by Sarah Noffke
“Was that his first time?” I say to Adelaide, because I need to know for certain.
“Yeah, it was. And what are you doing? I thought you were staying in the car,” she says, angling her hand in the distance, where through a few well-spaced trees I can see the SUV.
“I was,” I say. “I changed my mind though.” And then I set Lucien down and walk forward, toward the sound of familiar humming. Just on the other side of another massive tree, there in the clearing is Dahlia throwing a blanket down on the ground. Pops stands beside her, his hands pinned to his lower back as he takes in the great trees around him.
Dahlia turns when I approach, a radiant smile unfurling when she sees me. “Ren, you decided to join us. I’m so glad.” And then she throws her arms around my shoulders, pulling me down to her.
I peer back at her when she releases me. “I didn’t want to miss this adventure,” I say, placing a single kiss on the corner of her mouth. And then I realize I’ve somehow been freed to live in the moment. The future is a free beast allowed to be whatever it becomes.
Epilogue
Life isn’t an adventure. That’s like saying life is a riddle. It’s not. Sometimes it’s confusing. Perplexing. But often life presents itself fairly straightforwardly. Usually we aren’t listening or paying attention. Or maybe even we have our vision obstructed by the past or colored by old hurts. And life isn’t a missile we’re forced to ride. There are ups and downs. There are uncertainties. But life is usually a series of days linked by chores and learning and hopefully punctuated by the kindness of another person or two.
Life is a journey.
Sometimes we’re stalled. Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes we’re speeding by so fast we miss something. And sometimes we break down. The path we take dictates most of what we experience, but our approach is the vehicle. And hopefully we enjoy the time with the people we’ve decided to take the ride with, because they aren’t guaranteed to be on our journey with us forever.
Past, present, and future are three parts of the whole, constantly intertwined and shifting as we change and grow.
I’m Ren Lewis and this is my evolution.
The End
Acknowledgements
Thank you first to the readers. You all love Ren. Strangely you can’t get enough of this guy who if he met you on the streets he’d tell you to sod off. I get the best messages regarding our unlovable redhead. It’s funny that I think he’s everyone’s alter ego in a way. He’s the part of us that we filter out. He says the things we want to and yet won’t allow ourselves because society would reject us. But Ren gets away with it. He gets away with being a jerk and you all seem to love it. I wrote this novella because the readers wanted more Ren banter. It was supposed to be a short story, but Ren tells his own tales and he had a lot to say and so this became a novella. Thank you to Jennifer for the fabulous ideas. Also, thank you to my inner circle who sparked much of the inspiration: Colleen, Stephanie and Jessica. And thank you to Christopher for all the support and great ideas.
Thank you to all my author friends, who without you I’d be very lost in this gigantic world of publishing. Thank you to Casey, Casey, Caroline, Jeff, Sarah, Derek, Christine, John and so many others who I learn from and relate to.
Thank you to Katy, Cheer, Jennifer and BOD. Love that group and the support.
Thank you to my betas Melinda, Heidi, Kelly, Stephanie, Jessica, Anne, Christopher, Katie and of course first chair, Colleen. What would I do without you all making me look good?
Thank you to my readers and fans and all the bloggers who make this so much easier.
Thank you to my cover designer, Andrei Bat. You should have run away long ago and changed your name, but I’d probably still find you and make you design my covers. Another fabo cover. Can you believe this is our 13th together? And I only have like 20 more in line for you to do before the year is out.
Thank you to Christine LePorte, my editor. I really relied on you to tell me if this was a good idea or not. The last thing I want is Ren jumping the shark. Thanks for the counseling and more.
Thank you to spirit who keeps granting me with wonderful ideas. That’s the only explanation that I have for the voices in my head.
Thank you to my friends and family. You all put up with my constant chatter about books and my current work in progress. You even deal with me when I talk incessantly in a British accent.
Thank you to Lydia. I remember driving through the country and detailing this entire book to you. When you listened without interrupting and when I was done said, I want to read that, I knew I had a good idea. And talking out my books to you has always been my best device. I hope you realize right now that without you I can’t write. You are forever my muse. Forever the love of my life.
One-Twenty-Six Press.
Ren: The Monster’s Death
Sarah Noffke
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Noffke
All rights reserved
Copyeditor: Christine LePorte
Cover Design: Andrei Bat
All rights reserved. This was self-published by Sarah Noffke under One-Twenty-Six Press. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you are seeking permission send inquiry at http: www.sarahnoffke.com
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Summary: When the greatest tragedy Ren Lewis has ever encountered besets him, he takes an unfathomable path to stop God from destroying his life.
Published in the United States by One-Twenty-Six Press
ASIN: B01N805317
To Jessica, aka Sica, because I am you and you are me and we are both Ren Lewis.
REN: THE MONSTER’S DEATH
Author Note
Where do you start when you’ve just written your heart and soul into a five book series? At the very beginning. I remember the day Ren Lewis came to me. I was writing the Lucidites series and the funny thing is that first scene never made it into the books. But from there that man went on to appear in six of my novels. And it was a reader named Kelly, you know who you are, who said I should write Ren’s story. I like challenges and so I accepted it. And I thought it would be a short story. I thought I didn’t have much to say on the subject of this man who was mostly hated and somewhat loved in my other books. And two weeks later I completed a sixty thousand word novel. That was supposed to be the end of it. Honestly. But then the redhead wouldn’t shut up. He had more to say and it kept me up at night. And so I decided to give him a three book series. That should suffice, right? Oh no, Ren Lewis isn’t happy unless ALL of his story is told. And so I kept writing. At first it was because of the readers. They loved the idea of sending Ren on a bad vacation where everything went wrong. Again, I love a challenge and so Ren 3.5 was born. That was going to be the end, right? Where else do you go after a wacky vacation? But it wasn’t the end. Ren had one last story to tell. One that I’m certain he was planning on telling all along. He’s used me as his vessel to tell his tale and I don’t know what to say except for, “thank you”.
Many people ask me where Ren came from. Well, he was probably born from my own fascination with British culture and my upbringing watching BBC programming. But honestly, at the end of the day, Ren Lewis is me. He’s the things I think and never say. He’s the uncensored part of me. Don’t get me wrong. Ren is smarter, wiser, more powerful and cunning than I’ll ever be. Even I have to draw the line at some of the things he says and does. However, he’s my alter ego. So now you know. Honestly, Ren is the part of all of us that we’ve caged because society says we should. And that’s probably for the best because few can pull off the snark like this man. The world would be an awful place if everyone was Ren. There can be only one and here I leave you with h
is final tale.
Note
Between Ren: The Monster’s Adventure (#3.5) and this book there is another story. It hasn’t been chronicled yet in its entirety, however events related to that story will be mentioned in this one. Readers of the Dream Traveler tales and of Ren’s stories should be on the lookout for The Dream Traveler Apocalypse novel, due out early 2018.
Prologue
Death. It’s the one thing we can’t avoid and yet we spend our entire lives trying to circumnavigate away from the experience. We fear death more than change, I’ve found. It’s the greatest change. Our very undoing. Our existence being blotted out. Our consciousness being extinguished from this earth, never to be known in the physical realm again.
Everyone dies. Everyone. No account of immortality has ever been documented and yet we continue to fear this certain fate. Humans take every precaution to secure their life but there is no home safe enough. No healthcare plan that can prevent disease. There is no escape. Death is the shadow that follows all of us. And its promise is a real one that it has never failed to deliver.
For centuries explorers, scientists, and religious followers have sought a way to make the hooded figure of death fail in his quest. And none have persevered. But they didn’t know what I know. They sought fountains of youth and treasures and other sacrificial regimens that would secure their immortality. But it’s not about the blood that runs through our veins. It’s about the approach. Death can’t be thwarted with a miracle cure. It has to be outmaneuvered. People who seek immortality fail to see that they are trying to live forever by never dying. They are idiots. They are wrong. They will always fail. And they aren’t me, the most strategic man on this planet.
I’m Ren Lewis and I’m going to live forever.
Chapter One
“Jesus Christ! Just give me five minutes to myself,” the man with too much gel in his hair plugs says, slamming the door. He pushes his back against the paneled surface, as though trying to bar it against a zombie invasion on the other side. “Damn it,” he says, ramming his fist into his thigh and then immediately grimacing from the self-inflicted pain.
This guy is a real fucking idiot. And he’s absolutely perfect for the job I’m about to give him. He hasn’t sensed me sitting on the leather sofa against the north wall of his office. This isn’t a man who observes his environment. He coasts through life, taking advantage of the things that do grab his attention. He’s not a loser or a winner, just a greedy politician who has experienced a series of undeserved successes due to my actions.
Another distressed sigh falls out of his mouth.
“You fear you’re about to lose the election,” I state, grabbing his attention.
His round eyes jerk in my direction on the far side of the gigantic office. Then they narrow with menace as he pops off the wall.
“How did you get in here?” he says.
Yes, the fucker is more concerned with how I got around Secret Service than the more important question. Bloody git.
“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with who I am?” I say, casually propping my legs on the glass coffee table in front of me. “I’ve gotten past a few hundred guards and you would rather know how than the important question of why.” I click my tongue and shake my head. “You really are a fucking moron.”
“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Douglas says, stomping forward, leaning over the table, trying at intimidation. I knew that insulting the dumbass right off the bat would keep him from calling security. People like him are easily distracted and more intent on defending their egos than preserving their safety. People are so incredibly easy to manipulate.
I ignore his idiot question. Again he’s asking the wrong thing. “Who I am and how I got here are actually useless pieces of data for you. They may be curious bits of information but still they are inconsequential,” I say, casually drumming my fingertips on my knee, and he catches the hypnotic gesture immediately. I pause, realizing this job is going to be incredibly easy. This guy has the brain capacity of a jar of mayonnaise.
“What do you want?” he says, standing tall, tying his thick arms across his chest.
“Now you’re asking the right question. Sit down, Doug,” I say, knowing all through the election that he grimaced every time his opponent shortened his name. This is a man who wants to inconvenience people by making them say his full name. People like Christophers and Matthews and Jeffreys really need to get over themselves and go by the shortened versions of their names.
His beady eyes bulge. I tap my fingers on my knee again and it’s immediately caught by his peripheral vision. I’m not going to hypnotize him yet, just trying to keep him calm, a result of watching a single one of my hypnotic movements.
“Without a real effort, I broke into your office, one of the most heavily guarded places in America on this night. Take a fucking seat so we can get this meeting over with,” I say.
The man, who could skip a meal or three and be better off for it, studies me as his gerbil brain considers my words. Again I drum my fingertips and pretty much on cue he slides down and takes a seat in the armchair on my right. I knew he would take that seat instead of the one on the left. It’s why I positioned myself on this side of the sofa.
“Now,” I say, pulling my feet off the table and sitting forward. “I’m the man who is going to help you win this election, but you have to do everything I say from this point forward.”
He explodes at once, tossing his hands over his head. “I’m so far behind in the polls! There’s no way I’m going to win. They are asking for my concession speech. Jill has this election won,” he says, his words coated in defeat.
“It doesn’t matter what the polls say. Who the people voted for. What the Electoral College does. The person I decide will be the next president of this country,” I say.
His mouth pops open wide and a loud laugh storms out. “You? Yeah, right. There’s no one with that much power.”
I arch an eyebrow at him and then create an almost exact replica illusion of a woman. It’s of the candidate who is currently winning the election. I place her in the seat opposite of Douglas. The one with the phony contract and pen sitting in front of it. The seat Douglas didn’t take. “Jill, it appears that Dougy here doesn’t want to be President. I guess the job is yours,” I say and push the contract toward the illusion, who is regarding her opponent with a calm expression, her blonde hair pushed away from her face in the manner that she normally wears it. “Go ahead and sign the deal and you’ll be the next President of the United States.”
From my side vision I watch the fucker beside me shift in his understanding of what is transpiring. It has taken longer than necessary for his reaction to burst out of him, probably due to his low IQ.
“What?” he says, rocketing to a standing position, his hands finding his helmet of hair. “How did you do that? Where did she come from?”
I snap my fingers, but only for effect, and the illusion of the politician disappears. “I’m the man who can make anything happen,” I say and lower my chin and regard him with a cunning stare. “I’m the man who can make you President of this bloody country, but you have to sit the fuck down and agree to everything I say.”
His aged spotted hands are shaking now.
“Sit,” I repeat, as he stares at the chair like he’s thinking Jill will reappear.
The buffoon nods absentmindedly and nearly misses the chair, taking a seat without paying attention.
“So-so-so,” he stutters, peeling his eyes off the empty chair and looking at me. “What do I have to do to be President?”
“Everything I say. And after you’re President you only do what you’re told. You report to my organization every night. You pass the legislation we tell you to. And you don’t do a fucking thing unless we approve,” I say.
“Who is your organization?” he says.
I pull the contract from the other side of the table, positioning it in front of him before handing him the silver ballpoint pen.
“The Lucidites,” I say.
The Ivy League–educated idiot regards the contract and then me.
“What is this?” he says.
“Fucking sign it,” I say simply.
He begins reading it, which will take the airhead over an hour.
“It says exactly what I’ve just told you. If we make you President then you do everything we tell you to and nothing else. If you do anything that violates the contract then you will be impeached and imprisoned for heinous crimes,” I say.
“What crimes?” he says.
I dismiss the question with a wave. “We will figure something out. Do we have a deal?” I say.
“Absolutely,” he says now with no stress in his voice, just a giddy laugh.
Yes, I could have used mind control on this fucking jerk but it would wear off and need to be reapplied. This was the better strategy. And the contract is bogus but this ape doesn’t know that. Doug just knows that a man more powerful than him is going to ruin him unless he answers to the Lucidites. And we absolutely would tear him down for insubordination, I’d see to it personally.