Awakening: Book 1 The Last Anakim Trilogy

by Janet V Forster

  My morning began uneventfully. Another lazy Saturday on the beach, with George trying his luck with Michelle, petite and blonde with freckles and an easy smile. My novel was uninteresting, but I buried my head in it anyway, trying not to eavesdrop.

  ‘Hey Beautiful,’ I heard in my ear. My cheeks flamed, the heat spreading to my neck and throat in what I imagined were vivid blotches, annoyingly conspicuous.

  ‘Nick,’ I said, my heart completing three full cartwheels and threatening to convulse as I gazed up into his wide grin. I tried not to notice the smooth golden skin which covered the muscles on his arms, or the tautness of his chest or the bead of perspiration which inched down his neck. Instead I turned my attention to the sand.

  ‘Come out to the lake with me,’ he said, kneeling down beside me.

  ‘Um,’ I stumbled, not able to think clearly about whether or not that was actually a good idea.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day. We can go now and spend the day there. What do you think?’ His smile was very persuasive.

  ‘Well …’

  ‘I know it’s late notice, but we can’t let this perfect day pass us by.’

  The sun shone in a completely blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the wind hadn’t picked up yet.

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘It’s not like we have many.’

  ‘Well this is even more perfect than most.’ He laughed playfully. ‘Plus, you’re here, and I’m here …’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything too urgent I have to do today,’ I said, pretending to actually consider.

  ‘Excellent.’

  I stood up and started dusting sand off myself. ‘I haven’t got anything though. What do I need?’

  ‘Just bring yourself.’

  ‘Oh … well that’s easy enough,’ I replied, shrugging shyly and then feeling slightly insecure about heading into the unknown with him and without any stuff. After a moment’s thought I picked up my bag and shoved my towel inside it. I had to take something.

  ‘I’ll let George know we’re going so that he doesn’t think you’ve been abducted by aliens.’ He walked off to where George sat before I could stop him. I wondered what George would say, given his concerns, but he shook off the fleeting look of uncertainty which crossed his face and replaced it with a somewhat tentative smile and nod. I waved to him and grabbed my bag.

  Nick returned and took my hand in his, easily, like it was the most natural thing to do. George wouldn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to look at him now to make sure. The air was fresh in my face, the sun warm on my back as Nick pulled me across the sand. I felt a little confused, unsure what to make of his hand in mine, whether it was a sign of friendship, or something more. A flutter of anxiety unsettled me for a moment. What had he made of my easy acquiescence to this time alone with him? Suddenly I felt very aware of my vulnerability. He was the most handsome guy I had ever met. He made parts of my body turn to liquid and burn with desire. Desire for something I had never had, only imagined. I couldn’t think clearly around him which was probably not a good sign. George was right. He was more experienced than me, worldlier. He was used to getting what he wanted.

  As I stumbled after him I wondered just how far I was getting in over my head.

  We reached the carpark and he dropped my hand and walked straight over to a dazzling motorbike. The sun bounced off the silver body but my sunglasses softened the glare. I hung back, confident of my mother’s disapproval.

  ‘Come on,’ he said impatiently, dismissing my dubious expression, but going for reassurance when he realised that it wasn’t going away. ‘I’m a safe rider, I promise. I’ll obey the road rules and make sure I stay under the speed limit.’ His eyes were earnest, but the way he said it made me wonder just how often he did just the opposite. ‘You can trust me, Deb. Look, I brought a helmet just for you.’ He held out a shiny red one.

  ‘At least it will hide the blood!’ After a last moment of hesitation I succumbed to the sense of excitement pulsating through my body and hoisted myself onto the low-slung seat behind him, pulling the helmet on. As he started the engine and the thunderous retort became a low throb it felt like my body had become a conducting rod. Anticipation was like lightning crackling through me. It settled down low as I realised that I would be wrapped around him for some time. Tentatively, as the vibration of the bike radiated outwards from my torso in a regular, pulsating thump, like the sound of my heart amplified, I shifted closer and reached around him. He felt good, solid and hot. In a wave of sound and heat and petrol fumes we departed.

  And now we were here, at the top of a hill, admiring the indescribable view. I felt alive, invigorated by the journey, by the wind in my face and on my body, and my physical connection to Nick. I loved the bike. Riding it was active, not passive like when you were in a car. We three moved together leaning into the bends and communing with nature, the elements whispering around us and merging with the heat and throb of the beast beneath us. Speaking wasn’t practical, but it would have ruined the experience anyway, the otherworldly togetherness we shared.

  As we neared the lake I noticed that it was quite busy. People were swimming, playing volleyball and jogging or cycling. Barbeques were starting to sizzle, attracting throngs of mostly men to worship at their fiery plates.

  We continued past the main carpark along the narrow road which meandered around the lake, until Nick stopped in a quiet bend, pushing the bike into the forest a little way so that it was obscured from the road.

  ‘That was awesome,’ I said. He smiled broadly back at me, his eyes illuminated with dancing sprites, or so it seemed.

  ‘I knew you’d like it.’

  ‘I’ve never even been near a motorbike,’ I said, handing him my helmet and examining the bike for a moment. I noticed its deep silence, the sleek dark beauty of the black and chrome machine.

  ‘Harley Davidson,’ he said, gesturing to a badge which meant little to me.

  ‘Right.’ I was nodding with what I hoped was just the right amount of respect when a memory unexpectedly popped up. ‘Aah, the bikies.’

  He laughed and I realised that I’d just put my foot in it. ‘Not that I’m implying anything.’

  His grin was cheeky and made my heart pound. ‘They’re not the only ones who enjoy a good ride,’ he said.

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt like an idiot.

  ‘Err …’ I tried, and he laughed again.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you my special place.’

  He took my hand and led me through the undergrowth. There were a few things I belatedly realised about his bike, and him by association. It was the brand most preferred by the notorious bikies, it was a great ride … and it must have cost a fortune. His world and my world were very far removed. He hadn’t even finished school and he had a bike like that. I felt suddenly uncomfortable in my bargain-bin top and shorts which had come in at under ten dollars. Thankfully, the gold flickering through the verdant canopy overhead, casting curiously capering shadows onto the ground, caught my attention. We crossed over a shallow, translucent stream running over what looked like beach sand, and walked for about ten minutes before we emerged at a small rocky cove. There we clambered over rocks and down onto the soft white sunny beach. Nearby the clear water of the lake lapped gently at the shore.

  ‘It’s enchanted,’ I said, in awe of my surrounds. He remained silent, trapped in the moment. This was Planet Nick, his special place, an unexpected jewel, private in the midst of all the people-noise and activity somewhere around us.

  ‘Nick?’ His eyes were distant. His grip on my hand tightened.

  Suddenly he returned.

  ‘We used to come and swim here, when we were little,’ he said, dropping my hand and wandering along the shore. Simple pleasures in simple times. Lost now?

  His mood rippled like an estuary at the turn of the tide and he laughed mischievously. Suddenly he disappeared, emerging on top of an enormous grey rock, positioned like a sent
inel and jutting quite far out into the lake, with his bathers on. He ran along it discarding his t-shirt and shoes onto the sand below.

  ‘What are you doing?' I yelled as he clambered onto another rock which jutted even further in.

  ‘Come in!’ he shouted as he leapt off the rock recklessly, his knees tucked under him, the glee of his inner child evident in his innocent abandon. The water echoed its indignant cry as his body shattered the glassy surface, waves rocking erratically to the edge.

  Dropping my top and shorts to the ground I dashed into the inviting water, just a little self-conscious in my bikini. It hit me like a cricket bat to the head. Ice cold. I gasped.

  ‘You must be joking!’

  ‘Come on!’ he called impatiently.

  I forced myself to hurry into the glacial liquid, knowing it would be nothing but slow torture any other way.

  ‘The water … IS … F…R … EEZING!’ I shivered uncontrollably, wishing I owned a wet suit as I swam with jagged strokes out to where he waited on a small pontoon floating in the tinfoil glare of the lake. Kicking my legs I hoisted myself up onto the sunny platform and lay down next to him, dreading the swim back.

  His gaze trapped mine as I turned my head to the side. His irises had taken on some of the azure of the lake and danced at my discomfort.

  ‘That’s mean.’

  He laughed, but turned away and presumably tried to arrange his features so that they were more sympathetic. I lifted my arms above my head, trying to expose as much of my body as possible to the warmth of the sun. Slowly my blood began to flow again.

  ‘It’s really lovely.’ The rocking motion soothed. I dozed. A shower of chilly droplets stung my skin and I opened my eyes to see his face hovering over mine.

  Everything stopped, even the pontoon seemed to still. Oh God, please help me, I prayed. I’d never been this close to him, besides on the back of his motorbike, but his back, nice as it was, could never compete. For a moment I forgot how to breathe. I seemed to need to inhale air, and swallow at the same time which is impossible. You have to do one or the other.

  His irises had deepened and evolved into a medley of blues which moved like the liquid lake in front of the green which had retreated into the background for now. The difference in the colour was quite startling.

  ‘Your eyes …’ I said as I contemplated them. He shook his head and more icy droplets rained down on me. His lips curled into a naughty grin and I became aware of the heaviness of his body on mine. I was trapped by him.

  ‘Move, Nick,’ I said, a range of complicated feelings squirming around inside me. He didn’t. Instead his mouth fell onto mine. His lips were cool and hard, softening and warming as they ignited a response within me. Reaching up I clasped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer. The moment became fiercer. Heat seeped down into my stomach and then to my groin where it became an aching need. I think it was the same for him for just a moment, before he groaned, reluctantly wrenching himself away and diving off the pontoon.

  Disappointment. A bucket emptied too suddenly. It was a long moment before the more rational aspect of my brain kicked in. I sat up slowly. A part of me still ached, but I was relieved that he had been the one to pull away. I’m not sure that I could have been that strong.

  ‘Stop it,’ I yelled, lifting my hands in mock surrender as polar water splashed onto me. ‘Don’t be cruel!’

  ‘You’ve got to get used to the water unless you’re going to stay out there permanently,’ he shouted back.

  ‘I just might,’ I replied sulkily.

  ‘You’ve got to swim back,’ he chuckled, moving towards the shore with confident strokes.

  ‘Don’t leave me out here, Nick!’ I cried anxiously. He didn’t answer. ‘Well that’s very nice,’ I said to myself.

  Taking a deep breath I jumped in. The shock of the water was like a cold slap, startling me, but helping to quell the still-smouldering remnants of desire. I guess it did the same for him. When I arrived at the shore he was pulling on his shorts and t-shirt. Shivering again, my teeth chattering, I dried myself, trying not to focus on the way his t-shirt clung to his damp chest muscles, the outline of his nipples against the material. He was annoyingly playful, tousling my hair and commenting on the ungainliness of my flamingo hop as I stood on one leg and dragged on my shorts.

  ‘I’ll get you warm soon enough,’ he said, beckoning for me to follow him.

  ‘Oh?’ I was curious and a little disappointed as he marched ahead of me through the forest and up a steep incline. My footwear was hardly suitable, but I followed anyway. From the top of the hill we looked down on the lake and then past it all the way to the ocean. The panorama was breathtaking, everything baking under the wide sky, quiet aside from the birdcalls and strangely still. I listened for the breeze through the trees, but it was absent. Even the air felt dryer up here. Words would break the moment and so we discarded them, watching the tiny speckles moving like ants across the distant white sand below us as we sat like Gods upon our pedestal.

  9

  KATE

  I was seventeen when I first experienced a night terror, although they were not then what they are now.

  The first one found me on a hot summer night when I woke suddenly believing that I had just seen a large snake slithering under my bed. It wasn’t Sam who was lazy and preferred lounging on my shoulder with swirling eyes. Terrified, my heart pounding like a jack-hammer, I rushed through to my parents’ room and started shouting loudly and probably incoherently, about a snake in my room. My father, woken from a deep sleep and flustered by my panic, grabbed a golf club and staggered bleary-eyed into my room.

  Confusion descended. The room was cloaked in darkness until we turned on the light. How could I have seen a snake in such absence of light?

  ‘It was just a dream Dad,’ I said, feeling silly as realisation sunk in.

  ‘You seemed so sure, Kate,’ Dad answered, moving the curtain aside carefully with the club as I hid behind him.

  ‘I know, but I’m not anymore.’

  We dismissed the incident and returned to bed, relieved that there wasn’t actually a serpent hiding under a bed in the house.

  At first it seemed like an isolated experience, a crazy sort of dream which had continued for a while whilst I was waking. I fell back to sleep easily and peacefully and in the morning it seemed even more unreal. I could barely remember what had happened, although my parents reminded me and Dad kept his club out.

  But over the months and especially since finishing school and contacting Deb and Nick I had begun to experience them more frequently.

  ‘What’s going on Kit?’ Mum asked one afternoon, as she hung water colour paintings of Australian flora on the pale peach wall in the dining room, and I stood back gesturing so that she could get them straight.

  I shrugged unconvincingly, half wishing that I could tell her the truth, but not yet ready to go down that path. ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ I lied, and Sam hissed. But in dreams, my guilt could not be repressed and it found expression in the darkest hours of night, in wild panic and bizarre sleep-dances. Nick’s parting words hadn’t helped.

  ‘Maybe it’s Uni,’ Mum guessed, tapping the hook into a different spot. ‘All the excitement of finishing school and starting something new.’ Night terrors in adults are usually associated with trauma but excitement was a much nicer explanation.

  ‘I’m sorry if they scare you, Mum.’ Last night I’d leapt out of bed screaming in panic, at what I could no longer remember, but as I came to I’d hated myself at the sight of her drawn face, and tried to get her out of my room before she noticed just how badly I was shaking. I’d lain in bed afraid to sleep, overwhelmed by frustration and for several minutes I had trembled uncontrollably.

  ‘It’s not so bad now, Kit,’ she said, stepping down off the small ladder and interrupting my reverie. ‘In the beginning it was frightening. I just want you to be happy.’ She was no stranger to nightmares, had hoped that world would not find me. />
  We admired the paintings. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ she asked.

  But not all of the experiences I had were terrifying. Some were simply strange. Sometimes I thought I was awake when I was actually asleep. Wispy tendrils stretched down to me from the ceiling. Their presence made no sense. Where there should be only air I observed long grey shapes. They weren’t static, although they didn’t move very fast, just slowly radiating and then beckoning, like delicate wings. Eventually I realised that their presence was an indication that I was asleep. Sometimes I felt like I left my body behind, escaping with the essence of me, whatever that was, becoming lighter and lighter until slowly I became absorbed by the wisps and they became invisible to me because I was a part of them. And everything seemed simple and pure, glowing, bending and waving, slowly spiralling movement and swirling colours, the meaning unimportant.

  But more often than not I went to a darker place and my mind held onto a sense of violence which seemed to pervade the encounter – the barrel of a gun, cold steel pressed against my forehead, about to go off. Ominously quick snakes or spiders slipping down towards me from the ceiling. A sense of terror, and of evil which left me nauseous on waking.

  I felt haunted by this peculiar twilight world even though recalling my experiences with any degree of accuracy was almost impossible. Within moments of waking the memory faded. Usually only the red sense of persecution, of blood and death, of peril lingered.

  One day I called Deb and asked her about them.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I had some really vivid, unsettling dreams while I was pregnant, but that’s it and nothing like you’ve described. Could they be stress-related?’

  ‘Nick mentioned something about weird dreams in his family,’ I replied, noticing the change in the quality of the silence as I mentioned him.