Escaping Fate Read online

  Escaping Fate

  by

  DelSheree Gladden

  Smashwords Edition

  *****

  Published by:

  DelSheree Gladden on Smashwords

  Escaping Fate

  Copyright 2010 DelSheree Gladden

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For Ryan, Everett, and Abbey,

  who inspire me every day

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by DelSheree Gladden

  Sneak Peek of Twin Souls

  About the Author

  Connect with DelSheree

  Chapter One

  The whispered voices that woke her were the beginning. Pounding and screaming were the next sounds she heard. She sat up trying to shake away the dream. As her father rushed over to her she quickly realized that this was no dream.

  “Konētl, child, don’t move. Don’t make a sound." He rushed over to the window and peeked through the slats of wood covering the window above his bed. She saw his body stiffen at what he saw and fear paralyzed the young girl’s body. All her life she had been haunted by the fear that this would one day come. She knew, but she asked her father anyway.

  “Tahtll, Father, what is happening?” she asked.

  Shuffling away from the window her father went to the door and pressed his aging back against it. They both knew that the men outside meant them harm. Holding a finger up to his lips he signaled for his daughter to stay quiet. Huddling in her thin blankets, she tried to keep herself from crying. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as the chaos continued.

  The crashing and pounding grew louder every second and the young girl cried out to her father. “Why are they doing this? Why won’t they leave us alone, Tahtll?”

  The angry mob’s thunderous hits knocked the old man away from the door for a brief second before he could force himself back against it. He continued to strain against the door as he called out to his daughter. “Go, hide, konētl. Do not let them find you or they will take you. Hide!”

  Needing no further motivation, the terrified girl ran from her pallet bed just as the splintering of wood announced the intruders’ arrival. She lunged for the only real piece of furniture in the room, a large wooden cupboard that stood just high enough off the ground to let the girl slip under it. Curling up on the floor, she tucked in every part of her body and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the sounds around her.

  “Give her to us. Now!” somebody shouted.

  “Get out of my house! You have no right to be here. Leave my daughter alone,” the girl’s father pleaded. He tried to block them from entering any further, but the crowd of angry men pushed him aside. The mob’s feet trampled through the tiny hut, knocking over chairs and tossing the two beds in search of the child. Burying her silent sobs in her hands she prayed to the gods that they would not find her. Her father had kept her alive so far. He had to be able to do it again.

  The young girl could hear her father’s voice as the men searched, begging them to leave and even resorting to threatening them with harm. Her father was an old man, though. He had little strength left to try and defend the last of his family.

  “Please leave us alone,” he sobbed. “Please do not take her away from me. She is all that I have left.”

  “Shut up, old man,” someone bellowed. “She belongs to the gods now.”

  “No!” her father screamed. She saw his gnarled feet scramble across the floor as he tried to overcome one of the men. The crack of his bones resounded in the little hut. The girl cried out when his face fell into the dust just inches away from her own. Dark blood dripped down his unmoving face.

  Covering her mouth right as she realized she had screamed aloud, she prayed that no one had heard her cry. The gods were not listening to her pleas tonight. They wanted her for their own. Hands plunged in at the girl and grabbed at her from every angle. Screams burst out of her as she tried to wriggle out of their grasp. They fought over her, yanking her back and forth, before they finally pulled the screaming girl out from under the cupboard.

  “Let go of me,” she screamed. “Let go! Get your hands off me!”

  Nobody listened to her screams. They simply drug the girl upright and started dragging a dusty, roughly woven bag over her head. She tried to scream again for help, surely someone in the village would help her, but the dust filled her lungs and sent her into a coughing fit. Tight cords wrapped around her hands and feet as they all laughed about their conquest. Helpless, she could do nothing as they carried her away to meet the gods.

  But the meeting could not happen until she was purified.

  The girl’s raven hair was brushed until it shone. Each stroke with the fine bone comb tilted her head, rippling the black cascade of her hair. Her almond stained skin, shining with fragrant oils, glittered in the flickering candle light. The scents from the citrus and vanilla oils were so strong it was intoxicating. Her expressionless face was dusted with heavy white powder, covering her tear streaked cheeks and red eyes.

  Delicate magnolia flowers were carefully woven into her silky black hair, by fingers aged and skilled. A harsh black paint accentuated the lids of her strange, silvery eyes. Yellow fell down her cheeks like rain. Each color they applied had a meaning and purpose specific to the ritual. She knew the ritual well even though her father had tried to protect her from it all her life.

  A simple, roughly woven, white dress was tied around her thin body. Heavy earrings hung down to her shoulders. Turquoise armbands that pinched her thin arms hinted at the pain awaiting her. Knotting the red sash tightly around her waist, a thick woven blanket was drawn back from the doorway allowing the malicious sun to display her to the waiting, bloodthirsty crowd beyond.

  The noon hour warmth could not pierce her angry heart when she beheld the great stone temple that would be her final destination. Memories of facing the priests the day before made her anger surge. They were responsible for this. They put her here. A sharp word from one of her caretakers finally forced her to step out of the hut and into the sunlight. She blinked at the sun’s glaring glory and hated it with all her soul. She had loved its beauty as a child, but now she feared it.

  The bright sun gave away her secret fear, stinging her eyes and releasing her tears. Her painted face gave no glimmer of emotion. Only her shining silver-green eyes hinted at the terror she felt beneath the façade.

  The women who had prepared her for this hour guided her toward the temple. The crowds parted before them, cheering for their sacrifice. But the beautiful young woman heard nothing and saw only a haze of movement.
Her feet could no longer move as they should have. Each one of her steps was halting and fearful.

  Her tremendous fear made her legs quiver, and she almost collapsed when her bare soles touched the first step of the temple. The soft touch of her feet on the stone seemed to echo with deathlike finality. Now she could never turn back.

  Hope abandoned her as she halted on the first step. She was joined by two towering figures, her guards. They did not touch her for fear that they would also die. To keep her secured, one stood in front and one followed behind. The solemn procession began the slow climb up the temple steps. The tear streaked ceremonial makeup could not hide the growing horror that gathered in her heart as the stone path took her to her end.

  As her tears fell, a grey mist gathered around the scene. The raven haired girl was slowly consumed by it, hiding her from view.

  Chapter Two

  Gasping, I sat up in bed and drew a thin blanket up to my shaking body. The dream had come again. For the past two nights I had dreamed of the strange girl. Each night the dream began again, adding a little more each time. Every night revealed more of the helpless child’s story. Child, I thought, she’s looks like she’s the same age as me. At fifteen, I had never experienced anything as horrible as what the poor girl faced in my dreams.

  The night the first dream came, I had woken with my heart racing. I had seen the girl drug from her house, bound, and carried away from her family. Her screams echoed in my mind as I sat in bed, willing my speeding pulse to calm down. I passed the first dream off as a nightmare, just another reaction to stress. When the dream continued the next night, the real fear started to seep in.

  The only thing that remained constant in the dreams was the immense terror I awoke with every night. I was gripped with the girl’s awful fear. The haunting look of desperate horror in the young girl’s face pulled at my soul, begging me for rescue. I watched with pity and anger that I could do nothing to ease her fear.

  I awoke that third night, so fearful that I could not force myself to close my eyes again. I feared slipping back into the dream and having to feel such desperate pain once again. Lying in my bed, I watched the curtains sway in the breeze, seeking something familiar and innocent. Slowly my mind and body came back to my own time. The haunting faces disappeared, letting me escape into a welcome and dreamless sleep. Resting in the stillness of my own mind, I swam in the blackness until awakened by the familiar warmth of the sun.

  As dawn’s orange shadows fell across the unfamiliar floor, I slowly opened my eyes and blinked away the last traces of the dream. The beige carpet and neutral toned walls immediately made me grimace. I was not yet used to waking up in a room I did not recognize as my own. Nearly a week ago I had moved from my former life of popularity in Manhattan, to a painfully, mind-numbingly boring little town in rural New York, hours away from anything.

  I loved city life. The constant noise and activity of living on an island filled with one and a half million people was invigorating. Every day held the promise of something new for me, but for my parents, every day held new dangers. My parents made the decision to move from our stylish Manhattan apartment to escape the violence and crime, as well as to be closer to my aging grandfather.

  Seven long hours from New York City, Grainer was the absolute opposite of what a town should be. With a population of less than fifteen hundred people, Grainer had fewer stores in the entire town than Manhattan held in a single block. I hated everything about the town. The first few days had been miserable, but ever since the dreams had started I had become increasingly convinced that the move was even more of a terrible choice than I had realized and longed to go back.

  Holding my misery close to my heart, I crawled out of bed and picked my way between unopened boxes on my way to the bathroom. I tugged a pair of denim shorts and an off white linen peasant top from my still packed suitcase as I stumbled along. The rest of the house was slowly being put away, but my room looked the same as it had when the boxes and bags had been first unloaded a week ago. It was a worthless attempt at protest.

  The bathroom floor was surprisingly neat. I had not left it like that the night before. I sighed, knowing that my mother must have snuck in after I had fallen asleep and cleaned up the piles of dirty clothes. My mother was desperately trying to make the transition to my new home town as painless as possible. I felt a small measure of guilt at my obstinate behavior, but not enough to give in.

  I had made my opinion on the move very clear to my parents. In the end, their fears had outweighed my objections. The apartment was packed up within a month of the decision and one by one the boxes and furniture were carried down to the waiting moving van. I sat in the room that would no longer be my own and cried. The worst part of moving was being alone. I left all of my friends in Manhattan. My only ally, my brother David, stayed behind, ready to start college in the fall. Now, I was alone, alone in my own home.

  The night of the first dream had been the first night I had not woken up crying because of the move. I had suddenly found a new source of fear. Hoping to scorch away thought, I turned on the shower until the streams of water were hot enough to make me wince. I stepped in and let the dull pain clear my mind. As I showered, I rinsed away the unsettling feelings the dream had left me. Everything else remained.

  I ached for someone to know as I finished my shower and stood brushing my hair in front of the foggy bathroom mirror. My silver-green eyes sparkled in contrast to my thick black hair. As I stared at my own face in the mirror, it suddenly changed into the face of the raven-haired girl from her dream, blurred by sacrificial paint. The stranger’s eyes held fear and blinked away burning tears.

  I reached up to brush the tears away, only to find my face completely dry. I blinked, my eyes opening to find only my own face, clean and almond colored, staring back at me. I drew back from the mirror, fearful that the face would return. Shivering despite the warm misty air that surrounded me, I quickly left the room.

  I had woken up so early that neither of my parents were awake by the time I left the bathroom. The stillness of the house made it seem safe enough to leave my room. I would have at least a few hours of peace before my mother continued her relentless battle to force me into loving my new life. I wandered into the box strewn living room and pulled a book off the top of a stack of boxes.

  I was more into blogging and video chatting than reading, but that was something left behind in Manhattan for the time being. The book I held had been opened out of pure boredom my second day in Grainer. Surprisingly, I had blown through the first half of the novel in just a few days. I had no idea where the novel had come from, most likely another thoughtful gesture by my mom, but I was glad to have found it. Plunking down onto the couch, I sat down to read. Hours later, my mother wandered out of her room, fully dressed and ready for the day.

  “You’re up early,” my mom commented.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “One of these days you’re going to have to get used to this place.” My mom sighed at my melancholy. “Arrabella, run down to the grocery store and pick up these things,” she said, “and I’ll make us some breakfast.” The list she handed me was written on one of the brand name medication notepads my dad often brought home from his office. Her perfect handwriting was nothing like my dad’s hurried script.

  “I’m fine with cereal,” I said.

  “Well you don’t have to eat, but your father and I would like some breakfast. He starts his new job today in case you’ve forgotten. I won’t send him to work on an empty stomach, so go,” she said. Her voice had taken on the firm tone that I knew not to disobey.

  Picking up the list as I dramatically rolled my eyes, I headed out into the morning sun. I did not want to do small town things like shopping in the neighborhood grocery store. I had always been more than happy to shop for groceries in Manhattan. I loved the street side stands and the hundreds of tiny specialty markets in Manhattan. There, I was free to wander about deciding what I wanted, moving from store
to store until I had everything on my list. I loved the endless variety of the markets.

  If the small store in this town did not have the items I was looking for, too bad, it was the only grocery store there was. How primitive, I thought. I was not a small town girl.

  The sign hanging above the grocery store entrance had been hand painted, and not in the trendy art deco style popular in retro art galleries. The store was small and quaint and disgusting. I plastered a disapproving grimace on my face as I walked in. Scowling at the rows of products, I quickly gathered the items on my mother’s list. Checking the last item off, I walked the short twenty steps to the checkout counter.

  The cashier was a girl not more than a year older than me. She greeted me with a smile and began scanning my items. At least they’re not completely backwards here, I thought when I saw the electronic scanner. In my fog of self-pity and dislike, I half expected the cashier to pull out a pencil and calculator. The happy chirp of the flashing red scanner deepened my scowl.

  “You’re new in town, right?” the cashier asked.

  I wondered if her lopsided smile had anything to do with my sour expression.

  “Yeah,” I said. Aren’t small towns great, I thought in my most sarcastic inner voice.

  “It’s not so bad here,” she said. “Most of us go down to the beach on the weekends to hang out during the summers. If the weather’s alright this Saturday, we’ll all be there for a bonfire.”

  “Who’s most of us?”

  “The high school kids, mostly just juniors and seniors.”

  “Are there more than just you and me?” I asked. From the size of the town, I would have been surprised to find out that our graduating class consisted of more than five students.