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    Unchained
    Unchained
    Unchained
    Ebook117 pages1 hour

    Unchained

    By Mark Graham

    ()

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    About this ebook

    With this sequel to the free short story "Skin" (also by Mark Graham), Victoria is brought closer into the world "The Change" and its werewolf inhabitants.

    Following her escape at the end of "Skin", Victoria Resta tries to find meaning in her life while a new enemy tracks her down and, in the process, she learns of an even greater threat to life itself.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMark Graham
    Release dateAug 9, 2011
    Unchained
    Author

    Mark Graham

    Mark Graham is a professor in the Art Department at Brigham Young University. Graham is an internationally known illustrator. His research interests include teacher education, place-based education, graphic novels, ecological/holistic education, secondary art education, design thinking, STEAM education, and Himalayan art and culture. Contact: 3116-B JKB, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT 84602, USA.

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      Book preview

      Unchained - Mark Graham

      Unchained

      Mark Graham

      Copyright mark Graham 2011

      Published by Mark Graham at Smashwords

      PROLOGUE

      In her dreams, the man has no face.

      The dark, dirty room shifts and vibrates as if an earthquake is trying to open the ground under them. Only the man is clear and unmoving. Black lines and diagrams stand out on his body, centering around his navel and running to his feet, hands and head. Where his face should be is a blank expanse of skin, slightly bulging as if covering his real face. The man stands on the bare ground and thick, black smoke curls around his toes to waft lazily in the air. Even in her dream, the smell makes her gag. The earth around his feet is blackened.

      His hands... she can't look at them. Her dream self keeps pulling her eyes to his hands but she can't see them, won't see them. Her stomach twists into knots at the thought of it and she falls to her knees, head nearly touching the shifting ground. But still, her eyes are drawn to his hands. She's crying and feels the tears steam from her face, as if a great fire is washing over her. She doesn't want to see his hands. Please, she tries to say, Please don't make me see them. But she can't stop and finally, she looks.

      They look like hands and, for a moment, she's relieved. They're just hands, she tells herself. The fingernails are longer than a person would keep them but they're just hands. With black, sharp fingernails. As soon as she notices the fingernails, she feels them inside her stomach, twisting and pulling. She tries to beat at the hands but only feels her unmarked stomach. The pain is incredible as she feels him pull thick, ropy intestines from her. She prays she will black out but she doesn't.

      She's on her back now, eyes closed and hands clutching her chest. Oh god, she thinks, he's taken my heart. Her hands scrabble over her sweaty chest, trying to find the hole he's made those hands. Her heartbeat hammers loudly in her ears. She blindly reaches out, trying to take it back but it's gone.

      Now he's reaching in again - reaching into the empty shell of her body and filling her with pain and heat.

      She tries to remember her childhood prayers but nothing comes to mind. Please, she repeats to herself. Please, please, please, please...

      CHAPTER 1

      Elizabeth Mori woke in a cold sweat in an unfamiliar bed. In the moments following her dream, nothing made sense and everything was terrifying. She thought someone was holding her down until she realized she had twisted her hands into the sheets while she thrashed.

      Slowly she remembered she was in a hotel room on a business trip. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and shapes that moments ago appeared to be hunched over men turned into her clothes hanging on the back of a chair and other common objects. She breathed deeply in and out to calm herself - the dream was already fading and all that remained was the face, or, where the face should have been.

      Elizabeth swung her legs over the bed to stand. All of the pillows were on the floor next to her and she stared at them while trying to make the burning sensation in the back of her throat go away. Rather than get better, it felt like the burning was creeping down her throat to her stomach. Outside, a lone car revved its engine and sped away.

      She made her way to the bathroom sink and stood over it, waiting to see what her body would do. She stared at the faucet for the longest time before she finally started dry heaving - once, twice and then a third time. On the fourth time she spit up what felt like phlegm - it hit the side of the sink with a loud splat and stuck. It wasn't green or yellow like she expected. Rather, it was dark red and thick - almost black in the light. The sight of it turned her stomach and she broke out in a coughing fit before another reddish-black blob came out. Thankfully, she felt better. A little weak but at least it didn't feel like someone was scratching her throat with a burning piece of coal. When the water from the faucet couldn't dislodge (or even move) the phlegm, she used a wad a cheap hotel tissue paper to clean them up. They felt hard and fleshy under the tissues and she almost threw up in the toilet after flushing them away.

      She grabbed the least lumpy pillow from the floor and crawled back into bed, tossing and turning. She hated hotel beds. Never in her life had she found a hotel bed she could be comfortable in. Most of the pillows were larger than she was.

      The red light from the alarm clock told her it was nearly 1 am. Slept felt like an impossibility but her eyes ached from the lack of it. She lay in her hard bed, smelling the faint chemical smells used to clean the sheets and stared at the ceiling. Occasionally a car would drive past and once she thought she heard some woman yelling outside. The heater clicked on and off again several times, the humming sound annoying her rather than lulling her to sleep.

      California, she thought. Everyone talks about how beautiful and warm California is but they forget to tell you that not all parts are equal. There were times she feared for her safety on the cab ride from the airport to the hotel. They would pass a nice section of the city and then the next block over were women standing out wearing barely anything and what she could only assume were drug dealers peddling their disgusting product. Men leered at her at stoplights and told her what they'd do to her and how she would like it, their teeth glittering gold in the too-bright sun. She had to fight the urge to get up and wash her hands just from the memory of it. Animals, she told herself.

      She tried to remember exactly why she was here but it was hazy. She was supposed to meet a man about something... an investment. No, that wasn't right. She was supposed to meet an investor about managing some funds for her company. It was ridiculous, she was a sales person and this was grunt work - not something she should be assigned to do. It was always like that. She worked her ass off, made the sales and watched the men around her get fatter and richer and have more titles added to their names. She never received the recognition she deserved. Except... didn't she ask for this assignment? Didn't she suggest it? No, that couldn't be. Why would she? It was the middle of December and she should be planning a trip to her parents house to spend time with them over the holidays like she always did.

      Her head hurt and she could still see the face from her dream. The shadowed, pebbled texture from the ceiling kept forming the same featureless face wherever she looked. She closed her eyes and tried counting backwards from one hundred. Around number seventy-three she heard a rustling. She paused to listen but started over again from the beginning when it didn't repeat. At eighty-five the noise was louder and her heart skipped a beat. It sounded like old dry leaves rubbing against each other. She waited even longer and then slowly started over yet again. This time, before she reached ninety she heard a single word as if spoken from someone dying of thirst in the desert.

      Unclean.

      She jerked upright in bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. Who's there? She called out, her voice shrill and too loud sounding to her own ears. The sound seemed to come from the desk near the windows. She waited and watched but there was nobody there and no space for anyone to hide. Was this someone's idea of a sick joke? Hiding a speaker somewhere and harassing her?

      She stood again and walked to the desk. The streetlight close to the hotel gave her just enough light to look around and in her desk but she found nothing.

      The voice came suddenly, loud and strong behind her. Tainted!

      Elizabeth shrieked and turned, stumbling into the desk chair and knocking it over. The voice had seemed to be right at her shoulder, clear and distinct. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest. There was no way that voice came from a speaker of any kind, she thought.

      She reached for the

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