Broken Without You [The Mary Chronicles: Year One, Episode #3]

By Salomé Veder

This is not a happy little story about a girl who gets the man of her dreams.
He has to first decide if he’s lost his mind.
Don’t forget, this is not about love.
This is not a romance story in the least.
It’s a mess made in heaven.
Or maybe in hell.
It’s only just starting, this tale of woe.
Of violent delights, and perhaps deadly ends.
This is where we find these two strangers—at an impasse. In search of answers, some measure of the truth.
As Dorian seeks details about Carmen’s past, the further he finds himself deeper in the rabbit hole.
Carmen, too, is on the hunt but her path, her future, she knows lies with Dorian.
Two intertwined souls, two opposites in every way are inexplicably bound to each other.
But at what cost?
Are they stronger as a unit?
Or more vulnerable together?
Soon, both their worlds alter as a mysterious interloper changes the rules, at what is real, or nothing but a web of lies.

Their journey, together, has only just begun...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salomé Veder
• Release date: Sep 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463260531

Salomé Veder

I'm a 30-something (headed into 40-something) wannabe writer that's been writing since I could write but only started publishing in 2017. And I will never make it big. I write stories people will never read but characters who refuse to be shut out or unknown.Maybe you, dear reader, will be one of the few that ever sees a cover with my name or happen to fall in love with a hero or heroine that stays with you.Ever since I was little, I always had these stories filled with fully-fleshed characters that felt real. They talked to me. They told me who they are. They wanted to be known. Putting these worlds and personalities into words and creating a book out of those scenes that ran like a movie in my head was, well, fucking heady.But I love it.Pen to paper--or rather--the click-clack of the keyboard on my laptop, I let them all out. Writing my first book felt like I could truly breathe for the first time. Like the creativity in may soul was, at last, f-r-e-e.My stories are filled with drama, tension, love, angst, tenderness, suspense, mystery--and sometimes ugliness. My goal is to not just tell you a story, but to give you an experience...I hope you enjoy!****************************| ἐγώ εἰμί |Legō.Scrībō.Amō.*S t a l k * M e*Goodreads➜https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17034804.Salom_Veder (F.U. Amazon--if I ever make it big, I will never sell on your platform. EVER. Smashwords, someday, you'll be glad I choose you. Barnes and Noble--get ready for meeeeee!)Mail➜[e-mail]➜https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCs9Bl1ec9icF-uO6jUXCLJA

Book preview

PART I

DORIAN

There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man.

—1 Corinthians 10:13, King James Bible

There has been no silver lining. Not in his tiny corner of the world. He knew that when he met her. Knew when he’d entered into this messy business that he was too far in to ever get back to normal, and it’s of his own making. The web that has been woven only gets more complicated, at how interconnected it’s becoming. That Magda is not some random phenomena but has a purpose, intent, and that she’s a danger to himself, and quite possibly to Carmen.

To them.

Carmen, he says, urgently but calmly.

Her eyes lift up as she sips her coffee. Yes?

Have you heard about the recent murders in Vegas? he asks, watching her face closely.

She frowns, brows furrowing. Murders?

Right. Specifics. There have been two murders where the killer is leaving behind a religious object. The first victim, Christ on the cross—

"Yes…I know, she interrupts, gaze lowering. I’ve…been…following your investigation."

He sighs. Of course she has. Tell me about these Magdalenes, he asks.

Like what? she returns, haltingly.

Are they dangerous?

She shrugs. "I wouldn’t know…why are you asking?"

"Carmen, I’m going to describe someone to you, who I think may be involved… he starts, watching her expression not change or alter one bit. Will you listen and tell me if you recognize anything about this individual?"

Her lips purse just a little. "Okay…"

A woman who’s about five-seven. Half black, possibly something else. Long, very curly, caramel-blonde hair with dark roots; she also has nose and lip rings, and light eyes.

Carmen just stares at him, blinking only once before she answers. I don’t know this person, she says softly, after some thought.

He watches her face closely, trying to determine if she is deceiving him but he knows Carmen. At least, in some things he knows he can believe with absolute certainty—in that lying is not part of her skill set. But three months is a long enough time to learn new skills.

He frowns, running a hand through his hair. He’s disappointed but, ultimately, not surprised.

She is a suspect? she asks curiously.

Maybe… He hesitates. Carmen, she called herself Magda.

Her brows knit and he can tell she’s thinking about this coincidence, if it is such. I don’t know what to say… I’m sorry.

He nods, believing her, but he can feel her holding back on something but with this woman, it’s never what he thinks.

It’s okay, he says, at length. Nothing ever comes that easy. Not for him. Long shot anyways.

And it wouldn’t shock him in the least if Carmen was being protective…of her old life, of habits long ingrained as sacred. He understood that. He also knew the connections that he made didn’t necessarily translate to the same thing in Carmen’s mind. To her, his reference of a Magda had nothing to do with anything since, in her mind, Magda does not equal Magdalene the way Dorian might. There is zero connection and he has no proof that Magda is one of these Magdalenes. The fact that he could understand her narrow perspective amazes even him.

But it’s a tedious process. With a tired sigh, he kneads the back of his neck, trying not to rush her or himself in his thought processes. The issue of Magda has to be resolved, and it starts with talking about her but their re-introduction to each other would take more time and he had to be patient. Culling information from Carmen took finesse. He thinks back to what she’d said. How the ones that followed the rules, did what they were told, were Marys. And the flawed ones were called Magdalenes. He got the symbolism of the names and how they were assigned. He wondered how it was all devised, and why.

About these flawed girls, he says.

She looks down, averting her gaze.

He knows he needs to word himself carefully. If some of these girls go bad, or don’t accept things, and they’re given to this Amelia woman, do you know what happens to them, how she reforms them?

She looks off, thinking. I don’t know what she does with them. She says nothing for a long time. "Sometimes, they come back…as Magdalenes."

You said you knew of two Magdalenes? he asks.

She nods, lips in a thin line.

And the ones that don’t reform? he pushes. What happens to them?

Her eyes dart to his again but her expression is both quiet and thoughtful. Eventually she shakes her head. I’ve never thought about it…what does it matter? she asks, her gaze both questioning and confused.

Just then, the doorbell rings. He freezes. Carmen glances at the door, utterly unaffected, and still sipping on her coffee. He reminds himself that he has no control over this young woman or their unique position. She is her own entity and she doesn’t follow the normal rules that he does. Then again, his sense of right and wrong has been turned upside down lately.

Another ring of the doorbell and a knock. Shit. He hadn’t heard his phone at all, so he quickly moves around the breakfast bar to his room and retrieves it. Nothing. By the time he’s back out, Carmen’s rinsing her mug and looks up at him.

I should go, she says quietly, but it almost sounds like a question. She looks back at his front door. It’s Rachel.

Disbelieving, he heads to his front door and peeks through the peephole. Fuck, he whispers.

And she has a casserole dish in her hands.

I’ll go, Carmen says, moving whisper soft across the tile floor and toward the patio doors.

Wait, he snaps, pushing off the door.

Through the door, he hears Rachel say his name and knock a few times before she rings the bell again. Jesus Christ. He swears under his breath as he reaches the patio doors before Carmen can slip out and out of his reach again.

Carmen lowers her hand from the latch and looks up at him just as his hand is about to descend upon hers but he pulls that hand back. Her expression is guarded and vulnerable and it gives him pause. With her mused long hair, the wrinkled dress, and the quiet, safe, intimate night they’d shared, he’s at a loss for words, which is significant to him since there are millions that need to be spoken between them.

When the doorbell rings again, she moves and he breathes, letting out the air he’d been holding.

Carmen, he calls out.

She looks back.

Will you come back? he asks, and he can’t stop the hope that inches in his voice.

She looks away, then undoes the lock on the door. We’ll see…

We need to talk more, he says, the urgency back in him.

About the Magdalenes? she asks, brows furrowing.

Yes, he says, and other things.

About us for starters.

Her eyes flicker over to the door and she nods, again turning her eyes outside. Very well… she says without emotion. I’ll be in touch. With that, she opens the door and leaves silently.

With a heavy sigh, he turns around and jogs to the front, opening the door forcefully. Rachel’s already turned back when he calls out her name. He walks out, leaving the door open, and meets her halfway on the pathway leading up to his front door.

Sorry, he says, his heart hammering in his chest. He thinks about making up an excuse but lying to Rachel eats away at him. She deserves as many truths as possible—starting with the fact that she needs to stay away from him.

Rachel walks back, biting on her lower lip. No, I’m sorry… she starts. I know you said we’d get together in a day or two but I couldn’t wait… She blushes. "I know you’ve been busy with the case and I thought I’d bring over something that you can just heat up quick and easy. You mentioned you’d have today off so…"

It’s fine, really. He smiles to ease her worry and peeks down at the dish, lifting up the lid. His brows shoot up in surprise. Quiche?

You know your food, she says with a light laugh.

It looks amazing, he states, meeting her gaze. Another blush and he smiles at how he brings that out in her. It’s been a while. He’d lost that effect on Everly over the years. But the other woman he could make blush all over blooms in his mind just then, and he has to force himself to push the image of Carmen aside because she’s so unattainable she might as well be from a different galaxy entirely.

She surprises him again by rolling up on the balls of her feet and planting a soft kiss on his mouth. Close-lipped and simple, but sweet. He smiles, trying to feel the vibe and not overthink it. He allows himself another kiss, with just a hint of tongue.

When he pulls back, she’s smiling huge. Dorian’s not sure what he feels. Mostly conflicted, if he’s going to be honest. As he takes the dish and has her take lead toward his house, he looks over his left shoulder, searching for a glimpse of her but there’s nothing there. There’s no one that he can see.

And the hollow inside him, he knows, will likely only grow more hollow.

Rachel in his house looks good. He tries to tell himself that and he tries hard. He should be glad. He knows this but he’s not. He’s a little annoyed now because getting Carmen to talk about her past is a trial and he might have been able to chip away at her armor. However, for now, he tries hard to erase that feeling away. This is life. This is what a possible girlfriend does.

Jesus, a girlfriend… And at his age. Starting over was a bitch, a hurdle that kept changing its distance and difficulty to surmount.

I finally get to see the inside, she notes, a mischievous smile on her face.

He laughs uneasily, remembering how he’d fucked her out in the patio. At how he’d only come when he saw Carmen…watching them. Dorian imagining Carmen had been under him instead of Rachel.

She’s in khaki-colored trail pants, a white, long-sleeved wicking tee, and brown-black hiking boots. With her pale skin, she’s almost a white wash except for her dark brown hair that’s up in a low ponytail and her hazel eyes that are more green then gold-brown this morning.

She sets the dish on the counter as Dorian gets plates and a metal spatula. As he sets the plates and spatula next to the quiche dish, he notices her notice the two coffee cups in the sink.

Oh, shit. Coffee? he asks, grabbing his used one and pouring himself one.

She gives a little start and jerks her head toward him. Um, yeah…I could use a cup.

He grabs a cup from the cupboard. How do you take it? he asks, pouring slowly.

Just black, she answers, glancing around the kitchen and peering into the living room. You?

Depends on the morning, he answers, with a forced smile and tops her cup.

She eyes his Mr. Coffee when he’s putting the half-full carafe back in its place. You made a whole pot just for you? she asks, plating a big square of quiche for him.

How observant. A colleague of mine was here, early, he says, trying to be as honest as he can. Just left not too long ago.

Oh, she says, mollified. So it was work related?

Yep.

Seemingly pleased by his answers, she flits about, making herself very much at home by opening every cupboard and drawer, including the fridge, eyes assessing the interior of everything. He sits on the same stool Carmen had, observing how Rachel makes herself at home and not entirely sure how he feels about it. She finds the dishes and pulls out two.

You need to decorate, she notes, smiling at him while she finds the drawer of silverware. A housewarming gift from Ash and Shana. He’d had a BBQ party after his first week with people from work, and their families. Shana had brought Rachel, as promised after their dinner weeks before.

What do you have planned for today? she asks, settling next to him and breaking up his thoughts.

He pokes at the quiche she’s served up. Not much. I take it easy on my days off. Clean house, run errands I couldn’t during the week, catch up on paperwork, watch some shows I DVRed—stuff, he answers, suddenly feeling deflated and not really wanting to do this with Rachel right now. Carmen circles every thought he has in his vacant head and it bugs him that already he can feel her aura like a drug strumming through his blood, seeping into his brain cells, taking control of his consciousness.

She smiles. Me too, she says, taking a small bite. I mean, grade papers, prep for lectures, and that kind of thing.

They eat, in relative silence.

"How is the case going?" she asks, clearly making conversation.

He winces, the warm quiche settling in his gut like concrete. To be determined, he admits, but doesn’t add much more.

It’s an active case and he’s not allowed to divulge too much even though he doesn’t think Rachel would do anything with the information but you never knew. Right now, Jack, the rookies, and a couple other detectives are working it, but it’s a lot of background checks and re-checking. Especially going over the victim’s backgrounds and anyone they knew as well as interviewing the residents at the apartment complex again. The only movement was that one of Leon’s friends had also confirmed that the object that had been