COPYRIGHT 2013 © JESSICA PRINCE
All rights reserved.
Edited by Becky Johnson at Hot Tree Edits
Formatted by Jovana Shirley at Unforeseen Editing
Cover Design by Meredith Blair at Author’s Angels
This ebook is licensed for your 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 person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance between persons living and dead, establishments, events or location is entirely coincidental.
Visit my Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaPrince
To Mom,
for always being there no matter what.
This book is for you.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
I can’t breathe.
I panic as my lungs beg for air. I reach out to grab hold of the hands around my neck, but nothing is there. I try and try, but all I feel is my own cold, clammy skin. Someone’s hands are there; I know it. The grip is so strong that fingernails are digging into my skin, but my hands come in contact with absolutely nothing but my own flesh. My eyes are open, but it serves no purpose. I can’t see. Everything is cloaked in darkness so black, that I can’t make out what’s right in front of my face. My arms are thrashing now, desperate to escape the vise-like grasp, but still...nothing’s there.
What’s happening to me?
My body trembles and sweat breaks out across my forehead. I can feel my life slowly slipping away, and I know instinctively that I’m going to die here. I have no idea where I am. I just know I don’t want to die this way...alone. As I slip further and further toward unconsciousness, the fear of dying overwhelms me. Tears rain down my cheeks. I reach for my neck one last time, desperately trying to free myself from the constricting grip, but there’s nothing there.
I’m losing hope and fading fast.
That’s when I hear it. A dark, gravely laugh. If there was ever a sound that could be described as pure evil, it’s that laugh. “Tell me you love me.”
That voice. I know that voice. I wrack my brain, quickly trying to remember its source, but I’m so far gone that I can’t think. I should know who this voice...this man is. Every fiber in my body is screaming that I know him.
But how?
“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you go.”
He’s lying. I’m going to die whether I say it or not, but I have to try. I can’t just give up. Summoning my strength, I force out the words, “I love you.” It’s the last breath in my body and I know I’ve just wasted it. Now, I have nothing left.
The voice before me grows more menacing as he yells, “I don’t believe you!” I’ve never felt so terrified, and I know the end is moments away.
I shot up in bed screaming, “Nooo!” I sucked in so much air, I thought my chest would explode. My hair and clothes were drenched in sweat, as were the sheets tangled all around my legs. The nightmares that had just started a few months ago were gradually getting worse. This particular dream had been plaguing me for weeks and was gradually becoming more realistic. As I brushed the hair off my face, I knew in that moment, it was time for a higher dosage of medication. I couldn’t stand the idea of having to see Dr. Kinsley again, but that was clearly what I needed. It made sense. I’d been on the same dosage since I was fifteen. Now, at twenty-three, it was obvious the meds weren’t doing the job they were supposed to. It was time to up them.
I glanced at the red numbers on my alarm clock. 3:30 a.m.
Just fucking perfect.
I had too much adrenaline pumping through my body, and as if that wasn’t enough, the fact that I was afraid to close my eyes just guaranteed that I’d be living off coffee for another day.
I rubbed my hands roughly over my face and flung my legs over the side of the bed. If I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, I might as well do one of the only things that helped expel the restless energy coursing through my veins.
Exercise.
Typically, I was a fan of yoga. It helped clear all of the haunting pictures that ran through my mind on a non-stop reel. I knew yoga wasn’t going to cut it this time. I didn’t need to relax this time; I needed to pound the energy into the concrete. I could still feel the hands on my neck, and I needed to do something that would chase the memories from my mind.
I headed for the bathroom and brushed my teeth before throwing on a pair of running shorts and a tank top. I laced up my battered running shoes, strapped my iPod to my arm and headed out the door.
I knew that running through the streets of Seattle at 3:45 in the morning wasn’t the smartest thing to do—especially when there was someone out there targeting young women—but honestly, I was less afraid of the serial killer the media had dubbed “The Poet” than I was my own nightmare. Apparently years of hallucinations desensitized me to the horrors of the world. Why worry about the monsters on the streets when it was the monsters in my head that tormented me daily?
I rode the elevator down from my Harbor Steps apartment to the ornate marble lobby. I hoped to make it through the glass doors and out onto First Street uninterrupted, but on top of being crazy, I also had the worst luck in the world.
“Miss Taylor…”
I turned to see the doorman on duty watching me with concern etched on his pudgy, red face. His bushy, silver eyebrows were pulled down and frown lines were etched deeply around his eyes. “Please, it’s not safe for you out there. Can’t you use one of the treadmills in the gym?”
It was an argument we had routinely over the past several months…ever since the nightmares began plaguing my sleep. Gary was a sweet, old man who I’d come to care for in my time at Harbor Steps. He was one of the very few people I interacted with by choice.
“Gary, I’ve told you, I’m perfectly fine out there. You have nothing to be concerned about. And for Christ’s sake, please stop calling me Miss. You have kids older than me.”
He plastered a stern expression on his face and huffed, “I don’t like it, Taylor. Please use the gym.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension. I appreciated his concern, but I couldn’t explain to him why I needed to run outside. Not only did I need the fresh air, I needed to see the buildings and feel the city around me. It wasn’t only the run that did the trick. Being stuck in a stale gym with the smell of rubber flooring and mirrors from wall-to-wall never allowed the escape I needed to expel the images I’d seen.
If I tried to explain to him what I was desperately trying to forget, he’d look at me just like everyone else back home did. Like I needed to be locked up, away from the rest of the world. Call me crazy, but after spending my entire life keeping people at a distance, the last thing I wanted was for one of the few I’d actually let in, to think of me the way they did.
But it was clear he didn’t find me funny at all when he replied, “They found another girl last night, Taylor. She was only a year older than you. You don’t know how dangerous it is out on those streets in the dark.”
If he only knew how wrong he was. I knew exactly how dangerous they were.
I couldn’t stand around talking with him anymore, because I knew I was minutes from a panic attack. I had to get out of that lobby before I lost it.
“I’m going, Gary. I’ll be back. I promise.” Before he could protest further, I was out the door, taking a left down First Street and heading in the direction of Pike Place Market. Everything would still be closed at this hour, but it was a route that I knew by heart. So, I just let my legs carry me away as Nine Inch Nails blared through my ear buds. Every Day Is Exactly the Same was the theme song for my life; wake up, grab coffee from the shop down the street, head to work and then go home. It was routine. It might seem boring to most, but keeping a routine was one of the only things that helped me hold on to what little sanity I had left. If I deviated from the schedule I set for myself, I put myself at risk for more hallucinations, and that meant more panic attacks.
Keeping things the same kept me safe.
As Trent Reznor’s voice faded and the opening chords of Red’s Lie to Me picked up, I turned right off First and onto Pike Street. I kept going until my legs felt like they couldn’t hold my weight any longer. I made the familiar turns through downtown Seattle, pushing through the cramp that began throbbing in my side. Pushing through the exhaustion pulsing in every muscle. I’d made sure my iPod was set to my “running” playlist before leaving my apartment, so when Chalk Outline by Three Days Grace started playing, I knew I was nearing the end of my run.
I was almost sad to see my apartment building looming in the distance. I needed just a few more miles to get myself straight, but running any farther meant changing my precious routine.
I slowed to a walk a few yards from the building and worked to get my heart rate under control. By the time I pushed through the glass doors, the endorphins had kicked in and I felt as close to normal as was possible for me.
When Gary looked up from the novel he was reading with a scowl on his face, a smile crept across my lips. He typically reminded me of a short-haired Santa Claus without the beard, but when he pouted, he reminded me of Walter Matthau from Grumpy Old Men.
“See, I’m back and still in one piece,” I said, as I swiped the beads of sweat from my forehead.
“You’re going to send me into an early grave, Miss Taylor,” he replied.
I rested my arms on the cool granite counter top and leaned over to see his book. “Which one are you reading now?” I asked.
I think one of the reasons he and I got along as well as we did was because Gary was also a creature of habit. If it wasn’t a Stephen King novel, Gary wouldn’t read it. And once Gary read them all, he’d just start over again. He said King had enough books out there that by the time he started over, he’d already forgotten what happened in the ones he’d read before.
“The Dark Half,” he grumbled.
“That’s a good one,” I said with a sincere smile. It was just too easy to love Gary.
“That’s why I’m reading it,” he bit back harshly, his tone of voice letting me know that he was still upset with me. He might have still been angry, but I had a trick up my sleeve to get myself back on his good side.
“You know, since I woke up early enough, I was planning on making some cinnamon streusel muffins before I headed to work, but…if you’re still mad at me, I guess I shouldn’t bother.”
I turned and headed toward the elevators. I only made it a few steps when I heard him clear his throat behind me. “Well, I’m not that mad, Miss Taylor.” I knew I’d get him with the promise of baked goods. I turned and he continued, “I just look at you as one of my own.” His honesty was like a shot through the heart. No one had ever cared about my well-being, so having this brusque old man openly worry about me was something I wasn’t accustomed to.
I walked back to him and placed my hands on his stubbly cheeks. “I know, Gary. That’s why I tolerate you calling me Miss all the time, even after I’ve asked you not to…repeatedly.”
He graced me with a happy chuckle.
“I’m thankful I met you, Gary,” I said, then I headed back to my apartment to shower and make his muffins.
I made the usual walk from the coffee shop to Benny’s Diner with my head down, making sure I didn’t make eye contact with any of the pedestrians as they passed me on the sidewalk. I’d been waitressing at Benny’s for the past five years and I felt it gave me just the right amount of human interaction to call myself normal, but I didn’t want to push my nonexistent luck any further than that. I could only avoid so much in one day. So I kept my head down and rarely ever interacted with the strangers I passed.
I loved Seattle, but I didn’t get to truly appreciate everything around me in the daytime. Too many people wandering around meant I was way more susceptible to those visions that plagued me.
After my morning stop at the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, it was six o’clock. I pushed through the doors of the diner a half hour early so I headed straight for the office in the back to drop off my purse and began prepping myself for the morning rush.
“Good morning, Doll Face,” Benny called from behind the serving window.
“Morning, Benny.” My boss, the owner of the diner was another on my short list of who I considered my friend. If I had to guess, Benny was somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties. Her chestnut colored hair was sprinkled with gray and her light brown skin showed signs of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. The smile lines on her face proved what I already knew, that Benny was one of the most caring, loving women in the world. She barely hit five feet but her short, round stature didn’t mask the fact that she could be tough as nails when it was necessary.
She poured all of her heart and soul into opening this diner after she divorced her abusive husband fifteen years ago. Benny once admitted to me that, although she always wanted kids, she was thankful not to have anything that tied her to her ex-husband. She claimed that when I wandered in five years ago desperate for a job, she took one look at me and all of her maternal instincts just sprang to life. After years of having two parents that looked at me like I was a freak of nature, it was nice to have Gary and Benny treat me like I was family.
It took a while to get used to them and I spent my first year trying to push them away. I’d spent so long trying not to connect with other people, but they gave me no choice and simply refused to let me keep them out of my life. They saw through my hardened exterior to the scared teenager I really was, and they beat at the walls I’d put up around myself until there was nothing left. I loved the both of them so much, that every night I prayed to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in and gave thanks for allowing them to stay in my life.
I downed the last of my white chocolate mocha and headed straight for the coffee maker to pour myself a huge cup. There was no chance of me making it through the day without at least three cups in my system. I was a caffeine addict on a regular day, but when you added no sleep into the mix, coffee went from being something I enjoyed, to an absolute necessity.
“Child, you look like death warmed over,” Benny pointed out, as she made her way over to me. I could see the concern etched onto her face and it was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
“Thanks, Benny. It gives me the warm fuzzies to know you think I look so good.”
“You had another nightmare didn’t you?” she asked as her eyes raked over my face, ignoring my sarcastic attempt at derailing a conversation I didn’t want to have with her.
I’d made the mistake of letting it slip when the nightmares first started a few months back. I was so scared after that first night, that when I came into work, I couldn’t hold
it in. I poured everything out for Benny and actually allowed her to comfort me. I’d been dealing with horrifying hallucinations since childhood, but nightmares were something completely different. It was almost as if the visions were following me into my sleep, and I had no idea how to make them stop.
I placed the glass carafe back down and took a huge gulp from my cup, letting the warmth fill my body and put me at ease…temporarily. “Yeah,” I finally relented. “Around 3:30.”
She came up to me and took my face in her hands. “Sweetheart, you have bags under your eyes big enough to carry all that weight I know you currently keep on your shoulders. I’m worried about you.”
I took a small step back in order to break the physical contact. I loved Benny, but overt displays of affection still made me uncomfortable. It was just one of the many things I was trying to work through. I’d gotten better at accepting people touching me over the years, but I was only able to tolerate it for short periods of time. As a teenager, I’d discovered that any contact longer than a few seconds made the things I was forced to see even stronger.
I gave her a weak smile and tried to placate her. “I’m okay, Benny. I promise.”
The corners of her mouth dipped into a frown. “You’re not okay, Taylor, you look exhausted. Why don’t you take the day off and go home? You need some sleep.”
I couldn’t sleep. Sleeping only led to more nightmares.
I couldn’t admit to Benny that I was too scared to go back to sleep; she’d only worry more. I hadn’t missed a day of work in five years and the mere thought of straying from the comforts of my routine caused anxiety to build until my hands started to shake.
“I’m fine, really,” I lied. “I’m just going to throw myself into work and get my mind straight, that’s all.” I needed her to let me stay. I needed the hours on my feet, rushing around and waiting on people to keep me occupied. The constant bustle of the diner prevented me from being sucked into the horrors of my own mind. Being on my feet all day long, running back and forth to serve the diners that came through helped in exhausting me to the point where I could hopefully pass out into a dreamless sleep when I got home.
Nightmares from Within Page 1
