The Demon's Renegade Line: Renegade Series

By Jesse Smith

A three generational epic saga of the lives and loves of a family entangled with three supernatural brotherhoods in conflict and in battle for humanity as seen through the eyes of a hypnotherapist and brother of an esoteric order. Touches of 50 Shades of Grey and the pacing of a Dan Brown thriller.  Books 1,2,3,+ of The Renegade Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesse Smith
• Release date: Feb 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386007784

Jesse Smith

Jesse Smith PhD has truly "piled it higher and deeper". Under different names, this writer has published in academic science journals, nerdy science fiction magazines, mainstream newspapers and entertainment tabloids. Her fictional works cover a variety of genres including paranormal romance, contemporary and conspiracy, science fiction and horror, and autobiographical fiction, and range from short story to novel length.  For an a comprehensive introduction consider 7 Anomalies. Jesse lives the contented life of a hermit and is currently seeking a secluded site in parts unknown for her perfect hermitage. [e-mail]

Book preview

~ Part One Prologue ~

Irecall the first day Sara came to my office as though it were yesterday although forty years have passed.  That day changed everything about what I believed was real and what was not.  Retirement beckons me now and yet Damion looks little older than when I first met him.  I, on the other hand, have wizened but am still no wiser.

Sara informs me that it is time to go.  I’m not sure what that means.  I just nod. I have resigned myself to the fact that she will move on with Damion who she considers to be her eternal soul mate and that in all likelihood I will never see her again.  He has changed his ways, but as a mere mortal what do I know.

This is what I have put together of their love story which has spanned centuries if not millennia and the shifting roles of their progeny in the eternal battle of the Black, Yellow and White Brotherhoods for mankind.

~ 1 ~

She awoke with a bang into absolute darkness.  After exploring the boundaries of her space, she concluded she was in a box not much larger than her body.  She felt a small flashlight in one of her pant pockets.  She turned it on and panicked.  It was a coffin.  Stay calm to conserve the air, she told herself.  There were some more items in her other pocket:  a key, a fifty dollar bill and a card.  She directed the light on the card.  It was a lawyer’s business card. Seeing his name, she realized she did not know her own name.  She began to panic again and pushed up hard on the lid which would not open.  Then she noticed the inside latch.

The lid opened easily.  She sat up and cast light about the room.  It was a crypt.  She climbed out and headed towards the door.  Her hopes sank when she found it locked.  Just another dark enclosed space only larger.  Then she remembered the key and it fit.  With shaking hands she cautiously opened the door to night in the cemetery. Her instinct was to run but her legs were as wobbly as that of a newborn foal’s.  Instead she looked around to see if there were any markers outside or inside to indicate who had been buried there.  None were to be found. She closed the coffin, locked the door and walked out of the cemetery under cover of darkness.  The entrance gate had been closed to vehicles but was not an obstacle to people. She noted the name of the small cemetery.

She was very thirsty and headed down the street toward the lights of a town.  The night was cool and the air fresh after the enclosure of the casket and crypt.  It cleared her head but still she could not remember anything.  The sun was beginning to rise and it was glorious after the darkness. Soon she was in front of a coffee shop next to a night gas station. She entered and requested bottled water, orange juice, and a cup of coffee, one cream, one sugar.  Her voice was raspy.  The waitress looked at her, handed her the change, and asked: Are you okay?

She had never thought to check her appearance before encountering people.  She dashed to the bathroom and looked into the mirror.  Except for extreme pallor and darkness around the eyes, there was nothing to suggest that she had just arisen from the dead, so to speak.  But, damn it, her own face was not familiar to her.  She was fair with dark blonde hair and blue eyes.  It was the kind of hair that lightened in the summer and the kind of skin that freckled from sun exposure.  Obviously she had not seen much sun lately.  How long had she been in that crypt?  She opened her mouth and looked at her tongue and teeth.  No fangs!  That was a relief.  She had what looked like a perfect set of teeth, an average build and little body fat.  She was a women in her prime dressed in a presentable gray pant suit, white shirt and gray wedge shoes which could be walked in. Assured she was not a ghoul she returned to her beverages.

She began with the water.  Finding she could tolerate that, she had some juice. Still okay she proceeded to the coffee.  The rush of sugar and caffeine put her brain into gear.  She found a newspaper.  At least she knew when and where she was, if not who she was.  She read more of the paper hoping it would tweak some memories.  Maybe she wasn’t from this town, she thought.  When she ordered a breakfast sandwich she also asked for directions to the lawyer’s address.  It was not that far.  She could walk.  Now, wasn’t that convenient.  When it was time to go she thanked the waitress.  She wanted to leave a large tip, but she had no idea when she would ever have money again.

Three blocks down and one block to the right led her to the doorstep of the office just in time for opening.  She had been rehearsing what she might say and ask.  She had no appointment and she was anxious.  An elderly gentleman rushed past her and unlocked the door.  I hope you haven’t been waiting out here too long. I’m Robert Douglas, by the way.  Then he looked at her.  You couldn’t be anyone other than Sara.  You’re the spitting image of your aunt when she was your age, God bless her soul.  We were more than good friends. ... Sorry, we couldn’t reach you on your travels.  Come on in.  I’ve got everything ready for you.  Apparently she was Sara, and Sara stood there speechless as he handed her a folio of papers.  You’re the sole beneficiary.  I’ve got to dash to court. If there are any questions or problems just contact me anytime.  And he was off and a secretary was in.

The secretary smiled and Sara smiled back.  Would you mind if I stay here for a while and review this before I leave? Sara asked holding up the folio.  Actually she only wanted to figure out where to go next.

Take all the time you need and if there’s anything I can do, just ask, the secretary replied.

Sara quickly found her aunt’s address as well as some cash in an envelope labeled Sara Grosvenor.  On second thought, I think I’ll go through this later. There’s a lot. Could you call me a taxi?

~ 2 ~

The cab pulled up to a secluded Tudor house on some acreage outside of town.  Not a twinge of recognition on Sara’s part.  She paid the driver and asked him not to leave until she entered the house.  She rang the doorbell and after a while she knocked.  No one answered.  There was a ring of keys in the package the lawyer had given her.  Sara tried what looked like a house key with success and waved good-bye to the driver.  They had not talked much.

So this pile was hers now; an entrance hallway, living room to the right and dining room to the left. She walked through the dining room into the kitchen.  Sara was thirsty again.  In the refrigerator she found some bottled water and not much else.  Someone had wanted to avoid spoilage.  There were all sorts of frozen foods in the upright freezer.  At least she wouldn’t have to grocery shop for a while.  She selected an entrée for later and put some frozen fruit and a cheese cake out to defrost while guzzling the designer water from France.  Had she ever been to France in her alleged travels? She had no idea.

She found a library and bathroom on the ground floor as well as the door to the basement.  She hesitated before entering the library.  The musty smell of ancient secrets, an odor reminiscent of the crypt, made her run to the bathroom and retch.  The walls had been lined with old and probably rare books.  She would check them out later. 

She forced herself to go into the basement; basically two large empty spaces, plus a stocked wine cellar and a utility room with tools.  She grabbed a random bottle of red for lunch and headed back up. Oddly, the basement smelled better than the library.  There was nothing creepy about that basement. It was cool, well lit with the floors and walls painted.  She placed the bottle on the counter and looked out the French doors which led to a semi-covered patio.  That’s where she would have her lunch.  But first she decided to check the second story.

She found two large bed sitting rooms each with a bathroom. Except for furnishings one of the bedrooms was completely empty.  The other was obviously meant for her.  She studied the contents of the walk-in closet.  The clothes and shoes were brand new, the sort of thing a younger person would wear, and about her size.  She found basic items in the bathroom but no medications with the names of patient and doctor.  There was a laptop on a dressing table which must have doubled as a desk.  It was password protected. Sara recalled having seen a password in the lawyer’s material. A burner phone with no history and a map of the town and surrounding area sat next to it.  Opening the map Sara saw a star and printing in tiny letters:  You Are Here.  Good to know, she thought.

Back in the hallway she found a laundry room and a door opening to stairs to the attic.  The attic was warm and completely empty like the basement.  There were mullioned windows in gables facing in four directions.  She could walk erect along the path of the cross connecting the windows. On each side in the lower areas beneath the rafters she saw nothing but empty shelves. Looking out she realized that the house was on a hill and far from any neighbors.  She could not make out how far the property extended as there were no fences or walls.  The long drive ended in a roundabout at the front of the house.  Out back there was a little kidney-shaped lake which was also visible from a side window.  There was a gazebo of sorts.  On the other side she could see the garage which was on an angle adjacent to the patio.

Her stomach was growling.  Back in the kitchen she put the lasagna in the oven and headed to the garage.  She was disappointed to see just one modest, value for money, car in a double garage.  She found the keys to the car on the keychain and looked inside the glove compartment, under the seats, in the trunk and around the spare.  Nothing.  She walked around the house to the gazebo.  There was a kayak stored under the gazebo.  She headed back to the house and began salivating when she smelled the lasagna. It was ready. 

Only when she began to uncork the wine did she notice it was a Chateau Neuf du Pape.  She ate and drank with gusto. Then she put on the coffee and spooned some berry mixture over a slice of cheese cake. Wow!  A brush with death whetted the appetite.  She had reading to do; the lawyer’s package and then the laptop.  After opening the drapes and mullioned windows, she decided to work in the library after all.  It had a large desk where she could lay things out.  The smell of lasagna and coffee had won out over the mustiness.

~ 3 ~

Many hours later after much coffee and cheese cake, Sara decided she was finished reading to her satisfaction.  She sank into a hot tub. She should have done that first thing, she reflected. No doubt she was a mess and nose blind to her own stink.  There wasn’t anything pressing she needed to do.  Her fairy godmother had taken care of absolutely everything.  She was good to go and she was now a rich woman who was set up well below her means.  The only extravagances she had noticed were the wine and the book collection.  Her aunt had feared the money would run out because perpetuity is a long time.

The lawyer’s package dealt with financial and legal matters such as wills, deeds, titles, bank accounts, passports, birth and death certificates, et cetera.  Her aunt had been Beatrice Grosvenor and she was Sara Grosvenor daughter to an Ensor Grosvenor.  Beatrice had been dead two weeks.  However the laptop contents told another story.  If they were to be believed, Sara and Beatrice were the same person.  Beatrice’s screen saver had been the eternal jelly fish, Turritopsis dohmii, and like that jelly fish she never died but regenerated, an unfortunate side effect of the process being the loss of memory.

The first part of the document was dos and don’ts.  Don’t eat scallops and liver.  Avoid medications and doctors.  Live a low profile, inconspicuous life. ... Blah, Blah, blah. ... Be frugal.  Learn how to manage and grow the fortune.  You can’t trust anyone but yourself when it comes to this.  There was a lot of advice on finances.  Her investments were low risk and diversified and set up in such a way that there was little Sara needed to do.  It was all laid out in a schedule. ... A list of trade people for property and car maintenance.  ...  No list of friends! What about lovers?  This does not sound like me, she thought.  But then what did she know?  She had found no photographs in the house.  Nothing of a personal nature. The first part of the document did read like sections were missing, she reflected.

The second part of the document was academic and a work in progress.  It referenced scientific journals and ancient documents and books, some of which were probably in the house library.  The key science articles were appended and she read their abstracts.  The others were probably not that important, she thought. In addition to being a financial expert, Beatrice must have been a doctor or scientist although there were no diplomas hanging about the place to confirm that. It was all about her quest to determine who or rather what she was.  Beatrice herself had awoken no more informed than Sara.  Her predecessor had gained some knowledge and had passed it on. Sara speculated that the basement may have been a lab at some time and that the attic may have housed relics.

The house had been sanitized of anything that might evoke memory.  This was definitely not Beatrice’s doing.  So, obviously there was the potential for recall and someone feared that. What was she not supposed to know?  Who did not want her to know and why? Well, there were professionals who could help with memory and recall. First thing tomorrow, she would make an appointment.  The only other link to the past was Robert Douglas.  She would invite him out to dinner and politely inquire about her aunt.

Sara Grosvenor woke with a hangover.  She hydrated and found a hypnotherapist who did regression, in the yellow pages.  There had been a cancellation and she could be seen at 11:00 AM.  Then she dialed the lawyer.  That number had been disconnected.  She quickly dressed in jeans and a white tee and threw on a blazer.  She found a briefcase and wallet, filled the wallet with her new ID and cards, placed the laptop and legal documentation in the briefcase, pocketed her wallet and cell and grabbed the map and keys.  The car did not have GPS just as the house did not have internet.  In that respect Aunt Beatrice had been a troglodyte.  Maybe there were other reasons for the lack of this technology.

First stop, the lawyer’s office.  It was for rent.  Why was she not surprised?  Second stop, the post office.  There was only one as yet untried key on her chain and it was for a post office box.  The number of the mailbox had been affixed to the key.  There was nothing inside.  Sara had hoped that she, as Bea, might have mailed something to herself, perhaps a thumb drive back-up of the original laptop document.  She had not noticed a safe at the house nor was there any indication of a bank safety deposit box in the lawyer’s package. Third stop, the public library which had WIFI.  She got out the laptop and searched her aunt’s name.  No obituary, no marriages, no scientific publications in her name.  The lawyer was not listed anywhere either.  Finally she googled herself.  As far as the internet was concerned she did not exist. She was feeling weak. There was just enough time to stop somewhere for a late breakfast and think about what she was going to say to Eric Braun, the therapist.

~ 4 ~

Sara Grosvenor arrived a few minutes late.  I remember the day well because it was the start of a revelation which changed my view of life forever.  I did not believe her at first but that does not matter in hypnotherapy.  What is important is what the client believes. I invited her to sit wherever she felt comfortable. 

How can I be of help?

I have no recollection of anything before yesterday and you are a hypnotherapist specializing in regression therapy. It’s my last resort as I have no other leads.

There’s no one to ask?  No witnesses? Family who might have some idea? She did not yet come across as a liar and she didn’t look like she had been in an accident.  There must have been some psychological trauma or something neurological.  Hippocampus, maybe. He should refer her.

No. Nobody.

If she were telling the truth, it was the most complete fugue state I had ever encountered.  I think you need to be referred to a neurologist to exclude anything physiological -

No. No doctors. 

Why? I asked.

Those were my aunt’s wishes.

So you remember an aunt.  Where is she now?

I remember no aunt. According to records she died two weeks ago and left me her estate. I can show you the documents, she said glancing at her briefcase.

Grief related amnesia was a possibility.  You must have been close.

Sara sighed and hesitated to continue.  You have no idea.  Then she laughed.  Well, neither do I. But according to a two part document my alleged aunt wrote specifically for me, I am her minus the memories.  I have it here on the laptop if you want to see.

Just, wow! Well, it was her dollar.  You’ll have to explain that to me.

About two weeks ago Beatrice Grosvenor died of natural causes, old age.  There was no autopsy and there was immediate disposition of the body, no prep, no funeral.  Two weeks later I awoke in a coffin, in a crypt in that little cemetery on the road that leads into town.  Sara’s eyes suddenly lit up.  I could show you the empty coffin.  There was something childlike about the way she said that.

No need.  I believe you.  I didn’t, of course, but I will lie to build rapport.

It was all arranged, you see, although at the time I was in a state of terror not knowing that.  There were some items in my pockets.  A little flashlight helped me find the internal latch to the casket. A key unlocked the door of the crypt.  The road led into town.  A business card led me to the lawyer who handed me legal documents which, among other things, informed me where my aunt lived. Her house and contents revealed little about my aunt because things personal had been removed except for this laptop which contained a heavily redacted two part document. Part One advised me on how to conduct my life.  Part Two was her educated guess on what I am.

What you are? I asked emphasizing the what.

She and I are anomalies like the immortal jellyfish. Apparently when the medusa suffers physical damage or is sick or old it can revert to an earlier stage of development.  Theoretically it can go on indefinitely.  Old, end of life Beatrice regenerated into young, prime of life Sara.

Oh, this was getting good.  Much more entertaining than my cancellation.  You believe this?

I’ll go with it until I know better.  That’s where you come in.

I don’t know.  I had reservations about feeding the delusions.

Can’t you just regress me once and see what happens, please? she pled.

Well, okay.  There’s time.  Sara seemed much relieved and sank back into the chair.  So with my usual bag of tricks I relaxed and regressed Sara.  I instructed her to relate what she saw, heard, felt, smelled or tasted as it happened and to awake refreshed at the clap of my hands.  As there was nothing forthcoming from her, I suggested that she go further and further back. I watched for micro movements.  Her breathing slowed to nothing and she was totally inert.  I waited a moment. No chest movement. Something was very wrong. In a loud voice I asked what was going on.  She did not reply.  She did not move.  I clapped my hands.

She burst to life with a gasp, her eyes opening wide.  She suddenly sat upright as though getting her bearings.  I was relieved and scared at the same time.  What happened?

There was nothing.  Then I became self-aware as something miniscule in a great vastness of nothingness.  A big bang caused me to expand exponentially and instantaneously to this. ... Why do you look so pale?

Apparently you have the ability to slow your body functions to the extreme.  For a moment I was certain you were dead. ... Did you learn anything useful?

No. Maybe if we had gone further back? she asked hopefully. Can we try again another time?

No. This is out of my league. Precautions need to be taken.  I don’t have the equipment to monitor your vital signs and EEG or the set up to resuscitate you if need be. We both need to think about this.

I’d sign a waiver absolving you of everything.

Yes, but I could not absolve myself if anything were to go wrong.

May I see you in a week anyway?  You’re the only person I know.

Sure.  Hypnosis was not the sum total of my practice.

I often looked out the window facing the park across the street when at a crossroads.  Sara struck a lonely, vulnerable figure as she walked to her car carrying her briefcase in one hand and her blazer in the other.  A driver a few houses down was watching her too.  He pulled out just after she did.  Was he following her, I wondered.

~ 5 ~

Sara did not notice her tail.  She stopped at a grocery store on the way back to pick up some fresh produce, milk, eggs, bread and cheese.  He followed her into the store and engineered a casual encounter in the bakery section.  Looking at the date stamps, he said:  Nothing worse than old pita.    It’s only good on the day of issue, she replied.  Low or no fat content makes it go stale quickly.  She did not know how she knew that.  Finally she looked at him directly.  He was handsome and about her age.  Hi, my name is Sara.

Pleased to meet you, Sara. My name is Josh and Josh shouldn’t be eating bread anyway.  He patted his cute little tummy.  With that he walked away, saying: See you around. That would be nice, Sara, thought to herself.  Her second human encounter.  The lawyer did not count.  Sara liked the hypnotherapist a lot.  If Eric Braun PhD could not be her therapist, she wanted to have him in her life as a friend or surrogate brother.

Back home Sara had a little picnic of bread, cheese and wine in the gazebo overlooking the lake.  If she could find her aunt’s DNA in the house she could have it tested and matched to her own in order to prove that they were one and the same. All she needed was one gray hair with a root.  The woman’s clothes were gone. The bed had fresh linen.  Old brushes and combs and toothbrushes had been tossed.  Maybe she had had a favorite armchair that harbored a hair which had been missed?  Maybe a hair had caught in the upholstery of the driver’s seat?  She did not hold up much hope as the house had been sanitized and the car had been detailed. She decided to take the kayak for a spin before she settled in to the tedious work of looking for genetic matter.

Sara hauled the kayak over to the lake.  Then she returned for the oar and a life jacket which was still under the gazebo.  When she put on the old-fashioned jacket she noted gray hairs caught in one of the hasps.  It looked like they had been pulled out by the root. What luck! She carried the jacket back to the house like a prize trophy, carefully removed the hairs with tweezers and sealed them in a fresh baggie.  She pulled out some of her own and placed them in another baggie.  Sara drove back into town to the library.  Using public access computers to search, she then completed and printed out the sheets required by the lab which did the analysis.  There was a premium for expedited processing.  With her one credit card, she paid that. The great thing about a small town is that the essential buildings like post office and library are often close to each other.  She walked next door to the post office and using one of their envelopes mailed the form and samples by overnight mail and registered it. She checked her mailbox again just in case.  It was empty.

There was nothing keeping her in town.  Maybe she should go to a bar or coffee shop and make some new friends.  She needed friends like that waitress who had been so kind.  Instead she opted to go home and do a round of the lake in the kayak, then have supper and start on the books in the library.  In front of the post office she found a free community paper, the kind that lists events in the area.  That gave her an idea.  Then and there she placed a personal ad for anyone who had knowledge of Beatrice Grosvenor to contact her.  She made her cell phone number public for contact: Risky but quickest.

~ 6 ~

It is said that the kind of books a person keeps tells you a lot about them.  She was counting on that and who knew what else she might learn in the process.  Back home again, Sara was standing in the library with the windows open, cup of coffee in hand.  The task seemed daunting but what else was there to do?  She needed a strategy; something that separated the wheat from the chaff.  She couldn’t read all of them. If they were referenced in the document she would check them first.  There were about a hundred references in the document.  About half were books.  She proceeded through the books in the library pulling them three inches forward if they were on the list.  That took care of most of the list but only a fraction of her library. 

As for the remainder of the list, it was unlikely that the local library would have such esoteric and scientific tomes, but she might be able to obtain some of them through inter library loan or at the nearest university.  She revisited the text of the document to see why they were mentioned and decided that she did not want to go through that trouble, at least not yet.  That still left hundreds of books in her library which were not on the document reference list.  Furthermore there was no way of knowing what books, if any, had been removed from her library.  It was suspicious that there was no card catalog, no apparent cataloging system like DDC or LCC, just loose groupings of books of similar kind. There were some books that did not seem to fit anywhere. The Harlequin inspirational romance set amongst the Amish was a total outlier. 

It was midnight; time for bed.  Sometime during the course of the evening she had shifted from plain coffee to coffee spiked with brandy.  Sara leaned back in her armchair and squinted at the books around her. She was seeing double.  What if Beatrice had left something inside a book for her?  Sara groaned.  She would have to go through them again and shake them out.  She would do that another day and at the same time separate out the books that did not seem to belong.  Sara was of the impression that Bea was not the kind of person to keep anything without a purpose. On the other hand those could be space fillers for removed books, sort of like seat fillers at the Oscars.

Sara obsessed over the books for days.  She started on the referenced books first.  She’d feel the cover for bumps, check the inside of the spine, shake the book and then leaf through it.  Sara soon discovered that Bea had a barely visible system for marking passages she considered significant; the tiniest of pencil dots in the gulley. By reading lines thus marked she was able to go through the referenced books quickly. Then she began on the other books using the same process.  The books which seemed like they did not belong in the library were never dotted.  She had as her objective completion of the task by her next appointment with the hypnotherapist. So she didn’t leave the house and didn’t do much else except work in the library. 

Sara had arisen on a Monday, seen the therapist on the Tuesday and would see him again the following Tuesday.  There had been no replies to her ad.  When she called the post office to ask if her box had any mail, the answer was always no.  So she was surprised and thrilled when a courier delivered the test results from the lab to her house on the day before her appointment. Then she remembered that she had paid the premium for that kind of delivery.  The DNA and RNA in the samples were identical except for telomere depletion in one of the samples.  That was the confirmation she needed. She was uncertain if it was good news or bad news.  It was progress and progress was good, she decided.  She celebrated by opening a bottle of champagne and then with a buzz finished the library work that evening. 

She had found no insertions between the pages or back-up devices in the spines.  There were no coded jottings of interest.  Her