The awakening, p.1
The Awakening, page 1
Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.
Rockland, Ontario, Canada
Copyright © 2014 Sara Brooke
Exclusive cover © 2014 Laura Givens
Inside artwork © 2014 Giovanna Lagana
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.
A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada
ISBN 978-1-927555-50-7
A catalogue record for the Ebook is available from the National Library of Canada Ebooks are available for purchase from
www.lachesispublishing.com
ISBN 978-1-927555-49-1
Editor: Joanna D’Angelo
Copyeditor: Giovanna Lagana
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my little dreamer and superhero.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the following people for helping me bring The Bloodmane Chronicles to life: Joanna D’Angelo, Penelope Douglas Maloney, and my family—both immediate and extended. Thank you Giovanna for your ability to refine my ramblings. Hopefully this start to Renda’s journey makes it clear that love is scary, but without risk there is no reward.
THE AWAKENING
Chapter 1
I’ve never minded being alone.
For some people, being alone is the worst thing in the world. They fill their time with countless meetings, dates, texting, and online chatting―anything to stay busy and not face the silence of their thoughts.
For me, it’s different. For me, being alone is the only time when I can actually think. It’s the only time when my mind is clear and focused. Maybe that’s because I’ve felt alone most of my life, and it is the only time when I am truly comfortable.
My name is Renda Bloodmane. For some reason, my birthmother thought it would be suitable to call me a name that most people almost always mispronounce. I heard it a million times in school . . .
“Brenda? Brenda, are you present?”
“No, my name is Renda. It’s Renda, not Brenda.”
“Are you sure your name’s not Brenda?”
The conversation was typically followed by a long line of questioning as to why my last name is Bloodmane. And to be honest with you, I’m not exactly sure why I have that particular last name. Many people think that it’s a description of my red hair. “Blood” standing for “red” or “in the lineage” and “mane” as another way to describe “hair”. But I’ve never met my birthmother, so I couldn’t tell you.
She abandoned me in the hospital, the day I was born.
I was born in a small hospital in Cale, Florida. Literally hours after I was born, the nurses returned to my mother’s hospital bed and found it empty. They searched the entire floor for her, but she was gone.
As for my birthfather? Well, she never told anyone who he was, so in the scope of my first several hours of life, I was basically left without any parents or family. My mother’s parents had apparently died years ago and since she was an only child, I was put in a foster home almost immediately.
My foster parents, two very kind people named Bernie and Sandra Berkins took care of me, and eventually they filed for adoption. They’re great people and I’ve had a relatively normal upbringing as their only child. But I’ve always felt―different.
For starters, my parents are very social people and like to spend time with their friends at the country club or enjoy having drinks at their house at dusk. They’re always the center of attention, making people laugh with their funny stories and bright smiles. And I do feel very lucky to have them. But the last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself. I wonder if it’s because I’m adopted.
My parents told me I was adopted, when I was very young. They’re good people, and I know my parents love me, and I love them. But I’ve always felt an invisible wall between me and everyone else. Sometimes that wall protects me. Other times it shuts me out. Either way, it has always made me aware that I’m a little different.
I’m quite shy and try to fly under the radar. I don’t want people taking what I say the wrong way, and so, many times, I don’t say anything at all. In college, my friend Bobbie Trillo used to get upset with me quite regularly because instead of going out to keg parties with her and getting into drunken “situations” with fraternity boys, I would stay in my room and read. She’d go out for hours on end, while I’d spend the time in my bed . . . in flannel pajamas . . . immersing myself in tales of horror, suspense, or romance.
It’s not that I didn’t want male attention. I’m a woman after all, with the same needs and desires as all women. But I’ve just never felt comfortable in social situations, and even though I know I’m not unattractive―I’m just not at ease around outgoing people.
So, needless to say, my life is not exactly the most exciting in the world.
To add to my quiet life, I work in a public library, here in Cale. Now, I know that a small-town library might seem unexciting, but for me, there’s nothing better than getting lost in the stacks of books and smelling the old paperbacks resting among the long shelves. It’s a place where I feel at ease and can be myself.
My friend Larlene, who also works at the library as the manager, thinks that since I’m a redhead, there’s absolutely got to be some fire deep within me that is raging to get out.
I think she may be watching too many soft-porn movies on cable, but who knows. I do love romance novels and movies. Maybe I just need the right guy to draw out my passion.
Anyway, we recently had a small argument about my lack of a social life. I was working on organizing some of our DVD collection, correcting some of the titles that were out of order in the comedy section, when she swooped down on me. That also isn’t unusual, since Larlene is close to six feet tall, and I stand at about five feet, four inches.
“So,” she said in a breathless gasp. “I’ve finally found you. What’s the plan for this weekend?”
My plans were the same as every other weekend. Rent some movies, and curl up on the bed with my yellow Labrador, Jane (named after my favorite Charlotte Bronte novel, Jane Eyre). In fact, I was actually looking forward to watching an old Hollywood epic, Cleopatra with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.
Jane is the perfect movie-watching companion. I’ve had her since she was a puppy—adopting her from a local animal shelter. In some ways, Jane is my kindred spirit as we were both given a rough start in life, but somehow, we found our way to relatively greener pastures.
Dogs have a way of showing us how to appreciate things in life, and she makes me a better person because of her presence. There is nothing in the world that means more to me than Jane does.
So watching a movie with my best, furry friend in the world seemed like the perfect night.
But divulging this truth would not sit well with Larlene, who enjoyed spending her time online, chatting with any number of lovelorn people on one of the many dating sites she belonged to. Larlene never had any luck finding anyone who was relationship material, but she loved the attention. She also enjoyed hanging out in the local bars in town, something that didn’t appeal to me. So I needed to think fast and offer up something that wasn’t too dull, but would be a good excuse to keep her pending invitation to spend the evening with a half-dozen martinis, at bay.
“Well, I was thinking about visiting my parents and spending some time with them. I think they’re having some friends over.”
Larlene cocked her head in my direction and a sly smile appeared on her lips. “Yeah, right. I’ll bet you’ll be at home with Jane. Don’t lie. I see right through you.”
Damn. How did she know? “Well, maybe I’ll be at the house for a bit, but I’m really going to be busy. I think . . .”
“Come on, Renda,” she interrupted me in a pleading tone. “Let’s go out this weekend. We need to relax and have a few drinks. It’ll be fun. Please?”
Her face was hopeful, but my mind was made up. There was no way I was hanging out in a bar until the wee hours of the morning. But I needed to let her down easy. She was basically one of my only friends in town. Most of the other locals thought I was too bookish and serious. I’d even heard one of Larlene’s friends call me “snobby,” which stung, because I don’t think I’m a snob at all. I’m just shy. There’s a difference. Still, Larlene was well-intentioned and I didn’t want to upset her, so I changed my tone.
“I’m actually not feeling all that well. My head hurts, and I think I might be coming down with that flu that’s been going around.”
To add to the ambience, I coughed and Larlene’s eyes softened a bit. “Well, that’s not good. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Maybe next weekend?” she asked and smiled at me, as we finished putting away the DVDs.
* * *
The rest of the week passed uneventfully, other than the awful weather. It rained constantly and made the days in the library incredibly dreary. The gray skies cast a depressing mood over everything—as though a heavy blanket was draped over the building.
It was Friday, and a few hours before closing, when something happened that would change my
I wasn’t really expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen. Friday afternoons are usually quiet because most people are getting ready to go out. I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I’m a homebody, and going out to bars isn’t my thing, but on the other hand, I can’t help but be reminded that even the seniors in my community have busy social lives, while I spend my Friday nights on the couch watching old movies with Jane.
The aisles were empty, making it a perfect time to put away the remaining books that readers had left on tables or chairs. My cart was nearly full as I pushed it along the carpet, hearing the wheels make their telltale squeaking sounds.
My first stop was the horror section. Someone had chosen a great collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s most popular stories and the cover was illustrated with a large black raven―in honor of the story with the same name. I do enjoy horror novels and have always wondered about the other dimensions that exist. Surely, we aren’t completely alone? I mean, if the world is made up of energy, then where does that energy go when a person dies? Does it completely blink out? Or does it manifest itself in ways that we simply cannot comprehend?
These thoughts were circulating through my mind when I turned the corner and saw a ghost for the very first time.
Chapter 2
I didn’t actually see anything strange at first, but the temperature around me felt like it had suddenly dropped several degrees. Goose bumps popped up on my arms as the cooler air surrounded me in a chilly embrace. Taking a deep breath, I briskly rubbed my skin to warm up and continued pushing the cart.
When I turned down the aisle, I was surprised to see a man standing with his back to me. He was looking down, and appeared to be reading something intently. At first, I didn’t notice anything strange about him, but as I moved a bit closer, I saw a big red stain on the back of his shirt.
It was blood.
My heart started beating quickly and a list of things to do raced through my mind. I wasn’t sure exactly how long it would take for the paramedics to arrive, but clearly the man didn’t realize that something was wrong with him as he was simply standing in place, reading a book.
Dropping the novel I was holding into the cart, I started to approach him. “Sir, I think there’s something wrong with your . . .” But I never finished my sentence, because as soon as I started speaking, the man turned around to face me.
He was in his mid-thirties and looked calm, almost disinterested. But that was probably because I couldn’t see most of his face. It had been blown away by something brutal . . . maybe a gunshot blast.
It was unbelievable, but I was looking into the face of a person who couldn’t possibly be alive. Blood dripped down from a gaping hole in his forehead and covered most of his face in a red sheen. Part of his mouth was missing, and a smiling, skeletal profile gleamed at me under the library’s fluorescent lights.
My mind told me to run. Flee. But then another part of my brain suddenly came alive, filling me with a sense of calm. It was a feeling that I’d never felt before. And in that deep, strange calmness, I heard a gentle, masculine voice speak to me.
I wanted to read for a while.
As soon as the voice entered my brain, it left just as quickly and for some bizarre reason, I didn’t want it to go away. Because somehow, I knew that if the voice disappeared―so would this strange, dead corpse.
“Wait, let me help you.” And I leaned forward to touch his shoulder. As soon as my fingers connected with the man, he disappeared and I began to fall forward. I had to grab the bookshelf to keep from toppling over.
Not being a very coordinated person, I’m sure I looked like a drunken marionette. And right at that moment, Larlene saw me stumbling around.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“Uh, I must have tripped on something,” I answered quickly, heat rising to my face. “Why are you still here? I thought you were getting ready for a big date.”
“Yeah.” Larlene sighed. “We’ll see how it goes. I’m not holding my breath.”
“Is it a guy you met online?” I asked, trying to change the subject so I could gather my wits.
“Yeah, he looks hot in his pictures, but you know how that goes. Guys always post that one good picture from ten years ago, before their beer belly makes its first appearance. So I’m not getting too excited. He’s probably really short and has bad teeth.”
I burst out laughing. Sometimes Larlene knows exactly what to say to lift my mood. As she waved goodbye and headed out, my smile remained. She was a good friend and someone who really helped me get through the day.
As I turned back to the now-empty aisle, my thoughts returned to the bleeding, destroyed face that had stared at me moments before. Was it a ghost? I’d never seen anything so horrific, but at the same time, so fascinating.
Perhaps I was just hallucinating? Maybe I hadn’t eaten enough for lunch? Whatever the case, it was getting late and Jane was waiting for me at home. It was time to pack it up and head out. As I left the library, the memory of the half-faced man continued to haunt me.
* * *
Jane is probably one of the smartest dogs in the universe. You might think I’m biased, given that she’s my pet, but I seriously think she was born with a special gift. Unlike most Labradors, she doesn’t jump all over me and slobber on everything. Nor does she chew the walls, my books, or my shoes.
Instead, Jane is quiet and moves at a slow, steady pace. She listens when called, snorts in agreement when I ask her something, and just inherently knows when I need a little extra love or attention.
The thing I love most about my dear Jane is that every day she waits for me to come home and as soon as I walk through the door of my ground floor, two-bedroom apartment, she meets me with those beautiful doe eyes of hers, while her long tail wags back and forth, signaling true happiness at my return. There’s no one on this earth who is more excited to see me than Jane, and so given the strangeness of the day, I was very pleased to see my large, furry daughter at the front door.
“Hi, baby. Are you ready for a cozy, boring night together?”
She sniffed in response, and as I waited for her to run outside and do her business, it occurred to me that maybe it would have been more fun to go out with Larlene instead of sitting at home, watching yet another romantic movie. Plus, I was still unsettled over seeing what I could only assume was a ghost.
Ring!
My thoughts were jarred by the sound of my phone ringing. It was a surprise, as my phone almost never rings. Well, not unless it’s my mother calling to check up on me.
Taking a deep breath, I shooed Jane back inside my apartment and picked up the phone on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey! It’s Bobbie. How are you?”
“Bobbie! It’s great to hear from you. How are things?”
After college, I hadn’t spoken to Bobbie nearly enough. To put it plainly, when she became my roommate during freshman year, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. We clicked instantly and she helped me make other friends at school, because she was innately an extremely social person with very few reservations. Despite our differences and the fact that I am socially inept sometimes, we became inseparable and it was terribly depressing to say goodbye after graduation. At least once a year, we’d get together and have lunch or spend the day talking, but she’d been distant the past year or so. And now, with both of us at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, I sometimes wondered if we had anything left in common.
“Well, you know Mom hasn’t been doing so well since the divorce,” she was saying. “So I moved in with her and I’m working at a local advertising agency here.”
Bobbie’s parents lived in Macon, Georgia. They were incredibly rich and had gotten divorced a few years back. Bobbie’s mother still lived in their mansion and had received full custody of her young son, Daniel. I wondered how he was taking the divorce, and hoped that everything was okay.
“That’s too bad. Well, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Actually . . . I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come visit. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other and I think it would be fun. Daniel’s home for spring break and I can take the week off work to hang out with you. Wait till you see this old house. It’s pretty cool.”
