Unseen (Eyes Wide Open, Book 3)

By Ted Dekker

Eyes Wide Open continues with UNSEEN, the third of four episodic ebooks from New York Times bestselling author Ted Dekker.

Who am I?

My name is Christy Snow. I'm seventeen and I'm about to die.

I'm buried in a coffin under tons of concrete. No one knows where I am. My heart sounds like a monster with clobber feet, running straight toward me. I'm lying on my back, soaked with sweat from the hair on my head to the soles of my feet. My hands and feet won't stop shaking.

Some will say that I m not really here. Some will say I'm delusional. Some will say that I don t even exist. But who are they? I'm the one buried in a grave.

My name is Christy Snow. I'm seventeen. I'm about to die.

So who are you?

In a return to the kind of storytelling that made Black, Showdown and Three unforgettable, Ted Dekker drags that question into the light with this modern day parable about how we see ourselves.

Humming with intensity and blindsided twists, Eyes Wide Open is raw adrenaline from the first page to the last pure escapism packed with inescapable truth. Not all is as it seems. Or is it? Strap yourself in for the ride of your life. Literally. (Young Adult)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Dekker
• Release date: Jan 7, 2013

Book preview

Unseen (Eyes Wide Open, Book Three)

Ted Dekker

Copyright 2012 by Ted Dekker

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Ted Dekker

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Chapter Thirteen

HOW LONG Christy had been alone, pacing in her room, she no longer knew. Time seemed to have shifted into a new paradigm that cycled back on itself every few minutes as the memory of what had happened spun through her mind.

What had happened? She’d seen some things. For the first time she could recall, she’d broken the barrier that blotted out her childhood. It’s what she had always wanted.

It was the stuff of nightmares.

She was a nightmare.

One that walked on two legs, with blood pumping through her veins, and a mind to record each dreadful step. If there was a hell worse than the one she’d been thrown into, she pitied the followers of the god who’d made it.

Her left index finger was bleeding at the nail, which she’d long ago chewed down to nothing. She’d seen her ugly self last night and, truth be told, she hated both of her selves—the ugly one and the uglier one.

Which one she really was didn’t matter as much as what she’d learned about her childhood. Her delusional state, now all but certain, was the clear result of inhuman treatment. An abusive adult had held her captive in a prison. Her mind had shut off the horror of it all as a means of coping.

She paced back and forth on the tile floor in her bedroom, crushed by the memory. How could anyone do that to a child? How old had she been? Twelve. And younger, because while in that basement room she had the distinct sense that she’d been there a long time. Maybe her whole life.

The thought sickened her. But there was more than deep self-pity flowing through her veins now. Bitterness and rage screamed through her mind, demanding some kind of justice.

Nancy had comforted her with soothing words for half an hour, and had then led her back to her room with the promise that, however painful, this was all part of her healing. She would give her an hour to gather herself before meeting again.

Healing? How could anyone heal from being born ugly to abandonment and abuse?

She couldn’t get the song she’d heard under hypnosis out of her mind.

Be careful little eyes what you see… Why? Because the father up above was looking down in love, of course. Her father.

Evidently, she hadn’t been careful enough. Not good enough, not pretty enough. Thoughts of what kind of father hers might be made her cringe.

What had she done? That’s what she couldn’t figure out. What could any innocent little girl have possibly done to deserve such a terrible warning?

Something. And the truth was, she hated herself for doing whatever she had done to become what she’d become.

Christy glanced at the bathroom door again. She had to pee, but the thought of going inside was too much. What if she opened the door and found the walls mirrored? Or, worse, saw the uglier Christy staring back at her? She was ugly either way, but coming face to face with the image she’d seen last night would be too much. That’s what they wanted, she knew that. But she wasn’t ready, not for that.

She would rather pee her pants.

The thought made her stop and stare at the door. You’re being pathetic, Christy. This is insane.

Wasn’t that the point? She was insane. But insane enough to stand here and pee in her pants?

There was no reason to think that when she opened that door she would actually find a room of mirrors. She was evidently a master of delusions. She would simply maintain the delusion—assuming it really was one—walk right in, go pee, flush, and walk out.

Christy headed for the door before she had time to reconsider. She’d covered half the distance before time slowed enough for her to think twice, and in thinking again, her pace slowed.

Another three steps, not six feet from the bathroom, the room began to grow fuzzy in her mind’s eye. What was she doing? She couldn’t face this!

You don’t know what you’ll face, Christy. Keep moving. Just open the door, go to the toilet, pee, and run out.

She pushed her