The Drazen World: Purgatory (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Hunter unleashed a smiled that made even the gray walls dissipate into a light so bright it almost blinded me, bringing me back from my momentary self-pity party.

  "A beautiful name, for a beautiful woman." He said, sincerity playing from every syllable he spoke.

  "Whatever. It was my grandmother's name. She was old and half senile." It was true. I had never assimilated my name to anything beautiful. Wise? Yes. Fiery? Most definitely. Beautiful? Not so much.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, his tone a solemn weight that immediately brought my attention to his captivating chestnut eyes. I stared intently at him only because his gaze shackled me to the spot. I couldn't move, he wouldn't allow it. I could barely breathe from the impact of his attentions.

  "Why?" I breathed out.

  "You've lost the ability to see beauty and that, Gabby, should be a sin in and of itself."

  Normally, I would be flipping him off, hurling obscenities at him, maybe getting in a couple of well-placed insults regarding his own faults but it all seemed endlessly futile.

  "I know. I've been dead a long time." I admitted, if only to stop this conversation from incessantly filling my soul with unwavering darkness.

  "Then, wake up and live. Your earthly body is gone, Gabby, but your mind? Your soul? They’re just on stand-by waiting for you to open your arms wide and accept the exquisiteness that lies in wait." Using his abs to right himself into a sitting position, he leaned in close and whispered so softly I barely heard a word. His mouth close to my ear, his breath stroked a line down the outer edge of my ear lobe and sent a shiver dancing down my spine. "Music exists within beauty. Accept the latter and the former will follow."

  In a move so quick I almost missed it, Hunter brushed his soft lips across my jaw before hopping off the bed and disappearing behind the now closed door of my room.

  ‘Music exists within beauty. Accept the latter and the former will follow.’

  What did that mean?

  Was he talking about the musical notes that had abandoned me inside my mind? My lack of musical inspiration? If so, where the fuck was I supposed to find beauty in a place where gray was the only color available?

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed an oval, metal-rimmed mirror hanging on the wall. It blended seamlessly in the identical color scheme but my own movement had drawn my gaze straight to it. Slowly, I made my way over and sighed before looking at my own reflection.

  Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, average nose, non-descript lips.

  Bland.

  That was what I saw. All my life, I had seen my potential but had never reached it. I had felt the greatness within me but had never tapped into it. I had heard my talent reaching out but had never pulled it to the front and center of the stage. No, that was Monica's specialty.

  Monica, the beautiful.

  Monica, the smart.

  Monica, the natural.

  Monica, Monica, Monica.

  And me? I merely accompanied her greatness. The brighter she radiated, the dimmer my light became until one night, it faded completely.

  Raising my eyes back up to my reflection, I brought my index finger to my lips and traced their outline. At least they were symmetrical. Not too plump to mistake them for a Botox project gone wrong. Not so thin that they looked non-existent. As I ran my fingers from my top lip down to the bottom and up again, I decided that they could, in fact, be described as kissable. If every other part of me was disposable, I could at least be honest with myself and admit that my lips had some type of appeal.

  There was always that.

  Chapter 3

  "Gabby, it's nice to see you again. Were you able to make music since last we spoke?" I was back in what I had named as the ‘empty room’ with the man who held such a mortal title, it was perplexing to consider. A personal assistant to God. And here I had been taught that He was all mighty. But when you have an entire world to manage, the task had to be too vast for one being. Funny how my religious beliefs as a living being were minimal and yet, here I was, vying for a spot in the most sought after residence beyond death. That wasn't to say that the pits of Hell weren't open wide and awaiting my arrival. I was dead, I wasn't ignorant.

  "Gabby?"

  Shaking my head from my internal thoughts, I was brought back to the here and now by the soothing, even-toned voice of the man before me. Ernest. The judge, the shrink, the PA.

  "Sorry. I...uhm, was thinking..." I answered, landing abruptly in my present situation.

  "Of course. I understand."

  "Right. Well, no. I wasn't able to make music or even hear it for that matter. I don't understand it, I always had too much in my head and now it's just...gone. It's like it never existed, yet my fingers have their own motor memory. I can move across a mental keyboard but the sounds they would create never come. Why is that? Why can't I hear anything?" I could feel my heartbeat speed up. How was that possible? Did I even have a heart anymore?

  "I feel as though my points of reference have been completely obliterated. I don't know who I am anymore." The tightness in my chest was familiar. The overwhelming constrictions that were preambles to my panic attacks. My depression engulfing me in a cloud of despair.

  Fuck.

  Breathe.

  "Breathe, Gabby." Ernest's voice echoed my own thoughts, calming me somehow. For once in my miserable life, I didn't feel alone. Surrounded by people and yet completely solitary.

  "Breathe..." We both said in unison and to my utter surprise, it worked. My respiration slowed to a more natural rhythm, my heartbeat even and steady. My mind pushing the dark clouds to the furthest edges of my consciousness.

  "Good," he said like a father rewarding his child for a job well done. It was foreign to me, a concept I had difficulty grasping no matter how many times I had wished to gain it. I liked it. That recognition. That pride for a job well done.

  I had never been good enough, not in my eyes at least. Maybe not in anyone's. Who knew?

  "Let me answer you in progressive steps. First, you must create new points of reference. You must adapt, Gabby. That is the single most important lesson you must learn. Observe, learn, adapt. It is the only way of stepping up through the proverbial gates."

  "I met Hunter," I blurted out for no other reason than his soulful eyes flashed through my thoughts.

  "I know. I also know you made progress," he said with a knowing smile.

  Clearly, Ernest was delusional. What progress? I was still a nonsensical mess, my emotions bouncing off the walls of my mind.

  "Really? And where did you get that ridiculous impression?" My tone was childish at best, petulant and sarcastic a more realistic description. With a small flick of his gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to an item that had most definitely not been there the last time I had sat in this same exact chair.

  A book. A small one but a book nonetheless. In the vast and numerous rows of empty shelves, this book was certainly the odd man out. "What is that?" I asked, my stare never veering from the lone collection of pages just begging for me to thumb through them. To read. To learn.

  "Go on, Gabby. Go see what it says." No sooner had the words sounded in the room, I was on my feet heading directly toward the bookshelf. My hands trembled as I inched closer, almost touching what seemed to be a leather cover. It looked old, worn, as though it had been decades since anyone had flipped through the pages. The scent of aging paper enveloped my senses, acting as an immediate balm to my racing thoughts.

  The cover had no title, no author name, no accolades. Simply a battered layer of leather summoning me to dive into its story. I succumbed to the urge and exposed the first page. The shock of the words almost had me dropping the book, my gasp echoing around the empty room.

  "What...is this?" I asked, my voice a mere whisper.

  "Keep reading, Gabby," was all Ernest said.

  Taking a deep breath of fortitude, I found the courage to turn the page.

  Gabrielle Mona Reece.

  ‘A Brother's Sacrifice’


  Oh, Darren. My brother. My twin.

  Staring at my name and the title of this tiny book, I tried to imagine what the rest of the pages would tell me. When had Darren sacrificed anything for me? In the haze of my depression, I remembered his constant looks toward Monica. The condescending communication between the two of them, silent questions about my impending breakdowns. Even when I was doing my best to be on top of my oppressive emotions, their worried expressions only made things worse. Made me worse. Of course, they thought I was too immersed in my own darkness to notice them, but I did. Unfortunately, I always caught those fucking silent conversations.

  "You can take it with you, Gabby. Read it and learn from it. Every word written is a perfect rendition of how things happened." Ernest interrupted my simmering anger, replacing it with confusion.

  "How...?"

  With an arched brow and a smirk upon his lips, he waited for me to come to my own conclusions.

  "Do you have monks sitting around somewhere writing people's lives out by hand? Sounds a bit like forced labor to me." I was trying for humor, something Ernest apparently lacked when it came to the inexplicable possibilities of the afterlife.

  "We have scribes. For each soul living on earth, we have a writer transcribing his or her life. A accurate account of actions, feelings etc..."

  "Oh," was all I could say, suddenly feeling as though I should be ashamed for some, maybe all of the things I had done in the past.

  "Now," he began, shifting in his seat and taking a more shrink-like demeanor with his long legs gracefully crossed at the knees. Great, just what I needed. "Tell me about Hunter." I took that as my cue to return to my seat facing the bland desk between us, the small book clutched to my chest.

  "I don't know, I just ran into him..." I began as I sat my ass down.

  "Don't do that, Gabby. Do not play emotional mortal games with me. We know all, we see all and we most definitely feel all. I'll give you a pass on the lying, just this once. Consider that your warning, child."

  Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes before releasing a loud breath and my sarcasm along with it. I knew it was a defense mechanism but old habits die hard, apparently. Pun intended.

  "Okay. Hunter came to my room. He's...well, he's different, I guess. He said something that has been running through my head for a while. He said 'Music exists within beauty. Accept the latter and the former will follow.' Is that supposed to explain something to me?" I looked up at Ernest with expectant eyes. Suddenly, I felt like a child needing answers that would miraculously give sense to the world around me. Maybe help put things in perspective so that I didn't always feel like a dying tree in a gigantic forest filled with healthy greens. Everyone here spoke in riddles and I needed some concrete answers. No more ‘You need to figure it out, yourself,’ type responses but the honest, ‘Go right. Then go left’ kind.

  That was it.

  I needed guidance. For the past however many years this mental cancer had been invading my will to live, I'd needed guidance.

  "Yes, it is. How did you feel while you were with him?" Ernest asked, tilting his head to the right, his eyes intent on my face. It didn't escape my notice that he hadn't really answered my question. Such a professional psych thing to do. I had to think about that for a few minutes. Every time my psychiatrists had bombarded me with that same exact question, my skin would prickle and my anger would boil. Of course, my answers were always the same—‘I feel like committing mass murder then bathing in the blood bath.’ Obviously, that answer never boded well for my mental evaluations. After a while, they recognized it as my way of telling them to fuck off and leave me alone. Not that it ever worked.

  "I felt...content, I think. I just, I don't...I mean, the darkness?" I knew I was stammering but I just couldn't get the words out. Thankfully, Ernest came to my rescue.

  "There is no place for darkness here, Gabby. Only healing. Hunter was drawn to you. Your aches and pains are similar, so his soul was pulled toward your own. Sisters in misery, you could say." A small chuckle escaped the man's lips. He looked as though he were remembering fond snippets of his life and enjoying the mental walk in the park.

  "Like...soul mates?" Looking back at me, Ernest smiled and nodded. This was getting a bit weird. Was he trying to set me up? I flushed at the thought, I mean, who wouldn't want to be mating souls with a man like Hunter?

  "That's a very human term, Gabby. Here, we talk about sister souls. Our Father feels we all deserve to be bound to another whether on earth or in the afterlife. Two entities that bond make for one stronger soul. Down there, Monica and Jonathon have bonded. In your mental despair, you missed the beauty of that significant moment. The growing links of their bodies and minds, the necessity of their union. But here, you can witness it firsthand. Your homework, this time around, is to read your book and when Hunter comes around to see you, I want you to open your mind. Breathe in his aura and accept his words. Maybe, just maybe, you'll hear music."

  With that, Ernest rose from his seat and left me bewildered, my eyes staring at gray nothingness.

  Sister souls. The pull I had felt toward Hunter earlier...could it have been our souls, one reaching for the other? With only a few words, a pool of hope deep within me had begun to form, something I didn't think I was capable of doing. Shaking my head as though my thoughts were addled in cobwebs, I forced my mind to return to reality. Hope was for the birds, it flapped its wings and took your life along with it. Ernest must have been a romantic, his matchmaking skills in fully effect.

  But his last words? They spoke to me at a level deeper than anything else ever could.

  ‘Maybe, just maybe, you'll hear music.

  Chapter 4

  "How did it go, Spunky?"

  My head snapped up at the sound of Hunter's baritone voice, humor lining every syllable. Apparently, we were quickly becoming BFFs where showing up uninvited in my sanctuary was the norm. So much for privacy in the afterlife's waiting room. And that nickname? Just, no.

  "Spunky? Really? That's the best you could come up with? I sound like a hyperactive teenager with identity issues." Granted, those issues had been present from day one but my teenage years were far behind.

  Sitting on my bed, legs spread shoulder-width, forearms resting on his knees, Hunter tilted his head in my direction and rewarded me with a smile so captivating my knees threatened to buckle. A quick scan of his body revealed he was dressed in the same clothes as the last time he'd waltz in my suite. There were more important things on my agenda than flirting and fawning over some guy. Even if his milk chocolate colored eyes were just as enticing as a box of Valrhona truffles. I fought the urge to throw myself at him. In my defense, I didn't think it was at all appropriate to have carnal thoughts toward a fellow Purgatorian or In-Limbo-ist.

  From what I had gathered in my earlier conversation with Ernest, everything was somehow monitored by omniscient eyes and ears. Nothing new, really, considering my every breath was scrutinized during my time on earth. God forbid a sigh would escape my mouth, it would lead Darren and Monica into a frenzy.

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Did she take her medication?’

  ‘Did you count her pills?’

  ‘How much sleep did she get last night?’

  And on and on... Their concern was exhausting, their fear so palpable I could feel my patience waning with every second that passed.

  "I like your fire, Gabby. It tells me you're not as dead as you think you are. So, yeah, Spunky fits."

  Hunter's words awakened a fire inside me I thought had disappeared years, decades, ago. Pride. I did have fire buried somewhere inside me yet everyone I knew and loved had mistaken that will to live with despair to off myself. This man that I had seen all of twice, could sense it. What did that say about my family?

  "Technically, I'm pretty fucking dead, Sherlock." I deadpanned instead of accepting the compliment.

  "Truth. But there's dead in Hell and dead in ‘up There’. Those are two very different def
initions."

  Making my way to the bed, since it was the only place we could sit, I grinned back at Hunter. A real grin. One that pulled at the corners of my mouth and had my eyes crinkling from its presence. I liked it. It felt almost foreign but that didn't mean I didn't bask in its warmth.

  "Ah, there she is," the man beside me whispered, his thumb tracing the half-moon edges of my lips. "I knew there was a sincere smile in there somewhere. It looks absolutely gorgeous on you." My cheeks burned from the flush I was sure tinted my entire face. My breath catching in my throat and my belly dancing the Samba, were sure signs of my embarrassment at such a genuine compliment.

  "Whatever," was my only response accompanied by a small roll of my eyes and a tentative smile. Hunter chuckled at that, in all likelihood consciously choosing to let the subject go.

  "What's this?"

  "What?" I followed the path of his gaze, landing upon the book that I still had clutched against my chest.

  "Oh."

  "Oh? Is that the name of this piece of literary genius?" Hunter asked, a smirk drawn at the corner of his mouth. Damn him and that sexy smile. I wanted to poke it and lick it in equal measure.

  "No, smartass. It's something to do with my brother, Darren." I answered, my eyes shifting left then right, the conversation making me uncomfortable.

  "Ah. Your first recap on the bookshelf, yeah? It means you made progress." I looked up then, his words sounding wistful, his eyes glowing with what I interpreted as pride. It wasn't an emotion I saw frequently but enough that I could recognize it. And right there, in the dilatation of Hunter's pupils, I saw he was proud. Of me.

  Wait. What progress?