Copula Chronicles: The Complete Collection: Origin, Descend, Ascend, Legacy Read online

  Copula Chronicles Copyright 2016 Venessa Kimball

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Text Copyright © 2016

  All rights reserved

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Algonquin, IL 60102

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Kristina Circelli, Red Road Editing

  and

  Dawn Miller Editing

  Cover and Formatting

  Dreams2media

  COPULA CHRONICLES CONTENTS

  ORIGINS

  DESCEND

  ASCEND

  LEGACY

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Algonquin, IL 60102

  Origin Copyright 2016 Venessa Kimball

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Text Copyright © 2016

  All rights reserved

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Algonquin, IL 60102

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Kristina Circelli, Red Road Editing

  and

  Dawn Miller Editing

  Cover and Formatting

  Dreams2media

  This book is dedicated to Greg, Dylan, Lauren, and Ethan.

  ORIGINS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1: EPISODE

  CHAPTER 2: SHADOWS

  CHAPTER 3: CAPTIVE

  CHAPTER 4: FIELD TRIP

  CHAPTER 5: FRIENDS OF YOURS

  CHAPTER 6: ANSWERS

  CHAPTER 7: COLLATERAL DAMAGE

  CHAPTER 8: THE UNDERGROUND

  CHAPTER 9: THE FACILITY

  CHAPTER 10: SINKHOLE

  CHAPTER 11: THE POWERS THAT BE

  CHAPTER 12: JUMP

  CHAPTER 13: ROCKY ROAD

  CHAPTER 14: ONE NIGHT STAND

  CHAPTER 15: ANOTHER REALM

  CHAPTER 16: ABOVE GROUND

  CHAPTER 17: HOME SWEET HOME

  CHAPTER 18: NEIGHBORS

  CHAPTER 19: PUZZLE PIECES

  CHAPTER 20: THE TARGETS

  CHAPTER 21: INTRODUCTIONS

  CHAPTER 22: THE PARTNER

  CHAPTER 23: MISFIT

  CHAPTER 24: THE LAMB

  CHAPTER 25: UNBREAKABLE LINK

  CHAPTER 26: CONFESSIONS

  CHAPTER 27: COME WITH ME

  CHAPTER 28: VISIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  SNEAK PEEK OF DESCEND: A COPULA CHRONICLES NOVEL BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 1: GOOD MORNING

  CHAPTER 2: ALTERED

  CHAPTER 1: EPISODE

  Jesca

  A hazy, dusk-filled night approaches me as I run against it. I watch the darkness challenge the light, bringing an indelible silence as it slowly creeps into the world. The unhurried sunlight retreats beyond the sidewalks, the grass, the trees, the buildings, the houses. The darkness wins the challenge and fear envelops me.

  Panic is heavy on my chest. The pound of my heart and feet are in harmony. My breath is silent, but fast, I can feel it. I feel the urgency to get home to save them, my parents. Wet, glossy asphalt shimmers on a dimly lit street as I climb the familiar hill just before turning left toward my house. I can see mist gathering at each lamppost down the long road, bringing speed to the nervous rush within me. The urgency to get there faster is my singular thought when, out of sheer silence, I hear them scream.

  The voices are familiar then distort into something foreign, unknown, and not of this world. Mom! Dad!

  Even though my muscles burn, I move with speed and strength as the hills elevation becomes almost too steep to bear. At the crest of the hill, I see my house as I have repeatedly in this sinister scene. No lights, except for the one room upstairs. Unimaginable speed gets me to the front door of our house in seconds. I brace myself with one deep breath because I know what’s coming. Even though I have dreamed this nightmare countless times, I still feel the blood drain from my body. My throat constricts in preparation to bar any sound coming to my aid. I feel a dark, evil presence around me, thick with a terrorizing and intimidating presence. It knows that I’m listening for it. As I attempt to climb the stairs, the sensation of walking through deep snow kicks in, the dark force blocking my passage. With every ounce of strength I press on, having had repeated these same actions repeatedly in this vicious, cyclic nightmare. I’m up the stairs two steps at a time with superhuman speed now, kicking the door so hard the cracked doorframe startles my Dad as he comes into view. His head snaps up to look at me, then returns his disturbing gaze to Mom lying in his arms. My mother is convulsing in his arms, her eyes rolled back in her head. Weeping, my father holds her to him speaking quickly, a prayer I think, under his breath. The heavy and intimidating presence of a force occupying the space with us is here. I can never see it no matter how many times I dream this.

  “Leave this house,” comes out of dry mouth, cracked and muffled.

  I close my eyes and focus on my voice, putting every ounce of volume behind it. “Leave us alone! I—”

  My mind suddenly shifts from a mystic realm to an audible reality. “Command you to leave!”

  Coming out of the nightmare, I feel the chilled sweat mingled with the cold air in my apartment. I attempt to reach for the sheets I must have kicked from my body during my ethereal fight, but I’m motionless. My legs feel leaden and my arms as if chained to the bed. Blinking my eyes is my rescue net of validity in the real world. I strain against the darkness to see my immobile bare legs and arms as I try to slow my rapid breath. The moonlight is casting long shadows on my wall as the sound of the heater turning on comes to life.

  Slow your breathing, Jes. This has happened before.

  I don’t believe telling myself this does shit, but my mother always walked me through it this way, so it’s what I’ve got.

  More frequently than not, when these very physical nightmare occur, it takes a while for my body to regain the ability to move. In my adolescent years, the doctors remedied my parents concern by naming this bizarre episodic anomaly “sleep paralysis.” The nightmares became more intense as I got older and so did the paralysis. My breathing is slow and deep now. I can start to feel a tingling in my legs and a
rms as I lay waiting for the paralysis to pass. In the stillness, I think the same thing I do every single time this happens. What if this is a warning, a sign of some kind? I remind myself, as I do now, that it’s just bullshit, a genetic defect. That’s all. I look at the clock; it’s 3:34 a.m.; too early to call Mom and Dad. I always talk with them after an “episode.” Since I can remember, they’ve been either physically at my bedside or available by phone to comfort me after the nightmare. I suppose it’s their way of bringing me back to reality. While I know they’d pick up if I called, I’m hesitant for many reasons, one being the frequency of these nightmares.

  Catching a glimpse of my hazel eyes surrounded by a bloodshot mess in the mirror, I put on my sunglasses before opening my apartment door. The hangover from last night’s lost sleep doesn’t stop me from seeing the beauty of Marietta in the fall. I moved into my own apartment this summer. It’s small, but it’s perfect for me. My parents wanted me to live at home and commute to school, Kennesaw State University, but I was determined to have my own place and get out from under their roof and be on my own. Claim my independence and shit. My parents, Roan and Delilah, are great. For as long as I can remember, I have never been away from them for more than a sleep over at Elicia’s house, my best friend since forever. It’s one thing to be protective, but mom and dad take it to a whole new level. I suspect it was a written agreement they had with the agency when they adopted me. I was three then and it makes sense for first time parents to hover, but they didn’t back off at all when Bethany was born. She’s three years younger than I am. If anything, the hovering became more intense now that they had two girls to watch over.

  Roan and Delilah weren’t ready for my questions at seven years of age, but I’m curious and I saw the shifting eyes when I asked about my birth. They told me the agency didn’t have information to disclose about my birth parents. I was simply found on their doorstep.

  My apartment is about two blocks from campus. The last couple of weeks have sucked. Regulating my schedule, tearing all over campus like a maniac, waiting in long lines to purchase books. The supplies and books are costing a fortune this semester. Now that I’m trying to dig myself out of the freshman undeclared category, expenses and the intensity of courses are increasing exponentially. Mom and dad don’t complain about the expenses, but I know the struggle with my sister starting college in a year.

  I button up my blue pea coat to avoid the chill as I walk on; my dark-brown, wavy hair whipping across my face from the lashes of autumn wind slipping through the street and side alleys. I pull my hair up high in a messy bun, secure from the breeze. I nod and wave at the store owners I pass on the sidewalk as I think back on the count of how many nights in a row I have lost sleep due to the nightmares. It’s unavoidable when the number of bad nights outweighs the good. It could just be stress bringing up old recurring nightmares. Coursework, shuffling my part-time job, keeping my apartment, I can hear Mom telling me that all the responsibilities are taking a toll and I should just come live at home. I smile to myself just imagining her voice. No, I can do this. I have never backed down from a challenge and I don’t intend to now.

  I come to the intersection at the edge of campus, a guy in a green jacket and baseball cap stepping up next to me. The warmth he radiates is strong, evident in the brisk morning air. It’s not typical warmth though. It’s a drawing warmth, making me want to move closer to him. Compelled to acknowledge him, I look over, not expecting to receive a sinister glare with equally sinister catatonic eyes staring back at me. The hair on the back of my neck rises just as his mouth contorts and the entire surface of his eye sockets blacken. I stumble away from him as the ground beneath me sways. I brace for the fall, when suddenly I feel hands grabbing to steady me on my feet. Two students behind me break my fall. The guy supporting one of my arms asks, “You okay?”

  I watch the guy in the green jacket and baseball cap cross the road and walk onto campus. What the hell just happened? The girl supporting my other shoulder is still looking at me, “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I nod quickly and they move across the street before the light changes. As I watch the guy bob in between the students walking on the sidewalk, I find myself wanting to follow him as I walk through the cross walk. I just want to see his face. I mean his real face, not the one I imagined. Did I imagine it? Yes! Of course, I imagined a guy in the green jacket having a demon spawn face!

  I’m almost to him when he takes a left at the forked path where I need to take a right. I pause at the fork and contemplate going on to class or being a complete idiot and following him just to get a better look. Can we say stalker? The wind suddenly picks up, carrying a frigid cold different from the mild chill it held earlier. I change my mind and I head to Shakespearean Lit.

  I’m distracted the entire morning. It could be the change in weather. The shift in barometric pressure could account for the dizzy feeling, the nightmare last night. I have always been sensitive to weather changes—well, from what mom says. What about his face shifting though? His eyes changing? Were they a hallucination? Last I checked, weather couldn’t make you see shit like that.

  Before work at Benson’s Book Store, I stop at Starbuck’s for a coffee; an extra espresso shot in the biggest cup they have. The bookstore has been in town for over fifteen years. I used to come here with mom, dad and Bethany growing up. Once Elicia and I got into high school, we both decided to apply part-time. We were inseparable so Mr. Benson hired us on as a package deal. The pay is okay, enough to help with my apartment and groceries every month.

  The owner, Todd Benson, is a retired English professor from the university. He started up the bookstore after retiring due to his love of the college environment buzzing around town. He said it kept him young. About two years ago, his health started to fail and his son, Todd Jr. took over. Once a week, he walks in with no shoes—he’s a hippy—torn jeans, and a half-buttoned flannel to “take care of business.” He looks at shipment records for new orders, delivery on old records, checks the register for sales and returns, then leaves without much more than a “How’s business?” We can run this store blindfolded, so it doesn’t really bother Elicia and me. However, it was nice to have old Mr. Benson running it before Todd Jr. came in with his hippy self.

  As I cross an intersection, I catch the sound of hushed but harsh words coming from the alley. Glancing down the alley as I pass, I see a young couple arguing. I keep walking, but then hear his voice rise sharply, making me stop and contemplate turning around. Shit. I backpedal to the edge of the brick building, catching a glimpse of them as I hide around the corner.

  “See, it works like this sweetheart. I help you with your little addiction and you help me out.”

  The guy has the girl against the wall, pinned by his seeming definition of quid pro quo. He is easily in his thirties while she can’t be any older than sixteen.

  “I know how this works. I’m not new to this shit. Just give me the stuff. I told you I have your fucking cash.”

  Her response isn’t what I expect, but then again she is in the middle of a drug transaction, so my expectations can’t mean much. I step out from the building I’m hiding behind, but they don’t notice me. The girl’s drug dealer is too busy pushing up on the girl and holding the baggy of white powder behind his back.

  “Oh, sweetheart, cash won’t be enough to cover this. You’re going to have to give me more than that to get your hands on this.”

  The girl’s reaction holds fear and disgust and I can’t help feeling scared for her as I start to move toward them. What am I going to do? I have no fucking idea, but I’m not going to let him assault her. She must feel me closing in because her eyes meet mine as the asshole gropes her breast and runs his nose against her neck.

  Suddenly, a female voice echoes in my head. “Go away! Mind your own fucking business!”

  Did this girl just tell me to go away? Her mouth didn’t move other t
han the quiver in her lips. She couldn’t have. A bellowing voice saying, “Get the fuck away, bitch,” fills my head.

  Looking at the drug dealer now, I notice he’s as tight lipped and visibly silent as she is. How the hell are they in my head? It’s obvious they are with the way they’re staring at me.

  The same slimy voice I heard earlier through the alley is in my head again. “That is unless you want to join in.”

  Suddenly, the girl grabs the baggy from behind the guys back, throws the money at him and knees him in the balls. As he lies in the alley holding himself and moaning, I stand frozen watching the girl that just spoke to me, but didn’t, disappear around the corner.

  How could I hear her voice in my head? Maybe I was just thinking of what she’d say. However, it wasn’t in my voice. It was in her voice, then his. The asshole called me a bitch!

  As my nonsensical thoughts race thorough my head, I open the door to the bookstore, walk passed Elicia standing at the front counter, set my backpack in the storage room, before walking back up to the front desk to face my best friend.

  Elicia is standing at the register, scrolling through her phone with her ear buds in, smacking her gum. We have been through everything together. Ballet class as kids, dramatic boyfriend break-ups, double dates to prom. We even go to the same university now. She’s into art, writing and music, liberal arts major. I’m on the other end of the spectrum of majors—science geek. I wait for her to look up at me as I lean against the counter. Following in Licia fashion, she looks up at me and says, “What’s up with you? You look like you’re pissed.”

  “Let me ask you something. Do I look okay? I mean, do I look different?”

  Her brow furrows and she shrugs her shoulders. “You look fine. Hey, there was some old distinguished looking guy in earlier asking if you worked here. Said he knew you from class. I told him that I was new to the job and didn’t know all of the employees yet, because he could be some kind of stalker and shit. Well, that is if you don’t like that distinguished gentleman stalkeresque type. Hey, are you holding out on me? Do you have a ‘special’ stalker friend you haven’t told me about?”