Dark elves of elysia adv.., p.1
Reborn from the Embers, page 1
Reborn from the Embers
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three Six Months Later
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Prologue
Blood. It’s everywhere; dripping down the walls, piling on the floors, coating the once clean furniture.
Mostly, it’s drenching them.
Somehow, even in death, they’d managed to hold onto each other’s hands tightly enough that when rigor mortis set in, they would never have to let go. The words from their wedding video, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part have never rung truer for me than in this moment looking at them.
I’ve watched their wedding video enough as a child for those words to mean everything to me. My parents have been my guiding light in what love should always look like.
In the fairy-tale version of my story, they are the words of true love. They’re ten-year-old girls promise that one day she would have everything she ever wanted; to love and be loved.
In truth my story is that of a horror, fate setting my life on an unexpected path for me at least. So those words morph into a haunting echo behind me, disturbing me in a deep and cruel way as they cling to each other. It easy to see from the carnage around me that their souls were ripped violently from this world.
Even as I squeeze my eyes shut, I cannot escape the reality set before me.
They’re dead.
Someone has murdered my parents and if the writing on the wall is anything to go by, I’m next.
Chapter One
“It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.” – H.P Lovecraft
Leaning against the crisp white front door of my childhood home, back pressing against the cool wood, I look up into to brown eyes of the boy I love. Smiling, his lips brush mine and I taste the remnants of the chocolate mint ice-cream we shared earlier as we watched a magnificent sunset together. The warm tones of pink, orange and red burning across the sky set the scene for the fire burning inside me now. It’s an odd term, one I don’t fully understand but it’s there. A flame and it can dwindle to nothing and other times it burns bright enough to compete against the sun. It’s burning right now. Well, that’s how it feels at least. When it burns, I feel invincible, untouchable even, and I feel strong in a way I cannot put into words.
“Good night, Lincoln.” I murmur, breathlessly, into my boyfriend’s ear before gently pushing him away and slipping through the unlocked door. I smile even more as I hear him through the wood. His voice carrying through to me, a promise that nothing could stand in the way of our love. Romantic, I know.
“Good night, Aleera.” Sighing contently, I look down at my watch, noting the time with a frown. I’m past curfew, not by much, but enough. Regardless of my age, nineteen, my parents still insist on a routine when I’m back home from university. I look to where I expect my dad to be standing, disappointment shining in his eyes, and see nothing. I find myself thinking it’s strange, irrespective of the time dad never fails to meet me at the door when I return home. He’s like a Golden Retriever or a Labrador in that sense. The long-time family joke that he has an in-built Aleera radar rattles around my brain. Where is he?
I feel tiny prickles on my back, like someone is watching me and I smile. It is not unlike dad to prank me and start an epic water fight or food fight, so I turn, poised and at the ready, to see nothing. The living room is empty. My eyes zone in on the one irregularity in the room straight away. Dad’s coffee cup from this afternoon, still sitting on the light brown stand beside the couch. He’s usually meticulous, not leaving things lying around; a habit I have inherited. This house is my parent’s joy. It’s an old weatherboard styled home; double story, light and breezy now that it’s been modernised inside. The walls are decorated with the paintings my mother adores and the furniture is without a speck of dust thanks to my dad.
I reach for the cup to take it to the kitchen and see it’s still full. A shiver tracks down my spine. He never leaves a cup empty. For dad, coffee is the nectar from the Gods. I can’t help but wonder if something is wrong. I quickly push that ridiculous notion out of my head; bad things don’t really happen. The odds of it occurring now are next to nothing.
“Mum, Dad?” I call out, as I pull my coat off and move to place it beside the door. The house is silent, I can’t hear any movement. I draw the lace curtain aside at the window and see both their cars in the driveway. I wonder if they’ll pop up like nothing is wrong and this tight feeling in my stomach will be for nothing. I walk to the kitchen and sit at the island bench. I’m at a loss for what to do. After a minute, I still hear nothing and start to gaze around the kitchen bored. It feels wrong. Something is not right, but what? I spot some red paint on the cream tiles and frown. Dad will need to clean that up quickly or mum will lose her shit. I decide to save his butt and head to the sink to grab some cloth. I look out the back window to check the fence that he mentioned he was going to paint and find it untouched. Frowning, my eyes find Chip, our chocolate Labrador, pacing the yard anxiously. Wondering what has riled him up, I step towards the dining room that leads outside, before my mind returns to the paint. I want to know what it’s from or at least what it is for. I inspect it further, before a cold tremble assaults my body. It looks like blood. A terrible fear assaults my mind. Irrational like a child who suddenly discovers they no longer enjoy the dark. Ridiculous, like crying over a boy you only liked for two weeks. Childish, like just wanting your mum to come and say everything will be fine. I could point out all the silly emotions I’m feeling right now, but self-awareness and control are not the same thing. I have to drag myself back to calm or I would spiral for no good reason. Pulling my shoulders back, I relax my mind and let it cast itself forward, trying to zone in on my parents, but nothing sets in; like they’re gone. Something feels wrong. Something terrible must be wrong if I tried to find my parents using my secret ability and saw nothing.
For my entire life I’ve kept a secret; a big one. It’s been no easy feat to keep my ability hidden in the darkness. So, to the world I am the next Einstein, exceptional in math and rational thinking. They gasp and say my math ability is borderline genius and I simply smile. In the mirror, in the river of truth, I am the girl that has visions of the future. I’ve never not been able to see someone and their next choices. I don’t usually use my powers now that they’ve settled down and I have a modicum of control. Yet, I know even with the little use I have yielded, I have never not been able to settle on an outcome. Why can I not find my parents? The question sticks in my brain like a fly in a web, desperately trying to wriggle free. Shaking off this unwelcome feeling, I tell myself I’m more tired than I realised from the travel home and then date night with Lincoln. We attend different universities but so far, we’ve made long distance work- like I said we would. Taking calming breaths, I dawdle through to the dining room, intent on checking on Chip who should be asleep by now when I see it.
Blood.
It’s everywhere; dripping down the walls, piling on the floors, coating the once clean furniture. Mostly, it’s drenching them. I don’t want to take any more in and yet my eyes can’t help but focus on what has been written on the wall, repeatedly, in their blood. Seer, I see you. I shake my head, not wanting to look in the centre of the room again, until finally I can’t avoid it any longer. My parents. Even in death, they’d clung to each other as they had promised in their vows. I hear a woman’s scream behind me, or maybe in front of me, as I stumble backwards trying to escape the room. I vaguely hear Chip barking manically in the yard and pawing at the door, but the screaming is still so loud in my ears as I scramble the way I had come. Tears are blurring my vision.
Oh god.
My parents. Their faces. Their throats. The blood.
The devil has visited my house and he’s turned it into his own version of hell. Or is it my own hell he has created, specifically for me and my wretched soul.
“Aleera! What’s wrong?” Lincoln’s voice penetrates my focus as he grasps my arms when I swing the front door open. I flinch backwards, shocked by his presence. What is he still doing here? Hadn’t he left at least five minutes ago? He pulls me behind him, and I collapse into a heap at the stairs leading to my house. I’d read about animals that simply given up in the face of extreme stress. I never thought I’d be one, collapsed on the ground during the start of the biggest adversity in my life. No one thinks that when it comes time to be strong that they would fail and be the miserable weak character that no one aspires to me.
Broken and shattered beyond words. I can’t tell if I should run from this house and the horror it promises or give up like a deer after a long hunt.
Why am I sitting here, doing nothing, and just shaking? I should be doing something. Lincoln kneels in front of me, concern rife in his eyes. I can see the questions in his eyes, but I can’t understand why he is just there, not moving. Something is not firing properly in my brain.
“My- my parents.” I shudder, between gasping breaths as Lincoln pulls me into his arms and carries me down to his car. He grabs the bat that sits in the tray of his ute, though I’m not sure what he thinks has ha ppened, and dashes inside much too late. I feel myself rocking backwards and forwards on the ground as a visibly shaken and pale Lincoln rushes towards me, my phone in his hand.
I numbly realise I left my phone in his car again. That’s why he returned. I’m not sure why that’s a fact I try to focus on.
I look away from him but take nothing in; everything is empty around me, inside me. Darkness clings to the world around me. I don’t know how much time passes before the flashing lights appear. A blanket is placed around me and I’m gently led into the back of an ambulance; I briefly hear someone murmur, “She’s basically catatonic, most likely in shock.” The world feels grey and then it’s black as everything slips away. Blood stains my mind and I can’t look away because in the end we can never escape the horrors in our own heads.
Chapter Two
“It is useless for me to describe to you how terrible Violet, Klaus, and even Sunny felt in the time that followed. If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven't, you cannot possibly imagine it.” - Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning
Crisp white walls; clean and innocent. The very opposite of what my eyes had beheld in what was once my sanctuary from the world. I’d read somewhere that childhood is the kingdom in which nobody dies. I think it was a fantasy book but then it could have just as easily been in the bible too. I could certainly say, without reason of a doubt, that I no longer belong in childhood. Though, how long has it been since I left it? Did I ever really exist in that kingdom knowing what I’ve always known? Seeing what I have always seen.
Somehow, and I hope it will not be forever, evil has managed to wipe away any good thought I have for my childhood home and replaced it with devastation. How could I ever go in there again and think of cooking with my dad as mum recovered from her shift work? Studying with friends for the exams that would grant us admissions to our dreamed upon futures now seems like a prelude in a horror movie. The ones where you scream at the television, begging the characters to not be so daft as to believe they are safe.
Of course, at the end of it you blamed the writer from the obvious scenery, subtle soundtrack that was not so very subtle and the way everything seemed so obvious to those on the outside looking in but not to those it mattered for.
Surely, people aren’t that dumb in real life?
Well, I guess they are. Here I am.
“Aleera, I’m detective Brandon Danvers. You might recognise me from the ambulance ride.” I hear the voice, though it is distant and muffled. Distant, like I am in a tank of water, drowning, as the world carries on around me muted and blurry. Bubbles escape my mouth as I scream for anyone to hear me, but I am silent and invisible to the world just like most pain is. The water presses down on me. I drag myself back to the real world, away from my thoughts, back to the pain in my heart. The voice belongs to a stranger with short blonde hair and ocean blue eyes framed with dark circles of what I assume are exhaustion. I don’t recognise him. I don’t recognise anything; even my own hands as frown at them. I shake my head, not ready to speak. He sighs and nods before continuing. “Can’t say I blame you.” He murmurs mostly to himself. A lady behind him steps forward and I flinch. I hadn’t noticed her in the room until now. I’m not sure I’ve noticed anything of worth. I want my mum. I want her here with me. I don’t ever come to this hospital without her. It’s wrong. Everything is wrong.
“Don’t mind him,” she jokes lightly. “He’s just used to being remembered. I’m Detective Jacinda Roth, his partner.” She smiles kindly at me and I manage a bland smile for her. I want to be able to smile with warmth, but just like my flame the warmth in the world has disappeared. Why would they think making jokes right now is even acceptable? I know the answer though. They can’t handle the carnage in front of them, they’re trying to forget even though it’s their job to remember. Her eyes look like my mums, a mossy green. I like them, they’re reassuring.
I want them to be my mums. I want her to smile and rub my back gently while reassuring me it’s all a bad dream. They share a not-so-secret look at my silence before looking at me gently. Why does everything feel so, so wrong? What is the strange sensation pushing down on my chest, stopping me from pulling in a deep breath? My head spins for a moment.
“We’re going to be the leads in the investigation, would you feel up to answering some questions now? The quicker we get on this the better the chance of catching the person who did it.” The male detective, Brandon, asks as Jacinda pulls out a notepad. His voice is so soft, like an adult calming a child and yet I’m no longer a child. I’ve met death. He quickly produces a pen for Jacinda before she can ask, and she rolls his eyes at his foresight. It’s the kind of foresight that comes from working with someone for long enough to know them inside and out; very different to the foresight I have. I would have guessed she’d forgotten a pen too but only because everyone’s futures are smashing inside me. It takes all my remaining energy to push them away. The outcomes are too much to handle right now.
There seems to be something forgetful about Jacinda, like little details don’t mean much to her. Whereas Brandon, her opposite, seems to focus on the little details. A perfect pairing. I can’t help but wonder if they get on each other’s nerves. His lips quickly quirk before he refocuses on me.
“Monster,” I correct quietly. “Not person. No person could do that.” I whisper before shutting my eyes, trying to squeeze the images out. As I force them open, I see the detectives sharing another concerned look just as Lincoln strides in without paying attention to his surroundings.
I might be lost in my head seeing futures but he’s just plain lost, an airhead. Sometimes I wonder if he’s figured out a way to completely shut his brain off. I should ask him about that, I could really use that skill. He balances a large brown bag and two cups in one hand whilst closing the door behind him.
“Now, Aleera, I know you’re going to say you aren’t hungry. But trust me, I checked with my mum and she says you need to eat.” He’s using his no nonsense voice, the one he’d learnt from his mum. Hell, I learnt it too listening to her raise her sons. He turns to look at me before a light shade of pink colours his cheeks. I can still see the haunted look in his eyes, even though he’s trying to hide it. He glances sheepishly at the detectives. “Sorry for interrupting, I didn’t even look. Uhm, I’m Lincoln James, I’m Aleera’s boyfriend.” He waits a beat before proceeding towards me and handing me the large Styrofoam cup. The delicate smell of sweet potato paired with the salty bacon wafts towards me and I sip it slowly, only now realising how hungry I have become. He knows my favourite soup. I’m impressed he found soup in summer. Maybe his mum made it. I don’t know how long I’ve been here for. I hear Jacinda introduce herself and Brandon as I glance out the windows. Would whoever has done this to my parents come for me?
I can’t seem to find the strength to muster up the fear I should feel, everything is numb.
“Aleera?” I hear and look back at the group. They look at me expectantly, I want to hide from the concern. Why be concerned about me, it’s my parents who have suffered. A moment of clarity grips me. It is not the dead that suffer but those that they have left behind in this limbo of a life.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, shaking my head. Everyone smiles at me kindly, but embarrassment colours my cheeks and I look down. Why am I still alive and not my incredible parents? I need them.
“Is there anyone at all that you can think of that might’ve taken issue with your parents?” Jacinda asks carefully. I frown. My first inclination is to sharply tell them no, but I pull that response in. I take my time to think about it, anything inconsequential at all could help. Finally, after coming up blank, I shake my head.
“No. My dad’s a math teacher at the local high school, and my mum is one of the best midwives in town. They’re great people, everyone loves them.” A tear falls down my cheek. I’d have to think of them in past tense now. I scratch the back of head, feeling so confused, like my brain has stopped functioning properly.
My bottom lip quivers, as the feeling of being completely out of control begins to take hold.
