Touching Eternity (Touch Series, Book #1.5)
Title Page
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
Chapter 30
About Airicka Phoenix
©2012 by Airicka Phoenix
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and/or the publisher of this book, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Design: Airicka Phoenix
Interior Design: Airicka Phoenix
Editor & Formatter: Kristy
Beta Reader: Krystal
ISBN-13: 978-1481221245
ISBN-10: 1481221248
Published by Airicka Phoenix
Also available in eBook and paperback publication
WARNING: PLEASE READ
Due to sensitive matters portrayed throughout the novel, Touching Eternity (Touch Series, book 1.5) is rated 18+ (Adult).
Although a part of the Touch Series, Touching Eternity is a standalone. This book does not need to be read in order to understand the others in the Touch Series or vice versa. You can skip this book altogether if necessary. Touching Eternity is the story of Amalie. For those who have read Touching Smoke — and I advise strongly that you read Touching Smoke before Touching Eternity — already are aware of her story to some point. This book is about her.
I, Airicka Phoenix, in no way, shape or form condone the violence shown in Touching Eternity. For those sensitive to matters of abuse (mental, emotional, substance (unwilling) and sexual), torture, suicide and mental instability, this is not a story for you, please do not read. All images are not projected graphically, but I believe strongly that my younger readers should not read this.
Please be aware that the rest of the Touch Series (Touching Smoke, Touching Fire, Touching Embers & Touching Ash) will continue to be Young Adult.
Touching Eternity is ADULT. It may not be suitable for all readers.
Please read with caution.
Also by Airicka Phoenix
Novels
Touching Smoke (Touch Series, Book #1)
Anthologies
Whispered Beginnings: A Clever Fiction Anthology
Midnight Surrender Anthology
Dedication
To Steve, Kristy, Krystal, Kimberley, Chris,
For listening. For caring. For being there when the darkest corner was becoming home.
Acknowledgement
Touching Eternity was a powerful ride full of tough moments, hard decisions and lots of head-meet-desk moments. I would never have gotten through this without a few very key people. In no real order;
Hubby — I know it can’t be easy being married to an author who spends more time in her head then reality. Thank you for accepting my weirdness, my imagination and my life in the other world.
Kristy — not all angels have wings, but yours would be trimmed with gold. Thank you for spending all hours of the night and day hashing with me. Thank you for your patience, your unwavering friendship and your dedication to make Touching Eternity the best it can possibly be, and thank you for loving my characters as much as I do.
Krystal — you’re not just my twin, but my best friend. You’ve stood by me, supported me when I wanted to cave to pressure. Thank you for not being sane. Thank you for being the other half of my twisted sense of humor and for always having my back. When all else fails, we will always have the chair.
Christy, Kimberley, Chris — support is not just words spoken through honey smiles. It is a shoulder when the world becomes crushing. It’s a hand in the dark. Thank you for being all of those things.
My readers — friendship can bend time, change worlds and turn the weak invincible. Your friendship has shown me galaxies. Thank you for standing by me and supporting my work. May you always flourish and bathe in happiness, health and love.
Love all of you!
~Airicka
Chapter 1
Isaiah
A year hadn’t changed the impenetrable walls of ivory. His shadow draped over the marble steps, a dark carpet of rigid hesitation as he stood torn between running and claiming the distance. The front doors gaped, unhinged jaws, a foreshadowing of his awaiting demons glaring, accusing him of his crimes and deeming him guilty.
He was guilty.
Memories he’d fought to drown prowled to the surface, goading him, mocking him…piercing him. Every stab drew blood. Weakness claimed his knees, threatened to cripple him.
God, he didn’t belong there. The year away should have been enough, was supposed to be enough, but it hadn’t been. Nothing could ever take away what he’d done, the things he’d said. Nothing would ever erase the blood on his hands. The heart he’d broken and left shredded and tattered, dragged by its strings from his boots. That agony, the suffering he’d unleashed, was unforgiveable. It was unforgettable. He could die a million times with slow, torturous glee, and it wouldn’t be enough.
The stone archway was a hollow void of her bright smile, her happy squeal of his name as she bounded down the steps, auburn curls a thick cape flying out behind her. She didn’t meet him. He doubted she ever would again. Those days, those single moments of sunlight breaking into his otherwise shrouded existence were mere memories of what could have been, what he’d destroyed.
Unconsciously, he crushed the heel of his hand into the pain cutting through the center of his chest. His jaw set as he willed back the urge to give in to his feet and bolt. The leather straps of his bag squeaked beneath the flex of his fingers.
You’re not a coward! He told himself, only to snort in self-disgust. He was nothing if not a coward. He was weak and stupid and heartless. He was evil and selfish. He should never have come home. He had no right to darken that doorway, to darken her life. She’d probably already moved on. Probably didn’t even care anymore. It was better that way, he told himself, assured himself. He had no right to want anything else. No right to ask. An angel didn’t belong with garbage.
“Isaiah my boy!” Wavy brown hair sprinkled with salt and pepper, Terrell Garrison appeared over the threshold, arms open wide and a brilliant smile crinkling the lines around his mouth and eyes. He’d aged in the six months since Isaiah had seen him. The strong, proud man sitting front row center at his graduation had a stoop to his shoulders and a tired glint to his green eyes. But that didn’t stop him from hurrying down the steps with the speed and grace of a man much younger. In an instant, Isaiah was jerked into a fierce embrace. Out of habit, Isaiah stiffened at the contact, having never been embraced b
y anyone, but her. The mangled scent of ink, tobacco, old parchment and disinfectant choked him as the other man’s familiar presence surrounded him. Air rushed from his lungs, momentarily unclogging the doubt weighing heavy on his chest. For a split second, he regretted not coming home sooner.
He drew away, cutting a smile onto his face, like standing there wasn’t slicing him to ribbons. “Still keeping yourself cooped up in the library, sir?”
The heavy whacks of Garrison’s hand on his shoulder muffled the man’s rumbling laughter. “You know me, always trying to better the world,” He motioned Isaiah to follow as he turned away. “I hope you’re hungry. Supper is waiting in the dining room.”
Dread coiled sharp and glacial in the pit of Isaiah’s gut at the thought of passing through those doors, at the possibility that she would be there, that he would see her. He wanted to ask, wanted to know, but he bit back the questions.
Damn it! He had no right to think about her!
“All right, Isaiah?”
Slipping seamlessly back behind his mask, Isaiah nodded. “Yes, sir. Just excited to be back.”
Garrison turned back to the sprawling columns of polished ivory, teetering walls of gleaming glass and lavishly nursed lawns. “Come along. I’m starving.”
Isaiah adjusted his grip on the bag, squared his shoulders and marched into what was surely to be his death.
Nothing had changed. The foyer sparkled beneath the pools of sunlight cascading through arches of glass cut into the ceiling, into the walls. It sparked off the dazzling chandelier in brilliant splashes of color. Paintings of medieval lords and ladies peered back from ornate frames of gold. At the far end, the extensive stairway hooped to the second floor, and his last memory of standing on them while he punched a hole into the chest of the only person he’d ever truly loved made his insides hurt. He turned away.
“Ira, take Isaiah’s bag, please.”
A slip of a girl with mousy brown hair and brown eyes shuffled forward. She kept her head down, hands clasped in front of her as she waited for Isaiah to pass over his luggage.
He hesitated. “It’s kind of heavy,” he said.
“I don’t mind, sir,” she whispered to her feet.
Unsure, but seeing no other choice, he held it out to her. Her fingers were a cool brush against the warmth of his. He released his hold and she nearly capsized forward on her face as the weight of his bag settled on her slight frame. Isaiah grabbed her, steadied her.
“My apologies, sir.”
“Maybe I should take it up.” He reached for the bag.
“I’m all right, sir.” She staggered back, out of his reach. Her cheeks grew rosy with exertion. Her breaths came out in puffs. She waddled back, sideways and then forward towards the stairs.
“She’ll be fine,” Garrison said, patting Isaiah on the shoulder, simultaneously propelling him in the direction of the dining room. “Come on. Ruth made all your favorite dishes.”
Giving Ira one last worried glance, Isaiah followed Garrison through an opening on the right and down the winding corridor. The familiar path led them past the library, the parlor, the sitting area and finally the dining room. Isaiah held his breath as he crossed over the threshold. His gaze instantly swept over the room, taking in the long, rectangular table, the high-back chairs, the glossy marble floors, stone hearth and crystal chandelier. Everything was exactly as it had been the last time he’d been there, everything, except that she wasn’t there. She wasn’t sitting across from him, grinning over the flickering flames of candlelight or teasingly nudging his foot with hers beneath the table. She just wasn’t there at all. What’s more, there were only two places set. Disappointment settled on his shoulders as he took his regular spot on Garrison’s right.
Relief! He corrected. It was relief. He wasn’t ready to face her, didn’t think he ever would be. Six years at one of the toughest military schools in Canada, under some of the hardest, strictest teachers and he felt physically sick at the very idea of crossing paths with one girl. His professors would be appalled. They would probably strip him of his diploma.
Garrison claimed his place at the head of the table, smoothed a hand down the front of his cream-colored suit and reached for his napkin. His green eyes rose to Isaiah as he draped it casually over his lap. His face split into a smile. “It really is great to have you home, son.”
Isaiah forced himself not to glance at the empty seat on the other side of the neatly placed table, to not visualize big, blue eyes peering back at him from a face loved by the gentle glow of candlelight. Instead, he focused all his attention on the man who had assigned himself as Isaiah’s guardian and protector, the only man that had given him everything without asking for a single thing back. The only man he owed his life to.
“It’s good to be home, sir.”
Garrison showed teeth in a smile. “I’ll be honest, for a moment, I wasn’t sure you wanted to come back. You seemed so hesitant when we spoke on the phone with all that talk of joining the Forces this fall. I almost took you seriously.”
His training kept him from fidgeting. “I feel it’s my duty to protect my country and do my part to create a better future, sir.” He made no mention of the promises he’d made to people he hadn’t seen in ten years, promises he had every intention of keeping, heaven willing.
Long fingers spread in a questioning gesture as Garrison sat back. “Well, that’s easy enough to do through charities and other functions once you made a good future for yourself. I can call several universities and see if we can’t get you early admission. I know with your stellar record from the Academy plus a recommendation from me.” He dropped his hands into his lap. “You can have any sort of future you wish.” Garrison picked up his wineglass. “If, after, you decide you still want to pursue this path, I’m sure we can find something more suitable.”
Isaiah struggled not to grimace, not to lose his patience. None of this was anything he hadn’t already heard over the phone every night since his graduation three months ago. He had tried so hard to keep away, to uphold his own silent promise to himself, to her. Coming back was just cruel. But Garrison had badgered until there was no choice except to succumb and return to the last place on earth he ever wanted to see again. He didn’t understand why Isaiah wanted to join the army. Why he’d wanted to fight. But Isaiah had his reasons. Some were more selfish than others, but it was for the best.
“I don’t think university is the right option for me, sir.”
Garrison took a sip, set his glass down and waved a hand. “Then take a year off, think about it while you enjoy your youth. I know it will be nice to have you around the house for Christmas. It’s been horrendously quiet around here.”
He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t bite back the words burning in his mouth. “Where’s Amalie?”
Like shutters closing on a pleasant view of warm meadows, Garrison’s expression closed. Lines bracketed his mouth and creased the spot between his brows. His gaze dropped to his neatly folded hands resting in his lap.
“She won’t be joining us,” he said, his tone definite. “She will be having her supper in her room.”
It was Isaiah’s turn to avert his gaze. He scrubbed his wet palms down the thighs of his cargo pants. She didn’t want to see him. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. It shouldn’t have hurt, but God, the pain was unbearable.
“How is she?”
Stop asking! Stop caring! Keep your mouth shut! But he could never stop caring. He could never stop wanting her, needing her. The torture he’d suffered those twelve months away was infinite. Being skinned and salted alive was a pleasure cruise in comparison. But he needed to know. God, it was selfish, but he needed to know she was all right.
“She hasn’t been well.” Garrison toyed with the corner of his napkin. “Her conditions have worsened since you were here last.”
A jagged ball of rusted nails cut a bloody trail down the column of his throat, his chest and settled in the pit of his stomach. Spike
s of ice pierced through his lungs, immobilizing every breath, freezing his blood. It was solely his grip on the armrests that kept him from leaping to his feet; kept him from charging out of the room; kept him from finding her, pulling her into his arms and begging her to forgive him. This was his fault. If she was worse, it was because of him, because of what he’d done, or because of what he should have done sooner. He did this to her. She was suffering because of him.
Garrison took up his wineglass once more and toyed with the stem. “If anything, things have been catastrophic.”
The food arrived on a gilded trolley, domed platters brimming with succulent meals fit for royalty. Somber-faced servers set the dishes on the table. One filled Isaiah’s glass with ice water. But his lungs were already frozen. His blood was clotted with splinters. The sight of food turned his stomach.
“Is someone watching her?” He slicked his lips, his voice a broken mirror reflecting every emotion crashing into him. “Is someone with her? Making sure—?”
Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) Page 1