The First Chronicles of the Moksha. Re-Awakening

By Stephen James Frost

They're beings of great power. One man is their salvation and another could mean their demise.
Declan finds himself in the middle of an ancient dispute between men with unimaginable abilities.

A lost love returns to protect him from the evil that is stalking him.

Join him on his journey of mayhem and confusion. Meet a family of superhuman beings that try to protect Declan from his past and themselves from the future. Find the truth behind Declan's bizarre dreams and his connection to the most famous inventor of all time, - Leonardo da Vinci

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen James Frost
• Release date: Feb 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9780620554701

Stephen James Frost

Stephen was born in Zimbabwe. He currently lives in South Africa with his partner.

Book preview

The First Chronicles of the Moksha

Re-Awakening

Stephen James Frost

Smashwords Edition

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

Stephen James Frost on Smashwords

The First Chronicles of the Moksha. Re-Awakening

Copyright 2009 by Stephen James Frost

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*****

My special thanks to:

My partner Ettiënne for his patience.

My best friend Linda for her endless support.

Most of all, my Grandmother Erica,

For showing me the way.

*****

A word from the author

I realise that this book will never be considered a literary masterpiece. In fact I doubt it will be considered ‘literary’. However, having said that, I would like to put it to you that I wrote it and I finished it and by those grounds alone, I feel I have the right to be modestly proud. How the hell the really good writers do it is beyond me, but I hope by the same sheer perseverance that produced this book, I may one day find out!

I do hope you get some pleasure out of The First Chronicles of the Moksha, Re-Awakening and please remember that even though it may not rank with the ‘big guys’, I do still hold the copyright.

Thanks for stopping by!

Stephen James Frost

Table of Contents

Prologue- The Man in the Window

Meeting Kaden

1517- A Lucid Dream

Disrupted Dreams

Fear’s Foundations

Unexpected

Coincidences

Kaden’s Story

Re-Awakening

Voices

A Second Chance?

The Story Continues

Followed

Clandestine Meetings

Tristan’s View

Normality

Recovery

Horror

Darren

Declan

Shocking Predictions

Meeting Raymond

The Moksha

Contact

Martin’s Story

Paradise

Unexpected

Kidnapped

Flight to Freedom

L.J.’s View

Declan

Heading Home

Painful Memories

Proposal

Trial by Fire

Lost Humanity

Declan

Damien’s Story

Kaden’s Loneliness

Convinced

Big Changes

Animal Instincts

Gemma Arrives

The Wedding

The Honeymoon

Play

Taken

Time

Martin’s Rage

Warning

L.J.’s Re- Awakening

Proof

Another Wedding

Preview of The Second Chronicles of the Moksha

Prologue

The Man in the Window

The water’s not deep enough and it’s getting cold. I’m happy the thunder’s gone, though. I hate the way it makes the bathroom windows rattle, but I don’t mind the flashes in the sky and the way they’re blurred by the rain- wet glass.

‘I want to sit here and play in the water as long as I can, but I guess Mom will be back any minute to check on me. I wonder if I’ll be able to catch the next flash outside the window,’ I think. ‘A special flash ‘cause I turn five tomorrow!’

Lying back in the large enamel tub with the rust - coloured streaks under the scratched chrome taps, I focus on the window and wait for it. There it is!

My body stiffens with terror and my mouth opens, expelling an uncontrollable scream.

Suddenly, I’m in the dingy passageway. I’m naked and dripping on the moth eaten yellow and brown carpet, sobbing in uncontrollable jerks.

The towering figures of my mother and aunt stand over me, exchanging worried looks and trying to comfort me. Then, wrapping me in a blanket, my mother asks me what’s wrong.

I sniff.

She moves toward the bathroom to see what’s there and I start to scream again.

No, no! I plead, my voice struggling for each breath Don’t go in there!

Why, sweetheart? She asks in concern.

I rattle out my answer in between sobs.

There’s - a man in - the - window.

Meeting Kaden

I open my eyes as fear courses through me and my heart pounds in my ears. For a moment I’m too scared to move or look around in case he’s here in the room with me. My spine tingles and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can feel him watching me. His presence is vivid and terrifying. I take a deep breath.

It’s okay, I tell myself. It was just a dream.

The vivid memory from my childhood brought to life in the most horrifying way. Nightmares!

I turn my head, still holding my breath while my heart bangs inside my chest to survey the room. The yellow light of my nightlight casts a feeble glow on the wall and spreads like custard across the tiled floor. I’m all alone.

Chastising myself for being such a coward, I grin at the irony of having chosen a yellow nightlight and the colour it turns me in its glow and I grin even more because I think I need one at all.

The blue digital readout on my bedside clock tells me it’s just past one in the morning and I know going back to sleep is going to be a task.

I climb out of bed and stumble through to the kitchen. Shadows out of a horror story claw their way up every wall. I’ve never been altogether comfortable in this place. There’s something about it that just isn’t right. Strange noises often wake me and as I open the fridge for a glass of milk to help me sleep, I hear yet another one. A dripping tap. The sound seems amplified by the otherwise death-like quiet road I live on. The ocean, which lives out all its moods close by, is soundless tonight too. Just the insistent sound of dripping water from my bathroom. The room I hate the most at night.

After pouring myself some milk and replacing the bottle in the fridge, I tell myself aloud to stop being so stupid. I just had a bad dream and I must get over it.

At night, the small town of Warner Beach on the east coast of South Africa where I live, becomes virtually deserted. No cars, no people, no noise. I live right on the edge of town, in the zone that always seems unsafe. If you are out of town, it feels relaxing and civilised. If you are in town, it seems cosseted and safe. But where I am, is like the type of neighbourhood where you expect Nightmare on Elm Street to be a part of everyday reality. Even the trees cast knife-sharp shadows in the lonely, dim light of the street lamps. The humidity in the air has turned to a thick mist as the evening has cooled, creating eerie silver haloes around each of the lights.

Having grown up in Africa, it’s on nights like this that I am reminded of the myth of the Tokoloshe. A hideous little man-creature with sharp teeth and yellow eyes, that sneaks into your house at night and murders you in the most brutal way before you have a chance to scream. The hairs on my arms stand at the thought. I feel the familiar sensation of dread flood my veins.

Stop It!

This is ridiculous. I’m going out of my way to frighten myself.

Even though the temperature’s dropped, the night is still warm and humid, so I decide to drink my milk on the patio where it’ll be cooler. I take a deep breath to still my nerves and reach for the curtain that covers the glass sliding door to the patio. I yank it open.

Two glowing green eyes stare at me.

The glass drops from my hand and shatters over my bare feet. I try to run but I’m frozen. Horror grips my throat, catching my scream.

At the sound of the glass breaking, the figure turns and races into the bushes. Heavy thunderclouds block out the moonlight. A loud hissing noise pierces through my brain and I know I may pass out from fright. I take a deep breath, and vomit on my feet.

Tiny shards of glass slice my feet open as I step back from the doors. The terrible smell of vomit always makes me think of parmesan cheese.

Wild shaking prevents my fingers from dialling as I try to call the police. I lean against the kitchen counter, switch on the kettle, and prepare to make myself some tea - with lots of sugar. After dialling three times and waiting ten minutes, a voice answers at last.

I could’ve been dead by now. I cry into the mouthpiece.

Sorry sir, we are very short-staffed tonight! How can I help you?

There was - a - man. At my - window!

As the police leave, having searched the garden and taken my statement, they watch me lock up and assure me they’ll patrol the street until morning.

Not feeling in the least bit consoled, I clean up my mess and head back to bed, knowing that I won’t sleep a wink.

With the duvet pulled right up to my chin, I replay the horror over and over in my mind. Slowly the shock subsides and exhaustion sets in. I drift out of consciousness and into a black dreamless sleep.

The strident alarm wakes me at six in the morning.

I'm back to being the same thirty-six-year-old coward I was when I went to bed. I’m back to the same thirty-six-year-old with the same old mundane life, job and existence.

I’m Declan Patrick Jordan. I’m the guy who has spent his life honing his skills at being as ordinary as possible to avoid standing out in the crowd. As a kid I was too shy to want to be noticed and as an adult I’m too introverted to want to change. I’ve taught myself to be the jeans and T-shirt guy so that you would pass me on the street without a second glance. My looks have always been a curse. My accusers of false modesty have it all wrong. I’m aware that I am text book good-looking, but that doesn’t make me like my looks. I would rather be plain so I could slip quietly under the radar. The downside to my sculpted lifestyle is the monotony of it all. There was a time when I lived a life of great adventure. I worked on ships and travelled to some of the most beautiful and exotic destinations. But things have changed now.

Day in and day out it’s all just the same old thing: the drudgery seems endless and torturous. Perhaps I should appreciate even the worst nightmares more. At least they bring me some excitement. I shiver at the events of just a few hours ago and wonder if it wasn’t all just a horrible dream. Ever since the night before my fifth birthday, I have been scared of almost everything.

My cat, Dulcie, jumps on the bed and walks up the full length of my body without regard for any of the soft bits. She sits on my chest, stares me in the eye and screams,

I'm HUNGRY!

And so my day begins.

I have a meeting with a new client this morning and my nerves start to nip at my insides. I dress with a bit more care than normal. Jeans and a short sleeved shirt instead of my normal T-shirt. I make sure my untameable curls of brown hair are behaving and my freshly ironed clothes are sitting right. My belly is another reason for me to grimace at myself in the mirror. In the past few months, it has developed a mind of its own and has started to expand. The glass reflects eyes which are both blue and bloodshot from my terrifying night, so I use the stinging drops that I extract from the overstuffed pine medicine cabinet. I feel them burning their way to bright sparkling eyeballs while I fumble around for some toilet paper to wipe away the excess. The tiled floor is cold on my bare feet so I walk on tip-toe until I find a decent pair of socks to slip into. My body is not what it used to be, so to stave off the onset of middle age, I pop a multivitamin tablet in my mouth and struggle to swallow the powdery pill.

The smell of carbon in the air that the winds bring in from the outlying cane fields, means that I’ll have to clean up the charred remnants of sugarcane leaves that have been burnt off the stalks before harvesting. Here in Africa there’s very little care taken of the environment.

Cursing the black ‘snow’ from the cane fields that now litters my front patio, I unlock and push open the rusted security gate and it squeaks a piercing shriek at me. It’s just one more thing to put me in a bad mood for the day. The dark grey clouds still hang in the sky with the threat of a heavy thunderstorm and the wind is beginning to pick up. The morning light is muted so even the vibrant greens of the coastal vegetation look pale.

I follow the same old routine and with a final check in the rear - view mirror, I head off to work.

After opening the drawing office and keying in the security code, I sit down at my desk and switch on my computer. The architectural program that I use to produce my building plans always takes a few minutes to start up and as it does, the same lifeless people float in through the door, pallid and downtrodden, looking the same as they always do and talking the same prattle about riding horses, motorbikes and other such mundane and uninteresting crap that the untraveled and non-curious, talk.

My nerves jangle even more for the upcoming meeting. I have always been introverted and find it difficult to communicate with anyone without becoming tongue-tied.

There’s just enough time for a cup of coffee before my meeting at eight thirty. I savour the strong aroma of the decaf that I prefer as it permeates the office. Then I pop a minty chewing gum in my mouth.

I'm not in the mood for this, but I should try to welcome him. My stomach is in knots and my hands tremble slightly. I’ve tidied my desk, and dragged a chair to the opposite side to accommodate him while we discuss his dream home. Perhaps a small starter place for him and his little lady?

I check his name on the desk calendar for the fifth time trying to get it to stick in my head so that he knows I’ve done my preparation. I’ve never heard the name Kaden before.

My nerves and frustration are not helped by the office chatterbox who has already rattled off an encyclopaedia’s worth of nonsense. I’m sick of stories about damn horses. I pretend to look busy on my PC so that I can only pay perfunctory notice to the drivel.

I hear a quiet rumbling from the reception area and then a nervous squeak from the receptionist, but I continue with my computer.

Silence is not a common thing in this office, so the sudden quiet catches my attention. Everything has come to a halt mid-sentence. The rest of the office and its usual morning grumblings, have ceased to exist.

I look up at the horsey co-worker, Amber, to find out what happened to her infallibly uninteresting story.

The sight is so undignified! She’s sitting with her legs open, arms hanging limp between them and her mouth agape and a glazed look in her eyes. I turn to see what’s created this apparition and exclaim,

Jesus!

Did I say that aloud? Oh damn, I did! My God, he’s huge!

The terrified receptionist utters something and darts back to her counter.

S-sorry!. I fight with my shyness, desperately trying not to turn that embarrassing shade of red.

Fumbling to find my composure, and forcing myself not to be timid while my nervous stomach knots in disagreement, I stand to find my feet have decided to be clumsy, and extend my hand.

With a stern look, he wraps his dinner-plate sized hand around mine and shakes it with warm firmness.

Don’t worry- I get that a lot! He speaks in a gravelly, clipped voice. He sounds as if he’s been in the army too long.

I’m Kaden Mercer.

He looks around the office and the staff turn back to their screens, his quiet confidence forcing them into rapid retreat.

Um, please. Sit. I whisper.

Will that chair even support him?

He sits, like an adult trying to squeeze into a pre-schoolers play chair. My nerves start to buzz, fearing that the chair may collapse under his weight. The smell of Calvin Klein’s Obsession, wafts towards me as he folds himself into the tiny chair. I imagine he’s a football or rugby player. He must be at least seven foot tall, probably more. His thick, straight black hair frames the top of his head and falls toward heavy black eyebrows. He brushes it out of his eyes. The clothes he wears, though not straight out of a men’s fashion magazine, appear brand new and expensive.

The most startling features of his face though, are his eyes. They’re a blend of light green in the middle, ringed by a deep, dark bottle-green on the outside. The depth of wisdom that shines out of them is unfathomable, but his features are expressionless and hard to read. A flash of the eyes that frightened the hell out of me in the early hours of the morning darts through my mind. My expression must have changed because he frowns at me.

I introduce myself and continue with the meeting, interrupted now and then by the deep rumbling of approaching thunder.

The meeting, although a success, is very awkward.

I’ve never been in a situation where I’m simultaneously intimidated by and attracted to a client! There is no doubt that he leads the meeting, and I’m quite happy to let him.

I’m excited about the house he wants to build – it’s the type of house that I’ve dreamed of designing for myself for years. An enormous, Canadian-style log cabin with natural stonework to offset the timber, and large expanses of glass to allow the outside in. One of his specifications is a little strange for a house in South Africa though, in particular on the east coast where it’s so hot and humid, and that is his requirement of insulation against cold. He doesn’t have a site yet, which is also strange, but being a new client, I’m happy to oblige.

Throughout the meeting, my nerves prick at me. To be working with such an unsettling man is going to be a challenge. His voice holds my attention and his unusual eyes bore into me every time I look up. He’s a regimented kind of man. His sentences are brief and to the point. He is powerfully confident and his voice is captivating.

A strange tingling permeates my chest and stomach with each piercing look. I’m constantly worried about the flimsiness of the chair that he is perched on and I wonder if he isn’t going to go crashing to the floor at any moment.

As our meeting winds up, he hands over the tidy, well-ordered file that he’s been showing me. It contains the lists and ideas that he’s put together for the home he wants me to design.

How long does the process take? he asks.

I explain the procedure to him and add, I think it’ll take about a week, but this is something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time, so it may be sooner. I force myself to smile at him, though my head tilts forward like a shy child and I want to hit myself.

He nods in return as if he has just addressed a soldier and my chest tingles again.

He’s about to leave, when he turns and with a knowing look says, Good thing that’s a strong chair!

I swear there is a message in his eyes.

1517. A Lucid Dream

Francesco!

"Francesco!"

Si, Maestro!

Help me here, will you!

Maestro, I can’t. I won’t help you. You can’t ask me to do this.

Please amore; I cannot do this by myself. I don’t have much time left. I feel it in my bones.

Maestro, you know what will happen if they find out. The King will send you straight back to Italy if he does not kill us in our sleep.

Well, the only way he will find out Francesco, is if you tell him.

I would never do that! He snorts at me then remembers his place and bows his head.

Then help me.

Si Maestro.

The huge body has been dead for days and it’s taking on the smell that over the years I have become accustomed to, even though I still have my horror of the night hours with these bodies. Francesco still struggles with the smell. I’ve been preparing and dissecting it since Francesco brought him from the village. With the body ready at last and my cold, dim laboratory glowing with an acid green glow from the large tank of the luminescent liquid that I have been working on for almost sixteen years, I rub my withered old hands together in anticipation. This is the culmination of many confrontations with the church, and also many of my peers who find my work repugnant, to say the least.

Slowly now, my little one. I will direct it over the tank while you pull the rope to lift it.

Si, Maestro. He moans, tugging at the rope.

The cradle starts to lift, creaking in protest as it goes. Not surprising, when what it carries is a large male. Unusually large by all comparisons. At least seven foot two when standing, and developed like a quarry worker. It is quite plain that he has been used to hard labour.

The idea came to me almost sixteen years ago when I first saw a cadaver. It was so sad that the beautiful soul of such a small girl had left the planet so young without leaving a mark on the world. ‘If only it were possible to give life back to the child, so that it may experience life to its fullest.’ That’s what I’d thought back then. Now I may be able to achieve that goal.

From that time until now, I have sought this elixir, which I now believe is ready after so many failures. After not completing so much of my work, to complete this before I leave the earth, will be my greatest legacy.

I drag at the guide rope to position the cradle over the vat.

Lower him now, Francesco.

Si, Maestro.

The liquid creeps over his flesh until he is submerged.

Tie it off there, Francesco. My voice is shaking.

Now we wait.

Turning to the window, I open it wide and breathe in the twilight air. I smell wet earth. The clouds are heavy and dark. The forest that I have fallen in love with looks eerie in the gloaming light.

We’re in for quite a storm tonight, Francesco.

Si, Maestro, perhaps we could share the spectacle from your chamber? I know without looking, that his eyes give away his desire.

How can you still want to be with this emaciated old man? I ask with love in my voice, but still gazing out the window at the most beautiful woodland I have ever known. The place Francesco and I love to take walks where we can be close without prying eyes disturbing our infrequent but very special moments.

Leonardo, his voice softens, your mind is not as your body, and I will never get enough of such genius. It is your intellect that I find so attractive.

Changing the subject, I look back to our new attempt. I wonder how long this will take?

Francesco’s eyes look doubtful.

I don’t see how just lying in some green slime can possibly bring him back to life.

"Scarafaggio!" I hiss at him and storm out of the room to my private chambers which are adjacent to the laboratory. I will wait this one out alone.

The night is indeed tempestuous. The lightning flickers and the thunder booms overhead. Closer and closer it dances towards us like a slow waltz until a resounding -crash! Clos Luce, my own private manor, which the King himself has allocated me, is struck by lightning and rocks to its great stone foundations. The sizzling of the electrical current fills the air with the smell of ozone.

The silence after is deafening. I won’t be sleeping tonight.

Francesco.

"Francesco!"

Si, Leonardo.

His head follows a candle from behind the heavy wood and iron door, the sparkle back in his eye!

Disrupted Dreams

The sound of the phone ringing startles me awake. There’s a rerun on Discovery. I must’ve fallen asleep soon after arriving home from work.

Grunting in disgust at the irritating interruption of my fascinating, almost real dream, I lift up on one elbow and grab the phone.

Hello?

Declan. Are you alone?

What? Who is this? My irritation and grogginess overcomes my shyness.

It’s Kaden, but don’t repeat my name if you aren’t alone.

The recognition of his sonorous tones hits me in the chest.

Oh! Hello Kaden. Yes, I’m alone. Why is that important? I manage to stammer.

I need to speak to you urgently, but not on the phone. Can I meet you? His quick, sharp words catch me off guard.

Um, Kaden, I’ve had a hard day and I’m tired. I don’t really want to go out again.

The idea of meeting him again sends adrenaline racing through my veins as I desperately try to think of a way to avoid meeting with him. I’m wide awake now and my confusing dream is retreating to the recesses of my mind.

Can I come to you then? I apologise for the inconvenience, but it’s important. The lack of emotion in his voice makes it hard to tell if it’s important or not, but I guess it is from the unusual call.

Is there something that you forgot to tell me about your plans? Maybe you can describe it to me on the phone. I’m pretty good at visualising things. I hope that my fear is not audible, but there’s a strangled squeak in my voice.

It’s not anything to do with the plans. It won’t take long, but it’s vital that I see you. Still no emotion, but his use of the word ‘vital’ seems to be his attempt to convey its importance.

My brain is screaming now. This is not a good idea. I have no idea who this guy is or what he might be up to. I only met him this morning but I also keep thinking about the current economy, which is feeble at best, and know I have to be careful with clients, so reluctantly I say,

Yeah, okay.

I’ll be there in fifteen.

You may want directions before you hang up. The squeak is still tormenting my strained vocal chords.

I know where you live. Click.

How the hell does he know where I live? What have I done? This guy could be a maniac, and there’s no way I can defend myself. He could crush me with one hand while he drinks a cup of coffee with the other. Damn!

Suddenly my throat closes up as I remember the green eyes outside my door. I console myself by thinking about Kaden’s height. Whoever was at my door, was only a little taller than me.

Confusion, doubt and worry, laced with more than a little fear, rattle around in my brain as I race around, tidying up the apartment.

Why am I doing this? I should be figuring out how to keep him out of my home.

Bending over to pick up a towel from the floor, I notice the light in the room dimming and looking up, I see the colossus of his shape standing at the door. That was less than five minutes. Now I know this guy is not all that he seemed to be in the office. Damn. What do I do?

I smile. Hi Kaden. I wish that hadn’t sounded so girlie and small.

He doesn’t attempt to come inside, but rather, stands at the door and starts to explain.

I apologise, Declan. You must be wondering how I know where you live, and I’ll explain it all to you, but you are safe with me.

Well what choice do I have? He could easily get through the glass door if I say no, and if he isn’t just a little bit loopy, then I may offend the guy and lose the job.

I let him in, and check with nervous caution that at all times, I have a safe passage to both doors. I can see in his eyes that he knows what I’m thinking. He has an unusual tilt to his head that I noticed before in the office. He never looks straight at me, so it always looks as if he is looking out the corner of his eyes, though it is barely discernible.

Would you like some coffee? I mumble as I indicate for him to sit.

Decaf, if you have it?

No problem. I’m relieved to find that I’m not the only one who has decaf.

I should be more amenable, but I can’t help feeling defenceless and insecure around this man. He is so imposing, which is somewhat unsettling. But there is another feeling, and I just can’t put my finger on it.

I pass him his coffee and watch as his huge hand makes the mug disappear.

I fidget with my ear as I ask, so what is so important?.

Something you need to be aware of. I regret it if I’ve scared you.

I’m not scared, I lie.

I’d understand if you were.

His eyebrows furrow into deep ridges as he glances down at himself and then back at me.

I’m not unaware of how intimidating I can be.

Okay, so I’m a little scared, I admit, feeling less tense, but I’ll do my best not to be. I’m just not used to clients knowing where I live. My head tilts forward again and I feel my cheeks flushing bright red.

Kaden shifts his huge frame to get more comfortable and looks back at me.

Declan, what I have to tell you will be difficult. It’ll shock and probably frighten you. I hope that you’ll try not to be afraid though. I’m not here to harm you in any way. I would ask you to trust me, but I can’t expect that, seeing as you’ve only just met me.

He ends with an enquiring look, as if hoping that I will trust him regardless.

Kaden, I say, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible and shaking a little at the thought of upsetting him, I only just met you, so asking me to trust you is a little hopeful - don’t you think?

I continue, still fumbling with my words, I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I really don’t know you, and to have invited you in like this is pretty stupid to begin with. Too scared to look him in the eye I have been looking at my hands the whole time.

He nods into his coffee.

Yes. I regret that I did it this way. Perhaps I should’ve waited until you knew me better.

So what’s the rush then if you could’ve waited longer? My brazen question surprises me.

It’s time that you knew about your past.

My past? What do you mean? I don’t see how you could know anything about my past.

Images of adoption papers start flashing through my head and I think, what if I’m not Mom’s child!

Something that I cannot fathom flashes across his face, like humour, but I’m not sure.

Your past is just a part of the story. I can’t just tell you fragments, or you will be even more afraid than I already anticipate you being.

I’ve been standing during this conversation, so I sit down opposite him.

I’m not sure, but this all sounds kind of serious. Am I in some kind of trouble?

My heart starts to beat faster. I’ve always been afraid of being in trouble. Never wanting to be a disappointment to my mother, I always made sure that I was a well behaved and shy little Mommy’s boy. It’s something I have continued into adulthood.

No! Not in trouble. If anything, I will be in trouble with you when I’ve told you everything.

I laugh in nervous trepidation. You in trouble with me? That’s not going to be a problem for you, I’m sure.

He looks at me with an intensity that unsettles me again. I begin to understand the tingling in my chest.

Being in trouble with you is far worse for me than you can imagine, but you’ll only understand that when you know why I’m here.

Okay, well tell me your story then. Trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, I lean back against the sofa and wait for him to continue.

Well... the rumble in his chest makes the air vibrate, this isn’t going to be an easy story to tell.

That intense look again and I feel my stomach do a little dance. I’m quite comfortable with it now. It’s definitely the stirrings of attraction.

He begins his story, faltering at first, but then his resonant voice takes on a more certain quality and his green eyes blaze with emotion; I sense his innate sincerity and honesty.

Fear’s Foundations

My head’s starting to spin. What I’m hearing can’t be true! It’s unbelievable. I’ve never been afraid to admit that I’m a coward. It’s the only thing I haven’t been afraid of in all my life. The terror rises in my throat like a razor. My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding in my ears.

You’ve been stalking me for thirty-two years? My mouth is dry and my voice rasps over the dunes that my tongue has become. None of this is making sense. The man seems genuine, and during his story he even started to seem less brutish, but the story he’s just told me doesn’t fit in with the character he portrays. The gentle giant is becoming a monster. Something like the one I imagined when he phoned me earlier, a crazy maniac. And now he tells me he’s been watching me for thirty-two years!

I wouldn’t put it like that, he rumbles.

I’m up again and pacing beside the glass-topped coffee table.

Except for spying on me through the bathroom window when I was a five-year-old child!

The fight or flight instinct in me, is at war with itself. Bald fury locked with fuzzy timidity and neither knowing which is right.

I wasn’t spying on you. That was my first contact with you. I wasn’t certain that you were the child I was looking for.

I back down a little, hearing his voice take on that hard edge again.

You’ve haunted me in every fear that I’ve had since then. I can’t even sleep in the dark. Standing next to a dark window petrifies me! The nightmares are always about you. And the rest of this bull you’re telling me? You expect me to believe you?

The only reason I’m telling you this now, is that you’ve recently met a man who’ll be a danger to you. I must protect you.

My knees start to give in, so I slowly sit down on the sofa again, as far away from Kaden as possible. His disturbing eyes bore through me as if he’s searching for my soul. I still don’t know if I should be terrified because of what I’ve just been told, or simply sceptical because there’s a certifiable mental case on the loose and sitting in my living room.

This must be confusing for you and hard to accept. Once Darren puts all the pieces together, there’ll be no stopping him and you have no idea how dangerous he can be.

I cave in. I don’t want to antagonise the madman.

Darren who? I ask.

Darren Bold!

Oh come on Kaden! Darren is the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Why would I be in any danger from him? At least I know him through normal channels.

Finally a reaction. He looks irritated.

I haven’t deceived you Declan, like Darren will as soon as he realises how important you are to him.

I frown. "I’ve never been important to anyone that I’ve wanted Kaden. Why would I be important to