By: Shannon A. Thompson
Book 1 in The Timely Death Trilogy
THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Minutes Before Sunset
Copyright ©2015 Shannon A. Thompson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63422-105-4
Cover Design by: Marya Heiman
Typography by: Courtney Nuckels
Editing by: Kelly Risser
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Table of Contents
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Dedicated to Kristine Andersen and Megan Paustian, for the timeless memories and unfailing support.
1
Eric
He hadn’t smiled since Mom died. I wasn’t allowed to either. In fact, our whole community didn’t smile. At six years old, I didn’t understand, because I couldn’t, but I would later. I knew that much.
It was Independence Day, and I stood with my family on Willow Tree Mountain. They called it that, but, in reality, it was Willow Tree Hill, and the town denied that reality. I didn’t care that a famous Civil War battle took place on it. It was a hill, and the only exciting part was the tree.
Wrapping my arm around a loop in the trunk, I peered over the valley. Beneath the fireworks, the entire town was celebrating, dancing, drinking, and even odder, smiling. I wanted to smile.
“They’re just bursts of useless fire, Eric.” My father folded his arms and glared at the scene. “Nothing more.”
I kicked my tennis shoes against the torn-up dirt and dried grass, not able to look at my father like a son should’ve been able to. The fire didn’t look useless. Fireworks, all red and blue, illuminated the darkening sky, and deafening bangs echoed through the valley. The fire seemed powerful—something that hissed from the ground and exploded into the air, defying gravity. They were magnificent.
“You have more important things to worry about than blasts of colored sparks,” he said as shadows crawled over his legs. The darkness whirled around his body, and his glare dissipated with his form. He was gone, back in our shelter, and I was alone. Kind of.
“Eric.” Camille, a girl three years older than me, grasped my hand. Her white hair glittered beneath the light, and she spread her fingers into the dark. “We have to go.”
I moved my foot closer to the edge of the hill. I wanted to ride the wind down to the crowd. I wanted to celebrate and dance. I wanted to throw my arms in the air and listen to the exploding fireworks. I wanted to run around in endless circles until I fell down from exhaustion. I wanted to enjoy everything.
But that couldn’t happen. It was impossible.
Instead, I turned to her and nodded. She was my guard, for life, and I had to listen to her, even if I wasn’t listening to my father. “Let’s go,” I said, and she knelt down to meet my eyes.
“Are you all right?”
No.
“I’m fine,” I lied, and her eyes searched mine before she stood up. Without another word, her powers flowed through me, and the dark engulfed us, leaving the fireworks and the happiness behind.