Young Writers Society

Okay, Hi!

My name is Tanya and I finally realised I was able to post my own work, after reviewing quite a few others. This is the book I've been working on. I had finished it as well as the second and I was half-way throught the third (it's a series of three). Then I realised that a lot was missing from the first book to explain the second and third and I've decided to rewrite it. The new one is the one I'm asking you to review.

You need to know, before reading, that each beginning of chapter holds part of the quadruplets' past (you'll figure out who they are as you read)

Please, you can be fair or harsh, but be constructive in your critism. Thank you. Tanya

* **

Chapter 1

[i]“Daddy! No!”

The little girl was on her hands and knees, her small hand stretched out, pleading, reaching for her dying father. Where did he go? Tears streaming down her face, she glanced uneasily at the unfamiliar setting, her face showing her increasing fear.

“No,” she thought. “Where did I go?” She was suddenly alone and, somehow, she was no longer in her home, with her family.

Her brothers and sisters, her mother and father had disappeared. She was wise enough, at nearly 5 years old, to realise that it wasn’t everyone else that had suddenly vanished, it was she, Henrietta, named Rhee by her family. Gone was the warmth and light of her parents’ bedroom. Instead, she was in a dark room, perhaps a kitchen, because she could barely make out the contours of a fireplace and a table. It was so dark she couldn’t see much of anything. Her trembling hand swept the hard wood floor and the heavy dust she felt confirmed the place was uninhabited.

Suddenly realising she was still on her knees, she stood on shaky legs, looking around while rubbing her arms to ward off the cold. She thought back to the last few minutes. Her father had suddenly called up a family meeting but Henrietta, Rhee, wasn’t allowed to go; Daddy told her she was too young. But she’d been curious and she thought she could crawl into the room without being seen, which she had, but was horrified by the sight that met her; her father lying on his bed, deathly white. What happened? She had wondered, frightened by the sight of her father. He had looked fine before walking into the bedroom. Rhee could see her father was speaking but she couldn’t make out what he was saying; his voice a pale echo of his normal deep one. Besides, she was too far away and he was whispering, but she thought she heard talk of a prophecy. What’s a prophecy? She had wondered and she cautiously approached her father’s bed. Suddenly, he turned his blue-eyed gaze to her, pinning Rhee to the spot and she flushed, embarrassed to have gotten caught.

She noticed her father’s lips form five words, “Goodbye, Rhee, I love you.”

Her father died right in front of her very young eyes.

Rhee shook back to her cold, lightless reality and suddenly she felt the atmosphere in the room change. Five dark silhouettes appeared seemingly out of thin air. Four of them started moving around, lighting oil-burning lamps and starting a fire. She discovered who the silhouettes were when her mother, Meghan, scoops her up from the floor and into her comforting arms. She was sobbing against Rhee’s neck repeating over and over, “I’m sorry baby, you shouldn’t have seen that. He didn’t want you to see it. I’m sorry baby . . .”

Rhee understood that she had probably been sent away to avoid herself the pain of seeing her father’s last breath, but she had; it was too late. Henrietta looked up to find her two brothers and two sisters standing still, side by side, staring at her sombrely; the four other silhouettes. She didn’t know what their father had told them, but Rhee had the feeling she had just become their sole concern.

* * *

A twenty-eight year old woman was killed today during what we presume was a random act of violence. The victim, Mariah Kelley, was eight months pregnant with her first child and was stabbed repeatedly in the womb. Her husband is devastated by the loss of both his wife and child, he is presently at the hospital being treated for shock.

Aya Collins groaned and blinked open her eyes. She must have fallen asleep in front of the television again. She sat up, rubbing her sore neck from the awkward position she’d slept in. Had she dreamt the bit of news she had just heard? She focused on the television screen and shuddered. No, she hadn’t dreamt. There, was a picture of a man and woman, obviously in love, cradling the woman’s very pregnant belly. The woman who’s belly had been stabbed viciously by a random murderer.

Another suspected kidnapping occurred last night. Sixteen year old Tracy Lansbury was headed home from her friend’s house and she cut through Marion Park, like she always did. She never made it home. A witness who had been walking his dog at the time of the disappearance said he heard a brief scream but could not say where it came from. Her parents are worried and pray for her safe return.

Shuddering more violently, Aya felt around for the remote control, her eyes glued to the television.

Five year old Bradley Olson was killed today by a drunk driver. He had been playing in a water sprinkler, with his mom nearby, watching him. The driver arrived at an incredible speed from the street facing the Olson house and didn’t make a stop; he only came to a stop after running over the little boy playing on his lawn.

With a cry, Aya jumped up and pressed the power button on the television, then stood there panting for a breathless minute or two. There was a reason she never ever watched the news. She just couldn’t stand it, it was just that simple. She physically and mentally could not withstand the horror and cruelty that was displayed daily. So she avoided the news like the plague; television, newspapers, emails; everything. It meant that she missed out on the good actions of the day; the heroism demonstrated by an average Joe, a substantial donation to a needy cause. Unfortunately, the good deeds weren’t displayed on first page, it just didn’t sell as much as a gruesome murder.

For the first time in a long time Aya wished her parents were home to give her a comforting hug. She felt like she needed one. But her parents were out, at a play or at the restaurant, she wasn’t sure. She worried about them, when they were out. Nowadays, you just never knew what could happen to you. You couldn’t cross a park, couldn’t walk out at night, alone, couldn’t trust anyone. Had she always been this worried about . . . everything? She didn’t know. She doesn’t remember a time when she had been wild and carefree, like only children could be. She was a worrier but she didn’t see a problem with that; someone had to be.

What had the world come to? What had happened in the last century to cause such mayhem and chaos? Had something been triggered, somewhere in the Universe? Did the All Supreme Entity tire of them and decide to let them fight to death? Instead of a flood, an on-going battle between evil and good, where evil seemed to be taking up most of the Earth’s space?

Troubled by her thoughts and by what she had heard on the news, Aya headed upstairs to brush her long red hair, her teeth and finally to don her pajama.

A few minutes later, she was asleep and she dreamt . . .

Blood red eyes. The full white moon. Gleaming white fangs. Two men lurking in the shadows. An attack. A blood curling scream. The victim’s blood trailed down the Vampire’s chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and grinned, satisfied, as he dropped the dead body on the cold, hard asphalt.

* * *

Tristan Tanner slammed the phone down in frustration, not caring whether he broke his cell phone or not. Still no luck in locating his birth parents. Because they had ditched him on the steps of an orphanage, there was no agency to trace them back to.

All he had was an old wrinkled handwritten note that he had read so often the words were permanently etched in his brain,

‘His name is Tristan and he was born on December 25th.

Please take good care of him.’

Obviously they had cared enough to give him a name and drop him at an orphanage instead of say a dumpster or forest where his wails of hunger and cold might never have been heard.

It had been while thinking of that note with the lovely writing that he’d had the idea of calling hospitals. He was a Christmas baby, surely someone would remember him, even it was twenty-three years ago.

But there’d been no record of his birth in any of the four hospitals he’d called. Tristan sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should go in person to make sure they’d checked correctly. He understood the staff was overworked and underpaid but he could think of no other way to contact his parents.

He had questions for them, many questions; ‘Why did you leave me? Didn’t you love me? Was I a mistake? Were my parents in love? Had they any idea what life I’d led?’

Tristan grimaced. The search was seriously starting to get to him. He needed to go to bed and have a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He laughed drily as he made his way to his small bedroom in his tiny apartment. That wasn’t going to happen if he dreamt of Aya; he always woke up searching for her. He clenched his fists. Would the dreams he’d had since his childhood ever stop plaguing him?

Apparently not; he dreamt from the second he closed his eyes.

* * *

One week later.

Blood red eyes. The full white moon. Two men lurking in the shadows. Gleaming white fangs. A blood curling scream. The victim’s blood trailing down the Vampire’s chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and he grinned, satisfied, as he dropped the dead body on the cold, hard asphalt.

Aya woke up with a terrified scream lodged in her throat. Panic closed her airway and she clawed at her throat, trying to breathe while simultaneously checking if she’d been bitten.

When she didn’t feel puncture wounds on her neck, her brain, desperately seeking oxygen, started sending warning signals, ‘It was a dream, Aya! Breathe in through your nose, everything will be okay!’

Finally listening to herself, the young woman inhaled deeply, coughed and inhaled again. Her thundering heartbeat settled down, her body relaxed and she let herself fall back on her pillow. Tears of fear and frustration started running down her cheeks. She closed her eyes tightly and slapped a hand to her mouth to hold back the sobs. She failed, miserably. She gave up holding back and grabbed her pillow in hopes it would muffle the sound of her anguished sobs; she didn’t know what she’d tell her parents if they caught her crying like this. She didn’t even know why she was crying like this. But the dream had been so intense so very real. So real! And she’d been having the same dream over and over, every single night for a week. Sleep was no longer a refuge for Aya, no longer a peaceful rest. She now dreaded her bedtime.

The dreams were so . . . She fell into an exhausted dreamless sleep before finishing her thought.

* * *

Aya set down her tray of Chinese food on a table in the crowded food court at Weighton Mall, where she worked. She was employed as a clerk in a bookstore and part of her job was to recommend books to customers, depending on the genre they enjoyed. She very much loved reading herself, was quite fond of fantasy novels but would read any genre which made her an asset to her boss; she was quite good at recommending books, because she’d already read nearly everything in the bookstore.

Usually, she enjoyed her work; today she found it taxing. She’d thought about her dream all morning. She didn’t know what it meant. She’d once read a book about the significance of dreams and had learned that dreams are a way your subconscious used to take out the nonsense, so to speak, to not be burdened by trivial stuff. Aya had also read, and heard, that if you woke up in the morning and still felt your dreams at the edge of your subconscious, you should let it flow away from you, not try to call it back because if you did remember it, you were just bringing the nonsense back in. She wasn’t trying to remember this dream and she definitely didn’t want to have it night after night, so why couldn’t she get it out her head?

“Aya, honey, did you get the license plate number? Aya?”

“Huh?”

Aya looked up from her untouched lunch and stared unseeingly as her closest friend, Rebecca Moore, set down her own tray and sat facing Aya.

Rebecca sighed but repeated patiently. “Did you get the license plate number of the car that hit you?”

“What? I . . . I didn’t get hit by a car, Becky,” Aya said.

“I know that. But have you seen yourself today? Hell girl, you look like you were run over by a car and then the damn thing backed up again to make sure it hadn’t missed you.”

Rebecca expected Aya to laugh, at least smile, but when she only stared at her plate while picking at her food Rebecca leaned toward her friend, a worried expression on her face. “Aya, what’s wrong? Did you dream again?”

Aya raised her tear filled eyes to her best friend and nodded. The conversation between the friends would seem off to any bystander listening in on it. After all, why would Rebecca ask if Aya had dreamed in response to Aya not feeling well? But Rebecca was the only one Aya had ever confided in about her dreams and knew how intense they could become and how affected Aya was by them. Instinctively, Aya had understood that it would not be wise of her to tell her parents about them. She didn’t think they’d ever believe her, so better to keep her mouth closed about her restless nights.

“Is it about him?” Rebecca asked “Did something happen to Tristan?”

Aya finally snapped out of her own little world at the mention of Tristan and shook her head almost violently. “No! Not Tristan. It was the other kind of dream. Nothing to do with Tristan. It was a deadly dream, more likely a nightmare. There was a Vampire, he killed a man, an innocent human who didn’t see the danger until it was too late. The Vampire tore his throat open . . . it was bloody and vicious and . . .” She shook her head, confused. Her memories of the dream were foggy, at best. Everything she’d just told Becky about her dream was only the perception she had of it. Aya shuddered violently. “I’ve been having the same dream night after night for the past week, Becky. At first, I thought it was the result of having watched the news but now . . . ”

“Why are you so upset about this dream?” Rebecca cut in. She flung her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Normal people do have nightmares, you know. And normal people don’t have recurring dreams about Sexy Men. Maybe you’re finally becoming normal.”

Aya smiled weakly at her friend. She didn’t know if Becky had ever considered her a nutcase, but she sure seemed to believe her now. They’d been friends since pre-school. During one of their many sleepovers they’d had as kids, Rebecca was awakened by Aya speaking in her sleep. Fascinated, she had listened for several minutes and even startled Aya when the girl woke up to find Becky sitting in bed beside her, hooked on to her every sleepy word. She immediately asked Aya who Tristan was. Friend of hers she hadn’t met yet?

Aya had been reluctant to tell her friend because, after all, Tristan was her own secret friend. But in the long run she had never regretted. She was just glad to have someone to talk to when her dreams got too intense. Especially on days like today. The friends had been lucky to find jobs in the same mall. Aya in the bookstore and Becky in a music store, which suited her friend perfectly; she loved music. When their schedules permit it, they ate together.

Becky had urged Aya early on to write down her dreams when she woke up. She had said that it may come in handy one day. So far, not so much. Aya realised when she’d gotten up that morning that she was too upset to write down her latest dream. She didn’t understand why she was so upset by it; after all, she didn’t usually get upset easily. But something about that dream was . . . evil, malicious. And way too vivid. It felt all too real to her and just thinking about it sent shivers down her spine.

“I honestly don’t know why,” Aya finally answered her friend.

“Have you ever had any similar dreams? I mean, besides this past week?”

Aya began to say no but stopped. She couldn’t remember having one, but her subconscious seemed to think differently, leaving her feeling uneasy about her answer.

Before she could find a suitable answer, Becky glanced at her watch and jumped up. “We have to be back to work in five minutes, honey!”

Aya threw out her untouched lunch and quickly went in the opposite direction from her friend, praying for the afternoon to go by fast.