Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3)

by Heather McVea

  Dying Forever

  Heather McVea

  Published by Heather McVea at Smashwords

  Copyright 2014 Heather McVea

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or event is entirely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Note from the Author

  Dying Forever is the final book in the Waking Forever series, although my wife is dubious that I can actually let these characters go. Waking Forever was the first novel I finished and ultimately published. It was a labor of love that I was very humbled to find also interested other people. With the success of that original book, I decided to try my hand at a series, and Becoming and Dying were born (a little vampire humor there!), along with the Ela serials.

  I thoroughly enjoyed writing stories set in my home town of San Antonio, for as much traveling as I do, I am always thrilled to come home to what I consider one of the best places to live. I felt a personal sense of obligation to each of my characters to provide them with believable and real storylines and dialogue. After spending nearly two years with these folks, I think of them like family.

  I hope you have enjoyed reading the series as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am currently working on a standalone novel slated for release in February 2015 that is set in Baltimore and leans more toward the romance side of things, though rest assured, the paranormal will inevitably make an appearance… evidently I can’t help myself.

  Fondly,

  Heather

  “And I am done with my graceless heart. So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.”

  -Florence + the Machine

  Chapter 1

  “My ample ass would not fit in that.” Lydia Gomez peered at the short, narrow, wicker sarcophagus that housed the withered body of a South American Chinchorro mummy. “Can you imagine?”

  Alison Bailey couldn’t help but smile. Lydia had been one of the first people she met when she joined the University of the Incarnate Word faculty nearly nine years ago. She was a forty-two-year-old divorcee, six years Alison’s senior, 5’2”, and weighed over one hundred and fifty pounds. Alison knew this because Lydia was constantly talking about her age, ex-husband, and the newest diet she was trying. Not necessarily in that order.

  Alison had met Lydia at the San Antonio Art Museum over an hour ago. The two women tried to get together outside of work at least once a month. In this case, they had both been interested in a new exhibit at the museum showcasing the mummies of the world.

  “Nice alliteration - and that’s a child, Lydia, so cut yourself a break.” Alison leaned down and studied the porous texture of the mummy’s exposed skin and bone.

  “Regardless, I can take some comfort in knowing everyone was smaller back then.” Lydia walked slowly toward a large, ornate tapestry made of coarse, thickly woven yarn.

  Alison shook her head and fell in behind Lydia. “Not true. In some regions less than an inch separates us from our ancestors, and in Colonial America, both Jefferson and Washington were over six feet tall.” She examined the faded yellows and blues of the tapestry as she spoke. “The average American male today is only five nine.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better. Not.” Lydia tisked. “Why do you know these things?”

  “I’m a professor of American folklore.” Alison frowned. “How awkward would it be if I didn’t know these things?”

  Lydia shrugged. “I’m hungry. This paleo diet is for the birds. Are you ready for dinner?” She looked at her watch. “It’s nearly six.”

  Alison had eaten a late lunch after her swim, and wasn’t feeling like dinner yet. She knew better, though, than to let Lydia’s blood sugar drop. Lydia was usually a pleasant and concerned person, but let her go too long between meals, and Lydia would morph into an anger ball.

  “Hmm, I think I’ll pass.”

  Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “You do eat, right? I mean who loses weight over the summer?”

  Alison had never thought of herself as particularly thin. She had taken care of herself over the years, and was blessed with good skin that complemented her sandy blonde hair. “It’s the hair cut.”

  Lydia smirked. “Doubtful - but speaking of, how long does it take you to get it to look messy like that?”

  Alison ran her fingers through her short locks. “You don’t like it?”

  “Oh, I like it, but if I cut my hair that short, I’d look like a bowling pin.” Lydia mused.

  Alison chuckled. “Enjoy your dinner, friend.”

  “Are you okay on your own?” Lydia began riffling around in her oversized navy blue L.L. Bean canvas bag that doubled as a purse and briefcase.

  “I can manage.” Alison leaned in for a quick hug. “See you next week?”

  Lydia sighed. “Yes. Alas, summer break, and the all too brief reprieve it offers, is drawing to a close.”

  Alison squeezed her friend’s shoulder reassuringly. “At least you didn’t get coerced into a summer session like yours truly.”

  Lydia shuddered. “Oh, I know. What a sucker you were.” Lydia was a professor of Latin American Studies and had been tenured for nearly ten years. As a result, she rarely, if ever, volunteered for assignments outside her normal class and office hours.

  “Thanks, Lydia. See you Monday.” Alison playfully pinched her friend’s arm, spun on her heels, and walked toward the European mummy exhibit hall.

  She knew she was too much of a pushover with her department head. Having only received tenure a year ago, Alison was still in the mindset that she had to impress people, and more than that, didn’t want to fall into the state of apathy that seemed to be so prevalent with her peers, especially Lydia.

  The coolness of the exhibit hall masked the fact the South Texas summer was in full swing, and the temperature outside was over the century mark. Alison was wearing her favorite trying-not-to-bake-to-death outfit. Her tan, khaki shorts and thin olive, v-neck t-shirt from the Gap were minimizing the sweats. Her leather sole Lands’ End flip flops made a faint popping sound that echoed back and forth between the brick walls and the white oak hard wood floor of the hall.

  Alison felt a little conspicuous as she entered the room and walked toward a display of mummies. There was only one other patron in the hall, an auburn haired woman who was examining a sarcophagus along the far wall.

  The white laminated information card next to the display indicated the mummies in the Plexiglas case were naturally mummified remains. The bodies had an almost wax like appearance and their features still remained intact, in spite of being over fifteen hundred years old.

  “They’re bog bodies.” A woman’s voice broke the silence of the room.

  Startled, Alison’s eyes shot up and found the other patron staring at her from the opposite side of the display case. Her eyes were the most vivid green Alison had ever seen. “Sorry?”

  “They’re called that because they either fell or were placed in peat bogs. The acidic water and low temperatures of the bog preserved them.” A nervous smile skipped across the woman’s full lips.

  Alison cleared her throat. She forced her eyes
from the woman’s face, back to the display. “Really? Why would someone be placed in what amounts to an acid bath?”

  The woman pointed at the head of the mummy with a long tapered finger. “See the gash on the right temple?”

  Alison leaned over the display case, her and the woman’s head nearly touching as they both peered at the corpse. The woman’s scent of citrus and vanilla wafted over her. “Oh, god, look at that.”

  “People ended up in the bogs because they were murdered, or sometimes, part of a ritual sacrifice. I would wager this one is the former, given the size of the gash.” Alison and the woman both straightened up at the same time, and it was then that Alison realized how beautiful the stranger was.

  She was an inch shorter than Alison, who in her bare feet was 5’6”. The woman’s long, wavy hair was dark auburn, with streaks of lighter blond and red throughout. Her skin was pale and flawless, and her eyes a bright green, framed by long, thick lashes.

  Reaching across the display case, Alison extended her hand. “I’m Alison.”

  The woman cocked her head slightly to the right and considered Alison’s hand for a second before taking it in her own. “Bryce.”

  Alison looked down at the stranger’s hand. The skin was incredibly smooth and cool. “Bryce? Like the actress?”

  Bryce’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  “Bryce Dallas. Ron Howard’s daughter.” Alison reluctantly removed her hand from Bryce’s.

  “Sorry. I don’t watch a lot of television or movies.” The woman took a step back and pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

  “I’m detecting a slight accent. Are you not from the States?” Alison wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to know the woman better.

  Shaking her head, Bryce looked down at her feet. “I’m originally from Ireland. Galway County.”

  “Big fan of your whiskey.” Alison’s attempt at a joke fell flat as the woman looked at her blankly. “Not that I imbibe often, but when I do I enjoy -” Taking a deep breath, Alison exhaled through pursed lips. “Forget it. I’m sure you get the booze jokes all the time, given the Irish penchant for drinking.” As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, Alison wanted to crawl under the floorboards. She slammed her eyes shut, and her face flamed with embarrassment.

  “Not that you’re a drunk, and that’s a terrible stereotype by the way.” Waving her hands in the air, Alison took a step back. “I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the information.” She turned to walk away, relieved she had been able to extract her foot from her mouth long enough to exit.

  “When I do drink, I like Bushmill whiskey.” Bryce’s voice was tentative.

  Alison stopped and turned around, the flip flop sound of her shoes accompanying her as she walked back toward Bryce. “I’m more of a Jameson girl myself, but I won’t hold it against you.”

  Bryce smiled, and Alison stifled a gasp. The woman managed to be even more stunning when her perfectly straight and white smile lit up her face. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

  Alison’s heart sped up, but she managed to sound calm as she spoke. “That would be nice.” She glanced at her wrist watch. “It’s a little after six, so happy hours in this part of town abound.”

  Looking confused, Bryce hesitantly nodded. “Sure. Do you know of anywhere good around here?”

  “I do. It’s just up the street actually.” She pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her shorts. “What’s your number? I’ll text you the information, then we can meet there.” Though she had taken an immediate liking to Bryce, she wasn’t foolish enough to get in a car with a complete stranger.

  “I don’t have a phone.” Bryce said it so casually, Alison thought she had misheard.

  “How’s that possible?” Alison’s tone was sterner than she had intended. “I mean - wow. That’s - that’s something.”

  Bryce chewed nervously on the inside of her lip. “I’ve been meaning to get one, but haven’t made the time.”

  “I’d be lost without mine.” Alison slid her phone back in her pocket. “Why don’t we pop up to the front desk and snag a piece of paper.” She smiled. “We can do it old school, and I’ll draw you a map.”

  Bryce grinned. “Sounds good.”

  The two women walked back through the various exhibit rooms toward the front of the museum. The thin Hispanic woman at the front desk was on the phone, so Alison grabbed a comment card and a pen from a nearby table and quickly jotted down the information.

  “Esquire Tavern. It’s downtown on Commerce Street, but since we’re already this far down Broadway, we can get there in about ten minutes.” Alison handed the slip of paper to Bryce. “I’m guessing you don’t have GPS.” Looking at the paper, Bryce shook her head. “No worries. I’m parked right out front. You can follow me down.”

  “Thank you.” Bryce slid the paper into her back pocket.

  Alison felt like skipping, but managed to contain her enthusiasm as she walked toward the parking lot. It had been nearly three months since she had been on a date. Her older sister Julia had set her up with an office mate from her firm, and it had been an unmitigated disaster. Halfway through their dinner, the woman had mentioned she was still married, to a man, and wasn’t sure if “the whole lesbian thing” was her scene. Alison had politely exited the dinner and called her sister to give her an earful as she walked back to her car.

  “Odd. She’s never mentioned a husband, and when I said I had a sister she might be interested in dating, she was very eager.” Julia had immediately gone defensive. “Shit, I have to see her tomorrow at work. You weren’t rude, were you, Ali?”

  Alison’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head with exasperation. “Really, Jules? Really, truly - you’re worried about how I handled finding out I was someone’s curiosity when you should be kissing my ass?”

  There had been a long pause. “You know I’m sorry. Now can we discuss the fallout on my end?”

  Not for the first time, or most likely the last, Alison had hung up on her sister. Julia Abigail Bailey was a Chief Financial Officer for a local financial services company and sometimes forgot her sister wasn’t an employee.

  That experience, along with her summer class schedule, had curtailed Alison’s interest in dating. Now, unlocking her blue 2011 Honda Accord coupe, she half-expected to turn around and find Bryce had ducked out on her. Instead, the beautiful woman nearly walked into the back of Alison as she stopped next to her car.

  “Sorry.” Bryce took a step back and pulled a set of keys from her jeans pocket.

  “It’s fine. I’m here.” Alison nodded toward her car.

  Bryce looked toward the far corner of the parking lot. “I’m over a ways, but go ahead. I have a general idea where I’m going.”

  Alison smiled. “It’s pretty straight forward. Just head down Broadway toward downtown. It turns into Losoya Street, then you can take a right on Commerce.” She opened the car door, and a wave of heat escaped from the interior. “See you there.”

  Alison left the door open while she started the car. Looking over, she watched as Bryce walked toward a white, Toyota Corolla. How is she wearing all those clothes? Alison thought as she registered for the first time that the woman was wearing a long sleeve gray t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of brown leather Skechers.

  Fairly confident she wouldn’t suffocate, Alison turned the air conditioner up, closed the car door, and pulled out onto the main street. Glancing in her rear view mirror, she saw the white Toyota pull out of the parking lot and begin following her.

  Halfway down Broadway, Alison timed a light cycle badly and left Bryce sitting while she drove on. Slowing down as much as she could without causing a traffic jam, Alison attempted to wait for the woman, but after several irritated honks from fellow motorist, she had no choice but to drive on.

  Alison parked at a meter across from the Esquire, then looked up and down Commerce Street, hoping to spot Bryce. Deciding it was best, or at least less hot, to wait fo
r her inside, Alison crossed the street and entered the dark, cool bar.

  Built in 1933 in celebration of Prohibition being repealed, the Esquire Tavern sat along the back edge of the San Antonio Riverwalk. The walnut floors were faded and scratched, accenting the scarred wooden booths and deep red, leather seat covers. The worn wooden bar ran nearly the length of the tavern and was backed by numerous shelves lined with every imaginable liquor bottle.

  Alison took a seat at the bar, hanging her purse on a brass hook under the bar top. “What can I get you?” The young African-American man who spoke was dressed in a stark white button-up shirt, black bow tie, and a pair of dark jeans.

  “Jameson neat, please.” Alison leaned back in the high back leather bar stool and looked toward the entrance of the bar. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. I hope she isn’t lost.

  The bartender placed an old fashioned style glass half full with Jameson in front of Alison. “Would you like to start a tab, miss?”

  Alison reached into her purse, pulled out her brown leather J. Crew wallet, and handed her Visa to the man. “Yes, please.” She was hopeful Bryce and she would linger long enough to warrant a tab.

  Thirty minutes and two drinks later, Alison closed out her tab. Bryce was nowhere to be found, and Alison’s dignity dictated she leave, though part of her remained hopeful it was a misunderstanding or the woman simply got lost.

  Stepping out into the heat of the city, Alison looked back and forth along the bricked sidewalk and sighed heavily when there was no sign of Bryce. “Classic.” She muttered to herself as she crossed the street. Digging in her purse for her keys, she failed to see a car turning right onto Commerce Street and nearly had a heart attack as the irate driver honked repeatedly.

  Approaching her car, Alison saw a white slip of paper secured under her driver side windshield wiper. Alison thought for a minute it was a note from Bryce saying she was sorry, but something had come up last minute.

  Turning the slip of paper over, her evening immediately went from bad to worse. “Shit.” In her zeal to get into the bar and meet Bryce, Alison had forgotten to put money in the meter and now had a twenty-five dollar ticket to add insult to injury.