Something Stolen,
Something Found
The Magic Catalyst Chronicles – Book I
Jacie Douglass
Something Stolen, Something Found Copyright © 2019, J.C. Douglass. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations in book reviews.
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Cover by Book Covers 2 Buy
Photography by Cathleen Tarawhiti
Model - Poppy Wyrd
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Monday, June 29th
Tuesday, June 30th
Friday, July 3rd
Thursday, July 16th
Friday, July 17th
Sunday, July 19th
Tuesday, July 28th
Wednesday, July 29th
Thursday, August 6th
Tuesday, August 11th
Sunday, August 16th
Monday, August 24th
Tuesday, August 25th
Wednesday, August 26th
Thursday, August 27th
Friday, August 28th
Samil
Jared
Acknowledgements & About the Author
Emily’s Playlist
Tomorrow Never Knows – Carla Azar & Alison Mosshart
The Trick Is To Keep Breathing – Garbage
Aenima – Tool
Never The Same – Supreme Beings of Leisure
The Sound of Silence – Disturbed
Knock Me Out – Linda Perry featuring Grace Slick
Digital Bath – Deftones
Hurt – Nine Inch Nails
It’s Been Awhile – Staind
Savin’ Me – Nickelback
Eyes On Fire – Blue Foundation
Right Before Your Eyes – Hoobastank
Something I Can Never Have – Nine Inch Nails
Heathens – Twenty One Pilots
Mandocello – Concrete Blonde
Emily’s Bonus Tracks
Digital Bath [Acoustic Live] – Deftones
Hurt [Live] – Nine Inch Nails
Emilienne
Monday, June 29th
∞
It’s been one week since I woke up this hospital room, surrounded by cold white walls. One week since the “incident” that trapped me here. One week stuck in this bed and forced to lay here for hours on end.
There’s a constant parade of doctors, nurses, police detectives, lawyers, oh and let’s not forget the psychiatrist in to talk at me. Everyone wants to know what happened, but I don’t have any answers. I don’t know even know who I am. How would I remember anything about the “incident” or what lead up to it?
When they do finally leave me alone, there is only the TV for company. At first, I watched hours of sitcoms and movies, but after a couple days they all seemed like a contrived and repetitive comedy of errors. The characters making poor decisions based off lies and misunderstandings. I switched to reality TV after that, which probably isn’t real at all, but at least those Housewives make me laugh with their drunken interactions and dramatic fighting.
Every morning the sad woman visits for an hour. She told me she’s my Mother, I wish I could remember. I can always tell when she’s coming, a cloud of sadness rolling into the room before she even enters. She looks out of place here, with her perfectly styled golden blonde hair, flawless makeup and elegant clothes. It looks like she took a wrong turn on the way to an important event, and ended up in the hospital by mistake. She spends her time going on and on about what’s happening in her world and telling me about people I don’t know. I mostly smile and nod at her stories. What else I can do? I’m a captive audience. And when she leaves, I can hear her crying in the hallway. I wish I could tell her what she wants to hear. That I understand her stories, that I remember this life she talks about, but I don’t.
Shortly after she leaves for the day, the psychiatrist shows up. She’s constantly asking me how I’m feeling. This would be fine if… I couldn’t feel her attitude of bored superiority pressing down on me the whole time. She likes to tell me it’s not healthy to repress my emotions and that it’s ok to grieve the changes. But what is there to talk about? I’m not really feeling anything but boredom at being trapped here. What emotions does she think I should be feeling? How do you mourn for something you don’t remember? She likes to ask me who “Emilienne” is, but I don’t have an answer to that yet. I only know who I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be like those characters on TV, the shallow ones that play mind games and constantly lie. I certainly don’t want to be like her, convinced that I’m better than others while pretending to care about what they have to say. Not that I tell her that. I keep my answers as short as possible and try not to roll my eyes at her patronizing responses.
The Doctors and Nurses are almost as bad. This weird mixture of apathy and pity I can practically taste as they do their exams and change my bandages. It wasn’t so bad at first, I hardly even noticed it. But as the days go by, it gets worse and worse.
They say I “appear” to have Global Retrograde Amnesia and that with time my memories may return. Of course they can’t guarantee that. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard them give a straight answer about anything. I’m pretty sure they are just making it up as they go. Guessing and using big words so they sound important. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t know anything about Emilienne. What I’ve done, who my friends are, what my life is like. All that information is gone. I guess it could be worse. I mean, at least I still know how to do normal things, like walking, talking, reading, and writing. And I recognize and know how to use the remote and the TV. I don’t want to even imagine what it would be like to have to learn to do everything all over again.
At least the visits from the Police Detectives and the Lawyers aren’t so bad. There’s a cold, detached air about them that’s a pleasant respite from being constantly battered with pity and superiority.
Of course I have to be careful not to mention it to anyone. Watching a supernatural movie marathon on the SciFi channel gave me a crash course on what is considered “normal” and what will get you thrown in the looney bin. And whatever it is that lets me feel the emotions of my visitors is not normal. But according to what I watched, people either fear, discount, or destroy what they don’t understand. If it doesn’t fit into their perception of reality, then it’s wrong. Since I want out of here as soon as possible, I’m keeping my mouth shut. This is one secret that isn’t safe to share.
Tuesday, June 30th
∞
“Good afternoon!” I open my eyes to see a smiling middle age woman with a mass of curly brown hair entering my room, dragging a cart in behind her. A wave of joy flows into the room with her, and I can’t help but return her smile.
“Hi, there,” I finally answer, taking in her unfamiliar blue and wh
ite uniform. “You’re not a nurse, are you?” As she gets closer to the bed, I can see that the cart is full of books.
“Oh no, not me!” she grins, making her way to the side of the bed. “I’m a volunteer here. We make the rounds and help out patients with things the nurses are too busy to handle. We help with writing letters, making phone calls, whatever the patients need. Today I’m bringing around the book cart for patients to borrow from.” She explains, her hands in constant motion as she talks. “Do you like to read?”
“Yes?” I cringe at my answer, which ends up sounding more like a question. Since I’m not really sure if I do or not, I guess it really is a question.
“Well I’ve got a pretty good variety here.” The woman responds with a bright smile, ignoring the uncertainty in my response. “What type of books do you like to read?”
“Mmm well… I’m not sure,” I say slowly, trying to think of an answer. “Maybe something with magic or werewolves and vampires? I’ve been watching “Charmed” and “The Vampire Diaries” while I’ve been here, and they were both kinda cool. Could you recommend something like that?”
She flashes another smile and turns to the cart. “Let’s see what I’ve got that might fit the bill.” Rummaging through the shelves for a few minutes, she finally pulls out a paperback book with a picture of a woman under an open umbrella and the simple title of ‘Soulless’. “This series is really good. It’s set in a Victorian alternate reality with plenty of paranormal. Why don’t you give it a try? You can read it and let me know what you think. If you like it, I can bring you the rest of the series.”
“Ok,” I smile, her upbeat, happy energy dancing over my skin as I take the book and slip it under the blanket with me.
“Oh my goodness, where are my manners?” She laughs offering her hand. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Nancy.”
“Emilienne.” I grin, shaking her hand.
“Wow, that’s a lovely name, but quite the mouthful,” Nancy says playfully, giving me the once over. “You know, you look more like an Emily to me, cheerful and down to earth. Emilienne sounds like the naive main character in a gothic horror novel, constantly taken advantage of by the awful villains.” I bust out laughing, and Nancy’s rich laughter joins mine.
“Oh my god, you’re so right!” I gasp trying to catch my breath, wiping the tears from my eyes. I think that’s the first time I’ve laughed since I’ve been here. Reaching out, I grab Nancy’s hand and squeeze it. “Thank you Nancy, I haven’t laughed like that in forever. And I agree. Emily does suit me better.” Nancy and I exchange smiles, and in that moment it feels like I’ve known her forever. “I’m so glad you came b…”
“What are you doing in here?” A nasally voice demands from the door, and I suppress the urge to groan. The day nurse, who I’ve come to think of as Hatchet Face, is glaring at us as she sweeps into the room.
“I’m Nancy fro…”
“I didn’t ask who you are,” Hatchet Face interrupts. Disapproval radiates from her as she crosses her arms and pins Nancy with a look. “I asked what you were doing in here. This is a private room with restricted access.” Nancy straightens, but maintains her smile, something I admire her for. I’d have been giving Hatchet Face the finger, if it had been me. It’s only the fact that I’m stuck in here with her once Nancy leaves, that keeps me from giving her a piece of my mind.
“The Volunteer Coordinator sent me to…” Hatchet Face holds up her hand and Nancy trails off.
“I don’t care what you were told. They were mistaken. This room is off limits to everyone but authorized staff and visitors. Now leave...” Nancy shoots me a small smile as she grabs the cart and heads to the door.
“It was really nice to meet you Nancy!” I call after her, ignoring Hatchet Face’s glower. Nancy doesn’t get a chance to respond as the nurse follows her to the door and practically slams it behind her. Hatchet Face turns her glare on me, and I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything about her rude behavior.
“Now Emilienne, going forward, if any unauthorized visitors show up, you will hit the call button and alert the Nursing Station immediately,” she commands. “Is that understood?” The energy rolling off her makes my skin crawl, and I barely suppress a shiver of disgust. Unlike her earlier disapproval or her normal apathy, this feels heavy and dirty. Like a thick sludge of negativity has been poured over my head and is rolling down my skin.
“Of course,” I say, fighting to keep my voice neutral. The pressure weighing on me eases up a bit, and I slide my hand under the cover to grab the book Nancy left me. I don’t know why there is restricted access to my room. It’s not like the “incident” is contagious. But in my first few days here, I learned that arguing with the staff was pointless. They always refer me back to my conveniently absent Father, and the lack of a phone in the room makes it impossible for me to contact him, even if I did know the number.
Hatchet Face nods, apparently satisfied with my response and starts on her usual routine of checking the chart and machines. As soon as she turns her back to grab the supplies to change my bandages, I shove the book into the pillow case of the bottom pillow of the stack behind me. I can’t be sure she’ll confiscate the book. But just based on her reaction to Nancy, it wouldn’t surprise me. So I’m not going to take any chances. I’ll just have to wait till tonight to start reading.
Friday, July 3rd
∞
It takes them three days to find my contraband book. Just like I suspected, Hatchet Face immediately confiscates it, with another glare and a lecture.
Luckily it turns out I’m a pretty fast reader. I was able to finish the book in just two nights. I would have finished sooner but I had to limit my reading time till after the night nurse thought I’d gone to sleep. Unfortunately I haven’t seen Nancy again and I honestly doubt I will. Even if she wants to come back by, there’s no way she’d be able to get past Hatchet Face a second time. Hopefully she didn’t get in trouble for her visit. I’ll have to wait till I escape this place to read the rest of the series. Hopefully I’ll still be able to remember the author’s name by then.
Thursday, July 16th
∞
They finally released me from the hospital today. Mom was here first thing with this morning. She brought a non-descript sack dress, a pair of sunglasses and a big floppy hat for me to wear. You’d think I was some sort of celebrity hiding from the media, the way she had me covered up. I didn’t get a chance to see anything outside but tan walls and clear skies, before an orderly had me packed up into a car. The windows have a tint so dark I could hardly see out of them, there was no way anyone could see in.
The car ride is spent in uncomfortable silence; I guess she’s run out of things to say for once. But it’s fine with me. It’s hard to focus with her anxiety pressing down on me. I don’t know if it’s having her sitting so close or the small space, but this is the worst it’s been since the emotional leaking started. I shut my eyes and try to breathe through it.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, Mom is shaking my shoulder telling me to wake up. I flinch away from the touch, as a wave of conflicting emotions crash over me. The car’s been turned off and I rub my eyes, trying to clear my head of the combination of sleep and overwhelming emotions. Seeing I’m awake, Mom gets out of the car leaving me alone for the first time. I fumble with my seatbelt, trying to find the release button, my door opening from the outside.
“Hurry Up Emilienne!” Mom calls, and I slide out of the car. Looking around, I can’t help but be impressed. The huge white house dominates the view, looking more like some fancy hotel than a private home. Mom’s already on the front porch and I hurry to catch up with her. The red front door opens before we reach it, a tall dark haired woman dressed in a gray and black uniform, greets my mom. Mom sweeps by without acknowledging her and embarrassment floods me at Mom’s rudeness.
“Thank you,” my voice is barely a whisper as I slip by the woman, careful to avoid touching her
. She flashes me a brief smile, before shutting the door behind me. I look around the entry hall in amazement. The white walls are decorated with tasteful yet coldly impersonal paintings. I can’t image this is where I lived prior to the “incident”. The place looks like something from one of the decorating shows on TV, not a home for a family. Although at this point, I’m not really sure you could call us a family. I’ve seen my Father maybe twice since waking up in the hospital. Both times he was surrounded by a pack of lawyers. He spent more time talking to them about reparations, than talking to me. He’s just another stranger that visited me. At least he and his entourage didn’t leave me drowning in emotions like everyone else. Small mercy there.
I’m surprised I’m even here, and not still at the hospital. Even though my physical injuries had healed, the psychiatrist didn’t feel I was dealing with the “incident” because I would not talk about it. At least that was their excuse for keeping me there so long. But since I still can’t remember anything about the “incident”, I’m not sure what they expect me to say. I’m certainly not going to tell them about the flashes of color I see or the foreign emotions and feelings I get when people come in the room. Besides, after the last two weeks of isolation, with only the staff and the TV for company… Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t have much to say.
The glimpses of colors just started the last couple days there. It doesn’t happen every time, and it’s usually only flashes in the corner of my eye. They disappear when I look at the person straight on. It feels like they’re related to the emotions, but I haven’t figured out how. Maybe I’m just trying to find a connection in my head to make sense of the crazy.
“Stop dawdling, Emilienne,” Mother demands, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I don’t have all day.” I hurry to where she waits at the base of the staircase, with a murmured apology. I follow her upstairs, suddenly excited to be here. Even if it doesn’t feel quite real yet, hopefully I’ll find some clues about who I was before the “incident”. If nothing else, at least I’ll have access to books and a computer. I’ll be able to finally connect with the outside world.
Something Stolen, Something Found (The Magic Catalyst Chronicles Book 1) Page 1
