Insight
Insight
By
Jamie Magee
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to any real people or event is purely coincidental.
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Jamie Magee
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express consent of the publisher and author, except where permitted by law.
All series mingle at some point creating a “Web of Hearts and Souls”
Insight (Book 1)
Embody (Book 2)
Image (Book 3)
Vital (Book 4)
Vindicate (Book 5)
Enflame (Book 6)
Blakeshire
See (Book 1)
Witness (Book 2)
Synergy (Book 3)
Redefined (Book 4)
Derive
Rivulet (Book 1)
Imperial (Book 1)
Where To Find Jamie Online:
http://authorjamiemagee.blogspot.com
For Chancey, Amanda, Cynthia, and Emma ~ Thank you for never allowing me to settle.
Prologue
Some people wonder what their purpose is. They question their dreams—the passion in their heart. Not me. No, I’ve always known. I’ve known since my first breath, since the first time I saw those mesmerizing emerald green eyes, since the first time I saw my love, my soul mate in my dreams.
As I lay here staring at this dark ominous sky all I can think about is her…those eyes. I know when my fingertips touch her for the first time in this life she will feel the energy of my love, the passion I have for her. My flesh aches for her touch.
I know she must be worried about me. Almost eight new moons have passed since I’ve met her in our dreams. I’ve been trying to prove to myself, and anyone else who dares to doubt that I was right, that she’s mine. Not seeing her has only made the dreams of our past more vivid. The universe along with this dark, forsaken dimension is yearning for our love. Waiting for us to come together as one again.
There is a sense of ominous foreboding that surrounds the palace. My mother hasn’t looked me in the eye for days, my father is anxious. I would take the time to wonder why if I had a free thought. I don’t. Donalt, the most powerful ruler I’ve ever met, the only one in this dimension, is always occupying my time with his random prophecies. I cannot remember a time in my life when he wasn’t just a few feet away. He has told me that I will succeed him, that his throne will be mine. I doubt him. He’s a demon, one that has ruled for over four million years. He’ll never fall. He has a sinister plan. I can feel it. Sometimes I swear I hear him in my mind telling me what to do, what to say. I fight him with my memories, the ones of my dreams with her. My dreams of her are not always pleasant. I know that we have fought and died together over and over, but this life will be different. It’s different because I will not let anything or anyone stop us from being together for eternity, even if that means making a deal with the devil himself. She’s
mine
.
When I stand next to Donalt, before millions, I see the way they look at me. I see the pleading in their eyes. They want this gray hell to end. They think that I will end it for them. I glance from one solemn expression to the next. Smiling, laughter, that is forbidden here, but I let my eyes fall into theirs. I stare into their empty souls and promise them that my time, her time, is upon us. I promise them that I will stop at nothing to bring her home. What happens after that point is no concern of mine. My purpose is to find her, to harness the power that our passion and love will release.
The Blue Moon that falls on her eighteenth year…that is when this pain and anger of not having her near me will end. That is when the power will belong to us. We will be unstoppable.
I was terrified. The summer air blew through my open window as I tossed and turned in bed, lost in a dark dream. I was having one of the bad dreams where I could not feel the people around me. They had no emotion, not even a mood. The same dream had haunted me since childhood. The heavy weight on my chest was almost unbearable, leaving me with shortness of breath. The adrenaline rushing through my body gave way to hair-raising chills.
Being unacknowledged by the people in this place had become normal. They seemed lost in their own personal hell. Lines gave definition to their faces. The world around them was gray. In order to lift the weight from my chest and wake from this horrible hell, I would have to find the one who had called me here, the one I could feel, whom my touch could help.
I made my way through the gloomy street, pushing through others as they walked by in a solemn state. I reached out with all my senses. I could hear the sound of arguing growing louder. That had to be my way out. The weight on my chest grew stronger, telling me I was right. Fear began to race through me though, so I tried calming myself by remembering that they could not see me. I was a ghost to them.
Small windows lined the tall gray cement walls. Darkness lingered behind most, while lights illuminated others. There was no grass, trees, or sign of birds or any other life beyond the hopeless people all dressed in long black cloaks. Everything was so controlled and uniform. The absence of color, music, and laughter was almost as scary as the emptiness in their eyes.
As I walked closer, fear overtook me upon the realization of what I’d anticipated: the one who had called me was close. The weight was reaching a degree of unbearable pain. My emotions were raging.
Why did it
have to hurt?
I tried to push away the invisible force that was torturing me, but my efforts were in vain, just as they always have been.
The arguing was coming from one of the small windows on the first level. A man was yelling as a woman cried out. On the front steps, I saw a little boy. He looked to be five or six. He maintained a blank stare into the darkness with the purest of blue eyes. His hair was long and messy. The clothes he was wearing were tattered and dirty. I felt so sorry for him. I wanted to take him from there, but that was nothing short of impossible. Putting my anger and fear aside, I sat down next to him and placed my hand on his small back.
I thought of how happy he could be if he were only given some sense of being loved. How abundant he would feel if he could be the center of some lucky parents’ world. The little boy dropped his eyes as he felt me. Oddly, his emotion shifted to regret and sorrow. Not understanding, I focused on peace. His emotion slowly gave in to mine, bringing a sense of calm into his little body. I hoped that I would have been able to bring him happiness, but my time there was coming to an end. Silence came. The little boy vanished, as the people on the street did. The wind whistled through the barren, cold walls. Now, I could only hear my violent heartbeat.
I stood, bracing myself for what I knew would happen. A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows, his contemptuous laugh echoing through the darkness. He has been in every nightmare I’ve ever had, taunting me, trying to force me to succumb to him. His face is always hidden by the darkness. The dragon tattooed on the inside of his arm told me he was the same one. This figure was once a child, but now, both young adults, we played the game that brought only him pleasure. He crept closer to me, laughing under his breath. He then reached for me. I knew from my previous nightmares that a burning white light was about to push right through me. I crossed my hands in front of my face, blocking the surge of light.
When the light did not come, I slowly lowered my hands. The figure was standing just in front of me. I still could not see his face, but I could feel his eyes searching over me. He grasped my wrist, where I have a tattoo of an Ankh, a beautiful cross that opens at the top with a loop. My instinct was to pull away, but I could not make my mind and body agree. With his touch, I felt a hypnotizing, warm sensation that eased through my wrist, up my arm, and circled through my body taking the weight off my chest. His thumb traced over the cross. I sensed him smirk.
“This is true…I will find you now,” he said in a deep, controlled voice. He pressed his thumb in the center of the loop. The warm sensation turned into a blazing burn. I screamed through the pain, finally waking.
My screams brought my father into my room. He’s always the first person to respond when I wake in the night.
I’ve never told my parents the details of the nightmares. Since before I can remember, I’ve always felt the emotions of the people around me as if they were my own. If I told him how scared I really was, I would have to feel his fear as well as my own, so putting the event behind me seemed much simpler.
“Willow, wake up,” my father said in a deep heartfelt tone. He’s always had a calm feeling to him.
My eyes flew open as I sat up hastily, finding myself safely in my own room—right where I belonged. I grabbed my wrist, still feeling the pain not understanding why I still felt the pain if I was safe and sound.
“You haven’t had one of those dreams in a while,” my father said, turning on the lamp.
The last one I’d had came on the eve of my eighteenth birthday in November. It was now mid-August. We’d all hoped I’d simply grow out of them. It seemed, though, the odd characteristics that I developed during my childhood would never really leave me. Awesome. Not.
“I don’t understand. The new moon was two days ago,” my father murmured.
When I was a child, I had nightmares with each new moon. So, I’d fallen asleep that night without a fear in the world, thinking I’d successfully passed through another month without having to face that figure. It seems, though, that he will always be connected to me. Why? That question plagues me.
“I’m all right, Dad. Really.”
My father was full of fear now. I glanced at him. His hazel eyes had turned to a shade of brown as they always do when he’s concerned about something. He shook his head slowly, not agreeing with me.
“Let me see your wrist,” he said quietly.
My father is Dr. Jason Haywood. He always seems to know if I’m hurting more than I let on. I’ve never been able to fake myself well, or sick, for that matter.
When I got the tattoo of the Ankh, my mother, Grace, was furious. She grounded me for the first time in my life. My father, though, simply asked why I’d chosen that one. I never really had an answer. The symbol stood for eternal life, which was something I’ve always found fascinating. My friends were picking out butterflies and flowers, but the Ankh seemed more fitting for me.
I slowly uncovered my wrist, expecting to see a burn. Instead, inside the loop at the top of the Ankh was a small star. I felt my father’s shock, fear, and disbelief. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to understand how that dream chased me into the sanctuary of my life. In a panic I pushed past my father.
“Where are you going?” he asked, standing to follow me.
“I just want to wash my face, Dad. I’m fine. Go back to bed,” I threw over my shoulder, trying to block his emotions.
The bathroom was next to my room. I closed the door behind me, rushed to the sink, and began trying to scrub away the star. I couldn’t comprehend it. I didn’t understand what I’d done to deserve this.
Why do I have to be so different
?
Feeling the emotions of the ones around me isn’t the only aspect of my gift. While I’m awake, I can also see images of the people who are not here. They all need my help and are seeking someone to comfort them, so I touch them and somehow give them the emotion they’re craving. With each touch, I’m taken to wherever they may be. When I release them, I’m pulled back into my reality.
I’ve never understood why they could not see me, where I went, or how I even managed to do what I did. Every day I’m haunted by these questions. When the nightmares stopped a few months back, the images seemed to fade as well. Since helping the images is the only thing that makes sense about what I can do, I channeled my aggression through painting, trying to capture the emotions I’d changed. This gave me the desire to help again. It gave me the will to endure this cruel fate.
Recently, though, I put my brush down and haven’t so much as doodled on a napkin since. My mother believes I have a creative block. She’s an artist, too, and sees my painting as a rare talent. I never had the nerve to tell her that it was simply a crutch I used to cope with the wicked war my soul fights with each breath I take.
In a couple weeks, she is sending me to an art school in New York. The thought of having a nightmare so far from home is terrifying in and of itself. I felt the pain of fear swell in my chest. I had to figure out how to get out of these dreams she had planned for me.
At this point my wrist was red and raw. The star was still there. I splashed water on my face then stared into the mirror, trying to look past my emerald green eyes. I wanted to see the answers somewhere inside of me. All I saw was a girl trying to get from one breath to the next. And I hated that. I should be stronger than this. Something told me that the time for me to hide from this was ending. There is nothing worse than knowing that hell is charging toward you and there is nothing you can do to stop its approach.
I could feel my parents downstairs. They were filled with a sense of urgency and panic. I took a deep breath, wishing that I could change the emotions of the ones around me. If I could, I would go down there and move them back to the peace and excitement that belonged to them.
I dried my face off and put lotion on my tattoo, trying to ease the burn. I then turned off the light and opened the door, just wanting to go to my room and hide. I could hear my parents whispering at the bottom of the stairs. I looked over the banister to see my father fully dressed. He was trying to calm my mother down, but he was having little success. He grabbed his keys and kissed her before opening the front door to leave.
My own confusion outweighed the stunned emotion my mother was feeling as she stared at the closed door.
“Mom?” I said with a crack in my voice as I slowly walked to the stairs.
My voice startled her. She jumped and looked up at me. With a fake smile filling her face, she tried to find the familiar excitement that her emotion usually carried. She reached back and pulled down her long dark hair, trying to hide the red blemish that always surfaces on her chest when she’s hiding something.
“Where’s Dad going?”
She glanced down, then back up at me, trying to find words that would not be completely untruthful.
“Um, he…well, you see, he had to go meet someone. At the, at the hospital,” she answered with a shaking voice as she pulled her robe closed.
“It’s, like, two in the morning,” I protested, halting halfway down the stairs.
My mother’s eyes fell to my tattoo. I felt a surge of fear as she saw the new addition. Not feeling like trying to explain it, I casually moved my arm behind my back.
“Honey, you know how good a doctor he is. They just need him. It’s nothing really,” she said, clearly trying to convince herself of the lie she spoke.
My father is an amazing doctor. He never really prescribes medicine or has to run painful tests to find a cure. He just seems to know what’s wrong and how to heal it. People come from every state just to see him. So, I almost believed her for a moment, that is, until I felt a dread rise inside her.
I was about to get angry when I heard my baby sister’s bedroom door open at the other end of the hall. Only six, Libby is a lot like my mother. They both live with a constant child-like excitement rushing through them. Squinting her dark eyes in the light of the hall, Libby pushed her long, dark, tangled hair out of her face.
“Is it time to get up?” she asked me.
Seeing her way out of having to answer any more of my questions, my mother climbed the stairs hastily.
“No, baby girl, Daddy just had to go help someone,” she answered in the sweet tone she always used with Libby.
I felt Libby’s confusion. Even she knew that that was odd.
My mother reached Libby and took her hand. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll lay with you,” my mother said to her, guiding her into her room.
Libby looked back at me. I shrugged my shoulders, letting her know that I didn’t understand either.
I stood awestruck for a moment before going back to my room. Leaving the light on I climbed under my covers. Immediately my mind went back to the words that the figure had said: “I will find you now.” The details of the nightmares, the images, and feeling people around me are traits that I’ve always kept to myself. Mainly, out of fear that my family will think that I’m insane if I tell them. Who needed that on top of everything else? Not me.
As a child, I only had nightmares during a new moon, but every single night I dreamt of another place. There I always found the same person. I cannot recall a single day of my life that I have not seen him.
This intoxicating person has always mesmerized me with his intense blue eyes, which give way to perfect lips highlighted by sensual dimples that come to life when he smiles at me. His shoulders are broad. His tall frame is lean with sleek muscles. His entire demeanor is near stoic. My soul told me that he could and would protect me from the evil that has targeted me for no apparent reason at all.