The Seven 1: Vacancy

Auteur

Linda Kage

Lezers

413K

Hoofdstukken

Auteur

Linda Kage

Lezers

413K

Hoofdstukken

😱 Thriller 👩🏽‍🎓 Students 💪🏻 Protector 🎭 Drama 🧙‍♂️ Paranormal & Fantasy 💕 Romance 🕵️ Crime & Mystery 👻 Ghosts

PROLOGUE

Damien

“Alright, bud. Here we go. This looks like the place.”

I glanced up from the book I was reading—or at least pretending to read—and peered out the back side window of the car as my dad pulled into a tightly packed parking lot.

Across the street, I saw the building he was referring to. It was a dull, tan thing that hogged the entire block with short walls, a flat roof, and high-set windows like a prison. But it wasn’t a prison.

To me, it was so much worse.

The Westport Children’s Trauma and Grief Counseling Center was the absolute last place on earth I wanted to go, but both of my parents had decided I would, anyway.

When I saw a woman walking toward the entrance carrying a girl who had pigtails in her hair and looked as if she was only two or three years old, I cringed. I couldn’t join some bereavement group with a bunch of babies. What would that make me look like?

“Dad, seriously,” I tried with one last-ditch effort to bail. “I think I’m doing better now. I don’t need—”

“Damien,” he cut me off with a stern voice that told me there was no changing his mind. “We already talked about this. And you agreed. You were going to stick with it for a full month just to see what it was like.”

Yeah, except I could see what it was like from here. I wasn’t impressed.

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

Huffing out a breath, I slumped down in my seat and frowned as he whipped into a free parking spot and cut the engine.

So this was why he had brought me, not Mom. Mom was the softy. All I would’ve had to do with her was pull out one of my mopey faces, and she would’ve already caved by now. We could be halfway home—and probably with ice cream—if she’d brought me.

But I guess my parents were getting too smart. A mopey face around Dad only seemed to convince him more that I needed to be here.

I was so totally stuck doing this.

“Okay, time to take a break from Percy Jackson,” he announced as he slipped off his seatbelt. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Regrettably, I set the book on the seat beside me and mournfully touched the glossy cover in farewell. I had waited months for this volume to be released so I could learn all about Rick Riordan’s take on the Greek gods. But by the time it had hit the stores, my world had already turned upside down.

My parents had gotten it for me, anyway, thinking it would help cheer me up. But I’d had it a full month now, and I still hadn’t gotten past the introduction. My brain felt too numb to focus on words… Something I would most definitely not be sharing with anyone, or they’d probably have me freaking committed.

But carrying around the book had been comforting, like it was a memory of life before everything had changed. If I just kept it with me, things might still have a chance of going back to normal.

It didn’t stop Dad from opening my door, though. My fate was sealed, and nothing would ever be normal again.

I sent him a rebellious glance, wondering if he’d climb back here and drag me from the seat and all the way inside kicking and screaming if I just absolutely refused to move.

With Dad, the answer was too hard to gauge, so I groaned out a disgusted breath and climbed from the car.

I tried to trudge petulantly behind him and hide from my fate as best I could, but Dad forced me up to his side and guided me with a firm hand on the back of my neck.

At the street, we paused to wait for a car to pass, and when we stepped off the curb to walk across, I focused on the bright white stripes of the pedestrian crossing on the asphalt, too afraid to look up at where we were heading.

Only brave people faced hell straight on.

But then my father said, “Hey, look. That boy appears to be your age. Maybe you’ll make a friend.”

I lifted my face against my better judgment, only to discover that the pleasantly sterile glass gates of hell loomed even closer than ever, welcoming me with green and white balloons and a sign that said “Grand Opening.”

My stomach clenched into immediate knots. This was really happening. I was being forced into grief counseling.

My breathing started to escalate. My skin went itchy and hot, then extremely cold. And my vision clicked off before popping back on again.

But Dad hadn’t lied about the other boy, at least. With bright, blond hair, he was about the same height as me but way less hefty.

Head bowed in misery, he held the hand of the woman walking with him. When he glanced up briefly and met my gaze, he looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

For some reason, that made me feel better. Neither of us wanted to be here. Neither of us was okay.

I exhaled deeply and began to calm down again, glad I wasn’t the only one.

Except I couldn’t let my dad know he’d been right—that seeing the other kid had helped—so I muttered a quiet and sarcastic, “Whoopee,” for his benefit.

“Damien,” he said with a tired sigh. “You promised. You said you’d try it.”

“I am,” I bit out.

I was here, wasn’t I? I was voluntarily walking toward the front door with my own two feet, not wailing or resisting at all. What more did he want from me? Cartwheels?

At the entrance, he opened the door and then waited for me to enter first. I sent him a dark glance as I stepped inside, only to plow to a petrified stop.

Because holy… Nope. Just…no.

The enormous reception area was crammed with parents and kids forming half-organized lines that led up to five different foldout tables where people were checking them into the main event. It was loud and chaotic and scary as shit.

I didn’t do crowds and people and busy spaces. This was not my happy place. I wanted to go home, where I could sneak into my sister’s room and listen to the Macklemore CD sitting on her dresser.

That “Thrift Shop” song was my favorite.

So I tried to backpedal my way out the exit, but Dad ushered me forward toward the far right side of the lobby, where he murmured a refreshed, “Ah… This line seems to be moving along nicely, don’t you think?”

What? I couldn’t focus on words right now. Panic was creeping up my throat, gripping its claws into my windpipe and making the edges of my vision dim.

I glanced around desperately for the blond boy, needing something—anything—to quell my fear, but he and his mom, or whoever she was, were halfway through another line already.

As Dad paused us at the back of our line, I heard a girl in the front shriek at her own parents, “You never said you were going to leave me here!”

Wait. Leave her?

My face drained of all warmth and it seemed to plop heavily into the pit of my stomach where it burned fiercely.

But the parents were leaving us here to do this by ourselves? This was news to me, too.

I glanced up at my father, feeling betrayed and already shaking my head no. I was barely holding it together with him by my side. No way was I doing this alone.

Reading my expression, he set a hand on my back. “It’s going to be okay,” he assured in a steady, soothing voice. “I’ll be back again to pick you up in just three hours.”

Three hours?

Hell no. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. This was stupid.

I mean, I was fine. I could handle waking up in a cold sweat and screaming every other night. And who cared if my appetite had plummeted? I could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway.

What I didn’t need was to be here.

I was fine!

But we’d already reached the front of the line, and Dad had started filling out forms and answering questions from the two women seated on the other side of the table.

From there, time morphed into overdrive, and doom approached at hyper-speed, sucking me into a void of terrorizing fear as I stood there frozen and helpless to stop the inevitable.

This was happening.

And I couldn’t breathe.

The women looked at me with kind eyes and welcomed me to the center. But I didn’t need their kindness. If they’d just let me go back home now, I’d be fine.

Yeah, of course, I was sad. I’d just lost someone very important to me. Couldn’t they all simply back off and let me deal with it in my own way?

“Well, I sure am glad you decided to join us today, Damien,” one of the women told me, smiling brightly.

I glanced at her miserably, only to stop cold and blink twice.

Because she had dimples, and they were…dimpling right at me. Like magic. Or diamonds. Or magic diamonds that put spells on boys who didn’t want to attend counseling.

I had no idea dimples could make a stomach churn with such mad adoration before, not until she smiled.

“I’m just over the moon about how many kids showed up for our very first day,” the beautiful, young dimpled woman was saying. “Makes me wish we’d gotten this place opened ages ago.”

“Yes, ma’am…” I think I answered, too busy falling into those bottomless pits of love that dented in her perfect cheeks to pay attention to a word that was being said otherwise.

“I think that’s all we need, sir,” the other woman told Dad as she gathered the forms he’d just filled out and tucked them into a crisp new file. “Madisyn here can take Damien in and show him to his new group, if he’s ready.”

Madisyn? Was that the name of my dimple goddess? I liked it. Madisyn was the perfect name for the perfect girl.

She made my life complete by flashing those dimples yet again and holding out a hand for me to take. “Are you ready, Damien?”

And that was it; I didn’t care if she had to be at least fifteen years older than me, I was going to marry this woman someday.

I took her soft, waiting fingers, and the world was awesome.

“Bye, kiddo,” Dad called after me. “I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get out.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, waving at him dismissively over my shoulder without even glancing back. I was too busy gaping up at the face of an angel, hoping she’d smile again.

And when she did, my face went hot and happy.

We went through a doorway and then another, finally entering some kind of wide, open community space with tiled floors and white walls. It was separated into five areas, each containing a massive circle of folding chairs with big signs standing in front of each section.

Madisyn steered me toward the circle labeled Ages 10–12.

“Here we go, hun,” she said in her perfect, sugary sweet voice. “This is your group. I just know you’re gonna love it.” Then she ruffled my hair. “Sit wherever you like, and your guidance counselor will be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, alright?”

When I nodded, mumbling, “Yes, ma’am,” she patted my shoulder.

“Great. You take care now, Damien.” And with that, she turned to stroll off, leaving me there alone.

My dreamy smile fell flat as I watched her abandon me, and that’s when I realized she’d just been a decoy this whole time, distracting me with her pretty dimples and then dropping me flat.

And now I didn’t have her or my dad.

Panic slithered over my skin in a rush. I turned stiffly to face my group and saw the blond boy sitting in the circle by himself.

He glanced up, making eye contact, and then straightened in his chair as if relieved to see me.

A kindred spirit, my heart seemed to whisper, so I shuffled uneasily forward. His gaze lit hopefully, and if I were more of a courageous, outgoing kind of person I would’ve gone over and sat directly beside him to introduce myself. But I wasn’t, so I slumped into a chair on the opposite half of the circle, and there, we eyed each other curiously.

I think he was opening his mouth to say something when another voice broke into our moment. “Hey, this is the group for ten to twelve-year-olds, right?”

Blondie and I glanced over to find two more boys approaching.

“That’s right,” Blondie answered.

The speaker in a green Hulk shirt nodded gratefully before guiding the other boy in a plain black turtleneck to sit near Blondie, leaving me alone and by myself on my half of the circle.

“Man, this place is way more packed than I thought it’d be,” Green Shirt said.

Blondie replied, “That’s what I was thinking too,” while the silent guy in the turtleneck slumped deeper into his chair, not bothering to talk at all.

I felt even more alone than ever until I heard someone say, “Hey, it’s Damien, right?”

I glanced up to see a face that I thought I recognized.

The kid was tall and slim with floppy, dark hair, and he wore a Macklemore concert shirt that I was so utterly jealous of.

Pointing at me, he squinted. “Weren’t we in Little League together?”

It came back to me, then. His name was Hudson, and he’d been one of the popular kids on the team.

I had not.

When I nodded, letting him know I remembered him, he dropped into the chair two down from me with a relieved sigh. “Thank God. I didn’t think I’d know anyone here.” Glancing at me in a commiserating grimace, he asked, “You get forced into coming to this too?”

I nodded.

“Figures.” He sniffed derisively. “Damn parents think they know what’s best. It’s utter bullshit, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling like I’d been invited into an exclusive club, now that Hudson thought I was good enough to talk to.

As he relaxed back in his chair, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him, I envied his ability to get so comfortable in a place like this. Resting his arm across the back of the seat that separated us, he glanced over to study me a moment before hitching up his chin and asking, “So were you thinking about joining the team again this summer?”

“Uh…” My stomach pitched with dread. Honestly, I couldn’t see myself ever having fun again, playing stupid games, or doing anything that might possibly bring me joy.

As I lifted one shoulder and mumbled, “I don’t know,” he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah. I heard about what happened to you. Sucks, man. I’m not sure if I want to play anymore, either. My best friend was on the team.” Motioning a couple of his fingers at me, he asked, “Did you hear about him? Brett Dunham?”

Now that he mentioned it, I think I vaguely remembered hearing something about Brett’s death, and that Hudson had actually been there when it happened. As I glanced into his eyes, I finally caught sight of the hidden trauma floating in his gaze.

So I nodded, wishing I knew the right thing to say at a time like this. But I didn’t.

Before I could come up with any response at all, Hudson caught sight of something past my shoulder and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Whoa… Hey! Don’t you two go to the same school as me?”

I turned to find another pair of boys joining our circle, except they looked as if they were trying to sneak over without permission.

“Oh, yeah. Hi,” one of them answered, straightening in recognition as he pointed at Hudson. “You’re Hudson Ivey.”

“And you two are in third grade,” Hudson shot back. “Don’t you belong over in that circle?”

“Oh, come on,” the other boy begged. He had super-curly, brown hair that seemed to go everywhere and bright blue eyes. “That group’s just awful. It’s full of all girls and only one other boy who won’t stop bawling for his mom.”

“Can’t we just join you five?” the first kid begged. “Please.”

Hudson made a face and then shrugged. “I mean, it’s fine by me if no one else cares.”

“Go ahead and stay,” Green Shirt spoke up from the other side of the circle. “We won’t rat you out.”

Both third-graders blew out a big breath of relief. “Cool. Thanks.”

And that’s how an adult found us. “Whoa, an all-boys group,” the man greeted with a smile. “This’ll be interesting. And there are seven of you, huh? What a great turnout. So… I’m Matt,” he started as he sat in the circle with us and settled a clipboard onto his lap. “And I’m just here to guide the conversation. You seven will do most of the talking.”

Wait. We would?

I did not like the sound of that. Speaking words aloud was not my specialty.

But thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who was concerned. The silent kid in the black turtleneck who’d followed Green Shirt around like he was his shadow flew up from his chair and shook his head aggressively. But when he turned to leave, his green-shirted friend grabbed his arm, drawing him back patiently.

“But we don’t have to talk if we don’t want to yet, right?” Green Shirt asked Matt with a prodding nod.

“Oh, sure. Of course, you don’t,” Matt answered quickly. “I only want you to open up if you feel comfortable doing so. No pressure to say anything you don’t want to.”

I exhaled in relief, and the green-shirted boy was finally able to coax Turtleneck back down into his chair with an encouraging nod. “Good,” he told Matt. “Because Parker here hasn’t spoken a word out loud since his parents died.”

I winced. But both parents? Wow, that had to suck.

“Of course, of course,” Matt was repeating in reassurance. “I totally understand. No more explanation is necessary. Though I was hoping we could all go around and at least give our names, and then if you feel okay with sharing, let us know who you lost in your life.”

Pointing at Turtleneck, Green Shirt spoke up again, “Okay, then. Well, this is Parker Ohrley. And he lost both of his parents in a car accident last month.”

When he lifted his eyebrows at Matt for confirmation, Matt nodded and then splayed out his hand in greeting. “Alright, thank you. And welcome, Parker. We’re glad to have you.” Then he shifted his attention to Green Shirt. “Would you like to go next?”

“Oh!” Green Shirt straightened as if he’d been goosed. “No. I’m just here for Parker. To be his mouth and talk and stuff. We’re best friends who’ve lived next door to each other our whole lives. He’s been staying with us since it happened. But I didn’t lose anyone, sorry.”

“No, that’s okay. That’s just fine,” Matt answered, nodding with encouragement. “We appreciate you being here for Parker. Would you like to share your name, anyway, though?”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” Green Shirt gave a rueful smile and waved to the rest of us. “I’m Thane. Thane Eisner.”

“Welcome, Thane,” Matt greeted. “And what about you?” he asked next, motioning toward Blondie.

“Me? I, uh, I’m… My name is Foster Union,” he said, glancing around the circle hesitantly. “And I lost my…” Ducking his chin, he took a breath before shakily admitting, “My little brother.”

When his voice broke, my throat constricted, and a fine mist of tears coated my lashes. I wasn’t sure if I could sit here and listen to this. I already felt sad enough for myself. Heaping everyone else’s grief on top of that felt too big. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But they kept going, saying their names and who they’d lost.

“Keene Dugger. My mom.”

“Alec Younger. Dad.”

“Hudson Ivey. My best friend, Brett.”

And then it was my turn. I hated talking. I hated admitting how I was feeling. I hated all of this. It was so freaking embarrassing. But everyone was looking at me, which was even more mortifying because my throat had closed over, and I couldn’t speak.

“And you?” Matt said with an emboldening smile. “What’s your name?”

I cleared my throat. It was just my name. I could say my name.

“Damien,” I mumbled, my voice wobbly and probably too low for anyone to actually hear. So I tried again. “Damien Archer.”

“Well, hello to you, Damien,” Matt greeted. “We’re happy you’re here with us today. Would you like to tell us who you lost?”