Red String

By Laura Bartlett

It was said that the Gods tied an invisible red string around the ankles of those that are destined to meet each other in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. Lucas Dawson finds himself drawn to Desmond Carter, a student studying architecture. The only problem is, Lucas is dead and Desmond cant see his spirit. With the help of CeCe, an art student, they must make Desmond believe before Lucas moves on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479736218

Laura Bartlett

Laura Bartlett is twenty one years old and has recently completed a Bachelor of Creative Arts Industry at Victoria University in Melbourne. Having always wanting to be a writer, Laura is very excited by her first novel Red String and hopes that there will be many more books to come in the future. Laura grew up in Gippsland before moving to Melbourne to study. She would like to thank everyone who has helped support her writing and has given her encouragement and to those who are doing the same and wish them the best of luck with their writing. Nothing helps more than positive encouragement.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Laura Bartlett.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4797-3620-1

                 Ebook          978-1-4797-3621-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-800-618-969

www.Xlibris.com.au

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502530

Contents

To my mum, dad, sisters (Jess and Emma), and brother (David).

Thank you for all your support with my writing and

helping me achieve my dream. I love you.

Chapter One

Exchange Programme

It was typical movie madness. Tourists stood around in small clusters, purchasing crappy merchandise that was way overpriced and which they would only wear once before using them as rags or pyjamas. Flash after flash of cameras went off in every direction, taking pictures of the beautiful tower that loomed above them, pulling pose after pose, trying to get that perfect holiday family picture. They were getting in everyone’s way, bumping into one another, blocking pathways. The air was filled with the weaving together of sounds of honking horns, as the traffic bundled by, and of the sound of the rushing river. It was quite humbling to be standing near the structure that towered over most of London, and you felt so small standing next to it. It’s quite a moving experience to be near such a historical building, and Big Ben was always a favourite tourist attraction, and the atmosphere surrounding the structure was intense. This didn’t stop tourists from flooding in to see the clock tower though, and business lapped up the attention. Big Ben referred to the bell inside and not the actual tower itself, a fun fact that the tourist awed over every time they heard it. Amid the chaos, a young man sat quietly, a sketchbook resting in his lap with a half image of the clock tower filling up the reams of the paper. His hazel eyes scanned the tower with awe and appreciation of the beautiful architectural structure before him, its history pouring off it in waves. The light grey clouds that swirled up above and the light winds that ruffled his scruff and dark hair did nothing to deplete Desmond Carter’s good mood. Architecture was a passion of his ever since he had been a young boy building houses out of Lego, and being in London, seeing some of the world’s most historical architectural buildings, was a dream come true. Desmond was on an exchange programme set up with the university he was attending. He was one of the five architecture students who had applied for the trip; the others included several art students and a handful from other faculties. The trip was only three weeks long, and they were sadly into their second week; come next week they would be into their third.

Desmond breathed in the crisp London air and looked back down at his sketchbook, putting his pencil back on to the page, and continued with his sketch. He couldn’t help but think back to the year the clock tower was first built, the plans that had been made, the sketches that had been drawn, and the math that had been done. He would love to see the original blueprints, to see how architecture had changed over the years, but didn’t hold much hope in ever seeing them. It sent a chill down his spine as he thought of this and hoped that one day he would be up with the greats and leave his mark in the architectural world. He had leapt at the chance to come on the exchange programme and could now cross London off his list of places to visit. He planned to visit as many architectural beauties as he could and was already starting to plan a trip to Italy. He jumped and looked up startled when a hand settled on his shoulder. ‘That’s turning out well.’

It was Desmond’s tutor. She was a tall lady with thick wavy hair that flickered with the light breeze. She had a round full face with brightly painted red lips and colourful eyeshadow and a healthy curvy figure.

‘I’m happy with it,’ Desmond responded, giving her a brief smile. She smiled back and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

‘We’re spending another half an hour here before moving on to get some lunch,’ she reminded him, and Desmond nodded. She nodded back, and he watched her move away to the other students scattered around sketching the surrounding area. Desmond rolled his shoulders, then hunched his shoulders against the breeze that had started to pick up, and smoothed down his flickering page. Holding the top of the page, he began to lose himself within his sketching once again. He nearly flung his pencil in surprise when he was tapped on the shoulder again. He was startled when he found it was not his tutor but a girl who was on the exchange programme. Desmond didn’t know many on the exchange, choosing to stick closely to those he knew from his class, but he had seen the girl around. She was short and curvy, dressed in bright red tights with boots, a colourful skirt flowing above her knees, and a large knitted jumper hugging her form. She had short choppy dark hair that was tied back in a small ponytail; little wisps that couldn’t quite reach were tugged by the breeze, and her dark eyes were boring into his.

‘Hi, that’s really good,’ was her greeting, and Desmond smiled uncomfortably.

‘Thank you.’ Desmond nodded, shifting slightly and looking back to his picture briefly before glancing back again.

‘I’m CeCe,’ she continued, smiling brightly, looking far from uncomfortable. This did nothing to relieve his tension, and he shifted again, clearing his throat.

‘Desmond,’ he offered, and she nodded.

‘I’ve been watching you for a while and thought I would come over and say hi,’ CeCe laughed, flipping her sketchbook over in her hands.

‘Oh,’ Desmond choked out, surprised. ‘Uh—thank you?’

‘I’m an art student,’ CeCe told him. ‘You’re a very interesting subject and so is your friend.’

‘My friend?’ Desmond asked, looking around. He was alone; the rest of his classmates were spread out, trying to find a different angle to sketch the tower. He hadn’t been with anyone all morning, preferring to concentrate on his work in silence.

‘Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you apart since we got here,’ CeCe smiled. ‘Here. I drew you.’

She held out her sketchbook, and Desmond took it from her hands. She was talented, very talented. There he was: scruffy dark hair, lean body hunched over sketching, and Big Ben in the distance. Oddly enough, there was a figure beside him. He was standing behind him, peering at his work with bright green eyes. He had sand blond hair that seemed to be unaffected by the sharp wind that had been blowing all morning. He was stockier than himself and was handsome, but not the clichéd handsome of a movie star.

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen this person before,’ Desmond told her, looking at her uncertainly. Unknowingly, beside Desmond was a slight translucent figure looking at CeCe with a shocked expression, green eyes comically widened.

‘You can see me?’

Chapter Two

Lucas

For two weeks, Lucas had been following Desmond around London, unable to communicate with anyone or understand why he was trailing around a complete stranger; an attractive stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Oh, and Lucas was a ghost or a spirit—whatever you wanted to call him. But now, looking at the stunning painting CeCe had created, he knew that he was no longer invisible.

‘What’s your name?’ CeCe asked, smiling directly at him.

‘Lucas,’ he breathed, hardly daring to believe that she could see him and was actually holding a conversation with him.

‘CeCe,’ she smiled, and he let out a laugh of disbelief.

Desmond frowned, looking between the two of them, but instead of seeing Lucas, he saw nothing but thin air.

‘Uh—who are you talking to?’ Desmond asked slowly.

‘Your friend Lucas,’ CeCe told him with a look that screamed ‘duh!’

‘Right,’ Desmond drawled. ‘I have to go.’ He handed back her sketchbook and quickly shoved his sketch pad into his satchel and hurried away from her.

‘He can’t see me,’ Lucas told her sadly, gazing after Desmond as he strode away, not looking back.

‘Can’t see—oh! You’re dead!’ CeCe breathed and then smiled brightly. Lucas didn’t think that this was something to be smiling about, but people dealt with death in different ways, and who was he to judge?

‘I suppose I am,’ Lucas murmured, looking down at his