WHEN FULLY FUSED
BOOK THREE: THE SCHASM SERIES
SHARI J. RYAN
Booktrope Editions
Seattle, WA 2014
COPYRIGHT 2014 SHARI J. RYAN
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Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
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should be directed to: [email protected]
Edited by Katrina M. Randall
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-463-2
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-473-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014912842
Table of Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE: SOUGHT AFTER GOLD
CHAPTER TWO: ARCHIVES
CHAPTER THREE: DEATH, BIRD, FAMILY
CHAPTER FOUR: A BIRD’S REFLECTION
CHAPTER FIVE: AN OLD FRIEND WITH NEW HABITS
CHAPTER SIX: A BAD PLAN
CHAPTER SEVEN: FLYING TO FIND THE END
CHAPTER EIGHT: HOME IS NOT WHERE THE HEART IS
CHAPTER NINE: GRAY SUIT
CHAPTER TEN: PARIS IN A DAY
CHAPTER ELEVEN: FINALLY GOT HIS WAY
CHAPTER TWELVE: UNCONSCIOUS LOVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNTOLD TRUTHS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE TRUTH
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DAD’S HIDEAWAY
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CAN’T COMPARE APPLES TO ORANGES
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: BREAKING AND ENTERING
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LOOPHOLES IN THE DARK
CHAPTER NINETEEN: THREE BLUE SUITS
CHAPTER TWENTY: FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE LOCKET
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE PILL
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: REDO
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: A CHILD’S STATE OF MIND
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: YEAR 2023
EPILOGUE
A NOTE TO MY READERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PREVIEW OF TAG
MORE FROM SHARI RYAN AND BOOKTROPE
Dedicated to my sister, Lori—my best friend and my shoulder to lean on.
This is for you.
PREFACE
I HOPE THIS works. I mean, it has to work.
"Sammy, can you get Mommy a glass of water?" I ask, watching him put the final touches on his stick-figure drawing.
I wonder if I'll forget about him. I wonder what will happen to all my memories. I watch the little head of blond curls bounce over to me, happy and carefree.
"Here Mommy. Here's your water," he says with a content look.
"Thank you, Sammy," I respond with a lump in my throat.
I carefully place the glass of water down on the counter and kneel down to Sammy's level. "Come here, sweetie," I say, wrapping my fingers gently around his little arm. I pull him in close to me.
"What's the matter, Mommy?”
CHAPTER ONE:
SOUGHT AFTER GOLD
I'M NOT SURE why people tell you not to cry over spilled milk. Are they talking to the parents, or to the children who are spilling the milk? This is the third spill I've cleaned up today. Messes suck, even in a drift. I wish my mind could figure out how to clean it up without me having to get down on my hands and knees.
Just as I'm peeling up the last piece of macaroni from the tiled floor, a brash knock on the front door startles me and I thump my head under the table. It's only eight in the morning. People seriously have no common courtesy these days.
Rubbing my sore head, I push the loose strands of hair off of my face and try to look presentable for whoever is rude enough to be knocking at this time of day.
I separate two of the blinds and peek out before opening the door. Great. Another salesman. I wish these people would just give up. I unlatch the chain, twist the deadbolt, and open the front door only a crack. "Can I help you?" I ask in a snide voice.
"Hello, ma’am. I don't mean to bother you so early in the morning, but could you spare a moment of your time?" the opulently well-dressed man asks. Looking at him a little closer, I notice he doesn't look like a typical door-to-door salesman. I'm no expert in the fine clothing department, but I'm sure his shimmering gray suit and snakeskin leather shoes are probably worth more than a car payment for my new little Prius out there.
"Now really isn't a good time, sir. If you'd like to come back later, my husband will be home around five tonight." I attempt to close the door, but his fingers wrap around the edge, holding it firmly in place and making it so I can’t close it.
"Alex is not the one I need to speak with. It's you. And I'm nicely asking you for a moment of your time, Chloe." His voice has lowered an octave and sounds more like a growl.
I press both of my hands against the door and push it harder without concern for the man’s fingers that are wedged between the threshold and the door. It closes enough so I can attach the chain at the top to constrict the door from opening any further. "What do you want?" I ask, hiding my face. I can’t believe they’re here now. I look over my shoulder to make sure Sammy isn't witnessing another one of these incidents.
He’s not, thankfully.
"Where is it?" The man shouts with aggression growing in his voice.
"Where is what?" I play dumb.
"Where is the damn locket?" I swallow hard. This locket has become a dark shadow that follows me around. No matter how fast I run or how hard I try to hide from it, it’s always lurking around the corner.
"What is it with you people and this stupid locket? I don't know anything about any locket, or its whereabouts." I twirl my finger in the air, gesturing for him to turn around and leave. I know he can see my hand through the opening where his fingers still have a grip on the door. "Bye-bye now." I press my entire body up against the door, pushing as hard as I can. I hear the man groan from the pain of his likely broken fingers. He tries to pull his hand out and makes it as far as his knuckles. Simply because I want him to leave, I lessen my weight against the door. He slides his hand out and I slam the door shut, locking each of the three deadbolts.
I fall against the door and thump the back of my head into it. I can’t deal with this anymore. There is no break from this. I hate that I’m subjecting Sammy to a life I promised I would never give him. I want him to be able to go outside and play and live like a normal four-year-old. But how can I when we’re being constantly watched with a pair of binoculars? We have no clue how many people are after the locket. And if it were up to me, I’d go find that damn thing again and gladly hand it to the first person that asks for it. It’s of no use to me lying on some rock in the Catacombs. Nevertheless, whenever I say the word locket around Alex, it’s as if I’ve unleashed some demon that should only be known about and never spoken of. It’s been an uncomfortably touchy subject over the past four years. As it should be, considering how many people are after the damn thing, and me for that matter. I know there is a deeper explanation for it. After all, this entire world was concocted within the confines of my broken mind. I’m just not sure I understand the reasoning behind a secret that my mind must be keeping from my subcons
cious.
***
The sun is beginning to dull and dip down below the horizon. I’ve been standing here, staring blankly out of the kitchen window, waiting for Alex and not another psychopath to pull into the driveway.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Sammy’s voice pulls me out of my trance. He tugs on the back of my shirt and looks up at me with his beautiful Alex-like eyes. “Can I have a snack?”
I kneel down in front of him and pull him into my chest. “We’re having dinner in a half hour. We’re just waiting for Daddy to come home.” We have the same conversation every day at five o’clock. Now he’s going to give me his best puppy dog pout and scuff his feet against the linoleum tiles.
“Fineeee,” he whines and meanders out into the living room. He’s such a good kid. We’re so lucky with how understanding he is and always has been with our constant moving and running away from any sense of a solid foundation. If things stay like this, I don’t know how we’ll be able to handle him attending school. We can’t just rip him out anytime someone comes knocking on our door. I feel disappointed in myself. I need to protect him from this life he’s falling into. And protection doesn’t always mean running. It means fighting off whatever is pushing us away.
Alex pulls into the driveway. I watch him remove his aviator sunglasses and hook them up on his window visor. He catches me looking at him from the window, and it’s easy to tell he can read the meaning of my expression. His lips sag downwards and his shoulders slump as I see the seat belt fling behind him. It takes him less than fifteen seconds to make it from his car to where I’m standing in the kitchen.
We don’t exchange words at first. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles his head into my shoulder. He smells like fresh soap, as if he just showered. He pulls away and places his hands around the sides of my neck. He leans his head down to meet my eyes and looks at me intently. “What happened?” What is he waiting for me to tell him? I’m sure he can guess what happened. We get a good solid month before we’re found again. And we’ve been living in this house for exactly thirty days today. It’s almost as good as clockwork.
"Another one came by today," I tell him the obvious facts.
He pulls me back into his chest and runs his fingers through the loose messy knot of hair piled on my head. “Sorry, Chlo.” He whispers his apology as if it were his fault. He can’t protect me every second of the day, but sometimes he acts as if he was placed in my world only to protect me.
I kiss his nose and pull out of his tight grip. “It’s dinner time,” I say with a forced smile. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching me bounce off of each corner in the kitchen, preparing to remove the casserole from the oven.
“Chlo, stop.” I don’t want to stop. Because when I do, he’s going to want my attention. He’s going to tell me we’re leaving again. He’s going to tell me we have to keep running. And I am so sick of running.
“Just let them catch us, Alex.” I wrench open the oven and whip an oven-mitt from the hook above my head. “Just give them the damn thing. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”
Alex opens the silverware drawer, retrieves a handful of forks and drops them onto the counter. "You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can see anger sizzling out of his eyes. He’s been trying so hard to protect us, but we’re being stalked. Every time Alex thinks he’s outsmarted them, he quickly finds that not to be the case.
"Yes," I respond softly while picking up the dropped silverware, “I do.” My reassuring words don’t have any effect on him. I scoop up the forks and sway my attention away from the look on his face.
He gently retrieves the forks from my hand and places them down on the three napkin settings on the table. "I'm sorry. I just thought we would lose them for a little while if we moved back here.”
“Thirty days is all we ever get from them, Alex.”
He drops down into his seat and lets his head fall into his hands. “Shit. I should call Celia and make sure they didn't get to her too," he says, standing up and sliding his phone out of his pocket.
"I already called and warned her. She said a man stopped in front of her house but never approached the front door. She's fine, don't worry."
He inhales sharply and closes his eyes. “I am so sick of this. We are never going to be able to live a normal life here.”
“Here? There’s evidently nowhere.”
“I know,” he says, wringing his hand around the back of his neck. “I was obviously wrong again.”
“So, now what? Should we leave this world behind, go back to a place where your mind doesn’t work and my mind can’t stay planted in one place? Because, to be honest…that doesn’t really sound like a better option to me.” I pull Sammy’s chair out for him to sit down. “This is the only way Sammy can have two parents. Do I have to remind you of this?” I comb my fingers through Sammy’s hair, regretting what I just said in front of him.
“We’re in trouble, Chloe. I don’t know what else to do,” he says.
“We’re always in trouble,” I groan. I place Alex’s and Sammy’s plates down in front of them. “At least we can have a little normal here.” I nudge my head toward Sammy.
“So we should just keep running?” he asks.
“It’s better than the alternative: a world where we can’t be together.” I sit down at the opposite end of the table.
He stabs his fork into the chicken casserole and looks up at me with a weary expression. "Why didn't you call me today when it happened? I told you I would always take your call at work, Chloe."
He just started there a few weeks ago; I didn't want to get him in trouble. I know how important this job is to him and our family. “It was nothing that couldn't wait until you got home."
"I just wish you would have called, okay? When this happens again, I want you to call me." Okay, so I’ll be calling him tomorrow, I’m sure. When we were in Charleston, I had a different man at my door every day. It was as if they thought their lame salesman acts weren’t new to me—as if I didn’t know why they were really there. I won’t let them in. They know that and I know that. What I don’t know is why we’re running from something that won’t go away no matter where we are. I’m sure Alex knows. I’m sure he has more insight. And I’m sure he just doesn’t want to tell me, as always.
I place my fork and knife back down on the table and I set my eyes on his. He looks over at me and nods his head, silently begging me not to ask what I'm about to ask. He knows because I ask every day. I’m hoping he’ll give up and tell me one of these days, but it won’t happen without me wearing him down first. It’s been four years of me begging to know what he knows. He claims to not know much more than I do, but sometimes he tells me it’s best if I don’t know. So I have to assume there’s something important he’s hiding.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to once again swallow my growing anger. I look over at Sammy, hoping to shift my mind onto something else. Asking this always causes arguments and I’m tired of fighting.
Of course, Sammy is staring at me, nodding his head just like Alex. While I know he's just copying what he sees, I can't help but wonder what that little mind knows, and if he knows too much as well. Now having nowhere else to look, my anger resurfaces. "Just tell me," I say softly.
"No, Chloe. Drop it." He clears his throat and looks over at Sammy. "Hey buddy, what did you do today?"
I take a deep breath and attempt to blow out my growing rage. We've been over this a thousand times, but it still eats away at me. I never should've put that locket back. If I didn't, maybe I would have gotten some answers on the importance of the stupid thing. I’m being followed by strange men, here in what is supposed to be our dream of a life. Alex won’t tell me anything. He wants to keep me in the dark, to protect me, against what, I still don’t know. It drives me nuts. I’m the one being followed. It’s a necklace with a picture of an old couple in front of a freaking rock. I can’t really understand what could be so damn important about it. And if
it is so important, and it supposedly belongs to me, I should know why.
"All right, buddy. Go watch TV for a little bit, and I'll be in, in a few," Alex says, standing up with his plate.
Sammy bounces off into the next room, and I stand up with my plate as well. "What's your problem, Alex?" I say, unable to hide my frustration. I hate when we argue. And we only argue about this. The topic gets brought up far more often now than it has in the past, but only because these salesmen are showing up daily once they find me. Here I thought I was wearing them down, and as soon as I feel like I’ve gained some leverage, they increase their attempts to retrieve the information. Maybe Alex doesn’t want to tell me because he thinks I’m weak and I’ll give them the answers they’re looking for. And honestly, I’m not sure I wouldn’t. If it meant we could live in peace here, than I would do whatever it takes to have that.
"Chlo, I'm really tired of having the same argument over this matter. You've promised me time after time that you would drop it for me. So, why can't you?" he huffs as he drops his fork into the sink.
"Because, the situation is getting worse. I feel like I'm constantly being watched and monitored. I have no idea why. Yet, I have a strange feeling you do.” I can’t control the anger seeping through the cracks in my voice. I keep thinking I’ll break him down. But he’s as strong and persistent as I am. We’re both fighting a brick wall. “Put yourself in my shoes for a minute. How would you feel?"
He places his glass gently down into the sink and turns around to face me. He opens his arms and purses his lips into a pout. "Come here, baby."
Those blue eyes and perfect lips get me every time. Whenever I focus on them, my anger always diminishes, which is why I try to avoid looking at him when I’m trying to convince him to give me answers. But now it’s too late. I’ve fallen into his trap. His eyes have dragged me in like a magnet, and my body is now pressed up against his. The warmth of his embrace makes me forget why I’m angry. It’s almost like he knows he holds that power over me, and he uses it to his advantage. He rests his cheek on my head and whispers, "Sorry, Chlo. Hang in there. You'll have some answers soon."
When Fully Fused Page 1
