Sight of Fate (Greystone Vale #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

CHARLI

Rain pours from the skies, striking my car from every angle, but it’s the sharp, deafening crack of lightning and howling winds that make sleep impossible.

Bleary-eyed, I stare at the radar map on my phone, sliding the little arrow back and forth until I can see what time the storm will ease.

Three-thirty a.m. Two hours from now. With a groan, I drop the phone and grip my sleeping bag tightly.

It’s only a storm, I remind myself. It’s no use.

Sleeping in a car when the world is raging outside is almost impossible.

I should know; I’ve been living this way for the last two years.

With a sigh, I sit up and grab my wedge pillow, placing it between me and the front passenger seat.

The tight skin on my back pulls, but I ignore it like I always do.

Might as well get some work done so I can get paid.

I pick up my laptop and the small lap desk and dive into the world of website design.

Bright pink swirls and Kelly Green stripes lend a cheerful vibe to the site I’m creating for a small bakery in Missouri.

The owner found me on a gig site, and although the bid was low, I desperately needed the money, so I took it.

The few dollars it brings in will feed me for the next few weeks, and more importantly, put gas in the tank.

Winter is coming, and I’d like to make it to Florida before it hits.

Using a template I developed, the pages come together rapidly and content fills the empty screen.

Thankfully, the client sent professional-quality photos, which makes my job a lot easier.

Yummy cupcakes of all colors and flavors, flaky-looking pastries, and insanely gorgeous cakes slide by in a mouth-watering array of deliciousness.

Toffee almond caramel, bananas Fosters, Bailey’s chocolate.

My stomach growls. Knowing there isn’t much in my little pantry, I try to continue working. But the temptation on my screen and the fact that I haven’t eaten in several hours make me peek into the crate beside me.

Almost empty…a few slices of bread, a half-full jar of peanut butter, one protein bar, and a box of crackers.

I’m craving chips, but snacks are a luxury right now.

Saltines it is. I grab four and wrap the rest back up.

These will have to tide me over until breakfast. Nibbling them slowly, they help calm my hunger pains, even if they don’t fill me up.

With a yawn, I finish and upload the remaining images.

Once the gallery is done, it takes me about an hour to polish off the remaining tasks.

I click through the navigation, studying each page with a critical eye.

Mary, the client, is an incredibly nice person, and owning her own bakery has been her long-time dream.

I want to be sure her website is perfect and exactly what she envisions.

As the storm dies and the rain softens, I check the map. Light green surrounds the blinking dot on the screen. The worst of the storm is over.

I jot down the items left to do, which include the contact form and setting up the email program.

It isn’t much. I should be able to finish tomorrow morning.

Relieved, I use my phone’s hotspot to save everything to the cloud and put all my stuff away, then I snuggle into the old sleeping bag I thrifted a few years ago and let the warmth seep into my bones.

Loose threads tickle my chin, reminding me of its worn state, but that’s a problem for another paycheck.

At least the fall in Nashville has been on the warmer side.

One good thing about the storm…it usually stops the creeps from peeking into my car. I cover my windows but somehow they always know how to find women traveling alone.

Yawning, I shift to find the least uncomfortable spot and let myself drift into sleep.

Fire rains down on me in a shower of hot coals and greedy flames.

Searing heat and burning chunks cascade across my shoulders and down my back.

I scream, over and over, as an onslaught of white-hot pain hits me.

Burning hair fills my nose, and the acrid smell has me desperately slapping my head and grabbing smoldering blond strands to put it out.

Smoke clogs my throat and ashes fall like snow flurries around me.

Terrified, I turn my attention to the holes spreading through my cotton tank top.

“Help me!” I scream, reaching for the hem with my burned hands.

My stepfather, Hank, roars in the background, but I can’t hear the words.

Why isn’t he helping? I try to strip the rest of the tank from my body, but the tattered remains cling to burned skin, and tugging only brings intolerable pain.

My body shakes as my adrenaline wanes and my strength gives out.

I drop to the ground on all fours, hands and knees scraping against the rough patio concrete, begging him to save me.

Words, muffled before, become clearer. Witch. Devil’s daughter. Burn…hell.

A door slams. My mom screams, her sweet voice full of anguish and fury. A gun goes off. I flinch, unable to turn and see what’s happening. It’s all I can do to hold myself up from the harsh surface below me.

My stomach churns from the smell, and bile rushes into my throat.

Something heavy and wet slaps against my back repeatedly, bringing with it a modicum of relief. Finally.

“Is it out?” My voice is raw and raspy, barely audible in the humid night air. Sweat drips from my nose and chin. A large stain appears, spreading across the grey surface in a hypnotizing way. It blurs as my strength gives out.

My mother’s voice shakes as she catches me in her arms. “Stay with me, Audrey. Help is coming, baby.” She sniffs, and I can hear the tears clogging her throat. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

With a cry, I sit up and reach for her, but she vanishes the moment I open my eyes. I instantly close them, trying to get her back, but it’s too late. She’s gone. Grief and guilt threaten to overwhelm me, but I shove them down into the darkest recesses of my soul.

Although I’m no longer her sweet Audrey, I’m alive and somewhat whole.

Sweat lightly coats my skin, and my hands tremble as I begin the ritual that is sometimes the only thing that keeps me sane after losing everyone and everything.

My palms slide over silky, smooth braids, healthy and strong like they were before the incident.

Thankfully, the fire missed most of my scalp.

My hair was the first thing to recover, which helped when I finally got the courage to look in the mirror.

As the tightness in my chest eases, I move on, lightly gliding my fingers across the unnaturally smooth patches across my shoulders and the upper part of my back, noting each dip and valley.

Skin soft and rough. Three years of surgery and endless days spent in the hospital.

This ugly patchwork of skin is a testament to what I had to endure to come out the other side.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, it was brutal.

A long cycle of healing, setbacks, unrelenting pain, and hard-fought wins, but with my mother by my side, I clawed back the future my stepfather tried to take from me.

She was my rock, then she died, and the sliver of light I’d managed to hold on to was gone.

Finding the will to move on felt impossible, but somehow I did it.

The trial was long and vicious, with half the town rooting for Hank and the other half for me.

Hank’s attorney tried to convince the jury it was a domestic dispute that got out of hand, causing me to fall to the ground and the fire pit to “accidentally” tip over onto my back.

He emphasized that without proof, it’s a classic case of he said, she said.

The defense would have worked too, especially since the video from the cameras around our house had gone missing from the police evidence locker.

Good thing my mom had the forethought to leave a copy with the prosecuting attorney.

Unfortunately, the jury found Hank guilty of child abuse, not attempted murder, which meant he was only sentenced to ten years in prison. It was a hard blow. With my mom gone and the trial over, I finished a final stint in rehab, then left for college, determined to put it all behind me.

Finishing the routine, I shiver in the cool dawn air.

I’m desperate to believe this is a dream, but I know better.

Visions have plagued me since the day I turned thirteen.

Some are triggered by touch, others come to me when I sleep, but the worst ones hit like a freight train.

This vision only appears when Hank’s close to finding me, as if it’s my built-in alarm system.

Damn. I’ve only been in Nashville a month.

Did I slip up? I rack my brain trying to recall if I did anything wrong.

Nothing stands out. I followed my usual random routine.

Never slept in one place more than two nights.

Worked in a different coffee shop every day.

My throat tightens as fear and frustration put me in a chokehold, but I swallow hard and stash my sleeping bag on the floorboard.

Trying to figure it out is a waste of time.

Scrambling up, I brush my teeth with the water I keep in the car and put my backpack in the front passenger seat.

Minutes later, I’m driving to the coffee shop I spotted last night.

I need gas and money, or I’ll never make it far enough.

Hopefully, I can finish this website and get paid before Hank rolls into town.

Only six a.m., but there’s already a queue and tables are filling up.

I inhale deeply the second I step inside.

Coffee is important. Coffee shops, even more so.

Free Wi-Fi and a place to work where nobody looks at me twice.

I reluctantly order a cup of black coffee and a cup of water.

It hurts to spend the money, but at least it will be warm and will hopefully ease my rumbling, almost empty stomach.

I grab the table in the corner with a view of the front door.

Something I would never have thought to do before is second nature now.

Two hours later, I straighten and wince as the tight skin on my back protests.

Closing my laptop, I smile as I remember Mary’s reaction.

She loved her new website and promised to write me a glowing review.

And she promptly paid the remaining amount, which I immediately transferred to a prepaid debit card.

Relieved to have money again, I pack everything up and head to the car. Time to get gas and get out of town.