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Authors: V. L. Brock

Seeking Nirvana

BOOK: Seeking Nirvana
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Copyright

Seeking Nirvana

(Dark Evoke #1)

By V.L. Brock

Copyright 2013 V.L. Brock

Licence Note

This
ARC
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyments only. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting and respecting the hard work of this author.

 

 

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

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

The author acknowledges the copyright and trademark owners of any brands/stores/establishments, which are used in the book, and that I do not claim ownership to.

 

Cover Design
by: Tugboat Design

www.tugboatdesign.net

Edited by: Brittani Pritchard

 

 

 

“The most sorrowful of memories are the happiest ones.”

Dedicated to
:

My
Nan
.

Not a day passes where I fail to sense your presence, you
r love and guidance.

You may not be here physically, but this is my gift to you, for
as you used to say,


There is no gift greater than that of creativity’.

Happy Birthday, Nan. 
 

 

“All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, desire.”

––Aristotle

 

Chapter
One

“How long is this going to take?”

“Please, sir. I understand this is difficult, but she’ll come around when she’s ready. The drugs are wearing off, her vitals are stable. It’s a waiting game. You have to be patient.”

Darkness.
We all originated from it. Some fear it. Some find it comforting. It’s as natural as the progression of time.

But when time is combined with
perpetual night, when the two most natural things in the world travel hand in hand and there is nothing you can do about it, it loses its comfort. It becomes lonely. It becomes the nightmare.

The divide between reality and unconscious crumbles, ruptures and disintegrates before your very eyes, leaving and the two
worlds to seep into one another like oil and water…

“Come on please. Come back to me.”

And a voice is just faceless words booming from the heavens, it’s then that you know you’re in a ghost town, and the presence of mine, is stronger than my grip.

I become a hostage of the darkness once more.

Wake up…wake up. Come on for the love of God; just move your eyes…your hand, anything. You can do this. Just wake up.

“So what happens now?”
My latest futile attempt of fighting to regain consciousness through the netherworld I found myself drifting in was interrupted as a faceless voice echoed. The power of speech remained an unreachable goal for me. I’d lost count of how many times I shouted and screamed, only to have the sound ricochet against my skull. Not even the gloom could obscure the anxiety and worry in the tone as his question traveled on a weighty sigh.

“You’re a b
right kid. You’ll work it out,” the anxious man was countered by a tone both deep and cold. A tone that commanded obedience and respect. I didn’t need the visual to detect the haughty derision which the featureless creature obviously embraced.

They continued to talk, to hiss and
undermine each other, until finally, the door bounced from the wall and slammed shut when one of them left. I can’t remember the words they spoke…just the manner.

A person’s chosen tone speaks more than what actual words can at times.

I commanded myself to move, to roll my eyes, move my hand, legs or gasp for air…anything just to relieve myself from the darkened quicksand of unconscious that I was imprisoned by. With upmost determination, I managed to roll my eyes, only to be devastated by the sharp, stabbing pressure pain in my head. Each time I strained to move was a failed, futile attempt. Waiving the unending battle of escape when you’re trapped and paralyzed in a wasteland, is tempting, more so than ever when you feel weak, when you feel alone.

Even mere moments feel like an eternity when you
wrestle through that haze, willing your body, willing your mind. Finally, my finger twitched on my demand, my eyes rolled under the lids before surrendering to a gradual flutter of the delicate flesh. I felt free.

I
had fought my way through the terrifying quicksand that tantalizes you with sounds, voices and a brief hope of pulling through before viciously ripping them away. And you continue to descend down the dark, swirling rabbit hole where nothing makes sense, once again.

My wary eyes were invaded by a
natural light. It hurt, but it was a light I yearned for. A light I was thankful to witness, so I took my time, and allowed them to adjust. Following the stream of light spearing its way into the room, I craned my head to the direction of the window…that’s when I saw him. His tall, sturdy body was bathed in sunlight, his hands resting on the windowpane as he bore his weight through his hip. The gleam shone like an aura around his supplicatory form.

“Please, God…let her be alright,”
I heard him whisper.

A
small whimper exited my mouth as I attempted to rid the heated, rough sensations in my throat and pasted on my tongue. My little whimper must have not been so little. I was still blinking when he turned around to face me. I allowed him to come into focus. His strong carved jawline had a lengthy accumulation of stubble, his hair hiding beneath a black flat-cap.

“Oh, my God, you’re awake,” he
spoke with palpable relief, taking three rushed strides to my bedside. The seat groaned in protest far too loudly for my throbbing head to bear, as he lowered himself into the material and scooped my limp hand into a forceful, although caring clutch. Wincing as my bone rolled over a metal band around his finger, he chuckled, “I’m sorry,” with an element of relief, before loosening his grip.

Each time I blinked was like having a shard of ice pierce through my eyeball, and having it niggle around deep in the center of my brain. But I
owed it to myself to push through. And I did so, with a crease marring my brow.

“Welcome back,” he breathed, and that’s when I noticed
his voice, a voice that I’d never heard before. He spoke with a sweet Irish lilt. It was pleasant, not harsh, and although there was a stranger in my room, looking at me amidst the Indian Ocean in his eyes, the sound and manner was welcomed.

“Where am I?”

“Massachusetts General. You were in a car accident.”

“Car
accident?” The crease reappeared on my forehead; either that or it had never left in the first place. Shaking my head ever so slightly, that damn searing pain in my skull which made my eyes water, mocked me once more, though ebbed when I felt his warm grip on my hand tighten.

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” he answered with his thumb stroking my knuckles softly. He lifted himself from the padded seat, the material griping noisily again prompting my eyes to tighten as a gasp of air whistled between my teeth. “I’ll get the nurse.”

I
had fought through the slush, the mud and the ever-growing swamp that was my unconscious to take control of my body, and I did it…I gained control when I was at my weakest. I was damn sure I could fight through the ice-pick which continued to hack at my skull and the radiation of pressurized pain which followed immediately afterward.

Feeling weak, I sluggishly bega
n my perusal of the hospital room. Flowers and balloons were stationed at the end of the bed. Cards of all colors were placed neatly on the oak bedside cabinet to my left. A beam charred through the window along my right, brightening the blue throw which covered my inert body. The moment my steady perusal fell onto the IV which was punctured through the back of my left hand, I felt queasy, my stomach rolled and contorted as I forced my eyes shut.

“Good afternoon, sunshine.”
A middle-aged nurse with a pixie haircut entered my room with Irish in tow. “Nice to see you back. How are you feeling?”

How
was I feeling?
Really? Why do people ask such silly questions?

“Tired and thirsty,” I
croaked over the tenderness of my throat.

“I just need to take your blood pressure, then I’ll fetch you some water. The doctor should be in to see you shortly.”

Irish was just taking a seat upon the green padded chair for a second time when he took possession of my hand. He gazed at me expectantly, silently waiting, urging for words to be spoken or an expression to be made. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. I didn’t even know who he was. Yet the warmth of his stare, and the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, helped to thaw the surliness of the unknown, which should have had me panicking.

Silence was splintered when I asked one question––one
simple question to which was made up of only two simple words. “Where’s Liam?” I had never witnessed such a tranquil, hopeful expression fade into nothingness so quick, in all my days.

The
world of compassion and joyfulness that reflected from his eyes and his smile was all but a memory. The Indian Ocean became all but a stream with how he tapered his eyes, his jaw taut and working hard and fast under his flesh.

The cold fused itself to m
y hand as he pulled away with a brutal sigh, and I barely heard the strained vicious growl vibrating in his throat, traveling on his breath.

Elbows propped onto his knees, t
he nurse gaped at Irish as he hung his head, his hands resting on his flat-cap. Silence governed the room, a silence that I couldn’t fare with…I had enough of silence, what with being surrounded by it in my unconscious.

“Will someone please, answer me when I
talk,” I hissed, unable to rein in the sudden wave of anger and frustration as it knocked me clearly off my feet. Yelling wasn’t a good idea. I winced as the smarting pain in my head began throbbing with my outburst, and my swelling lip got caught around my frenzied words.

The seat
grated and whined when the tall, muscular man pushed himself from the padding with white, bloodless knuckles receiving my attention. With his hands balled into tight fists, pursed lips, a working jaw and Hell in his eyes, he stormed to the entrance of the room.

“He’s in the cafeteria
,” the nurse called after him, while slipping the blood pressure cuff into place.

The level of vulnerability and dependency
I felt at that time is something that I never want to feel again. I have never felt so helpless. Needing Susan––the nurse sporting a pixie haircut––to help me hold a cup of water, because my muscles were too weak to do anything, was by far the most degrading feeling.

No, scratch that…the catheter was by far the most degrading.

Susan was just placing the cup of water on my bedside, when two men burst through the door.

“There she is…oh, baby
, I’ve missed you.”

Intense concentration caused my eyes to tighten severely
. He sounded like Liam, but he didn’t look anything like him. Liam was tall, dark hair slicked back to perfection, with a block sturdy jawline, clean-shaven, green and blue speckled eyes and always immaculately dressed. This man looked rough and unkempt with his hair flopping in every direction, facial hair which he never usually grew, and his shirttails unchecked.

“Liam,
” I scowled. “Wh–what happened? What happened to
you
?”

With a sympathetic snigger of appreciation, he
dropped his head toward me, placing a kiss on my brow as he sunk into the seat which Irish once occupied. “What happened to
me
?” he asked dubiously with a roguish, yet, elated grin firmly in place.

I briefly
overheard an Irish lilt mutter at the end of the bed, “What happened is a good fucking question.” He was opposed by a glowering Liam, and stuffed his hands into his dark-denim pockets, remaining silent. By the look on Liam’s face, opting for silence was a sure way to evade a death sentence, and was most probably the smartest choice Irish had made that day.

“Don’t you remember anything?”

I opened my mouth to mention what the last thing I remembered in my fogged up head was, when the doctor appeared from the bottom left of the room. His hair so blond it was practically white. Slanted, warming blue eyes punctured through me, as he uncovered his pen-light from his pocket.

“It’s good to see you back with us.
I’m Doctor Leviton. How are you feeling?”

“If someone asks how I am feeling one more time, I swear my head is going to explode.
Such a stupid fucking question, how do you think I feel?” I drew a breath in an effort to recover my poise. Eventually dragging my head up to gaze at the sympathetic doctor, I uttered, “I’m sorry,” after a rueful sigh.

He nodded his head. “It’s completely understandable.”

My brain felt like an egg being fried on the sidewalk in the summer. It sizzled and pleaded for an escape as he shone the light in my eyes and asked me my name with a cautious tone.

“Kady,” I murmured.
“Kady Jenson.”

“Kady, can you tell me the name of the President?”

An unapologetic snicker sounded from beyond my toes, followed by, “You gotta be kidding me, Doc. Kady didn’t know that before the accident.” That insinuation would have had my pulse rising and blood boiling, but the playful tone in which it was said, along with the sweet, teasing brogue had me inwardly chuckling myself. How did he know I wouldn’t know that?

“W
hat about your birthday, Kady?”

“May
15, 1986.”

“Place of work?”

Swallowing the shameful lump growing in my throat, I knitted my fingers together. “Red Velvet,” I retorted and the room rapidly plunged into an unsettling silence.

In sync,
Irish’s head lifted from the wheeled table at the foot of the bed, Liam’s clutch on my hand tightened. My regard wavered from Liam to Irish and back again. Liam’s eyes were shining, the corner of his mouth lifting and curling, while Irish’s Ocean was more like a muddy puddle before turning back into streams as he narrowed them, while glaring at the man clutching my hand in a form of support.

My name traveled on t
he Doctor’s hefty outbreath. He slipped the torch back into his pocket. “How old are you, Kady?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-fourth
.” And with that answer passing my lips, I felt the entire universe being ousted out of every set of lungs in the room. The piercing pain in my head was resurrected as panic and anxiety scaled through my body. “What?” I asked gingerly, but my question as left unanswered, floating around in the area surrounding us like karma in the cosmos. “What!?” I demanded forcefully, wincing as both my head and throat smarted at the direct, brusque inflection of my voice.

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