The Awakening: The Prequel

By Roderick Donald

A violent bashing; a life destroyed. But why has such an obscure occurrence touched so many lives?

When twenty-three-year-old Cait's lover is brutally murdered, this violent assault has far-reaching effects not only for Cait, but also for her those close to her.

In her darkest moments, Cait's shamanic mother introduces her daughter to the Otherworld, a Druidic realm that parallels the world around us. Cait's ancient bloodline whispers to her enticingly from the other side with the offer of amazing paranormal powers of insight and perception—the power of The Gift.

Will Cait accept this strange multi-dimensional world? Or is it just New Age mumbo-jumbo?

The Awakening is a contemporary urban adventure peppered with a just a hint of the mystical. It's an insightful tale about family, friendship, love, sex, beliefs, and personal growth. It follows the personal journey of Cait, her family and their friends as they change, grow, and adapt to the challenges placed in front of them.

This must-read tale is the prequel to Cait later morphing into a ruthless femme fatale in the gripping Cait Lennox: femme fatale series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roderick Donald
• Release date: Jul 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386122609

Book preview

The steroid-pumped man was all tattoos, swagger, and attitude. He appeared to have no neck, just massive shoulders topped by an ugly, shaved head and he occupied a space that said don’t mess with me. This was one mean mother who oozed aggression.

And at 12:30 at night he was rushing on speed and ice, and itching for a fight.

Hey you fuckin’ curry muncher. What you lookin’ at? You don’t have the right to walk these streets. Why don’t you piss off and go back to the shithole you crawled out of. The Thug was all bravado and machismo in front of his two subordinates, who were diligently following a pace behind.

Yeah arsehole, why don’t you fuck off, mimicked Subordinate Number One. You’re a lowlife. The Thug-in-training was one of those people who, if he actually had a brain, would find it lonely inside his head.

Rishi was walking down Robe Street in the Melbourne bayside suburb of St Kilda after having seen his friend Jason’s band play at the Espy. The tiff he’d just had with Cait was still bouncing around inside his head, confusion dominating his thoughts as he recalled her harsh comments, and The Thug and his lackeys caught him totally by surprise. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the three of them until right at the last minute. Rishi was streetwise, and had he seen them approaching in the distance, he would have crossed the road.

As The Thug grunted his threats, Rishi’s stomach sank and he became aware of an involuntarily wetness between his legs. He suddenly felt about as safe as a gerbil in a pit of vipers.

Oh shit, this is bad. Really bad. The thought blared in his head like a siren warning of impending disaster.

He spun around to run. But Subordinate Number Two had already darted behind Rishi and let fly with a left hook, hitting him hard on the back of his head, just behind his right ear.

Rishi’s head lurched forward violently, and he staggered a few steps toward The Thug.

Well, lookee here. What have we got? A gook who wants to party, mocked The Thug, smiling, revealing a mouth that was missing more than a few teeth.

The blow had caught Rishi unawares. Feeling no real pain, the only telltale sign was an aching that soon gave way to numbness in the back of his head. Rishi stumbled, dazed and unable to react. The Thug casually walked up beside him, laughed, and pushed him backward into Subordinate Number Two.

Hey boss, this black boy’s having difficulty walking a straight line. I think you need to teach him a lesson, said Subordinate Number Two, amused at Rishi’s distress. He shoved Rishi forward again. But this time it was toward Subordinate Number One, who was standing slightly off to the left, bouncing up and down like a jack-in-the-box that had just been released from its cramped home. Subordinate Number One was strutting from left to right, shadowboxing. As Rishi came close, he let fly with a forceful left-right combination.

Useless prick.

Rishi grunted as the lightning-fast punches landed, cracking two ribs and leaving him winded.

Hey, this lowlife’s as soft as putty. This is fun.

Lashing out with a well-placed tae kwon do kick, Subordinate Number One then caught Rishi just below his left shoulder, doing no damage but sending him violently back toward The Thug.

Boss, he’s all yours. Subordinate Number One let loose a high-pitched cackle that made him sound like a chipmunk on helium gas.

Fucking wog. The Thug threw a right hook, connecting perfectly with Rishi’s left temple, knocking his head sideways as if it were a speed ball bag.

Rishi staggered.

The Thug immediately followed with an unforgiving left cross to Rishi’s opposite cheek.

Blood flew through the air in an arc, the crimson spots splattering across the front of The Thug’s once-white T-shirt. Rishi’s head bounced backward as if on a spring. With a grunt and then a sigh, he dropped, lifeless.

Landing heavily on the concrete path, Rishi’s head bounced off the pavement with a sickening thud.

Whoa-ho, will you look at that, said The Thug. He’s fallen over.

Rishi was semiconscious. He was only vaguely aware of a deep ache in the back of his head and a warm sensation on the side of his face. Then with blood puddling under his neck, the world went black—as dark as the angel of death.

Time to put the boots in.

The Thug walked clockwise around his target, sizing him up and nudging him roughly with one of his calf-length biker boots.

Prick’s dead to the world. He was opposite Rishi’s hip, and lifting his right leg, he stomped down hard on Rishi’s thigh.

No response.

Fuck it! said The Thug, disappointed. Prick’s spoiling all the fun.

Yeah Boss, replied Subordinate Number One excitedly. Good left-right combination, eh. Boom, boom, ya dead.

Arsehole! The Thug drew his leg back, psyching himself up for the headshot. He thought to himself, A size twelve to the jaw will knock out a few teeth and teach the wog a big lesson.

Hey, you! . . . leave that person alone! . . . stop that! yelled an authoritative voice from the shadows.

A group of friends were walking around the corner just as Rishi had been knocked out. Seventy-five meters up the street they saw some poor guy about to get the living bejesus kicked out of him and they reacted. But this wasn’t any ordinary group of partygoers; instead it was four men and two women who were celebrating after just having graduated from the police academy, full of well-meaning intentions and a social conscience.

And the newly graduated cops weren’t about to back off. They had all taken a pledge only yesterday to devote their life to upholding the law and citizen’s rights, and there was a serious crime being committed, right in front of them.

And this was their first real-life action as fully-fledged cops, even if they were off duty.

They sprinted toward the fray. Stop. Police . . . hey, stop right there.

The Thug was currently on parole after having finished an eighteen-month stint inside for robbery and aggravated assault, and there was no way he was going to have a run-in with the cops. Not now. So he spun around and bolted, his mates the usual one pace behind, following him like the sheep that they were.

There’s plenty more gooks where this one came from, he thought as he ran down the street, away from Rishi’s white knights. The prick’s not worth another stint in the slammer for.

The flashing lights of the ambulance danced off the walls of the darkened buildings, sharpening corners and lending an eerie, threatening depth to the shadowy recesses out of reach of the darting orange glow.

So what happened here? said the paramedic to the newly graduated cop, who was kneeling over Rishi, cradling his head to keep his cervical spine straight.

The cop proudly flashed her new badge.

Rishi was now semiconscious, groaning between labored breaths and slowly moving his legs. Following basic first aid procedures, since Rishi was unconscious when they initially arrived, the cops checked his breathing and vital signs then rolled him onto his side into the recovery position to keep his airways open and unobstructed. One of the graduates put on a pair of latex gloves she happened to be carrying with her, and applying pressure to Rishi’s head wound to stem the bleeding, quietly comforted him as he was regaining consciousness while someone else called for help.

Using their newly granted influence, an ambulance arrived in six minutes.

The victim was attacked approximately ten minutes ago. We witnessed him being knocked to the ground after being hit with a punch to the right side of his head by a male who ran off. The victim was unconscious when we first got to him. His vital signs are positive, airways clear, breathing is labored but regular, and there are signs of bleeding from a head injury of some sort.

Thanks for the report. Now please, stand back and clear the area so we’ve room to work. And keep the onlookers back. The flashing lights of the ambulance were beginning to attract an audience like flies to a dog turd.

The ambulance driver had already opened the rear doors of his ambulance, making it look more like the jaws of a mythical beast set to devour its prey than an angel of mercy. Emerging with a neck brace and spine board under one arm and an oxygen cylinder in the other, he joined his partner, who had already hastily applied a dressing to Rishi’s head and was now manually immobilizing Rishi’s upper spine until a cervical collar could be applied. He was talking to Rishi at the same time to establish his condition and level of discomfort as a way of concurrently obtaining Rishi’s Glasgow Coma Scale score.

The paramedic mentally gave Rishi a score of eleven out of a possible fifteen.

Not good, but he’d seen worse.

He’s a bit disoriented but he appears to be coming around, thought the paramedic. I’m not happy with the blow to the lad’s head. Hopefully he’s just got a concussion.

The victim’s name is Rishi and he was assaulted approximately fifteen minutes ago, the paramedic said to his partner. BP eighty-two over fifty, pulse ninety-five, breathing shallow and rapid but regular. He needs oxygen, eight liters per minute. The paramedic who was attending to Rishi was calling the shots.

Headache with some pain in his left jaw and right ribs, but no need for analgesia at this stage. The two paramedics were working in sync as if they were one.

Rishi, we’re going to place a small IV needle into your arm in case we need to give you some fluids, so you may feel a prick. Just relax, okay. Then we’ll roll you over onto this stretcher and put a neck brace on you. Do you understand all that?

Yeah, but can’t I just get up? Rishi heard himself speak, but it was as if someone else was talking.

Rishi, you’ve got a head injury and you can never be too careful. It’s best if you just lie there and let us do the work.

Yeah . . . whatever.

So now we’re going to roll you over onto your back. Then we’ll take you to the emergency room so you can be checked out, okay? So just leave it all to us. You’re in good hands.

As the two paramedics logrolled Rishi onto the spine board, the one caring for him quickly ran his hands over Rishi from head to toe, checking for any other injuries while his partner provided manual neck support until they could fit the neck brace. Once the cervical collar was in place the driver rushed back to his ambulance and began radioing in to the emergency department at The Alfred Hospital, leaving the other paramedic busily strapping Rishi to the spine board and stabilizing his neck.

Patient sustained a head injury following a punch to the face then fell backward, hitting his head on the ground. Loss of consciousness for three minutes. Current GCS eleven. Deep laceration above left eye. Pulse one-zero-five. BP eighty over fifty-two. Respiration shallow, rapid, regular. Been given eight liters oxygen. No analgesia. Pupils dilated and uneven. Evidence of concussion. Require a trauma cubicle. ETA ten minutes.

After loading Rishi into the ambulance, the treating paramedic began checking Rishi’s vital signs once more and started hooking him up to an IV drip while the driver mentally calculated the quickest way out of the maze of one-way streets and dead ends that made up this part of St Kilda.

Makes you feel good to be able to help, doesn’t it? said one of the rookie cops to her friend as they watched the reflected glow of the flashing lights from the ambulance speeding off around the corner.

Yeah, that’s what it’s all about, I suppose.

THREE HOURS EARLIER

The door bitch at The Espy was her usual officious self. Backed up by two bulky men in black beside her, the curly cables of their earpieces resembling small worms disappearing down their backs, she was full of bravado, claiming ownership of the ten square meters at the base of the stairs, plus as much of the sidewalk as she could steal. Cait, Rishi, Dec, and Justin smugly flashed their invitations with a we’re with the band so don’t even think about knocking us back look, and then walked straight inside without another glance at her.

The closer they got to the Gershwin Room where Justin’s brother Jason was scheduled to play with his garage band GrafX, the more the heavy bass of the house music vibrated through their bodies.

Holy crap, can you feel that, Rishi? said Dec to his sister Cait’s university friend.

Sure can. The music’s running up my spine and blowing a hole in the top of my head. Feel like I’m vibrating across the floor.

The repetitive electronic beat came into its own as they walked inside and were hit by the steamy, perfumed air, the music assaulting them with a cacophony of sound that shot around the room from speaker to speaker as if they were in a gigantic echo chamber.

Except instead it was the famously flamboyant Gershwin Room, an intimate rock venue that was a favorite with musicians and audiences alike. An open stage occupied one entire end of the room with only a low dais so it was as if the bands were part of the party crowd; the décor was ornate, reminiscent of an old-style music hall, complete with lashings of elaborate gold gilt and large framed paintings of long-dead people staring down at the revelers. With loads of ornate plaster patterning inlaid into the ceiling and running down the walls, plus a themed bar to the left, complete with baroque motifs, this was one of Melbourne’s iconic pub rock venues at its best.

And GrafX were about to strut their stuff for a room full of primed rock ’n’ roll fans. Anything could happen—in fact it often did. It was that sort of place.

Cait! Cait! Over here, gushed Nat, who was talking to her twin sister Jen next to the bar. "Oh, it’s soooo good to see you. You look gorgeous as usual." Throwing her arms around Cait’s neck in an over-the-top show of affection, they air-kissed, brushing their cheeks together.

Before Cait even had time to say hi, Nat turned her attention to the others. She had a soft spot for Cait’s brother Dec and at times wondered if they could be an item, but so far it had never eventuated.

Dec, Nat said as she grabbed Dec’s hand, and Rishi, Justin. Great to see you guys again. It’s time to party. Whoop whoop!

With that she dragged the four of them over to the bar where Jen was lining up shots for some of her hard-partying friends who already had a head start, judging by their outlandish behavior and loud laughter. She was looking stunning as usual in a red dress that was so tight, it must have been painted on. The plunging neckline displayed a generous amount of cleavage and was so short that if she took a deep breath, well, you just had to hope she wouldn’t flash the room.

Jen, look who’s here! Some of my favorite people, yelled Nat to her sister over the deafening music. Now buy them a drink and line up those shots, girl! Got to start the party with a big bang, my dad always says.

Nat and Jen had a seemingly limitless credit card each, courtesy of their father Steve, who was also Cait’s godfather, and the two families and their kids were best of friends.

As Nat turned, sashaying back to her buddies, Justin and Dec followed her with lustful eyes. Her five-inch, shimmering silver stilettos lengthened her legs almost to the point of being ridiculous, and her black dress was equally as formfitting as her twin’s.

Now that’s sex on a stick, Jus, said Dec, staring, momentarily transfixed. Rishi followed suit and glanced over in Nat’s direction, then quickly diverted his gaze back to Cait.

The twins may be hot, Cait, said Rishi, his mouth so close to Cait’s ear that he found himself intoxicated with the fresh lemon floral scent of her perfume as it wafted up to greet him, but they’re just so out there.

What? They’re beautiful, yelled Cait.

Nah, you missed the point. The difference is that you’ve got class; they’ve just got sex appeal.

Whatever, replied Cait, almost brushing off Rishi’s attempt at a compliment as an annoyance.

Hey guys, look but don’t touch. My sister’s taken, remember, said Jen, drawing their attention back to herself with a flip of her head so her long brunette hair flicked off her face and then bounced around her shoulders. The bling around her wrist caught the light and shot multicolored sparkles across the ceiling, making it look like a diamond-studded night sky.

Here guys, first drink of the evening. Suck on this, said Jen with a tongue-in-cheek inflection. A Wet Pussy to start the evening. Yeah.

The hot pink shots were lined up on the bar and . . .

One, two, three. Go! Four shots were thrown back in record time, the tiny glasses slamming back down on the bar seconds later, sounding like a rapid-fire machine gun as they made contact one after the other.

And now my lovelies, it’s time to go forth and party. Jason’s band is on soon.

The music had cranked up a notch as David Guetta played over the sound system—loud, hard-hitting bass which pulsated back through the floor, with multilayered tracks and a shitload of mixed overlaid sound.

OMG, it doesn’t get much better than this, said Cait excitedly to Rishi as Dirty Talk boomed out. Without a second’s hesitation she grabbed his hand and dragged him onto the half-full dance floor and began to strut her stuff. While Nat and Jen were all about glitz and glamour, Cait was a picture of absolute refined elegance. Skintight white dress, as short as short could be, yes; long strawberry blonde hair kissing her shoulders and draping down her back, yes. But somehow she carried the look off with such natural stylishness that she positively glowed on the dance floor.

Hey, there’s Eddy. Look, over there, chatting up the chick in the silver top by the bar, said Cait, nodding in his direction.

Who? yelled Rishi over the music, practically putting Cait’s ear in his mouth so she could hear him.

You know. I told you about him before. His dad Tony works for Steve. I wonder what bullshit line he’s throwing now? He really can be a smart-arse. Just like his father apparently.

Cait, Rishi, and Dec were sitting in a booth away from the bar having a serious discussion: what’s the next drink? Cait was leaning toward a white wine, Rishi couldn’t make up his mind between a bourbon and a cleansing ale, and Dec was thinking about a rum and Coke.

Ah shit it, I can’t decide. Think I’ll have another shot, then I’m sure it’ll come to me, said Dec.

As Dec was talking, Eddy unexpectedly sidled up, sliding into the booth midconversation. Hey guys, how’s it going? What’s happening?

Cait looked up, a cold shiver momentarily running up her spine.

Gross. You really are such a dick, Cait thought to herself.

We’re trying to decide what to drink. So many choices, so little time, said Dec.

Yeah, dunno myself, it’s as weird as, isn’t it? replied Eddy.

So maybe I can help you out here. I got some E. You want some? said Eddy. Forty-five bucks a hit. Then you won’t have to worry about what you want to drink.

Eddy, you still dealing that shit? That’s just like, so yesterday, said Dec.

Sure. Half the bar’s on. You wouldn’t want to miss out on the party now, would you?

No way, José, said Rishi, almost out of character for him to be so upfront with someone he hardly knew. We still want to keep our brain cells. You know what that shit can do to your head?

I tell you what, interjected Cait, rudely cutting across Rishi and Eddy’s conversation. Since you’re into E, what about buying us all a drink and we won’t tell the door bitch that you’re dealing? Cait really didn’t like Eddy, so she figured he was fair game to insult.

Besides, she had a weird feeling—almost like a premonition—that something was about to go down and Eddy was part of it, so they all needed to keep their distance, and an insult or two would no doubt help see him hightail it out of there and go and annoy someone else.

Get real! Do you think I’m a dickhead or something? Gimme fifty bucks first, then I’ll buy the drinks.

Silence.

Just joking, guys, said Eddy, picking up on the negative vibes. Anyway, if you change your mind, I’ll be here all night.

With that Eddy removed himself from the booth and continued to work the room.

What a tosser. Boring as, said Rishi. Now Dec, back to the drinks situation. What are we going to have before Jason gets on the stage?

But Cait had momentarily checked out of the conversation. She just couldn’t get that worrisome feeling of disquiet out of her head. Something was wrong, and Eddy was part of it.

The smartly dressed guy—Mr. Smooth—in the corner of the room near the entrance to the toilets was leaning against the wall, nonchalantly sipping vodka and club soda with a slice of lemon. Or maybe it was iced water? He appeared to be killing time by looking at everyone yet looking at no one, all at the same moment. For all intents and purposes, Mr. Smooth was either taking a break from the now packed dance floor, or waiting for his beau to come out of the toilets. The fellow reveler was a good-looking lad, but not striking. With chiseled, almost Germanic facial features, a square jawline, and all-seeing piercing eyes that darted around the room as if he was looking for his next conquest, Mr. Smooth just leaned there, owning the space. Well built, he obviously wasn’t a person who pushed paper around a desk for a living.

Whatever, he fit in with all the other similarly dressed males: gelled, spiked hair, designer jeans, top button of his white linen shirt undone, leather wrap around his wrist, a few tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, black and red Paul Smith sneakers. He was almost hot.

Yeah, Mr. Smooth was just another clubber out on the town.

But when he moved, he stood out from the crowd; his stride was confident, purposeful, the space around him appearing to naturally part as he leaned into it.

As if he was a hunter in the African savannah, Mr. Smooth’s eyes suddenly took on a catlike intensity. He’d spied his prey across the other side of the room. Hunter-Man—a.k.a. Mr. Smooth—tensed imperceptibly, fingers twitching, and moved from the safety of his shadowy corner with a fluidity that gave away his intention to only the trained eye. He slipped away with anonymity, noticed by none of his fellow revelers, and slid his way through the crowd, gliding deftly through the partying throng, taking up his new position behind and out of line of sight of his new conquest.

The last few partygoers between him and his prey parted momentarily.

Mr. Smooth pounced and he was there, poised and ready to attack, full of confidence and bravado.

Such an easy target, he said to himself under his breath.

We can do this one of two ways, whispered Hunter-Man into his victim’s ear, pressing one hand hard onto his prey’s shoulder to show he meant business. Either you come quietly with me, or I’ll drag you out. The choice is yours. Whichever way you look at it, you’re busted.

With his free hand, Hunter-Man quickly flashed his police badge in front of Eddy’s face then said, Let’s go. You’re under arrest.

Oh, get real. Who’s that? Dec, you screwing around again? Eddy tried to turn around to face his assailant but instead he was being pushed toward the exit urgently.

No, and your luck just ran out, party boy. With that Hunter-Man kept his firm hold on Eddy’s shoulder, but with his now free hand he grabbed him by the belt and frog-marched him toward the door and into the street outside. Eddy’s pants rode up his crack like he was being given a huge wedgie by his mates in the locker rooms after a game of football.

Oh fuck! Eddy thought to himself as he was moved through the crowd. I’m in deep shit here. This guy’s for real. Cop or no cop, he’s a bloody lunatic.

Hey, let me go. You can’t do that, I’ve got my rights, pleaded Eddy as he was forcefully shoved forward.

Somebody help me, Eddy wanted to add, but it was all happening so quickly he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, by this time he was being half pushed, half carried down the stairs and out into the street. He stumbled, staggering as his feet unsuccessfully attempted to touch the ground, making contact occasionally, and only then with the tips of his toes as if he was floating through midair.

Start to finish, Eddy’s extraction took less than thirty seconds. It was so quick and efficient that no one upstairs even noticed what was happening except Hunter-Man’s partner, who slipped out unseen from the crowd, and Rishi, who just happened to be gazing in Eddy’s direction, thinking about what a tosser he was.

As Eddy was forcibly marched past the door bitch and her cronies, they were about to intervene when Hunter-Man’s partner, who was immediately behind him by this point, flashed her badge, giving them adon’t mess with us or you’re next look as she rushed past.

Smiling to herself, the door bitch turned her back on Eddy, instead looking at her own security team with a knowing stare.

Another misguided kid busted. Dickhead!

She’d seen it before and knew from experience this was best left alone. If she didn’t see what was going on, she couldn’t be called as a witness. Besides, it was all on CCTV.

Jeee-sus Cait, I think your friend Eddy’s just been busted, said Rishi. They were sitting by themselves finishing their drinks and about to move up near the stage, where Jason and his band were setting up.

Oh my God. You’re kidding me. What happened? said Cait, dragging her eyes away from her best friend Jason, who was making hand signals for her to come and join him.

And by the way, Eddy’s not my friend, if you hadn’t already gathered.

Well, I just saw him being frog-marched out of here by that big dude who was standing by the toilets looking all sketchy that you told me about when you went to the bathroom before.

Shit, Eddy might be a creep, but if they nab him for dealing he’s just screwed his future, said Cait. I think he’s just graduated from law school. Like, I‘m sure they don’t let you join the bar if you’re a criminal.

Cait had just tried and convicted him.

Yeah, sort of weird, eh, said Rishi. You mightn’t like him, but still, that really sucks. I hope he’ll be okay. Rishi may have been full of bravado as a way of keeping face with Cait’s mates, but he always tried to see the best in people. As far as Rishi was concerned, Eddy didn’t deserve to be tried and convicted on the spot, so Cait’s premature assessment of Eddy’s situation was unjustified. And besides, Eddy had to have a good side to him that Cait was obviously overlooking.

You know, I had a weird feeling about tonight, said Cait. I sensed earlier on that something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now this. Couldn’t happen to a nicer person though . . . not.

Cait, you mightn’t like Eddy, but cut him some slack.

"Oh, piss off Rishi. I’m not into any of your humanitarian shit tonight. And besides, Eddy deserved it. He was always going to get caught at some stage. He’s been dealing that shit for years.