The Everlast Series Boxed Set

by Juliana Haygert

  As the doors of the elevator opened again, I glanced at the floor number printed on the wall before me. I always tried to avoid it, but the more I fought against it, the more the pull to stare at it grew stronger.

  Number eight. Shining brightly, even though it was painted a dull gray on the white wall.

  I sighed and stepped into the corridor, wondering if it was time to face a psychiatrist once and for all, but then I heard my neighbor Olivia’s voice—lilting and warm as she sang one of my favorite songs. I smiled. Singing with Olivia would be a perfect way to relax. I rushed toward the end of the corridor and knocked on her apartment door.

  Her beautiful singing died. “Who is it?”

  I could already see the small frown forming over her round brown eyes. She was always suspicious of everything and everyone. Who wouldn’t be living in this world?

  “Your partner,” I answered.

  The door flew open and Olivia stood before me, her face split by a huge grin. “Come in!” She pulled me inside her loft and disappeared into the kitchen. I followed, then stopped.

  In the kitchen she drained a soda, then put the can down on a pile of dirty dishes and draped a towel over the mess. I winced, though part of me wished I could drape a towel over all the messes in my life. But dutiful daughters always did the dishes.

  “When was the last time you cleaned your apartment?” I asked, pushing a pile of shoes to the side, trying to make room so I could sit on the couch. I forced myself not to look at the rest of the apartment. If I did, I would start cleaning for her.

  I moved a guitar to the side and pitied the many instruments she had. If they were mine, I would take good care of them, not dump them in a pile.

  “Hmm,” Olivia said, putting a finger on her chin. “When I moved in, I think.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat down on the little space I was able to create. “Almost two years ago.”

  Olivia shrugged and flipped her wild chestnut curls. “It’s not bothering me.” She sat on the floor, crossing her legs.

  “I heard you singing.” My voice carried a dreamy tone. It became like that whenever I spoke of music. “Were you rehearsing?”

  “Not really. Just killing time.”

  “You’re so lucky. I wish I was in the music program with you.”

  “You aren’t in the music program because you don’t want to be. With your voice, your audition would last twenty seconds, tops.”

  “I can’t. You know that.”

  “What I know is that you like to play the Good Samaritan.” Olivia grabbed one of her Spanish guitars. “If you were a little selfish, you would follow your dreams.”

  If I could follow my dreams, I would wake up and see Victor by my side every day.

  “How is the new piece going?” I changed subjects, drawing her attention away from my lack of backbone and to her upcoming composition class.

  “It’s good, but I need a break.” She handed me the guitar, an impish smile radiating across her face. “Let’s sing.”

  Smiling, I took the guitar and positioned myself at the edge of the sofa so I had better control over the instrument. Olivia got up and went to the keyboard crammed against the wall.

  I ran my fingers over the chords. “What do you want to sing?”

  “I’m open to suggestions. What inspires you today?”

  An image of Victor smiling at me flashed in my mind. I named a popular love song featuring deep, haunting melodies and a seductive tone.

  “Hmm, romantic.” She winked and I blushed.

  We sang and played as the world outside melted away. While singing, there was no chaos, no violence, no darkness. I closed my eyes, and the world was almost perfect. Only missing Victor.

  Olivia and I were a good duo, not only while singing and playing, but in our friendship too. I met her when Raisa and I moved in next door. I couldn’t believe my luck when she had told me she was a music major and had invited me to sing with her. Every now and then we would get together just to sing. But on weekends, Olivia usually went out with Raisa. The two of them insisted upon my presence, but I always declined. I preferred to remain home and wait for a vision.

  We were on our fourth song when a knock on the door made us stop.

  “Who is it?” Olivia asked, getting up.

  “The only one who can bear you two singing,” Raisa said.

  Olivia went to open the door and paused. “Apologize, or you can’t come in,” she threatened, portraying a faux-serious face. I laughed.

  “Ah, get out of my way.” Raisa barreled in. She stuck her tongue out and walked past Olivia, winking at me. She was a tall brunette with hazel eyes and short brown hair—she had almost killed the poor hairdresser who took off too much, then demanded her money back. Olivia wished I had Raisa’s strength and would go for what I really wanted—to major in music. But Olivia didn’t have a family in need. Medicine would provide me with enough money to help my family.

  “Bah, I’m gonna call your parents. Where are your manners?” Olivia asked, pretending to be outraged.

  “I left my manners at their house when I moved here.” Raisa pushed a pile of books from the love seat, not caring when they scattered across the floor, and sat down. For a moment, I wondered if Olivia would complain, but observing the state of the rest of the loft, I doubted it.

  Raisa took off her shoes. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Raisa,” I said, amused. “There is plenty of food at our house.”

  “I know, but it’s always the same stuff,” she complained. “Olivia has some different snacks and candies.”

  Laughing, Olivia beckoned toward the kitchen as she sat back on the stool. “Help yourself. If you want to wash the dishes too, I won’t protest.”

  “In your dreams,” Raisa yelled from the kitchen, already opening the few cabinets, digging for whatever she could find. “So, there’s a party tomorrow. You coming with us, Nad?” She came back into the living room carrying a bowl of chocolate-covered cookies.

  I chuckled. “You know I’m not coming, but I admire your persistence.”

  “I’m going to give up on you one of these days.” Raisa threw a cookie at me. She’d been saying that for almost a year now. “Come on, just this once. I know you’ll love the party.”

  And that was when I saw her. The world flew away and her flawless face appeared, almost hovering in front of me. “Go,” Ceris said, her voice firm, chin set, eyes flashing. Determined.

  Then gone.

  “Hello, Nadine?” Raisa snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled, looking around to make sure Ceris had been just a vision.

  “I hate it when you do that,” Olivia said, kneeling before me. She must have approached when I was out. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I detested having visions while in the girls’ company, but it was inevitable. I couldn’t pick when and where they took over.

  Though, at that moment, hating that I had no control over the visions was the last thing on my mind. I had seen the goddess, Ceris, and she’d specifically told me to go to the party. That had never happened before—a vision telling me what to do. What did that mean? That I was truly becoming insane?

  But curiosity about what could happen at the party won out, even over the nervousness. I had to know what the goddess wanted.

  Now, for the first time in months, I couldn’t wait to go to a party. “I’m going,” I said, not quite believing my own words.

  “What?” Raisa squealed, surprised but pleased. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I’m going with you two.”

  Giggling, she threw herself over me, hugging me tight. “Yeah! I can’t believe it!”

  Olivia smiled. “Me neither.”

  “This is going to be great.” Raisa sat beside me again, but she jumped up and down on the cushion almost bursting with excitement. “I can’t wait!”

  Olivia and I started playing a song and singing, and Rais
a settled down, joining in—her voice sounding like a flapping chicken—while my mind swirled around Ceris’s image and the possibilities of what could happen at the party. Sleeping the weekend away was a dim memory.

  “Nad, are you ready?” Raisa knocked on my bedroom door again.

  I had been ready for almost fifteen minutes. I was hiding in the dim light of my table lamps, afraid to look in the mirror. It had been a long time since I’d gone to a party. And tonight, a Saturday night, I was going out.

  My hands shook, but I wasn’t about to give up. I had a purpose behind the simple I’m-going-out excuse. I had to find out why a goddess, vision or not, wanted me to go to this particular party. What did she want me to see?

  The truth was I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. If I went and there was something there for me, then I would know.

  I’d tried on multiple outfits, the result of which lined the floor of my room. My hand itched to pick up, to organize, but I forced myself to step over the mess and join Olivia and Raisa in the living room.

  “I am,” I said.

  “Ooh, la la,” Olivia exclaimed, approaching me and pushing at my shoulders, causing me to spin around in place. “Nad, you should dress up more often.”

  “She should, shouldn’t she?” Raisa sounded proud. Of course it had been her hard work that put me together for the occasion.

  “Is it too much?” I asked, looking down at my outfit. Skin-tight, low-rise black jeans with a few rhinestones running down the sides, an olive backless top, and black peep-toe pumps—the last two items provided by Raisa, the fashion diva—completed my outfit. She also supplied the makeup.

  “No, not at all.” Olivia smiled at me.

  “You should wear green more often, Nad,” Raisa said, coming over to us. “It emphasizes your eyes.”

  “It does,” Olivia agreed.

  I glanced at the mirror near the entrance. Yes, I could see the green in my eyes from across the room.

  The intercom rang and Raisa went into the kitchen to answer it. Seconds later, she was back.

  “Our cab is here!” She clapped her hands, excited. “Let’s go.” As we dashed to the door, she added, “You guys are bringing your student cards, right? Without them, we won’t be able to get in.”

  “Yes.” I was thankful for the heavy security anywhere we went, but sometimes it was a true pain in the ass.

  “Can we go now?” Olivia pushed so we exited the apartment more quickly.

  The phone rang, and I returned to pick it up.

  “Don’t answer that,” Raisa snapped from the corridor. “Whoever it is can figure out we aren’t home and call our cells.” She reached in and dragged me out of the apartment.

  I looked at the phone on the side table. “What if it is important?” I’d been waiting for that call from Langone and didn’t want to miss it, though I wasn’t too sure they would call on a Saturday night.

  “The important thing right now is us getting to that party,” she objected, trying to close the door.

  True, but work was also important. I had a responsibility to myself, to my family. I drew away from Raisa and marched to the phone. The number on the caller ID was my mom’s, not from Langone, but an important call anyway. I picked it up.

  “Mom, just a second,” I said, then covered the speaker with my hand and spoke to the girls. “It’s my mother. You guys go. I’ll catch up in a few.”

  “And how are you getting to the club?” Olivia asked.

  “I’ll call another cab.”

  “No way,” Raisa said. “This is another excuse. I won’t let you escape this easily.”

  “I’m not escaping,” I assured her. “I haven’t talked with my mother for over a week. It’ll take only a few minutes.”

  “Then we’ll wait.” She stomped her foot on the carpeted floor.

  “No, no.” I shook my head. “You’ll miss the cab. You guys should go and get us a nice table.”

  “Nad, please.”

  “Come on, Raisa.” Olivia pulled my roommate by her wrist. “You know we won’t be able to change her mind.”

  Raisa sighed. “I know.” She glanced at me. “Find us when you get there.”

  “I will.” I winked and blew a kiss, then gave my attention to my mother.

  I was the oldest of four children—two girls and two boys—but we were supposed to be five. And that was why my mother called tonight.

  “Ten years today,” she said.

  “I know,” I whispered. How could I forget the main reason why I was letting go of my singing dream?

  I had been the oops baby. My parents had just started going out when my mother got pregnant, but they’d decided to give marriage and parenting a try. My mother left her teaching job and moved to the farm where my father was an employee. Life on the farm wasn’t easy, especially since the agricultural crisis was getting worse. Our shack was small, simple, cold, and huddled together with the other employees’ houses—like old tenement houses we used to see pictures of in history books.

  Being an only child, my mother dreamed of a huge family—though, in my opinion, poor families shouldn’t have more than one child. How were parents supposed to care and provide everything for their children?

  I was eight when my mother got pregnant again. Once I went to the doctor with her. A rare visit, as we had so little money. The doctor told my mom she wasn’t eating well, and the baby would be born underweight. What did he want us to do? The farm wasn’t doing well, and my father struggled to keep our plates full.

  Troy was born weighing only three pounds. Soon after his birth, he began losing too much weight. Since she was malnourished, my mother’s milk wasn’t nutritious enough, the doctor said. We couldn’t afford baby formula. He died before he was six months old.

  “I went to his grave this morning,” my mother said, yanking my thoughts from the past.

  I wiped the tears away, thanking Raisa for her waterproof makeup.

  “Yeah, Mom, that’s good.” I cleared my throat. The pain ate at me the way it did when he’d first died. She quickly changed the subject and filled me in on what my three siblings were up to. I listened, halfhearted, still remembering Ceris’s message from my vision, wondering if my vision world could be linked to the real world. At a pause in the conversation, I finally said, “Do you need anything? Want me to send more money?”

  “Oh no, we’re getting by just fine. I still have a little from what you sent last time.” I heard a sharp breath intake. “I’m sorry you have to worry about us so much.”

  “It’s okay.” I shifted on my seat. I didn’t like talking to her about this. Not so openly. “Listen. Raisa is waiting for me. Call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sounded disappointed. God, I hated making her sad.

  We said goodbye and hung up. Fifteen minutes after the start of our conversation, I was calling the cab company.

  “One hour to get a taxi?” I asked the dispatcher, outraged.

  “Or more, lady,” she said.

  Huffing, I disconnected the call and twisted my hair with my finger, wondering what to do. I could stand at the sidewalk and try to holler down a taxi, hoping it was a proper one—there were several reports of people being kidnapped and abused by false taxi drivers. I could wait one hour—or more—for the company to send a cab. Or, I could run the six blocks to the club with my pepper spray in hand. A crazy idea that could get me in trouble.

  But I had to know. I had to find out what Ceris wanted with me. She had been in one of my visions, and suddenly she popped into my real life, telling me to go to a real event. It sounded so crazy, so insane, that I had to know; I had to find out if I had finally lost it.

  Or learn what she had to show me.

  5

  I got my jacket and my purse from the closet, left my apartment, and marched toward the elevator, not believing what I was about to do. I felt the pull to look at the number eight painted on the wall but resisted. I had a party to get to—a party a goddess told
me to attend. No shiny numbers or lack of taxis would stop me from finding out what she wanted me to see.

  Downstairs, Paul was on duty. The concierge stood up when I walked past him on my way to the door. “Miss Sterling, are you waiting for a cab?”

  “No, my friend is coming to pick me up,” I lied, flashing him a false smile I hoped was convincing enough. I had my hand inside my purse, clutching my can of pepper spray. “She called and is already coming around the corner.”

  “Would you mind waiting inside?” He looked anxious with his brow creased.

  “That’s okay. I can see her from here.” I left before he could say anything else.

  I looked both ways. Nobody outside, good or bad. I darted away.

  I hadn’t run a full block when I decided I couldn’t take the high-heeled pumps slaughtering my feet. I cursed and tried to ignore my shoes, but the pain was too much. I halted, stashed the pepper spray inside my purse, and took off the shoes to find a newly formed blister and a bloody scratch on my left Achilles tendon. Damned heels!

  The flapping of wings froze me in place. My heart rate accelerated. Shit. I stopped without thinking about the consequences, and now bats hovered nearby. Why did they always come for me? As far as I knew, they didn’t attack every single person they saw when flying around, but they did attack me whenever there was an opportunity.

  I scanned the area, trying to find some people, even foul-looking ones, with whom I could mingle and mislead the bats. Nobody. The streets were deserted. When were New York’s streets ever deserted?

  I didn’t know whether to remain frozen and hope the bats confused me with a statue, retreat to a doorway and hide, or run back to my building. Even if I hid, they would find me. I decided for the third option and bolted.

  The flapping noise increased. Oh no, now there was more than one. Another bad decision. I glanced over my shoulder to see how many there were and gasped. My legs wobbled and collapsed. I fell onto my back to the paved ground, fear choking my throat. There were no less than seven bats coming for me!