Taken By Surprise (Taken Trilogy Book 1)

by Jessica Frances

  TAKEN BY SURPRISE

  By Jessica Frances

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2013 Jessica Frances

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Frances-Author

  Cover Design by MGbookcovers

  Editing by C&D Editing

  Taken By Surprise – Book 1

  ZOE HOLLOWAY

  Chapter One – The Dream

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Monday, March 26th

  I open my eyes to find myself in a crowded room. People surround me, but my eyes blur when I try to focus on any of their faces. I know what is happening to me, though; I’m stuck in a premonition dream. I haven’t had one in a long while, but I know this is a vision of my future. They always feel different to me than regular dreams. I’m more aware in them, almost like I’m awake yet trapped at the same time.

  Fighting off the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach that also comes with the knowledge that I’m able to foresee my own future like this, I focus on paying attention to what I’m about to witness. As well as the blurry people crowding around me, I can tell that I’m in a room that I recognize. The ugly, lime-green lampshade gives it away. I’m in my living room. Feeling calmer now that I know where I am, I focus again on the people around me. I can tell most are facing me, which gives me the feeling that I’m the topic of conversation. Voices bubble around me as I walk forward feeling reluctant to find out what this dream is about. In similar dreams like this, I also had a horrible, sinking feeling, so I know what I’m about to see won’t be good.

  Fear grips ahold of me at the thought of what I’m about to see. We’ve never had so many people in our house before, except maybe for Frank’s wake. My stepdad had many friends, but after he passed away, his friends moved on. Mom and I combined don’t know this many people. So why are there so many strangers in our house?

  I cautiously walk outside and, as I leave the house, I know I won’t be able to access it again. Inside is closed off to me now; I’m stuck out here. Whatever I’m about to see happens here.

  Outside, there are even more people circling me and I wish I could see their faces. I see they’ve all now turned to face me, similar to inside the house, I’m the center of attention and I shiver at how creepy it is. It’s unnerving having so many blank faces staring at me. Usually the faces I see in my dreams aren’t blank and I don’t know why I can’t get a clearer picture of who is around me now.

  Shoving down that fear, I focus on the details that I can see. There are balloons tied to all the trees in my backyard and a long narrow table under our old willow tree with a large birthday cake in the middle.

  I’m at a birthday party! Is this my birthday party? I’m turning twenty-one in two weeks, but I haven’t even thought about having a party, let alone discussed having one. Can this really be all my dream is about?

  I sigh, feeling relief because a party doesn’t seem so disastrous.

  There’s a brightly colored banner moving violently to the side of me as a strong breeze blasts through the yard and the blurry people around me sway with it. When the wind settles, I’m able to read the banner. Written in large, bold letters is “Happy 21st Birthday Zoe!”

  So it is my birthday party. Why am I dreaming about this, though? Other than some weather predictions and early notice of surprise tests through school, I haven’t been dreaming about the future for a long time and this feels different. When I dreamt of small things in the past I didn’t feel a cold dread seeping through me like I’m experiencing now. I know something is coming. Just like I knew something awful was coming in the last two dreams I experienced with this gut clenching fear.

  Again, I look around at the large group of people around me and wish I could see who is here. So many people have turned out for my birthday. I doubt I know half of them, mostly because I simply don’t know this many people. Finally, my dream begins to become clearer and a sharp image of Mom walking through the crowd shines through. Surprisingly she is wearing a beautiful, long dress that swishes around as she moves, showing her ankles and pink wedge heels. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Mom wear anything that isn’t a business suit.

  Another gust of wind blows through the party and this time I notice napkins scattering across the table and another involuntary shiver runs over me. I look up at the sky and take in the dark grey clouds moving ominously overhead. My birthday is often cool, given that it is the beginning of April, but this night looks like it might be a stormy one, too.

  Someone calls out my name and I recognize the voice immediately. It’s my best friend. I turn around and watch Dana making her way towards me. Her face is clear and again I’m relieved to see a face I know. The faceless people surrounding us are giving me the creeps.

  Dana looks striking in a cream dress that perfectly complements her curvy body. I look down at my own outfit and realize I’m only wearing my usual weekend jeans and t-shirt combo. Peering around in my dream I notice that, while I can’t see people’s faces, I can make out what they’re wearing. They look nice and dressed up, so why am I dressed like such a slob? I don’t usually dress to impress, yet that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have made an effort at my own birthday party, especially when I’m bound to be the center of attention. I like to blend in, not stand out in a crowd looking out of place.

  I look back at Dana who has just given me a hug. Strangely, at that moment numbness spreads from within me and her arms touching me make shivers run down my spine. A heavy silence suddenly blankets the party and the unnatural quiet feels eerie and strange. It’s like someone has turned down the volume so I can’t hear anything. I strain my ears, trying to pick up what Dana is saying to me, though it doesn’t help. The silence is ominous and my senses go on high alert.

  Abruptly, a loud crack pierces through the silence. My ears ring with the noise and I cover them with my hands, hoping to deafen the sound; I can still feel the vibrations bouncing around my head. What just happened?

  My vision swims and my legs collapse from under me. While attempting to steady myself by grabbing ahold of Dana, a pain so intense runs through me that I nearly pass out right then and there. I see her scared, panicking face, her eyes piercing mine; I feel like she looks deep inside me, and into my soul. Reluctantly, I break her gaze and lower my eyes to my hands, which still are clutching onto her. My grip feels so tight that I’m sure, if I could register any further pain, I would be feeling it in my hands. The skin on my hands, which had been white from holding on tightly, begins to turn red and I have the sudden, sickening realization that my blood is soaking them. An excruciating pain in my stomach spreads through to my chest and heart. In that moment, my heart stops beating and I am broken. That pain alone nearly drives me to madness. I scream in fear before I lose my voice completely.

  The volume comes crashing back and I sense, rather than hear, everyone’s panic.

  Shock hits me like a ton of bricks because I know I’ve just been shot. I’ve been attacked at my own birthday party. I know without looking down that I’m starting to die. Strong arms roughly grab hold of me and I close my eyes and start to cry. I can no longer breathe and I hope my death will come swiftly.

  I hear Mom’s voice wailing my name in the distance and I struggle to get my eyes back open. When I do, my dream is lost.

  I awake abruptly, gasping for breath. My heart is racing as I shoot up straight in my bed, sweat drenching my body, and it takes several minutes before I’m able to breathe prop
erly. Glancing around at the familiar surroundings that make up my bedroom, I begin to feel safe in my warm bed.

  The front door slams and Mom’s car starts up outside. Her calling out goodbye must have been what woke me up. Taking a deep breath, I fall back on top of my pillows, still reeling from the dream as it floats through my mind. I haven’t had a premonition dream in years, let alone one that leaves me shaking. I force myself to concentrate on piecing together what I remember, trying to catch as many details as possible before they all disappear.

  For as long as I can remember, my dreams have been different from any normal person. I’m able to dream of the future. Strange I know—impossible even, but truly, I’m able to do it. However, the most recent future dreams are several years old, and they were of a more mundane nature. Dreaming of getting shot and dying is definitely a first.

  Is that really how it will end for me? Will I be dead in a couple of weeks?

  A chill envelops my body, regardless of the warm blankets surrounding me, so I sit up from bed and pull away the covers. Placing my feet on the cold floor, I bend down to grab the first pair of clothing suitable for work; black pants and a long sleeved, button up shirt. Throwing on a warm coat to fight the cold morning, I notice the time on the clock stuck on the wall and rush downstairs into the kitchen, quickly popping bread in the toaster. While waiting for the toast, I scramble back up the stairs and into the bathroom. I give myself a moment to take in my morning appearance. Dark circles ring under my light brown eyes and lifeless, dark brown hair that runs past my shoulders. My bangs are flat as I run my fingers through them, noticing the hair there feels damp. I must have been sweating through my dream. I really want to take a shower, but don’t have time.

  I’m usually pale-skinned, to the point where it looks like I haven’t seen the sun in years, but this morning, my cheeks are flushed. My heart is still beating like a hammer from the dream and I have a feeling it won’t be slowing down anytime soon.

  I quickly brush my hair and try to make it look respectable, placing it in a half up braid while letting the rest of it float loosely underneath. It’s how I usually wear my hair to work; I’m nothing if not predictable.

  I hurry back downstairs where my toast is ready and waiting and, while I butter it, I let my thoughts take over.

  Once in a while, I’ll have a dream that foretells something significant in my life. Unfortunately, it’s usually something earth shattering to me.

  One such dream came when I was only five years old. I saw Dad walking out on me and Mom. He had a suitcase in his hand and he wrapped his other hand around me in a hug. He left me crying at my bedroom window as I watched him get into his car and drive away. When I woke up, I tried to stop it; well, as much as a five year old could, but it didn’t work. Six days later, he left. I was devastated. Even now, I sometimes unwittingly relive that feeling of utter loss from when he left. The panic I felt, watching him leave and get into his car, had me crouching down by my bedroom window, crying and hoping he would take his suitcase out of the car and come back. I still feel the sense of abandonment knowing he gave up on his family along with the hurt that he never came back for us. As soon as he left, I never had another dream of him. Sometimes, when I was younger, I used to fear it was because he was dead. Now, I tell myself I don’t care either way. Eventually, life moved on.

  A year and a half later, Mom married Frank. He was Dad’s best friend and had always been around when I was growing up. I wasn’t surprised when they told me they were to be married; I’d already seen myself as a flower girl at their wedding, wearing the prettiest dress I had ever seen myself wear. Mom was happy and so was I. For the first time in a long time, life was good.

  My next significant dream came years later when I was eleven. It was of Mom curled up in her bed and holding me while crying. In her hands she held a photo of Frank while she kept moaning, “he’s gone, he’s gone,” over and over.

  I thought it was Dad all over again.

  I took all the suitcases out of our house and over to Dana’s house. I hid his car keys under my bed, followed him everywhere and even made him be the one to pick me up from school.

  It didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t save Frank from the heart attack he suffered at work three weeks later. At the time I thought it had been my fault; that if I had dreamt it, then it was my duty to change it. Why else would I dream of something so horrific? It was my responsibility to save him and I failed. If I can’t change the outcome of my dreams, why would I have them? Why warn me of something just so it can leave me feeling guilty and angry?

  For that reason, I decided I didn’t want to have them anymore. I wanted to be normal and normal people didn’t get premonitions of future impending doom. Apart from the few watered down dreams of pop quizzes and the weather, I have been saved from any horrible forewarnings, until now.

  How am I supposed to ignore this dream? I’m going to be shot dead at my own birthday party. Why? Who would want to shoot me? I’m a personal assistant to a contract lawyer at a law firm, however for the past six months, I’ve been on filing duty while the “dragon lady” I work for is on maternity leave. Converting physical files into digital ones is not the most exciting thing on the planet and not a motive to kill someone. I rarely have any contact with clients and I have nothing to do with what goes on in the courts. I live a boring and quiet life.

  Random shootings don’t happen very often around here, so why would someone come to my party and try to kill me? If it isn’t a random shooting, then that only leaves the reality that someone is trying to kill me. Who would want to do that?

  The bad feeling about this that has been with me since waking from the dream begins to increase and, if there is one thing I know, it’s that my instincts are usually spot on.

  Chapter Two – The Best Friend

  I go through the motions of going to work and then actually working. I’m not sure what I’m meant to do about the dream. Fight it and do whatever I can to stop it? Or go on a holiday and enjoy what time I actually have left? Or ignore it? Given my past, it sounds crazy to ignore it, but why would someone want me dead? Why would someone shoot me? That sounds just as crazy, too.

  In less than two weeks, I might be dead; shouldn’t I have a bucket list or something? What if I do two weeks of insane things and then I don’t die? What if my dream doesn’t come true? I haven’t had one so full on like that for years, maybe it’s wrong? Or what if all I have to do is make sure one thing changes, like I never have a party. Will that make a difference? When I’ve tried to change things before, I was only a kid; now, I’m an adult. I have more power and control over my life, so will I be able to avoid this?

  Someone brushes passed me and I snap back to my surroundings, realizing I’m already at the entrance of MAY; the local café/bar. It’s actually called Mad About You, but all the locals just call it MAY. The owner is obsessed with the TV show. It’s one of the most eclectic places I know. It has the look of a café—nice couches, exotic coffees on offer, loads of people sitting around with laptops and books—but technically, it’s also a bar.

  They sell alcohol, have sports games up on the TV and usually draw a crowd of tradesmen just after lunch to about the time when Dana and I arrive at six o’clock. It was the first place Dana and I met up at when we both got jobs working in the city and now it’s our place, where we always go to hangout. The barman, Sam, is the older brother of Dana’s boyfriend, Drew. Even though we’re underage, he serves us a beer when his boss isn’t around.

  Dana works two blocks from me and we meet for a couple of finally-finished-for-the-day-lets-unwind-and-forget-we-have-to-do-it-again-tomorrow drinks as many Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as possible. She manages a small book store that is fighting to stay open with competition from the big chain stores taking over and eBooks becoming more popular. This means that, when I find her at the bar, she usually has her nose buried in some new book. The noise and distraction around us would be too much for me to be able to conce
ntrate, but Dana can lose herself in the pages and often our conversation will begin with what is happening in the story she is reading; what characters are interesting and so on. She loves to read anything and everything and that is one of the many reasons I love her so much. She always goes into any situation—and book—wanting to love it. Therefore, not surprisingly, she usually does.

  However, today I find her sitting on a stool at the bar with her chin in her hands rather than a book. A nearly empty light beer is at her elbow and her coat is still wrapped tightly around her with her vibrant, wavy, red hair spilling out over her back in its usual, unruly fashion. No matter what Dana does with it, there is no way to tame it. Her stockings and shoes are mud splattered and I watch her legs dangle limply off the stool she is sitting on, not quite reaching the floor. She takes another long swig of her beer and I quickly move over to her. It’s unusual for her to be drinking without me.

  As I approach, I can tell Sam is saying something to her, but whatever it is isn’t cheering her up any. Dana loves to smile. Whenever she sees me looking down and sad, she’ll give me a big smile and, no matter how I’m feeling or for whatever reason, I can’t help smiling back. She has that power over me and, similarly, her frown is enough to make me worry and feel upset.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” I drop my handbag to the ground and signal to Sam that I’ll have the same as Dana while resting my other hand on Dana’s arm.

  Before she answers me, she takes another mouthful of beer. That is definitely not a good sign. “Hank came into the store today.” Dana sighs heavily as if merely saying that sapped the energy right out of her. Hank is the owner and he rarely comes into the store. She doesn’t hate him because Dana never hates anybody, however she definitely doesn’t like him. “He said our sales aren’t good enough. That we should be pushing books onto people, recommending anything, even if we know it’s not what they’re looking for. I don’t think I can trick my customers into getting a book that I know they won’t like. I have a lot of regulars who trust me, Zee. I can’t lie to them.”