry, Dulcie. Maybe the school can reimburse you,” Con suggested.

“This is all horse shit. If you've been out here playing photographer, then explain to me why a car in the back parking lot is
on fire!?
Did it just spontaneously combust?” Mr. Tully demanded. Con shrugged.

“How should I know? I've been out here.”

There was another long moment of silence. Dulcie finally glanced between the two men. Con looked completely at ease. Mr. Tully was quickly turning red, but his mouth stayed shut. He had no evidence, Dulcie realized. He'd probably happened upon the scene just as Con had been fleeing it. Mr. Tully had most likely only seen the younger man's back, if even that much. He couldn't actually prove Con had done anything wrong.

Though Dulcie didn't doubt for a minute that Con had done exactly what the teacher was accusing him of.

“Okay, Masters. Okay, you win this time. You think you're so slick, getting your girlfriend out here to cover for you,” Mr. Tully hissed.

“Oh, I'm no-” Dulcie began to argue.

“And
you,
” the teacher turned his anger on her. “Don't think I don't know who you are,
Travers
. I remember your brother. You a dope head like him? A bunch of good-for-nothings.”

Dulcie was used to people talking about her
half-
brother. Comparing her to him, bringing up the family connection. Didn't matter that she wasn't anything like him – his name had haunted her for a long time. Probably would for a lot longer. So she didn't let it bother her. People could assume whatever they wanted.

“Hey, don't fucking talk to her like that,” Con swore, taking a challenging step forward. Dulcie was blown away, then she collected herself enough to grab his arm, halting his movements.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, boy?” Mr. Tully asked, puffing out his chest. “That's right,
nothing
. I'll get you yet, Masters. You can bet on it.”

“Hmmm, I think I'll keep betting
on me.
”

When Con finished talking, Mr. Tully's head looked like it was gonna pop off. He got right up in their space and while Con didn't back down an inch, Dulcie shrunk back, even moving behind the star quarterback a little.

“Just a punk, Masters. It may not be me. May not be anyone in this school. But someone, some day, will see you for what you really are, and they'll put you in your place.”

The two men were almost nose to nose. Dulcie held her breath. She'd always thought there was something a little …
off
, with Constantine Masters, but she'd always assumed it was just her. She had an eye for certain things, she was more observant than most people.
Stranger
than most people. But apparently, she wasn't the only one who sensed the darkness in him.

“I'm excited for that day, sir.”

“Front office! Both of you!
NOW!
”

A car really was on fire in the back parking lot, but of course, it was easy to prove Dulcie couldn't possibly have been there. She'd been in Ms. Poulter's office at the time. And Dulcie had provided Con with a solid alibi, so now it looked as if he couldn't have possibly been there, either. So in the end, the only thing they could pin on them was cutting class.

Detention. After school. Two hours.

Fuck my life. I hope I don't get fired over this bullshit. Why did I help him? Why did I say anything? And how does Constantine Masters even know my name!?

“Were those pictures really for an art project?” Con asked when they were well away from the office. She turned to take the pieces of her broken camera back from him.

“Yeah,” she replied, shoving the bits into her bag.

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