Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  As Beth made them coffee and tried to look non-committal and non-judgemental, her friend started talking a mile a minute, words spilling out all over themselves in her eagerness to talk about Andrew. Well, Andre.

  “Oh Beth, isn’t he amazing?” she began. “And he’s so gorgeous! Really distinguished, and really attractive, and oh my god, he’s so sexy.”

  “Hmm,” she muttered, praying Violet wasn’t paying any attention to her, since she’d gone bright red at her words. Yes, she did know how sexy he was. And how his bare chest felt under her hands. How his lips felt on her naked body. But enough of that – she was not going there ever again.

  “He’s just so worldly, and so accomplished, isn’t he? And so spiritual, and intuitive, and just so accurate, right?”

  “Well, we don’t know how accurate he is, because he didn’t say anything we could verify, nothing that had already taken place. It was all just predictions of the future, things which may never happen, or might happen only because he said they would, and so you create it into reality,” Beth stammered, worried every word she spoke would give away that she knew him, that she had been in love with him herself.

  Violet was staring at her, shocked by her words, yet thankfully oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Do you think that about all psychics?” she asked sharply. “About my mum?”

  Shaking her head emphatically no, Beth tried to reassure her friend. “Your mother is amazing, you know I think that. She had incredible insight into my past – perhaps a little too much – and she knew so many things that had happened to me, both as a kid and right now. She knew things no one else could know, not even my sister,” she revealed, voice conciliatory.

  “But the guy yesterday, the teacher, nothing he said was past tense and thus verifiable. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – for all we know he is amazingly accurate, and it will all come true eventually – but I’m just not willing to trust in his accuracy or speak for him until he reveals it in some way.”

  Violet took a deep breath, then a big slurp of coffee, and finally nodded. “Okay, you’re right about that, and Mum would agree with you. So I’ll reserve judgement on that score. But can you at least agree that he’s amazingly hot?”

  A shiver ran up Beth’s spine, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the memories that threatened to swallow her. Not the passionate memories, or the healing memories, or the loving memories – and there had been a lot of them, she had to admit – but the ones trying to drown her in the kitchen right now were the later ones, the ones she’d glossed over at the time, explained away because she was so in love with him.

  The night he’d hit her because he thought she’d been flirting with someone else, although she hadn’t been. Then a second time because he was angry and drunk and frustrated with his manager. She’d overlooked it then, but now she was mortified that she’d put up with it, that through her inaction she’d seemed to accept it, seemed to feel herself deserving of that, and even worse, allowed him to think it was okay with her.

  And his verbal assaults had been as painful as his blows, and cut her even more deeply. She shuddered now, as she recalled him cruelly using the things she’d confided in him earlier against her. She’d buried these memories after he’d apologised, and convinced herself that he hadn’t meant what he said, that it didn’t hurt her, but now it hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.

  The time she’d been feeling too sick to have sex, and he’d turned on her, all of a sudden trying to convince her that her cruel mother was not a woman who had treated her badly all her life, as he’d once told her, had once believed, but a loving, strict parent who had simply had enough of her selfish, spoilt behaviour. And that her distant, angry father was loving to everyone else – it was just her that he despised.

  Every little secret she’d confided in him, he’d whipped out and twisted up and thrown back in her face, using her own words against her, using them to trap and destroy her. The betrayal was doubly painful because he’d helped her to heal those insecurities, helped her to let go of that pain – before he turned around and pulled the rug out from under her and made it even worse.

  It shocked her, that a so-called healer could reverse any good he’d done, undo all the progress she’d made, in a matter of moments. Wasn’t his motto supposed to be to heal and to help – and do no harm?

  “Beth?”

  Her mind was drawn back into her body, back into the room, and she stared at her friend blankly.

  “Are you okay?” Violet asked her. But she was saved from replying when her mother walked back into the room, glared at the two of them, then stormed out again. The interruption gave her time to pull herself together.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a little challenging to be here. But we were talking about you, sorry. What were you saying?”

  Her friend started babbling again, about how great Andrew – Andre – was, and Beth withdrew emotionally once more, worried now how much she should reveal. Did she have a responsibility to disclose that she knew him, and how well? Wasn’t that the friendship code, to look out for each other? Or had she already left it too late, by not mentioning it yesterday? And would Violet just assume it was sour grapes on her part, that she was jealous of her, and the attention she was getting?

  God, she’d never known that friendships could be so stressful! Should she be supportive of whatever Violet wanted to do, and just listen to her waxing lyrical about the guy? Or was she supposed to tell her friend that he could be manipulative and cruel beneath the layers of charm and sophistication? That he had hit her a couple of times? Had emotionally healed her, then harmed her even more?

  And yet, maybe he wouldn’t do that to Violet. Maybe it was something only she deserved, as he’d tried to convince her. Did she bring out the worst in him, and make him angry enough to do that to her? Or was she just blaming herself again for someone else’s bad behaviour?

  But... what if he really was Violet’s soul mate, as she seemed to think? It wouldn’t surprise her – she was an amazing girl, so smart and kind and sensitive, so open to the magic of the earth and the possibilities of the world, and so full of knowledge of the spiritual and esoteric, thanks to her priestess mum…

  She didn’t know what to do.

  Chapter 22

  Wake Me Up Inside

  Rhiannon... Today…

  Still buoyed by the comfort of Rose and her family, and the energy of her newly-made-over room, Rhiannon didn’t feel the same dread as she headed back to school for the first day of the new term. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but it wasn’t as traumatic as the last return had been.

  And this time she was determined to make up for all the time she’d lost, so she got to each class a few minutes early to request extra homework and enquire about the possibility of additional assignments she could do for extra credit. It was boring, but it was what she needed right now – a steady routine and a sense of purpose to keep her going, a way to focus on the future and avoid wallowing in her own misery.

  Her dad had been right, when he’d said she couldn’t put her life on hold forever, or give up on her dreams for the future because of her mum’s death. She’d been drowning in grief, self-pity and anger for three months, and now it was time to get back on track, and try to find reasons to go on after being so shattered by her loss. She still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, what she wanted to be, but getting her grades back up so she had options when she finally figured it out was a good enough goal for now.

  School was hard though. Her mother’s death had changed her, she knew that, and although she was trying to go back to how she’d been, to re-find her spark, she just couldn’t. She did her best, getting up every morning to put on her brave face along with her uniform, forcing joy when she saw her friends, pasting a smile on for every teacher who expressed concern.

  It wasn’t working too well, not like she wanted it to, but all the extra study she was doing made it easier for her to deal with the knowledge that Debbie and
Sue still weren’t comfortable around her. Although they’d waited for her out on the snow-covered front steps the first morning back, and let her hang out with them at lunchtime, their old closeness had gone, and they often made up excuses to avoid her.

  It hurt her deeply, even as she understood why they were doing it. They hadn’t lost anyone close to them, and so it was hard for them to know what she was feeling, to empathise with her, and to be themselves when they were with her. It was as though they were tiptoeing on eggshells all the time – they were cautious around her, and so afraid to upset her, which wasn’t much fun for her or for them. She desperately longed to meet someone who comprehended the depth of her grief, as well as her need to try to forget it when she could.

  But it was okay. She wanted to focus on her grades, and having extra work to do gave her the excuse she needed to avoid awkward situations. And she still wasn’t ready to socialise, so there were times that she was actually glad Debbie and Sue planned outings without her.

  As the weeks passed, and the bitter cold of midwinter loosened its grip, she found herself spending a lot of time looking after Brodie, as her dad began to rejoin the land of the living. He still missed his wife terribly, and still cried himself to sleep at times, but he finally went to a few work events, and was surprised that he could function okay. Not great, but okay.

  He even signed up for a weekend course in the city, after Rose insisted he go as a way to get out of his comfort zone, for the sake of himself as well as his kids. He’d been reluctant, since often just getting through his day remained a challenge, but he finally acquiesced. And he had to agree, on his return, that it had been a positive step.

  So Rhiannon spent every non-studying moment looking after her little brother, and cooking and cleaning, but she didn’t mind. Well, not too much. And she genuinely enjoyed spending time with Brodie, helping him with his homework, and reading books to, and increasingly with, him. Because while she and their dad were still diminished by grief, her brother was growing in leaps and bounds, mentally, emotionally and physically. He stayed over at his friend Ben’s place once a week, and she was grateful to Ben’s family for taking him in, and giving him some time to socialise outside of their still-not-quite-back-to-normal home.

  There were times she envied Brodie his innocence and resilience. He never cried, he never asked awkward questions, and after a couple of initial enquiries just after Beth died, he seemed to be coping with her absence pretty well.

  Of course he didn’t have all the amazing memories of their mum that she did, but he wasn’t suffering from the pain that still woke her up in the night either. The pain that still crushed her with the weight of her loss, which sneaked up on her at the most unexpected times, ripping the breath from her chest and leaving her flattened and gasping for air.

  But even these moments slowly became further apart, and there were times she could go whole days without being brought to her knees by her grief.

  And after understandably terrible class results the previous term, Rhiannon had been convinced by her maths teacher to take on an extra class, since all her added studying and bonus assignments had revealed a hither-to unknown aptitude for numbers, equations and problem solving.

  Quite possibly it was the cold, unyielding, emotionless nature of the subject that appealed to her – numbers were what they were, no emotional investment necessary, no piece of herself laid open and bare, like she was struggling with in literature and even history. Numbers were unchanging, and didn’t care at all how she was feeling at any given time.

  Perhaps her hazy state of mind appreciated the clarity of the equations and the beauty of the sense of control she had over them too. Maths was black and white, right or wrong, and she liked that. She’d taken up an offer of extra tutoring each week, and all of a sudden concepts she’d struggled with became clear, and she began to top the class. Her teacher suggested she look into careers in the field, and she shocked herself when she began to seriously consider it, rather than dismissing it as foolish or boring.

  While everything else in her life seemed difficult and so drenched in emotion, she came to love maths and science because they allowed her to bring order to the chaos on the page, and in her mind. She could solve problems and control outcomes. Previously she’d pondered being a children’s book author, or an English teacher like her mum, but now they seemed too arbitrary, too weighted with emotion, with vulnerability, with having to expose herself in some way. She loved the impersonal nature of maths and science, the coldness and correctness, so she started looking into the sciences rather than the humanities, and scoping out subjects for her final year of study that would set her on this new career path.

  When the half-term holiday arrived, just as spring was starting to send out its first tentative shoots, Rhiannon was happy to stay at home on her own for the week, loving the respite from the constant crush of people around her at school, the constant noise and talk and interaction.

  It was also a chance to work even harder on her assignments, and research the extra-credit papers she’d committed to in algebra and calculus. And when Laura, Ms Henderson, told her how impressed all the teachers were with her progress, and her dad told her how proud he was of her for catching up on all her classes, she was surprised by how happy it made her feel.

  Part of it still struck her as a betrayal, that she was moving on, and learning how to live without her mum, yet she also felt immense satisfaction, that despite checking out of school – and life – for so long, she was almost back to where she had been before their shock loss, with a new career path set out before her, and a new appreciation for study and achievement.

  In between assignments, she went for long walks, and was overjoyed to feel her mum around her as she watched the countryside start to come back to life. It had been such a bleak winter, physically as well as emotionally, externally as well as within. She’d felt so hopeless, so bereft, while it snowed outside and turned dark so early, and the constant storms had ravaged her mind and heart.

  But now the growing signs of spring filled her with the possibility of hope and new beginnings. She wasn’t quite at the feeling positive stage, but she could feel her grief shifting a little. Not disappearing or even lessening in any way, but changing form. It was always present, yet it wasn’t quite as strong or all-consuming now, it didn’t control her every waking moment or haunt her every dream. It had simply become part of her, as natural to her as breathing.

  And she was getting used to their diminished family, and the extra responsibilities on her shoulders, growing up faster so her dad wasn’t burdened by two kids to look after. Without considering that she could replace her mother in any way, she started picking up the slack at home, cooking dinner when she could, cleaning the house, even packing her dad’s lunch as he picked up extra shifts to bring a little more money into the household coffers. They weren’t totally struggling without her mum’s pay cheque, but she was very aware of their expenses, including the medical bills that were still trickling in from Beth’s treatment and hospital stays.

  So she lived as frugally as she could, making more of their meals than usual so they didn’t have to eat out, taking her own lunch to school, and being as savvy as she could. It made her laugh when she ended up topping the class in home economics as well as maths and science. She didn’t do any extra work for that one, it was simply because she was already living the concept of budgeting that they were learning at school.

  * * * * *

  Just as things were getting… not easier, but a little less difficult… the six-month anniversary of Beth’s death arrived, and hit Rhiannon and Mike like an avalanche. Neither could believe how much time had passed – and how different yet still the same things were. And the blow was even deeper because this year the anniversary fell on Mother’s Day.

  On the Friday before Mothering Sunday, Brodie came home from school confused and upset. Some of the kids in his class had teased him when he’d asked what he should do, since he didn’t h
ave a mum to make a card for. While his teacher had been sympathetic, and helped him create something artistic for his grandma Anne instead, he’d been puzzled by the behaviour of his classmates, then panicky that he wasn’t as sad as they thought he should be.

  It broke Rhiannon’s heart that he was suffering so much for something beyond his understanding, and also that he was already forgetting his mum, forgetting what she looked like, what she sounded like. So she vowed to help him remember.

  On Saturday they made their own Mother’s Day cards, safe at home where no one could laugh at them for acting as though their mum was still alive. They left them on the mantlepiece, next to a photo of the family from the Christmas before Beth had died. Brodie drew a picture on the front of his card of the four of them as they had been, all holding hands and smiling widely, and dressed in matching clothes, which made Rhiannon smile. For her part, she poured out her heart over all that she missed about her mother…

  Dear Mum,

  I can’t believe it’s been six months since you left us. In some ways it feels like forever, and I fear that I’ll forget the smallest things about you. At other times it feels as though it was only yesterday, that you’ve just popped out to the shops, and will be walking back in through the front door any minute. It just doesn’t make sense that you’re gone.

  I miss you so much, every second really, yet I am trying to move forward with my life. Trying to make you proud of me, and to emerge from the heap I fell into when you died, and become something more than I was, in order to honour your memory.