Death's Awakening (Eternal Sorrows, #1)

by Sarra Cannon

  The call went to voicemail.

  She tried him again, this time calling his home phone instead of his cell.

  On the fourth ring, his mother picked up. “Hello?”

  Her voice was strange and tight.

  “Hi Mrs. Goldman. It’s Karmen. Can I talk to Aaron?”

  Aaron’s mom sobbed into the phone and Karmen’s heart went still. She waited, not knowing what to say.

  “Oh Karmen, honey, I’m sorry, I should have called you,” Mrs. Goldman said. Someone was coughing in the background. “It just happened so fast, I didn’t even know what to think or who to call.”

  “What happened?” Karmen asked. “Is Aaron okay?”

  “He’s been sick since Sunday night.” His mom’s voice cracked as she answered. “Karmen, Aaron passed away this morning.”

  The phone dropped from Karmen’s hand and the screen cracked as it hit the floor. She stared straight ahead, unable to move or cry or even breathe.

  How could Aaron be dead? She’d just seen him on Friday night. She’d kissed him. He hadn’t even been sick at all. Not even a cough or a fever or anything. How had he gotten sick and died all in just the last couple of days?

  She pulled her knees tight to her chest and lay her head against them. It was long past midnight before she finally got up from the floor and made her way to bed.

  Parrish

  The neighborhood was eerie and silent. The only time she remembered it being so quiet was one morning after a particularly heavy snowfall. She had woken up super early and taken a walk in the powdery white morning. But there was no snow this time. It was sunny and hot and beautiful. The flowers were blooming and the birds were still singing. Everything looked normal for summer, except that there should have been children playing in the yards and dads mowing lawns. People should be swimming in their pools and heading out to the lake or the grocery store or the mall.

  Was anyone even going to work anymore? Parrish couldn’t be sure.

  Not one person had even come over to check on her after her mother died. She was sure someone had to know by now. But no one had come to see if she was doing okay here by herself.

  She hadn’t been able to reach her aunt Stacey, her mom’s sister. She was supposed to be coming to stay while her mom went to join her dad and Zoe in Paris, but something in Parrish’s gut told her she wasn’t coming. That she was sick, too, and would never be coming to visit again.

  She’d tried to call her dad for days, but couldn’t get through to him. She kept getting the same message about the cellular network being busy. When she looked it up online, she found out that all of the signals in New York City had been jammed like crazy and service had been really patchy. She wasn’t sure what hotel they were staying in and couldn’t find her mom’s notes about it anywhere.

  She’d been working her way through the phone book, calling every swanky hotel in Manhattan, asking for her dad. The answer was always the same. No one by that name was registered.

  Parrish sat down in the center of the living room floor and dialed the number for the Four Seasons. It took a dozen rings for someone to finally pick up, and when they did, Parrish went through her routine of asking for her father or Zoe and explaining that they were guests of the New York Philharmonic.

  “Hold on one moment and I’ll connect you,” the man said.

  A gasp escaped Parrish’s open mouth. She clutched the phone so tight against her face, its warmth nearly burned her.

  Three rings in, someone picked up and Parrish nearly cried from relief.

  “Hello?” Zoe whispered into the phone.

  “Zoe? It’s me. Oh my God, are you okay?”

  “Parrish?”

  “Yes, I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” she said. She couldn’t sit still. She hopped up and paced the floor in front of the couch. “The cell service where you are is completely screwed and I couldn’t get through. I didn’t know where you guys were staying.”

  Zoe was crying. Parrish could hear the little choked sobs coming from her sister and it broke her heart.

  “Is everything okay, Zoe? Are you sick?”

  “No,” she said. Her voice was so small and quiet.

  Parrish took a breath in and released it slowly. “What about dad?” she asked. “Is he okay?”

  More sobs. Parrish closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.

  “Is he there with you now?”

  “He’s in his bedroom,” Zoe said. “We have two rooms here in a suite and as soon as he started getting sick yesterday, he locked himself in there and told me not to come in unless he opened the door. He said he didn’t want to get me sick, too.”

  Parrish balled her free hand into a tight fist and slammed it against the wall.

  “What about a doctor?” she asked. “Can you call an ambulance or a doctor there? Is there anyone you can call for help?”

  “Parrish, I’m so scared,” Zoe said. “People here are going crazy. There’s a lot of people really sick. A lot of people are fighting. They say there aren’t any more doctors who can help. All the hospitals are closed. I was supposed to play tonight for the orchestra, but they canceled all the rehearsals and the last time I called Mr. Evans, he didn’t answer the phone.”

  “Mr. Evans? That’s the guy who invited you to play there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You left a message for him?”

  “Yes, but he never called me back,” she said. “What if he’s sick, too? I don’t know what to do.”

  Parrish ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t know what to do either. Her sister was stuck in the middle of New York City. Millions of people, but no one she really knew who could help. With flights temporarily canceled by the CDC, Parrish had no idea how to get her sister home.

  “Can you knock on Dad’s door and tell him I’m on the phone?” she said. “Maybe if he hears it’s me, he’ll be able to pick up the phone.”

  “Okay, hold on.”

  Zoe walked away from the phone. In the distance, Parrish could hear a few knocks. She heard Zoe’s voice, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. After a couple of minutes, Zoe came back on.

  “He isn’t answering me,” she said. “Maybe he’s asleep.”

  Parrish brought her hand to her mouth. What if he wasn’t sleeping?

  “Can I talk to Mom?” Zoe asked.

  Parrish shook her head. How could she tell Zoe the truth? It would crush any hope she had right now. She was only ten years old. No one that age needed to go through something like this.

  “She’s not here right now,” Parrish lied. “She went to the store, but I’ll tell her I talked to you. Do you have everything you need for a few days? What are you doing for food?”

  “They’re still running room service,” Zoe said. “Dad showed me how to order and charge it to the room.”

  “Okay, I want you to order everything you see on the menu that will stay good for a long time. Stuff like cereal and muffins,” she said. “Is there a mini-bar in your room? Like a little fridge or something with drinks and peanuts and stuff?”

  “Yeah, I already ate some cookies from there, but Dad said all of that was really expensive.”

  “Screw expensive, you don’t need to worry about that right now,” she told her sister. “Just get as much food as you can out of there and hide it away in a safe place.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you might have to be there for a little while before I can get to you,” she said. “And someone might break in and try to take your food if they run out.”

  Zoe began to cry again. Parrish hated herself for scaring her, but she needed to think realistically at this point. If people were already going crazy and stealing things and breaking out into fights in the city, it was only a matter of time before the desperate ones started going door-to-door in the hotel, stealing any food they could find.

  “It’s going to be okay, Zoe, I promise,” she said, even though she knew it was a lie. She couldn’t promise an
ything right now.

  “What are we going to do?” Zoe asked. “Do you think Dad’s going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “A lot of people are really sick right now, and a lot of them aren’t getting better. We just have to hope for the best, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to try to come get you,” she said. “What room are you in?”

  Zoe paused, then finally came back on the phone. “2358.”

  Parrish grabbed a sharpie from her desk and wrote the numbers on her wrist. “I’ll do everything I can to get there soon, but it’s going to take some time to drive there. Maybe a few days. Maybe longer,” she said. “Promise me you won’t leave that room unless you have to? And Zoe, if someone comes in the room, you hide.”

  “I’m scared,” Zoe said in a whisper.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Parrish said. “I’m coming for you.”

  When they finally hung up, Parrish fell onto her bed. Anger surged through her veins. How could everything be falling apart so fast? Zoe was just a child. She couldn’t survive up there alone for long, and if their dad was already sick, what were the chances he would survive? What were the chances he was even still alive right now?

  Parrish had no idea how many people were getting over this disease, but from the looks of things at the hospital the night her mom died, a lot of people were dying.

  She flipped on the TV, but it was just the same bullshit. On the news, they kept making it sound like it was no big deal. There was no mention of the chaos at the hospitals or the death toll, but the sight of all those white sheets piled up in the parking lot was burned into her memory.

  How come they weren’t reporting the truth about what’s going on? Were they just planning to leave them all alone here in the dark? Wasn’t anyone going to help?

  Rage burned in her heart. She picked up a vase full of wilted yellow flowers that had been left over from Zoe’s party.

  Why did they keep saying there’s nothing to worry about?

  She flung the vase at the TV. She wanted it to break into a million pieces, but instead it just bounced off, leaving a dark mark on the screen. It left her feeling powerless. Weak. She scanned the room, looking for something more breakable.

  A vaccine is being researched? Don’t they realize it’s too late for their stupid vaccines?

  Parrish searched for a better weapon.

  Finally, her eyes landed on a Japanese sword above the fireplace. She stared at it, her heart racing. She remembered their trip to Japan when she was just a little girl. Her mother had been performing Madame Butterfly with the opera company in Tokyo and the whole family had tagged along. That was just after she’d gotten pregnant with Zoe, so Parrish couldn’t have been older than five at the time.

  They’d seen this sword—a katana—inside an antique shop down this narrow alleyway in a forgotten corner of the city. Her parents had been buying her all kinds of souvenirs like Hello Kitty figurines and comic books and things, but her father told her he’d never seen her eyes light up the way they did when they first saw that sword.

  Her mother, of course, had forbidden her from getting it. She’d thought it was a ridiculous gift for a child. Plus, getting it through customs would be a complete nightmare. But her father had bought it for her anyway.

  It ended up on the wall as decoration. They never even let Parrish touch it, not that she could really blame them.

  But today, neither of them were here to tell her what to do.

  She stood on the bricks of the fireplace and lifted onto her tip-toes, reaching for the sword. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, she felt a strength surge through her body.

  With all the strength she could muster, she wielded the sword like a baseball bat and swung at the TV screen. She’d hoped the blade would slice through it, but instead it just bounced off. Still, she felt an odd sense of accomplishment as the screen shattered and went dead.

  But Parrish wanted more.

  She gripped the sword tighter and aimed at the vases and picture frames lined up across the mantle of the fireplace. One at a time, she smashed them all to pieces, not caring when one shard of glass shot out and cut her cheek just under her left eye.

  She just wanted to destroy something. Everything. To feel like she was in control of it all. Maybe to prove that this was all just a dream. None of it was real so there were no consequences.

  Parrish walked around the room with the katana, destroying everything her mother never let her touch.

  She swung hard at a lamp on the table next to the couch and tiny white pieces flew out, scattering across the carpet. The mirror over the piano? Her mother loved that giant mirror. She used to sing and play piano, watching herself in that stupid mirror like it was some kind of private concert.

  Parrish lifted the blade. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down, putting all her weight behind it as she swung. The mirror shattered, sending shards of glass all over the piano.

  She destroyed everything in her path. And when the carpet was covered in broken glass, Parrish’s mind went to one item in the house she’d always wanted to destroy. Something her mother had made her hang up on her bedroom wall years ago after Zoe was born. Something she’d hated for as long as she’d had it. Something that mocked her with its dead promises.

  Her violin.

  Parrish let the sword fall from her hand. Glass crunched under the soles of her boots as she crossed the living room and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. There, on the wall, the violin taunted her. It represented everything her parents had hoped she would become, but never would be.

  Every broken promise, every crushed dream was ingrained in the wood of that violin that she could never play worth a shit.

  Parrish grabbed her desk chair and dragged it under the violin. She stepped on the cushion of the chair and reached up for the instrument of her childhood’s greatest disappointments. Dust floated across the air toward her face, and she waved it away with an angry hand.

  Her body coursed with adrenaline as she held the violin. It had been expensive. Fifteen grand. That was why her mother hadn’t let her give it away when she’d quit taking lessons. Instead, she’d made her put it up where she could be reminded every day of just how big of a disappointment she’d turned out to be.

  She ran her hands across the deep brown wood of its curves, wiping away the dust that had collected there over the years. One finger strummed the strings like a guitar and it gave off a haunting, discordant sound.

  I hate this violin.

  Her grip tightened around the neck and she stepped down from the chair.

  She lifted the instrument high over her head, then brought it down in a lightening quick motion, smashing it across the back of the chair. There was a loud crack as the wood splintered into a thousand pieces. The strings sang a sickly sweet melody that hung in the air as they continued to vibrate with the force of the blow.

  Parrish opened her palms and let the broken violin fall to the floor. Like a wave, the realization of what she’d done hit her. Her breath came in quick, choppy bursts as tears poured from her eyes.

  Not even destroying the violin could bring her mother back. She realized all she’d wanted was to somehow force her mother to appear. If she destroyed enough of the things her mother loved, she’d thought that maybe, somehow, her mother would show up and tell her this had all been some cruel joke.

  But it wasn’t.

  This was real. Her parents were dead. Her sister was stranded hundreds of miles away. The world would never be the same again.

  Parrish fell to the floor, picking up what was left of the expensive violin. She cradled it in her arms, tears spilling down her face and onto the splintered wood.

  A single drop slid down the surface of the violin, then seemed to slow. It hardened and froze in place.

  Suddenly, the broken violin became cool in her hands. She watched in wonder as the wood became covered in frost. She reached out with
a finger and touched the frozen teardrop. It was like ice against her skin, cold and hard. She plucked it from the wood and watched in wonder as it melted on her fingertips.

  The Witch

  The stone was cool against the witch’s skin.

  She sat at the kitchen table in the large farmhouse, turning it over in her fingers, studying each mark.

  Before he died, Tobias had said there were five guardians. She’d heard of them before, but it was just a fairytale. Something parents told their children at bedtime to make them feel safe and proud. But in the secret meetings of the Council of Fire, the elders spoke of the guardians as traitors and villains.

  The witch had never actually been invited to one of those meetings, but that hadn’t kept her from sneaking in and listening from the shadows.

  The guardians had lived over a thousand years ago. They lived in the time of the Dark One—a powerful sorceress who was said to wield both sides of the power. Fire and Ice. It was unheard of for a witch to have both of these abilities. Everyone else was born with either one or the other. Sometimes a child was born with neither gift. But never both. Not until her.

  The elders spoke of her as if she were a God. She was mighty and powerful and had a vision for the world that no one had ever dreamed of. She had many followers, but as her powers grew, she became unsteady. Unbalanced. Greedy. She became more and more violent. A great war broke out. Many died.

  That’s when the five guardians came together to fight against her. They banished her to a foreign world where they were said to have buried her deep inside the ground. The story goes that she was stripped of all magic and would never cast again.

  But as the witch looked at the mound of fresh dirt just outside the window of the farmhouse, she knew that some parts of the story were right while other parts had been very wrong.