STORM: IT'S A CURSE TO REMEMBER

by Gurpreet Kaur Sidhu

  STORM

  Gurpreet Kaur Sidhu

  Copyright © 2018 by Gurpreet Kaur Sidhu

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Edited by Kristen Corrects, Inc.

  Formatted, interior and cover art design by Vanessa Maynard

  First edition published 2018

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Sidhu., Gurpreet Kaur

  STORM / Gurpreet Kaur Sidhu

  p. cm.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7322344-0-6

  ISBN-10: 1-7322344-0-X

  Family Tree

  Chapter 1

  Their fairytale all started with one look. Derek Will fell in love with Samantha Moore. Everyone envied their love story. He was the perfect gentleman and she was the beauty with class.

  Six months after dating, Derek proposed on one knee with a 5.36-carat yellow cushion cut micropavé halo diamond. It was stunning to the eyes and left Samantha in awe. But that was far from important.

  After the honeymoon phase ended, things started to settle in—and that’s when Samantha realized who Derek really was.

  The night took a sickening twist in the home of Derek and Samantha Will.

  Derek came home, aggravated about something unclear to Samantha. It’s not like Derek arrived home, had dinner, sat down, and exchanged the traditional preliminaries—he had changed slowly after marriage. There were no more late-night conversations or handholding. Derek expected Samantha to clean, cook, and keep the house well-maintained without any kind of help. It was unusual to find a housewife who lived in Pool View not to have a maid. With the kind of money Derek brought home, there was no question as to why they couldn’t afford a maid, a butler, and a gardener. Derek’s intentions were to keep Samantha locked in the house as long as he could and it was exactly how it panned out. He went to work and was successful at his job, while Samantha stayed at home and made sure the house was tidy and in order before Derek came home. But today, it wasn’t the diurnal routine Samantha was prepared for.

  Samantha had been throwing up all morning, so as like any other human being, she rested. Samantha slept all through the afternoon, only waking half an hour before Derek’s arrival. She started on dinner, hoping Derek wouldn’t arrive earlier than usual, but it seemed that the universe was not on her side.

  Derek arrived home, pissed about something—it had to be something work related, she figured, but it wasn’t Samantha’s place to ask. According to Derek, it was none of her business.

  Derek walked into the kitchen only to find dinner wasn’t set on the kitchen table like it had been every day for the past five years. He glared at Samantha, assuming she was out in the city having a good time, or having an affair. Even if she attempted to explain herself, he wouldn’t believe her. Instead he’d believe whatever he made up in his mind because that was what he believed to be true.

  The silence frightened Samantha. She had no idea what to expect.

  Derek took the pot of boiling pasta and watched the water drain in the sink, then threw the pasta all over the kitchen floor. Samantha backed away slowly, not wanting him anywhere near her. The farther she was, the better. But where could she possibly go? She watched his every move. Her heartbeat rang in her ears.

  He stood still for a moment, looking around. Samantha eyed the knife that lay on the counter, which she had been using to cut the lettuce. She sensed Derek knew what she was thinking. His eyes followed hers, but once again Samantha quickly became his center of attention. He inched forward, looking at her. She saw the anger, rage, and frustration in his eyes and knew in her gut he was going to take it out on her. But it was just a matter of how.

  “I thought I made it clear. Dinner should have been on the table by the time I walked in through that door,” he growled. His voice rose. “You take me as an idiot, don’t you?”

  Samantha shook her head. “No,” she quickly answered.

  “I work my ass off every single day to make a life for us,” he continued. “All I ask from you is to clean this house, and put food on the damn table! But you can’t even manage to do that, can you?!”

  The corner of his mouth lifted as he unbuckled his belt and admired its thickness.

  “Oh god,” she whispered under her breath.

  Her eyes filled with fear as Derek took a step in her direction. Samantha moved but not quickly enough. She knew all of it would be over sooner if she just took the beating. If she tried to escape, it would only anger him more. Derek came at her and whipped her across the back and then across her chest.

  His wife’s loud crying pleas didn’t stop Derek. He continued to slash her with his belt until he felt satisfied, but the beating didn’t end there either. He gripped his hands tight around her neck until her face turned pale, then shoved her to the ground. A mischievous grin crept across his face as he stared at Samantha struggling. She lay there coughing, uttering the words “I’m sorry.” But Derek didn’t care if she was sorry or if she was sick. He was going to make her miserable until she bled.

  Derek continued to whip Samantha across her back, only to turn her over and continue the lashing across her chest and stomach. Her wails became louder.

  “Derek!” she cried out. “Please!”

  He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the kitchen, into the living room where he continued to severely lash Samantha on the face. She covered her face in agony.

  “Derek! Please stop. I-I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

  He forced her hands away from her face, then slapped her once, twice then a third time before he brought the brutal beating to an end. He stood baring over her as she lay on the floor.

  Samantha’s eyes, red, began to swell. By the end of the night, her eyes would be swollen shut. Her lips were cracked. Her teeth were covered in blood. Her back and chest ached. She could see the blood on the white carpet, through her blurry vision. Her mind slowly began to shut down.

  Derek turned her face over with his foot so he could see the pain in her eyes. He looked at her and shook his head in disgust.

  His voice was calmer now. “None of this would’ve happened if you made dinner. When will you learn?” He scoffed. “I’m tired, so don’t waste your time in the kitchen…but I do want this mess cleaned up before you go to bed,” he said, fanning his index finger over the blood on the carpet. “This all better be spotless by the time I wake up tomorrow morning, do you understand?”

  Samantha gave no response. She merely couldn’t. It hurt to move her lips, and had no energy to speak.

  “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” he said, expecting a response he knew he wasn’t going to get, but he was going to force it out of her anyway. “I can’t hear you, Samantha. It’s not that hard to say yes.”

  Samantha used all her strength to nod, agreeing to do what he asked her.

  “I need to hear you say it. Say the word, Samantha. I know you can do it. I need a verbal agreement.” He crouched near her.

  She could hear Derek breathing over her. Again, with all her strength she had left in her, through her swollen and bleeding lips, between sobs, Samantha uttered the word
“Yes.”

  Satisfied, Derek went upstairs, leaving Samantha on the living room floor.

  There was really nothing she could do. She had no money. She didn’t have a way of making her own living. Derek, the clever man he was, gave her the option of leaving. But where would she go? To her family? She was too ashamed to ask them to take her in. They warned her for marrying Derek in the first place. Did she listen? No. She dropped out of college and gave up everything to be with this man and…now he’d taken her life. It came as a shock to Samantha that after all this, he still continued to let her breathe. Why not end her life instead?

  And then…

  Chapter 2

  Evan Storm woke up panting and sweaty. He looked around and realized where he was. He was in his home in Lake View. He was sitting up in his bed, his hair and back drenched in sweat. He reached for the hand towel he’d set on the nightstand the night before.

  He glanced over at his alarm clock. It was 3:30 in the morning. This memory of his past life had been haunting him for months and every night he woke up at the same time, terrorized. He wiped his face, trying to remember everything he could. Evan had questions that no one could answer. Why was he remembering his past? What was the meaning behind all of this? Why was this happening to him? And why all of the sudden?

  Evan crawled out of bed, steadily walking to the bathroom. He flipped the switch as he stepped on to the warm tiles. Even though it didn’t snow in Lake View, winters had become more cold in the recent years, but bearable. Thankfully, Evan had renovated the floors of the house, having heated floors installed. “The beauty of technology makes life a lot simpler,” he said to the installer. He stood with his hands resting on both sides of the sink, looking into the mirror before him. He looked a lot like Derek Will. His blue eyes twinkled as he raised his chin upward. Evan traced his finger across his jawline, feeling the growing fuzz.

  He didn’t know much about himself in his previous life. Whether or not he had children, he wasn’t sure. There were a lot of things that were unclear. However, he was aware of how cruel Derek was to Samantha. It made Evan’s body cringe as the image of Samantha laying on the floor, bloody, crept up on him.

  He turned the faucet, letting the cold water run for a moment, wondering how inhuman a person could be. He took another look at himself before splashing his face with the water. As Evan raised his head, he looked into the mirror and behind him stood Derek, with a grim face and a smile that made the tiny hairs on his back stand up. Evan felt his soul slip away from his body for a moment before jumping back in. Time stood still. The only thing that Evan could hear was his loud thumping heartbeat.

  “He’s not real,” he repeated to himself, “he’s not real. You’re…not…real!” Evan grasped the sink with both hands and shut his eyes. His body shivered with terror. Evan knew this was imaginary, but seeing Derek made him feel like death was waiting to take him. He let out a grunt in agony. He felt his soul was being grasped by Derek’s presence. He took a deep breath and counted to three. When he opened his eyes, Derek was gone. “It’s just your mind playing tricks,” he told himself after gaining composure.

  Very rarely Evan would see Derek after he’d wake up from the night terrors. The first time he’d seen Derek was during the first week the nightmares began. Evan had punched the bathroom mirror out of horror and shock. Now, he was still trying to figure out why Derek would appear out of the blue. What role did Derek play in his life with the current situation he was dealing with? Evan knew Derek’s appearances served some type of purpose but he couldn’t pin the exact reason just yet.

  He wiped his face with the towel and hung it behind him next to the shower.

  On his way out, Evan switched off the light, and slowly got under the covers. The bed sheet was a little damp from his sweat, but he’d gotten used to it.

  Evan lay in the dark as the moon illuminated his room, making the painting on the wall visible. Evan studied the painting, remembering how he had purchased it. It brought some sense of peace when he couldn’t fall back asleep.

  The painting, called The Twister, was a mixture of bold colors swirled together. It was created by a local artist in Pool View—it was the first painting that caught Evan’s eye when he stepped into the art gallery, on the day of its grand opening a year ago. It was the same day he met Harmony. He thought that there was certainly no one as beautiful as she was. After standing and stalling for fifteen minutes, he finally worked up the courage to ask Harmony out on a date.

  It had been two months since Harmony broke up with Evan. All of her belongings had been moved out and the painting was the only reminder of Harmony that was left in the house, along with the memories they created together.

  When his mind wandered back to Samantha, Evan mentally replayed what he remembered from his dream. This helped him recall the memory more vividly in the morning so he could write it down in the journal he kept.

  ***

  At the crack of dawn, Evan went downstairs and made himself a hot cup of espresso. It was the right way to start off the day. It was a peaceful sunny Saturday. He went about pouring in a small amount of milk and sugar, stirring it around with a spoon, and tossing the spoon into the sink afterward.

  Evan sat at the kitchen table in his pajamas with his journal and pen sitting in front of him—replaying the entire dream in his mind.

  He picked up his pen and began to write.

  December 12, 2015:

  Woke up at 3:30 again, remembering Samantha throwing up. She laid there on the bathroom floor, with her hand over her stomach. When Derek came home, he beat her with his belt over and over because dinner wasn’t ready. It all started from the kitchen and then the beating moved to the living room. He hit her in the face. She was crying and kept asking him to stop but he wouldn’t. After I washed my face, I looked in the mirror and saw Derek standing behind me. It made me cringe. It’s been two weeks since the last time I saw him.

  He put the pen down beside his journal, staring at the words that quickly dried on the paper. Evan ran his fingers through his short chestnut brown hair, trying to make sense of the memory he was haunted by. There had to be a reason for Evan to remember his past life, but whether Evan’s past life had anything to do with him now, he was unsure. He took a sip of his coffee as his eyes lingered over the other entries.

  The creak in the hallway disrupted Evan in his thoughts. He turned to the living room to see his grandma, Venice Storm, looking over the coffee table. She was a tiny old woman, with the softest voice that coincidently matched her kind soul. She almost looked like Mrs. Claus, with her rosy cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes and her face almost wrinkle free. Her glowing skin truly disguised her age well. She was a year shy from turning eighty, but didn’t look a day over sixty.

  Evan gradually walked into the living room with his coffee mug in one hand.

  “Darling, what happened here last night?” Venice asked, looking over at Evan, even though she already knew.

  She was a psychic.

  Evan looked at the mess he had left on the coffee table last night before heading to bed. Since it was winter vacation, his teaching duties as a psychology teacher at Walsh Pierce High School were currently on hold. Evan, partially drunk, had unloaded a box of old family photos all over the table to put in to a family album. But instead, his productive evening ended up reminiscing about all the things that had gone awry.

  “The goal was to get all these pictures in to an album,” Evan said, pushing the photos toward the middle of the table, making room for his mug.

  “Yeah, I can see that, darling,” she said, scanning the table.

  He picked up a photo with his parents and his sister, Denise, at the beach. Evan was four years old and vividly remembered chasing Denise around with a dead crab. It was the last photo taken before his parents’ death.

  “Unfortunately that didn’t happen,” he said, setting the picture b
ack on the coffee table with the rest.

  “Put these pictures back in the box,” Venice ordered. “I don’t want you spilling coffee all over them. I’m not even sure if I have the negatives for these pictures.”

  “I’m sure Dad put them somewhere.” Evan paused, wondering what Venice was doing here on a Saturday morning. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “I had thirty minutes to spare, so I thought, why don’t I go visit my little darling and see what he’s been up to lately?”

  Venice worked as a therapist in her private clinic located in the central business district, where she used her psychic abilities to her advantage. She hid the fact she was able to predict what was going to happen in the future from her patients for many reasons.

  Many years ago, when she tried to prevent her husband’s death, Grandpa Dean, she learned what the consequences were for trying to change his fate. The universe was not too pleased with Venice trying to prevent what was meant to happen. The only way Venice could use her psychic abilities was to answer questions, favorably yes and no questions. It kept her out of trouble from the universe, since there was a very thin line that was easy to cross.

  Venice’s soft bouncy gray hair brushed against his cheek as she planted a kiss on his forehead. She headed into the kitchen with her purse hanging off of one shoulder.

  “There’s coffee if you want some,” Evan said, carefully stacking the photos in a pile and putting them back in the box. “It was nice of you to drop by,” he said as he put the lid back. “Unannounced,” he added.

  Ignoring his last comment, she replied, “I think I’ll just have orange juice.”

  Venice retrieved the juice from the refrigerator. She poured herself a full glass before putting the carton back in the refrigerator. Venice sat at the kitchen table with her fingers wrapped around her glass. She noticed the ungraded papers in his office.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted, pulling out the chair in front of her and taking a seat.