Never Look Back

By sabina bummel

Self help writer Jen Butler finds herself wavering between a fragile reality and a world of nightmares that she cannot escape. In a chance encounter at her first book signing, Jen meets the handsome Will Lawrence. For a year, they are inseparable until one morning after a terrifying nightmare, she wakes to find every shred of his existence gone. Her reality suddenly becomes her nightmare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: sabina bummel
• Release date: Dec 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301125548

sabina bummel

Sabine, mother of three girls, makes her home in Waxhaw, North Carolina. Born in Germany and immigrated to Canada at two and later to the States, her life has taken her many places which she shares in her stories. A graduate in Journalism from St. Bonaventure, Sabine has been writing stories since she was young but it wasn't until 2010, when her catering business went through a slump, that she finally started her first novel, Never Look Back. The characters fighting for a place in her mind finally came to life. Her three girls, Alexa, Carly & Olivia are a constant source of inspiration for her characters. Alexa, much like Sabine, has begun her own writing career and published a novel as well. Sabine is currently working on the sequel to Never Look Back, Another life as she just wasn't finished with Jen Butler. She is also working on Alex Powell, another mystery with a psychic twist.

Book preview

Never Look Back

Sabine Bummel

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Sabine Bummel

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

Table of Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

The sheers fluttered in a slight breeze from the open balcony door as the moonlight partially illuminated the bedroom of self help writer, Jennifer Butler’s Manhattan town home. A lone siren faded into the distance. Sounds from the nightlife of the city had died. The bed moved as he rolled over and slid his arm gently under her waist. Returning to her place, she pressed herself into his smooth muscular chest and closed her eyes. The intoxicating smell of his cologne lingered in the sheets. Could life be better than it was at this moment? After years alone, she had finally met her soul mate. His steady breathing lulled her back into a blissful slumber.

The ear piercing sound of shattering glass catapulted her upright. Massive pieces of glass from the patio door crashed to the oak floor. Terror filled her senses as the rapid fire of gunshots filled the room, sprays of bullets pierced holes into the brick wall behind her. More shots fired into the bed spewing pieces of fabric and tiny down feathers spewed into the air. He threw himself on top of her in a futile attempt to protect her from the violent attack. She gasped as the weight of his body took her breath. Suddenly the protective shield went limp. Then silence.

She peered out from underneath his arm, looking toward the patio doorway. A blanket of shattered glass on the floor glistened from the moonlight. A ghostlike outline of a man stood motionless in the open doorway. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, the glow amplified with his steady breathing.

He stood silently, watching her. She crawled from under her dead lover’s body shrieking uncontrollably. Frantically, she tugged at the wet, blood soaked sheets until she reached the edge of the battered mattress. She slid off the side of the bed ... falling, falling, falling into the murky waters below. The icy churning blackness pulled her deeper and deeper squeezing the air from her lungs.

Jennifer Butler woke on the cold hardwood floor in the darkness of her bedroom. The only sound she could hear was from the late night traffic below. Still gasping for air, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. In the muted light produced by the narrow opening of the bedroom door, she scanned the surroundings of her bedroom. The walls behind her were intact. The oil painting of the Venice sunset hung on the wall in front of the bed. The painting’s tiny gondolas floating in their place, locked in time. She rubbed her forehead and winced in pain. Tiny beads of perspiration dripped down the back of her neck. It was a dream. It had happened again. The same dream that haunted her for weeks. What did the dream mean?

Exhausted, she pulled herself back into the bed while pieces of the nightmare filtered into her mind. Something was different this time. Her eyes drifted to the doorway where light pressed through a small opening. The dream faded. Where was Will? His voice echoed from the kitchen below. Relieved, she slumped into the pile of rumpled pillows.

Dammit, Ian how could something like this happen? His agitated voice raised. She heard the sound of objects being moved around and caught glimpses of his pacing movements in the distant kitchen. Ian, do you know what this means? Will barked. Then, the conversation became a whispered one. The pacing stopped and his shadow slumped into one of the kitchen bar stools. Eager to investigate but her exhaustion took over. She would ask him in the morning. She succumbed to the tiring effects of the dream and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter One

The long squeal of tires awakened Jen suddenly. Outside sunlight struggled to overcome the gloominess of another cold winter morning. Sitting up in her bed, she quivered from the cold or was it from the dream? Another dream, it was the same dream that haunted her nights for weeks. Beads of perspiration dripped down the back of her neck. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. The blood tingled rapidly through every inch of her body. She could almost feel the rhythmic motion of the valves in her heart opening and closing. The dreams had both an emotional and physical affect on her.

Shaking her long blond hair into place, she turned to the balcony door. Traces of the dream still taunted her mind. The lingering images seemed so clear, so real! She watched a tiny down feather floating in the dusty stream of sunshine like a small remnant of a battle. What had the dream meant? She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it into a loose knot behind her head. The boy’s scream seemed so hauntingly familiar, yet from where?

Foreshadowing in nature, prolific dreams plagued her nights since childhood. During her teenage years, dreams often marked the dark times in her life serving as a warning of impending tragedy. Why now? Where was Will, she thought, purposely distracting her mind from analysis? Will was the constant in her life that kept her dreams from bleeding into her days.

Ignoring the complete disarray of the bed, she wandered barefoot into the hallway. Coffee, she really needed coffee a strong brew this morning. Descending the open hardwood steps into the sunlight living room, she shivered noticing the emptiness of her Bowery Penthouse.

The fourth floor of the East Village home personified her edgy writer’s personality. Situated in the middle of a transcending neighborhood, she could live and breathe the excitement of New York. The essence of her lifestyle was observation without involvement. She avoided any close friends and always kept her work acquaintances at arms length. After losing her parents, she began a self inflicted solitary life, living only through her writing. Until, she met Will Lawrence.

In the kitchen, she found the coffee machine empty, unusual for days when Will was in town. An early riser, he routinely made the morning coffee. The house was strangely empty. He had not mentioned a business trip the night before. Jen enjoyed her haphazard writer’s hours, a strange contrast to his regimented routine. He was in town for a few days and then out sometimes several weeks. She filled the coffee machine and pressed the button. The unnerving stillness wrapped itself around her like a heavy shroud.

Her attention focused on the steaming water piping through her coffee machine. Throwing her leg onto the black granite counter, Jen stretched her arm gently past her toes while her eyes probed the surroundings for a sign of his presence. Every muscle in her body tight, an aftermath of the intense dream from the night before. She needed to relax, calm down and focus.

The hazelnut aroma filled the kitchen tempting her appetite. Although she had run yesterday, another run this morning was imperative. A run would cleanse her mind from the night before. With her coffee in hand, she returned to the bedroom picking up her running shoes from the closet in the entry way. She stopped momentarily noticing that Will’s running shoes were not in their place next to hers. Why had he not waited for her? She dreaded running without him.

The year before, after publishing her first book, Jen met the charismatic Will Lawrence at her first book signing. Growing up an only child, she had been content with her solitary life. Will, the handsome owner of a small Boston computer company, changed everything. In a few short weeks, they were in love and living together. It was a timeframe, that at best, eradicated her predisposed understanding of herself. As though destiny worked its magic, everything in her life fell into its seemingly predestined place.

The nature of his business took him out of town frequently. Although leaving a lonely space in her life, she grew accustomed to the frequent absences and used the time for her writing. Their schedules left little time for the outside world. Though he had spoken of them, the opportunity to meet his family never seemed to arise. With their time together limited, they preferred to spend it alone.

Her thumb slid across the iPhone applications. A good day for late February, the weather forecasted 38 and sunny. Turning back to the dresser, the partially open closet door caught her eye. Slowly, she walked toward the mirrored door critically examining her reflection. Her face showed weariness from the interrupted night, from the many interrupted nights over the past weeks. The balcony door reflected in the massive floor length mirror. Her stomach twisted remembering the man in the doorway. Digging her fingers into her clammy palms, her pulse quickened reliving the dream. Her shoulders tightened as she turned to face the empty doorway of the balcony. The image haunting her mind was only a dream. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as her mind absorbed the emptiness outside. Of course there was no one on the balcony. Still, like evil lurking in the night bushes, the image of the man lingered in her mind, taunting her.

Jen nervously laughed out loud. Again, her runaway imagination worked overtime. She turned back to face the closet door. Something was amiss. She flung the heavy door to the side revealing its emptiness! A small row of black velvet hangers gathered neatly to the side on the wooden rod. The menacing emptiness glared back at her. Panic soared through her body. Her eyes frantically scanned the bare walls searching for his clothes. Her hands trembled holding the door. She dashed to the other side of the closet. The heavy door slammed against the wall exposing her clothes and shoes but the other side was empty. Nothing ... everything was gone.

Jen stood motionless while the blood seemed to drain from her body. She rubbed her arms soothing the prickly feeling in her body. She ran from the room and descended every other stair to the kitchen where she had last heard his voice the night before. Stopped in front of the kitchen island, the dining room table caught her eye. Her bare feet seemed to melt into the hard icy floor. The Baccarat candle holders, in their place on the glass dining room table twinkled in the sunlight. The barren table screamed a contrast from the night before. The obvious absence of Will’s computer and his meticulous stack of papers caught her attention. His black Louis Vuitton brief case, that seemed to carry his entire life, no longer rested against the break front next to the dining room table.

The emptiness of the apartment suddenly surrounded her, threatening to suffocate her. Her eyes roamed sketching the desolate surroundings into her memory. With purpose, she began a surprisingly controlled search of her home, careful not to miss anything. The more she searched, the more frantic she became. Everything connected to Will from the past year was missing. It was as though they had never met. He was never there. She rapidly opened the storage drawers in the kitchen, pushing the loose contents from side to side. His intricate tool kit, his mug, pictures of them together, all gone.

In the bedroom, she yanked the dresser drawer open ... empty ... they were all empty! The photographs of their vacations together no longer rested on the dresser. The photo album from the reading table, missing. It was the same throughout the home. Signs of his existence all removed. Why would he do such a thing? Frantically, she picked up her phone from the dresser looking for his number in recent calls. Her thumb pressed against the fragile glass nervously flipping applications. No recent calls? Impossible! She opened her contact file to an empty w file. What? she shouted angrily. That’s impossible! She tossed the phone on the bed helplessly. What was happening?

Looking helplessly around the room, her head spun from lack of sleep. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. The icy water stung on her skin. The mirror exposed her weariness. She stared helplessly at her reflection, looking for answers to the absurdity of everything. The clear water swirled into the drain carrying what seemed to be her sense of reality with it.

Am I awakening from another bizarre dream? she questioned waiting for a response from her reflection. The cold water offered no relief from the nightmare. Dazed, she turned to the open doorway and mumbled. Am I having another breakdown? Her fingers brushed her lips as though she had spoken the unspeakable. It wouldn’t be her first breakdown. The memory of the dark time in her life after her parents’ death wrangled itself into her mind refusing to allow her clear thoughts. A sharp pain radiated from her foot while she crossed the room to close the balcony door. Leaning against the glass door, she pulled her foot closer to the light. A tiny droplet of blood bubbled on her flesh.

Damn. She blurted, hobbling back to the bathroom. The icy water exposed a tiny piece of glass. Plucking the shiny sliver from her skin, the dream from the night before flashed in her thoughts like an old movie in fast forward. The gun shots, the glass door shattering and the intruder! She ran to the doorway while the pieces of dream invaded her mind in the way the glass had invaded her flesh. She dropped to her knees onto the area rug next to her bed. She raked her fingers through the loops finding several pieces of glass buried deep within the loose fibers. It was real! Frantically, she looked up at the doorway ... the glass was intact! How could this be? Could she have imagined the entire year? Impossible! Will was the love of her life. Tears well up in her eyes blurring her vision. He is real! she pleaded.

Defeated, she dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling fan. Her eyes followed the slow hypnotic motion of the blades. Is this happening again? The faraway place that her mind had taken her so many years ago had been frightening. The thought of returning was unimaginable or was she already there? Exhaustion finally took over but she struggled to sleep between the dreams and the brief awakening to a questionable reality.

Chapter Two

Days passed, sliding unnoticed into tumultuous nights. Repeatedly, she exhausted search engines for William Lawrence with the same results. In the sea of Lawrence’s, her Will Lawrence was not to be found. The accomplished writer retreated to the walls of her home, turning off her phone and closing her blinds to the outside world. Only once she called Will’s office, but when an unfamiliar woman answered, she quickly hung up

Her computer sat on the table next to the place where Will always worked. The black screen reflected her image. She stared into the blackness longing to put words into the machine but her mind was riddled with doubts. To write what had happened would make everything too real. She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the machine.

Coffee, she needed more coffee. The light flickered in the kitchen while she pushed things from side to side looking for the coffee beans. Her hands quivered uncontrollable. She quickly grasped the cabinet handle to steady herself. With the return on the unwanted dreams, it had become a mission to make her days long and coffee was an important part of that mission. Will’s presence had kept her dreams in check or at least provided comfort in their aftermath. Now, she was alone to face her dreams and his disappearance or worse yet, his lack of existence.

Led Zepplin’s Black Dog echoed in the kitchen startling her. Filled with a sudden renewed anticipation, Jen sprinted to the phone. Like a beacon of hope, Dr. Sodagren’s name illuminated the screen. Fearful of losing her last link to reality, she quickly answered the call.

Jen, Jen are you there?

Jen hesitated, taking a deep breath allowing the familiarity of the voice to comfort her.

Yes, I’m here.

You missed your appointment, it’s not like you Jen. Is everything okay? Jen considered her missed appointment. Yes, I’m sorry.

I have a two o’clock. Dr. Sodegren suggested. From her living room window, Jen looked onto the street below. The sidewalk was filled with New York’s morning pedestrian’s that carried on while her life stood within the brick walls of her home.

Yes, I’ll be there. As though defeated, she put the phone back on the counter. Her eyes moved to the clock on the wall, it was 11:30. She could no longer remained secluded with her uncertain reality. Reluctantly, Jen went upstairs to dress for the afternoon appointment.

An hour later, the elevator jolted open into the dark musty art deco lobby that depended largely on light from outside. Her reflection in the wall mirror startled her. Her tangled hair was dull in the bright lights and the dark circles under her eyes added 10 years to her face. She walked across the small lobby and pushed open, the small electric blue door. The grey morning foreshadowed the imminent rain. She made her way through the heavy pedestrian traffic using her sweatshirt hood for protection from the foreboding outside world.

Following the path from memory, Jen’s kept her gaze glued to the sidewalk. Making a quick stop at the local Think Coffee, she went directly to the counter. She was a regular in the busy shop and was relieved to see someone new at the counter. She had no desire to attempt conversation. Pushing the pound of coffee forward, she ordered a cup for a quick fix and slid her card across to the girl. The condiment table was littered with empty packets of sugar. Filling her coffee with cream, she glanced over to an empty wooden chair by the window. Only weeks ago, fueled by coffee, she spent hours attached to her keyboarde. It was an old habit but she longed to sit there with her computer. The machine had been her best friend for so many years and usually accompanied her to the coffee shop. The words on her computer were not only a source of income but a method of healing.

An elderly man held the door as she approached the exit. On the way out, a piece of newspaper swept past her caught up in a tornado like wind. Turning down Bleeker Street toward the subway, the crowds died down from the early foot commute. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a young woman with a baby walking quickly in her direction. Her determined walk caught Jen’s attention. A small boy scurried a few feet ahead of her laughing while chasing a dry leaf swirling on the ground. She glanced at the row of Brownstones ahead of her. Sidewalk construction forced her into the street while eyeing the subway sign only a block away.

The squeal of tires followed by the putrid smell of burning rubber filled the air around her. The once empty block was suddenly consumed by side of a long black car. She turned, watching in horror, as the car screeched out of control in her direction. The young boys never ending scream reverberated off the buildings. The skidding car and the shriek melded together into one horrific unforgettable sound. Jen instinctively turned toward the boy and threw herself in front of him. Together, they slid into the curb coming to rest in the drain.

The black car screeched to a halt only a few feet in front of them. The once barren corner was now filled with a crowd of onlookers. While dragging the boy onto the curb, she watched in disbelief as the car abruptly turned around and roared in the other direction. A cloud of exhaust filled the space left by the car.

Asshole! she spat as she inspected her bloodied arm. She pushed herself away from the drainage grate they had landed in. The boy cowered in fear under her. The mother, along with the crowd rushed to their side. In the distance, she could hear the car roaring off into the busy traffic on Bowery. The boy’s shrieks resonated in her mind. She pressed her palms to her ears trying to muffle the horrific scream. A scream unsettlingly similar to the one from her nightmares.

The curious crowd grew and their voices escalated. The mother of the young boy clutched him tightly to her side. Until the police officer appeared on the curb, the scene seemed almost surreal. The overweight uniformed man in his mid fifties walked toward her pulling his pants by the belt in a clearly habitual manner.

You okay miss? he asked. From what I understand, you saved the boy!

She nodded mechanically, too paralyzed to respond. He pulled out a pad from his coffee stained breast pocket. Most of the pages were turned over, proof of the man’s nonstop work load. Did you get a look at the car? She looked across to the other side of the street trying to remember the details. She shook her head. Miss, I know that you are badly shaken but you must have seen something? The driver maybe, make of car? Color? He mechanically pushed. City cops had little time to waste and compassion was never a priority.

Black, she mumbled while trying to compose her thoughts. Her attempt at a fast inconspicuous trip to her therapist had been compromised. The recent events were now becoming more of a reality to her. It was long and a Buick maybe, but older. She said quietly. Her mind unraveled while he rapidly took notes.

Is there anyone that you know of that would want to hurt you? he asked with one eyebrow raised. The insinuation registered immediately in her thoughts. As though someone had struck her, she snapped her head back.

Hurt me! No of course not! Look officer, it was an accident. Someone was simply driving too fast, nothing more than that, I’m sure of it. There are so many cars ... people just get crazy in the city. You know the traffic and all. She reassured herself as she spoke. She closed one watching the growing crowd of gawkers growing behind her.

Look Miss, the car ran off, in my books that’s an attempted hit and run.

She shook her head vehemently. Was it a deliberate act? Ludicrous, she mumbled, her eyes fixated on the notepad that he pushed back into his breast. He motioned her toward the ambulance.

Get that arm looked at Miss. Blood now dripped into a small pool on the gravel below her. Still dazed, she nodded and reluctantly went to the paramedics.

An hour later, she finally ambled through the door to Dr. Sodagren’s office. She pressed deeply into the familiar white leather love seat in the Madison Avenue office. Years of therapy had made the office safe place for her. It was a neutral zone. Focused on the grey morning outside, she pictured the spectacular view from the forty-second floor corner office. The dismal morning amplified her somber mood, a stark contrast to the bliss she felt only a month before sitting in the same chair. She pondered the frequency of her visits over the past four years. Before her breakthrough two years ago, her appointments were often twice a week. The door opened slowly interrupting her thoughts. Dr. Sodagren stopped momentarily in the doorway obviously startled by Jen’s haggard appearance. Suddenly embarrassed, she smoothed out her jeans and slid her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it into the couch next to her. Watching her carefully, the Doctor walked slowly past her and draped the neatly pressed Armani Jacket over the leather chair before sliding gracefully into her seat.

Jen, what happened to you? You look as though you were hit by a bus! Dr. Sodagren’s professionalism masked the concern in her voice.

A car. She pulled her hair into a tight pony tail. Her eyes locked on the window, avoiding the doctor’s probing gaze.

Excuse me? Did you say that you were hit by a car?

Almost, on my way here earlier. It was an accident. Rethinking the police officers words, doubt filled her mind and created knots in her stomach.

What do you mean it was an accident? Why would someone deliberately try to run you over?

Jen turned to the woman, now curious about what she was thinking. The skepticism was obvious in her eyes in her eyes. I didn’t mean anything. I don’t know really. Her gaze returned to the imaginary focus on the grey landscape outside. Doctor, do you suppose that a person could imagine an entire year?

Jen, is this material for something new that you are working on? Dr. Sodagren’s emerald green eyes remained fixed on Jen while she slid a notepad out from under a Psychology Today magazine. The story Jen would tell would no doubt appear in magazine’s the next edition. She watched carefully, revealing no emotion, while Jen rattled off the past few days. She finished, taking a deep breath, the soliloquy delivered in one long even breath. It was like the ramblings of a book. It’s contents not real to her. The light scratching noise from her pen stopped abruptly. The doctor laid it purposely down on the glass table as though it had its own specific place on the desk.

Jen, to begin with, I’m going to prescribe you some Desyrel. It’s an antidepressant and it will help you sleep. I think most important for you is sleep. I am very concerned about your fragile mental state as well. I can’t have you slipping back to where you were two years ago. Clearing her throat, she slid the prescription across the desk. Did you imagine the past year? I highly doubt it. I saw nothing in your behavior to indicate neurosis that would involve that level of delusion. She continued to write on the pad. Remember Jen, when your parents were killed, you slipped into a state of depression, not delusion. This came primarily from guilt that you felt for being away at school at the time. Apart from your understandably disheveled outward appearance today, you have been completely normal for the past two years. Have you considered the possibility that this man may have simply left you? It happens all the time for whatever reason, people leave and sometimes with no explanation.

Why don’t his phones work? Why remove every sign of his existence from my life? On the edge of tears, her voice quivered.

Jen, you must face the reality that perhaps he doesn’t want to be found!

Jen’s eyes widened at the audacity of the statement but the possibility lingered in her thoughts. Now why, only he can answer. I need you to focus on closure here and not the why. It simply isn’t healthy for you to dwell on this. How is your schedule, can you take a trip or perhaps stay with a friend? Getting out of your home would be the best thing for you. Just a few days and then I would like to see you again this time next week unless you feel that you need to see me sooner! Jen, I’m here to help you. I am not the enemy and I won’t judge you.

Jen pursed her lips together angry. What about the foreboding dreams? The man, he was so real. She stopped herself before her blathering became neurotic.

"Dreams are complex Jen and as I told you two years ago, not my expertise.