The day before going off to college Isabelle Demcaste and Cole Harrison are walking on the beach when a mysterious figure appears and kidnaps them. It isn't until five years late that Isabelle Demcaste finds herself trapped in a Psychic Facility called Linxus. After discovering she has the power to comunicate with the dead she quickly tries to find Cole and attempt an escape.... (This is a very character and plot heavy novel)
It had been five years and 1,830 days since Isabelle Demcaste had seen sun light. It had been that same amount of time since she had been home, seen her father, kissed her dog, driven her car (Lila was the name), or been awake. It was no question that Isabelle was awake now – she had to have been. It was in the way her eyes opened so fiercely, the way her body shook, and the way she pulled soaked sheets to her chin and wrapped them around her unsteady hands.
The twin sized bed made a fearsome sound with each tiny movement her thin body made. Sweat, piles of sweat, poured down the side of her tan face and landed on a worn, overused pillow. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt in five years. Isabelle’s eyes manically wonder around the room. Fear began to eat her insides, like maggots eating spoiled food. Blackness. Fear. The unknown. It did this to a person.
Isabelle’s eyes reached the ceiling where a large gray fan hung spinning so quickly it looked as if it were about to snap. She rose timidly from the soaked bed. A small, square, window stood on the other side of the room. The window, filled with black emptiness, except for the few drops of water running down it’s dirty back. She bravely moved toward it. The bed, the floor, and everything above and below made noises; awful noises that would make the dead rise and die again.
White walls, small toilet in the corner, and a very unused desk and chair at the other end. And a window, which seemed to move further away as she walked; this took up her space. Her clumsily and slow walk toward the window ended as she extended five, thin, fingers that screamed for the windows cool touch. Something caught her eye as she stretched: A loose nightgown. Once, a pearl, white but now faded to a pale yellow. Above her left breast embodied a strange crest. Her finger touched it’s rough patch for a moment. Unsatisfied for what the crest had to offer her longing touch, she was drawn back toward the window.
Her heart dropped three times into the deepest pit of her stomach: A hand print was splattered on the condensation of the window, like a horrible memory that only creeps into the mind right before sleep, only to keep you awake much longer. Isabelle moved her hand toward the icy window and placed it against the printed hand. Same size. Perfect fit. A shudder flew down her spine, the hot sticky sweat turned cold. She rubbed her hand along the window smudging and erasing the print, the feel of unbreakable plexiglass under her hand made her cringe. She had done this before.
Isabelle stared out the window for a moment. Rain fell heavily toward the ground, her head gently leaning against the cool plexiglass. She couldn’t see anything except rain, but that didn’t bother her. Her heart was finally adjusting to the mysterious environment. It wasn’t fear eating her up any longer, but the thought of herself sitting alone in this...place...this prison. Before she broke down and began to cry, she thought of one thing: her boy friend, Tyler Ferguson.
It was clear for the first time in the many moments that had just passed that her boyfriend was dead. She had seen it with her own leaf green eyes. Although, she couldn’t search her mind hard enough to find out how before her head began to throb. Everything. Everything about his death was black. Blank. Everything after his death was black. Blank. Numb. Unreachable. Forever lost in a confusion that she couldn’t dig through. Her memory was gone. Time had no measure. Time had no past, or future. Only this horrifying present. Everything besides the face of Tyler didn’t exists. Did it ever exists? Did she have parents? What were their names? She didn’t know. They didn’t want her to know.
She turned her glossy face away from the window, wiping it as she moved. A white door stood tall across the room. She glided toward it, her hand opened wide to embrace the silver nob. Isabelle was taken away when she touch it; coldness in the palm of her hand. She almost turned back to the window, but remembered that she had used up all it’s coolness and all that remained was the sweat she left. She opened the door.
Isabelle moved into a cool aired hallway. She took a deep breath allowing the cold air to seep into her lungs. She took another breath and continued walking down the hallway. It had dark blue paint on the walls, a white trim along the bottom and a carpet lay on the floor: a light blue with little bits of red, deep within it’s seams. It reminded her of a hospital.
As she continued walking down the narrow hall she passed several other white doors. These had names engraved on them. As she passed slowly she read the names: Mandy Dellmont, Andrew Deker, Caleb Dawes, Harvey Davidson, Kyle Dare, Makayla Danvers. The names continued on and on. Until they finally stopped – she had reached an intersection. Her eyes gazed to a sign on the wall that embodied the letter: D. Isabelle looked around and saw a number of other halls surrounding her, one leading down further straight, one to the right, and one to the left. Each hall had it’s own letter: A to the left, B straight ahead, C to the right, and D behind her. Not wanting to get lost she wandered straight.
On her way down she noticed more doors with names on them; she didn’t bother to read them though. All she could think about was what this place was–where she was. The more she thought the more an answer ran away from her. As she wandered she tried to remember the life she had and what she could have done to have ended up here. The answer was always the same: I have no idea. The one thing she did know for sure was that Tyler’s death and her lack of memory had to have been connected because the last thing she remembered was his death and nothing else. Maybe it was because of the shock she thought. She remembered reading in some book back at school that sometimes when people witness traumatic things in their life they tend to block them out, but then again it wasn’t his death that was blocked, it was everything after and before.
Isabelle continued her way down, continuing to think about what happened to her while looking at white doors and dark blue walls when she saw a man. Her heart fell from the middle of her chest all way to the tips of her toes and her eyes began to swell – fear returned.
He wasn’t very tall, but not very short either. He wore a pinstriped blue suit, with a gold tie in the middle. His hair was a blondish-red and he stood with his arms stretched and palms open, like a crossing guard telling cars to stop.
Isabelle opened her mouth to scream when a smooth calm voice came from the man, “I’m not going to hurt you, Ms. Demcaste.”
A tear fell from green eyes, her’s.
“I promise,” he said, his eyes telling it was truth. “Ms. Demcaste, I am going to be very blunt with you, okay?” Isabelle nodded, fear crawling all over; her legs shaking. His eyes said he was a good man, but his confidence and body said otherwise.
“My name is Ethan,” he said very slowly, “I am dead. Have been – much longer than you’ve been here.”
Isabelle’s face melted, “What?” It was the first time she spoke and her voice was hoarse and cracky.
“Yes, I said ‘dead.’ Ms. Demcaste,” he said, moving closer now. Isabelle stepped back, “this is all very scary, I understand. But you need to return to your room. It’s the safest place you can be at this hour of the night. If they see that you’re Awake, Ms. Demcaste, it will truly be something that you will regret.”
“Who–who is ‘they’?” she said, courage starting to crawl up her throat.
“I can’t explain right here and now, Ms. Demcaste, you need to go back to your room,” he said licking his lips quickly; crystal colored sweat lay on his lightly bearded lip. “I will come to your room in one hour. I will answer any questions you want, but please, please go back to your room.”
Isabelle stared in awe, “Why can I see you if your dead?”
The man, Ethan, frowned, “I will explain, Ms. Demcaste. Just go back to your room. I’m begging you.”
“Why do you care so much about me?” she asked.
“Because, Ms. Demcaste, you and your friend may be our only chance. I will explain later, please go back,” he begged.
“My–my friend?” she asked excitement growing slowly.
“Cole Harrison, Ms. Demcaste.”
Another tear fell down her face. Cole, she thought.
“Yes, he is alive. For now, at least. Ms. Demcaste, if you do not go to your room and you get discovered you make his chance of survival much harder.”
Isabelle saw the pleading and urgency building in his cheeks and forehead. She nodded and slowly backed away from the mysterious man, telling herself she was doing it for Cole. Then without any warning he faded away right before her eyes. Cole’s face, which had began to paint itself in her mind, vanished just as Ethan had and her backward walk quickly turned into a full frontal sprint. When she reached her door she opened it madly, closed it, and ducked under gray covers hoping she would awake from this awful nightmare. But it had just begun.