The Rogue Agent Read online

  Lucy Hale and the Depression Force

  Book 1:

  The Rogue Agent

  Copyright © 2017 by Shiloh White.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author..

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, and not intended by the author.

  You can contact Shiloh by visiting his website.

  www.StaleIce.com

  Contents

  Lucy Hale and the Depression Force

  Dedication

  1. I Blow up Some Fog

  2. The Fog Strikes Back (In My Nightmares)

  3. I Suck At Climbing Rope…Nah, Climbing Rope Just Sucks

  4. A Taxi Driver Helps Me Escape The Law

  5. A Cop Breaks Up My Hospital Throwdown

  6. I’m Threatened With Lemon Juice

  7. I Wake Up Behind Bars

  8. Surprise! You’re Still Depressed!

  9. I Trip Down Memory Lane

  10. Oh, Sorry; I Take A Trip Down Memory Lane

  11. I Am Offered My Dead Brother’s Car

  12. “Act Now And We’ll Throw In Your Last Sunday Drive!”

  13. I Wreck More Than The Car

  14. I Take A (Bumpy) Subway Ride To Ease The Nerves

  15. Brace Yourselves…The Square Isn’t Shaped Like A Square.

  16. Them Bones, Them Bones, Them…Eye-Bones?

  17. A Skull Invites Us To Dinner

  18. Flashbacks And Bouncers And Raves, Oh My!

  19. I Run Into The Guy Who Ran Into Me

  20. I Reconnect With An Old Friend (And Try To Connect My Fist With His Face)

  21. I Wouldn’t Have Punched Him If I Knew He Was Sick!

  22. My Midnight Stroll Goes Very Wrong

  23. My Sister Gets Kidnapped…Again

  24. I Have A Real Problem With Kitchens

  25. We Almost Get Run Over By A Kamikaze Canine

  26. I Get Words Of Wisdom From A Rave-Goer

  27. Anti-Me, Myself, and I Bring The School Down

  28. I Joyride Right Into My Living Room

  29. What’s a Little Choking Between Friends?

  30. We Take The Train Back To Crazytown

  31. Halsey Takes a Bullet For Me

  32. We Are Very Unlucky (Also, Street Rules Are Way Unfair)

  33. A Woodsman And A Surfer Walk Into An Alleyway

  34. I Crash The Wrong Meeting

  35. I’m Afraid If I Sit Down, I Won’t Get Back Up

  36. Just When I Think It Can’t Get Worse…

  37. …It Gets A Whole Lot Worse

  38. Blood On My Hands

  39. My Second Attempt At A Hospital Throwdown (Spoiler: It Fails Again)

  40. To Make Matters Even More Worse

  41. Dart Has A Positively Bad Idea

  42. I Count Exactly One Shade Of Gray

  43. …Two Betrayals…

  44. …And Three—No, Four Kicks To The Chest (Oh, And A Crushed Ankle)

  45. I Give The Lunatic A Hand

  46. Group Decisions Are Great! Knives? Not So Much.

  47. I Lose It (My Patience, My Family, My Consciousness; You Name It)

  48. I Take A Bite Out Of Depression… Literally.

  49. I’ve Got Some Explaining To Do

  50. Something Weirder? Not Interested

  51. I Take Home An Apology…And A New Jacket

  52. I Get The Whole Truth

  53. The Family Reunion I Always Wanted (And The One I Didn’t)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dedication

  To Mom,

  who was excited before the book was written.

  1. I Blow up Some Fog

  Staring out at the chest-high sea of brown, blond and black pouring out of the black gate, I could only wonder to myself, Lucy Hale, now why did you ever agree to participate in Wednesdays?

  Now, if I had any clue about this particular Wednesday, I definitely would have never left my bed this morning.

  “Chloe, over here!” I shouted, waving my paintbrush-filled hand above the groups of other parents and siblings waiting by the school pick-up gate. Her black hair bobbed up and down among all the other fifth and sixth graders flooding the sidewalk between the two large black gates. I clutched my orange paintbrush in my hand, taking deep breaths and trying not to lose it in the crowd of people. The cold paint drying in the shape of an orange leaf on my arm was doing its job to help me stay calm, but anxiety was inflating like a balloon inside my chest, and I was about to burst.

  “Chloe!” I shouted again, desperately this time. Despite the wet paint, both my hands waved high, trying to draw her this way.

  This time, she turned her head in my direction. From what I could make out, the expression on her face was not a happy one, but it let me know she saw me. But now we had a new challenge: there was still a sea of other students between us. And as far as I was concerned, there were enough parents and other adults diving into it.

  You see, Wednesdays were half days for us at Three Streams Academy. We got out of school after lunch. So, about an hour before, parents’ cars begin littering the street. They filled up the curb every time without fail. On a bad day, traffic would wrap around the corner of the sidewalk in front of the elementary campus, spreading all the way down to the other side of the school. And they all just sat there. Just sat there and waited for that early school bell to ring.

  I held eye contact with Chloe and pointed to the right; down the sidewalk and along the black gate.

  “Go that way!” I called out. “I’ll meet you down there.” Whether she heard me or not, I couldn’t tell. I could barely hear myself over all of the adolescent squeals and squawks. But a quick nod followed by Chloe backing up told me she got the gist of my message. Once she reached the gate, she made her way along it, trudging through the meager multitude of 10 and 11-year-olds unable to make their own way home from school.

  I made sure this wasn’t the case for Chloe and me.

  It took a little bit of convincing, but over the summer, I wore down Dad enough to where he gave us permission to walk home for the coming school year. My argument was rock solid, though. Dad was still at work at this time, and our house was a straight shot from the school all the way into the neighborhood where the sidewalk curved into a cul-de-sac. It would take us less than 20 minutes with a leisurely walk. We were also given the option to ride the bus, but that was even worse. Not only were you stuck with all of those people on the ride home, but you had to wait for everyone else to get dropped off?

  Patience and stress I would not spare. Every time the offer came up, I declined for both myself and Chloe.

  Speaking of, after a whole minute, I met her down the sidewalk, past all of the confusion that was parent pick-up.

  “I’m so glad you’re in sixth grade this year,” I told her, letting out an anxiety-filled sigh.

  “Me too,” Chloe said grumpily. “Otherwise, you’d chicken out from all of those kids and parents around you, and I’d be left to fend for myself.”

  “I don’t chicken out,” I argued. “It’s just…”

  I searched for the right words to explain anxiety to my 11-year old sister. By the time I walked up from the high school campus, basically everyone was gone except her grade. If our school didn’t release different grades at different times, the mass of people would be so much bigger…I didn’t mind being able to get Chloe from the back of the group and quickly excusing myself from the large c
rowd of parents and children. Nothing to be ashamed about.

  “I know, I know,” Chloe mumbled, “it’s just your depress—”

  “I. Do Not. Have. Depression.” I interrupted, gritting my teeth. I froze mid-step and grabbed her by the arm, turning her around to face me. Chloe pulled her arm away, trying to get free. “Owowow, okay, whatever. You don’t have it. Just let me go!” she complained.

  “Thank you,” I said promptly. Then I let go of her arm, and we continued down the sidewalk.

  “Besides,” she grumbled, rubbing her arm. “We have more important problems to discuss.”

  “More important problems,” I echoed humorously. “Please, do tell.”

  Chloe glared at me, unamused.

  “Some kid went and threw up on the playground five minutes into morning recess today.”

  I gasped, filling the expression on my face with fake drama. “How dare they!”

  “That’s not even the worst part,” Chloe exclaimed. “The teacher said it was a stomach virus or something, so after the sick kid got picked up, she pulled the rest of the group back inside! She said it was so we didn’t get ‘contaminated’ or whatever. Can you believe that?” she said.

  After a moment, I realized she was actually asking me.

  “Uhh…No, I can’t.” I lied unconvincingly.

  Chloe sighed with the skills of a drama queen.

  “You don’t even like outside recess,” Chloe jabbed. “Or anything active for that matter. Why am I wasting my time talking to you about this?”

  I had to admit, Chloe was right about the whole active thing. If it was up to me, recess would be spent indoors, studying our favorite art. For me, it was just that; art. I could paint forever. Talking to me being a waste of time, on the other hand? That was mean.

  I tried to think up a good comeback, but before I could, Chloe was already gone. She darted off of the sidewalk and through an open door along the black gate. On the inside was the public park that took up the vacant side between both sides of the school campus.

  “What are you doing, Chloe?” I asked warily.

  “I told you,” she shouted, “I’m bored!”

  “Come back! We can do something when we get home!”

  As if I wasn’t even there, Chloe kept running. She went straight past the playground and over to the fountain that sat in the middle of the park.

  The fountain was a large pool, surrounded by a circular stone wall short enough to sit on. The wall was about teen feet from the middle of the fountain in every direction. In the middle was a sculpture of a flower; one of the ones that looked like it could be a trumpet. A tulip or a daffodil or something.

  I didn’t regularly visit the park or the fountain, so I didn’t take care to remember.

  Instead of a trumpet sound, water flew out in four different directions, arcing expertly into the water.

  In any case, the fountain had been there for years, so I didn’t have to be right next to it to know what was inside the water.

  “Leave the rocks alone, Chloe!” I called out.

  “You mean these rocks?” she asked tauntingly. She reached into the fountain and pulled out a gray rock, holding it high above her head. Then she scooted off of the edge of the fountain, smugly walking back towards me.

  “Go put it back,” I demanded. “Now.”

  “The only fun part of the day was stolen from me!” Chloe argued, raising her voice.

  “Oh, so stealing a rock from the fountain is your plan to get back at the day?”

  “Ooo, a stolen rock from the PUBLIC fountain.” Chloe teased. She ran the rest of the way back, a mischievous grin on her face. “Don’t tell Dad, or I’m gonna get busted for sure.” she said in a mock-scared voice.

  “I’m serious, Chloe. Put it back.” I started to fold my arms, but I stopped myself when I realized my arms were a bit preoccupied. One had paint drying on it, and the other held my orange paintbrush, Instead, I just kept a strong gaze at Chloe, in hopes I’d intimidate her to put the rock away so we could go home already.

  “Oh, come on,” Chloe whined. “You have your paintbrushes. You really won’t let me kick a rock on the walk home?” I scoffed in disbelief. Chloe had this strange way of forgetting why things were around if they didn’t help her get what she wanted.

  “My paintbrushes are different,” I explained. “I actually need them, you know, to breathe and stuff.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes, letting out an impatient sigh. “All we do on the way home is breathe. I wasn’t able to get my energy out today; I can’t stand just breathing-”

  “Plus,” I added, “my paintbrushes won’t be causing any trouble. One wrong kick and you could break a car window or-”

  “I’m not going to break any windows,” Chloe interrupted. “I’ll kick it softly.”

  “Sorry, Chloe. I’m not going to let you do that. You could start an accident.”

  “Like what?” she demanded.

  “Like…”

  I looked around the neighborhood, up and down the sidewalk, but I saw nothing. Parents and kids alike, along with pretty much every car had pretty much disappeared from the neighborhood. The one time I needed people around, they all flaked. Then I saw him, down the sidewalk. A lone seagull, looking for food down by the grass growing along the inside of the school gate.

  “That seagull over there,” I said, pointing to it. Chloe snickered.

  “A seagull? That’s your argument?” Chloe set her rock on the ground. “Watch me. I’m gonna launch this rock and I bet it won’t hit anything but the concrete.” She pulled her foot back and got ready to kick the rock.

  “Chloe, quit it!”

  Instead, she did the opposite. She launched her foot at the rock. I reached for her arm with my paintbrush-filled hand to stop her…and I totally missed. I did, however, succeed in flicking paint all over the sidewalk, and that’s when the weirdest thing happened.

  Before Chloe's foot could connect, a splotch of paint flew onto the rock and it shot outward down the sidewalk. It got some pretty good distance before it bounced off the black gate with a clang that scared the seagull away. Then it skidded across the street into a gutter.

  Chloe almost fell when she kicked nothing. I was too busy gaping at my paintbrush to notice, wondering how in the world it did that. I quickly stuck it back in its paint canister and threw it in my back pocket before it could launch anything else down the street.

  Chloe cleared her throat at me and put her hands on her hips. This was her body language for letting me know she was fed up.

  “Hey!” she yelled. “You kicked my rock before me!”

  “What? Why would I even touch your rock? You just missed!” Except, I was pretty sure she didn’t miss. But how was I supposed to explain what I just saw? Either way, Chloe wasn't listening to reason. She pursed her lips and knit her eyebrows at me, with a deluxe I-hope-this-stare-hurts-your-soul look on her face.

  “No, it was your fault. First my teacher takes recess, and now you take my rock.”

  Just how wrong she was, was causing me to quickly losing my temper too. I wanted to crush her argument, along with stupid her rock. But I couldn’t just say “my paintbrush did it, not me, so there.” I wasn’t even sure that it did.

  Besides that, she would think I was crazy. And it wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Chloe,” I sighed. I didn’t want to apologize, but I didn’t want to be out here three hours from now, still arguing with my sister. “I’m-”

  “You know what?” Chloe cut me off. “You owe me some fun. I want to go to the park.”

  “Oh, sure. We can go to the park. When we get home, we’ll ask Dad to take us.” I hoped my tone was enough to convince her. But even I heard the lie in my voice.

  “Forget Dad! He’s always too busy anyway,” Chloe complained. “We’re going right now!” She ran back towards the gate, and onto the playground. The nerve this kid sometimes…

  “Chloe, we’re not-”

  “You lost
the rock, not me,” she said matter-of-factly, skipping across the woodchips over to the jungle gym. She hooked her legs over the bars and hung from the back of her knees like a monkey.

  “Come on, Lucy,” she called. “I want you to play with me!”

  “I’m not going in there.”

  “Oh, come on.” Chloe insisted. “There’s nobody here. Your depress-” she caught herself and paused. Now she was probably trying to figure out how to come back from that comment. “I mean,” she continued, “you won’t have to get freaked out; we have the park to ourselves! Or, does the park itself scare you?”

  “Don’t be crazy.” I scoffed. “The park doesn’t scare me.”

  This wasn’t exactly true. The park itself didn’t scare me.

  It was the memories I had of the park that caused me to stop at the gate. Our family used to come all the time. Picnics, park days, you name it. Chloe was barely in kindergarten then, so she wouldn’t remember much. Like when those memories were snatched out of our lives.

  “If you’re not scared, why don’t you play with me?” Chloe asked.

  “I just would rather be at home, alright?” I snapped.

  “Well, too bad!” Chloe pestered. She flipped off of the jungle gym. “I don’t want to go home until you play with me!” she shouted. Then she ran, disappearing behind the far side of the playground. But before long, I heard the squeak of the old merry-go-round and I knew she didn’t go far.

  “Good luck with that.” I muttered. Still, if it came down to dragging Chloe home kicking and screaming and attracting a lot of attention, or suffering through a few minutes of the park, I figured I could handle the suffering. On the plus side, it was chilly, and a thin fog began to blanket the ground. Perfect outside weather. I walked into the entrance and leaned on the inside of the gate, looking out at the park. My eyes drifted to the playground, watching Chloe spin on the merry-go-round without a care in the world.

  I shook my head at her, looking out across the park. At the far edge of the grass, a familiar tree stood tall with a thick, full trunk. When I was younger, sometimes just my mom and I would come and lean underneath its shade. Her art kit was the only thing between us. Everything I learned about art, I picked up from her-no canvas attached. Hours would go by, and we’d leave with our arms and legs covered with various shapes and patterns. I looked down at the drawing on my arm.