Unveiled (The Unveiling Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  Attached to the message is the photo of me lying beside Rae’s body.

  Vomit burns in my throat as my stomach lurches.

  I roll out of bed then crawl over to the trashcan where I puke. Once the vomit settles, I lie down on the cold, hardwood floor. The moment I shut my eyes, all I see is blood.

  Eight

  For the next few days, I spend a lot of time cleaning, helping Loki out, and trying to do an online search of The Unveiling. I don’t find anything substantial. Whatever Cole was talking about is either made up or completely hush, hush. For some reason, I worry it’s the latter. I just wish I knew what Cole and Del are a part of and what they want from me.

  That’s not my only problem. Something about being home stirs memories I have been trying so hard to forget, and I hardly get any sleep anymore. Exhaustion clouds over me as I help Zhara clean up the house then give her pointers on how to improve her cheerleading skills. She’s really good and doesn’t need much help, but the perfectionist in her won’t let me leave the living room until I pick her technique apart.

  After she’s satisfied I gave her a legitimate critique, I head upstairs to our parents’ bedroom. Loki won’t be home from the bookstore for a couple of hours, so I figure I’ll pack up some boxes before he shows up. Maybe it will show him I can handle more than he thinks. When I step over the threshold, however, I damn near collapse as memories slam against my chest.

  The framed photos on the wall, the jewelry box on the dresser, the clothes in their closet, the shoes on the floor—every single inch of space reminds me of them.

  Summoning a deep breath, I inch into the room and trail my fingers over the cologne bottles on the vanity. Mom used to give Dad so much shit for having more cologne than she did perfume.

  “You always smell so pretty,” she would say with a smirk.

  He would shake his head, pretending to be more annoyed than he really was. “You’re just jealous because I smell better than you.”

  She would then roll her eyes and say, “You wish.”

  They would go back and forth before ending the playful banter with a kiss.

  Blinking the tears from my eyes, I run my fingers along the last of the cologne bottles, and the nozzle gives off a spritz of scent. The smell … It belongs to Dad.

  A sob builds in my chest, but I hold it back as I head for the closet filled mostly with my mother’s clothes. My friends used to call her the “cool mom,” with the closet full of trendy clothes and shoes. When I was fifteen, I started sneaking in and borrowing stuff, right up until she caught me.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Mom leans against the closet doorway, eyeballing the short, black dress and leather jacket I have in my hands.

  “Um, putting the laundry away,” I lie lamely.

  Her lips quirk. “Jessa, you’ve got to come up with a better excuse than that. At least try to make the lie sound believable.”

  I sigh. “I was stealing clothes to wear to the party tonight. I’m sorry. I know I should’ve asked, but …” I shrug. “I was worried you’d say no.”

  Amusement dances in her eyes as she points at the clothes in my hands. “Let me see what you have.”

  I give her the dress and jacket. “I’m really sorry I didn’t ask.”

  She holds the dress up, and then the jacket. “Nope, that won’t work.” She tosses the dress onto the floor then sifts through some hangers and grabs a velvet, maroon dress. “Try this. It’ll look really good on you.”

  Smiling, I hug her tightly. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

  She really, really was. She was the one who encouraged me to chase my dream of going to London for culinary school and all for what? So I could screw up in quite possibly the worst way ever.

  Sucking in a slow breath, I focus back on the closet.

  “You can do this,” I try to convince myself as I pick up an empty box from off the floor.

  I only manage to get two boxes packed before the sadness becomes too overpowering, and I have to take a breather before I start bawling my eyes out. By then, Loki’s home and has takeout for dinner.

  “I don’t want you to have to cook all the time,” he tells me as he sets the bags on the counter.

  “I don’t mind cooking.” I grab some forks and paper plates, putting them on the kitchen island, figuring we can go buffet style tonight. “It actually relaxes me.”

  He peers up from digging around in one of the bags. “Really?”

  I shoot him a duh look. “Um, hello, I was going to culinary school.”

  “Yeah, I know, but …” He loosens the tie he’s wearing and unbuttons the sleeves. “Some of the stuff you said in the hospital … I thought … Well, I thought maybe one of the problems was that you were tired of school.”

  I shake my head. “Not necessarily of school. Just of … I don’t know, school in London.” I swallow hard.

  Indecisiveness crosses Loki’s face as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “You know Mom and Dad wouldn’t care if you changed your mind about stuff. I mean, they wouldn’t be angry with you if you decided you didn’t want to go to school and cook anymore, or live in London.”

  Sighing, I look him straight in the eye. “Loki, I swear I still want to cook. That’s probably the one thing I’m sure of.” It’s everything else that’s complicated.

  He bobs his head up and down as he reaches into one of the bags. “Okay. But even with other stuff, like living in London, they wouldn’t care. You don’t have to stay the same person you were when they were alive. If they were here, they’d tell you to do what makes you happy.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, for everything.

  I just wish they were here so I could tell them.

  Better yet, I wish none of it ever happened.

  But it did. And now you have to deal with the consequences.

  Sighing, I move toward the back of the closet and start rummaging through a stack of boxes that are full of old photos. That quickly becomes too much, so I move on to the large, metal trunk pushed up against the far back wall. But the thing is locked. And not just locked, but completely bolted up with three padlocks.

  What on earth could my parent’s have kept in there?

  Part of me wants to open it and find out while the other part wants to let them keep their secrets.

  After all, if it’s one thing I can understand, sometimes people want to let their secrets die with them.

  Nine

  The next day, I wake up, determined to get more boxes packed. I’m not even sure if my main goal is to show Loki I can handle more, or if it’s something else. Nevertheless, I feel like I need to do stuff, help out, or I will probably end up lying around in bed all day.

  Knowing what to expect now, I do a better job of not crying my eyes out as I sit in the closet, going through their belongings. Every single photo, article of clothing, knickknack is tied to them. Memories swirl around me as I sort through stuff, picking out things I want to keep.

  I only get about five boxes in when I get a text.

  I almost don’t look, but the unsettled feelings stirring inside me become too great.

  Digging out my phone, I hold my breath as I check the text.

  Cole: Are you ready to start playing the game again? I’d think about your answer really carefully, or that photo is going to go public quickly.

  My fingers tremble as I start to type a reply back, but then I hurriedly put my phone away as Loki walks in to tell me he’s leaving for the party.

  “Are you sure you can handle this?” Loki asks for the millionth time as he laces up his sneakers.

  “We’ll be fine.” I shoo him toward the front door. “They’re just a couple of teenagers, for God’s sake. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Worry flashes across his face. “The fact that you have to ask that means a lot could go wrong.”

  I put my hair into a messy ponytail. “It’s only for a few hours, and you’ll be,
like, a few miles away. If I need you, I’ll call.” I draw an X across my heart. “I promise.”

  “Fine.” He reluctantly collects the car keys off the foyer table then turns for the door. “But if you need anything—anything at all—call me.”

  I nod. Good God, he’s a pain in the ass to get out of the house.

  He dithers for another handful of seconds before opening the door.

  I blow out a breath of relief and start backtracking for the kitchen to check on the brownies Zhara begged me to bake.

  “Oh, and Jessa?” Loki says.

  I turn around. “Yeah?”

  Come on; you can do it. Go have some fun. Let me take care of stuff for a while. I can handle this. I can, dammit! Because I need to handle something. Otherwise, my worry is going to drown me alive!

  He glances from the stairs to the living room then steps toward me with hesitancy written all over his face. “I made you an appointment for Wednesday,” he says quietly. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Oh.” That’s so not what I expected him to say. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks … for doing that.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m just glad you agreed to talk to someone.” He backs toward the door again. “I’ll be back by nine, okay?”

  “Stop being such an old man,” I tell him. “Stay out at least until the sun goes down, for crying out loud.”

  He waves me off then hurries out the door.

  “Good grief. Is he always like that?” I ask Zhara when I return to the kitchen.

  “No. Usually, he doesn’t go out.” She picks up the butter and returns it to the fridge. “I’m glad you convinced him to go. He needs to get out more.”

  I set the mixing bowl in the sink. “Hmmm … Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “I go out sometimes,” she whispers to the open fridge. “But I like to help take care of stuff, too. I don’t know why everyone thinks that’s weird.”

  I step up beside her and wrap my arms around her. “It’s okay if you like to help, but you do need to have some fun. Trust me; life goes by so much more quickly than you think. I don’t want you looking back at your life and wishing you’d done things differently.” I give her a big hug then move away before I start bawling.

  I can’t get that text out of my mind. What did he mean by: Are you ready to start playing the game again? Is that a threat? A threat for what?

  I might need to tell someone about what’s going on with Cole. Someone I can trust. But definitely not any of my brothers or sisters. I will never burden them with that.

  Zhara turns to face me. “Do you wish you could’ve done things differently?”

  I nearly choke as I nod.

  Her brows draw together. “Like, with what?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. When she stares at me expectantly, I rack my mind for something to tell her that doesn’t have to do with that night. “I guess, I wish I’d stayed in touch with my friends more.”

  “You can still get in touch with them.” She begins putting the seasonings away. “I see some of them around sometimes. Like Milo. He actually came here when Anna’s crazy ex-boyfriend broke into the house, and we had to call the cops.”

  “Yeah, Anna told me about that.” Not wanting to go down the Milo road, I busy myself with cleaning up. “The brownies should be done in a few minutes.” I grab a paper towel and wipe down the countertops. “I was thinking, before we take Nik to the game, we can go get something to eat. I’d cook, but I don’t think we have time.”

  “Jessa, are you sure you’re okay?” She watches me as I scrub down the kitchen like someone trying to clean their problems away. “You seem … I don’t know—” The sound of glass shattering cuts her off. Her eyes widen. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounded like it came from upstairs.” I drop the paper towel and jog for the stairs with Zhara on my heels.

  When I get to the upstairs hallway, I find Nik standing in front of his bedroom doorway, his face pale.

  “What happened?” I ask, striding toward him.

  “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sputters, casting a panicked glance into his room. “I was just throwing the ball around and … it slipped out of my hands.”

  I nudge him aside and hurry into his room. The window along the far back wall is shattered, broken glass scattered all over the floor and his bed.

  “I’m so sorry, Jessa,” Nik says. “I promise it was an accident.”

  “It’s okay.” I attempt to be optimistic. “It could be worse.”

  Zhara frowns at the fragments of glass on the carpet. “But there’s so much glass everywhere. And no window.”

  “The glass can be cleaned up, and the window can be fixed,” I say with a shrug. “See? No harm, no foul.”

  Zhara inches forward and peers out the broken window at the cloudy sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

  I twist the end of my ponytail around my finger. “So, we get a piece of cardboard, tape it up, and then call someone to come fix the window. There. Problem fixed.”

  Zhara mulls it over, chewing on her bottom lip. “If it rains, it could seep through the cardboard.”

  “Okay, then we’ll use some plastic.” I pat her shoulder. “Zhara, I can totally handle this.”

  She doesn’t seem too convinced. “Maybe we should call Loki and see what he wants us to do.”

  I shake my head. “No way. Then he’ll try to come home.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She hops over the glass on the carpet, moving away from the window. “I think there might be a roll of plastic in the garage leftover from when Loki was going to paint the living room.”

  My brows arch. “He painted the living room? How did I not notice that?”

  “He was going to,” she stresses. “He hasn’t had time, though.”

  “I’ll get the plastic,” Nik offers, backing toward the door.

  I bend down to start picking up the glass. “Grab the staple gun, too. And a garbage bag—”

  The smoke detectors cut me off, startling the shit out of me.

  The sirens send a memory pulsating through me.

  “Are you ready to play the game!” a deep voice reverberates around me.

  A crowd of cheers follow.

  “Are you ready for The Unveiling!” the deep voice shouts even louder.

  The crowd cheers louder.

  My body trembles as I try to squint through the blindfold, but all I can see is the flickering of lights. My skin dampens with sweat as I turn in a circle, my heart thrashing to get out of my chest.

  What’s going on?

  Where am I?

  What’s about to happen?

  “Then let’s bring them out!” the deep chants.

  The crowd erupts with enthusiasm as a siren blares…

  I blink back to reality and cover my ears with my hand. Oh my God, what happened to me that night?

  Nik throws his hands over his ears too. “Why the hell are they going off?”

  “Jessa, the brownies!” Zhara cries over the shrieking.

  Shit!

  Panicking that the house is burning down, I shove Nik aside, race down the stairs, and run into the kitchen.

  Smoke laces the air as I spot the small fire on the burner and the remnants of a paper towel lying in its midst.

  “Shit.” I quickly turn off the burner, grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink, and douse the flames.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Zhara says, rushing into the kitchen. “I must have left the burner on when I was melting the butter.”

  “It’s okay.” I fan a dishrag in front of the smoke detector near the oven. “I’m the one who threw the paper towel on it!” I continue to wave the dishrag back and forth, but it won’t turn off. “Man, these things are temperamental.”

  “I’ll open some windows.” Zhara leans over the sink and throws open the window.

  “The house alarm’s going off, too,” Nik announces as he enters the kitchen with
his hands over his ears. “I can’t get it to turn off.”

  I set down the dishrag and hurry toward the foyer, wanting nothing more than to turn off the damn alarm and forget the memories I just saw. “Why’s the house alarm going off?”

  Nik trails after me. “I think it came with a fire alarm built in or something.”

  I open the alarm box on the wall and frown at the buttons. “What’s the password?”

  “I already punched it in, but it won’t turn off. You can try again, though, I guess.” He yammers off the code to me.

  “Maybe we should call Loki.” Zhara flips on the ceiling fan as she walks into the foyer. “He might have to call someone to get it turned off.”

  “We’re not calling Loki.” I push the code, but the alarm continues to screech like a wild banshee. “Crap. Crap. Crap.” I press my fingers to the brim of my nose. Get your shit together, Jessa. You can’t fall apart in front of them.

  But as the alarm continues to blare, my head pulsates with images about to explode.

  God, this is so stressful.

  No wonder Loki was worried. A half an hour in, and a window has already been broken, a fire started, and now the alarms won’t turn off.

  Maybe I can’t handle as much as I thought.

  Of course you can’t.

  The longer the alarm sounds off, the more my head pounds. Anxiety clutches my throat, and my chest tightens, making it difficult to breathe. I want to scream for help, but I don’t want to freak out Zhara and Nik.

  I’m just about to admit defeat and call Loki when the doorbell rings.

  “Maybe that’s the fire department,” Nik says, hustling for the door. “I bet they can tell us how to turn the alarm off.”

  “It’s probably just a neighbor wondering what the hell’s going on …” I trail off as Nik throws open the door.

  Milo stands on the front porch with a concerned look on his face.

  My heart leaps in my chest at the sight of him. So not who I was expecting, but I’m glad he’s here. But why is he here? Because of the alarm going off? Did the alarm company send the cops here? I doubt it since he’s not dressed in his uniform, but a fitted grey T-shirt and black board shorts that look really good on him. He’s also holding a giant red platter full of desserts.