Andersen Light: A Meta-Normal Novel, page 1
part #1 of Andersen Light Series





Andersen Light
A Meta-Normal Novel
Tanya D. Dawson
Copyright © 2021 by Tanya D. Dawson
Andersen Light
A Meta-Normal Novel
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All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used or reproduced, transmitted, stored or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, taping, Web distribution, information networks or information storage and retrieval systems, or in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Design by Mibl Art
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An Imprint for GracePoint Publishing (www.GracePointPublishing.com)
GracePoint Matrix, LLC
624 S. Cascade Ave
Suite 201
Colorado Springs, CO 80903
www.GracePointMatrix.com
Email: Admin@GracePointMatrix.com
SAN # 991-6032
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2021915707
ISBN-13: (Paperback) – 978-1-951694-76-0
eISBN: (eBook) - 978-1-951694-75-3
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Books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use.
For bulk order requests and price schedule contact:
Orders@GracePointPublishing.com
Contents
From the Publisher
Chapter 1
Starkton
Chapter 2
Mystic Creek
Chapter 3
Skipper’s
Chapter 4
Dad Time
Chapter 5
Bright Star
Chapter 6
New Kid
Chapter 7
Invitation
Chapter 8
Fake Blog
Chapter 9
Curandero
Chapter 10
Alejandro
Chapter 11
Andersen Light
Chapter 12
Connections
Chapter 13
Dodgeball Day
Chapter 14
Assessments
Chapter 15
Balance
Chapter 16
Georgie and Josefina
Chapter 17
Anonymity
Chapter 18
Harvey
Chapter 19
Plants Have Halos Too
Chapter 20
First Class
Chapter 21
Coastal Valley Farmers Market Weekend
Chapter 22
Homecoming
Chapter 23
Fallout Monday
Chapter 24
Ice Cream
Chapter 25
A Few Adjustments
Chapter 26
Luther and Maria Elena
Chapter 27
Meet the Metas
Chapter 28
Sad to Curious in Sixty Seconds
Chapter 29
Pizza Night, Family Night
Chapter 30
Weekend with the Joneses
Chapter 31
Tell It Like It Is
Chapter 32
Interloper
Chapter 33
Javatea Novelty Monday
Chapter 34
Metanalysis
Chapter 35
Safety First
Chapter 36
Meta-Geek
Chapter 37
Raspberries, Burgers, and Socks
Chapter 38
Halloween
Chapter 39
Where’s Shawn?
Chapter 40
Rescue
Chapter 41
Preseason Gala
Acknowledgments
Meta-Normal Prime Tenets
Notes & References
About the Author
From the Publisher
From the Publisher
For more great books, visit Empower Press online at https://gracepointpublishing.com/empower-press/
For Paula,
and all those endeavoring to
become who you are.
Chapter One
Starkton
Georgie tucked into the cozy crook of Dad’s old willow tree, knees to chin. Leaf shadows danced along her arms and legs as afternoon sunlight trickled through narrow leaves. Summer’s lingering scent and light breeze whispered and swished through the willow’s cascading branches. The rhythm comforted―just what a girl needed after having her life whacked out of orbit.
She could pinch herself. Georgie was out west in Mystic Creek, Oregon now. Even here, safe with Dad and his gigantic tree, her body tensed with the memory of Starkton. Should she have said or done something earlier? Nope, not with the threat against Mom. Georgie hadn’t been heroic or anything. She’d done what she had to. Anybody would have. Thank God her family didn’t live in Starkton anymore.
Mom had wanted to start over with a clean slate after her divorce from Dad. She shook the hell out of the cosmic Etch A Sketch and they’d landed in Starkton. It wasn’t just about what happened there. Anyone with half a brain could have seen what it was like. Even its air felt empty, with no scent or promise.
Georgie had lived there with her mother, two younger sibling units, and stepfather—a new and most unwelcome addition—until, in a slow, steady descent, life tipped over and exploded. Hooks grabbed at her insides even now as she reflected on the day she’d come home from school to discover her sister literally cornered by their creepy stepfather. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from even thinking about Starkton.
Of course it didn’t work, but she could find relief in the memory of its blandness. As its name insinuated, Starkton was a place built for function, not for fun. It didn’t inspire thoughts of magic or spark spontaneous bouts of creativity. It left Georgie wanting—what, she didn’t exactly know, but the blankness caused her soul to search, like a ship’s captain forever scanning the horizon.
She imagined how the area they lived in resembled a rectangle, as if someone had drawn faint lines of a giant football field and divided it into a neighborhood. Situated on the county road she used to run on, each house had its own rectangular yard and identical concrete sidewalk.
Their yard was empty except for the stubby grass and a patch of flowers her mom kept to console her inner artist. Marigolds punched through the rocky dirt as if to laugh and flip off the starkness. They were miniature miracles, bursts of color growing in spite of some unspoken rule, urged into being by Mom’s love of them.
The Braun family lived in the first rectangle. Mrs. Braun spent most of her time keeping a lookout, yelling at the two Braun children to, “get down, be quiet, or to go to your room.” Georgie lived next door in the second lot with Mom, a.k.a. Mary, her sister Rose, brother Bill, and their stepfather.
His name was Jack, Jackass to Georgie. When Mom wasn’t home he often walked around the house and yard proclaiming to Georgie, Bill, and Rose how he was king of the kingdom and all he surveyed. His favorite oversized and overstuffed chair in the living room was off limits. The three of them called it the king’s chair. When they were younger, like last winter, they warned each other not to sit in it as they bounced on it like a mini trampoline. That was before.
At nearly fifteen, Georgie took charge of lightening the weird atmosphere for Bill and Rose. She introduced the table setting game in which they placed the biggest king-sized utensils at Jack’s place, like extra-large serving spoons and barbecue forks. Depending on the menu, he might also get a mixing bowl and supersized drink tumbler. The sport didn’t last long since Mom got angry and made them change out their hard-played work. Mom didn’t get it.
Jack’s walks around his kingdom and declarations of royalty came to almost seem normal. They’d hear him coming by the thud, thud, thud of his massive feet lumbering under the weight of his tall frame. Times when he wore only underwear never seemed normal. He’d hook his thumb deep into the waistband of his tighty whities, stare off into the distance, no doubt gloating over his imagined realm, and with a loud and booming voice announce, “Your mother is a lucky woman.” He’d leer and pause for dramatic effect, “And you will be too, Georgie.” She cringed and wondered what he meant, but didn’t ask. He said lots of other things. No way she’d ask about those either. His standard, unveiled threat followed, “But that is our little secret. It’ll stay that way if you love your mother.” A sickening feeling moved from her throat way down into her gut somewhere, even before his foul expression forced eye contact.
Ordinarily upbeat and outgoing, at first she didn’t notice how her stomach tightened in fear or how she held her breath whenever he was around, as if either would make her less noticeable or make him go away. Bill and Rose mirrored her. They, too, held their breath, and their wooden faces reflected the fear and dread Georgie wished they didn’t feel. She’d roll her eyes for Bill and Rose as if to say, “What an idiot.” It was enough to breathe again. They could laugh later.
Running the country road adjacent to her neighborhood rectangle
Sleep produced unusual dreams visited by a tall stranger whose entire body exuded a bright gold and white glow. The two of them dangled their legs from a bridge and watched water race toward its destination while they talked about her life. The dreams became instructive. Under his watchful eyes she created a sword, its blade of light, hilt and scabbard sparkling with jewels of ocean hues. She practiced making the blade flame into a huge, brilliant blaze. How did it not burn her? “Your sword has powerful protective qualities. It will never harm you,” he assured her. The sword hovered next to her bed at night in the bedroom she shared with Bill and Rose. She visualized blazing sword clones hovering near their bunkbed, and over Mom as she slept.
While awake she imagined her sword ablaze in a protective stance. She added a force field, like the one they put around the spaceship from her favorite TV show. If it wasn’t for the certainty of the stranger, she doubted she’d believe any of it would work. It didn’t stop Jack from being a jackass, but he didn’t touch them. We are safe, she repeated silently, and pictured him repelled by the flaming sword and force field. We are safe.
Jack focused his lewd behavior and overt innuendos at Georgie. He wandered away after he appeared convinced she got his message. Yeah, I got you, Jackass. Loud and clear. She made new faces so Bill and Rose would breathe.
Then came the dreams of him standing over her bed, watching her—at least she hoped they were dreams.
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On the bus ride home from school Georgie forced herself to think against the white noise of voices, electronic devices, and the mudslide of her own emotions. Outside the window the sky was gray and cloudless with nothing on which to fix her attention.
Most of last night was sleepless with a lot of tossing about, like most other nights. Amid the quiet of Bill and Rose breathing, she’d deliberated. As usual, she struggled to figure out what to do about the pervert. Just the thought of him made her want to hurl. He was obscene, but hadn’t actually touched any of them. What if touching was his next move? It wasn’t unimaginable to her. His thumb-in-the-waistband act was more animated these days, as were his spouts of greatness. What if the lewd rantings, gestures, and threats turned into something more? They were scared every time he was around. The scumbag had threatened to hurt their mother if they said anything. Really? Would he? How? Georgie couldn’t take the chance.
Why hadn’t Mom noticed how tense they were around him? Maybe she was fooled by the grim smiles they clamped on their kid faces so she wouldn’t know. Or maybe she assumed they were well-behaved. That was a laugh. Bill always schemed, not like Georgie blamed him. But then she caught him hunched over Jack-wad’s underwear drawer, a toy bucket filled with dirt in one hand, plastic shovel in the other.
“Bill! Stop! Step away! Just what we need—to make the psycho more psycho.” Her warning startled him. His bucket tipped the dirt onto the carpet.
“I’m sorry, Georgie. I just wanted to . . .”
“Get him back?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it. But we can’t. Not yet. Who knows what he’d do if he found dirt in his underwear? Best not to find out. Don’t worry, I’ll get the vacuum. Go hang with Rose.”
The bus’s white noise got noisier. Georgie crossed her arms into herself. They couldn’t live like this any longer. But what could she say anyway, since he hadn’t technically touched them, only threatened? She had no proof, just their side of the story, children’s stories, doomed to be categorized as make-believe, a childish rebellion against the institution of step-fatherhood. What if she didn’t get the credence the situation required? She’d learned kids’ words didn’t carry the same weight as an adult’s. It was crap. Maybe when she was seventeen. . . . Being young didn’t equate to being stupid, hello!
Then came the strange recurring dream where Bill flew around like a bat, shrieking, “Rose, Rose, Rose!” and Rose stood straight as a board, like a ghostly pillar while a wide, gray ribbon wrapped itself around her. Jack morphed into a goat with sharp horns raking and eating away at the ribbon as it wound round and round Rose. The room closed in as he sucked at the air through his leering mouth and flaring nostrils. A tug around Georgie’s ankles almost pulled her over. She glanced down. Inseams of her jeans stitched themselves together, tighter and tighter. She tottered and gasped, “Oh my God!” Her flaming sword materialized in her hand. She took aim and swung the blade to sever the stitching and turned to Rose. The blazing sword flew out of Georgie’s hand and insinuated itself midair between Rose and the jackass-goat. Goat-Jack bleated loudly and ran away as the ribbon slipped from Rose. It was a seriously weird dream, but even weirder, she’d have it again and again.
She woke up in a panic from another repeat of the dream. There was no getting around it. Her inner self called for action. Georgie sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the grainy dark. If it wasn’t for the threat against Mom, she’d call Dad. The whole thing was B.S. To hell with it! She’d take the bluff and call anyway. Tonight.
Georgie jostled back to reality as the bus stopped at her rectangle. Bill and Rose would be home already. Mom would still be at work. If the crazed mutant was late they’d have some time to themselves today. Up the steps and through the door, she checked the living room. The television was off. The kitchen was empty. An odd tingling passed over her scalp. Something besides the TV was off. It was too quiet. They must be in our room. She headed down the hallway.
She gasped and stopped in her tracks. Jackass was already home. The sight slugged her gut. Solely in his underwear, he had Rose pinned against the back door. Her face nosed into the tiny corner between the door and the door jamb. His arms hung motionless at his sides, but he stood right up against her, a hair’s breadth suspended between them. Rose was trapped. Bill held back inside the bathroom doorway, his head twisted toward Rose and their stepfather. Bill turned as Georgie neared, a finger to her lips. Steel clarity kicked in. Nausea turned to momentum and clenched hands into tight fists. In the split-second it took for her to assess the scene, she projected a protective force field around Rose. Her flaming sword hovered in the tight space between Rose and Jack. Georgie crept forward until she was an arm’s length away from them. Was that her voice? Each word slammed out in deep rage, “Leave. Her. Alone!” She willed Jackass to freeze in place.
He said nothing. He didn’t move.
“Rose, are you okay?” Georgie asked, her voice tight. Rose didn’t answer or move. “Leave her alone!” she yelled again. No response. Bill moved somewhere behind her. He was too close.
“Bill,” she turned to her brother. His face was pale and locked in fear. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Run to the Brauns’ house and tell them what’s happening!” Bill nodded slowly, then raced away.
Georgie ran to the front door and bolted out of the house in a blur. Did Jack suspect she’d contemplated calling Dad? Is that why he had cornered Rose? She hadn’t told a soul. Did he read her mind? Duh. People can’t really do that. Emotions blocked her mind from registering her speed, only that the back door was locked. Georgie banged on it with her fists and fought back the panic. “Let her go!” she shouted through the door. If he touches her, I swear . . .