The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets), page 1
The Glass Secret
A Paranormal Love Story
Chain of Secrets
BY
LEILANI
“Spine-tingling, sexy, clever, and heartfelt -- like The Butterfly Effect collided with The Time Traveler’s Wife.” – Eve Paludan, author of The Man Who Fell from the Sky.
I am glad you have found the path of love, and I want you to be happy. Shame that we could not see us... I would keep forever the memory of our meeting, your sparkling eyes and your bewitching charm. However, knowing that I would always be there (in France and the US, since I promised to come see you) and you're welcome in my heart. I embrace you warmly (winter is coming...) Your day is my day...Stephane Rolleau.
Published by Leilani
The Glass Secret
Copyright © 2012 by Leilani
Cover design created by Lani Bennett
All Rights Reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase anadditional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite ebookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedications
I am blessed and proud to dedicate this novel to my three amazing children, Adella, Haley and Quinton...remember the “Butterfly kisses.” Pass them along. All three of you are my inspiration.
To My Parents, Darryl and Shirley Dorsey who have raised a six-pack! Thank you for your unconditional love.
In loving memory of my Grandma Helen, aka Bubba, A woman before her time...
Acknowledgments
A very special thanks to J.R. Rain, AKA Jon-Jon to me, you have been my greatest mentor and best male friend a girl could have. You are the one who definitely kicked my butt into high gear when I wanted to give up! When it comes to thanking you, there are not enough words to say how grateful I am…and you know I can talk and write long. Lol. You have given me something that is priceless, by believing in me and that I could do this...without you in my life—well, let’s not go there right now, or there will be tear stains on the pages of this if it were paper. I believe you know what you mean to me. Love
To my all my beautiful girlfriends that have been the best of muses a novelist can have, you have all given me colorful material and ideas to weave into my fictional characters. I am grateful for the time you have all taken to read, “So Eden” and for your loving input where it was needed, kicking my ass when necessary and also for the inspirational accolades. I love you all in no certain order, Beverly Markunas Pfab, Jill Kersey, Alena Dorsey, Victoria Dorsey, Laura Dorsey, Pam Keeling, Jan Dimofski, Jackie Blaze, Karen Kevorkian aka KK, Marianna Felice, Sally Sayh, Maria Cecilli Crust, and Sharon McKnighton, Ria Cantrell and he’s not a girl friend, but a close friend Bobby Freeman, love you too! If I have forgotten anyone, know that you are in my heart. Also, thanks for understanding why I have become a hermit at times. LOL, but still none of you had given up on inviting me out to spend time with you when I felt like pulling my hair out! May all your dreams come true! Love me!
Love to Charlie Bennett III, I have the greatest appreciation and respect for you. You are the best ex-husband a girl could have! Not too many ex-spouses can say this, I’m glad we have remained the closest of great friends. Thanks for pushing me to “Never give up!” Remember that? Wink-wink! It’s sunk in! lol. Thanks!
Jacquelyn Prado, my editor, you are truly a Godsend! When I think about how we became a team, it gives me chills. It’s what I call serendipity! Who’s an author’s best friend? You are!!! An amazing editor! As you know, I have told you so many times, an author may have the gift of storytelling, but when they put it to electronic paper it takes a great editor to make it worth telling and reading! Thanks so much for all your time, and magically red ink, catching the faux pas, oversights and details with your hawk eyes and the fine-tuning of your Midas touch that you have contributed to perfect, “The Glass Secret!” Hmm, I think that’s a run on sentence, and I’m sure you will want to fix it. But don’t...because it doesn’t say enough, thanks sooooo MUCH. Love L
Thanks to all of you who have dedicated your time and efforts. Edited by my darling sister, Victoria Dee Dorsey and, dear friends Jill Kersey and Jen O’connell for readings.
A very special thanks goes out to Eve Paludan, my editor for seeing the potential in this novel after she read the very raw first draft and gave so much of her time, and words of encouragement to develop the story further. You certainly stirred up my imagination. ox
The Glass Secret
“Life, love and the breath we breathe are as transparent and fragile as a glass window.”– Leilani Bennett
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Sneak Preview: Between the Raindrops, Chain of Secrets
“When a connection is broken, the universe finds a way to bring you back to your destiny.”
Prologue
One night in Paris...
He contemplates his existence...Hell on Earth is the price he pays for his sin.
I have swallowed enough sadness in one lifetime that would equate to many lifetimes.
My days were uneventful, and time seemed to last forever...until, that fateful night when she arrived at the brownstone. The first moment my eyes fell upon her I recognized who she was.
Since that moment, I no longer suffer as I once had. I love her face. I love her. I want so much to tell her.
My days and nights are devoted to her. The love of my life, Brielle Eden is the object of my affection and why I exist. Yet, she is unaware of my presence. She moved to Paris to start her life and to find the love of her life...letting him come to her.
To know the eyes of the one I love and to see them pull from mine—falling to the floor—is now the greatest torment I have ever endured. The pain cloaks over me like the darkness of Hell. It is like missing the one who is dead, yet they live on without you.
I remain hidden in the dark corners, veiled from the light. If she were to see me through my shroud—broken—I may lose any chance to redeem the love we once shared. It is becoming difficult to stay concealed and out of sight. Already, I have broken many boundaries into her world. Yet, it has been worth the risk to capture mere glimpses of her beauty.
I have discovered her days are consumed with getting things done, making trips to the university and running errands. I linger behind, following in her footsteps as she runs to and fro around the city. She spends her leisure time at the local café, enjoying lattes and reading. She loves books. Mysteries and love stories with happy endings are some of her favorites.
When she stops to peek at the treasures displayed in the windows of antique shops and bookstores, I capture her bright eyes in the reflection of the glass. I can see into the swell of her dilated irises an excitement of anticipation. She is searching for something as if she had lost it. If only it were me.
In the evenings, she writes.
I study her from afar as she sits for hours in front of a thin-flat box that contains a plethora of information and moving objects. They appear out of nowhere. Everywhere she goes she carries her “Apple” around with her. That is what she calls the little black box. It seems to please her and makes her laugh out loud. Her long thin fingers fly over the letters and words rapidly appear. It’s like magic and reminds me of my old electronic typewriter with the exception of the flat screen that lights up her words. Everything she touches is like magic to me.
She is as lonely as I am. Her eyes are dim, turned upward as she seeks out the twinkles of the lights above, and the glow of the moon. Stargazing seems to comfort her.
At times, I hear her soft cries in the night. It would be my greatest desire to accompany her, to soothe her and to wipe away her tears; howev
I am in awe of her beauty from her iridescent green eyes down to her painted red toenails. I have counted her many long luscious lashes that fan-out against her cheeks as she sleeps.
I have yet to trace my fingers along the soft angles of her profile, across her forehead, to the tilt of her turned-up nose, against the curve of her moist full lips—furthermore, down the length of her body. Her features are that of an angel. She is my angel. I have forever longed to kiss her crimson-colored lips as I once had. Yet, I forgo my desires.
I have stolen private moments, watching her when she doesn’t know that I am there. My eyes know the line of her silhouette, and the way her bare curves fade into the shadows. Do I find shame in this? Can’t say I do.
My love goes deeper than her physical attributes. Although she has been blessed with beauty marks scattered over her delicate skin, and I know each and every one, her inner soul is what attracts me to her the most.
The sight of her makes me smile. Her clumsily little quirks, fidgeting, knotting her fingers together, biting her lips and the fact that she can’t sit still are all traits that make her that much more precious, lovely and real. To me...she is a dichotomy of perfect balance. She moves with grace, but sometimes trips over her own two feet. I want to reach out to catch her from falling. Still, I refrain.
It’s a sight to behold when her blonde hair tangles in the wind, resembling smooth tresses of spun silk. Sometimes when she passes me by, I brush my fingers across the ends. When she feels my energy, she jumps and turns towards me. Her eyes alight taking my breath away. Reacting purely on instinct, she withdraws from me. Once again, my intangible touch causes goose bumps to spread across her skin, raising the sheer hairs on her arms. I recoil.
When she is fearful of the dark, I assure her in some small way I am near, her sentry keeping watch. My concern is—I may be the cause of her fear. I am torn, albeit, if I reveal myself...will she embrace who I am or run from the likes of me?
She is a breath that I can capture, but one I cannot release. I am tortured. Hell on Earth is the price of my sin.
For now, I wait in the dark, watching and waiting for the day that she notices me.
-1-
Barely Breathing...
It was so cold I could see my own breath leaving me like a dark secret had been released, one, that had been trapped inside of me for decades. The wind stung against my cheeks, cutting through my coat. Technically, it was still winter. Ten days shy of spring. I couldn’t wait for the season to change. I welcomed the warmer weather. To hell with that, I’d take tomorrow if I were lucky.
There it was, again, another rush of pending uncertainty, twisting and gnawing in the pit of my stomach; every fifteen minutes I felt it. No, I wasn’t pregnant. It was that heavy kind of feeling that sticks with you after eating a bowl of steel oats, forcing its way into your system. Fact was I hadn’t eaten anything. It was emotional more than physical. The knot grew to an intensity of a ten. It sat there like a weighed brick. My intuition screamed out that my life was on the brink of changing forever. Would it be for the better or worse? I had no idea. But a change was coming. This I was certain of.
It had been a long year, and I’d grown up in a fraction of a minute when I’d made a split decision to sacrifice all I had for the sake of another. I deserved a medal, but there wouldn’t be one; it didn’t matter if the world never knew what I had done. I knew and so would he. I was proud of my accomplishment. It felt good. Now what? I knew the past, but I wasn’t too sure of my future, only that I wanted it.
“Hurry, spit out my ticket,” I scolded the automated machine. A line of impatient people was thickening behind me. Their sighs grew louder. I didn’t have time for any more curve balls thrown my way.
My nerves were still buzzing from a gripping ordeal. I’d just gone through something comparable to falling down the rabbit’s hole in Alice’s far-fetched wonderland. I’m not sure how I remained unflappable. What I’d been through no one would believe me if I’d told them. Just another secret to stuff away in Pandora’s box.
“I can’t believe this,” the la te da woman behind me grumbled under her breath.
“Believe what?” I snapped in her direction and swiped my card again.
A breath of hot air landed on the back of my neck. “Maybe something’s wrong with your card. Oh my fucking God, you’re going to make all of us late,” the angry woman huffed, flipping her head back in a superior manner, casting pissy glances at me. The woman was attractive, on the outside, but the scope of ugly bubbled to the surface like filthy foam I’d seen once at a sewer plant.
“Nothings wrong with my card, it’s the machine,” I retorted back to her. The machine made a strange grinding noise and kicked out my ticket. “See.” I barked toward her as I grabbed my ticket. Called her, “Bitch,” but under my breath, which felt semi-gratifying. I had to laugh when I heard her cursing at the machine as I scurried through the tunnel.
The sound of the train rumbled, vibrating down the strip of tracks. It shook the platform beneath my feet as it swiftly entered the station then came to a screeching halt. When the doors opened, a hot wind from the gulley kicked up into my face. The crowd behind me pushed inside, rudely. I pushed back slightly. In a hurry, I scanned the train for a seat, spotting one in the back corner next to a window. Perfect.
“Is someone sitting there?” I asked an extremely old looking woman who was sitting next to the empty seat.
She lifted her eyes and her face lit up like a beacon. “Nope. I was saving it for you, sweetie.”
Bemused, I smiled at her coy answer. “Really? Thanks.”
As soon as I sat down, I understood why no one had taken the empty seat next to her. Pepe La Pew, himself, would have jumped from the train. She was dressed in an overcoat that swallowed her tiny fragile figure. Her rough wrinkled fingers poked through the holes of torn dirty black gloves, grasping onto a newspaper; coffee stains desecrated it.
“You made it just in time.” She pointed out the window. The la te da lady that was behind me minutes ago raced towards the train, her hands flailing and her mouth yapping. Pissed more like it. The old woman snickered, “That’s what she gets for being such an uppity snot.”
I snorted slightly. “How did you know?”
“Wasn’t born yesterday. Look at me.” She squinted her eyes in my direction. “People aren’t so complicated. They’re easy breezy. I can see right through them. It’s either light or dark in there,” She poked herself in the chest, then shuddered, dramatically. “There’s nothing gray about peoples. I see ones like her all the time...” She rambled on and on, her grammar lacked. I detected a thick Irish accent. “Take you for example, you got a light in there, it’s dim but it’s on.”
That made me laugh. “Thanks, I think.”
Adjusting my weight in the seat, I glanced over at her, several times, just checking things out. She was a very peculiar lady and outspoken.
“Would you like to share my paper? I saw you looking at it.” She shifted the page in my direction. When she did, I noticed the date, November 23 1996. Her paper was almost seventeen years old. “There’s a lot going on these days. So many changes.” The old woman said with a crook smile, “Looks like the world is going to Hell in a hand basket and there ain’t nothing we can do about like we could in the olden days.”
Pressing my lips together, I studied her for a second longer, then said, “Ma’am, did you know your paper is...” I paused. “Thank you, that’s so sweet of you,” I simply relented, swallowing back what I wanted to say.
“Oh, I know it’s not today’s date. This isn’t real.” She shook the paper. “It’s a novelty that I found. And, did you know it’s one of a kind? Of course, you don’t. It’s a perfect replica of an American newspaper from New York City and it’s mine,” she said in a proud tone, hugging the paper.
