Jovari the Blue

Chapter 1: That Niggling Feeling

Battle Ground, Indiana

Claire stepped away from her bedroom mirror and went to stand before the window. Her gaze dropped to the chicken coup, catching sight of her mother. Alexandra Evans was kneeling in the chicken run with a handful of feed, clucking and cooing at her pets as they pecked food from her palm. As if sensing her stare, her mother glanced up. Their eyes met. A flash of concern filtered over Alexandra's features before she replaced it with a smile and waved.

They had the same blonde hair. The same nose and mouth. But her green eyes had come from her father. Her mother's eyes were blue.

She waved back, offering a weak smile in return. She continued to to watch as her mother showered the chickens with affection. Chickens...

A strange feeling stole over her and she pushed it away. She'd had a lot of that lately. Strange feelings, a nagging sensation at the back of her mind, a distant voice urging her to remember. Yesterday she'd felt it during dinner, while looking the Starry Night painting in the dining room wall. The one that hung over the hidden family safe. Earlier this week, she'd had it while changing the sheets in the guest bedroom.

Movement on the gravel drive caught her attention. Her stomach plummeted. Her mother noticed at the same time, and called for her father. Michael Evans emerged from the large red barn opposite their house. He wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his tool belt. He followed her mother's gaze and a frown appeared on his lips, morphing into anger.

The news van came to a stop in the driveway. A crisply dressed female and her male counterpart emerged. Her father was already striding for them, face contorted. "What don't you people understand about leave us alone?!" he snarled, voice drifting up through her closed window. "We don't want you here!"

The female reporter said something, her voice too low to carry.

Claire stepped out of view, putting her back against the wall. She closed her eyes. A tear oozed from beneath her eyelid, dripping down the side of her nose.

She sucked in a breath. It sounded more like a suppressed sob. An entire week had passed and they just kept coming. Like she was some kind of circus freak. A small part of her hoped it had been aliens. That was easier to explain. She simply couldn't understand how she'd ended up in France, dressed like something from a historical drama, with strange glowing markings covering her skin. No one else could understand, either.

With the wall at her back, she slid down to the ground, burying her head in her arms.

The faint crunch of gravel singled the retreat of the reporters. A few minutes later, there was a quiet tap at her door. "Claire, honey? You okay?" Her mother.

"Fine," she called, trying to infuse calm indifference into her voice.

A long silence, then, "Okay. I'm here if you want to talk."

"I know. Thanks, Mom."

When Alexandra's footsteps disappeared down the hall, she allowed herself to think back over the last week and a half—The Ordeal, with a capital T and O, because of how serious it was. Appearing in France, somewhere randomly in the countryside. Being taken to the French police without a single form of identification. Discovering that her parents had filed a missing persons report two days prior, after waiting nearly a week because of a supposed note she'd written—a note she didn't remember writing, despite it being her handwriting. A note that told them she'd be gone for a while, but not to worry. Well, they'd worried!

The French authorities had run her name through a database. She'd been found. News outlets around the world had erupted over the details of it. The days following had been a blur of media, accusations, and confusion. Of tears and exhaustion. Of hiding.