Redesigning Fate (Revive Series Book 1)

by A. M. Wilson

  Redesigning Fate

  A. M. Wilson

  Redesigning Fate

  Copyright © 2015 by A. M. Wilson

  Cover Design by Kim Black at TOJ Publishing Services

  All Rights Reserved.

  Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  To all the jerks,

  We’re better off without you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Time is running out. She wasn’t supposed to get away. Why did she fucking get away? I was too cocky. Blinded. Marlena gained the upper hand, along with beating the hell out of my face. Now, I have two options. Either go after her, or get the hell out of dodge.

  My foot presses deeper on the gas pedal; the car headed the only direction I know is safe: North.

  Canada.

  If I can cross the border before she finds her way out of those woods, I’m free. If I’m lucky, she’ll never find her way out. She’ll die as I intended. Like she deserves. Those woods have a ten-mile radius of tree coverage. One way in and one way out. There’s a lot of area to cover before she’d hit the convenience store twenty-five miles down the highway. She’d pass out from exhaustion and starvation and that would be that.

  There’s just one thing left to do before I go.

  Up ahead, the lights of an all-night gas station illuminate the road, and I yank the wheel to the left, drive the car off the highway and onto the concrete drive. Grabbing the thick manila envelope beside me, I scrawl the now familiar address onto the front. No return address necessary. The large blue mail bin waits beside my idling car, and I roll down my window. With one last look at the envelope, one final moment of hesitation, I drop the package inside. Gripping the wheel tightly, I speed away before I hear the telltale thunk it landed safely.

  All the answers are inside that envelope. I hope the intended person reads it and understands. I wasn’t always this way. Things weren’t always headed down this path. But a series of wrong choices brought us here. Maybe a series of right ones can bring us back.

  I may have intended for her to die tonight, but if by some miracle she doesn’t, I want everything spelled out for her. When I see her again, there won’t be any more questions. She won’t need answers. She also won’t be able to deny that we aren’t so different after all.

  We belong together. One way or another, we will be together. It’s the way fate intended for us to be.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re not fucking invited. Now leave,” he bellowed inches from my face, glaring at me with that hard stare he had perfected over his short life. Grown men couldn’t make a face as frightening as he could.

  “You can’t be serious. How can you have a party here and not invite your own girlfriend? What are you really planning on doing?”

  He groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. Irritation was radiating off him in waves.

  “It’s just me and the guys, a few bottles of liquor, and some video games. That’s it. You can sit at home, and I’ll call you in the morning.” His arms crossed expectantly, waiting for me to relent as I usually did.

  Not this time.

  I’d started this argument, and I would see it through. I was finished being the weak pushover I’d been for so long. Steel sheathed my spine, and I lifted my chin with my newfound inner strength. “No. I’m sick of this shit. I want to come too. Maybe I want to drink and play video games.”

  “Fuck that! You want to be here to spy on me,” he screamed, droplets of spit spraying from his mouth. “I want time with my friends, and you’ll stay at home until I want to hang out with you.”

  “I’m sick of playing your games. You want to have a ‘guy’s night out,’ fine! Have your fucking guy’s night out. Carly and I will go to the bar.” I shouldn’t have told him my impromptu plans. I should have just done what I wanted to do, but the anger rushing my veins made me antagonize him before I thought through my actions.

  “I hate that bitch. You’re not going anywhere with her. Why would you want to go to the bar? So you can pick up a dude?” He stepped closer, so close we were nose to nose. I knew I was pushing him, but I was sick of backing down, sick of giving in all the time. I wanted control back in my life. “You’ll leave and sit at home like a good little girl.”

  “I am not leaving! If I can’t hang out with Carly, then I’m hanging out here!”

  “The hell you are!” He lunged forward, grabbed a handful of my hair, and hauled me out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

  My scalp screamed in agony. I gripped his hands, trying to relieve the pain in my roots. My spine burned with the force of his hands jerking my neck. I stumbled after him with tears stinging my eyes, blurring my vision.

  “Let me go! I’ll go on my own! You’re hurting me!” I screamed, but his willingness to listen had evaporated.

  He tugged me towards the stairs by my hair, and my heels dug into the carpet, trying to find traction to stop the descent. He jerked forward suddenly. My feet scrambled for purchase as he sent me somersaulting down the staircase. As I fell, my hair remained trapped in his grasp, sending my head craning backward, unable to keep up with my body as I tumbled down the stairs. He let go of my hair with a thrust, speeding up my descent. I hit the landing with a loud crack.

  My head spun, dazed. His thundering steps came after me, and I tried to roll over, attempting to crawl away. Blood trickled down my forehead into my left eye. My trembling hand struggled to swipe it away; instead, smearing it along my cheek. He reached me before I had made it a foot and grabbed ahold of my hair once more. My teeth clanked as he violently yanked me to my feet, putting his face within inches of my own.

  “Bet you wish you would have left the first time I asked you to!” he spat, drops landing on my swelling face. “Now get the fuck out!”

  He opened the door, throwing me outside by the back of my head. I fell to my knees on the porch, placing a protective hand over my face. “Don’t bother coming back.” His parting gift was a hard kick to my abdomen, knocking the air out of my lungs in a whoosh.

  On hands and knees, I crawled forward putting space between his front door and myself. I hadn’t recovered enough to walk yet, but I needed to get off that porch. My aching, bruised body crawled behind the giant oak tree in his front yard, pulling myself up to sit with my back against it. After several shallow breaths, I attempted to center myself, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. He’d never gotten that angry in the past. His hands had
only hurt me once before, and until this day, I believed it was an accident. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  My hands shook as I ran them over my body, assessing my injuries.

  As my head cleared, the predicament I found myself in hit me hard. He had thrown me outside in the middle of December with no purse, coat, or shoes. A light snow was coating the ground beneath me, and I was quietly thankful we’d been experiencing what would be considered a mild winter in Minnesota. My cell phone and keys were both in my purse. There was no way I would risk asking him for my things to get home. I was afraid of what he would do if he saw me standing on his porch again. It had to be nearing midnight.

  I took another deep, calming breath and started the five-mile trek home through the snow.

  The next day, Carly drove me to his house to pick up my purse and my car. His truck was in the driveway, a sign he was home. I trekked up to the front door and knocked.

  No answer.

  I rang the doorbell, thinking he hadn’t heard me. Still no answer. I twisted the knob and found the door unlocked. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t ever let myself in. Tentatively stepping through the foyer, I checked the downstairs for him.

  “Hello?” I called out. He didn’t answer. I’d just grab my things and leave if he wasn’t around to give them to me. I preferred it this way. His bedroom was on the second floor where I knew I had left my purse.

  As I pressed open the door, my eyes instantly locked on the image of Travis, naked, and pounding into his neighbor, our friend Christine. Heat rose in my gut, knocking the breath from my lungs. My hands balled into trembling fists at my sides, a scream welling up in my throat. I tried to choke it back down.

  “Oh baby, harder,” she cried, oblivious to me standing a few feet away. He turned around, glancing over his shoulder as if he sensed my presence. Seeing his eyes, his expression, I knew. He orchestrated this. The visual in front of me and his satisfaction almost hurt more than the physical pain.

  “Your purse is on the kitchen table,” he said with a slight smirk. Without missing a beat, he went back to fucking her, effectively dismissing me.

  The memory lay thick and suffocating in my mind, and I shake my head vigorously as if the movement will erase my thoughts. That was my old life. The one I finally left behind for a piece of the life I deserve. The one I’d barely had a glimpse of before I lost it in a mess of confusion and pain.

  Today is not a day for dwelling. Today is the first day of my new life.

  A soft breeze blows across my face from the open bathroom window, bringing with it the scent of warm spring air, and I suck in a quick breath through my nose. I exhale more forcefully than necessary before going back to my makeup. After the quick, nauseating, and heartbreaking end to my three-year relationship, I made some drastic life changes. One of which was moving into a new apartment in a different city, one hundred and fifty miles away. What better way to start a new life than move halfway across the state?

  My old apartment resided in a quiet suburban neighborhood—the kind where families raised their small children, nested, and upon coming of age, retired. Where music after dark was frowned upon, and more often than not, the cops were called in for the disturbance. Where every neighbor looked out for the other, unless they thought you were a troublemaker. Then they didn’t look out for you, they looked at you, phone in hand, waiting for the opportunity to call in a squad.

  I’m young—not quite twenty-two—single, formerly social and energetic (the last two I’m working on rediscovering; the first one I’m perfectly okay with keeping). I needed a neighborhood more suitable for me. Apartments filled with people my age. Not crotchety, nosey old folks and babies crying at all hours of the night. A small stroke of luck found me an apartment opening near the heart of the city, and I took a blind leap of faith and signed the lease.

  With the slight drawback being, I needed a job to afford to live here.

  Which brings me to another impulsive life change. Prior to finding an apartment, and before I consciously decided to uproot and relocate, I quit my stuffy job in customer service working for an old, balding, asshole of a boss who couldn’t even remember my name after four years of employment. When my brain caught on to my actions, I threw out applications to any law firm who’d take me and put my recently acquired Paralegal degree to good use. After several full days’ search, I landed an interview for a well-known criminal defense law firm, Brooks & Boulder, LLP, in downtown Minneapolis.

  Running the flatiron through my hair a final time, I inspect myself in the mirror. Since the breakup, I’ve been fighting with my self-confidence, but even I can admit that today I look somewhat pretty.

  My long chestnut brown hair is perfectly straight, not a naturally frizzy hair out of place. Bold mascara coats my long lashes, and the golden eye shadow dusted on my lids makes my dark brown eyes pop. I throw on a gold, three-chain necklace, which layers from my neck to the swell of my breasts, and slip matching bangles on my wrist. As I finger the small compact on my dresser, my hand shakes ever so slightly; the anxiety I’ve dealt with my entire life constantly holding me in its grasp.

  Take a deep breath, Marlena. I walk toward the open window, relishing in the warm, fresh air. The anxiety subsides.

  Landing this job is essential to moving on with my life. I have enough money saved up to pay about three months’ rent and bills. Without this job, I’ll be back to square one, which would add gasoline to my burning anxiety. I’m on my own. No family to fall back on. Just the small sum in my bank account and me.

  The past three years are haunting me; it’s time I move out of my comfort zone and knock ‘em dead, as my friend Carly would say if she were here. Which she isn’t, because she’s sleeping off last night’s booze-a-thon I had to decline to get a restful sleep.

  My cell phone chimes from its place on my nightstand alerting me to my appointment in exactly thirty minutes. I tug the brush through my hair one last time, spritz on my favorite Harvey Prince perfume, and bustle out of the small bathroom.

  The mid-March sky is bright blue and cloudless, a warm breeze blowing through the air spreading the smell of damp earth and new growth. I clamber into my newly leased Ford Focus—another impulsive yet somewhat necessary life change, seeing as my ancient Toyota landed itself in a rusty junkyard a week before my move—plug in my music library, and turn on the air conditioning. Today is uncharacteristically warm, and my anxiety is causing me to sweat.

  The drive over is smooth, with light traffic flowing down I-35, and I pull into the parking lot at the front of the law firm with just enough time to smear on lip gloss before heading in.

  A concrete walkway in the front of the building leads to a tinted revolving door. Pushing my way through, I step into a main floor lobby. Beneath my feet, the floor gleams with cream tiles speckled with flecks of gold. Espresso colored wood walls and exposed beams give the room a masculine, sophisticated look. My gaze roams upward to a loft area overlooking the lobby. It looks to be a library or conference room of sorts. Above me, a huge, crystal chandelier is throwing colorful prisms across the ceiling. Floor to ceiling windows make up the wall behind me, letting in just the right amount of sunlight on the dark blue chair and table pairings lining the perimeter. I’ve never been in a place so classy and professional, and I’m out of my element. The familiar anxiousness creeps its way back in, starting in my chest as if someone is holding a candle flame beneath my lungs.

  The snapping voice of the receptionist interrupts my admiration of the surrounding area, and I startle. Turning towards the oversized desk in the center of the lobby, I take in the petite girl glaring at me. Her long blonde hair is a mass of waves and loose curls tumbling down her shoulders. She has small features, almost pixie like, and she’s glaringly attractive. Although, she’d be more attractive if she wasn’t arching one perfectly threaded brow disdainfully in my direction.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Rollins?” she squawks rudely into the receiver. “Did you not get an education before
they threw you in there? She is not available right now.”

  The receptionist pauses, presumably listening to whomever is on the phone, before she lets out a disgruntled huff. “Is that a threat?” she snaps. “You’re seriously going to sit there and threaten my life? Is whatever sentence you’re serving not long enough for you?”

  Who is this girl, and whom is she talking to? I’m not trying to be judgmental before I even get my foot in the door, but I was hoping to land a job somewhere that has morals. She’s making me second-guess my interview with every word out of her mouth.

  “I don’t have time to sit and chat. I have work to do. Ms. Bryant will call you when she’s available.” The noisy blonde slams the phone down before glaring at me. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here for an eleven o’clock interview. My name is Marlena Aldrich,” I respond calmly. This woman is not getting me all ruffled up before this meeting. I can accomplish that without her help, thank you very much.

  “Take a seat,” is her dismissive reply.

  “Great, thank you.” I say, shooting for polite. I may have failed that endeavor with the slight edge I couldn’t keep out of my tone.

  Seating myself in a chair by the window, I make myself comfortable. I meticulously planned my morning in hopes of not having to wait too long for my interview. The wait leaves me time to think, and thinking at a time like this leaves me anxious. My legs quiver, and the empty pit in my stomach opens, igniting me with a slow burn starting low in my gut.

  Another deep breath, Marlena, I remind myself.

  In an attempt to focus on anything to keep the anxiety at bay, my eyes follow the few people milling around the lobby but fail to find anything to grab my attention. At the table and chairs to my left, a man and a woman are deep in conversation. My view of him is mostly obstructed by the way she’s positioned in her seat. At most, I glimpse a dark sneaker, black pants, and a relaxed, tan arm resting on the chair. Is he having an interview out here? I hope not. Glancing down at my black skirt and satiny top, I suddenly feel overdressed. His outfit looks so casual; at least, what I can see of it anyway. Maybe he’s a client or a friend. Perhaps a boyfriend.