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Book Description:
Twenty years ago the Commander came into power and murdered all who opposed
him. In his warped mind, the seven deadly sins were the downfall of society. He
created the Hole where sinners are branded according to
their sins and might survive a few years. At best.
Now LUST wraps around my neck like blue fingers strangling me. I’ve been
accused of a crime I didn’t commit and now the Hole is my new home.
Darkness. Death. Violence. Pain.
Now every day is a fight for survival. But I won’t die. I won’t let them win.
The Hole can’t keep me. The Hole can’t break me.
I am more than my brand. I’m a fighter.
My name is Lexi Hamilton, and this is my story.
Author Bios:
Abi Ketner Is a
registered nurse with a passion for novels, the beaches of St. John, and her Philadelphia Phillies.
A talented singer, Abi loves to go running and spend lots of time with her
family. She currently resides in Lancaster,
Pennsylvania with her husband,
triplet daughters and two very spoiled dogs.
Melissa Kalicicki received her bachelor’s degree from MillersvilleUniversity
in 2003. She married, had two boys and currently lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
Aside from reading and writing, her interests include running and mixed martial
arts. She also remains an avid Cleveland
sports fan.
Abi and Missy met in the summer of 1999 at college orientation and have been
best friends ever since. After college, they added jobs, husbands and kids to
their lives, but they still found time for their friendship. Instead of hanging
out on weekends, they went to dinner once a month and reviewed books. What
started out as an enjoyable hobby has now become an incredible adventure.
I’m buried six feet under, and no one hears my screams.
The rope chafes as I loop it around my neck. I pull down on it,
making sure the knot is secure. It seems sturdy enough.
My legs shake. My heart beats heavy in my throat. Sweat pours down
my back.
Death and I glare at each other through my tears.
I take one last look at the crystal chandelier, the foyer outlined
with mirrors, and the flawless decorations. No photographs adorn the walls. No
happy memories here.
I’m ready to go. On the count of three.
I inhale, preparing myself for the finality of it all. Dropping my
hands, a glimmer catches my eye. It’s my ring, the last precious gift my father
gave me. I twist it around to read the inscription. Picturing his face forces
me to reconsider my choice. He’d be heartbroken if he could see me now.
A door slams in the hallway, almost causing me to lose my balance.
My thoughts already muddled, I stand, waiting with the rope around my neck.
Voices I don’t recognize creep through the walls.
Curiosity overshadows my current thoughts. It’s late at night, and
this is a secure building in High Society. No one disturbs the peace here—ever.
I tug on the noose and pull it back over my head.
Peering through the eyehole in our doorway, I see a large group of
armed guards banging on my neighbors’ door. A heated conversation ensues, and
my neighbors point toward my family’s home.
It hits me. I’ve been accused and they’re here to arrest me.
My father would want me to run, and in that split second, I decide
to listen to his voice within me. Flinging myself forward in fear, I scramble
up the marble staircase and into my brother’s old bedroom. The door is
partially covered, but it exists. Pushing his dresser aside, my fingers claw at
the opening. Breathing hard, I lodge myself against it. Nothing. I step back
and kick it with all my strength. The wood splinters open, and my foot gets
caught. I wrench it backward, scraping my calf, but adrenaline pushes me
forward. The voices at the front door shout my name.
On hands and knees, I
squeeze through the jagged opening. My brother left through this passage, and
now it’s my escape too. Cobwebs entangle my face, hands, and hair. At the end,
I feel for the knob, twisting it clockwise. It swings open, creaking from disuse.
I sprint into the hallway and smash through the large fire escape doors at the
end. A burst of cool air strikes me in the face as I jump down the ladder.
Reaching the fifth floor, I knock on a friend’s window. The lights
flicker on, and I see the curtains move, but no one answers. I bang on the
window harder.
“Let me in! Please!” I say, but the lights darken. They know I’ve
been accused and refuse to help me. Fear and adrenaline rush through my veins
as I keep running, knocking on more windows along the way. No one has mercy.
They all know what happens to sinners.
Another flight of stairs passes in a blur when I hear the guards’
heavy footfalls from above. I can’t hide, but I don’t want to go without
trying.
Help me, Daddy. I need your strength now.
My previous desolation evolves into a will to survive. I have to keep running, but I tremble and
gasp for air. I steel my nerves and force my body to keep moving. In a matter
of minutes, my legs cramp and my chest burns. I plunge to the ground, scraping
my knee and elbow. A moan escapes from my chest.
Gotta keep
going.
“Stop!” Their
voices bounce off the buildings. “Lexi Hamilton, surrender yourself,” they
command. They’re gaining on me.
I resist the urge
to glance back, running into what I assume is an alley. I’m far from our
high-rise in High Society as I plunge into a poorer section of the city where
the streets all look the same and the darkness prevents me from recognizing
anything. I’m lost.
My first instinct is to leap into a
dumpster, but I retain enough sense to stay still. I crouch and peek around it,
watching them dash by. The abhorrent smell soon leaves me vomiting until
nothing remains in my stomach. Desperation overtakes me, as I know my retching
was anything but silent. My last few seconds tick away before they find me.
Everyone knows about their special means of tracking sinners.
I push myself to
my feet and look left, right, and left again. Their batons click against their
black, leather belts, and their boots stomp the cement on both sides of me. I
shrink into myself. Their heavy steps mock my fear, growing closer and closer
until I know I’m trapped.
Never did I
imagine they’d come for me. Never did I imagine all those nights I heard them
dragging someone else away that I’d join them.
“You’re a
sinner,” they say. “Time to leave our society.”
I stand defiant.
I refuse to bend or break before them even as I shiver with fear.
“There’s no
reason to make this difficult. The more you cooperate, the smoother this will
be for everyone,” a guard says.
I cringe into the
blackness along the wall. I’m innocent, but they won’t believe me or care.
The next instant,
my face slams into the pavement as one guard plants a knee in my back and
another handcuffs me. A warm liquid trails into my mouth. Blood. Their fingers
grip my arms like steel traps as they peel me off the cement. The tops of my
shoes scrape along the ground as I’m dragged behind them until they discard me
into the back of a black vehicle. The doors slam in unison with one guard
stationed on each side of me, my shoulders digging into their arms. The
handcuffs dig into my wrists, so I clasp them together hard behind me and press
my back into the seat, unwilling to admit how much it hurts. My dignity is all
I have left.
Swallowing hard,
I stare ahead to avoid their eyes.
Did they need
so many guards to capture me?
I’m not carrying any weapons, nor do I own
any. I don’t even know self-defense. High Society frowns on activities like
that.
The driver jerks
the vehicle around and I try to keep my bearings, but it’s dark and the scenery
changes too fast. Hours pass and the air grows warmer, more humid, the farther
we drive. The landscape mutates from city to rolling hills. They don’t bother
blindfolding me because they escort all the sinners to the same place—the Hole.
Twenty-foot cement walls encase the chaos within. There’s no way out and no way
in unless they transport you. They say the Hole is a prison with no rules. We
learned about it last year in twelfth grade.
To the outside, I’m filth now. I’ll never be allowed to return to
the life I knew. No one ever does.
“All sinners go
through a transformation,” one of the guards says to me. His smirk infuriates
me. “I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of stories.” I don’t respond. I don’t want
to think about the things I’ve been told.
“You won’t last
too long, though. Young girls like you get eaten alive.” He pulls a strand of
my hair up to his face.
Get your hands off me, you pig. I want
to lash out, but resist. The punishment for disobeying authority is severe, and
I’m not positioned to defy him.
They’re the Guards of the Commander.
They’re chosen from a young age and trained in combat. They keep the order of
society by using violent methods of intimidation. No one befriends a guard.
Relationships with them are forbidden inside the Hole.
Few have seen the
commander. His identity stays under lock and key. His own paranoia and desire
to stay pure drove him to live this way. He controls our depraved society and
believes sinners make the human race unforgivable. His power is a crushing
fist, rendering all beneath him helpless. So much so, even family members turn
on each other when an accusation surfaces. Just an accusation. No trial, no
evidence, nothing but an accusation.
I lose myself in
thoughts of my father.
“Never show fear,
Lexi,” my father said to me before he was taken. “They’ll use it against you.”
His compassionate eyes filled with warning as he commanded me to be strong.
That was many years ago, but I remember it clearly. My father. My rock. The one
person in my life who provided unconditional love.
The vehicle
stops, and I’m jerked back to reality. “Get out,” the guard orders while
pulling me to my feet. The doors slide open and the two guards lift me up and
out into the night. A windowless cement building looms in front of us, looking
barren in the darkness.
The coolness of
the air sends a shiver up my spine. This is really happening. I’ve been labeled
a sinner. My lip starts to quiver, but I bite it before anyone sees. They shove
me in line and I realize I’m not alone. Women and men stand with faces frozen
white in fear. A guard grabs my finger, pricks it, and dabs my blood on a tiny
microchip.
I follow the man in front of me into the next
room where we’re lined up facing the wall. Glancing right, I see one of the men
crying.
“Spread your
legs,” one of the guards says.
They remove my
outer layers and their hands roam up and down my body.
What do they
think I could possibly be hiding?
I press my head into the wall, trying to block out what they’re doing to me.
“MOVE!” a guard
commands. So I shuffle across the room, trying to cover up.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five of us sit in
the holding room. One by one, they pull people into the next room, forcing the
rest of us to wonder what torture we’ll endure. An agonizing amount of time
passes. I lean my head back and try to imagine a place far away. The door
opens.
“Lexi Hamilton.”
A guard escorts
me out of the room, and I don’t have time to look back. As soon as the door
closes, they pick me up and place me on a table. It’s cold and my skin sticks
to it slightly, like wet fingers on an ice cube. Then, they exit in procession,
and I lie on the table with a doctor standing over me. His hands are busy as he
speaks.
“Don’t move. This
will only take a few minutes. It’s time for you to be branded.”
A wet cloth that
smells like rubbing alcohol is used to clean my skin. Then he places a metal
collar around my neck.
Click. Click.
Click.
The collar locks
into place, and I struggle to breathe. The doctor loosens it some as I focus on
the painted black words above me.
The Seven Deadly Sins:
Lust ¾ Blue
Gluttony ¾Orange
Greed ¾ Yellow
Sloth ¾ Light Blue
Wrath ¾ Red
Envy ¾ Green
Pride ¾ Purple
“Memorize it. Might keep you alive longer if
you know who to stay away from.” He opens my mouth, placing a bit inside. “Bite
this.”
Within seconds,
the collar heats from hot to scorching. The smell of flesh sizzling makes my
head spin. I bite down so hard a tooth cracks.
“GRRRRRRRRR,”
escapes from deep within my chest. Just when I’m about to pass out, the
temperature drops, and the doctor loosens the collar.
He removes it and
sits me up. Excruciating pain rips through me and I’m on the verge of a mental
and physical breakdown. Focus. Don’t pass out.
Stainless steel
counters and boring white walls press in on me. A guard laughs at me from an
observation room above and yells, “Blue. It’s a great color for a pretty young
thing like yourself.” His eyes dance with suggestion. The others meander around
like it’s business as usual.
I finally find my
voice and turn to the doctor.
“Are you going to
give me clothes?” A burning pain spreads like fire from my neck to my jaw,
making me wince.
He points to a
set of folded grey scrubs on a chair. I cover myself as much as I can
and scurry sideways. Grabbing my new clothes, I pull the shirt over my head and
try to avoid the raw meat around my throat. I quickly knot the cord of my pants
around my waist and slide my feet into the hospital-issue slippers as the
doctor observes. He hands me a bag labeled with my name.
“Nothing is
allowed through the door but what we’ve given you,” he says.
I hide my right
hand behind me, hoping no one notices. A guard scans my body and opens his
hand.
“Give it to me,”
he says. “Don’t make me rip off your finger.” He crouches down and I turn to
stone. I don’t know what to do, so I beg.
“My father gave this to me. Please, let me
keep it.” I smash my eyes shut and think of the moment my father handed the
golden ring to me.
“It was my mother’s ring,” he’d said. “She’s the strongest
woman I ever knew.” With tears in his eyes, he reached for my hand. “Lexi,
you’re exactly like her. She’d want you to wear this. No matter how this world
changes, you can survive.” I turned the gold band over in my palm and read the
engraving.
You can overcome anything…
short of death.
“You’re going to take the one thing that
matters the most to me?” I say, glaring into the guard’s emotionless eyes.
“Isn’t it enough taking my life, dignity, and respect?”
A hard blow falls
upon my back. As I fall, my hands shoot out to stop me from smashing into the
wall in front of me. The guard bends down and grabs my chin with his meaty
fist.
“Look at me,” he
commands.I look up and
he smiles with arrogance.
“What the hell?”
He staggers a step backward. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with your
eyes?”
“Nothing,” I
respond, confused.
“What color are
they?”
“Turquoise.” I
glower at him.
“Interesting,” he
says, regaining his composure. “Now those’ll get you in trouble.”
Reality slaps me
across the face. I have my father’s eyes. They can't take them from me. I twist
the ring off my finger and drop it in his hand.
“Take the damn
ring,” I say. I walk to the door. He swipes a card and the massive door slides
open to the outside.
“You have to wear
your hair back at all times, so everyone knows what you are.” He hands me a
tie, so I pull my frizzy hair away from my face and secure it into a ponytail.
My neck burns and itches as my hand traces the scabs that have already begun to
form. Squinting ahead into the darkness, I almost run into a guard standing on
the sidewalk.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says, shoving
me backward. His stiff figure stands tall and I cringe at the sharpness of his
voice.
“Cole, this is
your new assignment, Lexi Hamilton. See to it she feels welcome in her new
home.” The guard departs with a salute.
“Let’s move,”
Cole says.
I take two steps and collapse, my knees giving out. The
unforgiving pavement reopens the scrapes from earlier and I struggle to stand.
A powerful arm snatches me up, and I see his face for the first time.
As if growing up Amish wasn't hard enough, Sarah Miller
receives information just before her eighteenth birthday about a childhood she
can't remember. Accompanied by long lost friends and a few unlikely relatives,
Sarah learns of her supernatural destiny and the race to piece together the
jigsaw of her life begins. Amidst the whirlwind of unanswered questions, one
stands prominent: will the world meet the foreshadowing doom that lingers
in the near future, or will Sarah complete the puzzle in time to save her
people and ensure the continuance of mankind?
Author Bio:
Somewhere amidst her forty-hour job and playtime with her
three-year-old, Rachel finds time to walk the streets of worlds only existing
on manmade paper. She resides in small college town Northwestern Nebraska with
her young son, just across town from her parents. She enjoys socializing with
adults, sipping strawberry wine, and head banging to music that doesn't carry a
beat worth the effort of rock star hair slinging.
Prologue & Chapter 1 (also available on Wattpad and
Scribd)
Prologue
It crept down the window like an
epileptic spider, jittering from side to side, pausing ever so slightly before
continuing its descent.
The rain.
It always fascinated me. I often
sat on my bed at night watching it shatter against my window, then travel
slowly out of sight, dancing a sorrowful waltz with the low light coming from
the oil lamp on my bedside table. It mattered little if I had to be up at dawn
to start my daily chores with Sister. Nothing truly mattered when it rained.
“Sarah, is
everything alright?” Mother stood in my bedroom doorway. She was a plain woman,
light brown hair lacking radiance, dull gray eyes, and thin pale lips that
almost matched the color of her near-white skin. Her cheekbones curved high
beneath her eyes, the lines sharp. Almost too sharp, almost masculine. But she
was a kind, gentle woman. No one could deny her that. “Sarah,” she said again
when I didn’t reply right away. I looked over my shoulder at her then, grinning
briefly.
“Everything is
fine, Mother. I was simply admiring the rain.” She smiled, but there was a
flash of sadness in her eyes. I knew that sadness, but we never spoke of such
things. Sadness in our community was often seen as a weakness of faith. Mother
sat next to me on the edge of my bed. She smoothed down her skirt until it lay
perfectly across her thin frame. Folding her hands in her lap, she let out a
soft sigh.
“It is a
beautiful sight to behold,” she said quietly, gazing out the window. When she
turned to me again, her eyes were brimmed with tears. I hugged her quickly,
letting her cry silently into my hair. Three days left. That’s all we had. When
she finally pulled away, she dabbed lightly at her eyes and nose with the
cotton handkerchief she always carried tucked in her sleeve.
“I will always
remember you,” I said just above a whisper before laying a chaste kiss atop her
hand. “Though I know you’ll all forget me, in time.” She started to shake her
head, but she knew it was true. No one remembered, the human mind was too
simple to comprehend it. I had begun to notice just over the last week that
people in the community were already beginning to forget. Mainly just the ones
I wasn’t in contact with everyday, but they were forgetting just the same. It
seemed strange to a point. They were all I had known for the last ten years.
How could anyone be in your life for so long and so quickly forget who you were
entirely? Yet, somehow I knew and understood it. No one ever had to explain it
to me, I just knew.
Mother tucked a strand of hair
that had fallen out of my braid behind my ear. Her hand cupped my cheek, warm
against my skin. I watched her study my face, trying to memorize it before
kissing my forehead and leaving my room. I stared at the empty doorway, my
heart heavy. Three more days.
Just three more days.
~~~
“I had the dream
again,” I told Sister as we scrubbed the kitchen floor.
“It’s so strange
to me that you dream so much, Sarah.” Her tone was almost spiteful, maybe even
jealous. I’d noticed over the years that either no one spoke of their dreams,
or no one really dreamed. I was never really sure which was more accurate. She
shook her head at herself. “I apologize. Perhaps I’m not as prepared for you to
leave us as I’d convinced myself I was.”
“Sister,” I
paused my work to sit back on my heels and look at her. She turned her youthful
face to me, looking me straight on with those enchanting brown eyes. “Sister, I
can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone to be prepared for what is to come this new
moon. How can you, knowing they will use meidungso that no one suspects? That is not a simple slap on the
wrist, Sister. I know I can never come back, and it’s not because of meidung. But it seems to give this whole
situation a certain omen, does it not?” Her face was dark as she shook her
head.
“The Devil’s
work, they will say. Cast you out like a rabid dog. Why can we not just say you
left of your own volition? Is that not satisfactory? It would be truth! I do
not condone this lying for you, but the elders say that God will forgive us.” I
smiled then. She had been born into the community and raised according to their
beliefs. Not everyone understood why meidungwas going to be enforced, not truly. Sister was still young
at the ripe age of sixteen. And she was female. Two strikes against her in the
community, which meant she was only told that which was required of her to
know.
I went back to scrubbing the
floor, falling into the silence that awaited us. It welcomed me, embracing me
like a long lost child come home. It was short lived. Sister was never
comfortable in such an embrace.
“Tell me again
about the dream, Sarah. I think I need a distraction this day.” I studied her
for a moment. She looked very much like all the other women in the community.
Her usual white blouse was fastened up to her neck, the long sleeves shoved to
her elbows to avoid the soapy water. Her black cotton skirt billowed down to
her ankles even as she knelt on all fours on the floor. Her black bonnet helped
tame the runaway strands of her blacker hair, the rest trailed down to the
small of her back in a tight braid. She was slightly rounder than the other
women, full of hips and breast. Many whispered behind her back that she was the
Devil incarnate, come to tempt all of the men into transgression. I knew she’d
simply been better blessed, radiated upon by someone watching over. She puffed
a strand of that obsidian silk out of her vision, glancing in my direction.
“It was no
different than it has ever been. I stood in an open meadow. Larger than any
meadow I have ever seen, covered in the brightest wildflowers, as if they’d
been freshly painted on canvas. There was nothing else in sight, just meadow
and wildflower and clear blue sky. The sky was cloudless, all except that one
cloud just above me. It cut out most of the sunlight, leaving the world in a
gray haze. Everything seemed totally gray, lifeless. Until I laid eyes on the
wildflowers again. There was a loud sound overhead, like thunder clapping. The
air itself became thick, so thick it seemed I could spoon it up and eat it.
Then I looked up at that one lonely cloud and it split in two. Only it wasn’t a
separation of cloud, but an opening. Like a door to somewhere else, Heaven
maybe? And there I saw a face, shining at me. So bright was that smile, like
sunlight after a spring rain. And a hand descended, coming toward me, growing
larger and larger the closer it came. I felt warmth radiating down upon me.
Such heavy warmth, it made me feel disoriented. Like how Mother describes the
men from the city after they’ve left a brewery. The meadow vanishes and I am
wrapped in white light. I smell spices and fermented grapes. Wine perhaps. And
smoked meats, such wondrous aromas! But I cannot see past the blinding light.
In the distance are voices and laughter…and music. I’ve never known such joyous
music! I feel my body rising from the earth, toward where I had last seen that
singular cloud. And in a heartbeat, I am surrounded by the blackness of my
bedroom, only my racing heartbeat to accompany me.”
Sister had stopped scrubbing, her
bristle brush soaking in the sudsy water pail. She gazed at me with dreamy eyes
just as though she were witnessing the dream for herself. Out of the corner of
my eye, I saw Mother walk into the house, dirt dusting the hem of her skirt and
tipping the toes of her shoes. She tramped across the nearly clean kitchen
floor, purposely stomping dirt where we’d just scrubbed. ‘Twas our punishment
for stopping before the chore was fulfilled. Sister shot me an apologetic look.
I simply smiled at her.
Chapter 1
I don’t remember much of my young
childhood. I can recall vague details of things Sister and I did together, but
everything seems to begin around the age of nine. Mother says something
traumatic must have happened that no one is aware of, and it’s an instinctual
defense mechanism that my mind has been using all these years to protect me. I
don’t know about all that, I’m no brain doctor. I do, however, have dreams
about things that are unrealistic. Sure, I suppose anyone who dreams can have
an imagination wild enough to conjure up some fairly ridiculous things. My
dreams, however, are too real to me. I can feel everything as if it were flesh
and bone, and I can see more clearly in dreamland than I seem to while I’m
awake. When I was younger, I tried explaining them to Mother, but she’d laugh
until she cried, and then I’d cry because she was laughing. I learned very quickly
not to divulge too much to anyone after that.
When I started dreaming of the
face in the cloud, I had to tell someone. Sister seemed to be the only one
willing to listen, regardless of whether or not she believed it could be real.
She’d tell me more often than not that maybe it was a sign that God himself was
going to bless me. Somehow I knew that God, her god, wanted absolutely nothing
to do with me.
It seemed so strange that I felt
no connection to the god that everyone worshiped. The one everyone in the
community said was the one and only god. It never felt right to me, but I knew
better than to verbalize my feelings. Feelings in general, not just sadness,
were frowned upon. Feelings meant a detachment from God. Detachment meant
rebellion. Rebellion was a sin; one of the darker transgressions, and
punishment tended to match the level of sin.
When I turned fourteen, Mother
had a heart-to-heart talk with me. At first, I thought it was going to be the
birds and the bees conversation that I’d heard the older girls whisper about.
Instead, it was to inform me that I was not her blood. Mother was not my
mother. When I was eight years of age, a very old, very crippled woman had
knocked on Mother’s door. She said nothing at all, simply handed Mother the end
of a rope that had been tied around my neck like a leash, then turned and
disappeared.
Back then, Father was still
alive. I don’t remember anything about him, and only know his face from the few
framed pictures of him that remained in the house. All I know about Father is
that he never seemed to smile, he was a very handsome man, though he would’ve
looked better with a beard, and Sister was a spitting image of him.
As difficult as it was at first,
I accepted the news with grace. In a sense, it was a relief to know that I’d
not been born into the community. It had never felt like home to me, nor was it
reality. I appreciated that they had taken me in under no known circumstances
of my past, but they lived in a very strange world all of their own creation and
I knew deep down that it would never be home. Many things quickly fell into
place then. I finally understood why it secretly bothered me that Sister’s hair
was black as coal and mine was the color of wildfire as it licked through a
dying forest; why she had silky chocolate morsels for eyes and mine were the
oddest shade of purple-blue. We were opposites, Sister and I, but she had
always been my best friend.
Six months ago, I had received a
letter from a small corporation in California that claimed to have known my
biological father. My first instinct was to burn the letter and run from the
unknown. After much discussion, Mother convinced me that it couldn’t hurt to
write back. I couldn’t remember my past so if it was just a hoax, I wouldn’t
really be losing anything. When another letter came, hand written by someone
within the company, I knew I had to collect more information. It wasn’t the
detail given in the letter of my life before the community that convinced me to
inquire, but more the penmanship of the individual who wrote the letter. It was
strangely familiar to me, along with the name signed at the bottom. Ambrose
Alcina. My stomach flipped excitedly when I read it over and over, memorizing
the way each letter sensually curved out, like a woman’s bosom straining
against the fabric of her gown. They say you can profile someone just on their
handwriting. I knew nothing about profiling, but I did know one thing. This
man, whoever he was, knew his way into a woman's heart.
For the next several months, Mr.
Alcina and I continued to correspond through our letters. He seemed genuinely
interested in my life and was humored by the news that I'd been raised these
last ten years by an Amish community in Southern Nebraska. Humored, but not
surprised. It even seemed like old news when I'd informed him that I couldn't
remember any part of my life before or even up to coming to the community.
The last letter I received,
around three months ago, requested that I contact him on the telephone. After
several weeks of begging and extra chores, Mother finally conceded and I ran
two miles to the closest telephone shanty.
“Cartwright and
Hankins,” a pleasant greeting rang through. I'd never had the opportunity to
learn telephone etiquette, but I'd always assumed it was no different than
daily conversation. You just had to visualize the face you were addressing.
“Yes, good day
ma'am, would Mr. Ambrose Alcina be available, please.” I hadn't fully caught my
breath, but managed to sound quite pleasant, even to myself.
“May I ask who's
inquiring?” Her voice was similar to the sing-song of the American Redstart
birds in the early morning. Maybe not quite as high in pitch, but just as
pleasantly chirpy.
“Yes ma'am, my
name is Sarah Miller. Mr. Alcina had requested I call, but I've been...indisposed
until now.” I wasn't entirely sure that was a truthful enough answer, but then
I'd never been known for always telling the truth.
“Please hold.”
There was a strange series of clicking sounds before soft violins commenced
playing. My breathing finally evened out and I'd almost forgotten that I was on
hold until the music abruptly ended.
“Ambrose
speaking.” His voice was like silk lightly rippling over smooth stones. He
carried a light accent, though I was not familiar with any of them to make any
kind of educated guess of its origin.
“Good day Mr.
Alcina, it's Sarah.” There was a quiet pause. “Sarah Miller? From Pawnee
County, Nebraska. You'd requested I call, sir. I apologize for not –”
“Sarah, yes!
Forgive me, it's been several weeks since our last correspondence. I'd almost
given up hope.” It was almost like he was singing me a lullaby. Such richness
in his tone, deep and luscious. My body warmed through all the way down to my
toes.
“Yes, I apologize
for the delay. Mother was extraordinarily difficult on the matter.” I heard him
chuckle lightly. It occurred to me then that even his voice was familiar to me.
Why did I feel like I knew this man? And why did it feel like it was a deeper
knowledge than just friends or acquaintances?
“Sarah, I must discuss
something of great importance with you.” He sounded suddenly very serious.
“Yes, of course.
Anything you'd like.” My pulse stepped up a notch.
“Sarah...” he
hesitated. “Sarah, your eighteenth birthday is approaching, is it not?”
“Yes sir, in
three months time. To the day, in fact.” There was a hushed rustling on the
other end of the phone. I pictured him shifting in his seat.
“Yes indeed,
during the new moon. Sarah, I realize that what I'm about to say to you will
come as a bit of a shock, but I need you to listen closely and I pray that you
can understand in full how serious this is.” I struggled to find my reply. His
tone was so somber, it almost scared me. What could be so distressing? “Sarah,
are you still there?”
“Yes sir, Mr.
Alcina. I'm sorry, I'm just a bit confused. What is it that has you so sedate?”
“Sarah, listen
closely. Please, please listen and understand.” That last part he said so
quietly, it sounded more like a prayer to himself than anything directed toward
me. “There is no time for explanations. On the morning of your birthday, you
will be approached by a man by the name of Nicoli. He is a beast of a man, but
he is for your protection...and transportation.” My head immediately whirled
out of control. Protection and transportation? Protection from whom? From what?And where might
I be going? Was it dangerous? Could I even trust this man I was speaking to?
How did I know this Nicoli individual was safe? So many questions and an
inoperable tongue. “Sarah?” Ambrose almost sounded as frightened as I felt.
“Why?” was all I
could muster. My thoughts were so chaotic, it was nearly impossible to send one
little thought out to make my mouth work.
“There is no time
for explanations. Go back to your home and prepare. Speak to no one outside of
your community. Mention this to no one you do not trust completely. Three
months, and I will explain everything. I give you my word.” The line died
before I could utter even a squeak.
I’ve been beautiful. I’ve been ugly. I’ve died. I’ve
been brought back. I’ve had abilities awakened within me. My strength has been
tested. My beliefs have been tested.
Yet I stand.
What’s next when you’ve pretty much experienced it
all?
The end.
Sam and I are picking up the pieces. We’re trying to
come to terms with all we’ve lost. And as much as I would like to hide my head,
ignore the reality I live every day, there is no forgetting.
Riley is in hell—I’m still not sure of his agenda.
My mother’s past haunts me. And Kimber… Kimber is being herself. Cole sneaks
glances at Gemma and she returns them when she thinks I don’t see.
But I do.
When Beelzebub escapes he brings his war to places I
never thought he would. Earth. Maine. Home. Now everyone and everything is at
risk. This has become bigger than my circle of friends. This has become bigger
than me. I have to finish this. I have to find a way to stop him, to finish
this war.
I just pray we will all be left standing in the end.
Cambria Hebert is the author of the young adult paranormal Heven and Hell series and the Death Escorts series. She loves a
caramel latte, hates math and is afraid of chickens (yes, chickens). She went
to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major and ended up with a
degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good
hair. She currently lives in North Carolina with her husband and children (both
human and furry) where she is plotting her next book. You can find out more
about Cambria and her work by visiting http://www.cambriahebert.com
This is copyrighted material – all owned by the author.
Chapter One
Sam
It begins like
usual, the slightest disturbance to my sleep, making me toss and turn until I’m
in that place between rest and wakefulness—not fully coherent, but enough so I
could have groggy thoughts.
There is pain,
not the kind of pain that would make you squirm, just enough to make you feel
uncomfortable. It kind of squirms around in my limbs, like adrenaline, but not
as insistent, making my body twitch.
My eyes pop
open, and I shoot up off the couch, not bothering to grab a T-shirt or the
shorts that lay nearby. I won’t need them. I move silently like a cat—like a hound—to the door and slide the lock
over and let myself out. It’s cold out. The air doesn’t shock me back into
myself. I don’t even shiver.
Then I’m racing
through the yard, over the grass, and past the barn. I hear the horses in their
stalls, alerted at my presence, but I ignore them and keep running. My bones
come unhinged and realign. My spine stretches, begins to reshape, and my body
hunches. Black, thick fur sprouts, replacing the smooth skin of my human arm
and then finally the switch in my brain flips.
I am no longer
human.
I am hellhound.
But I’m still
me.
Only this me
can give in to the frustration and sadness that seems to well up inside my
human skin until I’m so full and there’s nowhere else for it to go. And so it
sloshes there. It soaks in until I feel like I’ll drown.
I hate it.
That’s when the
hound takes over. I can’t really deny it. It’s like a summons, a calling, a
command. Usually I can tell it no, or push back, but when you’re full of
sloshing emotion there’s nowhere to push it back to.
So I give in.
I run.
I lose all
thought.
It’s just me,
the night, and nothing else. It’s a kind of freedom I’ve never felt before.
In addition to all books being priced at .99 for the four-day sale, there will be:
The event has been arranged and coordinated by the following wonderful people on the Summer Book Blast committee: Lisa Markson, Leanne Jacobson, Stephanie Shaw and Jennifer Pringle.
