Embroiled: Em and Yves, #4

By Darlene Jones

Inexplicably drawn to the man stalking her, she knows she needs help.

School principal, Emily Roberts, can't shake her attraction to the man following her. Scared, she turns to the wonderful Dr. David, but even he can't help her. Real fear sets in when the stalker claims to be an alien who has loved her in other lives.

Now, trapped in his perfect heavenly world, she is the only one who sees the danger threatening him.

Does she love him enough to give up her life on Earth and stay with him forever … if she can save him, that is?

Heaven and Earth, gods and monsters … what will Emily do?

EMBROILED – From a reviewer "Em/Jaz/Abby/Emily – how are all related? What has Jones done to bring these heroines full circle? To answer that question would be a spoiler. Better to say that some of the story line in this book which concludes the series made me very angry. Involving the reader so strongly in the characters' lives is surely the sign of a powerful author. All I will say is that the ending is satisfying in every way."

Buy EMBROILED now and travel with Emily to experience a world "up there somewhere."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darlene Jones
• Release date: Apr 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301944149

Darlene Jones

Darlene Jones is a retired educator and writer. A graduate of the University of Alberta she was a teacher, principal, second language consultant, and staffing officer with Edmonton Public schools. Her multiple roles included second language curriculum development for secondary students. After retiring she continued to provide educational workshops for teachers in the province of Alberta. Her career began as a volunteer with Canadian University Services Overseas. She taught school in Mali and it was the plight of the Malians that inspired her to write her first novel—science fiction—described by readers as a "think piece." She continues to write fiction that incorporates topics such as world affairs, aging, and Alzheimer's, with the added mix of adventure, romance and humor.

Book preview

Embroiled

Em and Yves, Volume 4

Darlene Jones

Published by Darlene Jones, 2013.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

EMBROILED

First edition. April 18, 2013.

Copyright © 2013 Darlene Jones.

ISBN: 978-1301944149

Written by Darlene Jones.

Also by Darlene Jones

Em and Yves

Embattled

Empowered

Embraced

Embroiled

Standalone

Mali to Mexico and Points in Between

When the Sun Was Mine

Whispers Under the Baobab

Watch for more at Darlene Jones’s site.

For my parents: true soulmates.

May you be together up there forever.

EMBROILED

by

Darlene Jones

Copyright by Darlene Jones 2013

Published by Darlene Jones.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission of the author.

All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Layout by Anneli Purchase of Acquiline and Kathleen Price of Forest Dale Publishing.

Cover by Cheryl Perez; www.yourepublished.com

For my parents; true soulmates.

May you be together up there forever.

––––––––

Also by Darlene Jones:

EMBATTLED

EMPOWERED

EMBRACED

EMBROILED

Mali to Mexico and Points In Between

When the Sun was Mine

––––––––

www.darlenejonesauthor.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to:

friend and writing partner extraordinaire, Anneli Purchase,

all the people who were and are supportive in so many ways,

and my amazing family.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

PART ONE

The First Try

Chapter 1

It happened again, Doc. Another goddamned compulsion.

Use the recliner. Lie back and close your eyes. Now, tell me about it.

I’m driving home from the conference when the slough catches my eye. I’m mesmerized by the damn thing. I feel an insane urge to walk on the thin fall ice, to explore the fishing holes, to lie spread-eagled to distribute my weight. I know full well I’ll break through and drown, but I’ll be warm and taken care of. What I find down there will make it worthwhile. Emily felt her chest tighten. Each time she came to David’s office, each time she spoke of her greatest fears, she felt the strings to sanity loosening. Am I crazy, Doc?

She took a deep breath and continued. The urge is so strong I slow down, pull over to the shoulder, and park the car. I stare straight ahead, grip the steering wheel, and take several deep breaths. Slowly I allow my head to turn in the direction of the ice. Emily closed her eyes; saw again the slough by the roadside with its shadowy underwater world that now haunted her dreams.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I tell myself not to be crazy. But I do. I’m out of the car and scrambling down the steep slope of the ditch before I know it. I grab at the bushes to slow my descent, but they snap off in my hand. I teeter on the swampy edge of the waterhole, almost fall in face first. Somehow, I regain my balance. I pause to study the naked stalks of grass and brush trapped by the ice and reflected on its surface. I envy them their knowledge of what lies below. Emily heard the raspy breathing that couldn’t be coming from her, but was. She laughed and the harshness of the sound rang in her ears.

If only those plants could talk, Doc, and tell me what I need to know. Emily shook her head at the futility of her quest and waited, but David remained silent. She closed her eyes and pictured the scene. "For a brief moment, the lines and shadows intensify as the sun breaks through the clouds. Then everything dulls again.

Foolhardy, I know that, but I take a first tentative step and another. The ice creaks and grinds, shifts under my feet. I take another step; pull back sharply when I feel the ice begin to give way. I scramble madly up the slope. I lock myself in the vehicle before I dare to look back at the ice.

Emily looked directly at David. His expression hadn’t changed. But then it never did. Sometimes she craved a reaction from him, something she could work with. Other times she soaked up his calm as if she could be swaddled in it; protected in the cocoon of safety his title and position offered. Isn’t that what psychiatrists were for?

Emily shivered, wrapped her arms around herself. David’s office was warm, but she wished now that she hadn’t taken her coat and toque off. It was hell, Doc. The long drive through the mountainous terrain, all the frozen sloughs along both sides of the highway, the constant pull of the ice.... I thought the damn trip would never end.

What she didn’t tell him was that she’d turned and driven back to that first patch of ice, parked and sat in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel until her fingers ached. Three times she’d driven away only to retrace her route and go back. Three times she’d forced herself to stay in the car. Three times. God! She covered her face with her hands. What kind of sicko am I?

She peered between her fingers to see David leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, seemingly half asleep, but she knew from experience that he was intent on her every word. Silence stretched between them. Emily gritted her teeth as she waited for him to speak. He sat upright and gestured at her with his pipe, a move she’d come to think of as friendly concern. And what do you think now? he asked.

Emily took a deep breath and twisted her hands in her lap. I think I’m ... I guess ... Lord, I don’t know. I just don’t know. She looked down at her hands now clasped tightly. Her knuckles white with the strain. I’m not suicidal. Isn’t that what I pay you for? To figure this out for me.

David chewed on his pipe for a moment, took it out of his mouth, and stared at it as if wondering what it was and how it got into his hand. The pipe was always empty, but he fiddled with it constantly. Emily would have wondered what his personal demons were, if she hadn’t been overwhelmed with her own. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Okay, okay. She held up her hands defensively. Yes, I do know better. You’re only here to guide me to help myself. Trouble is I don’t seem to be getting anywhere, do I?

We could try hypnosis.

***

Hypnosis! Emily slammed a pot on the counter. She hated cooking, but she had to eat. She didn’t need hypnosis. She remembered it all. Every single damn obsession.

She closed her eyes and saw again the vast barren prairie images that had haunted her childhood dreams. For miles and miles, the stretch of the land had echoed her loneliness and her isolation. And what had she done in those dreams? Climbed—anything and everything that could raise her above that world that was flat, flat, flat. I grew up in the city, for Christ’s sake.

The sizzle of water on the hot burner jolted Emily from her reverie. Damn it! She lifted the pot off the burner and drained the pasta. By the time she’d cleaned the stovetop the pasta was a congealed lump. She dumped it in the garbage, put the unopened jar of sauce in the cupboard, fixed a plate of crackers and cheese, and poured a glass of wine.

And where had the damn stairs come from? They, too, had haunted her childhood dreams. Again and again she had seen them. No risers between the treads. An awesome gaping nothingness below that terrified her. She was always sure she would fall through, but still she walked in the middle, making no effort to find the reassuring security of either the wall or the railing.

Sometimes she had glanced up to see the stairway rise forever enticing her to go on and on. Other times she saw a sunlit world at the top of the stairwell high in the sky, but her climbing always ended before she reached it. She’d woken so often from those dreams with tears streaming down her face. No, Doc, I never told anyone about them. How could I?

Emily took the empty plate to the sink, refilled her wine glass and sank onto her sofa. She played with the control, clicked the television on, but muted the volume. Looking back on those childhood memories, she often wondered if they were fragments of a life she’d lived before. They seemed too persistent and too real to be dreams. But, no matter how much she read about reincarnation, she didn’t really believe it was possible.

What then, was the significance of all those images that traipsed around in her brain? She needed to tell Doc about them, didn’t know why she hadn’t already for they felt essential to understanding her demons, to releasing her from this madness of wanting.

Ironically, she had climbed that mysterious staircase of hers when her father took the family to see the new airport. She remembered her stomach had clenched when she saw it. To this day she didn’t know if that was from fear or anticipation. She’d run ahead of her parents, shunned the security of the railing and walked in the middle of the wide treads, refusing to look down, refusing to fear the wide spaces below, refusing to fear falling. Again she looked up. To a world of air and open spaces and clouds and those marvelous airplanes that might take her anywhere she wanted to go. She’d stood with her nose pressed to the window of the observation room for the longest time—trapped by the glass. If only she could break through and soar. If only.

They did take me to many places, those airplanes, but not to the place I wanted to go. How could they, Doc? When I don’t know where that place is.

Emily straightened, wineglass held midair. Maybe hypnosis was the answer. Maybe under the spell she would find the place.

Chapter 2

Emily slammed her door shut and dropped her purse and mitts on the floor. She kicked off her boots leaving them where they fell. The clumps of snow and ice would melt and soak into the wool mat. She’d be upset later, but right now she didn’t give a damn. She slumped on the sofa without taking her coat off. Her stomach grumbled and she craved a stiff drink, but she had no inclination to move. Hands clasped over her ears to warm them, she cursed the vanity that had precluded wearing her toque.

Yet another interview; how many did that make? Seven? This was one job she might have liked, but she wouldn’t get it. Travel up north every month, meet with trappers, buy pelts—how exciting would that be?

God damn it. Why had they interviewed her? No, that wasn’t what she should be asking. The real question was why had she applied in the first place for something so out of her league?

Knowing the answers made her even madder. Because she was tired of her life, bored with it all. Scared too. Of all the damn idiotic notions that romped merrily in her head without a thought for her welfare.

Emily slid to lie on the sofa and squeezed her eyes shut. So many things she didn’t want to deal with like the note she’d found on her desk that morning; one that rankled beyond belief.

Hi ms. roberts,

How are you doing? I hear your retiring. That sucks! Well i came to see you to show you my baby but you all ready left! well just want to say hi and have fun!

Talk to you later ms roberts

from

Becky R

Stupid kid. Hadn’t she learned anything in Sex Ed class? God, they knew where to go for birth control. Gave them the pamphlets myself. Abysmal writing too. What had she been doing in English class? Sleeping?

Sue had said Becky’s baby was cute as all get out. Not surprising. Becky was cute too. But how would that poor baby be raised? A fifteen-year-old mother and a welfare grandmother, not much over thirty herself, didn’t make for the best start. And Sue had said that, according to Becky, the father was out of the picture so no hope for support from him or his family. Emily groaned. She didn’t want to think about it.

***

This was not just another retirement party. This was hers. They’d been stunned at first, her staff. You’re what!? But you’re way too young. You can’t leave. You’re so young. What’re ya going to do? You’ll be bored silly. It’s none of my business, but what’ll you do for money?

She didn’t tell them she was independently wealthy. Didn’t tell them her neurosis was taking over. Didn’t tell them she intended to hang out with her doctor until she found the answers she needed. Didn’t tell them she wanted nothing more than to go back to that desolate patch of ice and break through. Didn’t tell them she was antsy as hell and couldn’t stand the confines of the school. So many things she didn’t tell them. So many things she still hadn’t told David.

No party, she said. Lunch with you on my last day. That’s all I want. Would they listen? Not bloody likely. They turned the Christmas staff party into a surprise for her, inviting just a few beyond their own group, people she would have wanted there if she’d wanted a farewell party. They were damned clever and damned pleased with themselves.

Here, drink this, Sue said as soon as Emily had her coat off.

What is it?

Sue grinned wickedly. A slippery nipple.

Emily accepted the shot glass. Never heard of it.

A mix of Baileys and Sambuca. Heady stuff. You’ll love it.

Emily shrugged. One drink won’t hurt. She tipped the glass to knock it back. Liqueur dripped down her chin and spilled over the front of her shirt. What the ...?

Sue giggled. Divided shot glass.

The others around her laughed. Don’t get out much, eh boss? someone said.

Emily laughed with them, cleaned herself up with the wet cloth Sue handed her, asked for another slippery nipple, downed it without spilling, and proceeded to have one of the greatest evenings of her life; a few delicious hours of respite from her torment. Roast pig, beer, a multitude of desserts, limited speeches—from what they said, she had been a good boss, appreciated—much teasing and laughter and many, many, hugs; the convivial atmosphere not all that much different from any workday.

She went home with a glow that lasted for a couple of days, feeling a love that was so profound it overwhelmed.

But, as with every success in her life, the aftermath was sharp discontent, a gap, desolation in spite of success and engagement. Something dreadfully important was missing.

Of course Christmas didn’t help. The season of joy that more often brought despair and heartache. She accepted her parents’ invitation to sleep over on Christmas Eve and have their traditional breakfast Christmas morning. She didn’t tell them she hated pancakes, had hated them as a kid. She gagged one down, told her dad how good it was, and politely refused a second saying she was saving space for the turkey dinner.

She pretended, for her parents and friends, for the sake of all the people around her during the holiday season, but wanted nothing more than for it to be over. The cheeriness of clerks wishing her Merry Merry sounded false and tinny to her ears. The parties, the gifts, the laughter meant nothing to her. No, that wasn’t true. All of it brought pain and longing that she couldn’t control. She sighed with relief when January second dawned and she could go to her appointment with David.

Where do they come from, Doc? These intense feelings that vacillate between wisps of regret and staggering waves of disappointment? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be satisfied?

That, my dear, is what we are trying to figure out.

***

What’s a good life supposed to be, Doc? Emily cringed. If she asked the question he’d probably tell her to find a man, have children. That’s why she never asked. Never would. But, damn it, she did want a man.

They had discussed her childhood, her teen years, her social life then and now. Those discussions left her with huge hollow feelings as if her heart had shriveled to a little stone in her chest.

Yeah, Doc, I dated in high school. If three times counts as dating. And, no I’m not a lez. Ralph took her to his house to see the antique car he was restoring. The car was neat, but his kisses were wet and sloppy. Andrew came over and taught her how to properly brew a pot of tea. She hated tea. Mike took her roller skating. She spent more time on her butt than on her feet, just couldn’t get the hang of it. Embarrassment flooded over her each time she fell and she insisted on leaving. He never called again.

Friday and Saturday nights, home alone, Emily resorted to reading or dreaming. She made three wishes over and over again. The first was always for perfect eyesight. The second was sometimes to be popular, or to be a great athlete admired by all. Or even better, to have a beautiful horse to ride to school and have everyone watch her enviously. A horse in the city? Stupid. Her chest squeezed tight and her breathing became labored with those memories that haunted her mercilessly.

But horses must have played a role in her life somewhere somehow for she had only to close her eyes and breathe deeply to smell the scent of them, the straw and hay. She pictured clearly a man putting the collars on the horses and a little girl buckling the harnesses and attaching them to the traces—how was it she knew the names of all the bits and pieces?—then looping the reins over her hands and climbing onto the hay rack.

Or she wished to be so beautiful that all the boys would have crushes on her and want to go out with her, but she would have an older boyfriend, from university maybe, good looking with a car and the high school boys would be left in the dust. She watched the others with envy—the ones who dated, the couples who were lip-locked and wore each other’s rings—and yet she knew none of that was for her.

Emily sighed. I was such a fool back then, Doc. High school life was filled with great gobs of loneliness. No amount of wishing took that away.

Yeah, Doc, I’ve dated some since then. If going out even though I don’t really like the guy counts as dating.

Why do you go then? David asked.

Emily shrugged. Why not? At least it gets me out.

Do you enjoy those evenings?

No.

Do any of the dates lead to sex?

No.

Why not? David paused. Emily, you’re a normal healthy human. You must have a sex drive. Why not fulfill it?

Just because everyone else does? Emily shook her head. Not my style. She waited for David to ask her if she was a virgin.

David tapped his empty pipe in the empty ashtray. Pins and needles prickled at Emily as she waited for his response. She was scared of what he might say and yet she desperately wanted to hear his words.

Waiting for Mr. Right?

Something like that.

I don’t think that’s it. David hesitated. What are you afraid of, Emily? What is holding you back from loving and being loved?

Emily sucked in air. Whatever is under that ice, she whispered. That’s what. An ache deep inside almost made her cry.

***

Emily drove home feeling lighter than she had for a long time. David had had no answers to her questions and worries, no soothing reassurances, but verbalizing her desires had been cathartic and she somehow felt closer to finding the answers she needed.

And, now? Maybe retiring so young was a mistake. She shook her head. No, I had to quit. That much was true. She was too unstable mentally, she knew that. There’d been so many times at work the last few months when she’d been spaced out as she thought of it. Too many times she’d found herself losing the thread of a conversation or forgetting vital pieces of information. Too many times her admin assistant or a teacher had saved her butt, covered for her. She had to fix herself before she could do anything else.