Cloak & Dagger

By G. Avetis

When Ruby Rahman runs away from a Middle Eastern country of to the United States to avoid an arranged marriage, instead of achieving the freedom she seeks, she finds herself trapped instead—in a house full of vampires. This “family” vampires, known as the Scotts, don’t want to suck her blood. In fact, they have been taking care of Ruby since the accident she was involved in leaving the airport from Las Vegas. But when she tries to leave their house, they inform her that they’re going to have to kill her, before their leaders kill them for the crime of exposing her to the truth of their existence. The worst part of all: Ruby finds out that one who has been charged with the responsibility of killing her is William Scott, the most handsome vampire in the house, who has been sending her mixed messages since she arrived. She isn’t sure any more if running away from her father—and from a country where women are not respected—was such a smart idea. She might as well have stayed home and spent her life in a loveless marriage than be drained of her blood by a cold, heartless vampire like William.
Little does she know that William is madly love with her.
William gives his family an ultimatum: they either let Ruby live, or they have to kill him along with her. Even though the Scotts are terrified of their leaders finding out that they have a human living in their midst, they decide to support William.
Meanwhile, Ruby has a secret of her own, which is the fact that she’s actually the princess of a faraway kingdom (though she was adopted at birth, and doesn’t in fact know much about her true origins). This secret doesn’t stay hidden long after the return of William’s ex-girlfriend Carolina, who has discovered Ruby’s true identity, and is determined to win William back by revealing Ruby’s subterfuge. Carolina exposes Ruby to the media, thinking this will force Ruby to return to her homeland, as Ruby is just seventeen, and still legally in her father’s charge. This leaves Ruby with no choice but to accept William’s offer of marriage, trading one arranged marriage for another, so to speak.
This arrangement gets complicated, though, when Ruby finds herself falling head over heels in love with William, who fears he won’t be able to restrain his desire to taste her blood if they become too intimate. William wants Ruby to become a vampire, so they can consummate their marriage and truly be together. But Ruby wants children, which isn’t a possibility if she becomes a vampire.
Caught between two worlds—Middle Eastern and Western, vampire and human—Ruby finds that there are aspects of her new life that both frightening and attractive. She fought hard to free herself from a culture where women’s opinions weren’t valued, and women’s bodies had to be covered at all times, but it seems that as soon as she’s won one battle, she’s facing another—this one, for her life. That’s because word of her marriage has reached the vampire leaders, and soon their council will decide her fate, as well as that of the Scotts.
But among the delegation from the council is Nikolas, a vampire equally as handsome as the one she married, who makes it clear he intends to steal Ruby away from William. Ruby hates the tension between William and Nikolas, and is unnerved by the way Nikolas appears to be stalking her in the days leading up the council’s decision. But she’s relieved and surprised later when Nikolas exercises the mysterious influence he seems to have over the council to save her from being condemned to death—at least for a period of three months, during which Ruby must make some major decisions.
Will Ruby relinquish her dream of motherhood, and become a vampire? And if so, will she choose William, or Nikolas? Or will Ruby hold her ground, and die as a human being?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Avetis
• Release date: Jul 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301942169

G. Avetis

G. Avetis is a native of Armenia, and immigrated to the United States with her family in 1993. She discovered her love of language at an early age, and was inspired by the example of her grandfather, an author, to publish books of her own. Drawing on her strict conservative Christian upbringing, her work explores the immigrant experience as well as the role of women in different cultures. Fluent in four languages, G. Avetis has a degree in psychology. She lives in Northern California with her husband and three amazing little boys.

Book preview

CLOAK & DAGGER

Stuck in 2 Worlds– Book 1

by G. Avetis

Published 2013 by G. Avetis

on Smashwords

Copyright ©2013 by G. Avetis

Editing by Indigo Editing & Publications

Cover design by Book Graphics

Cover model Noyemi Avetisyan

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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 book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I wish to personally thank the following people for their contributions to my inspiration, knowledge, and other help in creating this book:

Hovik/Aida Avetisyan

Artem Nersesyan

Daniel Nersesyan

Ester Avetisyan

Anna Dallakyan

Charlie Hines

Warda Nawaz

Fareeha Nawaz

Parveen Sroya

Kelley Kukis

Chapter 1

I ran through the forest, trying to get away, but feeling, knowing, that I was getting nowhere near as far away as I needed to be. I knew something savage was chasing me because I’d seen how it had shredded the taxi driver’s neck and left him lifeless on the ground. I was starting to get tired, my legs feeling heavier with each step, and burning. But I pushed. When I dared to risk a glance behind me, I saw nothing, but felt a presence. A presence that chilled my bones and flushed my skin with hot blood at the same time. What was it? Was it a human or an animal or, somehow, both? How was it that strong when it was only half the size of the taxi driver? Suddenly I saw a black shadow blurring toward me—dust exploded from the earth with each step it took, yet its steps made no sound. In the clearing just ahead of me, the moonlight hit the shadow’s face. It had white, meat-eating teeth and sunken, pitch-black eyes that were almost lost in shadow. Its skin was light gray with a network of lines like wrinkles, but not like wrinkles. A human face, wearing an ugly mask. In an instant everything went black.

My head felt heavy, as if it were pinned to whatever I was lying on. I tried opening my eyes—it felt as if I had heavy bricks on them. I tried again, and slowly opened my eyes. All I saw was a blinding white light.

She’s waking up, a man’s voice said.

Finally. I was afraid we would have to take her to the hospital, another voice, a woman’s, said.

I felt something cold on my arm. Then I heard a third voice, one close to me: Can you hear me? That’s when I realized the cool thing on my arm was a hand. I wanted to respond, but my mouth would not move. It felt as if my jaw was screwed shut.

Now my eyes were wide open; they were becoming used to the light, and my vision was focusing. Shapes became people I did not recognize. A man who must have been in his early twenties was standing right next to me. He was wearing a navy-blue shirt and black pants. On his right hand, the one still resting on my arm, he wore a ring that bore a design resembling the sun. He was tall, with a pale face, but very handsome. He had big hazel eyes and dirty-blond hair. He looked well built, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. The guy next to him was a little shorter, but just as muscular and just as pale as his friend. He was wearing a white T-shirt and dark-blue jeans. His nose was small and sharp, but he was also handsome. He seemed in his late teens, maybe early twenties.

I heard two women chatting quietly at the foot of my bed, and I slowly turned to look at them. They both looked very young: One looked close to my age, seventeen, and the other one looked as if she were in her early twenties. The younger one was tall and slender and had long, wavy blond hair. Her face was heart shaped and pale. Her blue eyes were big and as beautiful as the rest of her face. She was wearing a gray sleeveless dress with a thick black belt around her small waist. The other young woman had long, straight black hair, dark brown eyes and very long, beautiful eyelashes. She had high cheekbones and light brown skin that shone like the sun, depending how the light hit her face. She wore a red sleeveless shirt and tight black pants.

I tried to remember if I knew any of them, had even seen any of them before in passing, but my head was still blank. The last thing I remembered was getting off the plane in Las Vegas, taking a taxi at the airport, and heading for a town called Rioville. The more I forced myself to remember, the more I felt a concentrated pain burning just over my left temple. I touched the burning spot, but the woman with black hair took a step closer to me and said, Don’t touch it—it will just hurt more.

I must have looked alert enough to understand because she continued.

When you fell, you hit your head and scraped your arm, she explained in a soft, calm voice. I looked down at my arm and saw it was bandaged, but I felt no pain.

What I did feel was extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say to these people. I knew nothing about them, and no matter how much I wanted to remember them, I couldn’t. They weren’t making it easy for me either—they just stood there and stared at me without introducing themselves to me.

Finally the young woman with blond hair took a few steps closer to my bed. You should try to get some more sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.

I did not reply. I did feel tired, and maybe when I woke up, this would all make sense. I laid back on the bed and closed my eyes.

My heart was beating fast. I was sweating all over, and I felt that I had no air to breathe. I kept seeing trees go by—fast. The speed at which I was moving was faster than any vehicle I had ever been in, but I didn’t seem to be in a vehicle at all.

Cold air and cold, wet drops stung my face.

I jumped awake, sitting up straight in bed. The room I was in was dark. A cold, wet breeze hit my face and blew my hair back. I started to shiver. I glanced around and saw on my right there was a giant window, more like a glass door, and it was wide open. The wetness was from snow, which melted as soon as it came in contact with any surface—the window ledge, the floor, my skin. I could hear the wind outside—it was so strong it was whistling. I pushed the covers off of me and stood up to walk to the window. When I put my feet on the ground, I felt dizzy, the room spinning around me. I sat back down on the bed. A few minutes later, I tried to stand again, but this time a little slower than before. Better. Slowly, I walked to the window and pushed it shut with a strength I was surprised I had. I took a moment to look around outside, but all I saw were trees—no houses, no other buildings. Where was I, so far from civilization, and in such terrible weather? Where had these strange people taken me? To a hospital—or worse, had they discovered my secret and turned me over to the authorities? I walked back to my bed and pulled my covers over my head.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was morning. The window was still closed, and the weather seemed much calmer than it had last night, though the sky was still cloudy and overcast.

The room was beautiful, not the prison cell or hospital room I was envisioning. The furniture was the color of cherries—probably cherry wood—and carved with designs. The bed had a headboard carved with small flowers and leaves, which had to have been from the nineteenth century. The sheets were white silk—exactly what I’d had at home. There were three pillows, and the thick, warm comforter was gray with black designs. On each side of the bed, a small nightstand held a beautiful gray-and-black lamp that matched the comforter. A glass of water on a napkin sat on the stand to my right. Next to the glass was a bowl of water, a white cloth soaking in it—I figured those people from last night had probably used it on my forehead when I was still unconscious. To my left, a narrow window, not the one I had forced shut last night, stretched almost from floor to ceiling. The window was dressed in curtains that also matched the lamps and the comforter. A big chair sat next to the window.

I pushed the covers aside and twisted toward the edge of the bed, but before my feet touched the floor, the room’s door swung open and in walked the young woman with long black hair. Her every move was so light and graceful it seemed like she made no effort to move at all. She had a big smile on her face.

How are you feeling today? she asked cheerfully as she walked over and stood in front of me.

I tried to speak but realized I had to clear my throat; it felt as if I hadn’t spoken for several days. This frightened me. I had no idea where I was, or how long I have been lying in this bed.

I’m feeling much better today, thank you, I said and managed a small smile. She wore white capris and a dark-green shirt that skimmed her waist. Each hair was in place, shimmering straight, with gently upturned ends. She looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine.

Would you like to take a shower? she asked, still smiling at me.

Yes, I said quietly. Whoever these people were, they apparently wanted me to be conferrable.

She walked toward what looked to be a dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and grabbed something white. Then she walked across the room to a set of double doors that seemed to lead to a closet, and stepped inside. In just seconds, she was back out. She walked to my bed and handed me the items she’d been collecting. Here you go. I will see you downstairs in a little bit.

My name is Victoria, by the way, I told her.

I’m Ester, the woman replied, and turned to go.

Before you go, can you tell me what day it is and where I am? I said quickly.

She turned to face me again. Today is November 29, and you are in Mount Charleston, a small town near Las Vegas in Nevada. We are right by the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. Mount Charleston, I thought. I’d never heard of this town before. How had I wound up here? She turned again to leave, but right before she put her hand on the doorknob, she added, The clothes that you were wearing when you got here are in the bathroom in a bag. They were—a bit torn. We weren’t sure if you wanted us to throw them away or not. Then she disappeared out the door.

The first thing I noticed in the bathroom was the wall-to-wall mirror. I looked horrible. My hair was a mess, my face was pale—my skin looked almost like the people who were in my room last night—and I was wearing clothes that I had never seen before, a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. The thought that someone had to have undressed me to change my clothes made me feel uncomfortable. A thin white bandage was on my forehead close to my hairline. I was surprised that this small spot had given me so much pain last night, as I didn’t feel any pain whatsoever now. Then again, it could be a small but deep cut; I was afraid to take it off because I feared what was underneath. I glanced down at my arm, which was wrapped up in many layers of bandages. Best to leave that alone too.

Maybe a warm bath will help me clear my head a little, I told myself, and turned away from the mirror.

The floor’s shiny gray- and black-checkered tiles were cool under my feet, and five tiled stairs led up to a big tub ringed with beautiful rose-shaped candles and potted plants. This bathroom was awfully large for just me, but I didn’t mind. The bathroom’s one window was oval shaped, just like an egg. Through it, I could see a thick forest covered in snow and, a little beyond that, another house—I could see just barely the top of the roof, which seemed to be at least a mile away.

I spread the items the woman had given me on the counter: a big white towel, white pants, a long white-and-red sweater, and a small kit filled with brand-new makeup from one of the top makeup companies. I would know. It was exactly the same makeup I’d packed away in my luggage, which I’d left in the taxi when I’d run. Though what had happened after that, I had no idea. My body was aching, so the hot bath felt wonderful, though I had to be very careful not to get my bandages wet. While undressing, I had noticed lots of scratches on my body, but there was nothing major. The longer I stayed in the bath, the more I felt my aches and pains fading away.

Finally, I climbed out, got dressed, and put on my makeup. I posed before the full-length mirror. With the help of the bath and makeup, my color was back a little. I wore my long, straight, light-brown hair down, and it covered the small bandage on my forehead. I’d highlighted my cheekbones with light pink, and my full, heart-shaped lips wore a light-plum color. My lashes were so long and thick that my sisters had always said they looked fake—out of jealousy, most likely. People had always agreed that I was the prettiest out of all of us, and having a figure certainly didn’t hurt: I was five foot seven and slim, but with curves.

However, one thing was different from my norm: The clothes I was wearing, which Ester had given me. I was used to being covered up, from my hair to my toes, and I liked this new look. This was the way I had always wanted to dress but never had the opportunity to. I knew if my father saw me like this, he would have a heart attack.

I picked up the bag that held my old clothes and laid each piece on the counter. Each one was stained with blood and torn. I started to get dizzy, seeing all this damage. What had happened to me? And how had I survived?

Suddenly, I remembered something. I quickly grabbed the jacket I had been wearing when I stepped out of the airport in Las Vegas, reached into an outside pocket, and took my ring out. I was glad that it was still there, that no one had touched it. Then I reached into the inside pocket and found my documents—my passport and a few papers I had with me to verify my identity—and took them out as well. The documents were okay for people to see, but I needed to hide the ring, as it would give away my true identity in a heartbeat. I had come this far, and I was not going to let anyone discover me now.

I searched around the bedroom for a place to hide the ring. Finally, at the very back of the closet, I spotted a black jacket that was out of style—considering the new and fashionable way the other two women in the house dressed. I figured that no one would want to wear it anytime soon. I pulled the jacket out, placed the ring in its pocket, and hung it back where it had been. I returned to the bathroom, put all the clothes back in the bag, and set the bag down next to the bathroom trash. Then I headed to one of the nightstands and put the papers in the bottom drawer.

Before escaping my country, I had thought of hundreds of fake names, finally deciding that, if I was going to the States, I should come up with a name that was not that out of place there. Smith and Johnson wouldn’t really match my skin color, and Patel might be too closely linked to my true identity. Lombardo was a name I knew to be Mexican—one of my father’s past business partners had been a Lombardo from Mexico. I knew that there were tons of Mexicans in the United States and figured that I could pass as Hispanic. Soon after I’d made this decision, I had the fake passport and other papers to back up my lie. Now these papers were all I had to cover up who I really was.

Opening the bedroom door, I stepped into a large hall. Windows dressed in gray and white curtains lined each side of the hall, and in front of each window sat a table with a vase of flowers. Giant paintings hung between the windows. They were all of people and places I did not recognize. It seemed as though the people in the paintings were from different centuries: some looked to be from the seventeenth century, some from the eighteenth, and some from the early nineteenth century. One painting that caught my eye was of a beautiful castle floating in the middle of a large body of water. The castle was so colorful that it didn’t seem as if it could be a real place—only someone’s imagination could have painted something this lovely. Even though it stood on its own island, the castle was surrounded by white gates and blooming gardens filled with waterfalls.

I glimpsed two closed doors off the hallway. Must be other bedrooms, I thought. One room, which was exactly across from the room I had just stepped out of, had double doors, with keyholes. The other room, on the right side of my bedroom, had a door identical to it. I looked left and discovered a staircase halfway down the hall. I stepped lightly to the stairs and started climbing down—passing a floor that looked identical to mine, minus the double-door room—before reaching a white marble staircase that led to the main floor of the house.

I clutched the banister as I looked down at the living area. The far end of the room was clear glass from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The view of the trees covered in snow was breathtaking, and I felt like I was looking at a painting. The only reason I knew I was looking through glass at the world outside was the fact that the snow was still falling lightly and the tree branches were moving slowly.

A man standing next to the glass wall turned and looked up at me. He was the most handsome guy I had ever seen. He had straight, spiked-up black hair with full lips the color of peaches and pale skin just like the four who had cared for me. The top half of his white shirt was unbuttoned, so I was able to see his wide, muscular chest. Around his neck he wore a thick black chain that ended a little below his chest. It felt almost unreal to be looking at someone that good-looking. I shivered as my eyes caught his. His stare seemed to pierce through mine. I felt an unexplainable energy from him. I forced myself to look away from his gaze and toward the seating area.

Six more people who I had not noticed before turned and looked up at me. They must have heard my footsteps on the stairs. I started to feel a little shy, so I looked straight ahead. Right at the bottom of the stairs was a white grand piano with a vase full of red roses on top. My favorite. Three white stairs led up to the massive front door just beyond that led to the main room. The entire floor of the room was covered with white tiles that made everything in it stand out.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Ester stood up and walked toward me. You look great—the clothes fit you perfectly, she said cheerfully to me. Then she turned to the guy standing by the glass wall. Did she want him to add something, or to keep quiet?

Thank you, I said. I was nervous. I didn’t know these people or what their lives were like. I had lived a very different life and dressed very differently back at home, and was afraid that I might say or do something that would give me away.

Gently, Ester pulled on my elbow. Come sit with us. I didn’t say anything. I just followed her, and perched on the edge of one of the sofas. As I sat down, I thought how thankful I was for all those English lessons I had taken over the past ten years of my life. I spoke just like a person who had grown up in the United States. Still, I knew that other things could give me away very easily.

I want to introduce you to everyone, said Ester, now standing right next to me. This is my family. We are the Scotts. She pointed to the other young woman who had been with her in my room last night. This is Naomi. The two guys who had been in my room last night were Jake, the tall one, and Michael, the short one.

She also introduced me to Ericka and Aaron, whom I had not met before. Ericka was sitting next to Jake with a smile on her face. She had curly black hair, green eyes, and very dark plum-colored lips. She had nice little dimples in both cheeks. Aaron had black hair cut very short, and dark-brown eyes. He was also muscular and tall and handsome like the other males in this family. They were all pale. Didn’t they ever get any sun? I wondered. They all looked very beautiful and flawless and were dressed in high-end clothing. Everything in the room looked like it cost a fortune. Like the vase with the roses on the piano—I knew how expensive it was because I had one just like it in my room back at home, made out of pure gold and set with small diamonds. It had been a gift to me from my parents on my tenth birthday.

Aaron looked at me and smiled. We’re glad that you’re feeling better today.

I forced myself to smile back. Thank you.

Ester turned toward the guy who was standing by the window and introduced him as William. Now that I was closer, I saw that he was looking at me with what had to be hatred in his eyes. What have I done to him? He didn’t say anything in response to Ester’s introduction, not even, Nice to meet you. He just turned and looked out through the window. I wasn’t sure what his problem was, but it didn’t matter. I was going to be out of his home soon anyway.

I glanced around the room again. They seemed to be expecting me to say something, and I wasn’t sure what. An inviting, calm energy surrounded them all, even William, now that he wasn’t staring at me, and the longer I sat in the room, the less nervous I was. I noticed they all wore the ring with the sun design that had caught my eye when I saw it on Jake’s hand the night before.

Your rings are beautiful, I finally spoke.

A family set, said Michael.

Are you hungry? asked Ester, clearly wanting to change the subject. Before I could respond, she continued, We already ate, but we got you something to eat, too.

I realized that I was starving. I could not remember the last time I ate. As I followed Ester to the kitchen, Aaron shouted after me, It was nice meeting you. Oh, and next time you should introduce yourself to us.

I swallowed hard and waited until I could turn around with a smile on my face, to meet their gentle laughter. I’m Victoria Lombardo, I said. It’s nice to meet you too.

The entire kitchen looked new, as if it never had been used before. I sat down at the island. Ester placed a plate of food in front of me. I looked down at the plate: pasta, salad, and garlic bread. I was not used to these kinds of foods, though I’d had them on rare occasions. I’m in a completely different world now. I have to learn to live like them, I told myself. Besides, I was not going to be picky or rude.

Ester went to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and set that in front of me before excusing herself and disappearing through the same doors we had come in from. I took my fork and started to eat. After a few bites I realized that this food was not bad at all. I could get used to this, I thought as I stared out the huge windows just a few yards away. Though the food was probably the easiest thing I was going to have to get used to here.

After I finished eating, I washed my dishes and walked back to the living room. The television was on, and everyone was still there.

Do you want to watch TV with us? Jake asked. Who were these people, the Scotts? Why were they asking me to watch TV with them, rather than telling me how I’d wound up here in their home with them? It was all so strange—but as soon as I thought about it, I started to feel sleepy.

Right when I opened my mouth to say, No I’m tired, William stood up from his seat in the armchair and stormed out the front door. Before I could ask the others what had happened, breaking news came on the television screen. A man in his early forties had been attacked in Mount Charleston in the woods while he was out for his routine morning run. Everyone in the room grew quiet. According to the reporter, this was the second attack this week in the Mount Charleston area in which the body had been drained of blood.

A series of waves crashed in my mind, and each wave brought back part of my memory. I started to shake as I remembered everything that had happened between the airport and when I awoke in this house. For a few moments I stood still, unable to move my legs. Then I got my strength back, and felt like I was going to break into tears. I needed to get out of the living room. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel very well. I’m going to my room to rest, I said, my voice catching a little.

Ericka looked up with a mean look on her face. She has weak flesh.

Michael glared at Ericka. She needs to rest to recover quickly. Leave her alone, Ericka.

Ignoring their comments, I marched up the stairs to the room I had been staying in the past few days. I shut the door and went straight to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, hoping it would help to calm me down. It didn’t. My heart was still pounding hard inside my chest, and my thoughts were running a million miles an hour. I walked to the big window in the bedroom, sat on the window seat, and stared outside at the forest. My memories swirled like the falling snow.

What was that thing that had attacked the taxi driver? I remembered now that it had looked like a woman with red hair. Now she had attacked again, and killed another person. But what if I had seen it wrong, and it was an animal, not a human, that had killed the taxi driver? No, it couldn’t be. I had been wide awake when I saw it, and though its face had been strange—not to mention the way it moved—it looked exactly like a woman. My head was starting to burn, though, so for the moment I had to stop myself from thinking about it; besides, no matter how much I replayed the memories, none of it made any sense.

I heard a knock on the door, and before I could respond, it opened, and in walked Naomi. Are you okay? she asked me, her voice soft and concerned. It was nice of her to come and check on me, but right then all I wanted was to be left alone.

Yes, I’m fine, I said quickly, but even though I tried to smile, I couldn’t. Her expression showed that she did not believe me. I didn’t know what else to tell her, so I just didn’t say anything else, and hoped that she would leave the room.

Okay, if you need anything, just let me know. I will be downstairs in the family room.

I will. Thank you. I turned my head toward the window so she wouldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes.

You know, whenever you are ready we can tell you how and where we found you. She paused for a few seconds. We would also like to learn about you, she continued, but I didn’t turn back to face her or answer her. I didn’t want to hear it now. At this point, I was afraid to find out how I had wound up here. Also, I didn’t want to tell them anything about me, not now and probably not ever, despite the fact that I probably owed them my life.

After I heard the door to my room click shut, I got up and went to the bed. I took the remote and turned on the TV. The channels here were different than the ones I was used to. I kept changing the channels to see if I could see something that I was familiar with, but I could not find anything. Everything was different here—even the news was different. I finally found a show called Friends. Even I knew that show. I crawled under the covers and watched it.

Chapter 2

I felt someone—or something—in my room. I forced myself to wake up and saw a figure standing in front of me at the foot of my bed. The room was extremely dark, but I tried to make out who was standing there. It looked like the handsome, but angry, guy from downstairs—William, I think Ester had called him. I blinked to see more clearly, and he was gone. I looked to my left and to my right. The room didn’t just look empty, it felt empty, too. But I had seen someone!

Hadn’t I?

Morning. I opened the closet. It was full of brand-new clothes with tags still on them. Everything—pants, shirts, dresses, and shoes—was my size. There was so much to choose from that it was hard to decide what to wear. Finally, a white sweaterdress caught my eye, and I grabbed black leggings to go under it. I headed to the bathroom to take a shower. As I bathed, I realized the scratches that had marked my body the day before had faded, and I felt no pain from under the bandages on my forehead and arm, which were soaking wet now. So I took them off. Finishing my shower, I stepped out and wiped a circle of the full-length mirror clear of steam. My wounds had healed.

From a young age, I had healed quickly from any injury. When I was eleven years old, I broke my arm, and when the doctors took a second X-ray a week later, they said that it looked like it had never been broken. They showed me the old X-ray, to compare. The doctors had no explanation for this, and neither did I.

Showered and dressed, having had some time to myself, I felt better and more able to face my memories—and those people