About the Author

Taylor Verrier is an 18 year old author from London who began

writing every day at the age of 10. Initially starting by writing

scripts, she eventually developed her favourite characters into her

first book, Clarity.

This book is dedicated to my mum, without whom

none of this would be possible.

T a y l o r V e r r i e r

C L A R I T Y

Copyright © Taylor Verrier (2015)

The right of Taylor Verrier to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this

publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library.

ISBN 978 1 78455 894 9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978 1 78455 895 6 (Hardback)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2015)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Printed and bound in Great Britain

INTRODUCTION

From the streets of Chicago, you probably wouldn’t notice

her. Sure, a lot of people had heard about her, but mainly in

rumours. She has seldom been seen.

The rumours about her say that she’s incredibly tall, quite

dark and very violent. This isn’t true. Like most rumours. In

reality, she looks pretty normal. 5'6", jet black hair, green eyes

and a pale complexion. As for the violence, well, we’ll get to

that.

If you looked at the top of an apartment building in the

centre of Chicago, you’d see her right now, surveying the city.

By day, she’s a fairly regular girl, by night, she’s

a…protector. She’s not a superhero, she doesn’t have a special

name, she just takes care of her hometown and the people in

it. She is usually dressed in her trademark outfit consisting of

black high heeled boots, tight black trousers, a black halter top

which shows the top of her back and a large diamond mask

which ties to the back of her head. The mask only has small

slits for her eyes, but she can see out of it well. Her hair, tied

back into a high ponytail and lastly, bright red lipstick to

finish off her look.

Most people call her “The Girl” because she’s never set a

name for herself. She doesn’t care about the publicity or what people call her, she just wants to do what she does. In fact, her

real name is simply, Eva. Eva May LeeLand.

CHAPTER ONE

The early morning sunlight streams through the bedroom

window, illuminating the bed.

My stupid curtains don’t keep any of this out. I didn’t go

to sleep until 3am because of that damn robbery and now, I

have to wake up at 7am. I hate my sleep schedule!

The alarm sounds and I quickly turn it off. There’s no

point staying in bed now. I get up, go into the bathroom, brush

my teeth, brush my hair and then walk over to a door in the

corner of the bedroom and open it to reveal the large walk in

closet. A completely white room with racks and racks of

clothes along with an entire wall of shoes and drawers full of

jewellery.

I don’t really like this closet, it’s too big for me, but it’s

always been here. I’ve been in this room since I was a baby

and this room used to be full of my baby clothes. Although

I’ve known this closet and this house all my life, it doesn’t

feel like home. It never has and maybe it never will.

Unfortunately, mom died five years ago. She’d been

trying to inject herself with an ability enhancing serum. It’s

called the SA Serum. Created years ago by a bunch of crazy

scientists. People loved it until they started dying from the

side effects and not being able to control their new powers. It was banned, but people still take it illegally. I’d love to

eradicate it for good, but it always comes back and the

demand is high. I’d been injected with it six years ago. I got

the power of…I suppose some people would call it

invincibility, but that’s not really it. If someone stabbed me,

there would still be a wound, but it would heal fairly quickly.

I still feel the pain, but I know that it won’t kill me. Dying

from blood loss is still a possibility though, so I still have to

be careful.

My mother tried it, but it didn’t react well with her. It

caused some sort of mass organ failure. She died rapidly, but

ever since then, I’ve been working to stop the serum’s

distribution and use.

I never knew my father and I don’t have any siblings, so

her death hit me hard. I don’t really have any family left. The

closest to family I have now is my best friend, Rachel

Roehampton (Everyone calls her Roe).

The sound of the phone beeping snaps me out of my

thoughts. I quickly grab my Blackberry and see that I have a

text message. It’s just a message reminding me about my

deadline. I’m a journalist for a well-known magazine and I

write articles every week. It’s not a serious job though. The

magazine is kind of a Cosmo rip off. I’m more interested in

serious journalism. I was the editor-in-chief of my high school

newspapers. Then I majored in English in College and wrote

some small articles for various papers before finally getting

my position here at “CHIC”. I hate that name. I don’t really

care about the money or the name, I just enjoy writing, so I

stay here.

I can already smell my breakfast downstairs, so I quickly

change into just jeans and a sweater before going downstairs.

By now, you’re probably thinking “Who’s cooking her

breakfast? Why doesn’t she care about money and why does

she have a walk in closet?!”

The answer is, I have family money. My family have

always been good at generating money. They originally

owned speakeasy’s and oil wells. I’m ashamed to say that the

origin of my family’s fortune wasn’t exactly legal. They

eventually moved into bars and motels before finally going

into nightclubs and hotels. The family company is called

LeeLand Ventures. I don’t like that name either, but it’s been

there for sixty years, so I can’t change it. I am the current

CEO. My mother was an only child as well and after she died,

I was really the only person left to take over the company. It’s

now run by a board of directors and I leave them to it. I don’t

really like to get involved.

I suddenly hear a different kind of beeping. This would be

coming from my pager. I know, pagers went out of style in the

90’s, but it’s the only alert I have for criminal activities. If the

police ever need me, they page me. I don’t know why they’d

need me at 7am though.

I quickly walk over to my shoe rack and press a very

small button on the side of the rack. The entire thing moves to

the side and creates a small opening into another room. I hurry

through the opening and the rack moves back into place

behind me.

I am now in my “Secret Room” as I like to call it. No one

else knows about this room or my secret identity. A large

computer is in the corner and various weapons are displayed

around the room along with filing cabinets which hold files

about some of the most serious criminals I’ve come into

contact with. The weapons are mostly knives, guns, throwing

stars, that kind of thing, but I rarely use weapons. I prefer

hand to hand combat and if I use a weapon, I could seriously

hurt someone and I don’t want to do that.

A huge mannequin is in the middle of the room. It’s

dressed in my trademark outfit. I have many copies of my

outfit in case any of them get damaged. The reason I choose to

display this particular version is because this was the first one

I wore. The first, final version of my crime-fighting outfit. I

like to display it. It brings back some interesting memories.

I turn on the computer and look at where the page traces

back to. Seeing the destination, I turn towards one of the

drawers and open it to reveal my current outfit and begin

getting ready for just another normal day.

* * *

I stand on top of an apartment building, mask and outfit

on. Looking down, I see a single police car. It could be the

one that contacted me. I don’t talk to people when I’m “at

work” in case someone recognises me. That would make it

impossible to do what I do. I can’t see anything yet. It

probably doesn’t help that the early morning sunlight is

blinding me. This is why I rarely work during the day as it

makes me feel extremely exposed. I hope no one sees me.

Something is visible out of the corner of my eye, but it’s

not clear. I retrieve my travel wire from my utility belt. It’s a

small metal handle that contains enormous amounts of wire.

The control buttons are in the middle. The end of the gadget

will anchor to any surface. When I press the middle button

once, it sticks securely and when I press it a second time, it

detaches. The up button pulls the wire upwards and the down

button lowers it. Pretty obvious, huh?

I stick the end of the wire to the corner of the building and

lean over the edge. I press the button and slowly begin to

lower myself down into the alleyway. Then it’s time to retract

the wire, put it back into my belt and start searching the area. I

can’t see anything. What’s the problem here? This better not

be some sort of joke.

All of a sudden, a man dressed in black trousers and a

dark red hoodie runs around the corner. He has a full

backpack on his back. I can’t see his face because he’s

wearing a ski mask.

I stick my foot out and trip him up. He falls to the floor

hard. Why was I called for this? He’s hardly a challenge.

He grabs my ankle and pulls me down. I punch him in the

face, but it doesn’t seem to scare him. I throw another punch

at him, but he grabs my fist and twists my arm, holding me

face down on the floor.

Just as he lets go of me and prepares to run, I turn over

quickly and kick him hard in the chest. This stuns him, but he

doesn’t fall to the floor, he simply leans against the wall for a