The Trailokya Trilogy, Book Three: The Lucent Rise

Chapter 1

New York City, 2000.

Sadness fogged Holly Greer's mind. She lay in bed curled into the fetal position, covering her heavily pierced ears, squeezing her eyes tightly closed to stop the tears. Three times she woke to a pitiful moan of pain. All three times it was her, the lull of sleep loosening any lock on bitter emotions. A month passed since she last saw Jett Colburn's stellar smile. The bruises of his last lovemaking and subsequent goodbye ran purple and red across her arms and back. It was the last straw, though his much-hyped engagement should've been. The super of the building, Mrs. Vickery, changed the locks within the hour of his leaving, on the main front door, too. She had born the expense of new keys for all the tenants. She told him not to come back. Ranice Martel—Rani—her friend and roommate, seconded the order, adding a promise to call the police if ever she saw him. Holly never saw the girl shake with so much rage. The memory replayed in her dreams every night, alongside battles with shadowy figures. Jett still managed to get in without a key, through gates no one could lock. Her heart thumped as she gazed around the room to be sure she was truly awake this time. Strange longing, missing him, and regretting him confirmed it.

Holly promised to never complain about Rani again. Her guilt about criticizing the girl pinged. She rose from bed and went to see the girl in their kitchen. When she closed Rani in her arms, she allowed herself to truly cry, the first time since she was a kid. Holly told Rani what happened this time. She had tried everything, but she wasn't strong enough to endure, either by choice or will. Her body would eventually break. Space between her and Jett might make him reflect on what he did, but he wasn't accepting that request for space. She had no way to fight him off. Maybe he'd get cleaned up, turn himself around, then come back as the man she knew he could be, if he would just give himself the time. Whether he ended up with her or not, she needed him to do that much, as not to make the years with him worthless, the millennia, a mockery. To alleviate her pain, she mustered every excuse she could to blame the shades or the Baron. Either Jett was under their dark influence, had been taken by them, or was replaced by some loathsome minion. Whatever the case, her thoughts concluded that he wasn't the same man. Perhaps, the change was her fault for introducing him to the unseen world. It was her fault for agreeing to incarnate there one last time in the belief it would fix him. After all, Rani had backed out on her for less, on more than one occasion. Certainly, it had to have been at least partially her fault for not acting sooner on his behalf, to protect him. Still, after everything, even if she were innocent of affecting him negatively, Holly was certain she could fix the situation, if given the chance. She wept, smelling the putridness of blaming herself for his abuse. The worse smell came from her twisted pride. Merely on the edge of discernment, she realized that. She was addicted to him, just the idea of them.

Rani whispered assurances, letting her work it through herself. The only thing of which she insisted was that Holly eat something each day. That morning, Holly's dreams still floated about her groggy head. She fumbled together a bowl of cereal without prompting, sweeping up the pieces of herself that remained, too. Her whole body resisted movement, longing for the other world where she felt strong. Healing would take a great deal of time and care. That part of her she had learned was Maiel still sought him, or his image, wherever he could be found. Without more control, she was sure to tumble into crying again. This was why she made those pitiful sounds in her sleep, until exhaustion took over. Maiel mourned. Thus, sleep paralyzation had returned to trouble what little rest she found. So too, fighting the shadows that came to jab her had become too difficult. She imagined herself above a great, flaming chasm as the wind threatened to blow her from a corroded rooftop perch. That image had come in one of the many nightly manifestations. It haunted her since.

Today was Saturday. A day she looked forward to all week. On the weekend, she could hide at home, to lick her wounds, and stop pretending all was perfect. Breakfast in her stomach, making her ill, she returned to her room to do just that. When she crawled back into bed, the television jarred the silence, cartoons brightly cavorting across the screen. Pain gave way to drowsiness. Hope lay in rest and the modicum of relief it lent. Instead, sundry apparitions returned to haunt her troubled mind.