“Think you can talk the boss into letting me come in an hour or two later?” she asked.
“Yeah, easy. I just smile pretty. Doesn’t work on you, but it does on her.”
“Thanks, Jake. The headaches are getting worse.”
“Sofi, I’m worried,” he said, softening. “What’s going on?”’
“The doctors don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “They’re flying in a specialist from overseas. They said it might be some sort of rare blood disorder.”
“What the hell does that mean? That they really don’t have a clue?”
“Pretty much.”
“I Googled your symptoms,” Jake said and unfolded a piece of paper. “A lot of bullshit posted by wannabe vampires and Twilight fans. But I found this, too.”
He waved the page in front of her.
“This is fruit punch, by the way,” he said, nudging the bottle of red water toward her. “Your favorite, right?”
“I don’t remember telling you that.”
“Anyway, among the wacko postings, I found this site.” He pointed on the page to reveal a link to a website with a single name and phone number written on it.
Damian Bylun.
“What is this?” she asked, taking the paper from him.
Jake wiped his mouth the way he did when he’d admitted to cheating on her four years ago. She lifted her sunglasses to squint at him.
“It’s a blog this doctor guy keeps. In it, he describes what you’re going through.”
“For real?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“How did you find it? I spent days surfing the net. Even Tanya tried to help.”
“Aw well, you and your best friend just aren’t as good as The Jake. She’s still a bitch, by the way,” Jake said.
Sofia rolled her eyes. He’d never gotten over her friend refusing to date him after she dumped him. Jake’s ego was as large as his size sixteen feet.
“What does he say my symptoms are from?”
“I don’t know. His blog is firewalled from here, though, so you should just call him.”
Damian Bylun. It struck a chord deep within her, as if she should know it. Struck by something else, she removed her sunglasses and eyed Jake, saying,
“You know, you haven’t spoken to me more than to say hello in two years. I haven’t been able to get you out of my cube for the past two weeks. What’s up with that, Jake?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching and am just trying to … be a better person,” he said with a nervous chuckle and rubbed his mouth again.
She could almost see him standing before his mirror practicing the line before going to the bars to pick up chicks. But whatever he was hiding couldn’t be that important.
“I’ll look at this later,” she said. “Go forth and leave me be, The Jake. Leave the punch.”
“Sofia, I really think you should call this guy,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Please.”
A sense of uneasiness ran through her at the gravity in his normally light tone.
“Fine, I will.”
He flashed a smile and strode from her cube. Sofia looked at the paper again. She retrieved her cell and tucked the paper into her pocket. Snatching her sunglasses, she almost made it to the door before she heard Lacy’s voice.
“Sofia, can you come see me?”
She grimaced and turned to see the tall blond striding toward her office. Lacy wore a skirt too short and tight for office wear, but when you’re the boss …
“I noticed you’ve been taking a lot of sick time lately,” Lacy said as Sofia entered the room.
“Yeah, I’m having some issues,” Sofia replied.
“Jake told me. HR passed it to upper management. I need you to bring in some sort of paperwork from your doctor stating what’s wrong.”
“They don’t know what’s wrong. I can bring you another one of the notes verifying that’s where I am when I’m missing work.”
“What do you mean? They’re doctors,” Lacy said, looking up from the memo in her hands. “Of course they know what’s wrong. And those notes aren’t good enough.”
“They really don’t know,” Sofia said again.
“I can’t make reasonable accommodations for you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“That makes no sense, Lacy. If I have a doctor’s note saying I’m under their care, isn’t that good enough until they figure it out?”
Lacy arched a delicate eyebrow.
“No, it’s not,” she snapped. “I need a diagnosis, and I need a treatment plan.”
“A what?”
“You deaf now, too?”
Sofia bit her tongue. She lacked Jake’s golden tongue, and her bluntness had gotten her in trouble more than once. Normally she acquiesced in favor of a paycheck, but Lacy’s demand was bizarre, even by Lacy-standards.
“Look, Lacy, I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m so frustrated right now. I just came back from a battery of tests that said nothing’s wrong with me.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew her mistake. Lacy’s eyebrows shot up.
“What do you mean there’s nothing wrong? Are you making this up?” her boss demanded.
“No, Lacy, what I meant is that whatever is wrong—”
“So you’re a basket case. One of those aphrodisiacs or something.”
“Hypochondriac, not aphro—”
“I meant, you’re making it up!” Lacy snarled. “Aphro, hypo, who cares. They’re the same thing! You’ve been lying to me!”
“No, Lacy—”
“You’ve been lying to Jake, too. He’s been worried sick! Oh my God, what—”
“Lacy, stop!” Sofia snapped, standing. “I haven’t lied to you. They don’t know what’s wrong, and I’m not making it up!”
“You’ve always thought yourself soooo much better than the rest of us, and I’m sick of your attitude. Now you’re lying to me about being sick. You know what? Until you can prove you’ve got some damn disease, you’re on leave without pay.”
Stunned, Sofia stared at her.
“Lacy, I’m—”
“Shut up and get out!”
Surprise, then fury, lit her insides.
“Fine,” she said, wrenching the office door open. “But Lacy, everyone knows you’re screwing Jake.”
Lacy’s mouth dropped open. Dimly, Sofia knew she’d never work there again after that low blow. She snatched her bag and hurried home, not reflecting on her behavior until she tossed her coat on the bed.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Her cell rang. She dug it out of her pocket.
“Hey, Tanya,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “What’s up?”
“Hey, hon, Jake told me you quit work?”
“Jake?” she echoed.
“He’s still a dick. You’re not seeing him again, are you?”
“Tanya, I have a headache. I’ll call you later.”
Sofia hung up, frustrated. She emptied her pockets and tossed her lunch in the fridge. When she retreated to the bathroom, she flipped on the light, cringed, but forced herself to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
She was going to die. She just knew it. Whatever her disease, it had eluded the doctors for months. By the time they found out what it was, she’d probably be near dead, like stage four cancer. She stared at her reflection, caught by something else that didn’t seem right. She leaned forward, staring at her irises. Her favorite feature, her eyes, had always been a pretty shade of turquoise. But instead of a rim of darker blue surrounding her irises, they were rimmed by a thick band of iridescent silver.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. As she stared, the silver seemed to flare into a deep glow and swirl around her irises like cars around a racetrack. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The silver was still there. “Hallucinations!”
She ran to her desk and pulled out a journal, jotting down her latest symptom.
Sensitivity to light, enhanced hearing s
o I can’t sleep without noise cancellation headphones, aversion to fish, crave meat and broccoli, nails growing faster, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, HEADACHES, stuffy nose, addiction to peanut butter, weight loss, general weakness …
The strange symptoms went on for three pages. She read the list until panic stirred in her breast. Claustrophobic in the dark cave that had become her home, she grabbed her coat and purse and set out into the cold, brisk evening. She didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing the sun again like Brad Pitt in Interview with the Vampire.
She joined crowds of people milling through downtown Crystal City to see the Christmas displays and shop. The sight of such normalcy calmed her, until someone brushed against her.
A man’s face, a woman in the hospital on her death bed, their children surrounding them.
“I’m so sorry!” someone said, steadying her as she staggered under the impact of the sudden image. Her vision cleared, and she looked into the face of the man from her vision, though he was much younger standing before her.
“I’m okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
He continued on his way, holding out his hand to the woman awaiting him. The same woman who would die in twenty-three years from ovarian cancer.
More hallucinations. Nothing more, she told herself. Sofia shrugged the sense of foreboding away and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brushed the folded paper Jake had given her. She pulled it free, once again compelled to stare at the name written there. She made her way to a coffee shop and sat at a table in the darker end of the shop, hot cocoa in hand. Someone careened into her as she pried her cell from her pocket.
“Cody, watch where you’re going!” a mother scolded the little boy sprawled on the floor.
Sofia reached for him, helping him to his feet.
Cody, sprawled in the middle of the street after being hit by a car, blood trickling from his skull into a nearby storm drain. His dark eyes open and staring.
“Sorry about that,” the young mother said, flashing a smile.
“No problem.” Sofia blinked out of her stupor. Yet another symptom of her illness: insanity! She looked again at the name on the paper and dialed.
“This is Sondra. How may I direct your call?” a pleasant voice answered.
“Um, hi, I, uh, found this number on Dr. Bylun’s blog. I’m not sure he can help me, but I would really like to speak to him.”
“We have a Mr. Bylun, but he doesn’t have a blog. Perhaps you have the wrong number?”
“Okay, I admit someone else said they found this on his blog and said I should call,” Sofia said. There was a moment of silence, and she could almost see Sondra assessing what to do.
“Why don’t you leave me your name, and if Mr. Bylun believes it in his best interest, he’ll return your call.” The cryptic response made her hesitate. Sofia sighed and raked a hand through her hair.
“Why not. I don’t have anything to lose. My name is Sofia Fast from Crystal City, Virginia.”
“And what is your call regarding?” Sondra asked.
“I’m sick. I have some sort of disease no one can diagnose, and one of my coworkers gave me this number to try.”
“Who referred you?”
“Jake Hampton.” She heard the secretary typing.
“I’m afraid he’s not in my system,” Sondra said. “I’ll deliver your message. Please don’t be surprised if Mr. Bylun opts not to return your call.”
Sofia hung up and stared at the number on the paper, wondering if Jake had lied to her or if he flat out screwed up the number. He really wasn’t a man of detail, which was why she was so surprised to see him working as a financial planner. She’d definitely never trust her money to him. Her cell rang, and she recognized her doctor’s number.
“Ms. Fast, this is Linda from Dr. Mallard’s office,” an older woman’s voice said.
“Hi Linda.”
“Dr. Mallard wanted me to give you a call and schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“Oh, God, what’s wrong now?” Sofia exclaimed and balled up her free hand into a fist until her nails bit into flesh.
“The specialist he flew in from Zurich arrives tonight. He’s apparently really interested in meeting you.”
“Really? I’d love to come in. What time do you open?”
“Seven. I’ll schedule you for seven-fifteen so Dr. Mallard can get his first cup of coffee,” Linda said.
“That’s awesome, Linda. Thank you so much for calling!”
“No problem. We’ll see you tomorrow at seven-fifteen.”
Hopeful, Sofia crumpled up the paper with Dr. Bylun’s information. If Dr. Mallard’s international guest was that anxious to see her, he must know what was going on! She sipped her cocoa, cheered by the thought of soon knowing what was wrong with her.
The sound of screeching tires and a scream drew the patrons from the coffee shop to the window. Sofia stuffed Dr. Bylun’s paper into her empty cup, tossed it, and joined the onlookers lining the street. Somewhere a few blocks away, an ambulance wailed. A drunk man staggered from a dark blue BMW. She walked up the street to a better vantage point, curious to see what he hit.
She froze at the sight straight out of her vision—the little boy, Cody, spread-eagled in the street near the storm drain. His mother was hysterical, screaming at once at the driver and her dead son. Coldness seeped through her as she watched the familiar scene before her. In the distance, she heard her cell phone ring. It ceased and began to ring again. As if in a dream, she pulled it free and answered.
“Ms. Fast?” The deep baritone voice pierced her thoughts. “This is Damian Bylun. You left a message with my receptionist?”
Her world was beginning to spin as she realized her vision had come true. Her legs felt weak, and she sat heavily on the curb, struggling to control her breathing so she didn’t pass out.
God, what’s wrong with me? I saw him die …
“Pardon?”
Realizing she clenched the phone in her hand, she locked the screen and sat staring at the asphalt. Someone touched her, and visions flared across her mind. A pretty brunette, mugged in a back alley, raped and killed.
“Hey, are you all right?” someone else asked. As the man took her arm to help her stand, his haggard face appeared in yet another vision. An older man with dementia left to rot and finally die in an old folks’ home.
“Get away from me!” she cried, tearing her arm away. She fled, staggering as she bumped into more people and more visions flashed. She ran until the cold air burned her lungs and the people were far behind her. She retreated to her apartment, breathing raggedly, with cold tears stiffening her cheeks.
She closed and locked the door behind her. She froze when she saw the disaster that was her apartment. Everything was overturned or shredded, from the furniture to the bookshelves to the TV lying on its face. The windows were open and the apartment cold.
Her headache was now a migraine, and she shielded her eyes against the light from the street that filtered past her honeycomb blinds. She all but staggered into her bathroom. She wrenched open the medicine cabinet for the most powerful of the drugs Dr. Mallard prescribed for her and slammed the cabinet shut.
Her eyes were fully silver, swirling and glowing in the dark bathroom.
“What is wrong with me?” she screamed, slamming her fists against the mirror.
Her blood spattered on the wall, and buzzing filled her ears. She sank to the floor. Her phone began to ring again as she slid into a dead faint.
Damian’s Oracle is available from:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Damians-Oracle-War-Gods-ebook/dp/B004JN0KHM/
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/damians-oracle-lizzy-ford/1029664032
iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/damians-oracle/id416014301?mt=11
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/35499
The War of Gods series
/> Damian’s Oracle (October 2011)
Damian’s Assassin (November 2011)
Damian’s Immortal (02 December 2011)
The Grey God (May 2012)
About Lizzy Ford
Lizzy Ford is the hyper-prolific author of the "Rhyn Trilogy" and "War of Gods" series, both launched in 2011, as well as multiple single title young adult fantasy and paranormal romances. Lizzy's books have reached into the bestseller lists on both Amazon US and Amazon UK in multiple categories. Lizzy is considered by most to be the ultimate writing freak of nature for her ability to write and epublish a new book every 30-45 days. She is also an active member of a small guild of nine passionate, talented writers, the Indie Eclective. Lizzy's books are available from Amazon, BN, Smashwords, iBooks/iTunes, and all other eReader libraries. Find Lizzy online:
Website: http://www.guerrillawordfare.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LizzyFordBooks/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/LizzyFord2010
Table of Contents
Mesmerized
By Julia Crane and Talia Jager
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Mesmerized Page 16