Serenity (Forever Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
About The Author
Contact The Author
Spotlight Artists
Books By India R. Adams
India’s Thank-Yous
Songs That Inspired India For Serenity
SERENITY
A Forever Novel
Book One of the Forever Series
By India R. Adams
Serenity
Copyright © 2016 by India R. Adams All rights reserved.
First Edition: July 2016
Serenity is published by India’s Productions
Editing by: Angela McRae, Red Adept Editing
Cover: Pro Book Covers
Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedicated to Roger, Billy, Cheyenne, and Dezeray
Eight years ago began a journey that was to lead us to many challenges. You stayed by my side through them all. Thank you. I love you… infinity…
Chapter One
Forever
Time is a manmade construction—human moments of judging what cannot be judged, what cannot be controlled or always understood. For there are no limits to the infinity of the universe. No boundaries to contain what is irrepressible, merely winding paths to where the soul’s decisions take us.
To those who do catch a glimpse of what is epically or not so magnificently taking place before them—to the ones who do choose to see—those human moments are so profound they seem to stand still. And it’s in those moments that acute awareness takes place and stays with them throughout a lifetime. The seconds that tick by seem only a memory—a time known, a time lived—and are all presented at the same time, because they are. For all is connected… It is the way of our magical balance. These incredible knowings are for all to see—for all to appreciate—yet only some do. And when this miracle of awareness takes place, these are the moments that last forever…
Chapter Two
The Smile
I’ve always been different, just haven’t always known it to be so or to be a bad thing. I was five when I learned that not everyone sees what I see—an energy light from all people and all things.
Dad told me not to touch the hot coffee mug sitting next to his newspaper.
I had no intention of doing so. “No, Daddy, it will burn me.”
He peered at me through his reading glasses. “How do you know?”
“The light’s color told me so.”
He laid down his paper on the dining table. “What light, Munchkin?”
The closest example I’ve found to my sight was in a documentary that showed a snake’s perspective when searching for food. Heat radiated off the snake’s next meal like light vibrates off whatever I view. There are variations of this luminosity, and I’ve since learned to tune out most of the vibrancies. But that day, my daddy smiled as if I were magical. That smile was full of promises that everyone would view me just as he did.
He doesn’t smile at me like that anymore. Only a select few do.
I’m sixteen now and have been without his love for more years than I wish to discuss.
Maybe my sight is why, at age fourteen, I could sense the supernatural quality of the journal I found under my closet’s floorboard. Huddled in a corner, I hid, trying to shut out my parents’ vicious words that were like blades puncturing me, causing unseen wounds. Through the closed closet doors, a stream of sunlight shined on a plank of wood in the flooring. It was slightly lifted compared to the rest. Usually my boots stood in that spot, but I had left them outside because they were muddy from an earlier adventure with Skyler in the woods behind my home.
That adventurous child I used to be gave in to curiosity and picked at the wood to see if it would move. The wood shifted in my hand and became a savior of sorts.
The journal, left behind by whoever lived here before me, consumed my interest. I eagerly opened the pages, laying the book in the stream of light so I could see the words that would change my world.
Away from the sun and in the shadows
Is how it feels when I’m awake
My body says I am young
My heart and soul say I am not what the mirror reflects
I can feel the depths of my ancient ways
as I cling to the walls that contain me
The shouting down the hall began to fade as I lost myself in the feminine handwriting perfectly describing my tragic circumstances.
I shiver as my world trembles
The violent ones who profess to know the truth
consume the air I need for life
A flash of despair
A moment of hope
These are the things I hold on to
Things that won’t let me shatter into pieces
Away from the sun, I close my eyes
and release myself into the unknown
I hope she is there
I hope she is there…
Until I find the one I know is out there, I hold this journal close to my heart and make a wish—a wish to someday have beautiful, happy words to write. Until then, this journal, as my friend, hides my truth from the outside world. I am a girl with secrets, and the familiar sounds of her feet running to my room are my reminders. No escape tonight.
My closet doors were yanked open, and my mother cried, “Help me!”
Loaded tears rolled down my face as I was forced back into my parents’ madness. All I wanted was the connection I felt with the book in my arms, because those journal entries, written by another, told my story—her story—w
ord for word. And for once, I wasn’t so alone.
Later that night, I began reading that wonderful journal from the beginning, and I finished the next night. On that second night, when the words ran out, my hungry fingers touched the empty pages. Before I knew what I was doing, with pen in hand, I was adding words of my own.
My own inked story, a reflection of hers.
It felt as if she… was me. Still does. I still long for the teenager who lived in this home before me. The home her dad built to keep her safe and warm but that failed to do so. I long for the one who can understand my world, my nights. The one I would dare burden with my tales. I wonder if the one from the journal is still alive or if I’m simply and beautifully haunted by her memories. “Haunting” may be the wrong word for what I experience with her, but see her I do. After I wrote in the journal, I reread particular words of hers. Then I lay my weary head on my expensive feather pillow, chanting those words that bring me comfort as a wish and a prayer to see me through another long night. “Away from the sun I close my eyes and release myself into the unknown. I hope she is there. I hope she is there…”
Whether it was my abilities, voodoo, or insanity that brought me to her, I didn’t care. It was too wonderful for me not to appreciate the break from my exhausting life. As my body slept on my Tempur-Pedic mattress, my spirit walked in a field of tall flowers that spread farther than the eye could see. The sun shined bright, and no buildings were in sight. The petals tickled my palms as I brushed my hands over them to see if I could enjoy their touch as much as their beauty. I’d somehow found a mystical far-away land that instantly became a place I never wanted to leave. There, I was free. No weight from my everyday life reached me. There, I didn’t even feel the sadness that normally clings to me when I’m awake.
As a faint hum sounded in my ears, I gazed around but saw no one or nothing to be the cause. When the hum got louder, I realized it was a female’s voice, and it was the most pleasing noise I’d ever encountered. Her humming melody soothed me, entranced me into a calm—another realm of existence—that maybe only a highly enlightened monk could comprehend. My eyes involuntarily closed as my body began to sway to a song that I felt connected to. I became so grounded that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my dream was indeed somehow real.
Still moving to her delicate vocal music, I asked, “Are you real, too?”
“As real as you need me to be.”
My body stopped moving when I heard her right in front of me, but when I opened my eyes, I saw only a glimpse of the back of a natural brown cloak. Thinking of how kind her voice sounded, I continued to watch her turn away and walk through the spring flowers. “Can I see you?” I asked.
Her petite form bent to smell a flower. “They say, ‘Not yet.’”
“Why?”
She stood and walked away from me again. “Not time, Serenity.”
“You know my name… Do I know yours?”
“Yes.” She faced me but was too far away for me to see the details of her face. But she was close enough for me to see her bright aura. This cloaked one was trying to shield her magnificence from me. Some things were too wondrous to be covered.
“What is your name?” I asked, trying to get closer, drawn to her soul’s beauty.
“Not time yet.”
Even though her answers were vague, I still asked, “Who is the girl you hope is there when you close your eyes?”
I saw only a smile as she again hid in her hooded cloak, then she turned away from me.
For two years now, she has been the one I hope to see when I fall asleep. Not every night am I so lucky, but in the dream tonight…
As soon as I appear in the land of tall flowers, I feel complete. I inhale with gratitude for feeling whole again. Behind her is a stunning sunrise with an enchanted glow. The colors in the flowers that circle us transform into an abundance of purple. I sense they want to blanket us.
Cloaked to prevent her identity when she’s so close to me, she holds out her palm. “The universe offers us a purple flame of light to heal broken hearts.”
A lavender blaze lights in the center of her palm, but she appears to feel no burn. I stare at the enthralling glow. “But… my heart has never been broken.”
The opening of her hood slowly tilts. “Has it not?” Her eyes are exposed for the very first time. They’re brown, and as the purple flame reflects, I see slight golden-and-red highlights streaming through them. I somehow know them, and know them well, but I can’t remember and stop trying to when she says, “He is coming.”
Before I get to ask who, she takes off running, happily, in our field. Even though I find this rare form of hers intoxicating, I feel she’s trying to tell me something. My dream visitor spins around with a smile, as if she’s heard my thought. Her cloak blows in the wind she creates while running back to me. “You are an old soul.” Her hands grasp my face. “It is time to remember.”
Because of the way people illuminate for me, I’m drawn to certain colors. I know which colors feel the best when I’m near people. Like my Skyler. Other than my cloaked night visitor, no one glows like the angel I believe Sky is. The only ones who come close are babies. Before they are influenced by this world, they are pure love and make my body tingle.
“You’re ravishing, ya beautiful freak.”
Even though I know she is lying, I can’t help smiling and want to cling to her. During the daylight hours, she is my salvation and distraction from what awaits me at home.
As I slide into Skyler’s red sports car, she announces with disdain, “Report card day.” The car is not brand new, but Sky can afford the payments because she works part time behind the register at a little gas station.
I wince. “Maybe he’ll forget.”
Skyler rolls her enchanting blue eyes. “Wish on, my sweet. As much of a pain in the ass as Josh is, we’re thankful he cares. Right?”
I am. Josh has loved us since the moment Jolene introduced us. Sky and I fell in love with him right away. I read his bright, soft blue light, while Sky trusted her stupendous sense of discernment.
I inhale, thinking of my poor grades—according to Josh—and expect a lecture.
Just as we do every morning, Sky and I drive to school with the radio blaring and the windows down. Her long, almost white hair is blowing in the wind while a great song comes on. “Oh, here’s your girl!” She turns up the radio to ear-popping levels, putting another smile on my face.
The voice of my favorite artist stirs me. Goose bumps break out over my arms. I grab my chest. “Sometimes I feel as though she’s singing to my soul!”
Sky dances behind her steering wheel. “I believe she sings to all souls.”
Skyler O’Donnell, simply put, is the most important person in my life. Our parents—friends since childhood—for whatever reason never matured into the proper parental figures two young girls needed. During one of their drinking escapades, they realized the letter S was complicated. So, as their story goes, they decided their children’s names would start with this challenging letter and laughed every time they slurred through our names when calling us. Partying was their number-one priority at the time, so they pretty much left Sky and me to fend for ourselves. We shared cribs, bottles, and neglect and formed a bond like no other.
As the song ends, the DJ’s voice carries over the speakers. “That is Destiny’s hit single, ‘Calling to You.’ Have you guys heard about her stalker?”
Sky laughs. “Uh-oh, Serenity, the gig is up.”
“I’m a diehard fan, not a stalker. Big difference.”
The DJ continues, “News has been slowly leaking out. Destiny has been receiving threatening letters…”
Sky lowers the volume. “How could anyone want to hurt her?”
I’m not worried. I follow Destiny and her band members on social media. H
er lead guitarist, Jessie, has posted a picture of Destiny’s new bodyguard to keep us fans from losing our minds. No one is getting past that huge black man whose light shows his good intentions.
When my cell phone vibrates, I answer using Sky’s favorite word. “What’s up, freak?”
Jolene chuckles. “You sound like your soul twin. Listen, we’re skipping school today.”
I’m perplexed. “But we are almost to school.”
Jolene tries but doesn’t get to finish repeating my answer to Josh before he’s on the line. “What? Sky’s car is on autopilot? Turn the wheel and meet us at Margie’s. Pronto.”
“Go to Margie’s,” I tell Skyler.
“Why?”
With a smile exposing my gritted teeth, I say, “The Wise Ones have spoken. Get a move on.” I bounce in my seat as Skyler runs over curbs, following the command. “May I question the change in schedule?” I ask Josh, dripping sarcasm.
“Yep.” He hangs up.
I should have asked if he could answer.
My laughter seems to prompt Sky’s next question. “What the hell is going on?”
I stare out the open passenger window. “He’s stirring the pot. I can feel it.”
“Damn pot stirrer,” Sky curses, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
When we pull up to Margie’s—a rustic country diner and a local favorite—Josh has Jolene wrapped in his arms, leaning against his old-timey blue Ford pickup truck, the only thing his dad left when he bailed years ago. Josh’s deep-set brown eagle eyes are already watching over Sky and me. Jolene is approximately five feet eight, so the top of her head fits just under his chin when they hold each other like this. I melt when watching them show affection. Their energies blend, making violet waves shine for me. I instantly want to intermix with their love because I know firsthand how healing it is.