Poison Read online

  poison

  A Novel

  By: Dejana Vuletić

  Copyright © 2012 by Dejana Vuletić

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Lulu Publishing

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, scenarios, and organizations mentioned in this novel are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Cover art © 2012 by Rebecca Speicher. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-105-42795-4

  First Edition: February 2012

  For my parents, who always believed in me even when I had lost hope. And for my cousins and siblings, who always make me feel like my message to the world is just as important as oxygen.

  With all my love.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this book took a lot of courage and without the special people in my life to help me, I would have gotten nowhere very quickly. It took a lot of time, hard work, and encouragement from my loved ones to get this book to you, and I’d like to take this moment to thank a few of those people.

  First, I would like to thank my best friend since birth, Casey. Ever since we were young children, Casey and I knew how to exercise our overly-active imaginations. We played games together, told each other stories, and now – years and years later – we talk about our ideas with each other. Her fascination with my ideas always kept me optimistic about writing them down and getting stories out of them. No matter how I was feeling, she would just tell me she loved me and that I could do anything I wanted to do. She served as my primary inspiration throughout this entire process, and without her I couldn’t have done this. Casey’s devotion to me and my work shows in her constant enthusiasm, and I know that her encouragement was the main thing that kept me going and got me to publish this book. I feel extremely grateful to have her in my life, and I know that without her, I could not have given you this book.

  Secondly, I would like to extend a hand of gratitude out to my cousin, Alyssa. Just a few years younger than myself, Alyssa has always been there for me when I needed a helping hand, and this novel served as no exception to that precedent. Her kind and giving heart always found a way to sneak some humor into the work this novel required, and her constant pestering, regardless of how much I may say I despise it at times, really encouraged me to keep going toward my dream. She would always listen to my ideas, offer her input, laugh and try a joke or two. Eventually, we made a habit of that, and still today we have conversations like these. So thank you, Alyssa, for helping me finally achieve my dream.

  I would also like to acknowledge several of my friends: Nick, Paola, and Ricky, who all served an integral role in the creation of this book – even though most of them were unaware of their contributions. All three of them served as models for my characters, two of whom were actually named after them. Nick, my first love and first true significant other, served as inspiration for Christopher Calder, with his calm demeanor and fun-loving personality. Paola, a good friend of mine from Sao Paolo, Brazil, morphed into the loveable Paola Helena Petrillo, whose flighty spirit and beautiful personality I adore. Ricky, my neighbor and non-biological older brother, became Richard Edward Ambrose, a sturdy, kind-hearted, wonderful young man with a heart of gold. Thank you for simply being yourselves and creating a story that is different from any other out there.

  I would personally like to thank Rebecca, the artist behind the beauty of Poison's cover art. Her talent turned my dreams into reality, and her work is quite superb. Thank you, Becky, for taking the time and energy to make my dreams come true. Your work is beautiful, intricate, and bold, and I am glad I had the chance to see that for myself.

  Lastly, I would like to thank my parents, Daniel and Joan, for their unwavering support and confidence in me throughout my life. Their belief in me keeps me going even in the most hopeless of times, and without their constant support, I have a strong feeling I never would have made it this far. My father has always told me to never, never give up. I never knew back then that I would actually be living by those exact words with my writing career. His constant insistence for me to live my dreams and create them with my own hands has really pushed me to become the young woman I am today. My mother, too, has always been there for me. She is a strong pillar in my life, without whom I fear I would lose myself. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for bringing me into this world and for providing me with the support necessary to achieve my dreams.

  I am quite the blessed individual to have so many loving, caring people in my life to help me in my journey as a writer. Thank you to all of you. My gratitude is endless.

  - D. Vuletic, 2012

  poison

  A Novel

  Table of Contents

  Dangerous

  Brother And Sister

  Athanasia

  Family Matters

  Subzero

  Pleasure Is Pain

  Date Night

  Explosive

  Rescuer

  3,000 B.C.

  Akarusa

  Mysterious Visitor

  Venomous

  Ricky’s Despair

  Betrayed

  Keeper of Secrets

  Training

  Dessa’s Resolve

  Fateful Intervention

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Dangerous

  Just another day. That’s all this was. Just another normal, boring, uneventful day in Hopewell, Pennsylvania. Or at least that’s what I thought at first, anyway.

  The sun was shining brightly, its rays reaching into every crevice of the alleys and hideaways. The slight breeze was perfect for mid-autumn: not too cold, but cool enough to take away the unbearable heat of the sun and send chills down your spine. People walked down the street, chattering excitedly with one another and laughing.

  A frenzy of leaves blew past me in the breeze, fluttering my light brown hair around my face, the different layers flapping into my strange golden eyes. I pushed the locks away in irritation, but the wind just picked up again. I finally gave up, taking a turn on the corner toward the nearest building, and sought shelter inside a quaint coffee shop.

  The counter girl smiled and greeted me as I walked in with my backpack slung across my shoulders, carrying some of those books in my hands to save my back from the ensuing pain.

  I smiled at her and dumped the books onto the little table. I looked from one book to the other in fatigue, my eyes growing wider and wider as I realized the immense load of homework I still had left.

  Calculus, AP Government, Calculus, AP English, Calculus, Calculus, Calculus! That one stood out most, practically screaming at me. I stared at the book for a moment, not really sure if I was ready to enter my personal hell. I conceded after I received a pitiful look from the counter girl along with a caramel macchiato.

  “How are things, Dessa?” she asked as she set the cup down next to the pile of books. Her brown eyes were full of sympathy.

  I sighed. “You have no idea,” I murmured, looking toward that pile.

  “I’m sure you’ll get through it,” she said proudly, patting my shoulder. “Oh, and good luck at the game tonight,” she added with a parting glance. “Go Vikings!” she cheered, and the entire coffee shop shouted in agreement, smiling at me.

  Football meant everything to the people in this town. It was the only thing keeping our school funded, and as the Drum Major of the band, I developed a kind of sick obsession with football just like the rest of them.

  I looked away from the cheering fans of my high school football team toward the windows of the shop and saw the
wind picking up. The people passed by briskly, grasping their hats and coats.

  The door opened as another gust blew into the little shop, and a man walked through the doors just then, a black hat upon his head.

  Well, he wasn’t really a man; he was a guy I thought I knew—a high school student, possibly a senior—but as I studied his face, I didn’t recognize him. His face was so calm, betraying no emotion as he looked at me from the counter. I leaned backward in my chair, crossing my legs as I turned away from him.

  He didn’t make any sign that he cared. The counter girl appeared across from him to ask his order.

  “Sir,” she said politely, “What would you like today?”

  “The thing I demand,” he said in frustration, his voice so low that I had to strain my ears to hear, “is not very attainable.” He leaned in toward her, and I stood up slowly as the girl’s pleading eyes looked toward my face. His eyes were—I could see now as I was discreetly walking past them, feigning lack of interest—a piercing, gun-metal blue.

  His hat was covering his hair, which seemed quite short, and I saw his eyes flicker toward me for a split-second before darting back to the girl’s horrified face.

  “Sir?” she asked, her voice shaking. I lingered by the trash bins, my eyes searching for any of the other customers in the restaurant. It was strange, but a moment ago it had been full. No one was in the little coffee shop; just me, the counter girl, and that strange, terrifying man. I mean . . . guy.

  I heard a chuckle sound from deep in his throat, his voice was light, almost as if he was enjoying himself . . . And he leaned away from the girl slowly, his hand resting on hers.

  “Never mind,” he said, his voice jovial, pressing his hand on hers gently. She ignored him, or at least I thought she was. She couldn’t seem to look away from his strange eyes.

  He took his hand away, and she looked at him strangely, her eyes clouded with confusion.

  “Excuse me,” she said slowly, shaking her head, “I’m so sorry. Is there something I can get you?” she pulled out the pad and pen with ease. What was going on? The young man chuckled again.

  “No, thank you,” he answered politely. “I found what I was looking for.” He placed a few coins on the counter, looked at me with his intense eyes, smiled, and walked away.

  The girl shook her head again, almost as though she was trying to remember something. She watched me as I approached, my hands jammed into my pockets.

  “I wonder why that man didn’t buy anything?” she asked, narrowing her eyes to gaze at me.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I simply looked at her sympathetically. I gathered up all my books and said goodbye.

  Once I was back out on the street, I tried to clear my head. But every time I looked at the sky, that strange man entered my mind, his gun-metal blue eyes piercing my memory.

  I hoped that girl was okay. She should have been; I mean, he did nothing to her, but I was still worried. My mind kept flickering between images; first: her horrified expression when he had approached her; second: her confused expression, almost like she had totally forgotten his presence, like she had been daydreaming and suddenly woken up; and third: the exultant, frightening expression in his eyes when he had walked away, the coins clicking on the counter.

  These images played like an annoying slideshow that needed to be turned off, but the stupid on-off switch was broken.

  As I turned onto my street, the sun was already beginning to set behind the hills. I saw my father’s prestigious Acura MDX parked in the driveway, and a deflated basketball sitting beside the mailbox.

  The house’s brick walls were gradually weathering away, turning a pale tan. A huge billow of smoke erupted from the fireplace, and I could hear barking from inside.

  I walked up the cute little paved driveway, my feet dragging on the cement. The flower beds along the side of the house were wilting away, with newly fallen leaves burying them. As I opened the door, I just about got knocked over.

  I looked up as I tried to get to my feet again, and found two wagging tails in my face. The barking was slightly annoying, but I laughed as their large tongues glazed my face.

  “Hey, guys!” I said in a baby voice. “I missed you, too!” The two chocolate Labradors barked enthusiastically, licking my pants. “Echo, get off me!” I screamed playfully, and she barked three times before proceeding to back away from me.

  I was finally able to get up, but not until my older brother had walked through the hallway, his keys in hand, jacket over his arm.

  “Where’re you going?” I asked disappointed, my eyes falling to the floor as he opened the door.

  He chuckled and smiled sadly as he began stroking Echo’s ears. “I’m sorry, Dess, but I really have to go. I have a guitar lesson in half an hour, but I’ll be back soon, I promise. You wanna go see a movie later?”

  “I have to go to the game,” I said solemnly, sticking up my hand like I was holding a stick. “Drum Major, remember?” “Oh,” he replied, ruffling his chestnut brown shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dess.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying to smile. “Maybe tomorrow or something.”

  “Sure,” he said, planting a brotherly kiss on my forehead. “Why don’t you play with Bronson and Echo for a while? I know they missed you while you were at school.” He paused as he looked at the dogs and then at me. “Well I should probably get going. Love you, sis.”

  “Love you, too, Ricky.” He smiled and unwillingly moved toward the door, shutting it quietly behind him. I hated it when Ricky had to leave. We barely had any time left together. This was his last day of break, and he was going to his stupid guitar lessons.

  I loved him to death, though. I’d give anything and everything to see his face. His kind brown eyes always made me happy; his closed-eyed smile always took my breath away as I laughed. I would give my life for him.

  I picked up my worthless pile of school junk and walked up to the second floor, clicking my tongue. Bronson and Echo followed me obediently as I trudged down the hallway to my room. The third door on the left was mine, and I practically rammed into the door to get it opened from all the clutter blocking the walkway.

  I sighed heavily as I looked at the pile of homework sitting on that desk, and fell down into the little spinning chair with a grunt.

  It was Friday, for crying out loud! And I had this much homework?

  I had only a few hours until I had to go back to the school anyway for the football game, and my entire Saturday was shot with work. All I had was Sunday, and that was the time I spent with my insanely random cousins.

  Ugh . . .

  I plugged my phone into the wall charger and hit the power button for the Mac sitting on my desktop. The screen flickered to life in seconds, welcoming me with a computerized message on the home screen.

  I sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed. Dad and Mom were away on business, and Ricky had just left to go to guitar . . . I was alone with the dogs for an entire evening; but I had to do homework instead of play with them.

  Great.

  I found the remote for my dock and clicked my favorite playlist.

  Calculus slaughtered me alive, partly because I couldn’t concentrate long enough on one problem. I barely got through reading the problem once and my mind already began to wander. Strangely enough, it wandered back to the events of this afternoon. It still baffled me how some total stranger had come in acting like that . . .

  Whatever. I was sure to find out all of those answers soon enough. It seemed like forever until the bell on my phone went off.

  I sighed again, tossing my unfinished homework off to the side. I said goodbye to Bronson and Echo, giving them each a treat before letting them out into the backyard.

  It only took me a few minutes to make it back to the school, the sun setting slowly but surely as I walked through the doors to the band room.

  And, of course . . . I was early.

  Being Drum Major had its perks: you know, the unbeliev
ably awesome authority, the popularity . . . but it also came with downers: having to come before everyone else, having to leave after everyone else, and the overload of responsibility. But I enjoyed it anyway. I suppose that made it worth it in the end.

  The band director, Ms. Altera, was in her office as I walked in.

  “Dessa!” she shouted in anxiety.

  “Ms. Altera?” I greeted her with a wary look. “Is there . . . a problem or something?”

  Her curly black hair was everywhere on her head, and her eyes seemed deeper than the deepest of black holes.

  “No, no . . . well . . . yes,” she confessed. “We have a new student today.”

  “Today?” I shouted back, my eyes bulging. Ms. Altera nodded her head fervently.

  “He showed up this afternoon after school. He played the saxophone in his old high school band, and wanted to join this one. I told him that we had a game and that he could join when school began Monday . . .”

  “Okay,” I said. “So then, what’s the problem?”

  “I was getting to that,” she snapped impatiently, but her eyebrows were slack. She was joking. “He’s performing tonight.”

  “What do you mean, ‘He’s performing tonight?’” I asked, perfectly mimicking her reedy, petulant voice.

  She raised her eyebrows incredulously.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s right! I forgot to tell you about that part.”

  “About what part?” I nearly shouted. “Ms. Altera, you’ve got to slow down.”

  “Sorry, sorry, but I wanted to tell you this before everyone else got here. But he’s . . .”

  Suddenly, the band doors opened, and it was a man—no, a guy—that began to walk down the stairs. His hands were jammed into his jean’s pockets, a hat covering half of his face as it tilted to the side.

  My eyes flickered toward him for a split second, and then back to Ms. Altera, who had—for some strange reason—stopped talking. I looked back toward the young man as he walked toward the uniform closet.