IMMORTALS
THE COMPLETE REAL ILLUSIONS SERIES
Books 1 - 4
Tanya R. Taylor
Copyright© 2017
All Rights Reserved.
No portion of this work may be reproduced,
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expressed, written consent of the Author.
CONTENTS
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Other Fiction Titles by This Author
The Awakening (Real Illusions Book One)
Rebirth (Real Illusions Book Two)
Bone of My Bone (Real Illusions Book Three)
War Zone (Real Illusions Book Four)
"The very first instance of a haunted house story making me cry." - Reviewer
Book 1 of the Bestselling stand-alone series!
Mira and Wade Cullen head out to explore a large, abandoned house in a wooded area near their home. They are unaware that their innocent adventure would open up the bowels of history in a most uncanny way.
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Other Fiction Titles by Tanya R. Taylor
INFESTATION: A Small Town Nightmare (The Complete Series)
Real Illusions: The Awakening
Real Illusions II: REBIRTH
Real Illusions III: BONE OF MY BONE
Real Illusions IV: WAR ZONE
Cornelius (Book 1 in the Cornelius saga. Each book in this series can stand-alone.)
Cornelius’ Revenge (Book 2 in the Cornelius saga)
CARA: Some Children Keep Terrible Secrets (Book 3 in the Cornelius saga)
We See No Evil (Book 4 in the Cornelius saga)
The Contract: Murder in The Bahamas (Book 5 in the Cornelius saga)
The Lost Children of Atlantis (Book 6 in the Cornelius saga)
Death of an Angel (Book 7 in the Cornelius saga)
The Groundskeeper (Book 8 in the Cornelius saga)
Haunted Cruise: The Shakedown
The Haunting of MERCI HOSPITAL
Hidden Sins Revealed (A Crime Thriller - Nick Myers Series Book 1)
One Dead Politician (Nick Myers Series Book 2)
10 Minutes before Sleeping
THE AWAKENING
One
_________________
RAUCOUS MELODY
* 1 *
As lightning illuminated the dark, dismal sky and heavy, rumbling thunderclaps reverberated behind it, the rain drizzled from the thick forest trees onto the wet ground. The wind proved its dominance, forcing bushes to sway violently as if dancing to a raucous melody.
Tiny, helpless creatures sought shelter within the thickest clumps of trees, cringing in fear as the wailing wind declared unequivocal danger.
The wooden shutters affixed to the huge mansion tottered on their old, rusty hinges as they carelessly battered the concrete wall. The dusty ceiling fan inside one of the upstairs bedrooms shook relentlessly as if on the verge of collapsing.
Trent Matheson awoke in a cold sweat. Trembling feverishly as the nausea and terror gushed through his body, he sat up in bed. His throat was painfully sore and his eyes drained a slimy mucus that almost blinded him. The nightmare was mind-stalking; taunting images of the part of him that proved not only petrifying, but undeniably real.
As the breeze slithered in through the open window, sweat sheathing his red, heated skin began to dissipate. He eased up from the bed, approached the window and through dilated pupils, beheld the terrifying essence of his life staring at him from afar, yet with stunning force.
The sweat began to pour again; this time not as rapidly. He shook his head in desperate hope of relief, yet scenes of what he had envisioned in his nightmares still lingered tenaciously in his mind.
His unremitting nightmares portrayed a frightening truth. Clearly, he was the only one left - all the others had suffered a gruesome demise.
Nearly a mile away, with flourescent-green, beaming pupils, he beheld the roots of an uplifted tree which he effortlessly counted. He exited the bedroom and descended the iron stairway into the Great Room. The front door was widely ajar and after thoughtlessly passing through it, he advanced toward the dense, dark woods behind the old, tired mansion.
His steps were small and ambivalent as he approached the uprooted tree and though detesting his seemingly bizarre capabilities, he was intent on gaining a closer look to count them again, hoping that he would have miscounted the first time.
On arrival, he stooped next to the tree and carefully counted again. He was right! There was certainly no mistake. As blazing disappointment overwhelmed his tormented soul, tears gushed from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks onto his bare chest like the cascade of a waterfall. Then suddenly he heard a noise, a stir of the bushes and on turning around, instantly spotted a tiny squirrel behind a pine tree a few feet away staring at him through small, unrevealing eyes. The creature's presence instantly fomented an aching desire within him that he desperately yearned to subdue.
Trent momentarily turned away, drawing upon his innermost strength, but seconds later, he looked back. The animal was now staring at him as if contemplating whether it was safe to stay or safer to run, but after feeling a keen sense of closeness to the stranger and in some odd way trusting his presence, it decided upon the former. Trent's desire quickly intensified. There was no more denying himself - no more turning away as if he had the commanding strength inside to avoid it. He stooped down on all fours and slowly crept up to the little mammal. A moment later, he moved in an inch or two closer, seized it by its furry neck and looked into its now frightened eyes. He loved its feel, its smell, its familiarity. Resistance soon left him; he couldn't seem to control himself. Satisfying his most unusual craving, he ignored the animal's dying squeals until only bones were left — dry, tasteless bones.
Minutes later, he walked back to the house almost robotically with a bloody drizzle on his mouth. Conflicting sensations of contentment and guilt overwhelmed him. He ascended the stairway and crawled into bed. Three hours remained until sunrise. Sitting up, he watched the long hand move sluggishly around the face of his wall-clock as the harrowing thoughts continued. So far, life had been semi-normal; no one in his wildest dreams would have imagined who or what Trent really was.
Soon after, he wiped his brow and lay back in bed with eyes ajar, eagerly awaiting dawn.
* 2 *
A screech at the cottage door woke Solange from her dreamless sleep. Someone was out there - she knew it! Rising cautiously, she grabbed the weighty chow-chow figurine from the bureau and silently approached the bedroom door.
Preparing herself for the worst, she glanced at the alarm clock that sat on the night-stand near the bed. It was 8:15 exactly. She took a deep breath, then slowly unlatched the door. She couldn't help thinking how she had missed work that day due to a terrible migraine and now a strong, agonizing feeling revealed that she was in for an even greater headache.
Solange stood at the door with an ear pressed against the splintered frame. She was able to meticulously target the stranger's whereabouts as the wooden floor echoed his movements when suddenly, he stopped. Instantly, her heart sank and pure panic set in as troubling thoughts invaded her mind. Maybe I should dash out now, she thought. He may not be too far away from the door. That way, I can quickly attack him before he has the chance to attack me. But… maybe, just maybe, he isn't so close and if he isn't, I haven't the slightest chance!
Her heart sank even deeper as she opened the door slowly and peeped through, clutching
tightly onto the figurine she deemed her only defense. She saw nothing - no one. She was all alone: No one was around to help her if she were brutally attacked. Yet, Solange was confident that she could handle herself. She had learned from the best: Her father, Noel, now deceased at the hands of the French mafia, was a force to be reckoned with.
She eased through the doorway and headed into the clustered living room. The stillness of the house and its eerie silence assured her that the intruder was definitely near. She stopped for a second, hesitant to move any further, when suddenly she heard the scrape of heavy metal behind her. In that moment, someone lunged at her from behind the couch. He grabbed her hair, covered her mouth with his hand and dragged her into the bedroom. Solange struggled intensely for freedom, but to no avail. Her attacker was strapping, and he had overpowered her from the moment he touched her.
The man threw her onto the bed, yanked his knife from his pocket, and calmly said: "Take your clothes off and lie back. If you make even the slightest sound, it'll be the last sound you ever make."
Solange reluctantly slipped off her t-shirt and underwear, then lay back quietly in bed, convinced he had made no empty threat. She could see his face now. It was Ferdinand Marquis, a middle-aged, French police officer with a neatly trimmed moustache and husky physique. She had known him all too well as his reputation for brutality preceded him. His khaki pants were already unzipped and he wore no shirt.
The look on Ferdinand's face and perverted lust in his eyes made Solange regret the moment she ever opened the bedroom door. Why didn't I just hide and call the police? She thought. Maybe I wouldn't be in this dreadful position right now.
The off-duty policeman positioned himself beside her, then glided his large hand over her perky breasts, squeezing her rigid nipples and whispering lewd words into her ear. He quickly slid his trousers down to his ankles, then climbed on top of her, thereafter thrusting his hard, stiff manhood into her slender body. The pungent odor of liquor made her gasp for air beneath him, and the resentment she held inside her heart for her merciless attacker grew and grew. She knew it was all done in the name of spite due to her previous rejection of his lascivious proposals. Lying there angry and humiliated, she thought: He had better kill me when he's done, or God help him!
Now under the impression that he had tamed his victim as she had stopped resisting, he dropped his knife to the side, intent on focusing on the wanton task at hand. Hours seemed to have passed when Solange’s right arm hit the pillow and suddenly, she remembered something she had always kept hidden beneath it before falling off to sleep at night. Slowly and cautiously, she slid her hand underneath the cushiony fabric; a few inches in she felt it, then gripped it tightly. She knew she had a chance now, but timing was everything: One major slip up could cost her her life.
As he was immersed in sexual pleasure and about to climax, she knew it was now or never. Such as of a surge of a lightning bolt, she yanked out the ice pick and plunged it deeply into his side. Falling off of her, he groaned in agony and felt with his hand the blood gushing from the inside. Unable to move and with eyes that sought unmerited sympathy, he watched her get up from the bed with a cold, callous stare which convinced him that no compassion would be found there. Solange stood nearby as if in a daze and watched as a short while later, Ferdinand breathed his very last breath.
* 3 *
Trent Matheson arrived at work at 8:30 that morning. His thinning black hair neatly slicked back, he strolled through the main lobby of the building and caught the elevator to the third floor.
He was viewed as a man of great caliber, highly respected by his employees and members of his community. Now a thirty-something-year-old bachelor, he faced his inner demons alone ever since Foster, his grandfather and supposedly last living relative, had passed away.
After exiting the elevator onto the third floor, he made his usual entrance by wishing everyone a 'good-morning' before heading straight to his office. Upon entering the lavishly decorated room, which he pleasantly regarded as home away from home, he went over to his personal fire-proof cabinet that sat in the corner of the room, unlocked it and pulled out a few files which were stacked together since the day before. Then sitting at his desk, he buzzed Tina Sheffield, his personal secretary, on the intercom.
The slender, five-foot, ten-inch blonde with long, curly hair and huge, sea-blue eyes entered his office a minute later. "Good morning, Mister Matheson. How are we today?" She smiled.
"Doing well. Thanks, Tina. I'll only keep you a minute." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering about the ACE files."
"Yes, sir?"
"According to this report I have here, their investments have recently declined."
"Oh, have they? I know Mister Ross from ACE was here on Thursday seeking higher rates for his Deposit. That's the day you left early to attend Tony's wedding."
"What happened, then? Did you refer him to Peter?"
"Yes, sir, I did. Mister Darcy has the latest information on the ACE that hasn't been filed as yet."
Suddenly, an icy breeze bit Trent's face and he asked, "Is there a window open around here somewhere, Tina?"
"Window, sir? In this building?"
"Yeah. That's what I asked, isn't it?" He retorted.
"No, sir, there aren't any open windows. Have you forgotten that the entire building has central air conditioning?"
"Ah... actually, I did for a moment there," Trent replied, feeling rather foolish. "I... I'll give Peter a ring in a minute. That's all for now. Thanks, Tina."
As Tina was leaving, Peter walked in. "Trent, you're back! How wonderful," he gushed, grabbing a seat.
Peter was a thin man with grey eyes and dark features. His face was tanned and smooth - always clean-shaven. He was what one might call "a real looker" running serious competition with his partner, Trent.
"Why the heck didn't you tell me on Friday that Ross was here, Peter?" Trent asked. "Do you realize how important it is to this company that we don't keep that man waiting for answers?"
"Are you okay, Trent?" Peter looked bewildered. "You haven't been in office since Thursday morning, remember? You took off early that day to attend Tony's wedding and you never showed up on Friday. I called you a thousand times, but you never answered the phone. You're really one weird dude, Trent. You know that?"
Trent leaned back in his leather chair. "Are you sure, Peter… about me not being here?"
"Sure, I'm sure," Peter sighed. "Look. Maybe you should take a couple more days off, buddy. You don't look so well today."
Trent leaned forward again. "No. I'm fine. I just need to know if Ross has been taken care of."
"'Course he has. I consider myself a very able partner of this here company," Peter boasted.
"Yeah. Sure. So, what new rate did you give him?"
"Eight and a half."
"Not bad. We've only lost two and a half percent, but it's worth it. The interest accrued on his millions cuts us a damn good deal," Trent said, pressing his palms against both sides of his head after feeling a migraine developing. The frosty breeze bit his face again. "Peter, did you feel that?"
"What?"
"That breeze."
"My friend, the only breeze I feel is the central air."
"It's not that," Trent insisted. "A window has to be open around here somewhere. I'll go and check." He got up and headed for the door, then looked back at Peter, "Oh, and thanks for doing such a great job, Pete; I knew I could count on you."
The thought that his partner was losing it instantly crossed Peter's mind. There was no window in the building that could be opened and he knew that after years of working there, Trent also knew that.
Trent walked the building floor by floor. He was convinced that what he had felt was not the air-conditioning, but that it must have been air somehow seeping in from the outside. He decided to check the Archives. It was a dimly-lit room cluttered with books, journals and files that went as far back as a decade earlier.
After twisting the
doorknob and discovering that it was locked, he went to the Proof Room a few doors away. Janice Moore, a tall, athletic body-builder and Betty Wilder, her nerdy assistant were there working a large machine at the eastern end of the room with their backs to the doorway.
Trent cleared his throat. "Hello ladies. How are you?"
They both turned and returned pleasantries.
"Uh, Janice, could you give Tina a ring for me and ask her to bring down the keys for the Archives?" Trent asked.
"Sure, Mister Matheson. I'll phone her right now."
"Thanks. I'll be in the hallway."
He started back toward the Archives room again when suddenly the breeze he felt earlier blew even heavier, then his eyes struck the floor beneath the Archives' door. A powerful wind was escaping beneath it into the hallway, diverting its direction into a circular motion, thus forcing Trent to walk against it.
"Mister Matheson, are you all right?" Asked Tina behind him a few minutes later.
Trent turned around, startled to see her not being forced against the wind as he was.
"Can't you feel it?" He asked.
"Feel what?"
Suddenly, the wind subsided and he felt terribly foolish once again. "Oh, nothing," he quickly answered, straightening his suit. "The key please?"
"Yes. Right here, sir." Tina handed it over, unsure of what to think of him.
As she left, Trent entered the dark room and switched on the light. He went over to the only window in the Archives. Again, there was no latch, no way of opening it - just like all the others. There was no way of opening it and it appeared well-sealed. Frustrated and confused, he came to rest on a stack of books and began to seriously worry about his current state of mind. Could this actually be happening or am I just losing it? He wondered. Just then, the lights went out in the room and he quickly sprang to his feet in the darkness. He felt his way back to the door and flipped the light switch up and down, but it wouldn't work. Then he attempted to open the door, but it appeared to be stuck. Feeling defeated, he stumbled back to the stacked books and sat down again. Dreadful thoughts raced through his mind and he felt a more painful migraine developing. He was changing and he knew it.
Immortals- The Complete Real Illusions Series Page 1