The Broken Meadow E-Book

Stevie D. Parker

• Herausgeber: Literary Dreams Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Can you truly forget the past?

Or is it buried inside you, ingrained deep within your soul? Josh is haunted by these questions, and the recollections he can’t shake from a paranormal message: 542 Days, an event that turned his life upside down. Now he faces the aftermath. Tormented by prior decisions, Josh accidentally summons a force into his life he was not expecting, and isn’t sure he’s ready to let go of. Pressured to revisit witchcraft, he, along with Britney and Mason, enter a reality infused with paranoia, mystery and magic.

In The Broken Meadow (Book 2) by Stevie D. Parker, the sequel to Bounded by the Bond, we are taken on a suspenseful tale of three uniquely different people, brought together by an inexorable tragedy, on a mission to ensure the spell they performed to secure their future was successfully accomplished.

**This book is the edited NA version of 542 Days (Book 2): Ramification

Leseprobe

THE BROKEN MEADOW

STEVIE D. PARKER

LITERARY DREAMS PUBLISHING, LLC.

Copyright © Stevie D. Parker 2023

Published by Literary Dreams Publishing, LLC.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into the retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Dedicated to Johnny

PROLOGUE

BOUNDED BY THE BOND

Josh pulled himself off me and fell to the floor, tears in his eyes, as he rested his forehead in his hands. He saw it all, every memory that came back. He rocked back and forth in shock, refusing to meet my stare, recognizing he was Lucas.

“Josh,” I said, behind tears. Still, he wouldn’t look up at me. I ran over to him and dropped down next to him, throwing my arms around his shoulders as he buried his head in my neck and sobbed.

“I always knew I was being punished; I am so sorry, Cali,” he cried.

I ran my hands through his hair until they rested on his neck.

“Look at me,” I begged. He lifted his head slowly, his watery blue eyes fixated on mine. “It was never that I couldn’t love; it was only you I couldn’t love….”

“Because love spells backfire,” he finished my sentence. I held him tightly.

“You were my first love, and you’ll be my last love,” I whispered as I kissed him tenderly and felt nothing but love for him. I could taste the mixture of both of our tears blended in with our saliva. Suddenly he pulled his lips off mine.

“They’re coming!”

“What? Who?” I asked.

“Amethyst’s boyfriend, and he’s not alone. I feel it; I know it. He’s with someone, and it’s going to get bad. Get him out of here!” he warned. I stood up to make my way to the rooftop door to go get Mason when I heard “Cali, wait,” in the most solemn tone I had ever heard come out of Josh. I slowly turned around to face him as he stood paralyzed, staring at me with his mouth hanging slightly open, and tears in his eyes. I gradually made my way back to him as he grabbed me in his embrace and held me tighter than he ever had before. He kissed me passionately as if it were going to be the last time he would ever kiss me. “I love you so, so much,” he said, choked up.

“I love you too,” I said. “I’ll call you later.” He nodded as I ran downstairs and grabbed the car keys. “Mason, come with me, no questions,” I ordered.

Mason followed me out to the car.

“Didn’t you lose your license?” he asked.

“Not the time for that. Get in the car,” I said as I got in and started the engine. I didn’t know exactly where I was driving. I only knew I needed to just drive. Something awful was coming, and I needed to get Mason far away from it. As I raced down the streets, my mind rattled with all the recollections that had just occurred.

“Where are we going?” Mason asked. I turned my head to look into his eyes when my mother’s words came flickering back to me. I hope that when you look into the eyes of your son, you realize the unconditional love I have for you, and you find it in your heart to forgive me. Unconditional love. Suddenly, everything clicked, and all the dots connected. This was my mother’s vision, the same one that haunted her, the same one that Josh had before I left the roof. Josh thought he was being punished for his past, but he wasn’t. He redeemed himself; he became everything Lucas wasn’t, humble, modest, unselfish. Lucas and Jacob both died because of my affair, not Lucas’. And at the hand of my own son, my firstborn. In the end, we all need to pay for our sins. Jacob was the one haunting me, tormenting me for my mistakes. I closed my eyes and silently tried to reach Josh telepathically, praying his mind was open.

“Josh?”

“I’m here,” he said.

“We did it. We broke the spell.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I love you, Josh. I truly love you with all my heart,” I said. He didn’t say anything at first.

“I know you do,” he finally said.

“We will never have to fight to be together again in any lifetime. This is just our separation; I look forward to our reunion.” I closed my mind before he could say anything else.

“Put your seatbelt on,” I said to Mason, urgency in my voice. He clasped his seatbelt in place.

It was never Elijah with the karmic debt; it was me. Every single lifetime Elijah would die, and I would be tormented with trying to save him. Not this time. Mason, along with any future version of himself, would never be cursed with my punishment again. This was the lifetime my karmic debt would be paid.

“Close your eyes,” I said.

“What? Why?” he asked, petrified.

“Close your eyes!” I ordered as I watched a ball of light form in my hand, and I threw a protective bubble around him. I could see what was coming for the first time in my life, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

This is the part my mother couldn’t watch one more day. Josh was correct; I was about to break him. I made the same light of protection and threw it in the direction of the car heading toward us at full speed that just blew the red light—the part my mother couldn’t watch, the part that would torture Josh, the part where I die. I tried to turn the steering wheel as I stomped on the brakes, and the car skidded out of control. I closed my eyes and saw my mother. “I forgive you, and I love you,” I whispered before the world went black.

* * *

“Flatline!” I hear as I bolt up from the bed, IVs plunged in my arms. Doctors are scurrying to the bed next to me. I can’t see beyond the curtain, but I can hear them desperately trying to revive her. Finally, a sigh of defeat as a doctor says, “Time of death, 3:05 p.m.”

I watch three doctors emerge from behind the curtain, heads buried in sorrow. As they walk out, I catch eye contact with one of the doctors, who stares at me in shock.

“Oh my God, she’s awake,” he says in disbelief as he hurries over to me. He holds up two fingers in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” I say.

“Do you know your name?” he asks.

“Britney Johnson,” I answer.

“Britney, this is going to be hard to hear, but you were in a terrible accident.”

“My brakes failed,” I say, horrified.

“You’ve been in a coma.”

“Is that Calista Reed?” I ask, pointing over at the curtain.

“I’m sorry, patient confidentially, I am not at liberty to say,” he answers, but I can see in his eyes that the answer is yes. I can feel her in my veins, like I had some crazy connection to her. Lying back down, staring at the curtain next to me, I remember the last thing I saw when I was wheeled in here.

The faint sound of beeping woke me. As I tried to open my eyes, I suddenly felt as if each eyelid weighed ten pounds. Struggling to push them open, I felt dizzy and nauseous as the room seemed to spin. I heard my breath against a plastic mask covering my face that appeared to be in sync with my heartbeat. I was panic-stricken as I overheard a police officer on the phone in the near distance: “Mrs. Johnson, this is officer Russo of the NYPD. We have your daughter…” he is immediately cut off by the intercom, “Doctor Chin, Ext 102.” I managed to open my eyes just enough to see the IV in my arm. I was in a hospital, I knew that much, and I was moving fast.

I could barely move my head as I tried to focus my eyes on my surroundings. A nurse was at the foot of my stretcher, pulling me with urgency. She was head to toe in blue scrubs, a paper mask, and plastic goggles, but for a quick second, we made eye contact, and her eyes screamed fear. “Relax,” I barely heard the nurse behind me, who must have been pushing the stretcher, say to me just above a whisper.

Another nurse rushed to open the door to a room as a team pushed a different stretcher in and mine followed behind. I should have been in pain; however, I suspected whatever they had been feeding through the IV was exceptionally strong, which was most likely adding to my state of sedation. They placed the first stretcher under the window and laid mine parallel to it. I managed to tilt my head to the left as the patient next to me, in a similar state, tilted hers to the right. The last thing I saw was her emerald green eyes staring back at me with sympathy, before everything faded to black.

The day we were transported into a private room. It must have been done intentionally, so she could keep me in her trance, so she could tell me her story.

“How long have I been in a coma for?” I ask.

“A year and a half.” I look back over to the curtain.

“How many days?” He looks at me with confusion on his face.

“What?”

“How many days was I in a coma for?” I repeat, desperately. He pulls my chart and looks down at it, searching for the date I came to this place.

“542 days,” he states.

She saved my life when she threw that bubble of light over me, the same as she saved Mason’s. She knew in the end when she died before he did this time around, it was the only way of preventing history from repeating itself. I wasn’t in a coma; I never was. It was always her holding me under.

“Let me call your mother. She has been here every single day waiting for you to wake up,” the doctor says as he hurries out, and I stay in bed motionless, trying to process what just happened.

Josh and Cali spent years trying to find out the significance of 542 days. They had thought it would start at a certain point and lead to an event. Nothing happened, though. Nothing was ever going to happen. 542 days was the exact amount of time Cali needed to tell me her story. Like she told Colleen in San Diego that night, she was just an actress portraying a role in a world the writers created. If there was one thing I learned from Cali’s story, it is that everything happens for a reason. It wasn’t chance I was in the car that hit her; it had to be me. She needed me to build her world. She needed me to tell her story. Because like Barbara had told her when she wrote The Broken Meadow, an author isn’t taught to write. The story derives from within.

JOSH

Lost. If I had one word to describe what I felt at that moment, lost would be it. Except, I knew exactly where I was. I was in the supermarket, in the cereal aisle, just staring at the Frosted Flakes box in front of me, glaring at Tony the Tiger as if he had done something completely unthinkable and horribly wrong to me. I didn’t remember walking into the store, or how long I’d even been having this stare-down with my newfound arch nemesis; it was as if I were just in a constant daze. Confused? Maybe that’s a better word. Nope, scratch that. Lost-that was the proper descriptor.

“Are you going to buy that or just stare at it?” I heard her ask through a giggle, breaking me out of the thesaurus clash in my head. Her sweet, sexy voice rang through my ears every time she spoke. Not to be dramatic or anything, but her laugh literally made my heart stop beating for a second. It was in that one second it took for my blood to stop pumping through my veins, for me to shift my attention from the taunting tiger to her emerald green eyes, gazing at me with unadulterated love and admiration. Coming face to face with Cali made me realize I was dreaming. My mind swiftly went into recollection mode as I tried to psychologically retrace the steps I took to get to the aisle I was in. Still, there was no history of it because my body was in fact lying in bed, in my apartment in the Upper East Side, sound asleep next to my girlfriend, Skyler.

The scent of coconut from the body lotion Cali wore seeped from her skin, which seemed to be glowing even more at that moment. She pushed her hair behind her ears and gave me a playful snicker as I felt her arm brush up against mine as she reached across me and grabbed the cereal box.

“Ready?” she asked, jerking her head toward the direction of the cash register. I wasn’t ready, though. It had been months since she had last visited me in a dream, and the only thing I knew for sure was that we didn’t have much time. These were precious moments I had with her, that I may not get again anytime soon. I could see her, smell her, feel her presence. I took her hand in mine as my thumb slowly traced circles inside her palm. She used to react instantly when I did that; she would say it sent heat waves through her entire body, immediately putting her at ease.

“Come with me,” I said, as she put the cereal box back on the shelf and let me guide her to the exit. As the doors slid open and made way for our departure, she dropped to the concrete, yanking me down to sit on the pavement beside her. I followed her lead and sat next to her as she gaped up at the sky, which was now growing dim. The sun vanished for the night, and the moon took its place. I stayed quiet, enamored by her, as I watched her become enchanted by the stars. She wore the look I have seen on her face many times before, where her mind was trying to catch up with itself, as she took in the beauty of the scene. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she got into that state.

“What do you think happens when you die?” she asked softly, not shifting her gaze from the sky. Empty. That’s the best word to describe what I felt in the pit of my stomach every time she asked me that question. She forgot again, and it broke my heart every single time I had to say it out loud. It felt like it was my eternal punishment. I pulled her hand to my lap and rubbed it a little harder as she finally turned her head to look at me. It never got any easier to tell her. Making circular motions in her palm with my thumb, I sent heat waves through her body.

“You did die,” I whispered. Her eyes shifted to the ground, embarrassment washing over her face, and then she quickly looked back up at me, nodding in acknowledgement.

“That’s right, I remember now,” she said, as a small chuckle escaped her lips.

“What’s it like?” I asked, trying my hardest not to waste any of this valuable time I had with her. She ran her palm against mine, intertwining our fingers, as she leaned her head against my shoulder, and I instinctively wrapped my other arm around her, pulling her closer to me.

“It’s like always being in a dream,” she answered, as I mechanically ran my fingers through her hair. Then it happened- faster than usual. The knowing I always got, the warning- a long drawn-out ringing in my ears, that a lucid dream was about to end. The two things I couldn’t control, when she came and when she left.

“Can I hug you?” I managed to choke out.

“Of course,” she said, smiling, as I pulled her into me and held her as tightly as possible. I could feel the lump in my throat harden as I fought back tears, squeezing her intensely until I bolted up in bed. Drenched in sweat and grasping for air, I could barely make out Skyler’s words as I hurried out of my bedroom and headed straight for the meditation room.

A full year had passed since Cali died, and despite my current girlfriend’s constant plea for me to go to grief counseling, the only relief I seemed to get was through meditation. I trained my mind and body to go immediately into a subconscious state, where many times I would end up in a different plane. The capability to astral project became nearly second nature to me, as I could go under almost instantaneously. The ability to allow my spirit to project from my physical body and enter a separate plane. It was my escape from reality, my departure from the world, and my gateway to a different realm.

A realm where Cali was. The place in which I could see her, talk to her, kiss her and hold her. The place we were together. Our place. Some would call it a blessing- I knew better, though; it was a curse. My new addiction. It wasn’t fair she was taken from me right as we broke the spell; she was finally able to love. She was so different now, in our world. Affectionate, caring, doting. She loved me. And I adored her. She was all I thought about, and I went to see her any chance I got. Every morning the second I woke up, and every night after work, I would rush through my routine at the gym and run home to meditate.

The spot I would end up, was the place Cali and I would often go to practice, what seemed like lifetimes ago. A mountain on a deserted island where we were both patients at Ocean Haven, an elite rehab facility where we first met. The institution I was introduced to her this time around, the place I fell in love with her. The fragrance of freshly cut grass after a rainfall made me realize that’s exactly where I was. I opened my eyes to see beautiful full, fluffy white clouds stretched out over a light blue landscape, stretched out so far it was hard to tell where they began and where they ended. Gorgeous green trees spread out for miles, and the chirping of birds echoed through the air.

I was on our blanket, and Cali was next to me. She took me by the hand as my lips met hers, and she pulled me down on top of her. I could feel goosebumps emerge on my skin when her fingers slid up my chest and around my neck. Mesmerized by her kiss, until all I could feel, see and taste was her. Running my hand down her thigh and pulling her leg up and around my waist, she feverishly ran her fingers through my hair. There was not one place in the world I would rather be, as I tried to waste no time and enjoy every ounce of her.

Not taking my lips off her, I rubbed myself against her, my tongue tracing her neck. She moaned softly, her fingers running intimately down my back. My hands greedily traced her body as my lips trailed behind until suddenly, she started fading, and the abrupt feeling like I was falling took over my senses.

“Hold it, Josh. Please don’t leave me…” she pleaded, her nails digging into my shoulder blades like claws. I gripped my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to break the trance. “Please, Josh,” she begged again, my hand squeezed tightly into a fist, placed steadily on the rock floor as I tried to keep myself grounded in place, my eyes fastened shut. It didn’t matter, though; I couldn’t keep the stance.

When I opened them, I was back in my meditation room, sitting upright with my legs crossed, frustrated and mad. The image of Cali was replaced by a Buddha statue, almost glaring at me with disappointment in its eyes. The scent of coconut exchanged by myrrh and frankincense percolating from the diffuser. I angrily ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it and thrust myself up from the mat, and headed to the kitchen.

Still half asleep, I rummaged through the refrigerator, gathering the ingredients for an omelet. I could feel Skyler’s stare penetrating me as she stood at the island in the kitchen, her hand perched on her waist.

“You want eggs?” I mumbled, barely looking up.

“I’m breaking up with you,” she scoffed. I placed the eggs on the counter and reached into the cabinet for a bowl. I carefully took two from the carton and placed them on a napkin. I suppose it was no big surprise Skyler was ending our relationship. She often complained that I was distant and detached; she claimed I was “obsessed” with Cali, and it wasn’t healthy. I opened the refrigerator door again to look for milk.

“Did you hear what I said, Josh?” she asked again, louder this time, as she inched closer to me. Keeping my grip on the handle of the fridge, I finally made eye contact with her.

My eyes scanned her up and down as she stood before me, fully dressed for work. A fitted pink button-down blouse with the top buttons opened just enough to reveal a tiny hint of her cleavage and a tight black pencil skirt that made her legs appear longer than mine. She was absolutely gorgeous, with olive skin and dark curly hair that hung down past her shoulders. The complete opposite of my tiny blonde-haired, green-eyed Cali. I had thought she’d be the exact remedy to get over her. Evidently, I was wrong. She stared at me with a look of disgust, swinging a duffle bag over her shoulder that she must have just packed in a hissy while I was meditating.

With her eyes wide and her brows raised, she gawked at me, most certainly trying to pierce my skin if she could, waiting for a reaction. I probably should have argued it, or at a bare minimum, pretended to put up some sort of battle, but truth be told, I didn’t have the energy. There wasn’t much in the world that fazed me anymore, and not many things I’d even considered fighting for. I simply didn’t have it in me to “play the game.” It had been two and a half years since Cali was in that terrible car accident that eventually took her life; but that day, the 542nd day–something inside of me died as well.

“So, you don’t want eggs?” I finally said.

“Screw you, Josh,” she uttered, as she spun on her heel and very loudly stormed out of my apartment, the slam of the door echoing through the room.

BRITNEY

I took a sip of my coffee as I picked apart the dark edges of the stale cheese danish on the plate in front of me. Slowly peeling off the brownish pieces, as hungry as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to put it in my mouth. The coffee shop was kind of dead, a small quaint little bakery like you’d see in a Hallmark movie. The waitress was slow to serve and spoke with a southern drawl that made it difficult for me to understand what she was asking me. Watching her work in slow motion made me realize where the saying “in a New York minute” came from.

I had never been to Tennessee before, and the town took me by surprise. I guess I was expecting a livelier scene, from what I imagined Nashville would have been like. I had envisioned country music blaring through the streets, mechanical bulls in every bar and tall, burly cowboys ready to line dance with you, given the chance. A far cry from the experience at a local bar the night before. Actually, I had been to three bars and not one mechanical bull, or cowboy for that matter, in sight. But that was most likely a place like Nashville or Austin, not the tiny town I ended up in, with miles of green land and sounds of farm animals lingering through the air.

I glanced down at my watch; she was already ten minutes late. Fear suddenly washed over me that she may not even show up. I was meeting Cali’s sister Chrys an entire year after waking up from the accident. Why the hell was I even doing this? A week before, I was engaged to an amazing man, finally recovering after a horrific car accident nearly killed me. I spent an entire year driving myself crazy, questioning my existence. Why was I the one put into this fatal occurrence? I wasn’t even supposed to be in Brooklyn that night, and all of a sudden, my life was turned upside down. My fiancé Tristin begged me not to leave him, and told me we could get through this together. But I needed space; I needed to figure this out on my own. I took this as a sign, an omen if you will. I needed answers, and Tennessee seemed the likeliest place to start. And, well, the easiest. Was it selfish of me? Probably, but I felt like I was losing my mind, and I needed to do something about it.

Chrys sounded reluctant on the phone, but I had finally convinced her to meet me for coffee. A flashback of the day I woke in the hospital inundated my mind.

“Oh my God, she’s awake,” one of the doctors said in disbelief as he hurried over to me. He held up two fingers in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” I said.

“Do you know your name?” he asked.

“Britney Johnson,” I answered.

“Britney, this is going to be hard to hear, but you were in a terrible accident.”

“My brakes failed,” I said, horrified.

“You’ve been in a coma.”

The bell chimed, jolting me from my daze as a customer walked in, a look of apprehension on her face. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, kind of tall and curvy. I knew immediately it was Chrys. She looked frazzled as she hurried right over to my table. Although there were only two other patrons in the place, I guess you could say in my baby blue halter dress and high-heeled sandals, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she greeted, as she sat down and tossed her pocketbook on an empty seat. Pushing her disheveled hair out of her face, she placed it in a messy ponytail on top of her head with a rubber band she had around her wrist.

“It’s fine,” I said, smiling slightly. “Can I get you coffee or something?”

She squinted her eyes and stretched her neck towards the counter to get a better look of the pastries through the glass. Softly biting on the inside of her cheek, she leaned back in her chair.

“I’ll just have a tea,” she politely said. I motioned for the waitress, who either pretended not to see me, or couldn’t be bothered. I rolled my eyes and smirked.

“It may take a while for that,” I said sarcastically. I pointed at the hardened crust pieces on my plate, indicating that she wasn’t missing much.

“That’s fine,” she assured me. There was an awkward pause for a moment before I cleared my throat uneasily.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” she said, as she finally got the attention of the waitress and motioned for her. I took another sip of my coffee as the waitress came over. They started talking up a storm, like they were long lost friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, about the weather becoming nice and the excitement of the fall foliage, which led right into the town fair the upcoming weekend. At first, I assumed they knew each other, until Chrys ordered her tea, and the waitress addressed her as “Hun”, and it occurred to me they were just being polite. No wonder New Yorkers had such a bad reputation. I couldn’t remember having such a detailed conversation with a barista at my local Starbucks, well, ever.

Turning her attention back to me and wrapping her arms around her waist in a defensive position, Chrys asked, “How are you feeling?” It was clear by the adjustment in her tone that she was merely entertaining my request for a meeting to be nice, which made the encounter that much more awkward, although I had to give her credit for showing up. I don’t think many people would have even bothered to come at all, so she scored points for coming.

“Better, thank you. I had to go to physical therapy for eighteen weeks, but the muscle damage seems to be improving. Of course, you can’t get anything stronger than Tylenol in New York; they won’t even give pain killers to a woman after giving birth anymore. You know, because if you’re in pain, they immediately assume you’re some sort of junkie addicted to opioids,” I said, rolling my eyes. Her mouth hung open a bit, surprised by my statement. I hit my head with the palm of my hand; what a stupid thing to say. “Damn, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I was immediately cut off by the waitress, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere with the tea, to save me from myself. I felt like such an idiot. How insensitive of me to say that, knowing both her sister and her sister’s boyfriend were recovering addicts.

“No worries. So why exactly did you want to meet me?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I, um…” Damn, I had practiced this over and over in my head. It wasn’t any easier explaining the insanity that was about to spew out of my mouth in person than I hoped it would be. “I have tried to get in touch with Josh, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls.” She let out a chuckle as she took a sip of her tea.

“That’s interesting. You couldn’t get a hold of the millionaire CEO of a modeling company, like you could so easily with a nobody like me?”

I grabbed a piece of my long blonde hair, as I uneasily twirled it around my pointer finger, studying each grain of my hair, suddenly doing a full-on split-end examination. Everything I said was coming out wrong, and I immediately regretted my decision to contact her.

“I’m an author,” I blurted out.

“So was my sister.” It was nice to see her referring to Cali as an author, after no one seemed to take her new career seriously once she quit acting.

“She’d be happy to know you were referring to her as an author,” I said.

“And how would you know anything about what my sister would feel? Were you chatting it up with her while you were both in a coma for a year and a half?” she snapped, like I hit a nerve at the mention of Cali.

“About that,” I said, as I reached in my tote and retrieved a book and slid it across the table. She pulled it in towards her and examined the cover.

“542 Days?” she read the title out loud. “What the hell is this?”

“See, that’s the thing. We weren’t in a coma; your sister, Cali, was holding me under a spell or something. She had me in some sort of trance where she told me the entire story…”

“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked, with annoyance in her voice. I shook my head.

“No, no it’s not.”

Chrys slid the book back towards me, pushed her seat out, and stood up. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. It was nice meeting you, Britney. I am glad you’re feeling better…” I stood also, my body language pleading with her not to leave, as she grabbed her pocketbook, and I leaned my palms on the table.

“I promise you; she wanted me to write it. The same as she wrote Bounded by the Bond in her, in your last life,” I reasoned. She stared at me in shock, until she finally grabbed her seat and pulled it back out, slowly slumping back into it.

“How do you know about that?” she asked, just above a whisper.

“She told me.”

“While you were ‘under her trance’?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“Yes. Look, I know it sounds insane; seriously I do. But if anyone could understand or believe this, I thought it would be you. Or Josh. How could I possibly know all this stuff?”

“The Internet is a dangerous place… you can dig up a lot on someone. Morgan, Cali as you know her, was a high-profile actress…”

“Exactly. And you think I was ‘accidentally’ placed in a private room, with a celebrity, in the middle of a pandemic?” I asked, making air quotations to emphasize accidentally. If there was anything Cali’s story taught me, there were no “accidents”. Coincidences did not exist. She stayed silent, processing what I had said.

“Even if this is all true, what do you want from me?” she finally asked.

“What happened to Mason?” I asked. He had been on my mind ever since I woke up from the experience. I thought about him often; I felt like I knew him. I found myself constantly worrying about his well-being, wondering if he was okay. He occupied a large portion of my thoughts now. But the larger part of my mind was consumed with thoughts of Josh.

“He lives with me. His mother, my sister, was arrested. I was next of kin. You have kids, Britney?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Why don’t you have kids?” she questioned. Well, this became an interview I didn’t see coming. I started pushing the tarnished pieces of the danish around my plate with my fork.

“I find it disheartening that in 2022 we still have to explain to people why a woman wouldn’t want children,” I answered harshly. “No, I didn’t put it on hold to pursue my career. No, it’s not for lack of commitment to a man, either, and I am not a lesbian. The truth is, I just don’t want kids, never did. Plain and simple.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, softening her voice.

“You didn’t. Not much ‘offends’ me,” I assured her.

“Well, I ended up a single mother to an eighteen-year-old boy. And he hates me, and despite everything I give him, can’t seem to find his path. He won’t go to school, he refuses to get a job, and just last month I had to pick him up from the police station because he stole a car. So, if it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t judging. Nor can I say I blame you. It’s not easy.”

“I’m sure he’ll find his way; he’s been through a lot…”

“Yes, I am certain he will also, and hopefully before I drop dead from a heart attack,” she let out a chuckle. “Now, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off rude, but is that why you wanted to meet with me? To check up on Mason?” I put my fork down and looked directly into her eyes. I could feel the desperation oozing from my stare, but this was it, my only chance for answers… Here goes nothing.

“Not exactly. I was hoping you could help me. I really need to get in touch with Josh.”

JOSH

I sat at my desk in a stupor, just staring at my computer screen, but compulsively thinking about the text message that had come in an hour earlier. I must have read it thirty times and was still no closer to having a response than I did the first time.

Hi Josh, this is Britney Johnson. I am not sure if you recognize my name, but I’m the girl who was in the accident with Calista Reed. I tried calling your office numerous times, and never received a call back, so I did something (admittingly insane) and contacted Chrys NaPalepso, and she gave me your cell number. I really need to talk to you about something that is way too long to type. If you can call me back, it would be appreciated. Thanks.

The girl who basically killed the love of my life. Contacting me out of nowhere, and Chrys gave this lunatic my cell phone number? Chrys and I had kept in touch for a few months after the funeral, mostly because we were the only ones who knew what actually happened before the accident and could speak freely about it. We would check in with each other often at first. A few times a week, which eventually turned into a few times a month, and well, we all know how that story goes–it had now been months since we’d spoken. I re-read the text yet again, contemplating calling her. What was she going to tell me, the typical “I’m so sorry for your loss” crap?

When did it become customary for people to say “Sorry for your loss” anyway? Are they honestly so sorry? I truly thought if one more person said that to me, I would lose my temper on them–then they could be sorry for the temper they made me lose. What does someone even answer to that? “Thank you.” “Me too.” “I appreciate that.” I don’t know, call me cynical, it just seems like another phony “I don’t know what to say” line, so here’s a generic one-liner someone made up a long time ago, in a land far, far away…

Not this time. I decided I wasn’t going to give this girl the easy way out by calling her to give her some sort of closure over the phone. So, instead, I answered:

Sounds like it could be a long convo. I’ll be at the steakhouse on Second at 6 p.m. Reservation will be under my name. Josh.

She wants to give me some basic crap to feel better about herself? Let her do it to my face. I expected apprehension in my aggressive answer; however, my phone vibrated almost immediately after sending it.

Okay, see you then.

Seriously? This girl was going to meet me for dinner? You could not make this stuff up. To say I was in a bad mood when I arrived at the place would be an understatement. I was angry, annoyed, inconvenienced. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and beautiful flower centerpieces were placed at each table. There were mostly couples all dressed up and eating at other tables. The brick walls on the inside and the fireplace gave it a very cozy and old-school feel. One of the nicer steakhouses in the area, and usually very hard to get into, but my connections paid off. A perfect date night spot; anyone who watched us together could have easily assumed we were meeting for that.

When I arrived at the restaurant, Britney was already there, waiting at the bar for me, as the hostess escorted me to her. Long straight blonde hair and brown eyes, she wore a nice red dressy shirt and a tight pair of black slacks with high-heeled pumps, leading me to believe she had just arrived from work. She appeared like she was quite tall when standing, likely around five-seven without heels, curvy in all the right places, and a bit thicker than women I typically dated. When she swung around on her barstool, she looked incredibly tense that I was behind her, and had a sadness in her eyes that I had only last seen in the mirror.

“Hi,” I said, rather coldly. She smiled but didn’t say anything. My eyes scanned her up and down, but she just looked at me, silently.

“Ready, Mr. Knight?” the hostess asked. I nodded and followed her as Britney shadowed behind.

I handed my suit jacket to the hostess and slowly sat down as I awkwardly adjusted my tie. Britney gave me a slight smile as she nervously gnawed on her thumbnail. The fact that she looked just as uncomfortable with the meet-up as I did, somewhat made me feel better about the situation.

“Hi,” I repeated. She smiled but once again didn’t say anything.

“Good evening, can I interest you in some drinks?” the waiter interrupted just in the nick of time.

“I’ll have a Pellegrino, please. She may need something stronger,” I answered, waving my finger in her direction, wishing I could have a drink to take the edge off. This entire time I had hated this girl, I blamed her for ruining my life, but now seated in front of her, seeing she was just a regular, normal person also in a lot of pain, caused some guilt over my undoubtedly misplaced resentment.