Dead Awakenings Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Warning

  ~ Dedication ~

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ~ About the Author ~

  More Fantasy from Etopia Press

  Dead

  Awakenings

  Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  1643 Warwick Ave., #124

  Warwick, RI 02889

  http://www.etopia-press.net

  Dead Awakenings

  Copyright © 2014 by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  ISBN: 978-1-940223-74-2

  Edited by Nancy Cassidy

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: January 2014

  ~ Dedication ~

  For my husband, who believes in me, my children, who inspire me, and my family, who loves me.

  Chapter One

  Warm, thick air filled Evaine’s lungs; it was going to rain. She gazed up at the clouds rolling in. They blanketed the sky like waves of dirty cotton. Stormy weather, her favorite, but she didn’t want to get caught in the rain today. The Laundromat was a luxury she could not afford right now.

  Picking up her pace she headed toward the office of Mac, her fine arts adviser. The wind picked up as she crossed the quad, and the first droplet of water hit her cheek. She pulled down the long sleeves of her worn-out shirt. The thin hoodie was about as good at keeping out the chill as paper would be keeping out a charging bull.

  Evaine’s mind began to drift as she fought through students rushing to get out of the drizzle. Without permission, her brain turned to her overdue bills. Trying to live on meager grants and student loans was harder than she would have thought, considering how she’d grown up. Her rent had been due a week ago, and she wondered why her pit bull of a landlord hadn’t been banging down her door like the last million times her rent had been twenty minutes late. Not that the very small studio—hole—was worth what she paid. Maybe she would be better living on the street. She needed to come up with some cash, fast.

  The voice of her mother, Phyllis, chimed in. Life would be easier if you’d let Tristan help out.

  Sigh…Tristan. She absently rubbed her finger where the huge diamond ring he had gotten her rarely sat. She refused to wear it for the sheer size, not to mention that she didn’t want to let anyone know she was engaged at the age of twenty. Some people would think she was marrying Tristan Atwater for his money. Her mother had tried to teach her for years how to use her body to catch a man of means. But Evaine couldn’t stand for anyone to find out she shared even one shred of DNA with the woman who had birthed her. Phyllis had used every man she’d ever known. No way was Evaine going to take a penny of Tristan’s money to pay for anything until they married; and she didn’t think she would ever get used to it, really. She’d always prided herself for being able to stand on her own.

  She refused to rush into marriage. Not in her second year of college, not even to a guy as wonderful as Tristan. The only man she’d ever loved; the only good thing to ever happen to her. He was her security blanket. The only person she had ever relied on and trusted. But she’d never let his money be her security. Between his trust fund and the money he made at his job he could more than pay for five penthouse apartments on Park Avenue. She may have been a foster system reject brought up in a trailer park, but that didn’t mean she had to act like one.

  Couldn’t hurt to ask for a few dollars. Phyllis’s voice was again in her head.

  “Hey, Evaine!”

  The wind whipped her hair into her face as she lifted her head. “Hey, Jeff.”

  “Where you off to?” He fell into step beside her.

  “I need to see Mac.” She continued toward Mac’s office building.

  Jeff was a sweet guy, not bad looking either, in a sort of geeky way. He had kind eyes and shaggy, curly surfer blond hair. His tall, lean frame had a nice build. For the second time since getting engaged she was reminded that she’d never even dated another man beside Tristan.

  Last year when they’d done a rendition of Taming of the Shrew together, Jeff had been especially nice to her. He’d asked her out a couple of times. Every time she’d made up excuses about schoolwork or her job—anything. She hadn’t been sure what to say. No one knew about Tristan, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wasn’t ashamed of Tristan, by any means. She just didn’t like all the attention that came from dating him.

  Most girls would brag about a rich VP of marketing boyfriend and a gigantic, five-carat diamond ring. But she was still wondering what Tristan had been thinking when he’d bought that lighthouse beacon for her to wear on her hand.

  “So you goin’ out for the lead this time?” Jeff broke through her reverie.

  She hadn’t been listening. “Sorry. What?”

  “You know, the auditions this week…for Chicago?”

  “Oh! Well…I hope to, but…I need to earn some money so I’m thinking that I might need to get a part-time job.”

  “I know the feeling.” He nodded. “They’d pay you for being in the play though.”

  “But it’s not a sure thing.”

  “Oh.” He sounded a bit disappointed. “Well, I’m going out for the part of Billy Flynn, and I’d hoped to work with you.”

  “You would make a great Billy.” Jeff smiled again. They’d reached Mac’s office. “Well, this is me.”

  “OK, cool! I’ll see ya.” Jeff leaned over and gave her a quick hug. She reached up and gave him a lame one-armed hug back, always amazed at how affectionate theater people were with each other. She turned away from Jeff and knocked.

  A voice called from the other side. “I didn’t do it!”

  She smiled and pushed the stiff door open. “Hey, Mac.”

  Mac glanced up from his pile of papers. “Hey, Evaine.” A smile took root on his pudgy face. “Have a s
eat.”

  Evaine tried to locate a place to sit. Every surface of his closet-sized office was covered. Scripts and other papers enveloped his desk and many shelves. A wardrobe, wedged into the corner, sagged under the weight of costumes and props. Theatrical makeup concealed a small mirrored vanity shoved next to his desk. Mac may have been a fine arts counselor, but he was partial to the theater. It took her a minute to realize that an especially high stack of papers was actually a chair in disguise. He was the favorite counselor at the school, and Evaine wondered who Mac had pissed off to have gotten such a tiny office.

  She managed to find a chair and sat down.

  “Wath up?” He had a pencil clenched between his teeth.

  “I need some advice on my schedule for next semester. I’m not sure if I can fit in the whole load of classes I had planned to take.” She plopped her bag onto the ground and searched for her planner.

  “Too bad. What’s the problem? Work too much for you this semester?”

  “No, schoolwork’s fine, but I think I am going to have to get a job. I don’t think that I’ll be able to afford to take a full load.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. Does that mean that you won’t be going out for any of the plays? Your major is in acting, if I remember right. You might have to change that to directing or something else if you can’t be in the performances.”

  She hadn’t thought of that before. She didn’t want to direct; she wanted to act.

  “Don’t you have anyone who can help you out with school expenses? Family, friends, boyfriend?”

  Evaine glanced up sharply. Had he heard something? Did he know about Tristan? She searched his face, but saw no sign of deception. “Nope, just me.”

  “Really? No rich Sugar Daddy waitin’ to help out a pretty young thing like you? I bet they are lined up around your block.”

  She had never had anyone be so blatant about her looks before—or how she should use them—except for Phyllis. She cleared her throat and glanced away. “Nope. None.”

  “Come on. I’ve seen the way the guys look at you, and heaven knows I’ve heard them talk on campus. You’re telling me that there’s no special guy out there?”

  The hair on her neck started to prickle. Somehow the conversation had gone from joking to a more serious prying. Mac’s face had gotten very intense. His voice was light, but his eyes gave him away. She’d dealt with enough social workers to understand when someone was asking a question, while prodding for something deeper. “No,” she managed to stammer. “No one.”

  His eyes lit up, and she got the funny feeling she should have told him the truth about Tristan.

  “You know, I think I remember getting some sort of flyer about a research trial or something…let me see…” Mac rifled through the papers on his desk, looked around, scratched his head, and then looked somewhere else. He sat and thought for a minute.

  “Oh, that’s OK. I don’t think—”

  He snapped his fingers. “Got it!” Spinning in his chair he moved toward a shelf and pulled a piece of paper out of a stack. “Ah, here we go!” He held up a bright green flyer. “It’s research testing for something. The money’s supposed to be pretty good. I wanted to do it, but they wouldn’t take me. I’m too old.”

  “Aren’t you a grad student here?”

  “Yeah, but I’m twenty-nine and the cutoff is twenty-five.” He laughed. “I’m an old man.”

  She snickered in spite of herself.

  “Anyway, check it out. It couldn’t hurt. If it doesn’t work out, come see me and we can discuss the schedule, OK?”

  “Yeah, OK.” She noticed again that his eyes had taken on an uncomfortable intensity. She cleared her throat. “Well, I better run.”

  “Sure. Tell me how it goes.”

  “Thanks.” She stood and made her way to the door.

  In the hallway she glanced down at the green flyer in her hand. She thought about the money she needed. She’d sold her plasma before to get her by for a week, but a drug trial was so much more. She folded the flyer in half and looked around for a trashcan to toss it in. Not seeing one she shoved the paper into her bag before heading out into the rain. As the first tiny drops landed on her, she shivered.

  Chapter Two

  Three Months Later

  Drip…drip…drip…

  The sound came from far away, even and uncomplicated, and grew steadily louder.

  Drip…drip…drip…

  She lay motionless, the sound bouncing and pooling inside her ears. Perfect cadence. Over and over. The sound of liquid, hitting liquid.

  Half-awake, her mind came closer and closer to consciousness. Somehow, the thought frightened her. But as always happened, the more she fought waking, the quicker it pounced on her and demanded she do exactly that.

  Her eyelids felt as though they had been sealed with melted wax. The lashes clung together, heavy and sticky.

  Someone breathed beside her. She smelled his menthol aftershave as his stale chip-scented breath hit her skin.

  Fat fingers pried open one lid and then the other, flashing a bright light into them, blinding and searing her eyes. Her mind registered nothing but the light. She rolled her eyes up into the cave of her skull.

  She tried to lift her hand, but she couldn’t move. Her mind screamed for her body to obey. She breathed deep. How long had it been since she had last bathed?

  “Where am I?” Her heartbeat quickened.

  She heard an urgent voice. “Make sure her restraints are tight.”

  Her ears rang with the squeak of hard-soled shoes walking across the floor, scratching, like someone writing on a pad of paper, and an ever present clicking. The once soothing, dripping sound now laughed at her, taunting her confusion. The buzz from the florescent lights overhead reminded her of a doomed fly in an electric trap.

  She kept her eyes shut as panic alit within her. What would she find if she opened them? Wracking her brain she tried to remember something… anything. What had happened? Her mind felt like an empty attic; lots of room, but void of any old bits and pieces of her life.

  “How long should we let her lay there?” It was a wheezy voice with a cough.

  “Let her adjust. It’s a terrific sign. Most wake up screaming. She’ll be hungry soon enough. Is her food prepared?”

  “It’s waiting in the hall.”

  She didn’t feel hungry. Tomato soup, root beer, chocolate, popcorn, PB&J, fresh berries, burgers and fries. Nothing sounded good.

  “We need to get her up and moving. She needs to feed so we can start testing.”

  “We can’t rush anything this time.”

  “What if she’s a Class A though?” Wheezy hacked again. “This may well be the link we have been searching for. You saw what she did. The way she came back all of a sudden.”

  “She isn’t going anywhere.”

  Her mind began to reel with more questions. Panic scratched its way up her neck and left her skin prickly. She picked up on a faint sound. Soft footsteps falling nearly silently on the floor far away, coming closer, trying hard not to be heard. How could she hear that? The arguing next to her faded to white noise as she concentrated on the sound of moving feet. Now, clearer than before, heavily booted footsteps walked on the outer floor, hands and arms moved carefully. She could almost see in her mind the way they prowled down the hall in formation.

  Opening her eyes, she was immediately flooded with light. Something flew into view, obscuring her vision like a snowstorm at high speed. The pain invading her head made her eyes water. She slammed them shut again. In the brief tenth of a second that her eyes had opened she processed everything around her.

  “The lights are too bright. Shut them—”

  Those ever so silent footsteps entered the room. The sounds of a scuffle broke out, and the stale-chip-breathed man to her right cried out and abruptly stopped.

  Another scream of pain and shuffling followed by grunts and a crunching noise. The sound made her stomach lurch. Something creaked, like fu
rniture being pushed around. Recoiling at the loud clatter of metal objects against the floor, she tried to cover her ears with her hands, but restraints on her wrists prevented her from moving. Fear took over. She pulled and struggled against the restraining cuffs.

  Suddenly her world went white; she screamed, light flooding her vision once more. She thrashed her head. A strong hand pressed her forehead into the pillow.

  “Stop!” he commanded. The person holding her eyelids swore in frustration. He didn’t smell like stale chips; he smelled of cologne and musky sweat. He smelled intoxicating, making her lessen her struggle against him. She breathed him into her soul, taking his essence into her memory. The man gently lifted her eyelid. Before she could take much in something cool pressed against her eyeball, and he released her lid. The foreign object felt smooth and flexible. Her other eye was lifted open and the process repeated. Lying still for a few moments she got used to the plastic. Finally, she dared opening her eyes a fraction of an inch waiting for the searing light, but it didn’t come.

  Cracked and broken ceiling tiles hung loosely from the rafters. A rusty sink in the corner dripped methodically. Dirty floral wallpaper sloughed off the walls. Two men in lab coats lay on the floor face down and immobile. A man straddled one of them, scanning them with a black device. A young guy checked out a computer on a small crowded table to the left of her. She watched his fingers race across the keyboard. That was the tapping noise she’d heard earlier. A huge figure stood in the shadow of the door, talking on a cell phone.