Ethan is just an ordinary teenage boy—infatuated with sports music and, of course, girls. Or so he thinks. Heading home on a rainy night from an amateur guitar gig, he finds his life turned completely upside down—literally. His car spins and flips out of control after what he believes to be a small animal jumps out in front of him. The horrific accident is only the beginning of a series of mysterious and seemingly unrelated events that will change his life forever.
After awaking in the hospital, and following an encounter with an enigmatic doctor, Ethan discovers that something that occurred during the wreck allows him to hear others’ thoughts, and even more perplexing, move objects with his mind. While trying to wrap his head around this mystery, he realizes he’s not alone. There are others out there with special powers. Not long after learning of this new world, Ethan’s ever increasing lack of control places those around him at serious risk. In order to protect those he loves, he makes the difficult decision to leave and accepts an offer to attend specialized training along with other so called Supernaturals to gain command over his newfound gifts. Shortly after beginning his schooling, Ethan is sent on a mission to kidnap who he believes to be the enemy leader in a well concealed Supernaturals war. But the further he becomes embedded in this new world, the more he discovers things are not quite what they seem and doesn’t know who can be trusted.
In this first installment of the Supernaturals series, Ethan discovers that super powers aren’t always so super, and is faced with difficult decisions that will not only affect his own life, but which may determine the life or death of his newfound companions and mentor.
Targeted Age Group:: 12+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I was reading through a series and thought to myself how simple the author made it seem. That’s not to say the writing wasn’t good or anything, but it was done in such a way that made me feel like I could do it. Let me explain it another way. If you don’t know who Bob Ross was, he was an incredible painter known for his show The Joy of Painting. I’ve spent a lot of time watching reruns with my dad over the years, and it’s just incredible to see the paintings Bob creates in only half an hour. He makes it look so incredibly easy. It’s not. I bought one of his painting sets and tried myself. Turned out okay, but nothing like Bob’s. That’s how I felt when reading through this book series, that maybe I could do this. I flirted with the idea for a couple of days and then decided to give it a shot. I’m glad I went for it. It’s been an incredible experience.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Some characters have elements of my own friends, or even myself, in them, making them easier to create and write. For the actual Supernaturals characters, I first came up with powers I wanted to implement, whether they were one's I'd seen before, or something new, and built the character around that. I'm happy with how things turned out. Yes, there are quite a bit of characters in this first book in the series, but everyone has a role and readers seem to enjoy the variety.
I awoke with a fierce headache, opening my eyes only making it worse. Thankfully the room was dim; the only light filtering through the thin blue curtains draped across the window.
I wondered what time it was and scanned the room for a clock. To my left was the window, a small painting of a mountain landscape beside it. In front of me, a small TV hung mounted on the olive-green painted wall; a few information and procedural posters littered the space around it. Below sat a small table with several chairs scattered around. I tried to check the wall behind me—a bit difficult seeing as how I couldn’t move—and managed to locate the top of a clock.
Great. Just out of view. I sighed in defeat and returned my focus to the TV, which was on but muted.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My eyes darted to the right, following the sound of the unfamiliar voice. There, sitting off to the side, was a strange man staring at a chart in his hands.
How did I miss that?
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, short brown hair coming to a sharp point in the front, looking like it would pierce your hand if touched. His face resembled sandpaper, whiskers revealing he hadn’t shaved in days. Gray eyes studied over the papers he held. I didn’t recognize him. But his eyes. Something about the eyes was so…familiar. Tall and muscular with hands like bear paws, he was draped in a white lab coat that looked a little too snug, seams holding on for dear life around his massive chest and shoulders.
Who is this guy? I wondered.
“Dr. James Richards,” he introduced himself right on cue without looking up from his chart, flipping through papers. “Took quite a spill, didn’t you?”
You could say that again, I thought, rolling my eyes.
“Lucky to be alive, you know.” It looked as though his mouth wasn’t moving as he spoke, though it could’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me. They were still a little fuzzy. “The fact that you are here is nothing short of a miracle.”
So I’ve heard.
“A compound open fracture of the arm, fractured foot, three broken ribs, ruptured spleen”—he rattled off injuries as he stood and slowly paced the room, lab coat flapping at his knees as he walked—“broken leg, broken nose, multiple lacerations, and last but not least, impalement to the skull.”
Did he say impalement?
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Dr. Richards glanced up and met my eyes. “Already endured a few surgeries, I see. Probably looking at a few more before all is said and done.”
Bearer of good news this guy is, I said to myself.
“There is some good news, however.”
Well, that was weird.
“It’ll be a long recovery, but there’s a strong chance you’ll return to a hundred percent.” Again, it looked as though his mouth barely moved, if at all. “Of course, you’ll have to go through some rigorous physical therapy, but with hard work and dedication I’m sure you’ll get there.”
This guy would make a great ventriloquist, I laughed to myself.
He stared down at me, a slight look of distaste on his face. “So, how are you feeling at the moment?”
Oh, just dandy, besides the whole not being able to move thing.
“That shouldn’t last much longer. You’ll be able to move again soon. With limitations, of course,” he added as he tapped the cast on my leg with his pen.
“Wait a minute, you can hear me?” I asked in shock.
He looked at me with eyebrows raised. “Of course I can hear you.”
I can finally talk! It was strange; it didn’t feel like I was talking. Perhaps a side effect from the pain meds.
“Besides the pain, have you been experiencing any discomfort, or noticed anything…unusual?” he asked with heightened interest.
I pictured him holding a wooden dummy, using the doll to ask me various questions, the two of them then discussing my answers, and laughed to myself.
“Enough!” Dr. Richards yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls.
Startled and confused, I quickly answered the question. “N-no real discomfort, no. Just everything from the accident. Anything unusual? No, can’t say there is.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, as if he didn’t believe me.
My head started pounding. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Seconds later I reopened them to find Dr. Richards watching me with a smirk on his face.
“Well, I do have a headache now that you mention it, but I guess that’s from the accident too.”
“Is that it?” He seemed annoyed.
“Yeah. Why?” I replied, confused.
He studied me, his eyes squinting ever so slightly. “Hmm, perhaps he doesn’t know,” he whispered.
“Know what?” I asked, getting irritated.
He stared right at me, eyes wide, but said nothing. Instead, he fished for something in his pocket, pulling out a small rectangular object and raising it in front of him, holding it at chest level. Slowly flipping it over, a sly smile grew across his face. I found myself staring into a mirror. For the first time since the accident I could see how I looked. I gulped in disbelief. I didn’t recognize myself at all.
There was a boot strapped on my fractured foot and a cast on the opposite leg which made it look huge. My back was set in some sort of brace, as was my neck, to keep me from moving. It was doing its job. My ribs were tightly wrapped, explaining the slight discomfort when breathing. As I continued upward I noticed how bad my face looked. It resembled an oversized plum, black and blue except for the white gauze wrapped around my forehead. The majority of my face was swollen, tubes running out of my purple nose and another extending from my mouth.
Wait a minute…a breathing tube? I looked up at Dr. Richards, confusion painted across my discolored face. A devious smile greeted me in return. Then how can I be talk—
It was at that moment I realized we’d been having the entire conversation with our minds.
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