Barrier

By D.C. Renfroe

When Claire Luna is kidnapped and taken to a remote island, her predictable life is torn to shreds. She thought she understood grief, loss and loneliness. But nothing prepared her for the island.

Tucker Knight had his world turned upside down when he was a young teen. He’d known love, security and normality. But things changed, and somehow he lost his innocence along the way.

Barrier takes you on a compelling, thrilling and sometimes brutal journey of Claire and Tucker, who in a bid to control their destiny, must learn about trust and submission. And also about love.

The island is under the control of Dr. Stephen Bell, a scientist obsessed with the secrets of humanity through genetic engineering. Claire is part of his obsession, and quickly comprehends Bell’s twisted intentions. She is forced to decide between submission and life-altering consequences. In her desperate attempt to survive, Claire surprises Bell and Tucker with her strength to fight.

But, can she trust Tucker? Is he her enemy or her savior? Claire understands that to surrender means to survive, but can she endure? Tucker can’t help but be enamored by the spirited and determined Claire, but to survive, he must face and overcome his haunting past. Up until Claire’s arrival on the island, he had never thought himself capable, or deserving, but perhaps this was his chance to finally do the right thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.C. Renfroe
• Release date: Oct 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370415021

D.C. Renfroe

I began writing many years ago and put it aside to raise a family. I put myself through college working toward a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, which I have almost completed. I took every writing class that was offered and finally put pen to paper after dreaming of completing a novel for almost twenty years. In the meantime, I worked as a freelance journalist for a local newspaper briefly and wrote a personal blog while living in south Florida. I currently work as an Instructional Designer based in Austin, Texas. I am a mother of four and truly believe they are my greatest creation! Two of my children inherited my love of writing and I encourage them to write every chance they get!

Book preview

I began writing this story many years ago and put it aside to raise a family. I put myself through college working toward a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, which I have almost completed. After a twenty year love affair with my characters, I took every writing class that was offered and finally put pen to paper. My main character, Claire, has learned through struggle and sacrifice how to survive in a difficult world. She is strong, stubborn, and relentless. These are the characteristics I admire most in myself. Instead of growing pessimistic and surrendering when life has been more than difficult, I have learned to survive, like Claire. She is the best parts of me. I hope you love her as much as I do.

Between the beginning of the story, and the final product, I worked as a freelance journalist for a local newspaper briefly and wrote a personal blog while living in south Florida. I currently work as an Instructional Designer based in Austin, Texas. I have four children. Two of my children inherited my love of writing and I encourage them to write every chance they get!

***

For my sister, Charlene, my fellow survivor

***

***

I’m stubborn, strong to a fault, and fiercely independent, especially when I shouldn’t be. I’ve had to learn my way around this world sooner than most. Circumstance made sure of that. It’s true my life has been burdened with difficulty. I’m not complaining, though. It has made me the person I am. It made me courageous in ways superman wouldn’t understand. Mostly, it has taught me to never give up. Even when the water was rising and it seemed I would drown, I fought, and survived.

My eyes eased open. The yellow light flooded my pupils and made them tiny, needle-sized, black dots. The ground shifted under me like the waves of the ocean. Gently, my body waved back and forth. Was I drugged?

Since my eyes were useless, I tried to use my other senses to assess my surroundings.

A ticking clock, somewhere on a wall, clicked the seconds away. Over me, I could hear a distant hum from the lights. I had a latent awareness of danger. My nerves danced and twitched. I struggled to discern the reason from my muddled brain.

The sound of fabric rubbing against something hard triggered my head to whip around, which also made the swaying worse. My eyes struggled to focus through the blinding light.

Someone else was in the room, draped across an uncomfortable-looking, gray chair. Blonde hair, almost white, fell across the girl’s face. Her head hung off the arm of the chair in an uncomfortable way. One of her arms hung lifelessly off the edge and jerked slightly.

This was not my small apartment. It was unfamiliar, definitely not a room I had ever been in before.

I thought for a moment, and then I remembered.

I was on a dark road. I was walking home from somewhere. Work, I answered myself. A pair of headlights grew larger in the darkness. I heard the sound of my shoes driving into the gravel. A van slowed. The faded, blue paint looked almost green from the layers of dirt. The wheels skid to a stop making dust whirl into the air and choke me. The side door slid open, and a loud thud of metal resonated like wind chimes. Two arms reached out of the black opening and a white, square, cloth covered my face. A sweet smell filled my nostrils. A hand held the cloth against my face, and another hand was wrapped around my neck, spinning me around so my back was to the van. The hand held me in place from behind. I reached my hands out and grabbed the side of the van as two more hands pulled me. My fingernails scratched down the metal of the van until they stung. My feet were off the ground, and I was being swung into the void that disappeared into the opening of the van. My feet reacted by flailing in every direction. I felt my left foot make contact on something hard.

"Damn! Can’t you hold her? It’s just a pea-sized girl," one of the voices barked. Ah, that’s what the something hard was. Something hard crashed against my skull, sending me unconscious.

A knot formed in my gut. I was suddenly very alert. My eyes forced themselves open wide, despite the sharp needles from the bright light. My hand went to the spot on the back of my head where the object had left a lump.

Fear radiated through my limbs. Someone had taken me. Stolen me. Abducted me. The words flipped inside my head like a slide show. My throat felt like it was being squeezed from the outside. It was impossible to swallow. Who would look for me? There was no one. I silently kicked myself for not being more proactive in building relationships.

Would anyone even notice if I didn’t show up for work? My boss would probably think I quit and mail me my check. I mean, it’s not like I had a lot of responsibility at the Kroger. What about my customers? Would they even be able to pick my face out in a photo of some dead girl the police were trying to identify? Dead girl? Is that what I am?

My gaze shifted to the statue, lying unconscious over the chair. She must have been taken as well. Who would miss her? Even if it was only one person, it was more than the number of people that would be looking for me. I felt hot all over. Sweat began to cover my skin.

My eyes darted around the small room. It resembled a doctor’s office. Matching gray chairs lined the walls in a perfect square. The mystery girl was directly across from me, oblivious to her predicament. The white walls were bare except for the small, round ticking clock. The only door in the room was made of a silver metal. I evaluated its sturdiness and my strength. It looked solid. Probably kick proof.

The statue moaned and shifted in her chair. She reached up and pressed her palm to her forehead, pushing hair from her face. She had delicate features and a heart-shaped mouth. Her eyebrows pinched in the center and another low moan came from her throat. She opened her eyes and then snapped them tight again, covering them with her hands.

I saw the moment she remembered what happened to her. She bolted upright into a sitting position. Her eyes were wide and frantic. And then they landed on me. They were as blue as the sky.

Who are you? She appraised me, determining if I was the enemy. What do you want? Her voice was angelic and high pitched, like a song.

Slow down. I’m just a fellow victim. I held my palms up to show my innocence. She was the complete opposite of me, with light hair, pale skin, and a gentle voice. I felt awkward next to her, with gypsy olive skin, long, black untamed hair, and eyes as black as coal.

Her eyes scanned my faded jeans and then travelled back up to my face. She drew her lips into a white line. She was terrified. If I showed any signs of crumbling, down she would go. She looked on the verge of hysterics, like an animal trapped in a corner.

Looking at her, I was reminded of my delicate, gentle, younger sister, Rebecca. She had been afraid of everything when she was alive. She’d been afraid of the dark, heights. Even riding in a car frightened her. A car accident took everyone close to me, including my sister, two years ago.

But this girl, with frightened, blue eyes…I felt it was Rebecca looking up at me, waiting for my lead again. It was as though she was sucking up my courage and using it as her own.

I was filled with a sense of parental obligation for the girl, despite our predicaments being the same. Trapped. Somehow being strong for her gave me the little strength I needed, like Rebecca—Bee as I had called her—had done when she was alive. It felt good being needed again.

What’s your name? Her eyes darted around the room. I had to get her talking or she was going to come unhinged.

What? Her eyes were on me again, so pale they were almost white like her hair.

Your name? I sat in one of the hard chairs and tried to look relaxed. I squeezed the muscles in my body to keep them from trembling.

Jemma. Jemma Golson.

I’m Claire Luna. Her eyes focused on me briefly, but soon hazed over again with fear, causing the urge to soothe to resurface. I’ve lived in Mississippi all my life. I work at a grocery store, nothing too interesting. My parents are gone. They died a few years ago, so I pretty much live alone. Now you know everything about me. I smiled. Her lips curved into a timid half-moon.

My parents are gone, too. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. She looked so small and frail. It seemed important that both of us were without family. Was this why we were chosen?

Where are you from? I asked. After I said it, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have. Reminding her of home could have been a bad idea.

Maine. Short answer, but at least she was still semi calm.

Never been there, never been anywhere though, I said, trying to keep the conversation light. Anything to keep her mind occupied. Anytime Bee got scared, I would curl up with her and talk about anything, everything, whatever I could think of. It was the only way to keep her from having one of her panic attacks. The doctors said she had anxiety. She took medication, but sometimes she would shake and sweat. She described it like having a heart attack. The only thing that stopped it was to distract her by talking about something else. So, that’s what I did now, with Jemma.

It seemed to be working just like it had for Bee.

Then she mentioned the elephant in the room.

What do you think they want? She nudged her head toward the door.

I guess we’ll find out eventually. I knew it was a bad idea to talk about it. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge.

I’m really glad I don’t have to be in here alone, she said.

Then we heard footsteps coming from outside the door.

Her body erupted into shivers. She started rocking. Oh-my-god, oh-my-god.

She was drifting away, losing control. She had her eyes closed tight.

I moved from my chair and closed the short distance between us. Crouching down in front of her, I brought my face close to hers.

I repeated the verses I had so often spoke to Bee. Stay with me. You’re okay right now, right this minute. Just think about right this second. Don’t think about anything else.

She nodded her head, like she was convincing herself, her eyes still closed. Jemma, I’m right here with you. Her cold, moist hands closed over mine.

Right now. Right now. I’m okay. Jemma rocked.

When the footsteps silenced, she froze. Her eyes opened, big and round, she didn’t blink. Her hands squeezed mine so hard my hands started to ache. My fingertips turned reddish, purple from lack of blood.

I’m right here, I whispered.

On the night of my parents’ death, I was at a movie with a group of my friends.

I was social back then, always going somewhere, no time for my little sister anymore. She was four years younger than me and still in high school. She begged me to come along. My friends and I were in college. I didn’t mind her tagging along, but my friends did. So, I told her no. She went with my parents instead to a dinner with some of my father’s clients.

If I had taken her with me she would still be alive.

Sometimes I can still see her blue eyes, begging, pleading to come with me. I had ruffled her hair and closed the front door. The last thing I said to her was, Next time, Bee. She adored me, I was her hero, but I hadn’t saved her.

Jemma had the same blue flecks in her eyes. I feared I wouldn’t be able to save her either.

The bolt clicked, and the door swung open.

The person who stood in the doorway was not at all what I expected. I had imagined a greasy man with a bad odor and facial hair. I expected him to be big and brutal looking.

But this man was old.

And small.

He had silver hair cut neatly at the nape of his neck, slicked back against his head with hair product. He wore a perfectly tailored, navy suit. His jaw was wide, and his mouth was a tiny line with just the faintest color to it. His face wasn’t that attractive, but his winning feature was his eyes, a beautiful, aqua-green color, similar to the color of a spring back home.

His voice caused a shiver to run down my spine. It was a purr, barely above a whisper. Perfectly controlled and steady. It reminded me of the tone of voice my father used when he was telling a scary campfire story.

Welcome, children. He smiled, revealing even, yellow-tinted teeth. I came to meet you personally. We are so pleased you made it.

What did that mean? He was glad we lived through the abduction he was responsible for? He talked as though we had travelled here on vacation, like we were on a trip to New Orleans instead of being violently kidnapped, knocked unconscious, and then brought here against our will.

He crossed the white, tiled floor. His shoes clicked against the marble.

Jemma was still clutching my hands. I had to pry her fingers from around my hand, and rose to my feet, meeting his algae-colored gaze. His eyes didn’t waver, no sign of any emotion. He looked empty, but his words sounded sincere and tender. The contradiction between his eyes and his words made me nervous.

Did anyone hurt you? he purred.

He was concerned? Maybe he was here to save us. Maybe he wasn’t the bad guy. But I looked into his eyes and saw a predator, a fearless look as if he were circling prey.

Would you like something to eat or drink? You have been asleep for quite a while.

My body tensed, internally aware of the danger reeking from this man like a thick, rolling fog.

I didn’t move. I stood perfectly still and stared into his guarded eyes. They studied me. It was a stand-off. My chin lifted slightly.

Jemma shivered and watched the floor.

No? His voice vibrated through me. I knew it was an important moment for him, like he was calculating my point of weakness.

For an instant, a flicker of emotion danced across his features. His thin lips drew into a line and curved back into a smile. He was annoyed with me.

Very well, as you wish, dear Claire. I could sense the double meaning to his words, but I had no idea what the other meaning could be. I let it go. I probably didn’t want to know.

How did he know my name?

I have been told I have an expressive face, so I was not surprised he seemed to pick up on the fact that I was shocked he called me by name. It seemed to please him and the leathery skin around his eyes wrinkled as he smirked. His eyes glanced in the direction of Jemma, but only briefly. He disregarded her, summing her up as no threat. Then they landed back on me.

When Bee was only four years old she was terrified of ghosts. She thought there were ghosts in her closet and would cry at night when I put her to bed. I would sing to her until she finally fell asleep. Before she fell asleep, she insisted I keep checking the closet, making certain there were no ghosts lurking in the shadows.

We had an intercom system in our house with speakers in every room. You could talk into one and communicate with one room, or you could communicate with all rooms at once. When my parents went outside to do yard work, Bee and I were alone in the house. I thought it would be funny to play a trick on her. I whispered ghost sounds into one of the speakers and made it echo through all the speakers around the house. Bee went crazy with terror. She ran straight to me. At the time I thought it was humorous she was running to the source of the scary noises for protection. It was like I was protecting her from myself.

It was supposed to be a child’s prank. But she had been so hysterical it took hours to calm her. I told her it was me, but she didn’t understand. Bee’s eyes sought mine, seeking protection from the ghosts.

Jemma’s tortured expression reminded me of that day.

Two guards had entered the room at the same time as the tiny old man. They took positions at his flanks. They were dressed in black. Each guard had pistols holstered on their hips. Black, leather holsters held them in place. They made no movement and had no facial expression. They seemed rather bored, but alert. Both guards were large, twice the size of the little man.

I am Stephen Bell. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Claire. He held his hand out in a gesture that almost made me choke on my own spit. He wanted me to touch him?

I let my dark eyes fall to his outstretched hand and tried to stand taller. I didn’t speak. I rested my best brazen gaze on his cold eyes.

I tried to mentally send him pain, no good, it didn’t work. I played with the daydream of grabbing one of the guard’s guns and putting bullets through the three men’s skulls with lightning speed. That was no good either. I had never fired a weapon and by the looks of those guards, they were definitely faster than me.

He let his hand fall back into place by his side.

And you must be Jemma. What a beauty. His eyes fell on Jemma. She whimpered in response. Her shivering became more violent. Her teeth knocked together, making a terrible clicking noise. Don’t be frightened, child. I won’t hurt you. You are one of us now.

Jemma lifted her head at the first sign that danger may not be imminent. Her blue eyes were hopeful and desperate.

I felt my stomach roll. I knew danger was still present. I could sense it in the old man’s expressionless face. I shifted on my feet, ready to make a run for it. It was the first movement I had made since Bell entered the room. He noticed.

Shall I give you a tour? Bell lifted his hand toward the open door, signaling the direction he wanted us to go.

Jemma didn’t move from her upright, fetal position in the chair; she seemed confused. Her forehead wrinkled. She looked at me for an answer.

Please, ladies, I want to show you your new home. It’s really quite beautiful. Come. He moved toward the door.

New home? Jemma seemed to understand she was supposed to follow him and rose from her chair like a compliant disciple. She didn’t stray too far from me though. She looked back, waiting for me to move with them.

I would have dug my feet into the tile if that were possible.

Bell signaled one of the guards with the slight tilt of his head. One moved and stood in position behind me, and wrapped his hand around my upper arm. He squeezed it tight enough to leave a bruise. I didn’t flinch. He didn’t push or force me to move, he stood perfectly still, squeezing my arm. He waited silently for Bell’s next signal. What would the next signal mean? Another strike to the head like in the van? Worse?

Jemma whimpered again and a big tear rolled down her cheek, landing in the corner of her mouth. I knew she would not handle it well if I was struck in front of her. So I forced my feet to move. Jemma’s body slumped a little from relief. Her hand strayed to her throat, like she was trying to keep her heart from bursting through her skin.

We followed Bell down a long corridor. Metal doors occasionally appeared on one side or the other. They were all closed, so I wasn’t able to see what was behind them. I wondered if there were more victims inside.

The two guards had assessed me as the danger and encircled me, one on each side. Each had a hold of one of my arms. Bell strolled along like we were headed to a picnic.

His joy vibrated in his voice. We call this building the Castle. Nothing exciting here, just a lot of offices, along with mine, of course. It is kind of the heart of this place. It keeps us running.

We exited the hallway and entered an open foyer. The ceiling was three stories up resulting in our feet echoing through the empty space. It was a square area with hallways trailing off into more passages, and more metal doors. The top floor had a balcony that overlooked the foyer all the way around the room. The balcony had a glass railing that lead to a staircase near the front door. Along the wall of the balcony were more doors.

Someone opened a door and exited onto the balcony. An older woman glanced down to the foyer where we were now making our way to the exit doors. She barely let her gaze flit over us as if we were unimportant. She walked down the balcony and disappeared behind another door.

The front of the building was completely glass revealing a view of the street outside. I couldn’t see much except dirt and palm trees. In the center of the glass wall were two front doors, fifteen-feet high and also made of glass. We walked across the tile foyer and stepped through the wall of glass.

The air outside was hot and humid. I almost choked on the sudden heat. The sun was so bright the light hurt my eyes.

The guards grip on my arms tightened, causing their fingers to make deep indentions in my skin. Bell walked a few feet away from the building and came to a stop at the edge of the street.

We were standing in the center of a short road surrounded by a small village. The street was made of sand and gravel.

Half a dozen people were scattered over the street. They walked along slowly, scattered and headed in different directions, no hurry in their step.

Palm trees were in neat rows down each side of the road. A long plaza of buildings ran down one side of the gravel street, and spread out in bright colors off the Castle. The bright colors of pale blues, peaches, and yellows gave the street an imaginary appearance. It reminded me of a Dr. Seuss story.

On the other side of the street, five additional dirt roads branched off, leading into the tropical forest that surrounded the town.

This is called Main Street, those roads are Street A, B, C, D, and E. We aren’t very complicated here, Bell said, pointing at each connecting street as he called out the letter.

The sight of the makeshift town filled me with dread.

Jemma sighed next to me, as if relieved by the majestic aura of the town, but I knew there was danger here. The town had a peaceful façade, but I sensed fear and distress, somehow masked by the beauty.

When Bell entered the small, quiet street, the crowd seemed to dissipate. They floated in the other direction as if they were terribly busy and had somewhere to be right away. Within seconds, everyone had disappeared inside a building or down one of the connecting streets, leaving us alone.

I took one of Jemma’s hands, as if being connected to her in some small way would keep her safer.

Welcome to Bell Town, it is a simple place, but we all love it here. I am confident you will both come to love it as much as the rest of us. He opened his arms and waved from one end of the street to the other. As if it were a signal, four more guards appeared.

Well, let’s get you two settled in. Jemma, these men will take you to your home. Please, go with them, Bell said to Jemma. She jerked her head toward me, an expression of alarm presumably at the prospect of being separated from me.

Two of the guards took Jemma in one direction, and the other four, along with Bell, pulled me away from her.

Claire, she called out. Her gentle voice had transformed into a shrill, piercing scream. I saw Bee again, running through the house, searching for me to protect her from the ghosts.

I squeezed my hands into fists and tried to pull against the arms that held me.

Jemma. It’s okay. One second at a time. I prayed she heard me. It felt like Bee was being torn from my arms again.

Don’t worry, child. You will see her again soon. I promise. Bell said the last with a smile, like his private thoughts were amusing. It made me want to claw his eyes out. I pulled against the guards again. Their fingers dug deeper into my skin. A fingernail pierced my soft flesh. Easy now. These guards will see you to your new home. You will be reunited with Jemma soon.

A new terror gripped my throat. What did he mean, home? He couldn’t think to keep us here. To live here.

Were all the people I had seen in the street prisoners like Jemma and I? Why didn’t they just leave? Escape?

My head started to spin. My legs felt unsteady. With Jemma out of sight, my calm resolve evaporated.

I felt the words pressing against my throat, begging to be free. I couldn’t keep them back. They erupted.

What do you want, you sick bastard? Let us go or so help me, I will kill you.

My eyes narrowed, angry heat spread throughout my body. I couldn’t hold it back. I spat in his face.

A guard struck me from behind. Not enough to knock me out, just enough to cause a splitting pain pierce my head and send tremors down my spine. It knocked me down to my knees. I squeezed my eyes shut as the initial jolt of stabbing pain shot through my skull. I stayed down, kneeling in front of Bell until the sting eased. My hands pressed into the dirt. I fought back the whirling sensation in my head that I knew was a signal of approaching unconsciousness.

When the wave finally passed, I leapt back into a standing position, eye to eye again. Bell smirked at me. I smirked back.

Two of the guards restrained me. I swallowed to keep the saliva from burning my mouth. Another guard walked around behind me. I wanted to turn my head to see what he was doing, but I didn’t want to break my eye lock with Bell. I lifted my chin just as he nodded to the guard.

I heard the snap of leather. Moments later, the burn of pain. I held my breath. It snapped again. My back was burning in agony. I could barely form a breath. My eyes watered. My legs threatened to hold me. It snapped again, overlapping the previous agonizing welt. I could feel my blood slowly trickling down my back. I wanted it to stop, but I refused to allow the scream to escape. He hit me again, and again. My breaths came in sharp intakes, my control wavering with each lash. The pain was excruciating. My back! I would not scream. I would not give Bell the pleasure of seeing me beg. My eyes were closed, so I didn’t see when Bell motioned for the guard to stop. I didn’t even notice he had stopped because it still felt like I was being whipped.

The burning lingered like the smell of rain after a storm. The fire took my breath away. My heart throbbed in my throat. Sweat beaded across my upper lip.

Bell said in his raspy whisper, Claire, sweet child, why would you make me do such a thing? Why can’t we be civil with one another? I truly want you to be happy here. Isn’t that what you want? Just think about sweet Jemma. Don’t you want her to be happy, too?

My eyes snapped open. Fear overcame me. Would he whip Jemma, too? Yes, he would, and he was using her as leverage.

The realization made my stomach curl.

I tried to imagine what Bee would do if she were whipped the way Bell’s guard had just whipped me. She would never survive. I couldn’t let him do that to Jemma.

Don’t… It felt like I was begging.

He had whipped me right here in the street, without any thought to others who might see. He had done it because he could. No one would do anything. They would fade away, out of sight. The others disappeared because they knew what he as capable of. They feared him. He would crush me. I could see it in his contemptuous expression. Like I was an ant causing him aggravation.

A happy family. That’s what I want. Do we have an agreement, Claire? It was as though he had reached into my mind and read my thoughts. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side as if acknowledging my thoughts, my fear, and my lack of choice. From the smirk, it looked as though he enjoyed it. I was defeated, and furious.

A black, dirt-covered jeep pulled up next to us as if on cue.

Usually I like to be there to introduce house partners, but I must go attend to Jemma. You be a good girl, Claire, so we can all be friends.

The reminder was there, no trouble from me or Jemma would suffer my punishment.

Bell climbed into the jeep and the oversized tires spat gravel behind it as he drove away. But he left the six guards with me in the street.

I felt as though I should have been taking note of the little houses, the reappearing people, the fences with barbed wire, but