Page 1 of The Write Knight

Prologue

Elizabeth

Fourteen years ago…

Darkness.

It surrounds me. Threatening to pull me into its shadowy depths. I don’t know which way to go, but I know I need to run. Run to escape it. Run from the hold it seems to have on my body, my mind. Tingles prickle the back of my neck, and I know I’m soon to be in its sinewy grasp. My throat clogs in fear and my lungs ache as the emotion consumes me. I feel the shift in the air and know I’ve lost the battle. It has me in its hold, and I’m being pulled under to where darkness knows no bounds.

?I awaken with a jolt of electricity thrumming through my body. I gasp for air that seems thick in my lungs. My pajamas cling to my body from the sweat coating my skin. My heart is pounding in my chest, demanding to be set free of its confines. I gasp as I open my eyes and realize I am safe in bed. I scrunch my eyes closed trying to recall any details from the nightmare, but the more I try and concentrate, the more it evaporates from my mind, like rain on asphalt on a hot summer day. I sigh as I drop back to the bed and shield my eyes from the sun streaming right through the windows. Taking deep breaths to calm my nerves, the minutes pass and the dream fades further and further away. I can never remember them, but I know they are dark. Always dark and consuming. I’ve had night terrors since I was little, most of thetime brought by the onset of an illness, but sometimes I feel as if they are a foreboding of what’s to come. A shiver runs down my spine as fear ricochets through my chest like a pin ball machine, and then takes hold in my stomach as a wave of nausea passes over me. I wrap my arms around myself, willing the fear to leave my body. It was just a dream. Just a dream. I’m safe. There is nothing wrong.It’s just in your head, Elizabeth.These dreams only come occasionally, but every time I have the same reactions… drenched with sweat, heart pounding, and the feeling of being suffocated to death. The feeling of losing all control.

?Focus. Deep breaths. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Repeat. In. Out. In. Out. I continue until my heart begins to slow.

?When I regain my composure, I realize I’m not in my room, and remember coming to spend the weekend at my aunt and uncle’s house. I get up from the bed and look over to see if my cousin is still asleep. Cathy is a bit older than me, but we have always gotten along. Everyone says I am mature for my age, and I suppose I agree. I don’t really get along with my classmates at school except for my best friend, Sarah. She and I seem to have been destined to be friends.

?I remember the first day that I met Sarah in elementary school. She was a new student and didn’t know a soul. I, myself, didn’t have many friends, either. About a week passed before we spoke to one another. She sat directly behind me in class, and one day she came in and tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked back at her, she smiled and said, “I love your new haircut!” I smiled back as my heart fluttered because someone noticed me.

“I’m Sarah,” she continued anxiously as she wrung her hands together under her desk.

I knew it took a lot of courage to be the first one to speak to a total stranger. I understood that probably as much as shedid. Her smile faltered a bit before I could reply. “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone would notice. I’m Elizabeth,” I said as I watched her relax back into her seat. It didn’t take long before we became inseparable. Instant friends just from one comment. On the weekends, I was either at her house or she was at mine. We had so much in common that we referred to each other as sisters. And she was, even if not by blood.

?When I see that Cathy isn’t in the room, I climb out of the bed and change into a new set of clothes I packed for the weekend. I bundle the sweat-soaked ones up beside my bag before I leave the room and head toward the bathroom. The hardwood floor creaks as I walk along the hallway. This house is old, but it isn’t without southern charm. I could see it being built back in colonial times. Who knows? Maybe it was. It’s a beautiful two-story brick home with wooden trim around the perimeter. There are large white columns on the front of the house that remind me of the homes inThe Patriotmovie with Mel Gibson. Although the outside of the house has a classical style, the interior has mostly been renovated to incorporate modern design. Except the floors. They creak so badly that I find myself tiptoeing to avoid the sound.

?Once in the bathroom, I look at my appearance in the mirror. Cringing at what I see before me; I get to work on making myself somewhat presentable. My hair is still damp from sweat and going all different directions, the epitome of “bed head.” My face is a bit rosy, and my eyes have a weariness to them. I turn on the sink and splash water on my face several times to wash away the memories of this morning. Taking a towel that’s hanging nearby, I wipe my face. I look back at myself, and at least, I look more awake and less like a zombie. I run my hands through my long black hair to try and rid it of the obvious tangles. I give up, reach for a rubber band and put my hair in a messy bun. After brushing my teeth, I turn the light off, and walk toward the stairs that lead downstairs. Again, I tiptoe because I hate the loud creakingthat comes from this old staircase; I’m not trying to sneak up on anyone. Then I hear hushed voices in the kitchen as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I hold back behind the door and don’t immediately walk in. I don’t want to interrupt if there is a family discussion going on. I’m about to turn away when I hear my mother and father’s names fall from my aunt’s lips. I pause, not knowing what to do. I hear a faint whimper, and then someone blowing their nose. My heart begins to race for the second time today. Fear washes over me as I think back to the nightmare. That feeling of dread seems lodged back in my throat. I know something is wrong.

?Unable to stay hidden any longer, I will my legs to carry me to the kitchen to see what has happened. As soon as I step in, I see my aunt, uncle, and cousin talking at the table. I’m seen the instant I round the corner to the kitchen, and my aunt jumps up from her chair to come over to me. Panic sweeps through me as I see her puffy eyes staring down at me. Before I can get anything out, she asks, “Did you sleep well, honey? I made some biscuits and gravy. Go on and take a seat, and I’ll get you some.” She points me in the direction of the table, and I take a moment to look at the expressions on everyone's faces. They appear to have wiped away any remnant of the conversation they were having by plastering on fake smiles. Cathy pats the seat next to her playfully, but her eyes tell a different story. One that I’m not familiar with. Sadness? Worry? Surely if something had happened, they would tell me or whisk me off to my parents, right?Definitely.

?My aunt puts the plate down in front of me and begins moving about the kitchen as if nothing is wrong. My uncle clears his throat and begins perusing through the newspaper that was lying in front of him. Cathy gets up and helps her mother clean the breakfast dishes. Everyone seemed fine, as if I was hearing things before I came in. I’m not sure what I walked in on, but I obviously heard incorrectly. My anxiety seems to melt away, and I look around again before digging into mydelicious, homestyle breakfast.

?After breakfast has been cleared away, I go to the living room to watch some television. Before I plop down on the couch, my aunt comes in looking for me.

?“We are going to drop you off at home in a little bit. We have plans that we forgot about,” she says looking at me with a new softness to her eyes.

?“Oh, okay,” I respond. Again, I have this feeling that they are hiding something from me. I am about to ask if there is something going on when she scurries out of the room and up the stairs. I’m disappointed to be leaving because I was planning on staying the whole weekend, but I understand that things can come up. I’ll call Sarah when I get home and maybe she can come over. There are only two weeks left of school, and I will officially be a high schooler. That thought lifts my spirits as I head back upstairs to pack my things.

Nothing can prepare me for what awaits me at home. I’m clueless as to what I’m walking into, but from this day forward, I will never be the same. The day that began with darkness, will end with much more than I could have ever imagined.

Chapter 1

Elizabeth

“Lizzie, you are coming with me tonight. No excuses this time!” Sarah yells from the kitchen. “You know all the A-list people will be there. Plus, this istheclub to be at tonight!”

Here we go again. I love Sarah to death, but she can be a bit much at times. We have been best friends since third grade and roommates since our freshmen year in college. She majored in Public Relations and is a rockstar at it. I majored in English Literature with a minor in British Lit. I have always been a literary enthusiast at heart, so there was no doubt in my mind about what I would be studying. Although it wasn’t what my parents expected of me, I did what I always do and marched to the beat of my own drum. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family, even counting my cousins. My father wanted me to continue in his footsteps and become a successful lawyer, then take over his practice one day. In my opinion, I can’t think of anything that I would less like to do. And so, with my decision to become a writer, my relationship with my father became strained, to say the least. Well, that is, if it could possibly become more strained than it already was. My mother just wanted me to do something I was passionate about and would make me financially stable. Apparently, they didn't have faith that I had what it takes to be a successful writer. I still hear it in her voice when we speak on the phone as she mentions, ever so casually, that it's not too late to take classes to become an English teacher. At least then, I would be using some of mydegree, she always says.

?My mother and I have been close since my father filed for a divorce from her after twenty-eight years of marriage. I was twelve at the time and the news came as a shock to everyone, me more than most. I never even saw my parents fight. Not very much anyway. Not enough to throw away all those years together at the drop of a hat. I was spending the weekend with my cousin the night it happened, and when I got home the next day, my father had moved out. He was just up and gone in the night.How did he pack so quickly? Was he already prepared? Was he waiting on me to leave for the weekend?Those questions used to plague my thoughts constantly after that day. My whole life was turned upside down, or the life that I knew.

I had always been a “daddy’s girl” from the time I could walk. We bonded over his teaching me how to play sports, namely softball. He even eventually became my head coach. I played from age five to eighteen, except for the year that my parents got divorced. I didn’t have the energy or will to play that year. I couldn't bear to even look at the ballfield, much less step foot on it. I didn’t want to see all my friends’ parents in the stands cheering them on. When the next season came, I played with my fellow teammates, but it was never the same again. At that point, I refused to play for my father. He walked out on us, so I was not going to let him share in our love of softball. Petty, I know, but I was a teenager.

After the divorce was finalized, my father quickly moved on and married another woman. I am pretty sure they were already together, but I don’t have proof, and frankly I don’t need any. I know he was unfaithful to my mother, and that’s something I can never look past, no matter how many years it has been. My parents went from loving spouses to not being able to be in the same room with one another. It was so intense that from then on, every holiday had to becelebrated twice. That might seem like a dream for some, but to me it sucked. Who wants to have two birthday parties? I didn’t. I wanted one where my whole family and my friends could attend. A party that wouldn’t be so intense or have unnecessary comments and expressions of pity. My friends would have to pick which party to attend, either my mother’s or father’s. It was hell to say the least. And don’t get me started on how they would fight over who got to be with me on the actual day of my birthday. It’s safe to say that birthdays were effectively ruined for me. I began to despise celebrating them, so eventually I stopped. That divorce triggered something deep inside of me that didn’t surface until I started to date. I guess it ruined me for thinking “happily-ever-afters” were obtainable.

Sarah knows all about the struggles with my family. She was there through the best and worst of times. She’s my shoulder to cry on and my light in the darkness. I consider her family more than my own most days, and she treats me the same. I let out a deep sigh. I haven’t thought of that shit show in a while. I don’t know what made it bubble up in my mind, but I don’t want it to stay there. I cast it aside and respond to Sarah before she thinks I am ignoring her.

“I have to work at the restaurant until ten, so I won’t have time to get back here and change to go out tonight. Sorry girl, next time, I promise,” I shout from the bathroom in an effort to mollify her enough, so that I can stay in tonight. The door bursts open, and Sarah is wearing that expression I know all too well. The one that says I won’t be getting out of this little excursion tonight.

“Elizabeth Brighton, you haven’t been out since you found Jacob and his dirty little secretary in his office. It is time to move on! Here's what's going to happen. You are going to come home and get that gross restaurant smell off you, and then I will give you a makeover. Plus, you know that no one shows up to these things right when they open. Besides, I didsome major PR for this club, and I’m going to celebrate my success with my best friend. It’s going to be the greatest night, and who knows, maybe you will meet some hunky guy to get you over your ex!” Sarah exclaims as she puts her hands on her hips, looking fabulous as always.

She has beautiful, pale skin, and her hair is cut into a straight blonde bob that suits her personality perfectly. She stands a few inches shorter than me, so I glance downward to see her green eyes staring at me waiting for an answer.

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