IF | A Novel

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “The kitchen is stocked with basic needs. Water, fruit, and the like.” Her eyes scan the length of me. “No knives though. If you’re planning to commit suicide, you’ll need to break a mirror and slit your wrists. Or tie sheets together and hang yourself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I mutter.

  After pointing out which room is mine, my suitemate disappears without another word. Alone, I release a deep breath and notice my bags have already been placed neatly on the carpeted floor. My gaze drifts over the luxurious, king-size bed.

  There are no hospital sheets here. The white cotton material is without a doubt Egyptian, and a minimum of fifteen hundred thread count. My eyes roam, searching for the restraints, but I come up empty. All that decorate the bed are taupe and steel- blue bolster pillows and fine linens. I look around my luxurious hotel-like surroundings.

  “What is this place?” I whisper into the emptiness.

  Twisting around, I drop into a wingback chair and trail my focus over the rest of the room. Mirrored side tables flank the large bed, decorated with lamps, vases of fresh cream flowers, and stone Buddha statues. A velvet-cushioned storage bench sits at the end of the bed, most likely holding extra pillows and blankets. It’s all so elegant and formal.

  An oval glass desk and leather chair have been placed in front of the window, positioned to overlook the meditation gardens.

  “No knives, but there sure as hell is a whole lot of glass,” I say to myself.

  My attention drops to the circular side table next to the chair. It’s decorated with a silver tray holding two glasses, bottles of high-end water, and multiple pill and vitamin containers. A medication schedule outlining when to take the tablets has been handwritten on elegant stationery, along with a printed calendar of my sessions and treatments.

  I pick up one of the orange bottles and read the label. A prescription for anti-psychotic medication stares back at me. I shake the full container before returning it to its place.

  “Home sweet home.”

  Standing, I grab my bags and start to unpack. It takes me all of ten minutes to place the few possessions I was permitted to bring into the built-ins located in the walk-in closet. After I’m organized, I waste another forty minutes thoroughly enjoying the rain showerhead in my private bathroom, before getting out and wiping away the beads of water.

  Since I wasn’t allowed to bring my hair dryer, I squeeze my long, dark strands with a fluffy towel, hoping it will absorb most of the moisture. After a few attempts, I scowl at the clumps and waves forming, and give up, hanging the wet towel on the rack.

  Walking to the window, I study the grounds covered in a heavy layer of fresh snow. My stare follows the uphill lines of the breathtaking Swiss Alps. The snow-covered mountains are picturesque. If I wasn’t being confined, it would be like living in a postcard.

  Just when I start to relax, I’m hit with a sudden burst of cold air.

  I tense, as a familiar pair of lavish black leather dress shoes stops in front of me, setting off the goose bumps on my arms. I know the drill; I don’t look at him. Instead, I inhale deeply and my heart pounds wildly in my chest as I hover over an abyss of fear.

  “Not now, please,” I exhale, hoping the voices and visions will retreat.

  “I’ve found you,” he murmurs, leaning in to place his lips at my ear. “You can run, but you can’t hide, little one.”

  I continue to ignore him and focus on the expensive wing-tip shoes.

  Reaching out, he gently touches my hair, letting it spill through his fingers. “You were blonde a few months ago. No?” he asks in a deep masculine voice. “This color suits you. He will be pleased.” He moans harshly.

  Moistening my lips, I snap my head to the side, pulling my hair out of his hand.

  Strong, warm fingers grasp my chin, forcing me to remain still. “The time has come for you to abandon all hope.”

  I lose my breath at his familiar words. Even though it’s not the first time he’s visited, his warning causes my fear to rise to absurd levels. Attempting to control my panic, I squeeze my eyes closed.

  When they reopen, I look around frantically, but the demon is gone.

  Trying to calm my heart rate, I pull in deep breaths and talk myself down, reminding myself he wasn’t real—he was just a vision. One that keeps haunting me. When my nerves settle a bit, I turn back to the window, hoping the scenery will keep my anxiety levels even.

  I look around the grounds for anything suspicious, but see nothing out of the ordinary, until my drifting gaze stops on a dark form straddling one of the lounge chairs near the pond. The ache of fright is still present in my chest; I pull the sleeves down protectively on my sleeping thermal and curl my fingers around the material to help ground me.

  After a few moments of gawking at the figure outlined in shadows, I realize it’s a man.

  Seeing no swirling aura around him, I relax.

  Human.

  Not demon.

  I release a long, grateful breath and let go of my sleeves. I’m just about to step away from the window when he reaches

  into the pocket of his jacket. Transfixed, I watch as he pulls out something black. A crayon maybe? A few seconds later, he bends his tall frame forward, and mindlessly works his hand over a sketch pad, leaving traces of charcoal with each stroke. Drawn to his swift movements, I follow each shady line marring the pure white paper. I’m too far away to make out what he’s sketching, but the intensity with which he draws captivates me.

  The rising silver moon highlights his raven hair. It’s shaggy on top, and cropped around his neck. Stylish. Sexy even. I notice thick silver rings on each of his middle fingers.

  From this viewpoint, it’s hard to see his face, but I’m able to make out the sharp angles of his jawline.

  The stranger snaps his body back and studies the work on his paper, giving me a fuller view of his face. I lean forward to get a clearer look, hitting my forehead against the glass.

  “Crap!” I rub my forehead, not realizing how close I’d moved toward the window.

  It’s almost as if he’s luring me in.

  Needing a reprieve from his pull, I twist to grab a bottle of water, but something stops me. Every cell in my body awakens as my gaze slowly shifts back to the window and slams into an intense, emerald-green gaze. The color is so lush and vivid, my heart skips a beat.

  I become entranced, swept away with one look. No air moves in or out of my lungs as I hold my breath. A shiver runs bone deep, and my world tilts as everything but him fades.

  He looks at me not as though I’m crazy, like most people do, but as if he’s fascinated by me. Intrigued even.

  I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu when his verdant eyes widen in recognition. Overwhelmed, I grab both sides of the heavy silk drapes and yank them shut. The abrupt motion ceases my trance, allowing me to finally take in air.

  Struggling, I search my memories for a spark, trying to re- member where I’ve seen him, but come up with nothing. I shiver at the echo of his stare, feeling his gaze still in my bones.

  I stumble over to the orange bottles on the side table. With a shaky hand, I pick up the medication and take the tablets and vitamins as prescribed by Dr. Foster. I convince myself my mind is playing tricks on me again.

  I crawl into bed, and it’s not long before the medication causes my lids to become heavy. I steel myself, ready for the nightmares I know will plague me throughout the night.

  Like every night for the past two years, just as I fall asleep, my dreams turn against me when a familiar deep voice whispers, “Lasciate ogne speranze.”

  “Abandon all hope,” I mutter, as I slip into the darkness of my mind.

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  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people to thank. It truly does take an incredible team to be able to pull off publishing a novel. So, if you’ll indulge me . . . To my husband and daughter, thank you for loving me and shar
ing your time with the characters I write and being understanding of my deadlines. It’s because of your love and support that I have embarked on this journey. I am forever grateful to you both. Hang Le at By Hang Le, thank you for your friendship, your beauty (both inside and out), and years of creative partnership. This cover—I can’t even. Together, we’ve done some pretty special things over the years, but this cover takes them all. Liz Ferry at Per Se Editing, what’s left to say? You are truly amazing. Without you, these stories would not exist. At least, not the beautiful way they do. Thank you for everything. Colleen Oppenheim, I adore you. Sarah Hershman, and the team at Hershman Rights Management, thank you. Kiki Chatfield, Colleen Oppenheim, Tiffany Hernandez, and the entire Next Step PR, team thank you all so much for all your hard work and dedication. A HUGE thank you to Randi’s Rebels. I have the best reader group a girl could ask for. You keep me sane when I need it, provide me with endless book recommendations, and fill my days with man candy and laughs. Rebels Rock! Sara Dustin, over the years, you’ve held my hand, wiped the tears, and warned me not to get wrapped up in my Lincoln. Even though I’ve never listened, I’ve always heard you. And, to my Lincoln, just know the ifs still linger. Thanks to my family and friends—I love you all. To the readers, as always, thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for continuing to take chances on me and the stories I write. Thank you for trusting me with your imagination. I’m honored to be part of your literary world.

  About the Author

  Randi Cooley Wilson is an award-nominated, bestselling author of The Revelation Series, The Royal Protector Academy Novels, The Dark Soul Trilogy and the upcoming Knightress Series. Randi’s books have been featured on Good Morning America, British Glamour Magazine, USA Today, and in the Emmy’s Gifting Suite. Her books range in genre, and include contemporary romance, urban/high fantasy, and paranormal romance, for both young adult and adult readers. Randi makes stuff up, devours romance books, drinks lots of wine and coffee, and has a slight addiction to bracelets. She resides in Massachusetts with her daughter and husband and their fur-baby, Coco Chanel.

  Visit randicooleywilson.com for more information about Randi or her books and projects.

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