Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series)

Copyright © 2015 Elle
Devrou

All rights reserved. This book or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the
express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's
imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Blue.
Ocean blue, to be exact. Not like the deep underwater or the clear Caribbean
kind of blue, but more like…the surface of the sea on a sunny but slightly
overcast day. A light, pale blue with such depth that just looking at them made
me go cold. They glistened like waves of water underneath the sun's light, as
though they were in constant motion - even as he stood perfectly still,
unblinking. It was impossible for eyes to literally sparkle as his did, so it
must have been the fluorescent lighting that lit them up with hundreds of tiny
glints and glimmers.

     
But those
brilliant orbs were actually the last thing I had noticed about him. The first
had been his outfit, which included nicely polished shoes, a three-piece suit
in black worn with a stark white shirt and a dark red tie, and a
single-breasted overcoat - cashmere, by the look of it. The next thing I had
noted was the leather briefcase he carried. A businessman, clearly, and very well-off.

     
When I
did
get to his face, I only managed to pick out the stark contrast between his
black hair and fair skin before I was hit with the familiarity of his eyes. All
at once, I felt infinitely better. Like getting a surprise visit from my dearest,
most precious friend. Peace overcame me, and for a moment I was home again -
standing with my love: the sea. Hidden away from all the dangers of the world.
Safe.

     
But a second
later, I realized that this wasn't the same as all those times before. No,
because this time...he was staring back at me. Alive. A living, breathing
entity who was finally able to see me for everything I was. Abruptly, the
moment came to an end and all the safety I had just felt instantly turned to
fear. My body screamed, every cell within me frantic. I didn't completely
understand my reaction, but I felt too vulnerable and needed to get away.

     
I tore my gaze
away by lowering my head and then took a step, ready to leave, only to halt
when I saw his hand begin to rise. The screaming stopped, too, a perfect
silence taking over as I stood frozen in place.

     
Slowly, he
reached for my head. Keeping my eyes down, I felt his fingers in my hair. Just
underneath, my scalp buzzed as though I'd been hit with static electricity.
There was a slight, gentle tug as he pulled his hand away. Peeking up, I saw a
leaf between his fingers.

     
I swallowed
before glancing back at his face for just a fraction of a second. "…Sorry.
Thank you." And then I was off. Trying not to run, I walked as quickly as
I could towards the exit without a backwards glance.

     
Only when I was
outside the doors of the studio could I finally breathe normally. Gasping for
air, I looked up at the dreary gray sky, grateful for the rain that was now
falling. For whatever reason, water always calmed me. Putting on my headphones,
I began the walk home.

     
Five hours
later, I sat at my easel working with various shades of blue on a
twelve-by-twelve-inch canvas, trying to recreate what I had seen in a perfect
sphere of color. I had started working almost two hours ago after being unable
to get the image out of my head.

     
It was true
that I had been frightened by the man who lived behind them, but that didn't
stop me from wanting those eyes for myself. It had been too long since I'd last
seen the ocean. If I could manage to capture what I saw earlier - what I'd
felt, then maybe I would have something to keep this desperate longing away.
The longing to run off back to it again.

     
Not to say that
I was unhappy here. But having depended on the ocean for the last five or six
years of my life, it was hard not having the option to hop on a bus or two to
visit. Basically, I was going through a major withdrawal. Crazy, I know. But
that was me. What other kind of person had a one-way, long-distance
relationship with a body of water?

     
My stomach
began growling and I knew it was time for dinner.

     
When I painted
from memory, I usually worked nonstop. Things like hunger and bathroom breaks
didn't really register. But I didn't feel uneasy about stopping for a while
right now. It's not like I would forget what I had seen, his eyes having been
seared into my brain. Carefully setting my brush and palette down, I stood up
and stretched before leaving my small bedroom.

     
The apartment
had been my home for almost two months now. When my long time friend, Dale, was
offered a job as a construction manager, he invited me to come stay with him
here in Seattle. Naturally I was scared at first, having only ever lived alone
for the last few years. But it was pretty easy for him to convince me when he
said that at least half the year was blessed with gloomy weather. Today was
only the second time it had rained since I'd been here, but then again, we were
only just entering September.

     
Once in the
kitchen, I got myself a glass of milk and, rather than make something new, I
pulled yesterday's leftovers out of the fridge. I had made enough Pizza Pasta
Casserole to last me a few days. While my meal was heating, I went into the
living room to find something to watch.

     
This was my
life in a nutshell, basically. Leftovers, old reruns and movies, and painting
with some dancing in between - for the last few months, at least. But in my
head was a brilliant backing soundtrack to make it just a tad bit more
interesting. Truthfully, I enjoyed my lone, boring little lifestyle. As
embarrassing as it was to admit, I couldn't function any other way.

     
So maybe some
might call me a waste of space. I had worked hard enough in the past that I
didn't feel too bad about living a lazy life.

     
Well…that was a
lie, actually. I was relieved that I no longer had to work two full-time jobs.
Still, that didn't stop me from feeling like I
should
have felt bad
about not living like a normal human being.

     
Luckily, I made
enough with art sales and commissions that I was able to pitch in with the
rent, even though Dale had said not to worry about it. I bought my own
groceries and even took up cleaning duty, although that sort of came with the
position of being the roommate of someone who spent weeks away at a time. I had
known I'd be taking up the role of house sitter when I agreed to move in.

     
The phone rang
just as I was about to get my food out of the microwave. Already knowing who it
was, I answered without bothering to check the number.

     
"Hey,
Babydoll. What's cooking?"

     
Babydoll
.
The most inconvenient and childishly silly nickname. But I understood that he
spoke it out of kindness. I had a nickname for Dale as well.
Coops
.

     
"Yesterday's dinner. How's it going?"

     
"Great.
The team is still pretty enthusiastic and we've already progressed to the point
where we're ahead of schedule. Actually, I have some new stories that I think
you'll enjoy. But I'll leave them for when I get back," he finished with a
yawn.

     
Careful not to
burn myself, I extracted my hot plate of dinner from the microwave and sniffed,
inhaling the delicious scent of cheese. "You sound beat. What kind of
stories?"

     
"Your
favorite kind, of course."

     
"The site
is haunted?" I asked excitedly.

     
"I
wouldn't go that far. There have just been some…oddities."

     
"Well,
that could mean anything." I began to list off, "Are we talking
ghosts? Alien abductions? Demonic possessions? Biblical prophecies?
Zombies?"

     
He chuckled.
"I don't know what it is yet. But I'd sooner take any of those over
zombies."

     
"But
you've got all those construction tools at your disposal. And you're smart, I'm
sure you would survive. Hell, you'd probably try and play hero, too."

     
"Or maybe
I'd just offer up crew members in exchange for safety and a chance to
run." He yawned again, this time louder.

     
"Only in
your dreams. You're too much of a goodie-goodie to leave others hanging. And
seriously, are you getting enough sleep?"

     
"Yeah,
today was just a little longer than usual. Anyway, I called on Jilly's
behalf."

     
Jillian - our
other best friend. She still lived back home, but we kept in close contact.
"Why didn't she just call me herself?"

     
"She did,
earlier. You didn't pick up. Were you gone?"

     
"I went to
drop off a painting," I answered.

     
He continued,
"Well, she wanted me to let you know that she'll be working nightshifts
for the next few days. You haven't given her your new cell number."

     
Typical
Jillybean, using Dale as a personal message machine. "Yeah, I forgot. I'll
get around to it. That all?"

     
"Yeah, so
I'm going to bed now."

     
"Good. Be
safe, and sleep tight."

     
"Will do,
and the same goes for you. Talk to you later."

     
Two hours
later, I sat with a full stomach and a ridiculously goofy grin as I watched Mr.
Darcy repeating 'Mrs. Darcy' over and over again. When the credits of the movie
began rolling, I flexed my fingers and toes, checking the time. It was just
after nine, which basically meant that I could resume painting for hours before
I would finally feel like going to bed.

     
After doing
what little dishes there were, I went to use the bathroom. While I was washing
my hands, I glanced up at the mirror and noted the tousled state of my hair. My
face heated up as I recalled the leaf incident from earlier. Enough time had
passed that I now knew it had less to do with embarrassment and more to do with
the fact that
he
had touched me. Well, technically he hadn't, but what's
a few centimeter's difference? To me it was all the same. It seemed that even
direct eye contact now fell into the category of touching, seeing as how it had
nearly crippled me.