Eternals Book 4: Indigo Moon: The Eternals, #4

By Vincent Roberts

The struggle to find their own kind continues for the Eternals, the Scarlett witches, the werewolves and even humans. Paris is still trapped in the Lost City and living as a lowly vampire. Paulo, Lucy, Rebecca, Sebastian and the Scarlett witches are forced to work together to help all the supernatural beings make sense of what has happened as each one battles with their own demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vincent Roberts
• Release date: Feb 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393052074

Book preview

1

Peggy had been living in the dark and deprived streets, surviving on scraps of food, eating out of garbage cans, and sleeping under makeshift shelters for nearly two years since the time she awoke in San Francisco, in 1904.

Her mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was, after she realized she had aged twenty-seven years while wrapped in the blackness. The enigma didn’t protect her youth as it had with the others. She didn’t have the same magic and rules as a supernatural creature; therefore, she was left to grow old as she slept.

Peggy, now sixty-one years old, had gray matted unwashed hair, wrinkles and filthy and torn clothes. She found it easier to live her life in the streets than to even attempt to explain what had taken place for decades. She knew any kind of explanation would make her sound crazy and ultimately land her in some asylum with the rest of the lunatics.

Occasionally, she’d go to the workhouses and spend a full day of doing laundry or other menial tasks, that usually resulted in hard labor, in order to get a hot meal. She’d see other vagrants sleeping in the streets but she never wanted to make contact with any them. She wouldn’t know what to say or how to interact with them. After all, she was a bitter woman with very little to no recollection of her life before San Francisco.

She remembered very limited things, and those things were basically a slight blur in her mind. She knew her first name was Peggy but she couldn’t recollect that her last name was Tripp. She knew she used to live in the Eastern United States but wasn’t sure which city or state. She recalled a man named Emmitt and a woman named Lucy, but she didn’t know exactly where they fit into the scheme of her existence.

At times, she’d see individuals pass her by and believe that they resembled someone she used to know but, each time, they weren’t those people and she was left alone to fend for herself again in the desolate streets.

She wondered if she should try to seek passage to get back to the east coast. Perhaps, returning to the opposite side of the country would spark more of her memories but, as the years passed by, Peggy resigned herself to the fact that a life of poverty and humiliation was all an aging woman deserved.

Around eleven o’clock on the evening of April 17th, Peggy found her way back to the alley where she and several other homeless people usually slept. After a long day of working at the laundry, she was exhausted. She curled up on the sidewalk with her moth-eaten blanket and half-stuffed pillow and fell asleep.

Six hours later, at five o’clock in the morning, the ground beneath Peggy began to shake fiercely. Peggy leapt up and began to run. She ran one way and then another, frantically. She seemed to run in every direction. Her heart was beating faster and faster, but she didn’t know where she could go to find safety.

The quaking continued as the tallest and most sound structures in the metropolitan side of San Francisco began to disintegrate to dust and fall to the ground. Horrified and panic-stricken, many terrified people were hit by falling concrete slabs and other objects as they were attempting to flee the vibrating thoroughfares. Peggy did her best to move quickly and avoid being killed like so many others around her.

She didn’t stop running as she saw the buildings catch fire one after another. There were thunderous explosions. Water mains broke and flooded the streets.

Soon, the seismic activity had stopped and, in only a minuscule amount of time, devastated the entire city. Peggy, with her blanket and pillow still tucked under her arms, marched as fast as she could manage march towards the coastline.

By seven o’clock she saw great numbers of army troops from nearby Angel Island moving into the city to patrol the streets to detour looting and to guard the few buildings that were still intact. The fire department found that they couldn’t control the blazes with so many ruptured gas lines, busted water mains and a great number of concentrated aftershocks.

The city stood by and watched as the fires and aftershocks continued to devastate everything in their paths for five long days, destroying eighty-percent of the structures and killing over three-thousand souls. Not knowing what else to do, Peggy continued to follow the mass evacuation of people that were headed toward the beaches.

It was there that she saw plain white tents, hundreds and hundreds of them for as far as the eye could see, lined up uniformly on the sand to accommodate many of the three-hundred thousand inhabitants that were left homeless from the horrific disaster.

Peggy was set up in a tent with several other women. There she had shelter, a cot to sleep on, food and water rations and any type of medical care that she might require. Even though she found it more comfortable than living in the streets, she still found that she was crying herself to sleep every night, yearning to find out who she really was and where she belonged.

Several weeks after the disaster, a large number of the wealthier residents from San Francisco left the beach areas and travelled to nearby cities seeking out better accommodations. For the time being, all dealings with business were being diverted to the Los Angeles area.

Peggy remained on the beach, in her tent, with four other women. They heard news that San Francisco’s politicians were wasting no time and had already begun a rebuilding of the area. The cleanup had started almost immediately after the fires were extinguished.

One afternoon in early May, the rest of the women left the tent to get their daily supply of provisions while Peggy remained and promised to clean up inside. As she was doing so, an old man stood outside the tent staring in at her. She felt his penetrating gaze from behind. Startled, she whirled around and shouted at him. We don’t have any possessions left! So, if you came here to rob us, you’re out of luck, mister! Now please, move on and leave us alone!

The timeworn man entered the tent and stated, I’m sorry but I think that I might I know you. No. I know I know you.

Peggy quickly turned around and saw a very tall, well-built man who appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies. She walked up to him and looked deeply into his eyes. No, I don’t think we know each other. You must be mistaking me for someone else.

He asserted, I’ve seen you here several times, down on the beach. I’ve been watching you because I’m sure we’ve met before.

She took another hard look at him and shook her head. No, I don’t remember you, mister. If I did, I’d tell you. Now, would you please go away and leave my tent?

Peggy turned back around and hurried to clean up the tent before the other women returned. The man left without any more conversation. Peggy tried to recall if she did know him from somewhere but no memories surfaced.

Several days later, Peggy was taking a walk down the beach, watching the waves crash in the ocean to her left, and seeing the hundreds of tents standing in the sand to her right. The odd man approached her. From behind, he called out, Hello again!

Peggy continued to stroll down the coastline as the man caught up with her and walked at the same pace. She commented, I don’t remember inviting anyone to join me today.

He asked, Is it alright? I just want to walk with you. There’s no one else around that wants to bother with a grimy old man like me.

She laughed, And what makes you think I want to bother with you?

Because we know each other, or we knew each other in the past. I’ve mulled it over in my head for the last week and, without a doubt, I’m positive about this. You shouldn’t be so quick to shut me down.

Peggy sauntered a little towards the ocean, until her feet were being splashed by the water. The man did the same. He questioned, Tell me, is your name Peggy?

She was taken back for a moment, but then realized anyone in her tent or on the beach could have told him that. That’s what they call me, but that doesn’t prove anything. It’s not hard to find out someone’s name when you’re forced to live in these filthy conditions.

I remember waking up one day, about ten years ago. I found myself in a strange place that I never recalled being in before. I was in Stockton, about eighty miles east of here. I lived there for a while, but I couldn’t remember anything about my life before that point.

Peggy found his story extremely similar to her own situation. She listened closely as he continued, After a few years had passed, I left Stockton and made my way here. During that time, I recollected only three things. I knew I was from the southern United States ... Georgia ... I think. I that realized my first name was Marshall. The third thing that I remembered was a woman named Peggy. When I first saw your face, I knew you were her. You were that woman.

So, your name is Marshall?

I believe so.

She grinned, shook her head and began to walk away. With a nonchalant mannerism, she muttered, I’m sorry, Marshall, I don’t remember anyone by that name. You must be thinking of another Peggy.

I know you’re that woman. I’m sure of it. Please help me. Help us.

She stopped and gazed at the waves as they crashed in the ocean. After letting out a heavy breath, she remarked, I woke up with no prior memory either. I only recalled two names, neither of which was Marshall. The only other thing that I was certain of, was being from the east side of the country.

He attempted to convince her they should work together to resolve their loss of memory issues. Don’t you find this to be more than just some kind of an unbelievable coincidence? The only way we can get to the bottom of this is if we work as a team.

With some reluctance, Peggy agreed in a partnership with Marshall, but under certain conditions. We can work together and that’s all. I don’t want to be your friend, and I surely don’t want you to be my companion. I’ll help you until I figure out where I’m going from here. Then, you’re on your own, Marshall.

Marshall blurted, Hold on, Peggy. You’re planning on leaving San Francisco? Why would you do something like that?

Of course, I’m leaving San Francisco. Take a look around you. They say that eighty percent of the city has been completely devastated by this catastrophe. The wealthy have now become the homeless. I’m sure they’ll continue to receive preferred treatment from the politicians and the military, while those of us on the bottom of the food chain struggle even more than they did before the quake. I’d be a fool to remain here and think it would be alright.

He inquired, Where will you go?

I’m not sure yet, but that shouldn’t matter to you anyway, since I plan on going alone. I don’t need you following behind, on my heels.

Marshall grumpily responded, I understand, Peggy. I won’t ask again.

Peggy spotted her tent mates walking down the beach, carrying supplies. I have to go now. The other women are coming back and I don’t want them to see us together.

Marshall questioned, Why do you want to keep our association a secret?

She asserted, Stop asking me so many questions. My affiliation with you is none of their business and my relationship to them is none of yours. Let’s keep them clearly separated. Now, I have to go back.

Peggy and Marshall met every few days to discuss what they could remember from their muddled pasts. Soon, they were meeting every day. Their time together helped to jar a few more remembrances from both. Each one recalled that they were from northern Georgia and, like Peggy, Marshall knew the woman Lucy was someone in his life, but they didn’t remember the relationship they had with each other.

One foggy morning in early June, Peggy stood on the beach, watching the waves as she indulged in her most recent escape fantasy of just jumping in the ocean and swimming as far as she could, eventually drowning beneath the unforgiving whitecaps.

Marshall walked towards her with more vigor than she’d ever seen. He called out and waved his arm in the air as he approached, Peggy! Peggy! Hold on! I have great news!

She rushed over to him and took a guess at his news. You remembered something else? Something important?

He clarified, No, not that. But I did find out some information. There’s a man, a man who’s aware of our situation. It appears we’re not the only ones that this has happened to. I heard it from a very good source. He’s been helping others who have lost their memory too.

A man? Where is this man?

He lives in a small community south of Salt Lake City. It’s called Provo.

She questioned, You want to travel all the way to Utah to find this man? How far of a passage would that be?

Provo is about eight hundred miles, maybe a little less.

Peggy commented, I think that would be a little much for two homeless people without a wagon or any other means of transportation. Are we supposed to walk there?

Marshall bowed his head in despair. I suppose that you’re right. It was just another stupid idea from an old man.

She asked, How did you hear about this man anyway? Who told you?

I had spoken to an old woman named Jasmine. She lives up the beach near my tent. She told me that she had experienced the exact same thing as we did.

Is she going to see this man?

Marshall shrugged his shoulders. I don’t know. She only gave me bits and pieces. Our conversation never went that far. She disappeared after we finished talking and I haven’t seen her since. I just thought that going to Provo would not only take us to a man who understands our situation, but it would also place us eight hundred miles closer to north Georgia.

Peggy nodded, "I don’t know, Marshall. Perhaps we should try to find