Enthrallment: (Enthrallment Series Book 1)

by Meg Evans

  ENTHRALLMENT

  Meg Evans

  Copyright © 2020 by Meg Evans

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, scanning and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020909125

  ISBN: 978-0-578-69611-9 (pbk.)

  ISBN: 978-0-578-69612-6 (ebook)

  Edited by Emma O’Connell

  Cover design by Mila Milic

  Printed in the United States of America

  First edition: August 2020

  www.megevansauthor.com

  CHAPTER one

  Don’t go in there! He’ll kill you!”

  My heart is pounding and my legs are jittering nervously. Filled with panic, I’m hidden behind my hands, peeking through my fingers. I can’t watch her die; she’s made it so far—she has to live. But the second I scream the warning, she goes inside and gets strangled. The movie is over. I drop onto the soft cushions with a heavy sigh.

  “I told her not to go inside, damn it!” I shake my head in disbelief. “How can you be that stupid?”

  Most of the horror movies I’ve seen ended in the exact same way—making me feel frustrated at their final scene. Yet I always choose this genre on Netflix anyway. In fact, I’m going to watch another one tonight.

  Before I get consumed by another terrifying film, I need to stretch out a bit. My legs are stiff and my butt tingles; I’ve been nestled on the couch for too long. I stamp across the spacious living room to the open kitchen. The only noises now are the gurgling from the refrigerator and the swinging of the pendulum of my aunt’s grandfather clock. The neighborhood where I live is so quiet that hearing a car passing by after eight p.m. is a miracle.

  I come up to the pantry, which is my favorite place in the kitchen, and open the door wide. I stare at its contents for a good while, biting my lip, making up my mind.

  Why is it always such a tough choice for me between Doritos, Oreos, and pretzels?

  I’m unexpectedly jolted out of my food-searching trance by the wails of a siren. The violent sound assaults my ears, getting louder and louder. That’s odd. I’ve only seen one ambulance here, two years ago, when our neighbor across the street had a sudden and severe asthma attack.

  I turn around to face the living room again. Rapidly flashing blue and red lights invade the living room through the half-drawn curtains of its windows. A knot forms in my stomach when I realize that the ambulance has stopped outside my house.

  Something must have happened to Maddie or Cynthia!

  I drop an open bag of Doritos. The chips spill onto the floor and crunch under my feet. I don’t care about the mess; I need to know what’s going on.

  I dash upstairs, my adrenaline pumping like it’s trying to escape. Halfway up the stairs, I bump into my cousin, Maddie, rushing in the opposite direction. Her eyes are wide.

  “There’s an ambulance next door!” she shouts.

  That would make sense. We live in a two-family house, and the other side of the wall is home to a nosy old lady whose favorite activity is gawking at people through her kitchen window.

  A sudden relief washes over me. As much as I’m sorry for the neighbor, I’m glad it wasn’t my family who called 911.

  “My God. I thought for a moment that—”

  Maddie isn’t interested in what I have to say. She doesn’t even pause, but scoots to the window closest to the front door. She opens the curtain and discreetly peeps outside.

  “The paramedics have already gone inside. I can’t see anyone; only the ambulance.”

  I slink back down the stairs and stand by her side, peering out of the window as well. A moment later my aunt, Cynthia, joins us. I don’t have to see her to know that she’s shown up. I can smell the jasmine and rose notes of her fragrance.

  “Poor Mrs. McConelly,” Cynthia says, standing behind us. “I hope that everything’s alright.”

  “She seemed just fine in the morning when she was scolding me for talking too loud on the phone,” Maddie blurts out.

  Cynthia throws her a meaningful look. “Maybe she was right.”

  “Mom, quiet hours end at six a.m.; I left the house at seven-thirty.” Maddie tosses her head side to side.

  “Are you sure you weren’t shouting?” Cynthia insists.

  “I’m sure.” Maddie rolls her eyes.

  “Zara, honey, have you seen anything?”

  “No, I was by the pantry when I heard the ambulance. I ran upstairs to check on you guys first. When I came back down here it was too late; everyone was already inside her house.”

  “That’s so nice of you to check on us, sweetie.” My aunt grabs me by the shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze.

  We keep looking out the window. After lingering ten minutes, two men emerge from the house, pushing a gurney with a black bag on it. It must be poor Mrs. McConelly. A chill runs up my spine.

  “Oh my God,” Cynthia and Maddie say simultaneously. My aunt’s eyes immediately well up with tears, whereas Maddie’s jaw drops open.

  I saw her just yesterday, and now she’s dead. I won’t meet her on the street ever again. I won’t see her decrepit smile or her struggles to open the gate. I won’t hear her complaints about me idling in the driveway for longer than the allowable two minutes. She’s gone.

  I’m suddenly aware of the mortality that we all possess and could lose at any moment. Staring at the black bag, I can feel deep in my gut that some changes are on the horizon.

  CHAPTER two

  My chest heaves as I dart through the woods, urged on by instincts of self-preservation.

  There’s no sign of life in the vicinity. The rustle of bushes and the howl of the wind are the only sounds that reach my ears. I’m alone and lost in this dark, hostile maze of thousands of trees. The woods are shrouded by the mist, making everything hazy. I must be very careful not to stumble over one of the ground-knotted roots. I can’t fall. My heart is thumping. Even though I feel as if I’ve been here before, adrenaline courses through my veins. I can hear my own rapid breathing.

  Out of nowhere, a scattered beam of light filters through the treetops and illuminates the path I’m bolting down. I gaze up, but the branches of the densely-packed trees are tightly interlocked like enormous arms and don’t leave enough space for me to spot what’s up there.

  Is that my rescue? Am I safe now?

  I stumble to a stop. My chest rapidly heaves up and down. I bend down and rest my hands on my knees, trying to collect my breath. The air is heavy and humid, which makes it difficult to breathe. The mist slowly dissipates and reveals the soggy ground I’ve sunk into. Oddly, the sound of the wind in the leaves has ceased, ushering in a deafening silence. Everything is unnaturally still. As I look around the quiet woods, I notice a mysterious silhouette about fifty yards away.

  Someone is watching—or perhaps waiting.

  I can tell that it’s a man by the figure’s stature. He’s leaning against a thick trunk.

  My nerves are on edge. Even from afar, I can sense his piercing look penetrating me. From the moment that I see him, a spark ignites in me, overwhelming me with a feeling of combustion. His gaze is both alluring and frightening. My heart tells me to approach, but my mind tells me to flee. The battle within me
to determine my next move has me at a standstill. Suddenly, I hear my name.

  ZARA…

  Do I know him? I hear it again.

  ZARA…

  This time it’s closer, as if he is speaking directly into my ear.

  Who is he? What is he? The questions race through my mind.

  ZARA!

  Someone is yanking my arm. “Zara, wake up!”

  I lurch up, shivering uncontrollably. Panic overwhelms me, and my heart is racing in my chest. The first things I notice are Maddie’s heart-shaped face and her big amber eyes staring down at me.

  “What happened?” I blink a couple of times as my eyes adjust to the light. I see my white desk in the corner of the room and my purple blanket across my legs. I’m tucked safely in my bed. It was just a nightmare.

  “You weren’t downstairs, so I came to your room to wake you up. When I got here, I heard you mumbling then saw you twitching, as if you were having a seizure.” Maddie’s face is pale, and her eyes are concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “What was I mumbling?” I ask, pushing my dark hair away from my face.

  “I don’t know; I couldn’t understand you at all.”

  I let out a sigh as the details of the dream come flooding back. It’s the same one as always. It’s haunted me for two months now, ever since Mrs. McConelly died. Whenever I wake up, I’m relieved that it was just a nightmare, but at the same time I want to go back to sleep, drawn to the mysterious man.

  “Don’t worry. It was just a bad dream,” I assure her.

  “If you say so.” She stares at my sweaty face. She’s so close that I can see the freckles dotting her naturally blushed cheeks. “You watch horror movies too often.”

  “No way will you make me watch your romantic comedies.”

  “Oh, no! You just hurt my feelings,” she says, exaggeratedly upset.

  “Shut up. I know you don’t care.”

  “Nah, I don’t.” She pulls away. “Anyway, you scared the hell out of me, but since you’re okay, I’ll leave you alone. Also, I think you should get up if you don’t want to be late for school.”

  My eyes immediately shift to the electronic clock on my nightstand. It’s almost seven a.m.; I have about thirty minutes to get ready to leave.

  “Shit!” I punch my fists into the bed. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” I shove the blanket aside and jump to my feet.

  “Well, in my defense, I did come to wake you up,” Maddie points out as I dart past her. “Plus, that’s what they invented alarms for—so that you can wake up at the exact time that you want.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I rummage through my closet to find the least wrinkled clothes.

  “See you downstairs.” She swiftly leaves my bedroom.

  Forty-five minutes later, I run out of the house and slam the front door shut. I fiddle with the keys to my old red Volkswagen Golf, trying to unlock it, then raise my head for a fraction of a second and take a quick peep over the wooden fence which separates our section of the front yard from the part that belonged to our dead neighbor. Something is different there, but I’m unable to tell what it is right away. I squint to see better, and then it dawns on me that the ‘FOR SALE’ sign, which has been stuck in the ground for the last two months, is gone.

  I guess we have new next-door neighbors, I think to myself while opening the car door.

  I’m thrilled. I’m so done with all those potential buyers perpetually hanging around by my windows. Ever since Mrs. McConelly had the heart attack, a woman named Laura Pierson, a young and ambitious real-estate agent, has been dragging over throngs of people interested in purchasing the other half of the house every single day. Sometimes it seemed to me that Laura’s promotion, or maybe even her life, depended on this sale.

  I pull out of the driveway and screech away toward Willamette University. I have about ten minutes before my class starts, and six miles to travel. While driving along Rafael Avenue, just before the intersection with Shoreline Drive, a large truck almost rams into me as it takes a wide turn into the street. I slam on the brakes and send the driver a straight-up glare, but he doesn’t even look in my direction.

  What a douche! How can you be driving like there’s no one else on the streets?!

  I toss my head from side to side and let him drive past me. Now I have eight minutes left and over five miles to go. My car is not a rocket, so I’m not even hopeful I will make it on time now.

  What a wonderful beginning to the day.

  * * *

  Several hours later, I’m in haste again, but this time I’m heading back home. I can’t catch a break today. My shift at Walgreens starts in exactly half an hour and I still need to stop by my house to pick up my uniform, which I forgot to pack while I was hurrying to collect my other things this morning. My manager will kill me if I’m late for the third time in a row.

  The scene outside my place has changed significantly from this morning.

  Hang on, isn’t that the truck that nearly ran into me this morning? It is!

  The vehicle is now parked in front of my house, almost unloaded. Among the white-clad uniformed men carrying heavy boxes into the house, I strive in vain to catch a glimpse of my new neighbors. I’m dying to know whether the folks who’ll live on the other side are old or young; with or without children; friendly or abrasive. Or maybe it’s just one person? If so, who is it: a woman or a man? In the ideal scenario, it’ll be Chris Hemsworth’s double. I’m not picky.

  Nevertheless, even if our new neighbor turns out to be an unbearable, nasty grump whose hobby is to sunbathe in the backyard with a body way past its sell-by date spread out on a beach chair, I wouldn’t be disappointed. I already have a dreamy object of desire who has all the traits I’ve ever wanted in my partner.

  Daydreaming about him, I back out and leave the driveway, praying I’ll make it on time to work. The moving truck is parked on the street along the curb and is blocking my way. I’m forced to use the other lane to get around it, but its size limits the visibility of oncoming traffic. Panicking that I might cause a head-on collision with another vehicle, I stop and crane my head out the window to ensure that the road is clear. It doesn’t help at all.

  That truck has been getting on my nerves since the crack of dawn!

  Boiling mad, I quickly realize that the only way around this is to get one of the uniform-clad workers to move their truck. I fight with my seatbelt to unbuckle it, but it gets stuck. I’m frantically pressing the release on the top of the buckle, but the latch won’t give. What the hell is wrong with it? Damn you!

  My head drops back on the headrest. Great. Now I’m helpless and late.

  As I stare hatefully at the truck, I notice a black, freshly-polished Bentley emerging from the other side of it, creeping toward me. The windows are tinted just enough for a hint of mystery while still allowing me to see that there is someone inside. As is my custom, I try to glance at the person behind the wheel, but my reaction is far from customary.

  It’s a man. Even though I can’t see him too clearly, I get chills all over my body when our cars are side by side. My pulse skitters wildly, and a hot wave washes over me from head to toe. I immediately feel a gentle twinge right where my birthmark is, near my breastbone. I automatically reach up to touch it. I stop breathing, hearing, thinking. I have the impression that the rest of my senses have been turned off so that I can focus my entire attention on what I see before my eyes. When the car drives past me, I slide my eyes to the rear-view mirror. Only now do I notice a woman in the back seat.

  I’m torn away from the weird hypnosis by the sound of someone knocking on the passenger side’s window. I turn my head to the right and see Charlie, madly waving at me.

  Oh geez, not now, I whimper in my mind.

  Charlie is my age and lives a couple of houses up the street. We met in elementary school and became close friends. Over the years he developed a soft spot for me, and that was the beginning of the end. I wish I could say that the feeling is mutual, bu
t I’ve always thought of him as a brother; there is no chance it’s going to ever change.

  Unwillingly, I press a button on the door. The window slowly rolls down. I force a smile.

  “Hey, Zara! I haven’t seen you for ages, girl!”

  It’s been only five days since I saw him last, but to him it obviously felt like forever.

  “It’s good to see you, buddy, but I’m late for work—could you please help me get out of here?” I fix my eyes on the truck in front of me. “I can’t see anything ahead.”

  “Sure.” He’s not offended; at this point Charlie must be used to me brushing him off.

  He jogs to the other side of the street. Even the way he moves turns me off; he seems so wobbly, as though he’s about to fall flat on his face. Charlie motions from a few feet away to let me know that the road is clear, so I wave my thanks as I go around the truck. I’ll have to break every traffic law in order to get to work on time. I’m trying to focus and make it there as quickly as possible, but it’s tough to control my thoughts; they are occupied with the black Bentley and its driver.

  * * *

  Shortly before eleven o’clock, I pull into my illuminated driveway. I’m completely drained; my manager didn’t fire me for being late again, but I had to stay until closing time. My brain is on ten percent battery and I’m about to crash. Walking along the fence that separates my yard from my neighbor’s, I casually look over it, then abruptly stop; my heart suddenly races.

  Either my mind is messing with me, or it’s that black Bentley parked in the driveway on the other side.

  I strain to see if it’s exactly the same car I saw before, not just one that looks similar. I even lean over the fence. As I’m stretching to get a better look, the front door opens and two silhouettes step outside. I rapidly straighten up so as not to raise any suspicion. I wouldn’t want them to think that I’m nosy.