365 days revealed, p.1
365 Days Revealed, page 1
365 DAYS REVEALED
by
* Nancy Isaak *
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
EXCEPTIONS: Brief portions of this text may be quoted for reviewing purposes.
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION: This book is copyrighted material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission by its author and copyright holder. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation, or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and copyright holder’s rights, and those responsible may be held liable accordingly.
DISCLAIMER: Further, this book is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are being used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Nancy Isaak
Cover Design: © 2017 N. Isaak
AUTHOR’S NOTES
A QUICK INSTRUCTION:
There are four books in “The 365 Days Quadrilogy”:
365 Days Alone
365 Days Hunted
365 Days At War
365 Days Revealed
Because of the way the books are written, either “365 Days Alone” or “365 Days Hunted” can be read first. If you are a female, my advice would be to start the series by reading “365 Days Alone” and, if you are a male, you would probably enjoy beginning with “365 Days Hunted”.
The other way you can enter this series is by reading “365 Days Alone” and “365 Days Hunted” side-by-side. Both books are separated by month long chapters, so some readers switch back and forth—reading the month of “November” in both books, then moving on to the month of “December”, for example.
“365 Days at War” and “365 Days Revealed” are the third and fourth installment in the series and should be read as such.
A LONGER EXPLANATION:
My love for stories is unending and I absolutely adore long, rich tales that span over more than one book. That said, I also hate reading a book, only to reach the end and discover that I have to wait six months to a year for the next installment. I want to read the whole story—all at once! Because of that, when I know that a story will have more than one book-chapter, I usually wait until all the books in the series have come out before I sit down and binge-read the whole thing—which sometimes means waiting years, but I still do it!
When I set out to write this story and I realized that it would be so long and intricate that it would encompass multiple volumes, I came to the decision that I couldn’t do to my readers what I hated having done to me. So—instead of writing and publishing one novel at a time—I sat down for a little over two years and thousands upon thousands of pages (sigh) and wrote the whole, darn thing.
And let me just be completely honest here; it was one of the most difficult writing decisions that I have ever made. Day-after-day I would write away, never knowing if anyone would appreciate the effort I was putting in to ensure a continuous reading experience. Friends and family members, frankly, thought I was being a little ridiculous—because I was putting the continuity of the story over the financial returns of immediate publication.
But—I’m kind of stubborn…and I was determined to take the time to write the best story I could.
So, remember—you don’t have to read these books in the traditional way. The first and the second book can be interchanged or you can read them side-by-side, chapter by chapter. It’s your decision—whatever makes for a more enjoyable reading experience.
Above all—please enjoy yourself. This story has been a part of my life for almost two years and I desperately want you to fall in love with the characters just like I have.
Finally…this book and the ones that came before are totally fiction.
I mean, they would have to be…right?
Thank you for reading my story,
Nancy Isaak
P.S. In regards to the private residences in these books—they are all fictitious, so please don’t go knocking on anyone’s door. Some of the public buildings and locations I have written about do exist—although I have obviously fictionalized them, which includes changes in rooms, site placements, and measurements.
This book is dedicated to you.
May you always be lucky.
May you remember.
NOVEMBER
HOW IT ALL BEGAN
It was so confusing.
I tried to hide it, but I was scared.
Truthfully…I thought I was going insane!
For 365 days, we had been separated.
Girls without boys.
Boys without girls.
For 365 days, we had been together.
Two tribes—Locals and Crazies.
Boys and girls.
Now, it had changed again.
But this was the really important thing.
Because, maybe it hadn’t changed at all…maybe it was just in my mind.
Maybe it had always been in my mind.
I didn’t know what to do…how to figure it all out.
So, I did the only thing I could.
Taking keyboard in hand, I began to write.
It had finally become my turn.
JAY
Yes, it’s me—Jayalakshmi, the Goddess of Victory.
Except that I don’t feel like much of a goddess right now. Mainly, I feel stupid and scared and confused and worried that I might have some kind of tumor growing in my head.
Or that I’m having a break-down.
Or that I’m becoming a teenage schizophrenic.
I mean, seriously—what other reason could there be?
Because here are the facts as I know them:
Everyone is right where they should be.
(Well, duh…like where else should they be?)
We have internet, t.v., electricity, phones. And, of course, batteries work.
(I mean, why wouldn’t they?)
It’s very, very noisy.
(At least now I understand the true meaning of the word ‘cacophony’.)
Did I mention how noisy it is?
(I think there were birds chirping this morning, but it’s not like I can really hear them under all this…cacophony…of cars racing along the 101 Freeway and jets roaring overhead.)
It’s been 24 hours…just me and billions of other men, women, boys, and girls on this planet, Earth.
(Which is exactly as it should be—so why am I so very, very scared?)
* * * *
I always liked watching Kaylee write—the tick-tick of her pen as it scratched her memories and thoughts onto the pages of her journals. When I would ask her how writing came to be so easy for her, Kaylee would always tell me that—‘It’s rarely easy. I just start writing at the beginning and keep at it until it’s done.’
So—that’s what I’m going to do now.
I’m going to write until everything makes sense.
Until it’s done or until they lock me away and shove antipsychotics down my throat.
Right now…it’s kind of a toss-up of which will come first.
* * * *
It was the “hum of civilization” that woke me up that first morning.
As I tossed and turned in a kind of half-sleep, I suddenly became conscious of a phone ringing. Not just any phone either, but a smartphone playing that old Reggae standard, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. It was answered in the distance, by a muffled female voice that rose and fell, as a quiet conversation in the next room over began to take place.
I was more than confused as I struggled to bring myself back to full consciousness. It wasn’t just the telephone that had roused me from my sleep; I was also hearing the swish-swish of car tires, the whirr of rushing vehicles moving along a main thoroughfare. And there was a buzz—like that of an electrical current running along a power line.
Swish-swish, whirr, buzz…all noises of a modern age…of a world of machines that actually worked, of energy available to all.
Of a world that hadn’t existed for two years…730 days!
As my fuzzy brain tried to understand what I was truly hearing, my other senses slowly awoke as well.
Smell came first and I sniffed the air greedily, taking in the exotic odors of what could only be designer coffee and toasting bagels. There was also something grittier in the air, an unpleasant, slightly metallic smell. I finally recognized it as ‘cars’—oil, gasoline, heated engines, rubber tires.
Touch showed up the moment I turned in my bed. I sighed at the softness of the sheets and the way they slid gently around my arms and legs. Everything felt different—even my own skin. It was softer, plumper; it was skin that had been recently bathed and expertly moisturized.
I couldn’t stop myself; my hands ran up and down, touching. When they reached my hair, I was astonished by how silky the strands felt, how smooth and healthy—a split end nowhere to be found.
Even taste was represented that morning; there was water in the air, with that metallic tang that you can feel on the tip of your tongue after a recent lawn sprinkling.
Amazed at what I was sensing, I opened my mouth—like a gaping fish—testing the air, trying to identify other tastes. Suddenly, realizing how foolish I must look, I blinked my eyes open and peered around.
My bedroom back on Point Dume had magically disappeared.
Somehow, I was back in the Michelson townhouse in Agoura Hills—in Kaylee’s bedroom, on the morning
Sight.
As was her habit from before it happened—Kaylee was opposite me, lying on her bed, staring up at the picture of Jacob on her bulletin board. Hearing me move in my bed, Kaylee turned and gave me a grin. I almost gasped when I saw how different she looked from the last time I’d seen her—the warrior leader of the Locals, striding across the Point Dume compound.
There was a pink to this Kaylee’s cheeks, and her dark tan was gone. With a fuller face, this girl certainly looked well-fed.
And the muscles in Kaylee’s arms had almost completely disappeared somehow. Her arms were once again those of a modern girl—thin, shapely, but definitely not built to carry submachine guns and fight Crazies with wickedly sharp knives.
Kaylee groaned, rubbing at her stomach. “Ooo…that was way too much Chunky Monkey ice cream last night! Now, I have even more weight to work off.” Leaning over, she reached down and pulled her smartphone from its charger at the side of her bed. “I wonder what my future-husband did last night,” she murmured, tapping away at the phone’s screen.
I couldn’t help but stare.
Even Kaylee’s hair had changed dramatically; it was shorter now—back to the way it was two years ago. It seemed darker, too; all her highlights had disappeared—the ones that long days in the Malibu sun had given it.
“Darn!” groaned Kaylee. “There’s like nothing on Jacob’s feeds. I’ll have to check Kieran’s.” She continued her internet surfing, completely oblivious to my staring, my shock…my confusion.
My thoughts were racing, my mind a jumble…what the heck was going on?
Why did Kaylee look so different?
Was that really a car that I just heard driving by?
Was I really back on the ‘sleepover’ in Kaylee’s pre-event bedroom?
And what happened to my old bedroom on Point Dume?
Slowly, I lifted up my blanket and peered underneath at my own body. What I saw there sent a wave of shock and horror down my spine?
More importantly…what the heck had happened to my boobs?!
* * * *
“If you want a ride, you two need to get your lazy butts out of bed!” Kaylee’s mom leaned her head around the bedroom door. “Or you can always take the Beach Bus down to Zuma.”
Kaylee kept tapping away at her phone. “We’re coming.”
“Get this…we had fifty-six kids last night,” Mrs. Michelson announced, proudly. “And only two of them weren’t in costume and those were older boys. I think they might even have been from your high school.”
“Probably footballers,” said Kaylee, yawning. “I’d bet on Frank and Denny. They’re douchey enough to think it would be funny to go around and scam Halloween candy.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off of Kaylee and her mom; I was amazed by how they both looked—by how they were acting. It had been so long since I’d seen Kaylee like this, as a regular 10th grade girl—and even longer since I’d seen an adult.
Now, here they were—Mrs. Michelson and Kaylee—talking like a normal mother and daughter, like nothing extraordinary had ever happened.
Like the world had never changed for them.
Like no one had ever disappeared.
Meanwhile, underneath my blanket, my hands again touched my chest—secretly searching for boobs that somehow didn’t exist anymore.
Crap…
A chill ran down my body; my head began to pound with the beginnings of a migraine.
Double crap!
Everything—all of it—the Locals, the Crazies…my boobs.
It must have been a dream; that would be the only thing that made any sense.
Right?
Why else would Kaylee and I be right back at the beginning, in her bedroom, the morning after Halloween?
730 days ago…before all the boys disappeared!
* * * *
“Seriously, you need to get moving! I’m not going to wait around all morning for you girls to get out of bed.”
I tried to focus in on what Mrs. Michelson was saying, but my mind was still having a hard time wrapping itself around the fact that I had either just reappeared in the old world or I was having a delusional break in this one.
So, I just stared at her—mouth open, gaping.
Luckily, Mrs. Michelson’s attention was primarily on Kaylee, so she didn’t seem to notice that I was seriously freaking out. “If you girls want to see this so-called surf competition,” she told Kaylee, “then we need to leave in the next ten minutes. Otherwise, you’re on public transport, because I have way too many things to do today to wait around for you guys.”
“But the Beach Bus is soo slow!” With a groan, Kaylee reluctantly logged off of her social feeds and swung her legs over the side of her bed. “And we’re not going down just for the competition. I want to do some watercolors today.”
“Of a certain blue-eyed surfer, no doubt,” grinned her mom.
Kaylee looked surprised that her mother knew all about her ‘Jacob-stalking’. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” Kaylee sniffed, trying to appear insulted.
“Then, it won’t matter what beach I drop you off at, right?” Mrs. Michelson turned and walked out of the door, calling over her back. “Traffic will be lighter going down Malibu Canyon, so I’ll let you out at Malibu Beach and you can do your watercolors there.”
“But that’s not fair!” Kaylee called out.
There was no answer, just muffled chuckling as Mrs. Michelson descended the stairs to the lower level of the townhouse.
“My mom is so annoying,” Kaylee complained. She picked up her phone again and started tapping away. “Like she thinks she knows everything.”
With a massive, hands-over-head yawn, Kaylee got out of bed and began dressing—all the while using one hand to log back into her social feeds. It was a modern feat of digital-agility that, frankly, had me mesmerized. I had forgotten how much a smartphone had been part of our everyday life—how it had never seemed to stray far from our hands.
“Okay, I’m on Kieran’s Twitter feed now,” Kaylee announced, wiggling her way into a pair of shorts. “Crap…they’re already surfing! He’s got a picture up of their kid brother coming in from a wave.”
“Rhys,” I said, quietly.
“Yeah…the bratty one.”
“He’s not a brat…Rhys is…”
What could I really say?
That Rhys was a warrior—a sniper—an integral part of the Locals, who had killed his fair share of Crazies to defend his tribal brothers and sisters?
Luckily, Kaylee hadn’t noticed my hesitation; she was too busy reading through Kieran’s tweets. “I didn’t think they’d be at the beach already. I thought that Jacob would probably have a late start this morning because of the Foxes’ party.”
“He didn’t go to their party,” I murmured.
“What?!” For the first time, Kaylee really looked at me. “How do you know that?”
Oh-oh…how did I know that?
It certainly wasn’t like I could tell Kaylee I knew because that was what had happened in the other world.
Or was it in my dreams—or my delusions?
“I meant…like, um…maybe Jacob didn’t even go to the Foxes’ party,” I stammered. “Like because of the surfing competition…because…um…he had to get up so early.”
Kaylee thought about that for a moment; then, she nodded. “Yeah, that would make total sense.” She started on her phone again. “I’m still gonna’ check out the Foxes’ feeds anyways. See if they have any pix up, yet.”
As Kaylee swiped from one screen to the next, commenting on this picture, sniffing in irritation at that one, I remained under the covers, still trying to ‘logic’ my way through my confusion.
