Illusions (The Missing #1) Read online

  The Contradiction of Solitude

  Reclaiming the Sand Series

  Reclaiming the Sand

  Chasing the Tide

  Twisted Love Series

  Lead Me Not

  Follow Me Back

  Find You in the Dark Series

  Find You in the Dark

  Light in the Shadows

  Cloud Walking (A Find You in the Dark novella)

  Warmth in Ice (A Find You in the Dark novella)

  Bad Rep Series

  Bad Rep

  Perfect Regret

  Seductive Chaos

  For all the Noras

  Follow the clues and find out more about The Missing by visiting

  www.findingnora.blogspot.co.uk

  The Song

  Every morning was the same.

  I’d curl into a fetal position on my side and try not to think about how the rocks were cutting into my cheek. Or how the dirt was so deep under my nails that the beds were now black.

  I didn’t think about how my long, blonde hair was matted and filthy. Or how I stank from not having a shower in so long.

  I tried not to gag as the smell of my waste permeated the room, hanging in the air, coating my skin.

  These things would have bothered me, once upon a time. Now, they barely registered.

  Because all I could think about was right now.

  In the dark.

  In the lonely, empty room.

  My steady, beating heart.

  The air whooshing in and out of my lungs.

  And the song.

  It began as a whistle. High pitched. The most horrible sound I had ever heard. I covered my ears. When that didn’t work, I’d stuff my fingers down deep.

  I could still hear it.

  The whistle.

  I hated it.

  It went on and on and on.

  And then it would change into something resembling a hum.

  Notes up and down. High and low. No words. Just a melody that was both familiar and horrible. It was loud. Too loud for the silence I had grown accustomed to.

  Discordant. Out of tune.

  Like a piece of music that was meant to be pretty but had gotten twisted up and spit back out.

  Like something out of a horror movie.

  Then it would stop. And the singing would begin.

  And that was worst of all.

  Because then I could hear the words. I knew them even if I didn’t know the voice that sang them. I recognized them. I just didn’t know how.

  They made me sad. And angry.

  Almost crazy . . .

  But more horrible than that, I felt love. Deep in my bones. Wrenched from my bleeding heart. It crushed me up into tiny, jagged pieces.

  Love.

  I felt it.

  But I didn’t understand it.

  And the words wouldn’t stop. Sung by a voice I desperately wanted to know.

  I screamed until my throat was raw and bleeding.

  I screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore.

  But the song went on.

  And on.

  And on.

  Reminding me of the past.

  Withholding the future.

  No one will miss the little girl lost . . .

  Day 1

  The Present

  That twenty centuries of stony sleep

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I was roused out of consciousness.

  My head was throbbing, and I was pretty sure that I had bit through my bottom lip. I could taste blood in my mouth. Bitter. Like sucking on a penny.

  My throat was dry. I couldn’t swallow no matter how I tried. I had never been so thirsty in my entire life.

  I groaned and rolled onto my side, curling my legs into my chest. I was in pain. Serious pain. I ached everywhere. There wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t hurt.

  I imagined this was what running into a brick wall at full speed felt like.

  I opened my eyes and could make nothing out in the blurred darkness. Light filtered in through a dirty window, but all I could see were shadows.

  I touched my face and realized my glasses were gone.

  I felt instant, overwhelming panic.

  My glasses were gone!

  I couldn’t see without them!

  I squinted and peered around until my eyes acclimated to the diminished light. But without my glasses, I could make out no discernable features. I knew that I was definitely not in Kansas anymore. I couldn’t figure out exactly where I was.

  I slowly sat up and scooted backwards until my back connected with a wall, the solid concrete floor hard underneath me. I let out a tiny scream and quickly covered my mouth—terrified that I’d be heard.

  I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. My head was pounding, making it hard to think.

  Where am I?

  I shook my head and then groaned at the pain that blossomed and spread out like spiders’ webs. I ran my fingers up the side of my neck and winced at the feel of tender skin.

  I opened my eyes as wide as possible, desperate to see. Needing it.

  Nothing! I can’t see anything!

  Where are my glasses?

  Crawling on all fours, I swept my hands along the floor hoping they had just fallen from my face.

  “Ow!” I gasped, lifting my finger to my mouth. I sucked on the skin. The taste of my blood was becoming a familiar flavor on my tongue.

  I gave up my futile search and slowly, not so steadily, got to my feet. I turned in a circle, trying to get a sense of the room I was in.

  Where am I?

  I couldn’t see. But I could hear.

  I could smell.

  And I could touch.

  I needed to rely on my other senses to get an idea of my surroundings.

  I strained my ears and the answering silence was in many ways more terrifying than not being able to see.

  Total and absolute quiet.

  A void of sound that stretched on and on and on.

  But it hadn’t always been still. I seemed to remember a noise. I tried to wrestle it from the depths of an exhausted subconscious. Something on the edges of memory. I tried to remember.

  It was gone . . .

  Only silence.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered, covering my face with my hands, gulping air as fast as I could. My chest heaved, my stomach churned.

  I was alone.

  Totally and completely alone.

  I curled my fingers into claws and dug them into my cheeks, not caring when my nails cut through skin.

  I was alone.

  It was familiar. It was devastating. Solitude had the power to level me entirely.

  Get it together, Nora! This isn’t helping anything!

  Shuddering, deep breaths. Placate. Calm.

  Okay, there’s no noise. But what can I smell?

  I breathed in deep through my nose, holding it in. The musty, foul scent of mildew and rot clung to the back of my throat. I coughed, feeling sick. It smelled like decay. Dying things.

  Forgotten things.

  There was something uncomfortably familiar about the smell and silence. The stench of neglect tickled my memory and I fought like hell to reach out and grab the elusive strings, but I couldn’t quite grasp them. It was like the subtle twinges of déjà vu; absolutely frustrating.

  I turned in a circle again, twisting my knee in the process. My leg buckled and I fell back to the ground. I gasped as I made contact with the cold, hard floor and rubbed the injury. It felt bruised and throbbed from the impact and my weight baring down on top of it.

  I was having a hard time breathing. Dust caught and clung to my hair and eyelashes. Every inch of my skin felt tight and bruised like I had been in some sor
t of fight and come out the very obvious loser.

  Think, Nora! How did this happen?

  I opened my mind and thought back to the last twenty-four hours. I tried to think about the days that led up to this point.

  And I was met by an endless sea of confusion.

  Soft brown hair blowing in the wind.

  Angry voices screaming as I ran . . .

  Rage.

  Hate.

  Longing.

  Discombobulated images, disconnected feelings. None of it made sense. I felt as though I had been cut up into tiny, little bits. The aching physical pain was nothing compared to this.

  The misery in my heart.

  Again I got to my feet, bracing my knee as best as I could. My weak leg shook under the strain, but I was finally able to stand upright without toppling. I shuffled towards the wall and flattened my palm against the wooden slates. Old wood. Splintered and broken in places, it felt as though it had been there for a long time. A strange smell wafted from it. I leaned in close and sniffed. Mold and something else tickled my nose.

  Gasoline? And burnt wood?

  I frowned and smelled the wood again. This time I could only get a whiff of decomposition and age. I disregarded the earlier smells as olfactory hallucinations. It was the only thing that made sense in this insanity.

  Feeling along the wall, I made my way around the outer parameter. The room didn’t feel overly large. But it was, for the most part, empty. Too empty. Like a crypt.

  I bent over, shaking and dizzy. I was going to be sick.

  I swallowed, my parched mouth and throat burning at the effort. With trembling limbs, I leaned against the wall.

  There was nothing to give me any sort of indication as to where I was. Only a twinge of familiarity that, at this point, I believed to be all in my head. Did I really recognize this non-descript room? How could I when I could barely see a foot in front of me?

  I had no clues. No ideas. Only a memory full of holes with no substance I was a battered body and a reeling mind.

  I covered my mouth with my hand and bit back the scream that crept up my throat like vomit.

  But I couldn’t just stand there like an idiot and not do anything. I felt the need to do something. Anything!

  “H-hello?” I called out, my voice scratchy and low. I stumbled towards the middle of the moon, tripping over my shoelaces. My bad knee threatened to give out again.

  I barely registered the tears running down my face. I didn’t want to think about how weak they made me. How much I hated the wetness growing sticky on my cheeks.

  “Nora! Come back!”

  I startled at the unbidden memory. A deep, frantic voice. Scary. Demanding

  I shivered in the oppressive heat. My foot made contact with an object I hadn’t noticed before. I kicked it over and it rolled across the floor.

  “What the—?” I dropped to my knees and patted around on the ground, hissing at the pain in my leg.

  My hand wrapped around cool plastic. I lifted it up in front of my face and saw that it was a full bottle of water.

  I didn’t bother to stave the tears. With a choked sob, I uncapped the top and quickly downed as much as my burning, uncomfortable throat could tolerate. I had never tasted anything so amazing in my entire life.

  Water sloshed around the side of my mouth, dampening the collar of my T-shirt. I didn’t care. In that bleak, horrible moment, it was my only salvation.

  An inconsequential thing that meant absolutely everything.

  When I finished, I dropped it on the floor and then proceeded to berate myself endlessly.

  It’s what I did best.

  Why did I drink it all? Who knows when I’ll get more!

  And that very realistic thought opened me to the panic I had been carefully keeping at bay.

  I’m going to starve.

  I’m going to dehydrate.

  I’m going to die . . .

  “I’m going to die,” I rasped, my teeth chattering and my body clenching in pain and hysteria.

  “Help me!” I wailed and flinched at the sound of my shrill voice in the deadened silence.

  Nothing.

  Always nothing.

  Always alone.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  I was used to being left. Being unimportant.

  Discarded.

  Ignored . . .

  I gripped the side of my head and pressed my fingers to my temples. The pressure and discomfort helped to clear my mind.

  I just wished I could see. My eyes had adjusted to the gloom, but everything was fuzzy. Indistinct. I had been almost legally blind for years now. It was frustrating at the best of times.

  At the worst, sitting in this stifling room with no visible escape, it was petrifying.

  “Hello?” I repeated, this time a little bit louder. I slowly got to my feet again and made my way toward what appeared to be a door.

  I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt trying to get some relief from the still and stuffy air. It was so hot. Like a furnace. It felt as though the walls were closing in on me. Sweat dripped down between my breasts and beaded along the top of my lip. The hair was damp at my temples. I ripped the stocking cap I had been wearing off my head and threw it across the room where it fell somewhere in the shadows.

  I felt like such an idiot for dressing the way that I did. Who wears a winter hat in the summer anyway?

  I scratched at what seemed to be dried blood on my cheek. The skin stung, and I could feel uneven cuts.

  What happened?

  That seemed the more important question.

  More important than the where.

  Or the who.

  Or even the why.

  The what bounced around inside my head, demanding to be answered.

  I finally reached the door and felt around for a handle. The door seemed solid and smooth. I carefully felt along the seams and hinges, flattening my palms so that I touched every single inch.

  I finally located the handle. It was curved and I thought I could make out a large, metal plate that it was attached to. Using all of my strength I pulled, jarring my shoulder.

  It didn’t budge. I pulled again, this time using both hands. It was locked tight. The only way to open it was from the outside.

  I was trapped.

  Like a dog in a cage. A hot, airless cage.

  I couldn’t get out, and it was obvious that I wasn’t supposed to.

  I banged my fists against the wood. “Hello? Is anyone there? Where am I?” I called out, recognizing my increasing hysteria.

  “Hello?” I called again. “Can anyone hear me?” I all but shrieked.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  Of course.

  I dropped my forehead to the door and banged my head several times against the hard surface. “No one’s there, Nora,” I muttered. “No one is going to let you out.”

  And then I laughed. Manically. Strained and tight. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Totally inappropriate but completely unstoppable. The laughter bubbled out of me, and I didn’t bother to try to stop it.

  Then the laughter died off and the fear replaced it. The bone deep dread that took root and wouldn’t budge.

  “Answer me!” I screamed, caving to the terror. “Please!” I begged. “What have I done? Why am I here? Just tell me!”

  I banged my head against the wall again. Over and over. “Who are you?” I mouthed.

  The shadows were filled with boogeymen and monsters I couldn’t see.

  “Let me out!” I gasped, clutching my throat. Wrapping my hands around the thin column of my neck and squeezing. Just enough to ground and center. The panic attack hit hard.

  “I want to go home!” I sobbed, doubling over.

  I never thought I’d experience a time when I yearned for home. That I could think about the cold rooms with any sort of affection.

  But in that moment I wanted nothing more than to walk through the front door and hear my mother’s clipped, disappoin
ted voice telling me to go to my room so she wouldn’t have to look at me.

  I reminisced wistfully about my bedroom that had, in the last few years, become my prison.

  “I want to go home,” I whispered.

  So much.

  I thought about my house.

  My mother.

  Her hard, hard eyes and downturned lips.

  I remembered my face in the broken mirror. A disfigured image in cracked glass.

  A thousand, minute recollections clouded my mind.

  But I couldn’t remember what had happened before.

  “I h-have to get out of h-here,” I stuttered. Desperate words wrenched from a desperate woman.

  I beat at the door as hard as I could with my hands and feet, pulling on an energy that I hadn’t known I possessed. “Let me out!” I yelled over and over again.

  In the rational part of my mind, I knew that it was useless.

  I knew that no one would ever hear me.

  Logically, I knew that my pleas didn’t matter.

  I could stand there and scream and scream until I was exhausted and hoarse, and it wouldn’t make any difference at all.

  But I couldn’t stop. Once I had let the panic loose, it was impossible to bottle back up again.

  I kept shouting.

  I kept slamming my hands into the hard, hard wood until the skin split, and I felt the blood drip down my wrists.

  I kicked and kicked until my feet hurt and my legs trembled.

  I pulled on the handle with every ounce of strength that I had left. I’d break the door down if I had to. I’d claw through the wood with my bare hands.

  But then my body gave out. Exhaustion was my undoing. My brain shut down, and I couldn’t deal with any of it. I collapsed into a ball on the dirty, dirty floor.

  Wrecked. Scared. Sick and tormented.

  Lost.

  “What happened?” I whispered, raking fingernails over my stinging cheeks, piercing flesh, scouring. Scarring. Covered with marks both temporary and permanent.

  “What happened to me?” I demanded a forgetful mind.

  I remembered who I was.

  Nora Gilbert.

  I remembered my life.

  Unhappy.

  I even remembered where I had been.

  Waverly Park.

  I tried to remember who I loved.