Lost in Embers (Rising From Ash Saga #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

E mber, is that you?

His deep Irish voice, normally so harsh and protective in my dreams, croons to me now.

“Get out of my head!” As if captivating every second my eyes are closed isn’t enough, he’s unwelcome and uninvited. Yet his voice keeps trying to penetrate through my thoughts, no matter how much I shove it down. It’s giving me a headache.

A slight knock on the door pulls my attention away from running my hand up and down my right arm, feeling the burn scar that remains from my last dream, reminding me that dreams in fact can be real.

“Ava, everyone else has wrapped up for the day, I think you should head home, too.” I quickly pull my long sleeve down as to not draw attention to my part-scarred, part-blistered arm. My boss has the kindest eyes ever, and per his typical style, wore jeans and work boots with the neck of his button down opened almost shamefully low.

“Just finishing up a few things and I will be on my way out. Thank you, Mr. Greene.” I give him a polite smile and quickly pretend to type an email as though he didn’t just catch my mind wandering.

“Please, call me Harrison. Seriously, this place makes me feel enough like my father. Let’s not make the situation worse.” He sends me that award-winning smile that I imagine captures the hearts of women. He has that outgoing, charismatic charm, and there is just such a calming and easy way around him, it’s easy to be in his company. I’m thankful for that after moving around so much. This is the best first job in this area I could hope for.

“Absolutely, Harrison.” I flash him a smile as he closes the door behind him. Trying to keep it professional with him is sometimes hard. He’s in his early thirties, and has that way about him, everyone wants to be in his presence. The way he openly talks about his parents sometimes makes me want to chime right in, but my boss doesn’t need to know that my daddy issues could make me a less than stellar employee if my mind goes down a dark rabbit hole.

My hand once more grazes my arm, as I feel and remember every inch of my dreams. The crazy thing about dreams is they can screw with your perception of life. They feel so real. You wake up sweating, hot and cold at the same time, and the chill that remains after you open your eyes fucks with your brain. They feel so real you could touch the person you dream about when your eyes are closed, yet the second your eyes open, you’re torn with the thought: Did that just happen? Then, you spend time convincing yourself that your dream was just a dream.

But what if it’s real?

For a girl who isn’t weak, one who stands my own ground in every situation minus the ones with my own mother, I sure act like a big ole wimp when it comes to my dreams. A lot of good lifting weights at the gym and taking almost every self-defense class known to man has done for me. Despite making myself a promise a long time ago to never be a damsel in distress and doing all the right things that a girl could do to protect herself, coupled with my tall-for-a-girl frame and strong Austrian genes from my dad, these dreams cripple my subconscious to absolute ash.

Not only do I fear sleep, now at work I have to worry as daydreams seem to captivate my mind, always so present and real, but then again, who else wakes from dreams with proof the dreams are real? I didn’t know burns could heal so quickly or at all. I dreamt of embers, and my skin shows the remnants of the dreams. Yet, even with caution on my mind trying to keep me from the dreams, I can’t help but slip into another daydream during the last few moments of work.

Dreaming of those eyes. Every night, every dream, everything is filled with those eyes. Eyes that have always been so consistent, yet the slightest change happens in the enthralling blue orbs, shining bright as the sun, as they change color. But as the shrapnel from the lingering bomb blast crashes down around me, a violent hand holds me down and harshly injects another serum into my stomach. My body soaks in the green serum and the memories fade, making me forget. Forget it all.

My office phone rings, and immediately, I’m faced with an internal struggle. To answer, or not to answer? How very Shakespearean of me. Yet, I’m grateful the ringing pulled me back to reality. It’s the end of the day, and I really don’t feel like answering. I could just run out of the office, and the caller would have no idea. Neither would my boss.

The battle is lost. On the final ring, I pick up the phone, immediately angry with my decision to once again put someone else’s needs ahead of my own.

“Ava Buchanan, Greene House Contracting. How can I help you?”

The formality in my voice comes off as a bit much and almost makes me giggle. In trying not to sound exasperated, I completely hit the other end of the spectrum. I roll my eyes at myself and my ability to have the most proper work voice. I can’t get it to follow me once I leave.

“How are you feeling?” The response is short and clipped.

“Sorry. I’m not entirely sure who this is. Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Hopefully, whoever is on the line can’t tell I’m unsure about their gender; I was never able to be inconspicuous, even over the phone.

Trying to keep confusion from seeping out of my mouth and digging me into a hole proves to be quite the task as I linger in silence, a silence that takes far too long as I wait for a reply.

“It’s Victor.”

How could I not remember his voice? But our conversations are always so brief that he’s not imprinted in my memory anymore.

Once again, he breaks the silence with his cold voice. “Your brother. Come on, Ava. How are you feeling?”

My mind clouds at his words. Why does he always call me around my birthday? Just to see how I’m feeling? Normally this would be a sweet gesture, but with Victor, it’s different. Things have never been as they should be with him, even as kids. He abandons the family every chance he gets, and don’t get me wrong, sometimes for my own mental health, I wish I could do the same, but with him, it’s just different. He keeps in contact only when it’s convenient for himself .

“Almost another year older, and thankfully I haven’t seen any gray hairs yet.” A chuckle that’s almost too deep reaches my throat and the line goes inaudible. That’s right. I do recall my brother having no sense of humor whatsoever.

In hopes of breaking yet another awkward silence in a 30-second time span, I force out some words. “I feel fine, honestly. How are you, and how is work? You’re doing military stuff of some sort, right?” Generic conversation at best, just grasping for straws left and right.

It’s sad how little we know of each other. We’re family but practically strangers. Since he called me, maybe now is the time to give him a French Inquisition and get some more information on his life.

Before I can pry any further, he clears his throat harshly and speaks again. “Precisely, military stuff, but I do not wish to talk about that any further.” Darn, ice cold.

He always shuts me down on the odd occasions we speak.

“Well, what would you like to talk about?” My regret slowly turns into excitement. This is the longest I’ve ever had him on the phone before the line mysteriously goes dead.

Quickly, my hopes of a more personal conversation come crashing down.

“Are you sure you are feeling well, Ava? How is our mother? She has led you to live with her in the middle of nowhere.”

Why won’t he let this go? What does he want me to say? Should I say I have Munchausen syndrome and have a new ailment every single day? Would it make him feel better if I were to create a lie to surround this conversation? Or does he really expect me to lay out all my feelings even though we never talk?

Hi, Victor. Yes, we haven’t spoken in ages. I have the same dreams over and over again. To be honest, I’m not sure what’s going on with me, but something is. I have no love life, but I’m perfectly fine with that. I now live in the middle of nowhere because our mother guilt-tripped me into coming here with her and living with her. I’m a grown woman and she suffocates the shit out of me.

Since he asked, I could inform him a bit without making myself sound too crazy.

“I feel great,” I falsely convey. “I’m extremely excited to get away for my birthday. Some friends and I are going to Cancun for some fun in the sun. I’m hoping to clear my mind while I’m there. I swear I’ve been seeing things lately.”

I hope that laughing will make it into a joke and not seem as serious as it really is to me. It frightens me how consuming my daydreams are, and my nightmares seem so much like reality, I can barely shake myself awake.

“Seeing things? What do you mean? Tell me more,” Victor demands with a stern voice that attacks my ear.

How is it possible that his voice is more serious now than at the beginning of this conversation? He needs to go see someone about that—immediately.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I shake my head. “Just some silly dreams. That’s all. You know, girl stuff.”

Normally the phrase “girl stuff” will shut a man up. I feel uncomfortable talking to Victor, so if he presses this anymore, I’ll bring up Mother Nature. I wrap the phone cord around my finger and play with it nervously. I keep thinking of excuses to get out of the conversation, but with my warped mind, maybe this is him actually trying to make a connection, no matter how feeble the attempt.

“Sure, whatever you say, Ava.” He sounds as though he doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame him since I couldn’t even convince myself .

I wonder what he looks like now. The last time we saw each other, I was a child, but that memory seems to be fading every day. It’s like it almost doesn’t even exist and my mind makes one up as a placeholder for a relationship that should have been. The memories of him blur and change, like my mind tampers with itself. I look around at my perfect, clean, fresh, and modern office like the peach walls will somehow hold an answer from him.

What the hell? I have nothing to lose. “Would you like to get together sometime soon? Granted, I don’t even know where you’re located, but it would be nice to see you.” Last year when I asked, he refused. The simple fact is I miss him, even though I don’t know him.

“You will be seeing me sooner than you think.” His answer is cold, impassive, and matter-of-fact. Not welcoming like I hoped it would be the day he finally agreed to meet me. So much time has passed, we don’t even know each other. Yet, there’s no excitement lingering in my bones. For some odd reason, his voice sends shivers down my spine, and the hairs on my arms stand up on end.

Why do his words make my skin crawl?

Before I can say anything else, a language I don’t recognize is being yelled down his ear, as though the person is standing right next to him, and his harsh breathing comes through the phone and the line goes dead. I wish I knew what was going on in his mind because I’m never sure what to make of our conversations.

Wait a minute. How did he know my office number? I never gave it to him or told him where I work. I shrug it off. That’s the best decision right now. I don’t want to ask questions if I’m not prepared to receive the answer. Working for the government must provide him with some access to personal information others can’t get their hands on.

Deep down, I know whatever Victor does for the military isn’t something our family would be proud of; it’s something I can just feel deep in my bones, but even without proof, my feeling is resolute. His voice has grown colder with each passing year, almost as though he’s slowly losing his heart. But he can’t be heartless since he does call me around my birthday. Although, he never wishes me happy birthday; it must have slipped his mind again.

Firing up my laptop takes longer than normal, and once again, my fingers linger on the keyboard, itching to type his name into a search engine, hoping for any morsel of information, but my fingers won’t move. Not to snoop on him, but that language is another story entirely. Typing a thousand different ways I could possibly spell sach-niche-yah, as it sounded, and it comes up empty. With a sigh, I slam the top, upset with myself that I let him get under my skin and immediately regretful I have been too harsh with company property.

I grab my keys, lock up my desk, and head to the elevator to go home. As the elevator doors open, my feet freeze into place and my vision fills with two very different sets of eyes peering into my soul. One set blue, the blue that has captured my nightmares, and never lets me sleep. The other green, bright and wide with light that I have never seen before.

Both sets of eyes linger on me, as though they are waiting for some sort of decision. My head tilts to either side to take a moment and gaze into them. What do they want from me? They start to talk to me all at once, different voices overlapping, but I can barely make them out as they tell me to pick a path, and soon. These daydreams are becoming far too realistic. My eyes slam shut, and I shake my head aggressively to pull myself out of them. Freedom at last. As if my anxiety running rampant through my mind isn’t bad enough. At this point, maybe I need to be committed.

I glance around, and thankfully, I haven’t bumped into anyone, so no one saw. Normally, I don’t mind being stopped in the halls for a quick chat—in fact, I enjoy it—but today has been rough. I can’t wait to get home and relax. I press the button one last time on the elevator, and now even my minor claustrophobia has been cured.

I space out on the way home, and before I know it, my beautiful mixed pooch, Laila, lunges into my arms and lavishes me with kisses. If not for my dog, the eeriness of this old house would put me on edge. The silence when no one is home isn’t something I’ve ever gotten used to. Even with all the work we’ve put in, the house creaks in a haunted way.

There are old houses like this all over town. The town has budgeted for some major renovations and has hired on multiple contractors, but with Greene House Contracting at the helm, we are slowly but surely renovating the small town while trying to keep the charm.

The beautiful thing about working and living in the small town of Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, is knowing everyone. The town is beautifully its own. Chances are you and your boss are friends, and you know someone who knows someone you like. No one is truly a stranger here.

The bad thing is, there is no escaping the small town. The people here are blood in and blood out, like a cult. Those bred here have no desire to leave this area, which baffles me. They possess no hopes of traveling out of the country and no will to know anyone outside this town. Some people here pigeonhole themselves, and it makes me question myself daily on how I ended up here.

I know I made the right decision by coming here to be with Mum and keep her company, especially since the older she gets, the stranger she acts. Plus, she seems pretty hell-bent on keeping me close enough so that if something were to happen to me, she could be there in an instant. I know most parents are overprotective of their daughters, but my mum seems over-the-top sometimes. She acts as if I’m not an adult, but with everything she’s been through in life, she projects her insecurities onto me, and for the time being I’ll entertain her, until she gets settled. Luckily for me, we have relocated so many times that I love and thrive off of the new experiences life throws my way. Deep down in my bones, I know a life here isn’t a long-term solution for me. Scotland calls; it’s where I will end up.

Laila’s kisses hit the side of my mouth and pull me away from my wandering thoughts. She jumps out of my arms and runs up the old wooden stairs that managed to escape the renovations. I shake my head clear, and before I even have the chance to follow her, she reappears at the top of the stairs with my new running shoes in her mouth.

“Want to go outside, girl?” The question alone gives her a huge burst of energy as she drops the shoes from her mouth and starts running in a circle upstairs. I let out a laugh and run up to meet her, shaking my head at every loud creak on my way. The door to my bedroom barely hangs on its old hinges as I walk into my tranquil place that reminds me of the beach. The only time Laila isn’t by my side is when I dress. When I’m in the bathroom, she will literally use her paws to cover her eyes; such a respectable little doggo. My Caribbean Sea-blue walls instantly calm me, and I think of my upcoming trip. I make my way to the en-suite bathroom to throw on my running gear and tie my long, golden wavy hair into a ponytail. I lace up my running shoes while sitting on the edge of my bed, ready to put them to the test. This will definitely help calm my mind. I scratch Laila behind the ears while giving her kisses on the top of the head before I bounce off and start my trek downstairs and into the woods.

As I make my way to leave, I catch a glimpse of myself in the old Victorian-style mirror near the front door. My eyes are accentuated, mostly because there are bags that no concealer will cover, and I know it isn’t from work, but for sure is from the frightening dreams that plague me recently. The bags make my big hazel eyes appear so much smaller and dull. My skin is far too fair. A crooked bottom tooth, even surrounded by perfectly straight teeth, made me the subject of ridicule online, so I deleted all social media. Beauty standards, they really mess with your mind. My beautiful British mother has crooked bottom teeth too and doesn't let it or other people affect her. Refusing to pick myself apart anymore, I sigh and slam the door behind me as I run out of the house with Laila following me, telling myself that tonight I will put some makeup on to mask the bags.

I love the feeling of the brisk air and hearing the crinkle of the multicolored leaves on the ground under my feet. The change of seasons is my favorite time of year. Even with my headphones in, I can hear the leaves fold beneath my steps. Running always clears my mind and refreshes my spirit. That ’90 s mix has me feeling good vibrations, which even makes me forget all about my woefully boring job that I have to attend first thing in the morning, and I still need to meet Dino for dinner. That’s what I get for letting my mind melt for two hours while I run.