Rising Shadows

Rachel Ryan wakes up with no knowledge of where she is or how she got there.
Thrown into a world she thought only existed in myths, she finds more questions
than answers. Shape shifters, faeries, and vampires hide in plain sight among
humans. There’s a war quietly brewing in the shadows. Rachel stands between
mankind and those creatures that live in the darkness. Enhanced with power she
doesn’t understand, she’ll tip the scales, but who is the real enemy?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Without God, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you for all your blessings.

What would I have done without the Beta Babes, Alexandra Bowers, Brandi
Gilvaja, Christina McGee, Lindsay Chamberlain, and Vickie Jansen to encourage me? You ladies asked questions, made suggestions, and cheered me on. Each of you is a bright star in my sky.

Sharon
Stogner at Devil in the Detail Editing saved me from publishing a crazy hot mess. You stuck with me and didn’t give up even when you probably wanted to! I learned a great deal about writing and the process working with you. It was a priceless experience.

Thank you Anna Cade for telling me about Sharon! She saved my book.

The Killion Group, Inc. created not one but two covers for me since I flubbed up that first go round. They are also responsible for doing a lot of the technical stuff such as digital and PDF formatting which would have driven me bonkers. I might’ve won the award for the most disorganized and frustrating client they’ve ever had but during it all they were gracious and kind.

The pro’s who’ve been where I am right now, Jeanette Murray, Katy Regnery, and
Skhye Moncrief offered a shoulder to cry on and lessons in how to do this thing right. Jeanette told me what I should invest in and where I could save. Katy pointed me in the direction of services to help and provided encouragement. Skhye has been my Yoda, for which I’m eternally grateful.

DEDICATION

My family deserves this dedication because they’re dedicated to me.

Mom, I’ve called you my north star many times because you provide me with a fixed point to navigate through life. Thank you for all the lessons.

My three little
squishies. You are my greatest achievement.

John – with you I found forever.

CHAPTER 1

Rachel

I
wake in a
colorless
room
, both t
he
tile
floor
and
the
walls
are white, the glaring lack of color is made noticeable by the sunshine streaming through
the
bars
of a small
window
above my bed.
Why
am I in a
room
with
bars
?
An IV pole is
pushed
against
the
bed
frame
and
a tube
tethers me to
the
bag
via a catheter imbedded in my
left
hand
. After
peeling
off
the
tape
, I
gently
draw
the
foreign
object
from my
body
.
I hate needles.
M
y
eyes shut, and
I attempt to remember the last place I was. Nothing. I draw a blank.
Why
can't I
remember
?
My scalp is tender; I
ache
all
over.
Was
I in a
wreck
?
My entire body feels beaten. Not debilitating pain,
but
like
the
day
after a hard workout.

I
catch
a
deep
breath
and
try
to
stand. After a few tries, I succeed on shaky legs and head for the chart dangling at the foot of the bed.
Patient
name
: Rachel Ryan.
Age
: 24. Caucasian
female
.
No
living
relatives
.
No other information is
available
to
help
fill
in
the
blanks
.

I flip through the many reports
stapled
together
but can’t
make sense of
the
medical jargon
. I
replace
the
chart
with a
sigh
.
The short walk
to
the
door isn’t far, but
takes
a
lot
out of me.
Locked
. I pull on the door a few times, but it still won’t budge.

“Hey! Somebody open the door!” I bang on the door with the flat of my hand but nobody comes. I feel on the verge of an anxiety attack.
Okay,
do
n't panic
. The IV I pulled out must have contained a sedative because I can barely keep my eyes open. Back on the bed I lay down and fall
asleep
.

A gentle touch rouses
me. There is a woman, tall with fair hair and faded blue
eyes
. I
think she’s
a
nurse
. I allow her to inspect my hand where I pulled the IV out. It’s amazing how
we trust people in uniform. Inmates wear uniforms
. A person walks into your room dressed in an orange jumpsuit with Department of Corrections on the back, you don’t get friendly. A woman in scrubs walks in and I’m all ready to do anything she asks. She
picks
up
the
abandoned
IV catheter.

“We
inserted
that
for
a
purpose
,” she scolds. I meekly duck my head as she shames me.

“I’m Rachel. Can you tell me how I got
here?”

The nurse looks at me bewildered. She grabs my chart and looks at the last page. Rolling her eyes and scoffing she mutters
,  “Again? How many times are they going to start over?” She puts the files back and looks at me.  “I’m Janice and I’ll be your nurse today.”

“What do you mean start over?”

She waves a dismissive hand my way.  “You’ll have to talk to the Doctor. Lucky you, we’re headed to him right now.”

Janice opens my door and an orderly brings in a wheel chair.
We
pass
dozens of numbered doors
identical
to mine,
each
has a
short inset window
. When we reach an office door, she
leaves
me
sitting
outside next to an overstuffed
leather
sofa.

A
gaunt
man
with
large
horn
rimmed
glasses
steps
out
and
greets me enthusiastically, “Hi Rachel!
How
’re
you
feeling today
?”

He
seems
genuine
, I’ve
no
cause to be
rude
. His oily red hair is unkempt and in
need
of a trim. Harvey Morris, M.D. is
stitched
on his rumpled lab
coat
.

“Fine, I
suppose
.
Sore
, my
head
's throbbing. I can't
remember
anything,” I
admit
. His
pleased
look
dissolves
.
He
takes
off his
glasses
to
polish
them on his sleeve and responds,

“Hmm…that must be
bothersome
.”
The
words
sound
guilty
.

Is
he
joking
?
Having
no
memory
is a bit more than
bothersome
.

“The nurse mentioned something about starting over? She said I should talk to you about it.”

He averts his eyes.  “I really couldn’t say. I’ll speak to her about it.”

This is getting weirder by the second. What are they hiding from me?

My eyes dart nervously around  “Could
you
tell
me
where
I am?”

“You're at
the
Richland Institute,” Morris
offers
.
“The Richland Institute is a
research
and
education
center
created
to
encourage
select
individuals to cultivate their latent potential and
further
the evolution
of
the
human
race
.”
The
speech
sounds
scripted.

Evolution?
Like monkeys and Darwin?

Exasperated, I ask
,  “What can I
do
to
serve evolution
?”

“We
all
perform
our
part
,”
he
answers cryptically.

That’s a bullshit answer.
Gonna need more info than that.

“Why does my part necessitate bars on my windows and a bolted door?” Hostility creeps into my voice.

Clutching
the
arms
on
the
wheelchair, I
try
not to
lash
out at him.
God grant me the
strength
not to
yell
.

Dr. Morris apprehensively
shifts
from one foot to the other worrying his hands together behind his
back
.  “Miss Ryan you don’t need to get agitated. Today is very busy. We must hasten,
or
we
'll be
late
.”

Screw that! I’m not going anywhere with him.

“I want to go home. Who do I need to talk to so I can leave?” I ask.

“I don’t think that would be wise. You would be leaving against medical advice,” he tells me.

“I don’t care! I want out of here now! Give me the papers and I’ll sign them.” I yell at him.

He frowns.  “After the test we have scheduled for today, I’ll speak to Mr. Richland on your behalf.”

I want to get up and walk out but I can’t. My legs are weak.
What did they do to me?
The test he spoke of, what if it does something worse to me? My fingers nervously pull at the gown over my thighs.

He
turns
me
around and heads to the elevator. We get out on the sixth floor and stop
outside a
steel
door
.
A
bank
vault
?
Guards
stand
sentry
on
either
side
carrying
big ass guns.

Those guns look like they pack a serious punch. Note to self, don’t get shot.

Doctor Morris
flashes
a
security
badge and
a guard
punches
in a
string
of
numbers
on a console.
The
keypad chirps
and
the
door
opens
. With an
ominous
moan
,
it
hefts its
own
weight swinging outward. Inside
is a tiled
chamber
similar to the ones in my room, but these are rusty brown instead of a snowy white. Dr. Morris helps me out of the wheelchair and stepping over the large mouth of the door. He leaves me. I jump as
the
behemoth
door
seals
with a
bang
, I
hear
gears
pushing
locks
into
place
. The motion was a reflex and on my shaky legs almost brought me to my knees. I put a hand against the wall to steady myself.

Crouched
in
the
corner
is a
man
.
He has an
average
build, tawny skin and a mane of dark
dark
hair.
If
I
had
to
guess
, I would
say
he’s
South American.

It startles me when he looks at me and cries
,  “No, not
again
!”

He begins to rock back and forth
twisting
on his
hair
.
What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he freaking out? Is he afraid of me?

Too many questions, I want answers.

“Sir, do you know me?” I ask.

I take a few steps towards him, which sends him into a panic. He looks ready to climb the walls to escape.
Oo-kay. Never mind.
I can take a hint. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him.

I retreat to the opposite side of the room. Putting my back
to
the
wall,
I
slide down to
sit
.
Drains
are in
the
floor
.
Overhead
are sprinklers.
A
window
takes
up a good portion of one
wall; from the ceiling to about waist high.
Men dressed in expensive suits assemble on the opposite side.
Are
they
here
to
watch
me shower?
Perverts
.