The Awakened

by Sara Elizabeth Santana

  Copyright © 2015 Sara Elizabeth Santana

  This edition published in 2015 by

  OF TOMES PUBLISHING

  UNITED KINGDOM

  The right of Sara Elizabeth Santana to be identified as the author ofthis work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and anyresemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing

  I’M PRESSED AGAINST THE COLD tile of the floor, and I can’t breathe. I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. Has it been hours? Days? Weeks? Time is lost, and all I can feel are the shivers going through me.

  I’m hungry. They brought me food earlier, and the smell wafted over me. It’s been so long since I’ve had real food, and I want nothing more than to eat it, to fill myself up, scrape the plate with my fingers. Screw utensils. Utensils are for a civilized world. That doesn’t exist anymore.

  I can’t eat their food. I can’t. I don’t know what’s in it. But I’m hungry. I’m so hungry, I can barely stand it; I can barely think, and the smell is overwhelming, and I feel like I’m going to throw up but there’s nothing there. I can’t throw up. But I can’t eat it. I don’t know what they’ve put in it, and I’m tired of the darkness. I’m scared of sleeping when I’m not tired, and I’m scared of what is going on outside the door that I can’t get out of.

  I think of Dad. Mom. Bandit. Madison.

  I miss Ash.

  I’m so cold.

  There’s a click, and I spring up. The door begins to creak open, but I’m too exhausted and too hungry to do anything about it.

  They’ve finally come for me.

  MY AIM WAS GETTING BETTER.

  And okay, sure, I hadn’t hit the actual head on the target in at least a few rounds, but who was counting? I definitely wasn’t.

  Zoey, you need to lift your arm just a little bit. I’m glad you can shoot the target now, but let’s try actually hitting what we aim for.

  I sighed, trying to ignore my dad’s voice in my head. It was because of him that I was even learning how to shoot a gun. I’ve lived my entire life in Manhattan in the great state of New York, and yeah, sometimes things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows here, but it wasn’t exactly the worst place to live either. But my dad is a police chief, and he tends to be a little overprotective sometimes.

  “You’re thinking of your dad right now, aren’t you?” my best friend Madison called over the partition that separated us. As soon as my dad signed me up for gun lessons, Madison’s dad had jumped on board. We both thought it was incredibly stupid, until Madison started to do infinitely better than me. Madison was good at a lot of things, and she loved being good at things. Success was her biggest talent, not that I had noticed or anything. But at least we were together. Anything was manageable as long as I was with Madison.

  I raised my gun. My eyes were intent on the target a few yards in front of me. I was determined to actually hit the target that I was aiming for this time. I breathed in and out and then fired. The bullet hit the paper right in the square of the chest.

  “Nice,” Madison complimented right before firing her own gun.

  “Except that I was aiming for the head,” I grumbled. “You know, if I ever need to actually use a gun, I’m going to be absolutely useless.”

  About fifteen minutes later, we were walking outside, heading toward the subway. Madison was gushing about the praise she had received from our instructor today. I was massaging my arm and feeling sorry for myself. My dad is on the New York police force, so he’s amazing with a gun, yet I couldn’t fire one to save my life, which I think was kind of the point.

  “You’re going to get better at this,” Madison insisted, breaking into my thoughts.

  “I would love if I didn’t have to do it at all,” I answered, sliding my Metro card through the slot and stepping through. We jogged a bit to make the train that had just pulled in and made our way through the car, looking for some empty seats. We found some near the back and collapsed in them.

  Madison shrugged, pulling out her phone and typing a quick text message to her boyfriend Brody. I was surprised it had taken her this long to have the phone in her hand. The only times the two of them were NOT texting each other were when we were in school, at gun practice and while sleeping. “In a few months, we’re going to be in college! COLLEGE, Zoey! Your dad just wants you to be protected.”

  “Yeah, except for the fact that I can’t exactly keep a gun in my dorm room, Maddie. And we applied to Colombia and NYU. We could live at home if we wanted to.”

  “We are not living at home! Dorms! Roomies! We’ve been talking about this for years,” she said, fiercely. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she smiled. “And as for using a gun, how ’bout this?” She placed the phone in her lap, and used her hands to talk. “What if someone on campus attacked you, and they had a gun, and somehow you got the gun? You should be able to use the actual gun.”

  “I’m surrounded by paranoid people. It’s bad enough that I have gun lessons, self-defense, kickboxing and mixed martial arts classes. Not to mention school, homework and cheer practice. Please do not encourage my dad to add more to my plate,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come on; let’s go.”

  We got off the subway and started making the short walk home in silence. Madison typed furiously on her phone, and I watched a couple kids playing soccer in the street.

  As we walked up to our houses, standing next to each other, I got a strange feeling like someone was walking right behind me. I turned around quickly, and seeing no one there, I frowned. I turned back around and ran right into someone and shrieked.

  “Hello, Z,” Ash Matthews said grinning.

  “It’s Zoey, Ash. Zoey, not Z. My name does contain more than one letter. And stop doing that,” I said, stepping around him.

  “Aw, come on, Z. I know you’re happy to see me,” Ash said, falling into step with us. From the corner of my eye, I saw Madison’s lips quivering with a barely concealed smile.

  “Actually, Ash, not everyone is always happy to see you,” I replied.

  “Not true,” Madison whispered under her breath. I shot a glare in her direction but didn’t say anything.

  “Are you ladies going to the dance on Friday night?” he asked.

  “As head of the dance committee, I’m obviously going to be there,” Madison said, finally looking up from her phone at the same time I said, “No.”

  Ash stopped, sticking his arm out to stop me, his hand curved around my hip. I flinched at the contact between us and raised my head to look at those big gorgeous blue eyes. “Now, why wouldn’t my girl be going to the dance on Friday?”

  “Let go of me,” I said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. “And I’m not your girl.”

  Ash laughed as he let me go. I grabbed Madison’s hand and started dragging her away. “See you at school tomorrow, Z.”

  “You are SO in love with him,” Madison laughed as I yanked her down the street.

  I growled in response. She laughed again before turning to climb the steps of her own brownstone apartment. I stuck my tongue out at her and walked past the three apartments that separated my house from the one Madison’s family shared with a couple other families. I kept my head down as I passed Ash’s house, hoping that he had alrea
dy made his way inside. I didn’t care what Madison said; I was definitely not in love with him. The guy drove me crazy.

  Ash and I had lived next door to each other for as long as I could remember, even before my parents divorced and my mom went back to her hometown in Nebraska where she had grown up. He has always been the bane of my existence. When we were nine, he made me eat a mud pie. When we were eleven, he used to snap the straps of my bra, because I was the only girl that young who needed to actually wear one. And now that we’re eighteen, he continues to drive me absolutely insane.

  But the guy was ridiculously good looking. He was the tallest guy at my high school, no question, with dark brown hair and these stupid big blue eyes that caused most girls at the school (and some teachers) to swoon. He was also the captain of the football AND the baseball teams, which gave him a body that even I couldn’t help but admire.

  I slipped my key into the lock of my own brownstone and felt it click. Some people in my neighborhood had really great jobs, ones where they could afford to live in a brownstone by themselves. But most brownstones were split into apartments amongst at least two families. We had our own brownstone, left behind to my dad when my granddad died. It was garishly big for the two of us, but it was home.

  It was empty at the moment though, but that was to be expected. As a police chief in New York, my dad tended to not be home very often.

  I called for Bandit, my dog. He’s a purebred German shepherd who, despite being a few years old, acted like an overgrown pup. He came bounding down the stairs. I fitted a leash on him and took him for a quick walk around the block, making sure that he did his business. I got Bandit from my mom for my 12th birthday; she had tried to use Bandit as a tool of persuasion during my parents’ divorce. Unfortunately for her, the plan backfired since I chose to remain in New York with my dad.

  When I got back, I dumped the leash in the entryway closet and kicked off my shoes. One flew across the open hallway. I shrugged, not wanting to chase after it. Bandit showed signs of wanting to go after it but instead trotted away toward the basement. I made my way into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see what I could scrounge up for dinner.

  About twenty minutes later, I was plopping down on the couch in front of the television, ready to watch some trashy TV until the Mets game came on. I lifted the burger I’d fixed to my mouth just as my phone lit up beside me, blasting out the theme song from Battlestar Galatica.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, eager to dive into my hamburger.

  “Hey, champ,” came the booming answer, “how did lessons go tonight?”

  “Great!” I forced cheerfulness in my voice.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, definitely! I’m definitely improving!” I assured him.

  “You are such a liar,” he laughed.

  I laughed. “I know. I swear, though, I think I am getting better.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he answered. “Have you eaten?”

  I looked down at my hamburger, which was getting colder each second that I was on the phone with him. “No, but I…”

  “Awesome. Craig gave me tickets to the Mets game tonight. You wanna go?”

  I sat up. “Yeah, definitely.”

  “All right, give me time to get home and we’ll head over there, okay?”

  “Perfect!” I sprang up off the couch and flew into the kitchen, where I wrapped up the burger and stuffed it into the fridge. I went upstairs, put my Mets jersey on, threw my messy brown hair into a ponytail, slipped my worn out Chucks on, and then went downstairs to wait for my dad on the front porch.

  “Zoey-bell!”

  I groaned, putting my head in my hands and wondering, not for the first time, how I got myself into situations with Ash Matthews. I wish he would just move away so I didn’t have to see him. Every. Single. Day. “Go away, Ash.”

  “You going to the game tonight, Z?” Ash said, ignoring me and coming to sit next to me on the stoop.

  “No, I just like wearing my jersey randomly while waiting on my front stoop,” I said, sarcastically.

  “You’re so mean! Why you always gotta be such a heartbreaker with me?” he said, leaning back on his palms. I glanced over, catching a glimpse of his toned abs between his shirt and jeans.

  I blushed and turned away. “If you leave me alone, Ash, I promise I’ll be nicer to you.”

  “Come on, we’ve been next door neighbors for, like, our whole lives. Aren’t we friends?”

  I burst out laughing at that one. “Do you call shooting spit balls at me during fourth period ‘being friends’?” I asked.

  “All fun and games, Z, all fun and games,” Ash said dismissing it with a wave. “Don’t you remember that boys are mean to the girls they like because they’re too awkward to actually do anything about it?”

  I shook my head, looking back at him and getting sucked into those stupid, stupid, stupid blue eyes. “You don’t like me, Ash Matthews.”

  He sat up and leaned toward me. He was only a few inches away from me, and his breath smelled perfect, like spearmint Listerine mouthwash. I sucked in a breath, ignoring how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I rolled my eyes, trying to diffuse the tension between us. I could feel the warmth coming from him, and his blue eyes were fixated on me. “You have a girlfriend, Ash. Heather Carr, remember?”

  “Heather doesn’t hold a candle to you, baby,” he said in a low voice. He came closer, even closer, and my body began to betray me. I leaned toward him and closed my eyes.

  Suddenly, my face was wet. I opened my eyes in shock only to see Ash pointing a small squirt gun at my face. He was laughing hard.

  I wiped my hand across my face. “I hate you so much, Ash.”

  “Lies, all lies,” he said, still laughing. “One day, you’ll admit how much you love me and then maybe you’ll get that kiss that you seem to want so much.”

  I stood up, folding my arms across my chest. “Ugh. You wish.”

  He placed a hand on his chest, looking forlorn. “Oh, but I do wish, Zoey Valentine.”

  I shrieked in frustration, bounding down the stairs, ready to walk all the way to Citi Field if it got me away from him. I ran right into someone with so much force that I bounced back and almost lost my balance. A hand reached out and grabbed me before I reached my imminent doom on the sidewalk.

  “Heya, champ.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said, still fuming.

  “Hey, Mr. Valentine!”

  I groaned again. “Hey, Ash, how’s it going? Season is going pretty well, isn’t it?” Dad asked, eagerly. My dad loved Ash and spent way too much time talking to him about football and baseball. Ash wasn’t just the captain of the football team, he was the quarterback. He wasn’t just the captain of the baseball team, but the star pitcher. He was everything my dad would have wanted for me, if I didn’t have, you know, boobs and stuff.

  “Dad, can we go?” I hissed at him under my breath.

  My dad looked down at me with a familiar look on his face. He thought I was being “dramatic.” My mom had given my dad a lecture when I turned thirteen. She told him all about the “terrors of raising a teenage girl.” Since then, he seemed to take that to heart and every reaction I had to anything was “overdramatic” and “irrational.” “I’m talking to Ash, Z.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I turned to Ash who was trying and failing not to laugh. “God, not you too. My name is Zoey. Z-O-E-Y! Not Z. You can call me champ, if you’d like. But not Z. I am more than one letter.” I glared at Ash. “Will you just stop?”

  Ash shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and started walking backward toward his own house. “One day, Mr. Valentine, your daughter is going to figure it out, and it’s going to be all good from there,” he called before disappearing into his apartment. Sometimes I felt really bad for his neighbors in the brownstone. It was bad enough living next door to him.


  I turned my glare on my dad, who was chuckling. “Why do you have to encourage him?”

  He had already changed into a comfortable outfit, which I was grateful for. I checked his jeans, noticing the bulge of the gun and tried hard not to sigh. My dad brought his gun everywhere with him, and I should have learned not to be so surprised at this point. “That guy is crazy about you, Zoey. I don’t know why you hate him so much.”

  I grabbed his arm and started pulling him in the direction of the subway. “Seriously? No…just, no. He’s awful. Do you know that he told Ol’ Barb the lunch lady that he was pining for her, and she gave him extra pie? I mean, it’s disgusting.” I made a face. “And he just tried to trick me into kissing him and squirted water in my face. Like I wanted to kiss him.”

  “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt,” he said, as we descended the steps.

  “Shut up, Dad,” I said, but only half-heartedly. “Let’s just go enjoy the game, okay?”

  Later that night, while on the subway home after a crushing defeat at the hands of the Yankees and my dad I were arguing different points of the game, I realized how lucky I was. I had a great dad, a great place to live, a great best friend, and I was a senior in high school, with an impressive grade point average which guaranteed me admission into a decent college. Life was good, and the future was looking bright.

  It was the right moment for the shit to hit the fan.

  MOST TEENAGE GIRLS DIDN’T HAVE the sort of schedule that I did. I was in honor society, always making sure that I had the best grades. I helped Madison with whatever cause she was currently on, whether it was decorating for the latest dance or collecting food for the local food banks.

  But most of my time was spent in classes. My dad is extremely protective of me. This wasn’t a bad thing of course, but it had led to me being way more equipped to protect myself than was actually necessary.

  Mondays were karate, Tuesdays were kickboxing, and so on. I was proficient in so many forms of self-defense and fighting that it was almost embarrassing.