PROLOGUE

Though my vision remains focused on the highway before me, I cannot ignore the surrounding emptiness of my locale. The desert that unfolds on either side of this road is barren and never ending. The cacti that sporadically populate the landscape bring to mind the sheer loneliness of it all.

 

As I continue driving west, tiny pellets of sand whip across my vehicle with a frenzied aggression (unfortunately hindering my attempts at opening any of the windows). Thank goodness my air conditioning stopped working sixty-five miles ago.

 

As I sweat profusely without the aid of a cooling system, I am reminded of my most hated foe; the sun. Oh, how can I forget about the hot, tortuous sun that taunts my current predicament at this very moment.

 

I swing down the visor for some assistance but the situation seems utterly hopeless. Pure and simple: the sun has become my arch nemesis.

 

However, before I can curse this bulbous provider of light with my imaginative wit, my vehicle suddenly begins to spasm with violent regurgitation. Instantaneously my focus deviates from the concern with the emptiness of the landscape to the predicament of my beloved 1968 Ford Mustang 390 GT 2+2 Fastback.

 

But as quickly as it arrives, the violent contractions cease.

 

As my heart reenergizes and once again begins its ascent towards normalcy, my mind drifts to the possible cause of this disturbance. Turning down the radio that has been blaring incoherent nonsense ever since Kansas, I strain my ears to listen for any possible performance issues.

 

There are none.

 

But yet I cannot convince myself that everything is alright. There is something unnatural happening here. I can feel it. But where, how and why is it happening?

 

With suddenness, I pull the car over onto the shoulder of the highway. Turning the ignition off, I sit and wait.As sweat rolls from my brow with relentless fury, I eye the surrounding locale with paranoid trepidation. With my vision shifting from left to right across the vastness of this foreign land, I become aware of one thing; I am not alone out here.

 

Something stirs in the distance. two hundred metres to my immediate right, a movement drifts towards me. The wind, feverishly increasing in velocity now, rips dust across my windows with a torrid intensity. My eyes squint with ambitious hope, but the images are jagged mirages of the mind.

 

I immediately conclude that stopping the car was possibly the second worst decision of this journey (the journey being the first-why didn’t I just fly?). Without glancing back towards whatever exists within the realm of this desolate landscape, I turn the key in the ignition to start Bullit back up again. But with the sound of cliché echoing amongst the hissing rattle of desert sand pelting my windows, the engine does not turn over.

 

Without hesitation, I try it again. Nothing! I turn back towards my right. The ‘something’ is moving towards me with apparitional aggression, but the sandstorm is too persistent to reveal the identity of the incoming threat.

 

Defying common sense, I open the driver’s door and scramble from the vehicle. I attempt a glance back to my right, but my eyes are shredded with incoming debris. As if sensing my vulnerability, the storm seems to have intensified as some sort of sick joke. I now know it will be impossible to survive this storm on my own.

 

I hurdle myself back into the car and lock the doors. I scan the interior of the vehicle for some sort of weapon, but the bag of corn chips and bottle of Gatorade simply won’t do.

 

Paralyzed with apocalyptic fear, I grip the steering wheel overcome with a sense of defeat. As my courage retreats, my ears begin to focus on a sound emanating from outside the vehicle. At first, it is hard to define (what with the howling of the wind) but as time ticks away, my brain begins to confront the stark realization that a slow and steady sort of clawing is making its way across the passenger door of the vehicle.

 

As l sit motionless behind the wheel, the clawing continues on as the entity begins its descent down towards the rear of the vehicle. Pausing momentarily to transport its way around the posterior of the car, the clawing recommences as the being begins its ascension up the driver’s side.

 

With tears swelling in my eyes, I slowly glance at my rear-view mirror to identify the entity stalking me with malicious intent. What my eyes reveal is of something not human in nature, but seemingly something that would exist within the fantastical mindset of a famed author.

 

Cloaked entirely in black, the being (which looks to be crouching down) that taunts my sense of reality is faceless, or so it seems from my vantage point. The only physical appendage visible is of a stark white hand, curled and deformed in appearance. Its long and protruding nails slowly scaling across the exterior of the vehicle.

 

I quickly turn away from the mirror and sit motionless in the vehicle staring straight ahead. Within seconds, my peripheral vision is clouded with a rising darkness. The being rises up and stares directly into my side window. With fear controlling my every motion, I dare not look to my left. But suddenly I am no longer in control of anything, and my head is swivelled towards the window as if on a platter.

 

What I see does not disturb me, but rather it offends my entire being. For whatever I’ve taken solace in during the past now appears meaningless. My sense of reality has been shattered. For when I look into where the beast’s face should be, I realize that life will no longer be the same...

 

1

My journey westward came about as most journey’s often do---a woman. 

 

I had met Brianna at one of my book signing events many months before. I was there promoting my latest work, Enigmatic Clarity, and was despising every moment of it. I typically hate interacting with other people, and was counting down the minutes until I was able to pack up and go back to my hotel.

 

Minutes before my meet and greet was scheduled to end, I decided that I had had enough, and began to pack my belongings into a duffel bag. I had only signed seventeen copies in three hours, but this lack of interest did not undermine my thoughts at all. I was an author who had seven national bestsellers all before the age of 40. I was a prized asset who could do no wrong. This book would be another notch in my belt of success.

 

As I continued to toss my belongings into my bag, I heard a slight “squawk” from directly behind me. I turned suddenly and was face-to-face with a petite, raven-haired beauty.  She couldn’t have been any taller than 5' 2", and her tan skin, illuminated by the light of the store, glistened in my eye. She was standing in front of my table with my book in her hand. For a moment, I was too stunned to move my body at all, as I was too overcome by her aura.

 

In actuality, what I had heard hadn’t been a squawk at all, but rather a quiet “excuse me”. After gathering my thoughts, I smiled at her and reached for her book. But she pulled away and simply stared at me. I was a little confused until I realized she wasn’t actually holding MY written book, and she was not asking for a signature but rather was wondering if I knew where the bathrooms were located.

 

Red-faced and embarrassed, I feebly pointed towards an area located ten feet to my right. She smiled at me, and walked away with the sexiest shake I had ever laid my eyes upon.

 

After a few minutes, she returned to my table and apologized if she had offended me. A sexy and caring woman was an odd treat, and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

 

I attempted some small talk but the words stammered out of me with the eloquence of a revving jackhammer. She smiled faintly, her upper lip quivering ever so slightly. My nervousness seemed to intrigue her, and she was fully aware of her control in the situation. With her eyes a flutter with seductress intent, I knew from that moment on that I would be the putty sitting precariously in the palm of her hand.

 

It was she that asked me to go for a drink afterwards. It was she that asked me to spend the night with her. It was she that drove me to the airport to catch my flight back to New York City. And it was she that convinced me to come west to live with her.

 

She became my passion and my obsession, and within month of my first interaction with her, I decided she would be my everything.

 

 

 

Enigmatic Clarity was a commercial and critical failure (I guess my belief that every book becomes a New York Times Bestseller was wishful fabrication), and I was shunned by the writer’s establishment as a result. My publishing company and agent released me, and I was left with pennies as a result of all my careless spending (who really needs a stuffed bear in their bathroom anyways?). Forced into selling my lavish Manhattan condo on the Upper East Side, I had become my own worst fear...a failure.

 

It was Brianna, who already resided in the west, that advised me to come live with her. She was a writer, as well (though, not as successful as me...or had been), and my one and only fan left in this world. But instead of flying to her, she convinced me to drive cross-country. She noted that the journey would make excellent material for an upcoming book, and that the expedition would reinvigorate my crushed soul.

 

Who was I to say no.

 

So, with the little money left in my bank account after the sale of the condo, I jumped into Bullit with two suitcases in the trunk, a case of Gatorade and a few bags of corn chips (the stuffed bear was unable to free up his schedule to make the trip) .

 

Leaving New York was bittersweet. It was the city where my dreams had come true seventeen years ago, and it was the city that laid glaring witness to my greatest defeat. So many years of working hard to ascend to the depths of the sky only to be cast away with thundering vindictiveness.

 

No, I would not miss New York City. It had chewed and savoured me, only to have spit me out after I had become flavourless. The west is where my rebirth would lie. I would make the journey to start anew. I would become a new man who, alongside a great woman, would recapture my past glories. There would be great success and magnificent riches bestowed upon me once again. The world wasn’t greater than I...I was greater than the world!

 

 

 

The desert can be a lonely place. Surrounded by a stark emptiness for miles upon miles, the physical wasteland that is the desert can fracture an already battered and bruised psyche without regard. The desert does not know you nor does it care to. It exists simply as a barrier between who you once were and who you strive to be.  It is a defining point in one’s journey, strategically prodding and manipulating the elements that typically lay dormant within the human soul. When one battles the ferocity of the wasteland intent on your destruction as a human being, one must come prepared to battle.

 

I did not.

 

 

 

Squinting and grimacing, I slowly open my eyes to the sun glaring down upon me. My head hurts and my body trembles, but for all sole purposes, I appear to be alive.

 

But it only takes a few moments to realize my body might not be.

 

As I move my head and body around, I become aware of one crucial thing...I am unable to move my legs. Struggling, I slowly raise my head up to look down at my lower half. Though intact, my body seems to be frozen in time.

 

With all the strength I can relish, I attempt to move my arms down towards my legs. But in an instant state of coherency, I become aware that I am also unable to move my arms. This is when the panic began to sink in. What had happened? Where am I? Am

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.04.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7438-0848-5

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