Awareness

By Amanda Lance

Eighteen-year-old aspiring painter Eliza Harper doesn’t believe in hell. When she wakes up in the middle of surgery, however, she learns just how wrong she was.

After attending a party with her three best friends, the night ends in a terrible accident that puts Eliza on an operating table. Awake yet paralyzed, in a condition known as anesthetic awareness, Eliza leaves her body and begins a desperate search to discover the fate of her friends.

Though unable to make herself seen or heard, Eliza still experiences a journey unlike any other. Torn between life and death, Eliza begins to understand the importance of the people in her life—and what it really means to love unconditionally.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Jan 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9780369504968

Book preview

Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2021 Amanda Lance

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0496-8

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: CA Clauson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This novel exists in large part through the dedication and professionalism of the Wilkes University faculty. My sincerest thanks to Lenore Hart and Laurie Loewenstein as well as the rest of my writing cohort.

I’d especially like to express my gratitude to the great team at Metamorphosis Literary Agency and my agent Erica Christensen. Additional thanks to Dr. Frances Williams and Michelle Lance, PA-C for answering endless questions. To Scottie, Veronica, and everyone else who talked me off the ledge when my neuroses threatened to get the best of me.

AWARENESS

Amanda Lance

Copyright © 2021

Prologue

A bright light filters through my eyelids. The murmur of voices, at the edge of my dream, like the wind making a house whisper secrets.

I feel weighed down. My limbs a thousand pounds each. For once I’m grateful for the beeping phone alarm. I’ll be glad when this dream is over, and I’ll have forgotten it by the time I’m eating Cocoa Puffs. Still, I don’t want to get up yet. I keep my eyes shut a moment longer.

The alarm doesn’t care what I want, though. When I try to reach over to tap it off and start my day, my arm doesn’t cooperate. It’s all pins and needles and I can’t quite get it to move. I must’ve fallen asleep on it last night in a strange position. My head feels foggy, too.

The light gets painfully brighter. Did I leave the curtains open last night? Drifted off with the lights on? Whatever. Only a couple days of school left. Not like it matters if I’m late. But isn’t it Saturday? Ugh. Then I really do need to get up. I’ve never been late to work before, and don’t plan on starting now.

I should shift my left arm and leg to get up, except … they don’t move either. I try to scoot over, across the mattress. Nope. Not happening either. I try to wiggle my toes.

Nothing.

I gasp, try to scream. If I’m loud enough Mom or Dad or Dylan will shake me awake. No sound comes out. Sweat gathers on the back of my neck. Rabid butterflies churn my stomach.

I’m opening my eyes—but not opening them.

Moving—but not moving.

Crap! Have I gone blind? What the hell kind of nightmare is this?

Metal clatters nearby. Then a faint rubber squeak.

My legs won’t move. My knees feel like they’re strapped down. With wire? So tight it’s cutting off my circulation. Maybe I’m on the torture table of a serial killer. Maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens for human experimentation. Maybe I’m the star of a snuff film.

I can’t even open my mouth. It all feels … I would say terrifying, but that’s not right either. This … this blind captivity is something else altogether.

My pulse races, throbbing in the base of my skull.

A shadow suddenly blocks the light burning my closed eyelids. Are we ready? says a male voice.

A heavy sigh. Is that the nightmare or are there people in my room?

A woman replies, We’d better be.

Why in the hell are there people in my room? The woman sounds older, smells like she’s wearing strong perfume, something flowery. The kind that normally makes my eyes water. I want to gag, but a … thing in my mouth stops me.

There comes a bitter smell of plastic, of chemicals. Along with a hint of something like bleach.

Mallory’s going to kill me for missing the rehearsal dinner, says a younger female voice.

Not your fault you were on call, the older woman murmurs. Weddings aren’t everything.

Yeah? Tell that to Bridezilla.

All the voices laugh at this. The cheese grater of sounds ripping at my skin. A buzz saw noise, like the ringing in my ears after Spence dragged me to a heavy metal concert, last year.

Spence.

Thoughts of him push away some of the fear. I’ll sneak up on my best friend while he’s at work and jump on his back. He’ll drop the tools he’s holding and curse at me. We’ll go to the breakroom of the shop and he’ll roll his eyes while eating gross microwaved burritos as I regale him with this horrible, paralyzing nightmare. Then he’ll forgive me, this time.

Air whooshes into my lungs, even though I didn’t inhale. Cold, dry tasting. Sour, metallic, like vomit and blood. My throat itches. Why can’t I wake up, or move? The alarm should’ve gotten everyone up by now. Why isn’t Pugsley snorting gross dog breath in my ear? Why isn’t Mom pounding on the door and yelling, Get moving, Eliza!

All set over there, Dr. Fitz? says the older woman.

Ten blade…

Blade?

I try to scream again. To kick with numb, paralyzed feet.

There’s a horrible sensation of … slicing. Of my skin parting like fabric, cut by scissors, like cardboard sliced with a box cutter.

Cutter. Cutting. They are cutting me apart.

Chapter One

The thump of squeaky sneakers and flopping sandals is the theme song of any high school, laughter and chiming phones its accompanying instruments. I grab two of the coffees just before Alice takes me by the elbow to lead me through the crowded cafeteria.

Make way, people! I am suffering from caffeine withdrawal, she warns. Alice is intimidating for someone so petite. The crowd parts like the red sea. Thanks so much! You do not want to get in my way!

My head pounds from my own lack of caffeine and the shouts of a crowded hallway. Sometimes I think the sound of lockers slamming, kids calling out to each other, and that smooching noise couples make will haunt me long into adulthood. I feel like I’m being herded into a cattle chute every time I walk around here.

Alice nods. "Absolutely. Moo."

And why do some people not know how to use deodorant? For fuck’s sake, can you not smell yourselves? Alice’s voice is louder than it probably should be, but she doesn’t particularly seem to care. So many of you are disgusting!

A sweaty guy brushes past me. He probably just came from gym class or something, but still … ugh. He smells bad enough to make me miss the congestion of spring allergies. Too bad face masks aren’t better at blocking out odors.

Dying, Alice. I am literally going to die.

We make it through the usual obstacle course of gangly freshmen, glittery cheerleaders, and general dumbasses too busy texting to look where they’re going.

Think happy thoughts, Alice shouts back. Like doughnuts. Long weekends. The pandemic revving back up and the extinction of the rest of the human race.

"Alice! Way too soon!"

I know. She looks back at me, eyebrows scrunched up in disgust. Even I found that repulsive.

Eventually, we make it to the courtyard—a corner that consists of plastic picnic benches on dead grass. Once upon a time, when our parents were still in high school, this forlorn patch was the designated student smoking area. Look closely and you can still see soot stains on the school’s brick exterior wall—dark gray smudges of cigarette butts extinguished against faded red.

The sky is a similar shade of gray. Hopefully, it’ll rain before the day is over. A two-week-long drought is making the low eighties unbearable. Even the overgrown dogwood in the center of the courtyard is starting to wilt. Apparently, it had been planted for some kids back in the seventies who were unlucky—or maybe just stupid—and got themselves killed in a car accident. There’s a plaque on a stone beneath it with their names and a quote by Emily Dickenson: Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.

The irony that the tree now may be dying, too, is not lost on me.

Finally! Isaac shouts. We spot his lanky form before he jumps up excitedly from our picnic table. If he gets any taller, soon he’ll be hitting his head on most of the doorways he encounters. We were beginning to think you had been devoured by a pack of lacrosse players. He holds out both hands for his iced coffee like a baby for its bottle, rips off the lid and gulps some loudly.

Really? Alice quirks an eyebrow, her tote slamming on the table with a thud. That is the most annoying sound ever.

He slurps even louder, the better to enjoy irritating her.

Phillip Spencer—Spence—looks up at me with a short smile. His brown hair is close to being in his eyes. He’s at least two weeks overdue for a haircut. Forget about the sound. Spence removes the lid of his own coffee and unwraps a giant chocolate chip cookie. He breaks it in two and hands half to me. I see his ground down nails and the permanent line of dirt beneath them. His callused fingers brush against my soft ones. A contrast I’ve always liked. Doesn’t drinking it so fast give you a brain freeze?

Nope. Isaac leans toward Alice and burps in her face. She fans herself so vigorously with one hand, it makes her bangs fly up. Her scowl promises revenge in the near future.

Just one of the many reasons I’m more awesome than you, Phillip. Isaac’s glasses darken as he leans back into the sunlight. I have an extremely high pain tolerance.

Sure. Spence nods slowly, his messy hair falling in his eyes. That must be why you cried when you got a paper-cut the other day.

Why are we out here when it’s a hundred freaking degrees? Alice groans, stops fanning, and grabs a notebook from her tote. How she can find anything in there I’ll never know. I swear I’m melting.

It was my idea. I smirk. Finding little ways to piss her off always makes my day brighter. We might as well be sisters like that.

I don’t mind eating out here, Spence adds. He brushes crumbs off the short stubble of his chin. But with the job, and problems with his mother, he probably hasn’t time to shave all week.

Her glare slides back and forth between us, finally settling on me. "Bad enough you’re making me look at that rat’s nest on your head. Now you want me to get heat stroke?"

Between working and studying for finals I haven’t slept in a week. Looks had to take a backseat. My socks don’t even match.

I think it looks OK. Spence tugs on my sloppy topknot.

I’m wearing it every day like this—just for you, Alice. I smile at her again, sweetly.

"Honest to God, how can you get paid to groom dogs? You can’t even groom yourself, she moans to the sky, I must have done something terrible in a past life to have you as a friend."

I dig a mushy banana and peanut butter sandwich out of my backpack. Half automatically finds its way to Spence.

It’s the red hair, Isaac offers. Gingers are evil. Scientific fact.

No, it’s not. Spence snorts. It’s their teeth. Evil gingers are birthed via the gum disease … gingivitis.

The others laugh. I give him slow sarcastic applause. The redhead jokes never get old.

"Spencer!"

We all tense, like a herd of gazelle hearing the roar of a lion.

But it’s worse than that. It’s the captain of the lacrosse team. A guy considered much higher up on the social hierarchy than any of us. Miles Haldol is followed by two of his lackeys. None of them seems to feel awkward about invading our picnic table by surrounding it. I see Spence tense as he stands up as if getting ready to defend us.

What’s up, fellas? Alice’s smile is expertly flirtatious.

By most female standards, Miles is considered an attractive guy—if you like the blond pretty-boy look. Apparently, Alice does, and she makes no attempt to hide the fact that she’s checking him out.

But he doesn’t seem to notice her as he steps up to Spence.

Looks like someone forgot how to properly social distance, I mutter to Alice.

She sighs dreamily. Maybe he wants a kiss?

Oh, no! Isaac looks horrified. You can do better, Phillip! Don’t settle!

The three of us laugh, but nobody else seems to find it funny. One of Miles’s lackeys rolls his eyes.

Miles spares us a glare before looking back at Spence. You took my fucking parking space. Again.

Ah, the overcrowding issue, a very special type of headache. Pre-pandemic there was talk of an expansion, but for obvious reasons the entire thing got put on the backburner. Even with hybrid distance-learning and rotating schedules, the high school continues to be too small. Forget about having enough parking spots for every student who drives. Even the teachers argue over the spots available in the lot, which are on a strict first-come, first-served basis. The senior class gets regular lectures from the administration about how we are forbidden to save spots the night before. Some kids show up early to better their chances of parking in the lot.

Spence frowns. Your space?

I snort. No one has their own,

Alice bats her eyelashes. You boys’ll just have to wake up earlier.

Get aggressive, Isaac says in a stage-whisper.

Bro, the front third spot in the third row has always been mine, Miles flushes and it isn’t especially flattering.

I didn’t see your name on it. Spence doesn’t say it defensively, just as a statement of fact.

My jersey number is 33. Everyone at school… Miles wipes his forehead with the back of one hand, probably sweating from anger as much as the humidity. It’s not, like, official. But it’s mine. This is the second time this week you’ve parked there.

Spence glances at me with a smile before answering. So?

"So? Miles throws his hands out as if someone is just insulted his mother. So, you can’t take shit that isn’t yours. It’s fucking stealing."

Somebody’s read the dictionary Isaac smirks.

Alice shushes him with a nudge to the ribs. The new feeling in the air, thick and dark and stormy, makes all of us slide to the end of our bench in anticipation.

It’s an unwritten rule, Spencer. Miles says slowly, like he’s talking to a little kid. That space doesn’t need to have my name on it to belong to me. Even teachers don’t take it. They know it’s mine.

Listen. Spence sets his coffee on the picnic tabletop. I’m relieved then. I’d been afraid he might throw it in Miles’ annoying face. If the space is open I’m gonna park there. Just like I would in any other open one. I’m not a thief. Just need a place to put my car in the morning.

Miles’s face turns red. Stealing is theft, Spencer. Not cool. How’d you like it if I took something of yours, huh? He turns to me, narrowed gaze roaming up and down my body as he smiles slowly. He pulls down his face mask so we can all see his predatory smirk. Hello, there. How’re you today?

Issac, Alice, and I respond simultaneously.

Seriously? Wow.

A lot to unpack there.

Super gross implications.

Even one of the lackeys mumbles, Not cool, Mi.

Beside me, Spence’s fists clench. His jaw clicks as he grinds his teeth. Don’t be an ass. Harper’s not mine to steal.

"Well not … literally. Obviously. But, you know—" He looks to his friends for help, but they seem to have nothing for him.

You people are completely missing my point. Miles huffs out something incomprehensible, throws his hands out. "Let me try again. Okay, Spencer. I’m going to sit where you were just sitting. In your seat."

Hi, Red, wanna get cozy? He plunks himself on in the seat Spence recently occupied. He’s close enough that my hip nudges his.

I scooch over closer to the edge of the bench, mime a gag. Go. Away.

You can sit next to me. Alice waves a dainty hand and bats her eyelashes. I ignore COVID-19 restrictions, too…

Isaac looks like he’s having difficulty holding back a smile. That’s her subtle way of saying she likes to sleep around.

Alice delivers a hard pinch to his arm.

Miles shakes his head. He looks at Isaac and Alice’s interaction as though they are a math problem he can’t solve.

When he turns to me, he’s smiling again. I get why Spence was sitting here. The view is lovely.

I take the largest, sloppiest, most obnoxious bite of my sandwich I can manage. It leaves a smudge of peanut butter I can feel on my cheek, but even that doesn’t deter him.

Tell ya what, Spencer. How about you keep the parking spot and I’ll keep your seat next to Red?

As a feminist, Alice starts I want to be offended by the implication of Liza being traded for a parking spot…

But you also want to joke about how Miles would be getting the bad end of that bargain? Isaac finishes. Totally get where you’re coming from.

Spence laughs and shakes his head. Both lackeys are on their phones, clearly having lost interest in the interaction. This entire conversation could end right here and now.

Until Miles is dumb enough to open his mouth again.

Yeah, we should definitely hang out more, Red. Miles leans so close to my ear his voice buzzes like a fly. Maybe you’ll let me find out if the drapes match the carpet?

"Wow. Super, classy. I get up, leave the bench altogether. Listen, if I didn’t think you probably had diseases grosser than Covid, I would physically remove you from my presence—"

Spence breaks up my laugh with one of his own.

"But since you probably do. And you seem like someone who might derive sexual pleasure from a woman beating you up, I’m just gonna walk away."

Miles laughs as he stands up and curls a finger around a loose strand of hair. "Guess redheads really are fiery, huh?

Don’t fucking touch her! Spence shouts as he grabs Miles by the back of his neck.

There’s a dull thud