Alone

by Marissa Farrar

  ALONE

  eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2011 Marissa Farrar

  Warwick House Press

  Published at Smashwords

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  Publisher’s Note

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

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  *You can click on the title to be taken to the selection. Additionally, all chapter names will link you back to this table of contents.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Bonus Material: The sequel to Alone, Buried (Alone), Prologue.

  To my mother, who introduced me to the wonderful worlds of authors such as Stephen King, Anne Rice and James Herbert. You are my unfailing support.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Stephanie Weinbrecht who gave me the opportunity, courage and strength to take the giant leap into this new publishing world we find ourselves in. Without your constant support and encouragement, I wouldn’t be doing what I am today.

  I would also like to thank my editor, Danielle Gavan. Your hard work has transformed what I always hoped was a good book, into a great one.

  Thank you, both.

  Chapter One

  The day Serenity Hathaway came to view as the lowest point in her life, also turned out to be the day everything changed.

  She’d been fired.

  In many ways, losing her job shouldn’t have come as a shock; she’d been hanging onto her position for quite some time. Getting fired wasn’t her fault—but the fact didn’t make her any less terrified of going home to face her husband, Jackson, the ultimate cause of her sudden unemployment.

  That had been early afternoon and she’d been walking the streets of downtown Los Angeles since leaving the office, too scared to go home.

  The late November breeze chilled her skin and the last of the light slowly bled out of the LA skyline. Her ribs throbbed and the pain in her lower back made her walk with a hunch. Pressing her palm into the small of her back, she moved like an old woman instead of the twenty-eight year old she actually was.

  Serenity believed she had control over the pain, envisioning it as a different sense, like sound or color, but today her meditation failed. When she took a break and tried to pee, the pain in her kidneys overwhelmed her and she passed out in the bathroom stall.

  Upon regaining consciousness, her boss demanded to know where she’d been for the past two hours. Too embarrassed—too humiliated—to tell him the truth, she lied and told him a late night caused an impromptu nap. He gave her a look containing a mix of disbelief, frustration and anger. Clearly, he didn’t believe her. She’d gone AWOL on the job one too many times and he told her to clear her desk.

  A lump constricted her throat and she fought to swallow. The backs of her eyes burned, but she was out of tears. Long ago, she’d learned crying didn’t get her anywhere.

  Their only income came from her job. Serenity supported her husband while he worked on a novel. If not for Jackson’s refusal to work, he would never allow her to have a job. After all, he denied her everything else. She had no family left, except for a step-father who’d passed her on to Jackson for him to continue the good work he’d started. Any school friends had given up trying to keep in contact with her.

  This afternoon wandering the streets, terrified to go home, was the closest to freedom she’d experienced in many years.

  Pain wrapped around her ribs, speared deep into her spine and threatened to cripple her. Serenity stopped on the corner of East and 3rd Street to rummage in her bag. She pulled out a bottle of water, a packet of aspirin and another of paracetamol. She pushed two of each tablet through the foil backing, dropping the small white discs into her palm. Something else she had learned over the years; the two medications worked better together.

  Except they didn’t work that afternoon.

  Why hadn’t someone noticed her slumped in the locked stall, or checked on her when they realized she’d been missing for hours?

  Her colleagues were apathetic toward her. Who wanted a moody, silent associate who never attended any social functions and regularly called in sick? Serenity didn’t blame them for finally losing their patience.

  People trickled from the office buildings surrounding her. The tourist crowd had retreated to their hotels after a day of sightseeing and now the residents of LA were leaving their workplaces to head home.

  Serenity glanced at her watch. Almost six; Jackson expected her home in the next half hour. Her stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. Could she get away with not telling him and pretend to leave for work as usual the next day? She toyed with the idea briefly. Jackson called her at work several times a day and he’d discover the truth soon enough. Even if he didn’t, he’d known her the whole of her adult life and would see through her in a moment. Lying to him would only make matters worse.

  A coil of anger stirred inside her—at her boss for putting her in this position, at Jackson for controlling her life, but mainly at herself for allowing him to do so.

  She wasn’t stupid, Serenity knew what Jackson did to her was wrong. Yet, she always made excuses for him—she wound him up, he didn’t realize how badly he hurt her or, her old favorite, he’d change.

  In truth, the excuses hid her fear.

  Married to Jackson since the age of eighteen, she had no idea what life would be like on her own. A life where she didn’t have to watch out for the next fist was completely foreign to her.

  Jackson’s reaction to her leaving terrified Serenity. He had no qualms about giving her a swift elbow in the kidney if she burned dinner, she didn’t want to imagine what he’d do if she told him she was leaving.

  Serenity stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and waited for the lights to change. People gathered either side, closing in, and suddenly her head swam. Despite the cool evening, beads of sweat slicked her palms and her cheeks flushed. She stared in panic at the people flanking her, professional men and women in suits with their perfect lives. Her heart thumped painfully as though the organ had swollen to twice its size and pounded against the inside of her rib-cage.

  She couldn’t stand it, so many bodies pressing on all sides, talking loudly on mobile phones she couldn’t see. Part of her believed they were talking about her, laughing about her to the faceless people on the other end of the line. They gazed at her, judging, wondering how such a pathetic creature was even out here on her own.

  Serenity realized she wasn’t going to wait for the lights to change. Stepping out in
to the road jolted her bruised ribs. Bright sparks of pain speared through her, making her gasp for breath.

  Someone blasted their horn but she barely took notice. Instead, she half-stumbled, half-ran across the street.

  People stared at her, curiosity and concern creasing their eyes. One woman put out her hand as Serenity passed, “Are you okay?” she asked, but Serenity shrugged off the kind woman and ran.

  Blind to everything around her, she pushed past people, knocking shoulders and elbows as she went. Shouts of protest followed her, but the blood rushing through her ears muffled the sound.

  “Hey, crazy lady!” one man shouted as she stomped on his foot in her effort to get by. Her heart raced and pressure built up inside her head, as if she teetered on the edge of something terrible.

  Serenity ducked into an alley. Security lights illuminated the unoccupied space. Large commercial bins stood against the walls and Serenity sank between them, seeking shelter amid their tall plastic sides. She bent over, ignoring the pain and rested her hands on her thighs. With her head hung, she gasped for breath. Her lower back screamed in agony. Jackson always hit where it hurt the worst and in places no one saw—her kidneys, ribs and the bottom of her spine.

  Just a panic attack, she told herself, as the certainty she was about to die faded away with the adrenaline. Nothing to worry about. You’ve had them before.

  Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and her heart lost its trippy beat. She’d begun straightening up when the solid weight of a hand touched her shoulder.

  Serenity shrieked and leaped away, jarring her poor ribs once again.

  “I’m sorry,” a man’s voice said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “By scaring me half to death!” Quickly, anger replaced the fear and she looked up.

  The most beautiful man stood in front of her. Well over six feet tall, dark wavy hair fell across his forehead and curled around his broad throat. The square jaw and wide, generous mouth of a catalogue model graced his features, but his eyes blew her away. She did a double take and something deep inside jolted, like a flick back in time. Despite the darkness, his eyes were almost a fluorescent, bright green.

  Green? Not yellow? Hadn’t they been yellow?

  She pushed the strange thought away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. Did she hear an accent, something European? “You seemed to be in distress. Perhaps I can help?”

  “No. I’m fine. Please, just leave me alone.”

  The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He stepped forward, hand held out.

  He fixated those amazing eyes on her, “At least let me help you to your feet.”

  She stared at his hand in mistrust, but couldn’t help glancing at the rest of him. Well-dressed in a smart woolen overcoat and expensive shoes, he gave the impression of someone of importance, of someone who knew his place in the world.

  He was everything Serenity wanted to be.

  His hand was large, strong and inviting. He certainly didn’t look like a lunatic.

  Could this man do much worse than what I’ve got waiting at home?

  The anger melted and she found herself incapable of resisting. Instead, she wanted to take his hand, touch the soft, strangely pale skin. Serenity reached out and slipped her small palm into his.

  She gasped and would have pulled away if not for the strength of his hand closing around her own.

  Cold. He was so cold.

  It wasn’t just his temperature catching her breath. His touch fired every synapse in her body and goose bumps prickled her skin, her heart stuttering in her chest. Again, her brain jolted like a static discharge realigned her nerve cells. It felt as though someone had reached in and moved parts of her memory around, as if she’d experienced something she should forget. Black blobs clouded her vision. Her legs folded and the world swam away.

  His arms locked beneath her before she fell, his easy strength holding her, and she came back to the surface.

  “Sorry,” she managed, embarrassed. “I don’t know...”

  She tailed off, unsure of what to say.

  “What were you running from?” he asked.

  Serenity glanced up at him. Concern softened his eyes and the sight melted her; he was the first person in a long time to show her any kind of compassion.

  “Myself,” she whispered. “I was running from myself.”

  He smiled again. “You didn’t get very far.”

  “No. I never do.”

  She suddenly realized he still held her in his arms, her breasts pressed up against his broad chest, his face inches from her own. He seemed aware of their close proximity at the same moment and stepped away, leaving them both flustered.

  Serenity stared down at the ground, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. What had gone through her? Had he somehow reached inside and touched the essence of who she was?

  She shook her head slightly, alarmed at her own thoughts. The stress must be too much.

  “I...I have to go,” she managed, pushing past, not trusting herself to look at him again. She sensed him about to reach out to her, but he didn’t and she kept walking. Only when she reached the main street, with its lights and bustle of people, did she dare glance back.

  He was gone.

  A strange ache of disappointment and relief filled her and she chewed at her lower lip, worrying at a piece of dried skin. Serenity found herself trying to commit his face to memory, to remember how she’d felt when he took her hand. She would bury the moment deep inside and dig it out like an old forgotten favorite teddy or blanket when things got really bad.

  The thought made her want to cry but she pressed her lips together and fought the tears. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Not anymore.

  It was getting late; Jackson would already be wondering where she was. Hoping to do damage control, she fished in her handbag and found her cell phone. She only had three numbers programmed in; home, work and Jackson’s cell. Hitting home, she put the phone to her ear.

  It rang twice before her husband picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, honey,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to be a bit late. The traffic is terrible and I couldn’t get on the last bus, it was full of Japanese tourists.”

  He stayed silent on the other end. Serenity held her breath in anticipation.

  “How long are you going to be?”

  She heard the measure in his voice, as though every additional ten minutes would buy her another punch.

  “Half an hour,” she said. “Quick as I can.”

  Air whistled down the phone as he huffed through his nose, something he always did when he was pissed, a bull shown a red flag.

  “Fine, but hurry up. I’m getting hungry,” and he hung up.

  Serenity hurried down the road toward her stop, praying the bus wouldn’t take long to arrive. To her relief, the big blue bus trundled down the road toward her and she broke into a trot, ignoring her protesting ribs, desperate not to miss this one.

  Making it in plenty of time, she joined the line. There was no hint of the panic attack she had suffered earlier at this same close proximity of a crowd. Strangely, she felt better within herself, as if the nugget of hope she had stored within herself fed her strength.

  She flashed her travel card at the driver who barely bothered to check. Passengers filled all of the seats so she grabbed hold of one of the standing poles.

  With her free hand, Serenity fingered the thin silver necklace nestled at her throat, the letter ‘S’ hanging from the chain. The necklace was the only present she’d ever received from her mother and she rubbed the cool metal like a good luck charm whenever she grew nervous, which was often.

  As the bus pulled away, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She swung her head around and peered through the bus window. It was as though her eyes sought him out through the crowds, like some part of her de
ep down knew exactly where to look, exactly where to find him. For there, on the other side of the street in the shadows of a doorway, stood the man who had tried to help.

  Watching her.

  Chapter Two

  Serenity arrived home over an hour late.

  Standing outside her front door, she couldn’t help but admire the little duplex despite the person within. Though the yard was small, she spent what free time she had keeping the window boxes pretty and the space tidy. Jackson’s father died a few years earlier, leaving Jackson a good sum of money and astonishing Serenity, who assumed the man would have drunk any savings away. With his inheritance, Jackson bought the two bed duplex in Glendale, a decent district of LA.

  She put the key in the lock and, like a teenager sneaking home from a late night party, turned it as quietly as possible. The door opened with a click. No sounds came from inside; a bad sign. When Jackson relaxed, he put his feet up in front of the television. With the television not on, Serenity knew she’d find him sitting at the kitchen table, brooding with his forearms resting on the surface in front of him.

  Serenity hung her bag and coat on the hooks behind the front door. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore her heart. It thumped so hard she thought the organ might burst from her chest.

  I can’t do it, she thought. I can’t tell him I got fired. He’ll kill me.