Alone

by E. J. Noyes

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Praise for E. J. Noyes

  Other Books by E. J. Noyes

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Synopsis

  Half a million dollars will be Celeste Thorne’s reward for spending four years of her life in total isolation. No faces. No voices. No way to leave.

  Since Celeste has never really worried about being alone, the generous paycheck she’ll receive for her participation in the solitary psychological experiment seems like easy money.

  When she finds an injured hiker in the woods bordering her living compound, her strictly governed world is thrown into disarray. But even as she struggles with the morality of breaking the rules of the experiment, Celeste can’t deny her growing attraction to the kind and enigmatic Olivia Soldano. Still, how much can you really trust a stranger? And how much can you trust yourself when you know all the faces you’ve seen and voices you’ve heard for the past three years have only been your imagination?

  But what’s real? Celeste’s reality may lie somewhere between the absolute truth and a carefully constructed deception.

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  Praise for the Works of E. J. Noyes

  Ask, Tell

  “This is a book with everything I love about top quality lesbian fiction: a fantastic romance between two wonderful women I can relate to, a location that really made me think again about something I thought I knew well, and brilliant pacing and scene-setting. I cannot recommend this novel highly enough.”

  —Rainbow Book Reviews

  “Noyes totally blew my mind from the first sentence. I went in timidly, and I came away awaiting her next release with baited breath. I really love how Noyes is able to get below the surface of the DADT legislation. She really captures the longing, the heart-break, and especially the isolation that LGBTQ soldiers had to endure because the alternative was being deemed unfit to serve by their own government. I applaud Noyes for getting to the heart of the matter and giving a very important representation of what living and serving under this legislation truly meant for LGBTQ men and women of service.”

  —The Lesbian Review

  “EJ Noyes was able to deliver on so many levels… This book is going to take you on a roller coaster ride of ups and downs that you won’t expect but it’s so unbelievably worth it.”

  —Les Rêveur Reviews

  “Noyes clearly undertook a mammoth amount of research. I was totally engrossed. I’m not usually a reader of romance novels, but this one gripped me. The personal growth of the main character, the rich development of her fabulous best friend, Mitch, and the well-handled tension between Sabine and her love interest were all fantastic. This one definitely deserves five stars.”

  —ceLEStial books Reviews

  Turbulence

  “Wow… and when I say ‘wow’ I mean… WOW. After the author’s debut novel Ask, Tell got to my list of best books of 2017, I was wondering if that was just a fluke. Fortunately for us lesfic readers, now it’s confirmed: E.J. Noyes CAN write. Not only that, she can write different genres…Written in first person from Isabelle’s point of view, the reader gets into her headspace with all her insecurities, struggles and character traits. Alongside Isabelle, we discover Audrey’s personality, her life story and, most importantly, her feelings. Throughout the book, Ms. Noyes pushes us down a rollercoaster of emotions as we accompany Isabelle in her journey of self-discovery. In the process, we laugh, suffer and enjoy the ride.”

  —Gaby, goodreads

  “This was hot, steamy, even a little emotional… and I loved every second of it. This book is in first person. I know some don’t care for that, but it works for this book, really. Always being in Isabella’s head, not knowing for sure what Audrey was thinking, gave me almost a little suspense. I just love the way Noyes writes. I know I am fan-girling out a bit here, but her books make me happy. All other romance fans, I easily recommend this. I just hope I don’t have to wait too long for another Noyes book.”

  —Lex Kent, goodreads

  “The entire story just flowed from the first page! E. J. Noyes did a superb job of bringing out Isabelle and Audrey’s personalities, faults, erratic emotions and the burning passion they shared. The chemistry between both women was so palpable! I felt as though the writer drizzled every word she wrote with love, combustible desire and intense longing.”

  —The Lesbian Review

  Gold

  This is Noyes third book, and her writing just keeps getting better and better with each release. She gives us such amazing characters that are easy for anyone to relate to. And she makes them so endearing that you can’t help but want them to overcome the past and move forward toward their happily ever after.

  —The Lesbian Review

  “This book is exactly the way I wish romance authors would get back to writing romance. This is what I want to read. If you are a Noyes fan, get this book. If you are a romance fan, get this book. I didn’t even talk about the skiing… if you are a skiing fan, get this book.”

  —Lex Kent, goodreads

  Pin’s Reviews—“I love everything about it—the setting, the protagonists, sweet and convincing romance, a nice bunch of secondary characters, the skiing…The writing is excellent with great dialogue and pacing. There is some well-placed angst along with a really believable conflict. On top of all that, the ending (the entire last chapter) is truly great. I love when the author knows how to write a really satisfying ending.”

  —Pin, goodreads

  Other Bella Books by E. J. Noyes

  Ask, Tell

  Turbulence

  Gold

  Ask Me Again

  About the Author

  E. J. Noyes lives in Australia with her wife, a needy cat, aloof chickens and too many horses. When not indulging in her love of reading and writing, E. J. argues with her hair and pretends to be good at clay target shooting.

  Copyright © 2019 by E. J. Noyes

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2019

  eBook released 2019

  Editor: Cath Wa
lker

  Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

  ISBN: 978-1-64247-047-5

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Acknowledgments

  This novel is a little different (good different, I promise!) and I’m so grateful to have had a bunch of awesome people who got what I was trying to say, and then told me when I wasn’t saying it very well…

  Christina, thank you for all your wonderful nuances, and your excitement. Barupies forever!

  Thanks, Kate and Andy, for yet again giving me so much of your time and brainpower. Also, Kate, thanks for the gentle encouragement every time I said, “But it’s just so weird!”

  BFF Kate, even though you read two versions of this, cheered me on, and had really good and constructive ideas, I’m not thanking you until you read THAT BOOK. Oh and maybe that other book and its sequel. I believe we’re at an impasse xx.

  Ann, thanks for teaching me far more about the American taxation system than I ever thought I’d need to know.

  Thank you to the Bella Crew, who are all heroes—complete with pinned-on capes, and undies on the outside.

  Cath, I hope you know that it’s only less work because of everything you’ve taught me. Best. Editor. Ever.

  Pheebs…I’m trying so hard to think of some clever tie-in, like how being with you means I’m not alone, but I can’t figure out the words. I’m sure you can imagine what I’m kinda trying to say. You’re really great, I love you. Aren’t you glad you married such a wordsmith?

  Chapter One

  My foot catches on the clothes hamper and I stumble forward, only just stopping myself before I hit the glass-enclosed shower.

  “Fuck!”

  The sound of my voice startles me. How long is it since I spoke aloud?

  At least a few days?

  Maybe a week?

  I say it again, quieter this time. “Fuck.” The word tastes strange, rolling around my mouth like something foul needing to be spat out. I want to try another word, a softer one to balance the expletive, and reach deep into my brain for something to say. Nobody will hear me, so it doesn’t matter what I choose. I settle on my name. “Celeste.” My voice catches on the second syllable. I try again and add my last name. “Celeste Thorne.”

  Studying my face in the bathroom mirror, I state as clearly as I can in a voice rusty with disuse, “I am twenty-nine years old. My birthday is January sixth. Today is day…” A glance at the calendar tacked up beside the mirror. “One thousand, one hundred and eighty-one. I am still a person.” I lean closer, and the features staring back don’t seem to belong to me. “I am still a person.”

  The more I stare, the more I think I look like a hosed-down watercolor painting. My face seems to melt, features sliding into each other until I see Mother…then my younger sister, Riley…my foster mothers and my adoptive mother. Teachers. Lovers. Friends. I see everyone except myself.

  Have I gone crazy? Just a little? Probably. Anyone would. I exist in memories, both old and new. I exist with my false things.

  The false things only began a few months ago. It’s mostly voices, but sometimes I feel a phantom touch. Or I can smell Mother. My birth mother. Stale sweat, cigarette smoke, and the cloying smell of cheaply-cut meth and sour clothing that’s been left in the washer too long or put on while still damp. The arrival of her stench panics me like nothing I’ve ever known and I have to smell myself—my armpits and hair and skin. I have to do it, even though I know it’s not me because I always smell the same. Clean, like soap and shampoo and deodorant because I can’t stand the thought of being anything like her. Grabbing a double handful of my shirt and inhaling the fresh, laundered scent helps to clear my olfactory hallucinations.

  But I can’t do anything to get rid of the other hallucinations.

  Occasionally I have the sensation of a hand brushing lightly down my back. Other times, a bruising grip on my bicep that makes me desperate to jerk my arm away. Sometimes it’s a single spoken word, or if I’m lucky I’ll get a full sentence or two. And then they are gone. It’s not me touching myself and it’s not me talking to myself in my head. I hear them the way I hear birds outside, rain on the roof or the gurgle of coffee brewing.

  Even though I know none of it’s real, it doesn’t stop it from happening. It can’t be real, can it? No. The reality is that there’s only me, and now after more than three years here, I’m not even sure I know who me is anymore.

  The Controllers know. I told them right away and I dutifully record each of these “false things” in my daily logs. It’s a natural reaction, they told me. A perfectly acceptable outcome—expected actually. My request for medication to make the false things go away was denied. I could almost hear their incredulous laughter behind the screen as the cursor blinked and blinked and blinked. Eventually, I had to ask them the question.

  SE9311: It’s not you, is it? You’re not here playing the voices in my ear somehow? You’re not doing something to make me think something is touching me?

  Cont A: No. I assure you that nobody is there.

  Nobody is there. Here. Except me.

  I mark off another day on the calendar and swallow my dietary supplements with a handful of water from directly under the faucet, as I do every morning. I do everything I’m supposed to. I take my vitamins. I work out and eat a balanced diet. I don’t drink. Much. It’s important that my body remains strong for the duration of the study. They don’t seem to care so much about my mind. But I guess that’s the whole point.

  The advertisement was small and plain, taped by an unknown person to the wall of the coffee shop I was planning to quit at the end of the month. I would have missed the sheet of paper if I hadn’t been looking at the hot blonde sipping a macchiato underneath it. I set down the milk I was steaming, slipped out from behind the counter and murmuring an apology, leaned over the blonde to pull the flyer off the wall.

  Subjects wanted for psychological study.

  3 years minimum, 4 years maximum.

  Attractive compensation.

  “Who put this there?” I asked Brett, my slimy and overly-handsy boss. I could tell by the sound of the milk frothing that he was fucking up the latte I’d abandoned.

  Brett shrugged and started pouring. “Some guy in a suit, this morning. Paid me fifty bucks. Did you restock the sugar like I asked?”

  I shot a withering glance at his foam art. Even after eight years owning a café, he still couldn’t make a damned foam fern. “Yes, all the dispensers. I’m taking a break. Right now.”

  “Jeee-sus, Thorne. Get your ass back here.”

  But I was already out the rear door, phone in hand. Standing against the wall near the dumpsters, shivering without my coat, I dialed. A professional voice answered almost immediately with a simple, “Hello, how may I assist you?” Nothing more, nothing to tell me who I’d called.

  My words floated into cold air on visible breath. “Um, hi. I’m calling about an ad I saw? The psychological study?”

  “Can you quote the reference for me please?”

  “Reference?”

  “At the bottom of the page, ma’am, there will be a reference code.” Patient, encouraging.

  I lifted the paper, skimming over it. On closer look I saw it in small lettering, plain as anything—Quote this reference. Heat warmed my cheeks. “Uh, S-E-forward slash-eight-three.”

  “Transferring you now.”

  Once I’d been assured that it wasn’t a joke, and had answered a few basic questions, I was invited to come in for a proper interview the next day. Brett told me if I skipped work I shouldn’t bother coming back. I handed over my apron, told him I’d come by Friday to pick up my paycheck, and walked out
.

  Now, years later, I can’t remember what they asked at the interview. All I remember is an older guy in an expensive-looking suit telling me the study would require me to live in total isolation, secluded on a small compound in a remote place. I was to be without human contact and they would study the effects. Something about colonization of other planets—seeing how regular people cope on their own should something untoward happen to their fellow space travelers, and if they’re able to maintain a fragment of sanity and self-awareness to stay alive. Sanctioned by the government. Full ethics approval according to the code. One hundred percent legal and above board.

  I would also be responsible for maintaining the food and energy systems that they would be testing concurrently with the psychological study. Gotta make sure you can eat, drink, and stay warm on Venus while you’re trying not to go crazy from loneliness, I guess. Or is that…stay cool on Venus?

  I also clearly heard him say that the pay was one hundred thousand dollars per year for the three years minimum I would be required to complete. Once I made it to three years, I would then receive five hundred dollars for each additional day I stayed. If I made it the full four years I’d also earn a bonus, leaving me richer by the lovely round figure of half a million dollars. Even after setting aside almost a third of my payment for tax, it would leave me enough to buy a house, a car and get me set up to go back to college if I wanted. I’d leaned forward eagerly and asked where to sign.

  The Suit had laughed and ushered me into another room for compatibility testing, followed by swaths of psychological assessments, personality mapping, physicals, and endless multiple-choice quizzes. I still don’t know who is responsible for the experiment—the identity of the research institution was hidden behind layers of names and subterfuge, and in the documents I signed they are simply called, for all legal intents and purposes, “The Organization.” While reading my contract, I learned an unnamed agency contracted The Organization to conduct the studies on their behalf. It has to be NASA. Maybe they’ll let me be an astronaut when I’m done in here.