Trespassing Series
Trespassing 1 – 9
P.W. Creighton
Genre: YA, YA Mystery, Detectives, YA Romance
Date of Publication: 2013 – 2025
Cover Artist: For The Muse Design
When the elite own everything and are immune to consequences, trespassing may be the only way to survive…
Series Description:
Cape Cod is a community divided between wealthy socialites who established the town and the working class responsible for running it. Every year it is getting harder for residents to even make a living.
Logan Harrison is an average student attending Nauset High School, he just wants his life to be something more, to mean something. As his sophomore year comes to a close, his world is shattered by a tragic suicide that fractures his friends. In an attempt to understand what happened and deal with the guilt, Logan uncovers a twisted secret that is subtly tearing the community apart with a deadly cost.
When the elite own everything and are immune to consequences, trespassing may be the only way to survive…
Good Girls Go Bad – Trespassing 9
The thirty-minute drive from Ocean View down to the gallery had taken less
than half the time. It was surprising that no one had complained to send the
Sheriff’s Department our way. We had jumped curbs, cut across lawns, and even
taken an insane drive through the park to shave off as much time as possible but it
still felt like an eternity. Orange streetlights flickered past us as I was able to put
my foot down on the straightaway.
Every minute Hailey was flipping between calling and texting without a
single response. Even Liz wasn’t responding to her. I completely understood her
paranoia. I had felt the same thing when Hailey texted me out of nowhere to
apologize. I would’ve ignored it entirely if Scar hadn’t changed my thinking. If
things were large enough for us to notice, then there was infinitely more that was
hidden.
Last year Jen was just a princess, pretty and bitchy with too much attitude.
Everything was beneath her. No matter who she was hanging out with, the attitude
never changed. She was miserable and I just kept out of the way. After Scarlett, she
had changed, like all of us. She actually was nice and funny. The world was
different. I actually cared about her. She wasn’t the closest of friends, but she was a
friend now.
The headlights swept over a large gray clapboard building on the corner. The
black shingle roof and white trim kept with the Cape-aesthetic, but it was a strange
design split between a Cape home and a large boathouse. Serenity Sea Gallery was
Jennifer’s burden. Her mom’s gallery was dedicated to local artists and seascape
style art, she had opened it ages ago, but it never really was her priority. Much like
Jen, it was just an after-thought for her mother.
I took my foot off the gas.
“No!” Hailey snapped at me. “Around back. She uses the backdoor.”
“Right.” I put my foot down again making the engine growl.
The tires screeched as I cranked the wheel to turn us around the corner of the
gallery. We swerved through the narrow space between the building and a privacy
fence. Standing on the brakes, I cranked the wheel again to spin the Bronco around
and face the back cinder-block wall of the gallery. We slid to a stop with a pair of
black steel fire-doors directly in the headlights.
Hailey didn’t even wait for us to come to a full stop. She had the door open
and was out and moving by the time I took my foot off the parking brake. I didn’t
bother shutting it off, instead I copied her and jumping out to sprint for the door.
“Jen?” She called out as she reached the doors trying one side without luck.
“Jen?” Hailey called out again as she pulled the second door open. She ducked
inside and I was a half-step behind.
“Jennifer?” I called for her.
We entered a darkened area of the gallery filled with metal shelving and
wooden crates. Once the door closed to shut out the headlights it took a moment
for our eyes to adjust to the room. Somewhere off to one side, the darkness wasn’t
nearly as bad.
“Jen?” Hailey tried to hurry through the space but kept bumping into things
as she made her way down the aisle. “Jen? Ow. Jen?” I jabbed my hand out in front
of her to keep her from banging her head on a crate that was sticking out.
“Jennifer?”
“Jen?” Hailey let out a shriek when she reached the end of the shelves.
“Jen!” She darted forward and I kept pace with her. We had reached a prep area
with a couple of long counters, tools, and a small office just beyond. There was just
enough light from the office to reveal a long shape near the center of the space.
“NO!” Jennifer was hanging from the exposed metal rafters. Her bare feet lightly
brushed against a work stool that had been knocked over.
I couldn’t manage a sound as the world slowed. Hailey screamed. I lunged
forward, wrapping my arms around Jennifer’s legs. Lifting with all my strength
had her roughly sitting on my shoulder.
“Get something to cut her down!” I commanded, but Hailey wasn’t moving.
“Hailey! Get something! NOW!”
Hailey darted around and came up with some form of wire-cutters. She
frantically circled around us before she scrambled up onto the closer workbench.
Teetering overhead, she stretched out to cut at the cord above Jen’s head. There
were a few seconds of her trying to cut it before Jen fell into my arms.
Jennifer Maack was a Pack girl, pristine, flawless, and small. Not quite as
small as Devin but as soon as she fell into my arms, she felt heavier than any of the
girls. She was a ragdoll, limp, and hard to balance. I shifted her around until I
could carry her in my arms to a clear spot away from anything. As gently as I
could, I set her on the cold concrete floor.
“Call 9-1-1,” I said and leaned in to check her. Glancing up, I saw Hailey
was a complete wreck crying but still not moving. “HAILEY!” I shouted to get her
attention. She finally looked at me. “CALL 9-1-1!” She gave a quick nod and
pulled out her phone.
Leaning in close, I couldn’t see Jennifer’s chest moving and I couldn’t hear
her breathing. I untangled the noose to give her more space before I placed my
hand on her neck. She was still warm. I fumbled around and thought I felt a pulse,
but it was hard to tell.
About the Author
Born in California, P.W. has spent most of his life traveling throughout the US. P.W. draws inspiration
from many adventures, turning his strange reality into fiction.
Over the years, P.W. has found himself in many unusual situations, ranging from hanging off an 80
foot cliff-face in New York, to sailing off the coast of Salem, Massachusetts. P.W. has hosted archaeological excavations, and have even
reported from the middle of a police stand-off.
When a teacher asked in the second grade what he wanted to be when he grew up, he didn’t have an answer. He lets the characters make that decision for him.