ForNevermore: Season One: ForNevermore, #1

By Coraline Cole and David W. Wright

From the bestselling authors of Yesterday's Gone, Karma Police, WhiteSpace, and more comes ForNevermore, a compelling and lush dark fantasy.

 

What would you do if your dreams seeped into reality?

 

All Noella Snow ever wanted was a normal life. But in her seventeen years, she's experienced only tragedy—the death of her mother in childbirth, then the murder of her father before her very eyes. Now she spends her days in quiet misery as a lonely outcast, harboring an unrequited crush on her best friend.

Noella's only happiness comes in her dreams of another world, one where her father still lives and a mysterious stranger with a deadly touch protects her from the monsters of her nightmares.

 

But then Noella starts seeing those monsters in her waking life—begins hearing voices and witnessing gruesome murders. Fearing she'll be sent back to the psychiatric hospital, she tries to ignore it.

 

Until she spots her mysterious protector, watching her from afar as he's done in her dreams—but she's awake.

 

Is Noella losing her mind, or is she linked to a hidden world, destined to be normal ForNevermore?

 

ForNevermore Season One is the first book in the complete ForNevermore series, perfect for fans of Jaymin Eve and Sarah J. Maas. Get all three books today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sterling & Stone
• Release date: Aug 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533763594

Book preview

PART I

Episode 1

Chapter One

Aurora Falls, New York

Friday, October 26

9:50 p.m.

On the short list of things worse than what had already happened to Noella Snow today, being murdered was definitely one of them.

Today she turned seventeen, and it was officially her worst birthday in ten years. Considering what happened on her seventh birthday, that was saying a lot.

Noella was working the counter at Keefer’s Koffee, Aurora Falls’ pathetic excuse for an echo of Starbucks, and wondering why she ever agreed to cover Jamie’s shift. She looked at the clock for the hundredth time. Ten minutes until closing.

The clock conspired to keep her from the bed she couldn’t wait to fall into. All she wanted was to pull the covers over herself and forget this day ever happened.

Noella wrapped unsold brownies in thin sheets of ice blue cellophane so they’d be fresh for the morning rush and ignored the urge to shove one, or five, in her mouth. Sure, it would dull the day’s pain . . . for a few minutes. But once she swallowed, the dull ache would return, stronger and accompanied by her old friend guilt.

Treat yourself. It’s your birthday, girl.

It was her birthday, and she had grown into a slim young woman, but that didn’t cancel out a childhood of name-calling, with barbs such as Thunder Thighs, Chunky Monkey, and Patti Fatty, all of which crushed her trust and reduced her confidence to crumbs.

Noella slid the tray of brownies into the cooler with a decisive shove, just as the front door dinged and split the silence of the empty coffee shop. She looked up. A cold snake of terror slithered across her shoulders and down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, whether it was the voices her pills were supposed to silence or a hunch, but she knew for certain death had entered Keefer’s.

The weird thing was that guy didn’t look dangerous.

He was young and handsome, even in stone-washed jeans and a moody-looking leather jacket. His blue New York Mets hat and thick mop of brown hair made him look like any one of the hundreds of guys who came into the shop. But something in his eyes bled into Noella’s mind, something that said:

He is here to kill me.

Most nights there were at least four or five people scattered among the ten booths peppering the front arc of Keefer’s. They usually lingered, hooked to the Wi-Fi, taking a million years to leave, keeping Noella from closing and getting on with what little life she had. Tonight, of course, the place was tumbleweeds. She hadn’t had a customer in fifteen minutes, punctuating her lonely birthday with vulnerability.

Tony, the shift manager, was out back taking the evening’s trash to the dumpster. But really Noella knew he was sucking down yet another cigarette. He smoked more minutes than he worked, making him a generally useless co-worker.

Useless or not, I could really use him right now.

Welcome to Keefer’s. She tried not to sound nervous. What can I get you?

Mets Hat said nothing. He drifted toward the counter, his gaze studying the menu on the wall behind her as if he were trying to translate it from Swahili.

But he wasn’t really reading the menu. He read Noella.

That wasn’t uncommon. Noella considered herself plain, but that didn’t stop any number of creepy guys from coming in, undressing her with their eyes, and worse. Sometimes they’d comment on the heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheek, as if they were the first in the world to notice it and wanted a medal for coming up with some lame come-on involving hearts.

Perverts were everywhere. Noella had learned to ignore the bore of their stares and usually tried to blend into the background. But this guy wasn’t a pervert. Or at least not just a pervert. This guy was terror on two legs.

Noella’s mind flashed to the recent reports which lit the maudlin smiles of every local TV news anchor for the past several months — twelve murdered or missing girls in the last six months. Unsolved crimes with no suspects or clue what the killer looked like. Another chill shot through her core and something whispered in her mind.

He looks like this guy right here.

Noella scanned the counter for anything she could use as a weapon, her attention settling on the closed drawer where she’d set the knives used to slice bagels and sandwiches.

Hurry up, Tony!

Noella was aware of the murders — it was impossible to live in the town and not be. This was upstate New York, not exactly a hotbed of crime, let alone serial murders, so corpses left in the streets attracted attention. Hardly a day went by in the shop where someone wasn’t talking about their connection, no matter how tangential, to one of the victims. But the murders weren’t anything Noella worried about. Until now.

Mets Hat stood silently in front of her, hands in his jacket pockets, anxiety all over his face. The longer he stood there, staring, the more convinced Noella became that she was staring at the serial killer everyone was looking for.

Where in the hell are you, Tony? It doesn’t take that long to smoke a cigarette!

Noella wanted to flee, turn and run as fast as she could, out the back door without so much as a glance behind. But she felt foolish. Her logical side — the side the pills made stronger — whispered: He’s just weird, not a murderer. Also, serial killers aren’t usually cute, are they?

If Noella ran from the store, she may as well draw a bulls-eye on her head. She didn’t need to give the kids at her school yet another reason to ridicule her. Word would get back to them if she ran out of the shop like a crazy person. So she stayed put, praying to whoever might listen that Tony would return and calm the crumbling walls of her resolve. She glanced back through the door behind her and into the storage room where the exit door was propped open.

No sign of Tony, yet.

Come on, man. You smoking the whole pack?

Her leg began to shake. She needed to pee. Find anything you like?

The man’s eyes looked past her, toward the back room. The side of her brain that the pills couldn’t calm was back to its chatter.

This is it. He’s got a gun in his pocket.

Their eyes met again, and the hair on her arms stood up. She glanced at the closed drawer, then down at the panic button on the floor, maybe four feet away, trying to decide which she should run to first. The knife would help her immediately if she were able to defend herself. But the button could bring the police, and eventually, their guns.

He stared at Noella as though he could hear the conversation in her mind and feel the weight of her decision. Something clicked in his eyes. They went hard and cold.

This is it.

He pulled the gun from his pocket before Noella could reach the panic button.

She screamed as her foot stomped on the button, anyway.

Shut up and give me all the money in your register! He pulled a thin canvas bag from inside his jacket and threw it into her arms.

Noella stared at the bag, her mind reeling, a fog of terror bleaching her ability to move.

Open the register! the man growled, thrusting the gun inches from her face.

Oh, God, he’s not even wearing a mask! He’s gonna shoot me so there are no witnesses.

Noella was paralyzed, rooted to her spot.

Move, move, move, just do what he says!

But she couldn’t. And she became certain that in her fear of doing anything that might get her shot, the man would get frustrated enough to pull the trigger, anyway.

Now!

Noella jumped.

Just stay calm, give him what he wants, and maybe he’ll leave.

Tony’s voice called from the back, surprising both her and the robber.

Did you say something? Tony came from the back room, reeking of smoke, yanking out his earbuds as his eyes widened in shock, gaze bouncing from the gun to Noella, then back.

He turned and made it a single step before Mets Hat pulled the trigger and shot Tony in the back of the head. The bullet thundered through the coffee shop.

Noella cried out, holding her hands over her ears, staring at Tony as he stumbled a few steps, then made a final sideways shuffle. He dropped, face cracking ceramic in a bloody crunch.

No, no, no.

She turned to Mets Hat, tears in her eyes, and begged, Please don’t kill me.

He looked more surprised than Noella. She expected him to pull the trigger after seeing the death in his eyes.

He opened his mouth but said nothing. The death in his eyes retreated, leaving a broken shell of emotion behind. Oh, my God . . . What did I do?

His gaze darted back and forth, panicked, trying to figure out what to do next. He just murdered a man. Now he had to decide whether to run or finish off the witness.

Noella froze, not daring to move an inch for fear of spooking him into another shot.

He’s going to kill you.

You saw his face. You saw him kill someone. He can’t let you live.

He looked down at the gun in his hand, then up at her.

I’m sorry. He pointed it at her head.

Chapter Two

Yesterday morning…

Thursday, October 25

Noella woke reluctantly.

She far preferred her dream world to reality. Dad was still alive in her dreams, and she didn’t have to live with Aunt Josie and Randy, her aunt’s jerky boyfriend. At times, her dreams seemed designed to remind her how much of a nightmare her real life had become.

A sliver of light spilled through her parted curtains and she thought of her father, Thomas.

Ten years ago to the day his eyes closed forever, yet on mornings like this, in the lingering aftermath of the dreams, a decade felt like yesterday, and the wounds of grief were fresh. She reached out and opened the small drawer in her nightstand. Touched a soft pile of knotted twine with a chunk of smooth beach glass inside, pushing her forefinger through the knots of twine to feel the soft matte glass surface. 

Noella faced the window, trying to work up the courage to start her day. The six hours of sleep she got felt more like four. Her head throbbed, again, and she was groggy. Today was gonna be a long day. She reached for her bottle of pills, palmed one into her mouth, and then took a sip of water from the water bottle on her nightstand.

A pill a day keeps the voices away.

She lay back down. Ten minutes before she needed to get ready. Josie didn’t have to be at work for another hour. There might even be time for a catnap.

Noella debated whether it was better to get up or catch a few more Zs and have to go through the whole waking up thing all over again when a knock on the door bolted her upright in bed. She could practically smell the oh gross of Randy’s Old Spice on the other side. First thing in the morning, his aftershave smelled strong. By the end of the day, his sour-smelling sweat and body odor battled against the Spice in the worst possible way.

He pounded on the door again and yelled, You ready yet? I gotta get to work. I’m taking you to school, and we’re outta’ here in five.

Noella’s feet hit the carpet.

What? Nobody told me!

She opened the door and poked her head into the hallway. Randy was in his uniform, ready to go.

I thought Aunt Josie was taking me to school. How am I supposed to shower and get ready in five minutes?!

Nope, she’s come down with something and is laid up in bed, so now you get to ride with me in the cruiser.

Great.

Just what she needed, to be driven to school by her aunt’s boyfriend in the police cruiser. Again. Last time he dropped her off, she tried to keep her head down and sneak out of the car unnoticed. Randy, the big jerk, waited until she was halfway out of the car and accidentally blurted the siren. Right in front of all the kids hanging out in front of the flagpole. They all looked, pointed, and laughed. So humiliating! Given her history and the events from two years earlier, being brought to school in a cop car was a reminder of the things she hoped they’d someday forget.

I wish someone would’ve told me I had to be up early.

Oh, I’m sorry, Missy. I’ll tell Josie to try and schedule her sickness in advance from now on so Princess Noella’s not inconvenienced.

Princess Noella?

She hated when he said crap like that. She was about as far as she could possibly get from being a princess, especially given all the rich, stuck-up snobs in her school.

Those girls are the princesses!

Randy’s voice cracked into a laugh. Get up, giddy-up, and get in the shower. No one was ever around to wake me, and I learned to unbury my head from the covers just fine. Five minutes is more than enough time. It’s not like you’ve got more than four outfits. Pick one, rub some Teen Spirit on your stink patches, and get downstairs before I turn on the engine.

Ten minutes, Randy, Noella growled. You’re telling me you couldn’t have given me ten minutes?

Anger flashed on his face. His voice went electric. Excuse me? Is that how you talk to someone offering to do something nice for you? Sheesh, kids today are so ungrateful!

Noella glared at Randy, holding his gaze and making him stare into the hate she could never voice. Sometimes, she wished he would just hit her, so maybe Josie would wake up and see what a jerk he was. But Randy was too cool to let his anger ever get that out of hand. He somehow managed to snow Josie over, balancing his verbal abuse evenly with this charm. But Noella could see, maybe even feel, the monster lurking below, the monster that drank their misery like a drunk in an alley.

Because of Randy’s wild mood swings, OCD attention to detail, and the way he acted like a warden in the prison of their house, she and Josie spent their days trying not to do anything to set him off. It was like living on eggshells. For some reason this morning, she felt like stomping all over them to see if she could push him over the edge.

His flash of anger vanished, replaced by a wide, faux smile barely masking contempt. "Well, you could just take the bus." His smile was a hook, waiting to see what it might catch.

"You know why I don’t like to take the bus."

That’s your fault. You just need to learn how to stand up to those bitches. Problem with you, Noella, other than dressing like you’re going to a funeral every day, is that you let life happen to you. Girls ain’t gonna pick on you if you do something to change it.

Yeah, whatever. What do you know about what I’ve gotta put up with?

Oh, right, Randy sarcastically nodded. "What do I know? I’m just a deputy. What would I know about handling violent people? Take the bus and learn to stand up for yourself. Otherwise, bullies are gonna be pushing you around forever. Mark my words, Missy."

Missy … another one of the things he said that crawled under her skin and burrowed into her brain.

Fine, I’ll take the bus, Noella said to the biggest bully she knew.

Just as well. The girls on the bus were cruel, but at least the trip was short. Going to school with frizzy hair and feeling funky wasn’t an option. She’d rather put up with a few minutes of stupid catty crap than feel terrible all day. Besides, the girls on the bus were in the minor leagues when it came to her list of enemies. Her real enemies were far too popular to ever be caught dead on the bus. They either took brand new cars or rode with their boyfriends.

Maybe the bus wasn’t as bad as she remembered.

I’m outta here. Remember, if you kill one of those girls, I’ll have to arrest you, but I promise you won’t get grounded. Try and keep it to fists and hair pulling, eh? A rancid wink, then Randy disappeared down the stairs and out the front door.

Noella rolled her eyes and shut her door, Old Spice staining her nostrils.

Noella showered then texted Mako to let her know she’d be joining her on the bus. That would be cool — they didn’t get to see much of each other this year, since they only shared one class. She checked in on Josie long enough to see her buried under the covers, then raced from the house.

The morning air was crisp and cold. Dark clouds hung over the street as if they’d been waiting for her to step outside.

God, it better not rain … or snow.

Noella considered going back in for her umbrella, but the bus might come early. She locked the door, turned around, and stopped cold, surprised to see a long green and yellow moving truck blocking the drive to the house across the street. The one that had been vacant ever since her best friend, Sam, moved a half mile away last summer.

Noella trotted across the street and peeked around the back of the truck. It was locked tight. By the looks of it, the house was, too. But the For Sale sign was gone.

She hoped it was someone cool, though the odds seemed remote. Other than Sam, fate had a dark sense of humor when it came to choosing her neighbors. Her block sometimes seemed like a Who’s Who of Weird, from the old man who liked to walk outside in his underwear, to the militant nut-job that gave her the stink-eye and yelled racist comments to anyone near his lawn, to the family that was probably running a meth lab, to the creepy guy who seemed waaaay too interested in everyone’s business. They gave her many reasons to spend plenty of time indoors.

And then there were the kids.

Kids around here, with the exception of her two friends, were either popular or rich, looking down on anyone different, or they were testosterone-pumped steroid cases with raging hormones and homophobia. And in some cases, you got the worst of both worlds, steroid-pumped, homophobic rich kids. While there were other groups — the artsy hipsters, the rockers, the emos and goths, the nerds, etc. — Noella didn’t fit in with any of them. From the way she dressed, most people thought she was a goth chick, but she never belonged there, either.

She was a unique freak. Alone, as she’d always been. Most days she liked it. On her birthday? Not so much.

Noella looked up and saw Mako at the end of the block, tapping her foot impatiently.

Come on!

Sorry! Noella yelled. When she reached her, she wrapped her friend in a hug.

It felt like a reunion. Noella and Mako rarely saw each other outside of school. Randy was a jerk and yanked her leash tight whenever he could, but the real problem was Mako’s parents. They were ridiculously strict, even for old-school Japanese parents. Most days, she could only leave the house for school or violin practice.

Mako was a slave to her instrument, with a minimum of twelve hours of practice per week and a quarterly performance to prove the time and money were well-spent. She played like an angel but hated it like the devil at least half the time. She had played for Noella before, unleashing her fury in a style that was Mako to the core. Violince she called it. But she never dared to play like that for her parents. They would definitely freak the frick out.

Violince sounded like its name, violent strings, but there was a desperate, elegant beauty to Mako’s playing that made Noella want to happy cry.

"So, how’s it going on your almost birthday," Mako asked.

Josie’s sick, and Randy was a jerk this morning.

Is your aunt too sick to celebrate tomorrow?

Noella shrugged. I dunno, she was under the covers when I left. She never stays home, so I’m guessing she’s feeling super crappy.

Ah, that’s why you’re riding the bus. And here I thought you just wanted my company.

Yup, that and I wanted to see if there were new developments in peer humiliation since the last time I took advantage of the district’s gracious transportation system.

Mako chuckled. So, are you doing anything tomorrow? Have any plans, other than taking care of your aunt?

Probably gonna stare at the wall for a few hours, Noella grinned. You know how I am on my birthday. And besides, tomorrow is ten years since … she trailed off, not wanting, or needing, to finish the sentence.

What about Sam? Maybe the two of you could do something together? You could finally ask him out. You don’t have to wait for the boy to ask, ya’ know?

Shut. Up. Noella shot daggers at Mako. "I don’t like him like that."

Mako laughed.

Noella wished her heart didn’t beat faster around Sam. Crushing on her best friend was the worst. Way too many awkward moments. In a world of jerks, jocks, and creepers, Sam was like no other guy she knew.

First, he was cute, with a light complexion and a thick mop of long brown hair that matched his eyes. He wasn’t exactly a hottie, but he had these cute dimples, a kind smile, and the best insides. Sam was also artistic, with an eye for color that made Noella see the world in a new way. And to round out the package, he was funny. Hysterical really, with a wry, observational wit that made Noella want to sigh. Sometimes she did.

But the most unbelievable thing about Sam — despite being nice, incredibly smart, and talented, he was also semi-popular. Authentic guys like him weren’t generally popular, at least not in Noella’s school. Usually, being popular involved some kind of brain transplant with chimps. And not even the smart ones, more like the poop flingers.

Sam might’ve been one of the school’s crowned elite if not for the ridiculous whispers that he might be gay. While his questionable sexuality didn’t hurt him in drama club, where he really shined, there was a strong undercurrent of homophobia and racism among the most popular guys. If they ever found a reason to believe Sam was gay, he’d be an outcast in hours. Like Noella.

A big, goofy grin was as out of place on Noella as it would be on Eeyore. But there it was, anyway.

Mako caught it and smirked. Yeah, you don’t like him at all.

No! Noella lied to Mako and herself.

Not liking Sam would be infinitely easier in the long run. She’d feel less awkward. Less vulnerable. And it would end the constant question in her head: When will Sam leave me?

She would never voice the fear, but a small part of Noella was certain Sam would eventually grow even more popular and turn his back on her, just like Becca had done. And it was this fear that made her glad when people wondered if he was gay. If he climbed too high up the social ladder, he wouldn’t have time for her. An awful thought she couldn’t help.

The bus pulled to the curb. Noella and Mako ascended the stairs. They searched for seats as hisses and whispers snaked through the bus.

Lesbos.

Who let her out of the psych ward?

Oh, look. Scarella crawled out of her coffin.

She and Mako found a seat toward the front of the bus, ignoring the venom.

Noella realized she had chosen wrong. She would much rather be driven by Randy and go to school feeling like a vagrant, with frizzy hair and a layer of filth.

Anything was better than the girls on the bus.

Noella opened her locker, pulled out her AP Biology book, dropped it in her black battered book bag, then swung it over her shoulder. She slammed her locker shut, pretending she was doing it on one of the bus bitch’s heads.

Sam appeared from behind. You seem mad.

Noella looked back, surprised to see him. Not mad, just sadly angry.

He smiled. Ah, didn’t notice the distinction.

I don’t do mad. I’m a happy, smiley girl. All sunshine and rainbows. She plastered a fake smile on her sad face and batted her lashes. Then she returned her expression to normal.

Sam