House of Thirteen
Book One
Andy Lockwood
Copyright © 2015 Andy Lockwood
Cover Art by Brian Ritson
All rights reserved.
First Edition: August 2015
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN: 1517030870
ISBN-13: 978-1517030872
More information:
http://www.happierthoughts.com
Also by Andy Lockwood
Empty Hallways
Also Appearing in:
Monster Attack
A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words
Tales of Horror on Halloween Night
Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
This is for you, mom.
Of all the gifts you have given me, and all the lessons shared, I think I cherish the weirdness most of all.
I love you.
“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.”
- Helen Keller
PROLOGUE
It was a beautiful day, even if it was the dead of winter.
January had finally decided to grace the sun-starved people of the northern climes with a few hours of their beloved light source. After crushing their spirits with a full week of cloud cover and drifting snow, a few hours was a welcome reprieve.
When it peeked out from behind the clouds just before noon, the streets filled with people looking as though they forgot the sun ever existed. Ren rolled her eyes at the lookie-loos and the gawkers and considered herself lucky she remembered her sunglasses. As much as she appreciated the warmth it brought, the intense reflection off the frozen landscape was less than enjoyable.
She strolled the sidewalks, dancing around man-made moguls and teetering somewhere between not slipping on the ice and trying not to clobber the other pedestrians along the walkway. The tread on her boots didn’t seem to give her as much traction as she expected it to. She scrunched up her face in dismay and mentally calculated how many paychecks it would take to get a new pair. As she carried ones and multiplied by sales tax, her sense of responsibility tacked on a few odds and ends that she knew should be handled first. She audibly cursed, realizing there were far too many things standing between her and a new pair of boots.
She reached into her pocket, fishing her phone out as she began scanning and skipping through her playlist. She needed something that could squash her suddenly sour mood. Today was going to be something special; she felt it. She adjusted her ear buds and turned up the volume, her eyes glued to the display on her phone as she barely dodged strangers moving in the opposite direction.
No, no, no.
She clicked through with frenzy, needing only the first couple beats to know if the song was going to fit her monumental day.
No, no – wait.
She backed up one track. The chords danced happily in her ears, the beat racing down to her feet almost immediately. It was the perfect anthem for her day – except for one strange sound that didn’t belong. She listened harder, trying to place the sound, oblivious of the city bus bearing down on her.
ONE
At some point between the concrete and the blinding pain that followed, Ren’s body could take no more. She simply shut down. She fought for consciousness, feeling herself trapped under the ice and pounding helplessly against the frozen surface. Each time she broke through, she felt glowing warmth radiating from within her. Though she tried to hold onto that warm glow, the pain returned shortly after, an invisible hand shoving her back down beneath the surface of consciousness.
She had no recollection of where she was or what was happening, but each time she woke, she was aware that something had changed around her. Each time, her surroundings had altered. Then she awoke to nothing, just darkness. She was confused, disoriented, and fearing blindness. She wanted to cry, but her body wouldn’t obey her.
That’s when she realized she couldn’t move. Not just that, but she didn’t seem to be breathing either. She couldn’t even detect her heartbeat in her chest. Panic was starting a storm in her brain. Her fear of blindness had escalated to a fear of paralysis. Or worse, coma.
Then out of the silence, she found stimulus: from somewhere in the shapeless dark, she could hear voices. It was a small hope, and she clung to it desperately.
They were muffled, echoing. They were somewhere behind or above her. She couldn’t get a sense of bearing, and she was almost positive a wall separated the voices from her. She heard a door swing open and the voices became clear. There was light, but she could barely see. Barely was still a distinct improvement and for now, she was willing to accept it.
“It’s her. It’s got to be,” a young woman spoke. There was excitement and urgency in her voice.
“Josephine, really,” something slid beneath Ren as the new woman spoke. She sounded more refined, though not much older. “She is the only one in here.”
The voice named Josephine made a sound of refute. Without warning, Ren’s vision returned, only to be blinded by a flashlight being shone into her eyes. She wanted to protest but nothing came.
“She’s in there, but not by much yet,” Josephine said to the other woman in the room. Her vision was now obscured by purple after images from the light but she could make out that the girl was looking elsewhere. “This might be a record.”
“Her name is Florence Weatherbee.” The other woman spoke again. Even paralyzed, Ren cringed inwardly. She wanted to tell them that she had buried that name. She hadn’t been Florence in a long time.
Ren got the distinct impression that she was travelling again. As the after images faded, she took in the room. She couldn’t move her eyes, but her peripheral vision was still intact. Her soul shuddered a little as her brain put all the pieces together. It only took a minute; she had seen enough television shows to know what a morgue looked like. She had been rescued from a drawer, and was now resting in a wheelchair. Her body did not seem to be cooperating as the young voice helped her into some ill-fitting clothes. It wasn’t even that her body didn’t cooperate; it didn’t work at all. The other woman seemed more interested in other things as she stood at a desk, rifling through papers. What were they doing here?
As if reading her thoughts, the voice called Josephine held Ren’s face in her hands, smiling.
“My name’s Josephine. You can call me Joe if you like,” A pair of sparkling golden eyes peered through a pointy mop of chestnut hair. Her nose wrinkled when she smiled and Ren thought for a moment she might smile back out of infectious reflex. Her head settled on her chest again, allowing her to watch Josephine fiddle with the buttons on a shirt that Ren had never seen before, but apparently was now wearing. Her legs were bare. A chill coursed through her: Had she been naked? What happened to her clothes?
Joe finished the buttons and straightened the hem on the shirt, trying to provide Ren a bit of decency. She nodded satisfactorily and smiled, holding Ren’s face again in her hands as she made eye contact.
�
�This is a rescue mission. Trust me, you don’t want to be here when the autopsy starts.”
Autopsy? But that can’t be! I’m not… am I?
But no one responded. All Ren could do was observe and hope her condition would improve.
“She’s belted in,” Josephine lurched the chair back and forth; Ren’s head bobbing. The other woman did not stray from the desk. She appeared to be busy on the computer.
“Um, vroom vroom?” Josephine jostled the chair as she made the car sounds. Again, no response.
“Mariel-“ She tried a third time and was interrupted by a curt and cool two-word response.
“Almost finished.”
Josephine pushed the chair toward the door. Ren could still make out Mariel in her peripheral vision. She was intently focused; Ren could see that from the stern gaze and intolerant brow as she willed the computer to follow her commands.
In another world, Alternate Universe Ren was having the time of her life, falling in with a gang of rogue CIA ninjas. In that far away place, she was about to start a journeymanship into a world of hacking, espionage and covert awesomeness. But in this universe, Ren was trapped inside an unresponsive body with an all-too-friendly stranger amid a rescue she wasn't aware she needed. And she was quite possibly dead. Alternate Universe Ren was always the lucky one.
“Done.” Mariel clicked a couple more times, shutting down the terminal and grabbing a manila folder from the desk. She strode quickly, kneeling in front of Ren, holding her face like Josephine had. Ren looked into a pair of steel blue eyes that scrutinized her, locking eyes with her in the same uncomfortable way her optometrist often did. It was as if they didn’t believe the occupant was actually at home, so they were peeping in the windows to make sure. Layered blonde bangs swung back and forth as she regarded the unresponsive girl, her pink lips hardly noticeable in their thin, taut line.
Mariel’s sharp gaze softened as she looked into Ren’s face. For a brief moment, Mariel looked sad, lost. It dissipated and her controlled exterior returned with a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth. She almost looked warm, inviting, but Ren saw the look moments before and knew that this was a front to keep things moving. Mariel was a deeper well than she wanted to let on.
“Florence, my name is Mariel. You must be so confused right now. We can explain - but later. We are going now.” She caressed Ren’s face softly. “You are going to be fine, Florence. I need you to believe that.”
Ren didn’t bother to question why she took these strange women on faith. But she did believe Mariel. It was suddenly not a question: Mariel and Josephine were here to rescue her.
The trip through the hospital was uneventful, which Ren assumed was the best outcome. There had been a slight hiccup when they had to transfer Ren from the wheelchair to the car, but the parking lot was practically empty. It was dark. Ren assumed the middle of the night.
The streetlights had been hypnotic, the conversation minimal. What she had gathered was from Josephine reading the file out loud. It was the accident report that had been delivered by the police along with Ren’s body.
“You know, she’s really lucky that she’s not worse for wear. Listen to this: Victim was found 45 meters from point of impact. Evidence of collision apparent on vehicle: Damage to lower front windshield, denting above bumper on –“
“Josephine!”
“What?” She looked at Mariel, and then cast a thoughtless glance over her shoulder into the back seat where Ren was propped up on a corner, half gazing out the window, half staring at the interior roof. She had a full second to stare dumbfounded at Mariel again before shame descended on her. “Oh god–“
She was stammering out an apology, but Ren had already zoned out. Her mind was piecing together her last moments. She would have cried, flailed, leapt from the car to get away from these thoughts, but here, stuck, she had no choice but to let them flit together and confront her.
Her last moment played on a loop in her head. Each time, she tried to find one of the million options that might have been available to her in order to escape this fate. All empty possibilities, she knew, because she was still here. Mariel and Josephine were arguing in the front seat. Ren wondered if she could sleep in her condition, and if she could do it with her eyes open.
**
She likened it less to sleeping and more to a fever dream. She found a space to stare off into that, mostly, gave her peace enough to drift somewhere else. The car ride was long. Dawn was breaking beyond the clouds by the time the car stopped. As Mariel and Josephine withdrew her from the car, something had changed. Ren was aware of being handled. Before, she knew it was happening because she could see it, hear it, but she never felt it. Were her senses returning? Excitedly, she tried to speak, move, wiggle her fingers, anything. She tried to pacify herself. Obviously it wasn’t going to be like flipping a switch. She tried to blink, or move her eyes, something small, but nothing happened.
Yet. But something is happening.
As they carried her, she felt warmth. Not bodily warmth, but almost an energy that radiated from Josephine and Mariel. It spread through whatever energy she still possessed, fueling her hope and curiosity. It reminded her of the warm glow after the accident, but stronger.
Ren was placed in a chair, and Mariel resumed her position before the unresponsive girl. Her hair had been tied back earlier; it was now hanging in long waves of platinum and gold around her shoulders. They shared a gaze and behind Mariel’s eyes, again Ren saw something: another flash of sadness that could not be put into words. She wondered if there was an explanation for it, if anyone knew. She wanted to ask, but that would have to wait. Mariel brought her walls up again, resuming her refined exterior and smiled softly as she held the girl’s face in her hands.
“You feel trapped in there, I know.” Ren felt the warmth reaching her again as Mariel spoke. She could feel it in her shoulder as well and wondered if Josephine was beside her, lurking outside her vision.
“It may sound preposterous, but the best thing for you right now is to stay calm. You are going to be fine.” She wanted to nod, to communicate that she was fine and she could already feel herself getting better. Mariel looked down and took her hand, and Ren knew that the veil was drawn again. Something about all this troubled Mariel and Ren had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t just about her.
“Florence, there is no easy way to say this next part, unbelievable as it is,” She looked up, a tear trailing down her cheek. “You died.”
In the hours since their daring rescue, Ren had already exhausted the limited possibilities. But to hear it from someone so visibly moved finally made it real for her. A wave crashed down around her brain, flooding her thoughts with all the ifs and coulds, wills and can’ts this new realization provided. She wanted – no, she needed – to communicate now. She had questions that would not wait.
“We brought you here so you could be among people who know what you are. Do you understand? You are not alone in this.” Mariel swallowed and looked away.
Josephine joined Mariel in front of the chair; she pulled Mariel’s head onto her own shoulder and whispered softly, something Ren couldn’t make out. She then knotted her fingers with the other two hands, making a gnarled ball of fists. She tried to smile and now Ren knew something was going on. It was not the same infectious smile that she had seen earlier. This was forced – like Mariel’s – for some yet unknown reason.
“This isn’t easy to say, but we’re sisters now,” Josephine tried to smile, putting off the inevitable. Her eyes widened as she realized how the words might be interpreted. “That’s not the bad news – at least I hope not. The bad news is that even though you’re fine here, to the rest of the world you are dead. That includes your friends and family.” Ren felt her heart sink to somewhere around the pit of her stomach. “It’s best to let them grieve and move on, trust me.” Ren watched her blink away a tear and saw that same sadness inside Josephine.
Was this her future? A brand new life full o
f sadness and solitude? No, she wouldn’t have it. She would carve the life she wanted, no matter what. She would miss her friends, but a distance had been yawning open between them for a while. In the three years since her mother died, she’d had good days and bad; mostly bad. Her friends did what they could, but they had no basis for her struggle, so when she had a bad day, they were nowhere to be found. In the beginning, she’d hardly noticed. It was easy to retreat beneath the blankets and simply call the day a loss. But as she tried to return to the world, as she forced herself to seek out the company of people who might be able to show her how to be a functioning human again, that was where she noticed the problems surfacing. They could take her out and show her a good time, but they could no longer provide anything more than small talk. They didn’t want to discuss anything deep enough to upset her – and they weren’t sure what might upset her, so they just didn’t talk about anything. Her friends became superficial to the point of being unnecessary, so she decided she was simply better off.
Her mother, on the other hand, was everywhere. The longer Ren lived without her, the more things seemed to appear to remind her of all the wonderful things her mother had shared. Ren had continued to put aside money here and there between rent and college loans, still planning on taking that backpacking trip through Europe that her mother convinced her to do. In the meantime, she spent most of her days picking up her mother’s hobbies: reading in the warm afternoon sun, maintaining a small garden on her windowsill, living day to day as if tomorrow would never come. Often, she had to battle herself to be responsible enough to keep a roof over her head, which made her smile. It was the way her mother lived. It was also why mom got the hippie funeral of her dreams – she had never bothered to think far enough into the future to plan for the end. It was up to Ren to call around to the remaining family and scrounge enough money to pay for a plot and a priest.
House of Thirteen Page 1