LEANNE PEARSON
FRACTURED
Fractured
By Leanne Pearson
Copyright © 2014 Leanne Pearson
Published by Leanne Pearson
EPUB Edition
Cover design by Chris Pearson
Cover design copyright © 2014 Chris Pearson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction, but some events and incidents are based on fact. Names, characters, businesses, and places are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Due to the characters in this book being multi-national, both British and American English are used throughout this story where applicable to the characters.
Dedication
This one is for you Gran.
You always held the unwavering belief that I could be a writer one day; I’m sorry you’re not here to witness this become a reality.
Contents
Title
Copyright
Fractured Playlist
Prologue
1. Barely Breathing
2. Pushed From The Wreckage
3. Numbness
4. Love At First Sight
5. Will My Heart Ever Be Whole Again?
6. The Branding Of My Love
7. Isolation
8. Shaken
9. Floodgates
10. Learning To Fly
11. Dawn Of A New Day
12. Free Falling
13. Stranger Spells Danger
14. Fighting The Fire
15. Throwing Down The Gauntlet
16. Volatility
17. Too Close To The Flame
18. Breaching The Walls
19. Ignite
20. Falling
21. The Way Forward
22. Crash Landings
23. Backdraft
24. Locking It Down
25. Running On Empty
26. Show Time
27. Evil Lurks
28. Mortality
29. Invisible Wounds
30. Hope
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Fractured Playlist
Music can provide a backdrop to a story, songs with emotive lyrics, can enhance the atmosphere and ramp up the emotions in certain scenes. The following hand-picked playlist provided the soundtrack to my writing, and these songs are as much a part of the story as the characters and relationships that are woven through the pages.
“Broken” by Lifehouse
“Angel” by Sarah Mclachlan
“From Where You Are” by Lifehouse
“Crazy For You” by Madonna
“To Where You Are” by Josh Groban
“Landslide” by Stevie Nicks
“Stand” by Rascal Flatts
“Everybody Hurts” by REM
“Broken Wings” by Mister Mister
“Let’s Get Lost” by Beck
“Edge Of Desire” by John Mayer
“Better In Time” by Leona Lewis
“Only One” by Alex Band
“Feel” by Robbie Williams
“Stay” by Rihanna (feat. Mikky Ekko)
“Fix You” by Coldplay
“Slipped Away” by Avril Lavigne
“Just A Kiss” by Lady Antebellum
“Everything” by Lifehouse
“Slow Dancing In A Burning Room” by John Mayer
“Crawling” by Linkin Park
“In Too Deep” by Genesis
“I Won’t Let Go” by Rascal Flatts
“Flame” by Cheap Trick
“Dressin’ Up” by Katy Perry
“Nothing” by The Script
“Wicked Game” by Chris Isaac
“Hurricane” by Thirty Seconds To Mars
“Battle Scars” by Guy Sebastian
“Bless The Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts
“Believe Again” by Delta Goodrem
“Set Fire To The Rain” by Adele
“Loved Me Back To Life” by Celine Dion
You can listen to my Fractured Playlist here
For the fallen: 22 February 2011.
Hopefully this redemptive love story will bring some comfort to those who still walk the fine line of recovery on their journey to healing, rebirth, rebuilding and the possibility of opening up to love again after a devastating loss. While the characters in this story are fictitious, the events are based on fact.
Kia kaha Christchurch.
"For each thorn, there's a rosebud...
for each twilight — a dawn...
for each trial — the strength to carry on,
For each stormcloud — a rainbow...
for each shadow — the sun...
for each parting — sweet memories
when sorrow is done."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Prologue
24 SECONDS
The morning of the 22nd February 2011, dawned a normal day for the around 348,000 inhabitants of our city. Unbeknown to all, this would be a day like no other. We were mere hours away from a catastrophic event, which would irrevocably change our lives. Forever.
Kilometres beneath the benign surface of this beautiful city, lay an insidious danger. Seismic tension was building in frightening proportions, until that breaking point where the ground beneath us splintered apart. Our lives above it, fractured around us.
Twenty-four seconds is all the time it took to alter the course of the lives we had mapped out ahead of us. Just twenty-four seconds for the other half of my whole to be ripped from me.
Daniel James Clayton.
15 December 1986 – 22 February 2011. 12:51 p.m.
Chapter 1
BARELY BREATHING
~ Kate, 22 February 2011. 12:49 p.m. ~
Danny and I emerge from Cinema 3. Looping my arm through his, I gaze up at him as he cuts his eyes down to me, his smile mischievous. “What?” I smile broadly at him, tightening my grip on his arm. “I love you just that little bit more for sitting through an hour and a half of oestrogen-fuelled drama with me, babe, really owe you one now,” I say, giving him a loaded wink.
Danny wiggles his eyebrows at me suggestively while hooking me around the neck with his arm, kissing my temple as he brings his mouth down to my ear.
He starts saying something to me, but his voice is lost as the ground and building begin shaking violently, while a deafening roar like an express train, fills the room.
“Danny, what the—” In that split second, he grabs me by the hand and shouts above the rumbling building around us, “Run, Kate, it’s a quake!”
Adrenaline hits me squarely in the chest, as we break into a run. The lights dim and people start screaming, the ground rolling under our feet like a carpet unfurling, while large pieces of the ceiling rain down from above. The building is coming apart around us; I scream just as the power cuts out and we are plunged into darkness.
In the suffocating blackness, Danny’s grip on my hand gets firmer as he drags me towards a pinpoint of light that seems impossibly far away. Must be the exit. I can’t think. Panic. Panic. Oh God, please help us…
Through the murky dust and debris, I see dozens of people lying injured on the ground, already. There is blood everywhere and I hear the muffled sounds of people moaning and sobbing uncontrollably.
A blood-chilling
scream rings out to my right as we stumble towards the sliver of light, the ground shifting from side to side beneath our feet. The building makes a torturous groaning sound like metal is twisting around concrete. We’re almost home and dry—two metres from daylight—when I hear a sickening, fracturing sound from above me. Looking up, I see a massive piece of the ceiling breaking apart. I freeze on the spot, staring imminent death in the face. Seconds are weighed in syrup and time stalls, as a balustrade marks its precise target, swinging down towards me like a giant pendulum.
Danny screams out my name, his voice swallowed up in the cacophony of destruction. Feeling a violent jarring hitting me from behind, I’m flung through the exit door. I hear a deafening crash, and a low rumble. My breath is knocked from me as the left side of my body and face makes impact with the concrete littered with broken glass. Pieces slice through my face. The forward momentum causes me to barrel forward and slam up against a wall, my head taking the impact. Everything goes black...
Pain, piercing my skull. My eyes flutter open, vision swimming. What the hell just happened? Trying to blink, with visibility down to a few feet in front of me, I start coughing violently as something warm and wet pools in my eyes. Wiping at it, looking down at my trembling hands...they’re covered in blood. Snapping into survival mode, I attempt to pull myself up, shouting out for Danny. Turning back towards the building I just escaped from, through the dust cloud, I see a hand sticking out from under what remains of the first floor of the cinema complex that has partially collapsed onto ground level.
Scrambling to my feet, my footing falters as I’m overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness. “Danny! Danny!” I shout, heart thundering in my chest. A hand grips my elbow, turning me away. “N...no, no! LET ME GO, h...he’s still in there. I’ve got to get to him.” It’s a half scream, half sob. Breaking free and falling to my knees next to the hand, any coherent thought is lost as a wracking sob wrenches from me. I intuitively know it’s Daniel’s hand.
The hand is still; a tiny trickle of blood seeps down the pinkie finger. I catch sight of the ring on the third finger; the limited edition infinity ring I bought for Danny a week ago to symbolise our five-year anniversary. “Danny baby, I’m here,” I whimper, gripping his hand. It feels clammy and dusty. I vaguely hear in the distance the sounds of murmuring, crying, and shouting. People appear in my periphery, their voices seeming far off. Sirens are wailing, getting louder, then…stopping.
Someone places their hand on my shoulder, urging me away. “Please, miss, you’re bleeding heavily, the ambulance is here.” “No...no...oh God, you’ve got to h-help me, help me get him o-out,” I sob, ripping my fingernails as I ineffectively try to tug at the immovable slabs of concrete haphazardly piled on top of his broken body.
Gripping his hand once more, the last tangible link to my love, my life, blood and tears blind my vision as the realisation hits me...his hand is completely still. Danny could never have survived such a catastrophic building collapse. His lifeless hand, sticking up through that mangled building, is an image I know will brand me for life. The scene is apocalyptic: Light filters through the heavy dust and debris, a cloying grey film coats everything.
My heart is now lodged in my throat, I clutch his hand tighter. “Please no, sweetheart, don’t you leave me,” I sob. Arms brace me; hands on my shoulders attempting to pull me back.
My grip on Danny’s hand is prised loose, as an anguished cry escapes from deep within my throat. Hands are on me again, lifting.
A strong arm supports my waist as I’m guided towards a stretcher; a lone voice tries to reach me. Hearing heavy footsteps, I vaguely register some firemen running past me with torches. One shouts into a radio, “Yes, multiple casualties; bodies everywhere. Possibly hundreds trapped inside the fallen buildings!”
This can’t be happening. Please, God. Don’t let this be real. Just a few minutes ago I was standing next to Danny in the cinema.
“No, no, no…,” I sob, totally disorientated. Suddenly I’m struggling to catch a breath, and my body starts to shake. The same male voice I registered before is urging me to breathe. In and out. In and out. I’m laid down on a stretcher as an oxygen mask is placed over my face.
Suddenly the ground starts shaking again. People are screaming. Somebody is yelling nearby. Car alarms are blaring out from different directions. The sound is muffled by what feels like cotton wool in my ears.
The aftershock passes and the stretcher is lifted into the ambulance, my vitals taken. Voices. Lost on me. Bleeping. Lights. Feeling very sleepy, I close my eyes.
“Stay with us, miss, try to keep your eyes open.”
Looking towards the source of the sound, I make out a medic strapping tape to my arm, while the icy piercing of a needle breaks my skin. He makes eye contact, his brows furrowed in concern. Mossy-green eyes. I’m trying to focus. Their colour…soothing. Bizarre. Then we are moving. Siren screeching. He’s speaking…lips are moving. My ears are still ringing. He leans in closer. “Your name, miss?”
The barely audible words, “Katrina Smith,” escape from my mouth before my eyes close of their own accord. Everything grows dim as I feel myself drift into oblivion….
Chapter 2
PUSHED FROM THE WRECKAGE
~ Kate, 24 February 2011. Post quake: Christchurch Hospital ~
I ache everywhere. I am not alone. There are others here in this hospital in the same position. Soft cries and groaning echo down the hallway.
“He saved you, you know?”
“W….what?” I ask in a raspy voice, still dazed, and numb with shock.
Mom struggles with maintaining her composure. The stress of the past forty-eight hours seems to have aged her. Her face is a mask of pain; the blue-green of her eyes more vivid against the redness of the rims and her dark brown hair.
“Yes, love. Daniel pushed you to safety just before the building collapsed. There were people standing just outside the building who witnessed it. You have bruising on your back where his fingertips marked the skin, as he pushed you out of harm’s way.”
I think back to the shaking. The crumbling, screaming, running, that terrifying moment when I looked up and saw that huge structure bearing down on me. I recall feeling a force hitting me from behind. I had escaped death within millimetres. Danny must have shoved me out of the way just in the nick of time. He took the full impact.
Oh God.
“I’m so, so sorry, honey,” she whispers, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She’s trying to be strong for me I guess. Mom loved Danny like a son.
Looking to Mom in horror, my breath hitches and my stomach clenches as bile rises in my throat.
God, no. He died saving me. No, no.
With a trembling hand, I try to guide my fingertips behind me, to where evidence of Daniel’s last contact with my body lies. My back feels tender. My lip starts to tremble as a lone tear crests and escapes down my cheek. Mom is at my side immediately, pulling me into her chest. Her body shakes as she kisses my head. “Baby girl, I’m so sorry, so very sorry.”
“I need to see the bruising, Mom, now,” I exclaim. Mom’s eyes widen, sorrow etching her already furrowed brows.
With the assistance of a nurse, I’m helped into the bathroom so that I can see where Danny’s fingerprints are peeking from under the gaudy hospital gown. The nurse helps with my frustrated efforts in removing the gown, keeping her eyes averted and discreetly slipping from the room once I’m naked. Standing at an awkward angle to the mirror, I almost collapse as my eyes absorb the bruising imprint of his fingers on my back.
Four fingertip marks on the left, just below my shoulder blade, and three on the right. Mom stands to my side sniffling quietly, watching helplessly as my body quivers with weakness and emotion.
Fighting through the stabbing pain in my arm and shoulder, I twist my uninjured arm up over my back, trembling fingertips gliding over the burgeoning contusions on my skin. As my eyes sweep over the placement of the bruising, images flash thr
ough my mind. Images and the agonising sounds of destruction reverberate in my head. So horrific. So fresh. So raw.
I don’t want the bruises to fade. This is my last link to Danny. The thought of his fingermarks disappearing from my body permanently brings with it, a surge of overwhelming panic.
Haunting mental images and noises that I’ll never clear from my mind, have repeatedly plagued me since the quake struck: the horrendous sounds the building made as it imploded, crashing glass, people running for their lives, the screaming. The tangible fear that thickened the air, the devastating force which buckled metal, and flattened cars.
Daniel’s last word uttered was my name, screamed out in blood-chilling fear. The back of my eyelids sting with the effort required to keep further tears at bay. Tears of guilt. Tears of agony.
It should have been me lying broken under that building. My gorgeous angel had too much love and light to give to this world still.
It should have been me.
Lying in the semi-darkness of my hospital bed, and under the influence of heavy pain medication and a sedative to prepare me for sleep, the sounds of soft crying drift across from the bed on the other side of the ward. The hiccups soon turn to heart-wrenching sobs. My own sense of loss is so overwhelming that I just lie there for a while—incapable of moving—just listening to the choking sobs. Sobs that provide the morbidly appropriate soundtrack to the silent river of tears that bleed from deep within my soul, and pour down my face.
After a few minutes I can stand it no longer. Getting up, I pad softly over to the other bed, ignoring the weakness and dizziness that threaten to buckle my knees from under me with each step I take.
The soft glow of a reading light illuminates the curtain surrounding the bed. Pulling it back slightly, I peek inside. A young woman around my age, lies in a fetal position, clutching a photograph in her hand of a man not much older than her. She must have seen my movement as her cries stop as I approach the bed.
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