WHEN RAVENS FALLS
GOOD • EVIL • FREE WILL • DESTINY
Essex isn’t just about the glamour. Away from the ditzy charm, fake tan and false eyelashes, lays a hidden world of drugs, carnage and violence run by the bad boys and hardened men.
Is love fully understood at seventeen? Rachel didn’t think so. The fixation and infatuation that two people can have for one another scared her so much she didn’t just run away from it. She bolted straight into a teenage pregnancy and numerous failed relationships in a bid to forget Sean Fergus.
She never really understood why she ran, a little voice in her head told her to and she had listened. So why had she spent the last ten years trying to replace him?
Sean however understood it fully. He knew she had to run because he knew what he was, even if she didn’t.
He was a monster. There was a dark, vile evil that lived inside him. It made him do wicked things and what made it worse was that the evil force that consumed him, made him enjoy it. Women weren’t safe with him.
When Sean meets Rachel again, unexpectedly he sees a tiny glimmer of hope that redemption is possible. If they could just find their way through the maze of infatuation and fixation, then they just might finally stand a chance of a normal happy relationship. But can a person change?
Can good overcome evil?
Whilst Sean is forced to confront the violence of his past and take on what he sees as the demons that threaten his future, Rachel finally realises why she I ran. She knows she has to run again but this time it is for her life not her heart.
But will he let her go so easily this time?
WHEN RAVENS FALL By Matilda Wren
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403 www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1-800-839-8640
©2012 Matilda Wren. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means
without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 7/18/2012
ISBN: 978-1-4685-8577-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4685-8576-6 (e)
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or
links contained in this book may have changed since publication and
may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those
of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,
and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
I
The Initiation
The Beginning of the End
“Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of
the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
Sir Winston Churchill 1942
Chapter 1
December 1997
Peeing on a stick is not as easy as it sounds. Women cannot aim, so it requires skill and one cannot rely on the fact that the body will release a gentle stream. In fact, when the act of peeing on a stick is required, inevitably, your body will let you down and the gentle stream becomes a gushing waterfall.
Not only do you completely miss the object you are trying to pee on, but also you manage to pee on everything else but. Without doubt, your hand will get drenched along with the toilet seat, the floor and anything else in the immediate vicinity.
You then need to start the process all over again, after of course, consuming large amounts of liquid so you can pee again.
If by miraculous chance ( and most of it will be by sheer luck) you do actually manage to hit the target so to speak, the three minutes it takes to get the result will be the longest three minutes of your life. It will feel more like three hours than the hundred and eighty seconds it actually takes.
Waiting for that blue line to appear was probably one of the most terrifying three minutes of Rachel Marsden’s life.
This was not something she had expected to undertake four months after her eighteenth birthday.
Three days previously, she did not have a care in the world; her main concern being she had enough weed to smoke that week and she had obtained enough amphetamines to take with her to whatever rave she would be attending with her boyfriend, James Porter.
Pregnancy, babies and responsibility had not been at the forefront of her mind, but here she was seventy-two hours later sitting in her boyfriend’s parent’s bathroom, with her knickers round her knees, on the toilet, peeing on a stick and silently praying to god that the blue line that was going to appear was a vertical one and not a horizontal one.
Even then, she was striking. Dark flaxen corkscrew curls fell around her face; the mismatched lengths framing her curved profile, finally resting in a bouncy mound on her shoulders, home-coloured highlights dazzling under the spectacular lighting of the bathroom.
A parted fringe plunged like disused springs over her teardrop shaped eyes that were the deepest darkest brown, swirling like melted chocolate and encased with long black eyelashes that only required the bare minimum of make-up to accentuate their natural beauty.
Her creamy, light complexion exposed the youth she bore, presenting a false innocence, but it was those huge gemstone eyes that told anyone that looked into them that they held a veil of concealed secrets.
The same unconscious defences were portrayed through her style as well, preferring to mask her hour-glass figure in baggy jeans and sweatshirts, giving her a curvier outline than that which she really possessed.
The bathroom was one of three, which had always amazed her. Having three bathrooms in one house was just ridiculous. James’ house presented a huge four bedroom, double garage, detached property in Blackmore.
The Porter’s believed they were a middle class nuclear family; living in an idealic world where their son didn’t take drugs, talked to them about what was going on in his life and their only major concern was where they would holiday that summer or winter.
If they knew what was happening at this very second in their plush bathroom they would have died of absolute pure shame. Rachel, not particularly welcomed by either Mr or Mrs Porter, smirked slightly at the metal image of them slowly melting into the floor, much like the wicked witch in the film The Wizard of Oz, as the disgrace and disrepute engulfed them.
James’ parents had money; lots of it. She had never really been friends with anybody that had money before. They were a different sort of people. They had atypical thought processes and carried a persona about them that would make Rachel feel inadequate and not up to standard.
It’s not that they had ever said anything out right as such; it was little things like his mother prompting her to use a coaster with her drink or suggesting she may like to get changed for dinner. That and the fact they were both religious nut jobs who were devoted followers of the Evangelical Church.
Being in the lavish bathroom with its large, oval, roll top bath that had old fashioned gold taps with the heads of cherubs as knobs; which took pride of place in the middle of the floor, made her feel paltry and incompetent. The separate shower that stood over in one corner had no surround but a plug hole in the black tiled floor. She stared at it, almost wishing herself to be sucked down it. Anything to prevent her from having to deal with what was happening.
The whole place seemed to be mocking her; jeering at her flaws. The tiny gold and silver mosaic tiles that covered the entire bathroom walls gave an air of superiority over her.
/>
She didn’t belong here.
Rachel looked at James. He looked just as scared and apprehensive as she did. He was only a year older than her and was at the beginning of a three year apprenticeship four hundred miles away. This was not something he had expected to have to deal with on his first break home and in the midst of a comedown too.
James was what Rachel called a ‘pretty boy’. He had the model appearance about him and a wardrobe to match; his chiselled features and brooding scowl were the epitome of every teenage girl’s desire. All but hers it would seem.
The soulful blue eyes and sandy blonde hair that was chopped and spiked gave away the young skateboarder he had not fully let go of; the underdog kid, from the right side of the tracks that had crossed over to the bad and popular.
Caught between being charming and a nerd, a hermit and confident but more happy playing the role of an introvert; an observer who likes to watch people and try to figure out who they really are, as opposed to who they think they are.
The subdued, calm presence he characterised made him seem meagre and feeble, obscuring the hostility and antagonism that built up inside of him daily.
They had only been together for a short while, about nine months and the last three of those nine months, he had been in Liverpool, living away from home for the first time.
This was not where he wanted to be and he too was secretly praying. Numerous thoughts were running through his head.
How could this have happened? Rachel was on the pill.
Her mood swings were volatile, which was a side effect of this particular contraception, so James knew she had been taking it. Whether or not she had been taking it properly was a different matter of course.
There were bound to have been times she had forgotten to take it, but would the occasional lapse result in a baby?
Surely not? Couples have to try for months to have a baby after coming off the pill, sometimes years. His brother and his girlfriend had been trying for a couple of years and still nothing had happened, so why was he now sitting in the bathroom with his future being determined by a thin blue line?Rachel herself was thinking other thoughts. She knew she had not exactly been taking the pill correctly. She knew that it was probably more than just an occasional lapse and adding the narcotic use into the mix, the pill was no doubt completely ineffective. These thoughts, of course, she was going to keep to herself.
Having recently been sacked from her job because she constantly turned up late or was completely useless due to self inflicted sickness and moving out of yet another foster home because her foster mum was more worried about the effect her behaviour was having on the younger children than the fact she was a frequent drug user, meant that she did not have an exactly stable life. She never had.
The damp bedsit in Shenfield that reeked of stale fish and chips and vinegar, which social services had dumped her in, was probably the size of James entire bathroom.
Although she was eighteen, she was still a subject of a care order which meant that, until a judge said otherwise, social services were responsible for her well being.
She had been signing on the dole once a week since she lost her job. This enabled her to receive £80 once a fortnight, as well as what she received from being attached to the care order and if she was completely honest, this way of life suited her down to the ground.
As long as she could afford her daily fix of weed, nothing else concerned her. She would quite happily go without necessities such as food, electric and heating; so long as she could smoke a joint, she could face the world, or so she thought.
She would frequently turn up at her grandparent’s house for a hot meal and a shower, so the necessities that most people could not live without were not as important to Rachel.
The very fact that she was over two weeks late with her period had not concerned her. This was not out of the ordinary. She did not eat properly, participated in drug use and did not take the pill correctly, so her periods were often messed up. It had always arrived at some point.
James had bought the pregnancy kit. He insisted that they find out one way or another. He had wanted to do it before they had gone raving three days previously but Rachel refused point blank; she would not even entertain the idea. That would have meant it could interfere with her going out, getting completely off her head and dancing the night away.
If it were not for James insisting, Rachel probably would have left it for several more days, even weeks before finding out. So here they were, intently staring at the white stick with two little windows in the middle, waiting to see which one would decide their fate. Sure enough a hundred and eighty seconds later a watery, pale blue, horizontal line appeared in the pregnant window. Rachel felt her world crumble down around her.
The panic started in the pit of her stomach. It begun with a dull ache and very quickly rose to her heart. She felt like she could not breathe. Something was pressing down heavily on her chest and everything suddenly intensified.
She could hear her heart beat. It was so loud that she began to think James’ parents, who were sitting downstairs watching television, would be able to hear it. Her eyes did not move away from the stick.
That awful white stick that was the bearer of such terrible, terrible news. She threw it onto the floor in front of her. Leaping off the toilet and pulling her knickers back up haphazardly, she walked into the bedroom.
Compared to the rest of the house, his bedroom was actually quite small. The walls and ceiling were a brilliant white which gave the room a false sense of it being bigger than it really was. To the right of the doorway a fitted wardrobe extended along the side of the wall, where his clothes hung neatly in coordinating colours, starched and ironed; seamed nylons perfectly straight.
The whole room was obsessively neat and organised, matching the rest of the house. James’ mum was a cleaning freak who polished and vacuumed the entire house every day. It was only her and James’ dad there now; how they could possibly make the house that dirty Rachel did not understand.
She felt cramped and confined. The clinical and unemotional decor of the room suddenly felt alien to her and the translucent emptiness that resided in the rest of the house was forcing its way in. A Chelsea Football Club rug, which lay in the small space available between the wardrobes and his bed, was the only thing that gave a hint that the room did indeed belong to a nineteen year old lad.
Rachel held onto the desk in front of her for support. She thought that her legs were going to give way on her. Then the tears came; huge salty tears that ran down her face.
James followed her into the room. He hesitated behind her, wanting to put his arms around her and hold her but scared of her reaction if he did. Sometimes, she looked at him like she really hated him; it wasn’t just looks either.
There would be the snide comments, the put downs, the emotional blackmail and then just to confuse and baffle him she would switch to loving and clingy. This would be the time she wanted sex constantly.
It was never affectionate tender sex; it would be frenzied possessed sex that she was in complete control of. She totally wore him out both physically and mentally. Sometimes he felt like she was punishing him for something.
Her mood swings could be so volatile that he never knew where he was with her. She had been his first everything.
First love, first proper kiss, first sexual experience, and the girl he lost his virginity to. To her, he was nothing but the rebound guy. He knew that, he knew it as soon as she befriended him.
Essex was a pond but Brentwood was a puddle. He also knew he was playing with fire just by being with her, considering who the guy was that he was replacing, but he couldn’t resist her. She was slightly dangerous and unhinged.
She was too alluring, even when she rebuked him for not being what she really wanted But the resentment of being made to feel guilty for having a good life, a decent childhood and parents that made sure every opportunity was open to him, fed the hostility and antagonism he was
already harbouring. Turning away from her he slumped down onto his bed.
The sobs were violent and painful. They caught in her throat. The reaction took her completely by surprise. The result took her completely by surprise. The decision she made in the next twenty seconds took her completely by surprise.
Rachel truly believed James did not want the baby. That actually did not bother her at all. He was never going to be the love of her life. He was the ‘time being’ guy; the one that just happened to be there, when she had walked away from Sean.
James was supposed to make her forget him. He hadn’t.
But a baby just might be what she needed to get over him.
A baby was time consuming and life changing. It would occupy her mind and her heart and she very desperately needed that.
It had only been a short while since she had ended things with Sean. She knew it would take time to make her heart stop missing him. James had been a distraction but he wasn’t the cure. It had been fun over the last year but there hadn’t been a day when Sean hadn’t entered her head.
James had not stopped that, the drugs had not stopped that and her life had to change. She had to sort herself out.
She looked over at James; he wore a face of sheer terror.
His head was in his hands. She realised that she felt no empathy for him. In fact she didn’t really care about him at all. Rachel wiped her face with her hands.
He hadn’t come to her when she was sobbing. He just sat on the end of his bed. He was a weak person and this annoyed her more than anything.
He had no backbone. No spirit about him. He was just sitting there, saying nothing. She felt a sudden urge to punch him straight in the face. She suppressed this of course, making a conscious effort to relax.
Instead, she got her coat and scarf that were hanging on the bedroom door. She put them on and turned to face him once more.
“It’s ok, I’ll sort it.”
“What does that mean?” He sounded so pathetic and pitiable.
The urge to slap him rose again. She felt guilty and lifeless at the same time. The sigh was louder and implied more impatience than she had intended.
Matilda Wren Page 1
