Rebound E-Book

E. Denise Billups

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Zoey, newly single and on the Rebound, advertises for a roommate and ten minutes later, Carole, a beautiful woman with a haunting secret, mysteriously shows up at her door. Zoey likes her instantly, and Carole moves in the next day.

Looking to date again, Zoey meets Michael, when he’s hired as an outside contractor by her firm. Mesmerized by his charm, Zoey is soon under Michael’s spell. But Carole knows something about Michael that Zoey doesn't.

Soon, their lives intersect in this haunting tale of mystical retribution.

Leseprobe

REBOUND

A Supernatural Short Story

E. DENISE BILLUPS

Contents

Carole

Mako

Michael

Under His Spell

The Cabin

Retribution

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2017 E. Denise Billups

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

“Hell is empty and

all the devils are here.”

-William Shakespeare

~The Tempest~

Carole

Carole was my best friend the moment we met. Three months ago, she arrived at my small, West Village walk-up like a wayward angel and asked, “Are you, Zoey?” She was looking for an apartment, and I was in need of a roommate when my useless boyfriend of five years stranded me for another woman. After showing her around the apartment, and learning about each other’s lives, I was certain she was a decent person. Without further thought, I offered her the second bedroom.

A day later, she arrived with minuscule possessions—a small bag of clothing, a laptop, and a beautiful bejeweled box, explaining she’d given up worldly possessions for a minimalist lifestyle. “Besides,” she’d said, “I work from home as a remote business consultant, so there’s no need for a large wardrobe.” I soon learned her adoptive parents, who passed away a few years ago, left her financially secure with a large inheritance. That’s when Carole told me her biological mother abandoned her as an infant. She grew up an orphan never knowing her true surname or date of birth. She accepted her plight and never pondered her real family.

Carole and I are total opposites. I’ve been told a constellation of ginger freckles bridging my almond-shaped eyes and nose is my most attractive facial feature which is unusual for a brown-eyed, brown-haired African-American. At five-feet-four inches, I’m dwarfed by Carole’s willowy five-feet-nine-inch frame. Carole’s drop-dead gorgeous. The quiet, mysterious beauty guys fall head over hills for, the type who doesn’t realize her allure until admired by others. Her humility is endearing.

Persistently, rivulets of brunette strands fall about her milky complexion. But there’s something about her features that strikes me strange. In daylight, her eyes turn several shades of gray. At moments, her face shifts in different light, I assume her complexion’s opalescence creates the surreal quality. Sometimes it seems another shape is trying to escape her face. When she’s resting, facial bones fluctuate in odd alignment as if struggling for symmetry. I assume when she’s in deep thought, fleeting emotions account for the anomaly. However, underneath her beauty dwell a modest soul and perhaps the reason we get along so well.

Carole’s spiritual and a little odd at times, but I like that about her. She hangs crystals on the window, drinks copious amounts of green tea, and practices tai chi and yoga. Sometimes at night, I swear I’ve seen her sitting in the dark meditating. She believes in mystical topics I have no interest or belief in, such as spirits, past lives, and fortune-telling. Occasionally, I ponder Carole’s mysterious arrival. She appeared ten minutes after my online advertisement for a roommate, and a day after I ended my relationship with Peter.

Mako

When Carole moved in, I thought her company would lessen Peter’s heartbreaking loss.But it’s been a month and I’m still mourning the breakup. I’d considered online dating until Carole scared the bejesus out of me with talk of maniacs and serial killers. Her eyes colored serious when she found me viewing an online dating service. “You’re on the rebound and hardly over Peter, and online dating is risky with all the crazy people in the world,” she’d said.

I’d sighed deeply and replied, “You’re probably right,” anddropped my head on the back of the sofa. My eyes lingered on the ceiling, sensing Carole’s gray-eyed stare in the corner. I rolled my head sideways, met her slate gray stare and reasoned, “Dating other men is the only way to forget Peter.” Her eyes altered bluish gray, her face hardened in disagreement. I sighed and took Carole’s advice, but failed miserably at forsaking thoughts of Peter.

That was a week ago, now it’s Saturday, which had always been my special day with Peter, and the day I miss him the most. Trying to distract my attention, Carole drags me from the apartment to a First Avenue Street Fair filled with colorful kiosks and curious New Yorkers. Foods of various cultures mingle in the air, and we stop and listen to a live Folk band strumming an unfamiliar tune. The crisp spring day feels good on my face and begins to lift my spirits. Ahead, I spy a tent that reads, Mako’s Palm Reading. I’ve never had my palms read and this is right up Carole’s alley. I pull her toward the tent; she follows in protest. I notice her hesitancy as she stands hugging the entrance, a reluctance I won’t grasp until much later.

I don’t know what I expected to find inside, perhaps the stereotypical gypsy with a mystical ball and a cup of tea leaves in a dark room. However, I’m surprised to find an Asian girl with a nose ring, jangling bangles, wearing jeans, and a simple hoodie. She looks like a college student, not a mystic. Mesmerized by Carole, Mako insists on reading her palm first.

Carole backs away. Her face stiffens. “No,” she murmurs with fixed lips.

For a moment, I see fear as her face alters irregular. I blink, and her face is normal again. I believe my vision blurred, but from the look on Mako’s face, I perceive she saw it as well. “Okay, I’ll go first chicken,” I say. But Mako’s insistent on reading Carole. I push her by the shoulder toward the table and sit her in the chair. Frozen, Carole sits staring at Mako.

“Can I see your palm?” Mako asks.

Slowly, Carole places her hand on the table.