A Rose in Winter: Sample Chapter

This is a sample chapter from a novel I'm working on. Since it might be a little confusing if you jump right into it, I'll give a little backstory: Lila has just moved to Winter Haven and has befriended a girl named Rose, the victim of a rape that has left her pregnant. The two girls have gotten involved with Jasper and Draven, the town bad boys. Both are extremely rich, thanks to the fortune left them by their grandfather after he died. Unbeknownst to Lila, Draven is in love with Rose.

Lila decided not to take the bus home that afternoon. She needed time to think about everything. The quiet, tree-lined streets of Winter Haven gave her a sense of peace even now, when her entire world was changing before her eyes. She looked up at the pale gray sky. Rose was her sister, her long-lost twin. It was wonderful, but it was a little unsettling, too. The Montgomereys were Rose's family, not the Carters. She had spent basically her entire life with them, and it wasn't likely she'd want to give that up now. After all, she would have her child to raise, and it wouldn't be easy to do that with no mother, a working father, and a sister who knew absolutely nothing about taking care of children. Lila sighed as a gust of wind sent leaves swirling through the air. She didn't want to lose her sister as soon as she had found her.

After about half an hour, she turned onto Jasmine Lane and came upon the old Catholic church. It was a small stone A-frame surrounded by oak trees, hydrangea bushes, and sweet-smelling junipers. Nestled between two large white houses, it seemed almost like the ghost of a long-forgotten past, lost in a world that no longer needed or wanted it. The doors were open, as they always were. Lila turned and went up the little gravel path. She had often heard organ music or choirs practicing when she walked by, but today it was silent. She stopped for a moment in the doorway. The dimly lit sanctuary was empty except for a man who sat in one of the pews on the far left side, and a white-robed priest who was lighting a row of candles on the platform.

She walked slowly down the aisle, admiring the multicolored shadows cast by the stained glass windows. A bronze crucifix hung on the wall above the platform, silently watching over the sanctuary. Though she'd been raised a Protestant, Lila felt a deep respect for the quiet, solemn little church. She knelt at the altar and bowed her head. She didn't pray out loud, but in her heart she asked for guidance. After crossing herself, she smiled at the priest, then turned to leave. Her eyes fell on the man she had seen sitting alone in the pews.

It was Draven.

He was looking straight at her, so it was no use pretending she hadn't seen him. She stood there for a moment, rather bewildered at encountering him in a church, of all places, and wondering whether or not she should go and talk to him. He offered no answers to either question, but continued to stare at her with his strangely penetrating eyes. At last curiosity--and, in a way, pity--got the better of her. She went and sat down on the same pew, a few feet from him.

“Lila,” he said, like a greeting.

“Draven,” she replied, inclining her head. He finally turned his face toward the front of the church. But he said nothing.

After waiting at least two minutes, she said “Why are you here?”

“Where? This church, this town, this world?” He grimaced. “I've been asking myself that question every day for eighteen years.”

“I--I meant the church.” She had not yet gotten used to his strange way of speaking. In fact, everything about him was strange, more or less. “What are you doing here?”

The candlelight flickered on his face, highlighting his chiseled features and forming little shadows around his eyes and under his cheekbones. “Searching," he said.

“For what?” she prodded.

“If I knew that, I wouldn't be here.”

“Oh.” She played with the silver ring on her finger. “It's just . . . I never would have expected to find you in--in--”

“In a church,” he finished with a bitter smile. “Of course. Whosoever defiles the temple of God, God will destroy, for the temple of God is holy.”

Lila was a bit startled to hear him quoting scripture. Was there really another side to this complex young man, whom everyone had labeled a sociopath? “Oh--I--I didn't mean it like that,” she stammered. “It's just . . . well . . . Jasper never goes, and . . .”

“Am I my brother's keeper?” he replied, glancing briefly at her.

She couldn't think of an answer to that, but fortunately she didn't have to.

“I know what you mean,” Draven continued. “I know what everyone here says about me. I see them whispering whenever I walk by. They think that I don't know, that I'm walking around in some kind of sick fantasy that keeps me blissfully unaware of the outside world. Don't deny it, Lila. They say I'm a freak. A psychopath. And you know what? They're right.” He wrapped his arms loosely around his stomach and rocked slowly back and forth. "I'm a broken mirror, Lila, a ship lost at sea. Sometimes I feel like I do live in a parallel world, a world with endless corridors and glass walls, where I can see reality, but can't be a part of it. Every now and then someone will open a door, and I'll step outside, but then they leave and I go back to wandering, always wandering. . . ." He fell silent, but continued rocking gently to and fro.

Lila moved closer. She hesitated, then laid her hand on Draven's shoulder. He flinched ever so slightly and went still, as if he were unaccustomed to being touched. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

He looked deep into her eyes, and she felt as if he were reading her thoughts right off her face. She fidgeted uncomfortably but was unable to look away.

"You're a beautiful, perfectly normal girl," he said. "You have a home, a family, a future. You're like an apple tree in the spring, standing tall and strong, just beginning to blossom. I'm just a dying leaf floating on the wind, with no roots, no seeds. You are loved. By your father, by your friends . . ." He paused and swallowed hard. ". . . by Rose . . . by God. . . . I neither have nor deserve that love."

"But God does love you, Draven." She blushed even as she said it, hoping she didn't sound like she was talking to a child.

He folded his arms on the back of the next pew and rested his chin on them. "The doctrine of love," he said bitterly. "Everyone says that, but no one really means it. If God is as perfect and just as He is said to be, he would hate someone like me with every fiber of His being. He would see them as a poisonous blemish in an otherwise beautiful world. He would torment them until they begged for death." By this time, Draven was digging his fingernails into the wood, creating long furrows that resembled claw marks. "And so He has done with me."

"He--He's not like that," Lila said lamely.

Draven shook his head and looked away. "You don't understand, Lila. I've done . . . terrible things."

"We've all done things we're not proud of."

He turned around sharply, his face twisted with emotions she could only guess at. "Have you ever done something so terrible it would turn everyone you knew against you? Something so terrible you can't forget it or forgive yourself, and it keeps you up at night, eating away at your very soul? Have you ever done something that hurt an innocent person--a person you loved--and then left them to endure the consequences of your actions? And have you continued to do things you know are wrong, but you just can't stop, no matter how hard you try?" He pressed his lips together, tears glimmering in his eyes. "When you've done that, then you come and tell me God doesn't hate me."

He rested his elbows on his lap and held his head in his hands. Lila dared to reach out and stroke his hair lightly. His shoulders trembled, and though he didn't make a sound, she knew he was crying. Her heart ached for him, even though she had no idea what this terrible thing he had done was, and knew better than to ask. She wanted nothing more than to help him, but he was right about one thing: the two of them stood on opposite sides of a vast gulf. They were different, and while she had known her share of sorrow, his entire life, from what she knew of it, had been one long tragedy. And apparently he had done--and perhaps was still doing--things that haunted him and made him miserable, things he hated but was unable to control. She couldn't even imagine the pain he must have had bottled up inside him. So she just waited.

"So many roads . . ." she heard him murmur, as if to himself, "so many doors. . . . Almost as if there is no black and white, only shades of gray. . . . Once you fall, there's no way out. All that remains is to choose the best end. . . ."

"Draven, don't say things like that," Lila interrupted.

"Everything has an end," he said, looking up at her. "It can take years, or happen in the blink of an eye. You fear death, fear even the mention of it. Everyone seems to. . . . But what is it, really? Just a passing from one room to the next. A portal. You can't live without dying, and you can't die without living. And seeing that we're all doomed to die anyway, why not face our fear?"

"Some fears we're not ready to face," Lila said, afraid that he might be contemplating suicide.

The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. "Death is not one of my fears. But there are things I must face soon, whether I'm ready or not. Choices I must make, questions I must answer . . ." He stared at the flickering candles with a faraway look in his eyes. "Because ultimately, what we live for, we will not hesitate to die for."

"What do you live for?" Lila asked quietly.

He turned and gazed steadily at her. "That is the question."