Falling Into the Black

by Lauren Runow

  Falling Into The Black

  Lauren Runow

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Lauren Runow

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Falling Into The Black Copyright 2017 by Lauren Runow

  All rights reserved.

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means. Including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Names, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over songs and/or lyrics written. All credit goes to original owners.

  Beta read and edited by Indie Solutions, www.murphyrae.net.

  Cover Images © Adobe Stock – Andriy Petrenko

  Back cover photo taken by Ryan Bates Photography

  Cover Design © Designed With Grace

  ISBN: 978-0-9966922-8-1

  Created with Vellum

  For Stefanie Pace

  Thank you for all you do!

  Chapter One

  Evangeline

  I can’t take my eyes off the photo staring back at me. Instead of closing my computer for the day, I decided to take one quick glance at Facebook before heading out for the night. Now I’m regretting that choice—big time.

  So many memories, so many lies, so many nights spent crying myself to sleep, yet here I am, years later, brought back to my nightmare with one click of a mouse.

  Actually, it was one careless friend request.

  I left that world behind me, never to look back. Changing everything about me, including my name, and moving to San Francisco.

  I guess I didn’t try to hide hard enough.

  There’s always that one person who’s known you for so long that they know everything about you, including the fact you went by your stepfather’s last name instead of your real father’s, who passed away right after you were born. My mother changed it when she remarried so we’d have the same last name.

  This friend also knew I hated my real name when I was younger. Back then I wanted to shorten it to Angie, but my mom wouldn’t let me. The older I got, the more I grew to appreciate the uniqueness of my name, and I thanked her then for not allowing me to change it.

  How ironic I end up changing it anyway, just for other reasons now, and I’ll admit, I miss Evangeline.

  So yeah, leave it to this childhood friend to find me.

  When I saw Kaitlyn’s name pop up under the friend request tab, an instant smile touched my lips, and I clicked accept before I thought about what I was really doing. She sent me a message after that, asking if it really was me. I said yes, wrote a little more but then never responded to her again. She’s from my past, and not someone I want in my present.

  Now I’m kicking myself for that one mindless second from two weeks ago. I thought since we didn’t have any friends in common it would be okay. I didn’t take this into consideration.

  Ten sets of eyes are looking back at me from her #TBT picture, sending my stomach into a tailspin.

  It’s the two sets not looking back that are pushing me over the edge.

  No, those are looking only at each other for what would be the last time.

  Against my better judgment, I click on the image I’m tagged in, torturing myself that much more. I know I should just remove my name from the photo, go back to my little corner of the world, away from everyone else, but I can’t.

  Instead, I click on the comments, noticing he’s identified in the photo as well, and he’s left a comment. Before I read it, I close my eyes tightly, fighting the tears threatening to spill over then close the window completely.

  I can’t go there.

  I haven’t told my boss, Kamii Schafer, or anyone for that matter, but I’ve worked for this law firm long enough, and I’ve decided to take my first step toward obtaining my law degree.

  Kamii’s this amazing attorney and has been encouraging me to go back to school for a while now. So, I finally decided to enroll in a night class, Intro to Law, just to see how I do before I jump in with both feet.

  My class will be on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from six to nine at night. With a quick glance at my watch, I grab my bag and head off to a new beginning, trying to forget my past.

  Standing outside the big wooden doors of an old church converted into a lecture hall, I realize this is it. I wrap my fingers tightly around the strap of my bag, take a deep breath, and then open the door…hopefully, one to a new life for me.

  I walk inside and am struck by how much the space still looks like a church. Rows of wooden pews line the space with an altar at the top, now hosting a desk and freestanding whiteboard. Large, stained-glass windows with images of doves and children accent the room with the setting sun, glistening through the vibrant colors.

  My class is in a large room off the main auditorium that must have been the original dining hall. When I walk in, I notice only a third of the seats are occupied by students, who sit scattered throughout the room. Instead of interacting, everyone is looking down, giving their attention to whatever device they have in front of them like they’re hoping no one will approach them.

  I’m a talkative, outgoing person, so the sight is an instant turnoff. I try to ignore it as I walk down the aisle and sit in the front row, exactly where everyone seems to be avoiding the most.

  With my head held high, not buried in an electronic device, my attention is brought to the front when I catch the eye of a man walking in, which I assume is my new professor.

  I’m not sure why I expected an old man with his shirt half tucked in and a crooked bowtie, but that is certainly not what I got. There’s nothing about this man that screams professor.

  The exact opposite, actually.

  The way his broad shoulders stand out over his fit figure accentuate his build but not in a muscular kind of way. Instantly, my mind wonders what his arms would feel like wrapped around me.

  I quickly glance down at my class schedule to see the name C. Spence listed as the professor. Thoughts on what the C stands for rush through my brain. He looks more like someone who rowed for the crew team rather than someone who played football, so I don’t picture him being Charlie, Chris or anything more traditional like that. The way his thin, dark frame glasses sit perfectly on his face give him this indie, cool-guy look, so he could be a Conner or Christian.

  There’s something unique about
the way he walks into the room with his dark eyes taking in every face as he strolls up to the desk. He doesn’t carry a briefcase or side satchel. Instead, he props his black backpack up with a huge Vans patch stitched to the top of it.

  I bite my lower lip. He’s definitely an unexpected surprise, and if we were in any other situation, I’d be making it a point to go home with him tonight.

  He places two hands on the desk and looks out into the audience. Starting at the far back, he studies every single person in the room like he’s trying to read them, chapter by chapter, deciding what this class’ book is all about. It’s not until the very end that his eyes reach mine, and I swear I see a slight pull to his lips before he turns around to write something on the board.

  I check out his lean arm as he moves swiftly across the white wall spelling out How well can you read people? before turning around and clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

  He doesn’t say hello or introduce himself. He simply states, “Let’s play a game, shall we?”

  Every student looks around, silently questioning their teacher’s words.

  No one responds, so he continues, “I have here a class list with everyone’s name on it. I bet I can guess each of your names by matching them to this list.”

  I hear a few laughs from people under their breaths until one student speaks up. “That’s impossible.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?” he responds with a tilt to his head as he slowly approaches the student sitting about ten rows back and to the right of me.

  After only taking a few steps forward, seemingly to get a better look, he turns around and walks back to his desk.

  My eyes instantly roam the full length of his body as he leans back against the edge of the desk and crosses his left leg over his right while his arms are folded in front of his body.

  The dark jeans he has on tug in all the right places, and I’d be a fool not to notice the bulge staring me in the face. When my eyes move up his torso and further to his jaw, I notice he’s staring directly at me. Only this time, the smirk stays on his face before he turns his attention back to the student.

  “There’s got to be fifty students in the class. That’s statistically impossible,” the male student adds.

  “So, then tell me, Adam, how did I know that was you?”

  The student laughs is disbelief. “No way.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. How did you know my name?”

  “Because I did my research, I paid attention, and in the end, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.”

  The other students laugh before another female sits up in her chair. “Okay, me next.”

  He studies her slightly, turning to grab his class list before looking down and up at her again. “Tell me first, why do you want to be a lawyer?”

  “Because I want to help those who truly need me and put the bastards who deserve to be locked away there for good.”

  “Ah, you’re Kelli.” He snaps his fingers before pointing it at her.

  She lets out a little yelp in surprise. “How did you do that? How did my answer get you there?”

  “It wasn’t your answer. It was your voice, or more importantly, your accent. You see, I did research on every single one of you. I searched out your social media accounts—which by the way, some of you”—he stops and shakes his head in a questionable manner, sucking in a breath—“should really be careful about what you put out there. I’m shocked, to say the least.” That gets another laugh out of everyone. “All, but a very slim few of you, I was able to access your accounts, obtain your whereabouts, who you went to school with, who you hung out with, and more importantly, where you grew up. Your accent, my dear, gave you away. Clearly from Chicago. That instantly told me you were Kelli.”

  “If you accessed our social media accounts then you saw our pictures, too, so you aren’t that sneaky,” another student argues.

  Professor Spence nods his head. “Ah, yes, very true, but yet you see, not everyone’s profile is set up the same. Some had privacy settings, so I couldn’t access your photos, only the ones you were tagged in. So if I’m looking at a picture of five females, it’s hard to say which one is you. I had to narrow down the options, learn as much as I could, and then in the end”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“take a gamble and hope like shit I’m right.”

  The class laughs again, and I love that our teacher is freaking badass. Yes, it’s been years since I sat in a classroom, and I’ve never taken a college course, so maybe this is just the way things are done, but so far, I think I’m going to like this class.

  “So keep going, see if you can name us all,” a guy from two rows back shouts.

  “Okay, stand up,” he says. “And…” He looks around the room as if he’s searching for someone in particular. “You, all the way in the back, stand up and walk down here. Grab your stuff too, come down and join us, stay awhile,” he jokes.

  The way he talks so nonchalantly as he strolls back to his desk with a grin on his face, looking at his class list and pulling out another notepad from his backpack, makes my heart rate beat just a little faster. And yes, I totally took a sneak peek at his ass, because, um, why not?

  When he turns back around, both of the male students are standing next to each other. I study their appearance, and I can tell why he chose them. They do resemble each other physically, but they’re uniquely different in their own ways.

  “I’m here, so what’s my name?” the guy who had to come closer asks.

  Professor Spence studies them before saying, “You’re Alex, and you’re Paul.” He points to each one as he identifies them.

  They both look at each other and smirk, nodding their heads in agreement. Alex looks down at what he’s wearing, asking, “What gave it away?”

  “You’re wearing flip-flops. I saw that you, Alex, are from San Diego, and you, Paul, are from Texas. Look, Paul’s jeans are tighter than your baggy jeans, so I looked for subtle clues. It’s not always what you know; it’s the little things you don’t know that help solve the problem.”

  “So that’s the purpose of this little game?” I question. “Looking for things that others wouldn’t normally notice?”

  “Well then, someone’s catching on, Ashley.”

  My lips curl into what I hope is the most mischievous smile, trying to tell him he’s right before I nail him dead-on. The group talks amongst themselves in surprise again, and he goes to walk back to the board before I stop him. “Wrong.”

  Gasps of disbelief fill the classroom.

  He drops his head, and I watch as his shoulders give away the laugh he’s hiding. “You don’t always win when you gamble, now, do you?”

  “No, you don’t.” I bite back a grin.

  He turns around and looks back down at his class list. His eyes twinkle with a glare of devilry as he looks up and says, “Angie Smith?”

  My lips tilt up slightly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Funny, sometimes you can tell because their name just fits them. I would never guess you for an Angie.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  He taps his lower lip with a long, deft finger, and I’m instantly distracted by the thought of what that finger could do.

  “I don’t know. Just something told me that wasn’t you. You and Ashley were the only two people I couldn’t find any pictures of or any info on really. You guys are smart, or should I add, private.”

  “Let’s go with private.” I wink, which makes him raise his eyebrows. I can tell I’m the oldest in the class, and the mad professor here seems to be closer to my age, but I’m still trying to figure out what his name is. “Can I play your little game?”

  His lips push together as he nods his head in interest. “By all means. Do you want the class list?”

  “No, I bet I can guess your name.”

  His head moves up and down slowly. “Take your best shot.” His arms open wide, allowing me to ful
ly take in every part of him.

  “Let’s see. I know it starts with a C by my registration, but you have that whole nerdy, indie vibe going on, so I’m going to rule out Chris, Charlie, and Cameron.” The barely noticeable lift to his lips tells me that neither of those is his name, so I start naming off every C name I can think of, waiting for any type of reaction to show in his features. “Christian, Caleb, Connor, Cody, Colin, Cole—” The twitch in his eye makes me stop. I pause, looking him up and down before slightly tilting my head in recognition. “Nice to meet you, Cole.”

  The grin covering his face makes me sit back in my chair. Yup, I’m made for this.

  “Nicely done, Angie. The master gets beat at his own game. After class you’re going to have to tell me more about how you did that.”

  “Anytime, Professor Spence,” I say in a flirtatious way.

  His eyes meet mine for what I think is a second too long for a student/teacher moment, but I don’t mind. When they break away, he addresses everyone else, “This course is going to be interactive, and I encourage participation. So, everyone get up, move closer, and gather around Mrs. Smith here.” He returns my earlier wink before turning back around and writing his name across the board.

  I’m intrigued by his lecture the entire night, and yeah, a lot of it was because he’s easy on the eyes. I also happen to love the way he challenges people and really gets us involved.

  When he says good night, I turn to gather my things and am startled when I hear, “Angie, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  My eyes meet with a fellow female student, who I shoot a smile before turning around. “Sure, Professor Spence.”

  As I approach his desk, he’s gathering his paperwork to put into his backpack. He stops and turns to face me, leaning against the back of the desk and crossing his arms in front of his body. “So tell me, how did you guess my name?”

  I tilt my head to the side, showing him the slightest grin. “Well, that’s my little secret. Just like you said, though, you can learn a lot about a person if you pay close enough attention.”