Praefatio–Sample Chapter

Chapter 1

Text under revision. Not representative of final presentation. Copyrighted material.

After everything I’d been through, I couldn’t believe this was how it was going to end. The training, the blood, the kisses—oh my God the kisses, the death–nullified by ten minutes in a police car. Everything they’d led me to believe was all a lie. Everything I sacrificed, the risks I’d taken–was all for nothing.

It was hard to talk, let alone think with the nonstop pounding in my head. It hurt to blink through swollen eyelids and the dim overhead lights seemed brighter than they probably were. A dull buzzing coming from the bulbs threatened to explode my eardrums. I suppose I deserved it.

The cop stared like I was a freak–straight out of some science fiction movie. I guess it made sense. I’d been mumbling incoherent words since they’d first found me. My mind was jumbled, scrambled as if trying to tune to the correct radio frequency but unable to. Flashes, memories from my past, what I was and what I had done were all coming back, but not in the right order. Not in any way that would make sense to them.

When I spoke, it came out like jibber-jabber or maybe like an auctioneer on crack. The visual made me giggle. It was a high-pitched nervous one. And then a thought stopped me mid-giggle. Stockholms Auktionsverk is the oldest auction house in the world. Not so random but useless information like that flooded my head for no reason at all–or because of the simple fact that they had no place else to go.

They wanted to know what I was doing on Gavin Vault’s estate; running, screaming, “HELP!” That I was barely dressed from the waist up is something of another mystery. I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. The details of the previous night were a bit fuzzy. But there was one thing that kept coming back to me. One thing I couldn’t shake.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I said as I sipped hot, institutional-tasting liquid realizing what I’d said would make absolutely no sense to him at all. It was more like an accusation than a statement. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but you won’t believe a word of it.” Those were the most coherent words I’d spoken since I’d arrived.

The cop seemed confused; like he was surprised I was capable of forming complete sentences. He watched as I sniffed the oversized sweater on loan from one of the cops. I nearly puked from the smell of cheap cologne—like—way too much of it. I grabbed my head in my hands as vivid images raced through my mind then left as quickly as they’d come. I barely made sense of them but I knew they belonged to me, to my mind. Memories that if I could only un-jumble–set them in the proper order–would free me from this stagnant mental prison.

I clutched my stomach then swallowed down the inevitable vomit. The officer just stared with an expression that was somewhere between boredom and loathing; as if I was a nut that needed cracking; only he didn’t have the right tool.

Maybe you should wait for the female cop to arrive from St. Louis. The thought seemed more like a suggestion than a consideration. It was familiar, not my own voice but like one I was used to hearing in my head at times of uncertainty. It reminded me of when I was a kid hearing voices–a voice. It was oddly comforting.

“I’ll tell you everything; as soon as my mother arrives,” I offered, sitting back in the steel chair used to make suspects squirm. Turns out it worked on normal people too. Normal. People. Two words I hadn’t used to refer to myself in quite a while–that much I knew–that I wasn’t normal.

The officer looked at me, then down at his blank pad, then back at me and said, “Miss Miller, the female officer should arrive within the hour. Anything you can tell us prior to her arrival would be very helpful. Do you need a doctor? Were you harmed in any… way?” He leaned over the table, lowering his head and voice in a conspiratorial tone as he said the word “way.”

I tuned him out. His questions were insignificant. He wasn’t asking the right ones. I had to get out of there. I needed to find my brother, Remi. I needed to know what was going on with Gavin–what they had done to him. I wondered what was taking my mother so long to arrive before I remembered how unreliable she had always been.

The cop’s limited ability to understand what was going on was a waste of my time. Besides, I had some questions of my own. I needed to know how in the world I ended up there–how Gavin and I ended up of all places–in a police station; he accused of an unspeakable crime and me–his supposed accuser.

“How did you find me? How did you know where to find me?” I asked in my most authoritative voice. I should have been able to get the answer on my own–to read his mind.

“We received an anonymous tip,” he offered, raising his eyebrows and trying to sound secretive.

They can’t hold me here. The thought entered my head along with a fuzzy vision. A man, talking, then handing over an envelope with pictures of me looking like something the cat dragged in, then gone. The pounding in my head kicked into overdrive. Evidence? How? Gavin didn’t hit me. He wouldn’t. It’s a lie.

“What do you want from me? You seem to have everything you need.” I was so angry I could have cried but I didn’t seem to have any tears in me. Just empty.

It was as if I’d slapped him. His head swung to the side then he looked behind him. What he was looking for I had no idea. He didn’t look at me when he replied, “You’re a witness to a crime, Miss Miller. Has no one explained to you what’s going on?” He leaned forward again, cautiously and opened the folder on the table–my case file. Just like in my vision, pictures of me beat to a pulp and… Gavin… beating me? Only it never happened.

I decided to count the cracks in the ceiling paint. I refused to look at him or the photos. His truth was an absolute lie.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to you, Miss Miller?” he asked in a soft voice, pushing the folder slightly closer to me, slowly. He sounded almost compassionate.

“I already know what happened to me!” I shouted. “I was there, remember? You have your proof, what more do you want?” I couldn’t stop the tears that pushed their way out of my eyes in a race down my cheeks. I was furiously fed up with the charade. We were being set up. It was obvious. Couldn’t he tell? Wasn’t he trained in these things?

I lurched forward and tried to grab the folder, catching Officer Bladen’s sleeve instead. He snatched his arm away as abruptly as if I’d burned him. I fell back into my chair and hit it harder than I’d intended.

This was all wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Everything I felt in my gut was telling me to fight, to stand up for myself. Then again, I knew if I did it would be all over for me. No one would believe me and Gavin would be toast. The first thing they’d ask for was proof and I had none. Not one shred–except for my word. I know what I saw. I know what I am.

“You said a crime had been committed,” I went on, calming my voice, trying to relax. I may have even taken in a deep breath. I needed to calm down.

“Uh, yes. A crime. You were, um… attacked,” he mumbled. I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm at a time like this. Gavin’s fans were in an uproar outside, I was about to lose the contents of my stomach and he was the picture of complacency.

“Attacked?” He’d managed to spark my interest. I’d been attacked before and trust me, no one would dare attack me in public, I don’t think.

I was squinting to keep the light out of my eyes. “By what? Bear? Panther? Wolf?” I needed to know. I couldn’t imagine the unimaginable. That they could possibly think Gavin had attacked me. But I think it was the animal thing that threw Office Bladen off and I had to smile, just a little. The look on his face was priceless. Two-parts stupid and one part dumb.

“By what? Miss?” Officer Bladen squirmed in his chair as he checked his watch, then his cell phone, then his pager, as if he was expecting the Governor’s pardon.

“You said I was attacked. A crime had been committed. What exactly are you referring to?” I added extra impatience as I stared and wrinkled my brow. It was a little fun to play with humans sometimes. I couldn’t even recall when I had stopped thinking of myself as human. Then again, I was feeling more human than I’d felt, since age nine.

“Just tell us what happened, Ms. Miller,” he said then checked his watch, then looked toward the open door. I’d bet he wanted out of that room almost as badly as I did.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” I managed even as I knew what I had to do.

“You can trust us, Grace,” he used my first name as if that was going to change what was about to happen.

“I’ll just wait for my mom, if that’s OK.” I huffed and shook my head from side-to-side. I didn’t trust him or “us.”

The station was bustling. Tonight, news broke of the biggest story the town had ever seen: The arrest of a rock star for unspeakable things. A forthcoming statement from the alleged victim of Gavin Vault, lead singer of Venus Unearthed–made headline news–worldwide. Officer Bladen could get that promotion, make detective and maybe even get up enough nerve to ask his girlfriend to marry him.

“She’s not going to say ‘yes,’” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Officer Bladen quickly scribbled ‘psych eval’ on his little pad. I didn’t actually see the words. I just knew like butterflies doing somersaults in my belly–the same way I knew his girlfriend would turn down his marriage proposal.

I was having the most bizarre time getting my wits about me. I kept turning my head from side to side like a dog trying to hear high-pitched sounds. I could understand if OB was a little put off by me. OB–Officer Bladen. What can I say? He was starting to grow on me.

The cop, I mean–OB sighed heavily.

“When you’re ready to talk, you let me know. In the mean time, I’ll go see if your mom is here.” He threw the newspaper he’d been holding on the desk in front of me. I grabbed it before it hit the microphone on the table and wondered if they’d been recording our conversation. I flipped the paper around to find Gavin’s photo under the headline: ROCK STAR ARRESTED IN DISAPPEARANCE OF MISSING PEEK GIRL

I read, intrigued by my own story–mine and Gavin’s. I couldn’t help myself.

Gavin Vault, lead singer of Venus Unearthed, was arrested on Christmas day for the kidnapping and attempted assault of Grace Miller, daughter of Broadway actress Vivienne Miller. Miss Miller was reported as a runaway two months ago by her guardians, Victoria and Kenneth Larson; who took her in after her father died in a motor vehicular accident. Mr. Vault is considered a person of interest in the disappearance of Miss Miller’s brother, Remiel and the Larson’s daughter, Jennifer who were reported missing three weeks ago. At the time of the arrest Miss Miller was found on the premises in questionable physical condition and is believed to be suffering from a condition similar to Stockholm Syndrome.

Officer Bladen left the stuffy room and closed the door behind him as I read. Alone with my thoughts and visions I was able to piece many details of my life back together. Something in the article triggered a flood of coherent thoughts and memories that started to make more sense as they passed through my mind. But they were still out of order from what I could tell. And I knew when I told them, when I finally answered their questions–it was not gonna to be good. They already thought I was protecting Gavin; that I was his victim somehow. What are they gonna say when I tell them the truth?

I took the last sip of the liquid they proudly called “coffee” and considered the report as to the state of my mental health. The door to the interrogation room swung open to reveal Gavin Vault leaning against the wall in the hallway across from me just as I stood up to stretch  my legs. I gasped.

Every bit the rock star and not a hair out of place, he looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world as he laughed with the same officers who’d arrested him. Gavin hadn’t been processed yet and was in the clothes he’d been wearing when I saw him last. I’d forgotten to tell him how good he looked.

Can you hear me? I tried to speak to him telepathically. He didn’t answer or even acknowledge that I’d spoken. I opened my mouth to call to him.

Our eyes met and then one of the officers began leading him down the hall. I started to run to him but my legs were jerked back into place by what felt like shackles; only there weren’t any on me. I tried again but could only move about a foot from where I stood before being pulled back into place.

“Gavin!” I yelled and my voice echoed off the walls of the interrogation room and out into the hall making it sound way more desperate that I’d intended.

Gavin turned in my direction then lowered his head, as if the sight was too much for him. Hot tears streamed down my face, stinging my skin. I screamed, “Please, Gavin, wait!” He kept walking.

Officer Bladen entered the room, closed the door and silenced the hallway noise. It was as if Gavin didn’t know me at all.

Still, I heard them laughing and talking outside; which took me by surprise–that I could hear them through the walls. Or was I just hearing voices again?

“You really make a lasting impression huh, Mr. Vault?” One of the cops joked followed by laughter from the others. By his tone, they seemed like they could have been old high school buddies, except for the part that he addressed him as “Mr. Vault.” The sound of their voices diminished as they got farther down the hall.

Rage and humiliation got the best of me. Unfortunately, Office Bladen was gonna pay for it. Intending to grab him by the neck, slam him against the wall and threaten to slit his throat unless he told me where they were taking Gavin; I lunged forward only to be jerked backward by the invisible shackles around my feet.

My landing wasn’t as graceful as I would have liked. I had no idea why I couldn’t move the way I wanted. Refusing help from a rather amused Office Bladen, I rubbed my aching butt and took a seat.

***

We sat in silence occasionally staring at one another, listening for anything at all. The only interruptions were Officer Bladen’s periodic rubbing of his arm at seemingly timed intervals.

A knock on the doorframe brought us both out of our trances of boredom. I think I was actually counting OB’s arm hairs at the time.

“Ms. Miller,” intoned a female cop who poked her head in from the hallway. Leaning in slightly and holding onto the doorframe as if the room was contaminated and entering was not allowed she said, “Your mother’s arrived and is right outside. I suspect you’ll want to start with your videotaped statement now.” She crooked a tiny index finger and motioned for Officer Bladen to follow her out into the hall. And then she was gone.

Office Bladen jumped up to follow as if he’d won an Oscar and closed the door behind him. It echoed as it clicked. The sound was like that of a jail cell closing.

Are you kidding me?

They left me sitting there all alone. OB didn’t even say goodbye.

A voice came from somewhere on the other side of the two-way mirror.

“Hi, Honey. Go ahead with your statement. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

A red light on the video camera above the mirror came on. I hadn’t noticed it until now.

“Mom?” I stood, ready to leave with her.

“Sit down, Grace,” Mom’s voice ordered. “Just give your statement and this will all be over with.”

“Mom… I’m not going with you?” My voice was small, almost mousey. The sound of the metal chair scraping along the concrete floor echoed in my ears as the weight of my depressed body sank back down.

“No, honey, just please give them your statement so we can be done with this whole mess,” Mom instructed using the word ‘honey’ again; laying it on thick. She had not come to get me at all.

“Miss Miller, please. Look into the camera, state your name for the record and start with your earliest recollections to when we found you tonight, how you met Mr. Vault, came to be on his property, anything he may have said about your brother, Remiel or Jennifer Larson– from as far back as you can remember. Just take your time, Grace. If you need a break, just let me know,” Sergeant Mullane said through the overhead speakers.

I took a deep breath, cleared my throat and spoke into the microphone, “Archangel Grace Ann Miller.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I could still take it back.

“I’m sorry, Grace. Can you repeat? Not sure we caught that,” Sergeant Mullane requested.

“Archangel Grace Ann Miller,” I repeated only slightly louder in case I decided to change my mind.

“Did she say what I think she said?” The female cop from St. Louis asked.

“Grace, I’m sorry. Can you please repeat your name and speak directly into the microphone in front of you?” Sergeant Mullane instructed for those of us who might be hard of hearing.

“Archangel Grace Ann Miller,” I stated as loud as I could without yelling.

I didn’t hear anything after that.