Integrate Read online

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  INTEGRATE

  Chrissie Parker

  COPYRIGHT

  Integrate © Chrissie Parker 2013

  Cover Design © Chris Joyce 2013

  All character and events are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any other means, without prior permission of the publisher.

  Dedication

  “It never rains in Southern California”

  Anthony Read Ellwood - 16 October 1936 to 26 December 2011

  ONE

  A full moon had risen high in the sky casting a brilliant silver glow over the dark world below. The night was, for the most part, silent and still, only occasionally disturbed by a cry of fox, hoot of owl or rustle of a small mammal in the hedgerow. A long, winding road lined with trees, hedges and fences, snaked its way through the vast open countryside. Now and again a lone building reared its head, the only sign of human habitation in an otherwise bleak landscape.

  A solitary car wound its way along the inky tarmac, travelling at speeds faster than legally allowed, the headlights illuminating everything, casting an eerie glow on the road ahead. Despite the low temperature, the roof was down and the driver had one hand on the steering wheel as the other dangled carelessly over the top of the door. A lit cigarette glowed orange in his free fingers and ash floated away in the night air, falling like light grey snow to the receding tarmac.

  Jack glanced up at the moon. It was so clear and bright that he could see a multitude of grey craters dotted across the surface of the natural satellite. It was strange to be driving in the middle of the night with nothing but the darkness, moon and stars for company, but it matched his sombre mood and brought him comfort.

  This time of year was never good; morbidity fell upon Jack like a blanket, smothering him, leaving him restless, uncomfortable and barely able to breathe. He had hoped it would get easier as the years passed but the guilt and depression remained and threatened to completely envelop him, sending him hurtling into the abyss. However hard he tried, he just couldn't shake it.

  Jack’s piercing dark eyes stayed on the route ahead, as he steered the vehicle through every curve and switchback the road threw at him. On the straights, he pushed the accelerator further to the floor, teasing the car, forcing it to go faster, the speed thrilling him. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught sight of his own reflection. Sometimes he barely recognised himself. His messy jet black hair, tossed around by the breeze, was in serious need of a wash and cut; it hung unevenly about his face, at times falling into his eyes, momentarily blocking his view. His demeanour and looks gave him a handsome yet wolf-like quality and people never quite knew what to make of him, making them reluctant to seek him out. Not that he cared; he preferred his own company anyway.

  Jack had no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that he just had to get in the car and drive until it was out of his system, however long that may take. Lifting the cigarette to his lips, he inhaled deeply; with each breath the soothing nicotine calmed him. Slowly exhaling, he released the blue-grey smoke to the elements before finally throwing the spent butt to the road. As it hit the ground, it sparked a brilliant orange, the only vibrancy of colour in the dark night.

  The car, an accelerating spectacle of chrome, engine and throttle, continued on its journey to nowhere eating up miles of shimmering blacktop which steadily disappeared into the dark night.

  *

  A burning fire in a wrought iron grate flickered bright hues of yellow and orange, crackling and spitting as the flames greedily ate their way through the logs. The old brick fireplace surrounding it had been built into the side of the room upon construction of the house and was topped with an old oak mantelpiece. Photo frames, trinkets and burning candles were haphazardly strewn across the oak surface, the focal point of an otherwise plain and gloomy room. No pictures hung on the walls, there was little furniture and not even the floor had been carpeted. The bare boards had been sanded and treated but still creaked and groaned with every movement of the old house.

  An unlit electric bulb, seldom used, hung overhead collecting dust and drapes were drawn across large sash windows so that the only light in the room came from the candles and fireplace. At the centre of the room was a solitary wooden table. On its surface lay a small wooden box, with brass hinges and an intricately carved lid. A strikingly beautiful woman was seated in a wooden chair next to the table. Her long, thick blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, the ends brushing the table. Her skin was porcelain pale, which only enhanced the deep cerulean blue of her eyes. Her long slender arms were adorned with a collection of bangles that tinkled and rattled as she moved her delicate limbs. Reaching forward, she opened the lid of the box and removed its contents, a pack of tarot cards wrapped in a square of red silk.

  Revealing the cards she placed the red silk on the table, smoothing it flat, and moved the box to one side. Clasping the cards in her hands Corinne closed her eyes and breathed deeply, focusing her mind, clearing it of clutter. The cards remained steady in her delicate hands, patiently waiting for her to make the next move. Stillness enveloped the room; the only disturbance was the flicker of a single candle, as she allowed herself to commune with the cards.

  *

  Jack steered the car along the seemingly endless road. Turning on the radio he was greeted by dulcet tones of aging, faded rock stars; loud noisy sounds that pierced the silence before bleeding themselves into the passing night. Lighting another cigarette, he inhaled deeply before throwing his lighter onto the passenger seat. Bored of the current song, he reached for the radio, flicking through the channels until he landed on a station that by some fluke of luck was playing his favourite tune. It was like listening to an old familiar friend, and he tapped his fingers in time on the steering wheel, his mood lightening in an instant.

  It wasn’t long before the DJ changed tracks, and Jack’s mood changed again, spiralling, dragging him back into the pit of despair he often languished in. He wanted that high again, needed it. Reaching to the passenger seat once more he lifted a bottle of bourbon. Placing it between his legs he unwrapped it, unscrewed the lid and lifted the bottle to his lips, swallowing the sweet nectar, enjoying the taste as it burnt its way down to his stomach. Placing the bottle back between his knees, he took another drag on his cigarette, and exhaled smoke into the night.

  Jack was numb. The feeling was not unusual, but it was much worse than it had ever been before. He just couldn’t shake the despondency that had gripped him of late. It was as though he were on a precipice, with dark storm clouds gathering and billowing around him. Impending doom and gloom making him feel as though the only option he had was to fall and submit himself to the never-ending darkness. People told him it was understandable. They also said he would start to feel better, and that the pain would eventually pass. He was still waiting for that day, but as yet it hadn’t arrived. With each new waking day, it fell further and further from his grasp, and he had no choice but to succumb to the constant torture of his heart-laden grief.

  *

  Corinne’s eyes fluttered open. She was still shuffling the tarot cards, concentrating on them, and them alone. Once content, she placed the deck face down in the centre of the table and closed her eyes once more. Only when her mind was completely clear did she ask
the question, silently.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and cut the deck with her left hand before allowing the cards to speak to her. She chose seven cards from the deck at random, placing them face down on the silk cloth in the shape of a horseshoe. Returning the excess cards to the wooden box, she breathed deeply, retaining her concentration before turning the first card.

  The Empress.

  It hit her like a bolt of lightning, sending waves of nausea and dizziness through her, leaving her skin trembling and tingling. For a split second everything went dark, candles flickered and sputtered, trying their best to fight the unknown forces and stay lit. The drapes parted, flapping with a sudden movement of air and she felt a gust of breeze on her face. The moon’s gentle light sought the crack in the drapes and bathed itself across her skin and the fire dimmed to all but faint embers.

  She saw a long winding road, a car and fleeting glimpses of the town, like favourite memories played out on an old film projector. In silence she allowed the vision to reveal itself to her. The old school where she had laughed, played and learned appeared before her. The fields where she had lain in the sun, the river where she had splashed looking for fish, with a battered old net that had belonged to her father. The Church, a place so fixed in her memory that it was as much a part of her history as her own genes, and finally the house where she had grown up, and now sat.

  As quickly as it had happened, everything returned to normal and she was back in the still, silent room. Corinne’s heart plummeted, and she felt fear creep up her spine making her nerves jangle. Her hands shook and she could barely focus.

  Helena.

  Helena was in grave danger.

  TWO

  The night was dry, bright and serene, if a little chilly. Helena liked nights like this. It made her feel as though she were the only person alive, as though she had the entire world to herself, and could go anywhere and do anything she wanted. She walked along a quiet street that was intermittently lit by the large old fashioned lamp posts she loved; part of what made this area of town so beautifully quaint. It had an old preserved quality with reminders of its history on every corner, features that had been protected so well by town authorities. It was the perfect place to grow up and live, and the people who lived there mirrored the town and its very essence. Tourists loved it too. It was a favourite place on the map for them to stop and spend time. They frequented the riverside restaurants, the quaint historic back streets and the vibrant bars. They absorbed the atmosphere, shopped and relaxed, all reluctant to finally leave, wishing they lived in the welcoming community, vowing to return again another time.

  Sharp pain in her feet disturbed Helena from her reverie. They hurt from wearing heels that were too high, and trying to walk home in them really hadn’t helped. If Corinne could see her now, she’d laugh and shake her head with exasperation. Corrine had always been the more sensible of the twins, much more like an older sister. Helena had been the mischievous and outgoing one, always adventurous and up for something new, never settling for the day-to-day grind. It was the only way their parents had been able to tell the difference between them; in looks they were identical in every way.

  It had been a fun evening out with friends. Helena loved the vibrancy of the bars and restaurants in town. There were so many lovely places to sit, talk and eat, or dance until the early hours. Her one regret was that she hadn’t been able to persuade Corinne to come with her. She worried so much about her sister, who chose to spend most of her time shut up in her house, locked away from the world. Try as she might, Helena rarely persuaded Corinne to leave her safe haven, and it became increasingly worrisome. Corinne wasn’t the only one to hurt when their parents died, but whereas Helena chose to live life to the full, Corinne had spiralled into loneliness and depression, stripping their parents’ house of all but their most sentimental possessions. Hiding away within the four walls with only her memories and tarot for company, Corinne kept to herself carrying with her a loss that had become increasingly hard to bear.

  Passing the small church where the twins had spent Sunday mornings with their parents, Helena smiled. It brought back so many wonderful memories. As churches went, it was small and unremarkable, but inside it had a hidden architectural beauty. She imagined it standing there for hundreds of years as the town’s history weaved itself through the very fabric of its structure. How many people had stepped through its doors, how many had been baptised there, married there, buried there? She had wanted her life to become an integral part of it too, which was why she had married Jimmy there. Their wedding day had been bright and sunny, and she had freely given her heart, body and soul to the man she’d always loved, who had been at her side since school, and who she knew would be there for her for the rest of her life. It had been a beautiful day and they had been surrounded by her family, whom she loved and cared for just as much. It had been perfect.

  Now it saddened her to think that Corinne had turned her back on it after the death of their parents, choosing instead to turn to a different kind of spiritual help, the kind that saw her surrounding her life with crystals, tarot and the occult. It was not a decision Helena agreed with, but Corinne was her sister and she loved her no matter what.

  Stopping outside the house of God, she bent down to adjust the strap on her shoes in an effort to relieve the ache that was now affecting her calves. Her feet really were in agony now. Laughing quietly to herself, Helena could hear Corinne’s disapproving voice in her head, telling her she should wear something more sensible next time.

  As usual she knew Corinne was right.

  *

  Corinne breathed deeply, playing with the silver locket that hung about her neck. She could feel the strength of connection to Helena through it. It pulled at her, forcing a jumble of endless emotions to the surface. Why did she always feel this way, as though she had to constantly worry about and protect her sister?

  Releasing the locket, Corinne brought her attention back to the cards. Candles flickered as wax slid down tapered columns, pooling on surfaces and in holders. Flames cast eerie shadows around the room giving it a homely, yet slightly haunting glow. The fire in the grate burned steadily, crackling and spitting as more logs surrendered themselves to the inevitable. Her hands still shook, but she had to continue. She couldn’t stop now. Taking a deep breath she turned the next card.

  The Emperor.

  Fleetingly a long dark road appeared in her mind, a full moon shining overhead, but before she had the chance to examine it, it was gone. She tried to make sense of where the cards were taking her, and what they were trying to say. An uneasy feeling had settled in her stomach and she feared the worst. She knew Helena was involved somehow, but no more than that.

  Who or what was the Emperor?

  Maybe the Emperor was Jimmy, but she didn’t feel that was the case. It was more likely the Emperor was an unknown person or force yet to come. If that were so, then it was almost certain that Helena was in danger. Only time would tell, and Corinne was already dreading the wait.

  *

  Grey laced clouds began to form and move across the dark sky as Jack continued his journey. The moon continued to bathe the surrounding countryside with ethereal silver light, and the silence remained. He lit another cigarette, allowing the thick smoke to envelop him. Tobacco was one of his favourite scents, and he savoured each blissful cigarette he smoked. The alcohol had started to numb him and it no longer burned when he took a swig. He could feel it flowing through his body, warming his blood and dulling his senses. Taking away the pain. He relaxed a little, enjoying the three things he loved most in the world: driving, smoking and drinking.

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he caught his own reflection again. His bloodshot eyes were surrounded by dark circles; his face giving away his lack of sleep and fond affection for alcohol. He ran his hand through his dark mid-length hair, which was getting in his eyes again. It really did need a cut, another thing to add to the list of things he should do, but would prob
ably forget to.

  He was lost in life; had no direction.

  Everything had been taken from him. Getting up each day seemed to serve no purpose at all. Waking each morning to usher in a new day only reminded him of all that was missing from his life. The only peace he found was whilst asleep or staring into the bottom of a glass. If he were an animal, someone would have put him out of his misery. His life was like the road he was currently travelling: long, winding, dark and so very, very lonely.

  THREE

  Corinne sipped water from a tall glass that sat on the table next to her. Apprehension gripped her, making her hesitant. The tarot spread was like a bad omen weighing heavily upon her, summoning fear and dread and making her reluctant to turn the next card. She should stop now, reshuffle the cards and return them to the box, but she had never given up on a reading, and she wouldn’t do so now. She had to be strong and see it through.

  With shaky fingers, she cautiously turned the third card.

  The Chariot.

  Tightness gripped her throat and she could barely breathe. Her head swam and she felt the dizziness wash over her again, a faint noise of guttural car engine surrounded her, but she resisted the blackness, clawing her way back to the surface, even though the candles had already begun to flicker. Urgently without hesitation she turned the fourth card.

  Death.

  Corinne rose unsteadily to her feet, knocking over the chair in her desperation to distance herself from the spread. Standing with her back to the wall she closed her eyes, her breath deep and rasping, her hands shook and sweat had beaded on her brow. She tried to rid herself of the visions and nausea that was threatening to completely overwhelm her. She was a veteran at tarot reading and knew that she shouldn’t take the cards at their literal meaning. Death didn’t always mean Death, sometimes it just symbolised a change. But it wasn’t just the spread. Her gut instinct was telling her that something was very wrong. The visions had seemed all too real and her intuition had never let her down before. Moving to the fireplace, she brushed her hand over the silver photo frame that sat on the mantelpiece containing a picture of her and Helena. Her sister meant the world to her, and she couldn’t work out why she feared for her so much. Corinne had never experienced this before and it scared the hell out of her.