by J. S. Luxor
“I have a dark side, Joanna,” he confides with a mysterious grin.
I’m not sure where to take our conversation but I must know more about his issues. I’ve agreed to see him after we leave this elevator, after all. “Is your dark side related to the nightmares you have?” I’m holding my breath as I ask my question.
“At least in part, yes,” he admits. He waits for me to ask more questions. I guess Tristan’s not giving anything away on this topic.
“Do you remember what you dreamed about last night? Why were you having a nightmare?” I push for more and hope he doesn’t shut the door.
Tristan’s face takes on a faraway look as he calls the images to mind. “It’s the same nightmare that haunts all of my dreams. There’s a big vehicle and it’s shaped like a bus, not a car, with a strange looking man inside. He’s pulling me into it and I’m trying to resist. The awful man shouts insults at me and curses before he gets me inside and drives away.” When he finishes describing the scenario, he looks at me with a lost look on his face.
“Do you have any idea who this man is? Is he real?”
“Yeah, Joanna, I know who he is. He’s real,” he reveals with a crestfallen gesture to his mouth, “and he’s the reason, among others, that I’ve spent many years in psychotherapy. He abducted me from my happy family. I can’t recall much after that except for some punishment. It was awful.” Now I can guess why Tristan’s haunted by night terrors. Abducted from his upper middle class home and tortured, at the age of five.
I move to Tristan’s side and kiss his head. He relaxes almost immediately. “I’m so sorry,” I coo into his ear while patting his arm. “I wish I could make it better.”
“You’ve already made it better, Joanna,” he responds while pulling me onto his lap and holding me tight. I put my arms around him and pat his back. That seems to soothe him instantly. We sit for several moments in our cocoon.
“I’ve no idea about most of what happened while I was missing, just the person who took me. Thus, we both have something in common with men who caused us trauma,” he says with resentment, “and adults who couldn’t or wouldn’t protect us from them.” I shake my head with understanding. It feels so right to commiserate with Tristan.
I pull Tristan into my arms and spend several minutes making out with him again. My tongue eagerly makes contact with his and the sparks between us sizzle. I want to soothe him. This time I pet his neck and chest while holding him impossibly close. His tongue probes my mouth with need as his hands rub my back.
Tristan’s phone signals us while we make out like two teenagers. It’s time for us to pack up our gear and go home. We send up all our supplies via the cable and basket. Its early afternoon by the time our area’s cleared out. I’m going to go up the cable first. My stomach drops to the bottom of my gut at the thought of dangling on the end of the cable line while they haul me up.
That’s why I’m so happy to see that the cable contains a three-foot black plastic disc when it’s lowered into the elevator. Tristan helps me onto the seat. He kisses me softly as I leave. I give him a delighted look. “See you at the top,” I gush. He waves and sends me on my way up.
I’m no longer frightened at all, as the crew pulls me out of our prison and up to the top floor. They’re cranking me up slowly. It takes quite a while to reach the opening in the doorway. Three men with hardhats, safety vests and buzz cuts await me as I reach safety. We’re all smiles as I step off my seat.
“Welcome back,” they greet me kindly.
“Thanks, I’m free at last,” I huff out with humor and hug the first man who assists me. He grins with pride.
“You made us so much more comfortable with all the blankets, clothes, food, and especially, the toilet bags,” I tell them with gratitude.
“We’re just taking orders from the boss,” they indicate and point down toward Tristan.
Then, it’s time to haul Tristan to safety. The big show off stands on the disc as the crew begins cranking the cable up. I peek over the edge of the opening to watch his ascent. About halfway to the top, an aftershock begins to rock the building. This quake feels more powerful than the last few. The cable begins to swing vigorously from side to side in the chute. Tristan’s hanging on for all he’s worth and tries to slide down and sit on the disc for more control. However, Mother Nature has the final word.
I watch in horror as the cable and the motion from the quake collide with the side of the elevator shaft. Tristan pushes one arm and leg out to reduce the impact of his inevitable collision. It’s no use though. His body smashes against the metal and then quickly drops off the disc. His body is now in free fall and headed back toward the jammed elevator. He lands with a loud thud on its top. He’s out cold. I scream his name in horror as the rescue crew prepares to retrieve his, by now, unconscious, body.
THE END OF BOOK 1
LOVE QUAKES
CRISIS
Young Adult Seduction Series
Book 2 of 4
By J.S. Luxor
Copyright © 2013 J.S. Luxor
All rights reserved.
Luxor Press. Kindle Edition.
Legal Notices: This eBook is offered for your personal use. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. No portion of these materials may be reproduced in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author.
Cover Design by M.S. Luxor.
Cover photo: Copyright © istockphoto
Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One – Moving Along
Chapter Two – Reunited
Chapter Three – Revelations
Chapter Four – Therapy
Chapter Five – Opening Up
Chapter Six - Discussion
Chapter Seven - Experiments
Chapter Eight - Crisis
Chapter One – Moving Along
The team calls for and then sends down an EMT to tend to Tristan’s injuries while I pace near the chute’s entry. It seems everything begins to move in slow motion around me. I don’t know how much time passes before a rescue cart arrives from the local fire department. They bring a much larger cable with a basket large enough for a good size person and lower it down to Tristan’s location. The EMT loads him in the secure carrier and sends it up. When Tristan’s still unconscious body finally arrives at the top of the chute, I’m more than relieved. I’m practically ecstatic. However, no one is allowed near him. How frustrating is that?
Soon, other people begin arriving and I have no idea who they are. A middle-aged muscular fellow with a military air comes on the scene looking as if he could engage in hand-to-hand combat with Iron Man and win. He looks around the scene, approaches me with an air of confidence, and nods hello.
“Are you the young woman who was trapped down there (he points to the elevator) with Mr. Grant?” he asks with concern.
“Yes, my name is Joanna Prime,” I confirm while extending my hand.
He shakes it firmly and adds, “Mr. Grant mentioned you, a few times, when he was calling in. I’m Tony Bailey, the head of Mr. Grant’s security detail.” He’s pleasant enough, though restrained.
“That’s right. I remember that you called each other on a regular basis, Mr. Bailey. Do you have any idea what sort of injuries Tristan…I mean, Mr. Grant…sustained during the accident?” I’m nearly breathless with worry. He notes the expression on my face and his stance toward me softens a bit.
“Well, he has a concussion and some broken ribs. We’ll know more once he’s x-rayed and scanned at the hospital. I don’t think his injuries are life threating, however. The only problem is that the local hospitals are overflowing with thousands of people injured during the original quake. They can’t keep up with the demands. We’ll have to fly Mr. Grant to another location for treatment,” he tells me.
> “Where would you take him, to another city?”
“Yes, we could helicopter him to a couple of nearby cities with good urgent care centers; cities that have not been affected by the quake. Do you live in the San Diego area, Miss Prime?”
“Yeah, I live near the SDSU campus in La Mesa, at the moment, but I need to return there soon,” I add.
“Then I suggest that you make your way home while it’s still light and the roads are passable. Getting around San Diego right now is difficult because many of the side roads are badly ripped up. The best route to take is the I-8. The others are too dicey,” he advises with care.
I bite my lip. “Thanks! Therefore, you’re telling me that there’s no reason for me to wait around. But, I don’t want to leave him, Mr. Bailey.”
He nods his head to affirm my need. “Leave me your cell number and I’ll be sure to update you with Mr. Grant’s condition and location, once we know it. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sure Mr. Grant would like to thank you for keeping him company, eventually,” he says with a kind expression.
“I feel bad leaving Tristan,” I protest and look into Mr. Bailey’s eyes for some type of clue.
“There’s really nothing more you can do, Miss Prime. Since your area hasn’t been damaged by the quake, you’re better off there than here,” he assures me and then dismisses me with a nod. He’s on the phone with someone else the moment he turns his head away from me. Mr. Bailey seems protective and efficient. Tristan’s hired a very good security team.
Before leaving the scene, I rush over and touch Tristan’s forehead for a moment. It’s cold and clammy. The EMT physician scowls at me and attempts to warn me off but I’m off and running down the endless staircase within seconds of the last contact with my favorite man.
“Please let Tristan be okay,” I chant as I head toward the parking garage. I’ve got 95 flights of stairs to descend before I reach my car. I need a good workout like this to deal with my anxiety. Thank goodness, I’m going down and not up. As soon as I return to my place near campus, I must visit the dry cleaners. I’ve borrowed my best friend Ashley’s clothes for the interview and they’re grimy from my adventure on the elevator. I need to return them.
To my relief, my car’s undamaged by the quake except for a ridiculous amount of fine grained cement fragments. My old Honda operates like a tank and starts immediately. It takes me forever to reach the ramp for the I-8. By the time I arrive at our apartment near campus, two hours have passed. I’m exhausted and famished as I fill the bathtub with warm water and a jasmine scented body wash. While the tub fills, I eat the final Power Bar from my purse. Then I soak for an hour while I relive every conversation, every touch, every contact that I had with Tristan. I sigh with disappointment that it’s over for now. All I can think about is how wonderful he made me feel. I want him with every fiber of my being. I literally will Tristan to get better.
I’m putting on my pajamas when Ashley arrives home for the evening.
“Joanna, you’re finally back from quake central. Thanks for the calls and texts. You don’t know how worried I was about you,” she gushes and hugs me tight.
“Ashley, I spent more than 24 hours with Tristan Grant in an elevator,” I announce with enthusiasm.
“I’m amazed that you sound so pleased about it…”
“At first I thought he was stuffy, controlling and arrogant but…”
“You fell for him? That’s unusual,” she exclaims with shock. She’s looking at me in a curious way.
“We had an earth-shaking connection on the elevator, Ash,” I joke and then decide to change the topic from me, to him. “The only problem is that he was injured during our rescue effort.” I tell Ashley the gory details of Tristan’s fall.
“I’ll help you investigate his location, after we’ve had some dinner,” she promises. “Then, I need to write up a story about your adventure during the earthquake. I can describe your rescue and his charitable support of our psychology program for my last take home final in creative writing.” I reach in my purse and give Ashley a brochure about PCC. She calls a take-out restaurant for dinner.
The next week flies by in hyper speed. We complete our final exams, I work my last few days at Dayton’s and we begin packing for our move to Mission Beach. Our new place is near the ocean and on a large sand bar. My best guy-friend, Juan, helps us load and clean the apartment that Ashley and I shared during our four years at SDSU. I’ve heard nothing from Bailey nor from Tristan, for that matter. Our attempt to find Tristan’s current location comes up empty. It’s as though he’s disappeared from the planet. I’m growing increasingly agitated with our lack of contact. All calls to PCC go to voice mail. I can understand why my messages aren’t being returned. The building was in disarray when I last saw it. Weeks could pass before PCC is up and operational again, especially if their CEO is out of commission for a while.
My one consolation is that we’ll soon be living nearby and I’ll be close enough to check on the progress of his building and hopefully, Tristan himself. On the morning of my commencement, I see that I’ve missed a voicemail. It’s from Tony Bailey. “Mr. Grant’s regained consciousness. We’ve been in Temecula. I’ll call soon with an update on when we’re returning to San Diego.”
At least Bailey was true to his word and called. I sigh with relief just knowing that Tristan sounds better. I hope that Tristan will call me himself and soon. Maybe they’re enroute to San Diego now. I grab my cap and gown and head out to meet Rob for commencement. My mother Carmen can’t be there. She needs to help husband number four, Bob, with a real estate deal. I’m not surprised about Carmen’s no show for my graduation. The men in mom’s life always take priority over me.
Ashley and I hang out during the ceremony. She’s just had another breakup with a loser guy. Ashley’s had the worst luck with boyfriends. That’s another reason why I’ve been reluctant to date. Every few months, Ashley’s fallen in love with another lothario and then reduced to tears and wearing black smocks when things don’t work out.
Rob takes me out to dinner after the ceremony ends. I tell him more about my finals, the celebration that the Dayton’s had for me on my last day at work, and some of my adventures during the earthquake. I omit most of the information about my partner on the elevator since dad wouldn’t know who Tristan Grant happened to be. Besides that, so much time has elapsed since my last encounter with Tristan that I’m beginning to question whether our connection was real. Maybe my overactive hormones took over. Perhaps it was wishful thinking to imagine that he really wanted me as much as I wanted him. On the other hand, when I remember how thrilled he was to find me in his arms after his nightmare, I know it was magic. I must find him, soon.
Moving day arrives at last and my phone alarm wakes me at 8am. I stumble into the shower, dress and drink my morning tea in half an hour. My friend, Juan, arrives at 8:30am with his smile intact. How did I get so lucky with the friends I’ve met here?
“Why are you always so upbeat?” I joke when I greet him at the door. I feel sluggish and blue.
“This might be the last time we’ll see each other for a while,” he reflects with a wry twist to his mouth. “I want you to remember what a good time we had on this day.”
Suddenly, I feel a pang for Tristan. That’s what I wish I’d said to him before we parted.
“At least you still have the security of your life at SDSU,” I observe.
“Joanna, you get to start a new life in Mission Beach. I have to work through another year of courses out here. It’s not as if life around campus is all that upscale.”
“All good things come to those who wait, Juan. I’ve finished my college courses, but I don’t have a job yet. If it weren’t for Ashley and her need for a roommate, I’d be on the street.”
“Any news on the job front, by the way?”
“I have a couple of interviews at psych hospitals next Monday. Who knows what the competition will be though? With my luck, I’ll end up worki
ng behind the counter, at Starbucks.”
“Whatever pays the rent,” he scoffs. Juan’s rather casual about his own career plans.
“Hey, are you hungry for breakfast yet?”
“Sure, I can always eat. I’m a growing young man,” he asserts and then flexes his impressive biceps for me to see. I try not to look too interested.
“Since our cupboards are nearly empty, I’ll get you some fast food, sir,” I tell Juan. Then, Ashley’s brother, Erik, arrives to help us load the truck.
I take food orders for everyone and drive to the nearest Carl’s. It gives me time to think about my friend. Juan’s an impressive specimen with his copper skin, dark hair, eyes and heavily muscled body. I don’t feel any electricity however. Who knew that someone like Tristan Grant would light me up?
The packing moves along well with all of our books, most of our clothes and our furniture loaded except for our mattresses. We’ve rented the moving van for several days. We’ll spend a final evening in our apartment then my life will change. I feel a mixture of regret about ending my college career here as well as excitement for the future. I’m so comfortable here with my friends, school and job. Now it’s all uncertain again. One thing I won’t miss is the junky old apartment that Ashley and I rent here near campus on Montezuma Road. The area near campus isn’t all that safe with a lot of vagrants hanging around at night.