PAGE-TURNER
By
Nick Rossi
Copyright © 2014 by Nick Rossi
All Rights Reserved.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
“But your place is here, in Grimolonia,” the Prince said, his voice slowly rising as his hand softly caressed her exposed shoulder. There was no denying his eternal love for her. His longing gaze upon her alabaster skin was bursting with adoration. The gaze itself was as intense as it had been that day years ago when he had laid his eyes upon her for the very first time. For her, it seemed just like yesterday they had met and immediately fallen in love. She wished she had known at that first moment that their love would be full of strife and heartbreak. Regrets – she’d had a few.
His soft touch upon her skin made her shudder and a chill reverberated from her bruised toes to her flushed cheeks. She looked at him longingly, feeling lost in his liquid blue eyes, which caused her to momentarily forget the painful decision she was about to make.
“Oh, Elijah, the choice has already been made for me. You know I must go,” Carissa whispered, her lips barely moving but her heart beating madly. She threw herself forcefully into his arms, feeling the safety and strength of his imposing stature. She quickly felt him wrap his muscular arms around her tiny waist, tightening his grasp around her as she began to pull away. She knew she couldn’t stay within his secure hold any longer, despite that being exactly all she wanted to do.
She ripped herself from his solid embrace, the force of the sudden movement nearly causing her to stumble upon the jagged rocks that lay at her feet. She pensively looked outwards at the dense valley full of trees and rivers that surrounded them, full of the lives of those she must leave behind because of what her fortune foretold. The idea of departing her loved ones made her inwardly cringe with the strength of the most powerful lions.
Elijah tried to reach for her but Carissa has already begun to run towards the safe refuge of the impressive ring of nearby trees, narrowly faltering upon the long, billowing tresses of silk and linens that comprised her gown. A gown she had put on just hours ago to attend her own wedding.
She flung herself abruptly into the impenetrable underbrush, the low-hanging branches of the fir and pine trees gently caressing her exposed shoulders and arms. There was a slight tug on her gowns' tail, but she didn’t know if it was Elijah grasping for her one last time, or if the world was pulling her away into a lost land devoid of love, joy and happiness.
“Darcyyyyyyy,” an omnipresent voice bellowed, echoing from all around her. She did not know who the voice belonged to, or how it could at once be both an echo and a scream. The words sliced through her stomach like a sharp knife, forcing her to the rocky and sharp ground. She wondered if she might be going delirious with all of the intensity and unpleasantness of the hours that had just elapsed in her life.
She looked all around her, watching as the valley began to fade away, changing colors from its lush midnight green to a rich, navy blue. The foreground of the horizon began to merge with the opulent, overhead sky, immediately causing her to feel sick to her stomach. She thought perhaps she would faint from the sudden changes of emotions and environments she found herself in.
“Darcy, your break is over,” the voice said again, now harder and more urgent, causing the expansive sky all around her to abruptly change into an extra-terrestrial-like flat, cold, and barren surface. The light of the muted heavens above her soon turned into a fluorescent beacon prism of yellows and reds.
She felt at once both confused and scared. She then turned around hoping to find Elijah still in pursuit of her and of their forbidden love, but her eyes saw nothing but a blinding white. Her shoulder was then softly touched from an unseen body. The touch itself was both manly but gentle, and not at all unsettling.
“Seriously, Darcy, you’re going to be late,” the voice continued, now cold and callous in its tone. It was clearer now, too; stern and foreign to Carissa’s gentle ears. It caused a chasm of pain to resound through her already sore, battered body. She didn’t know which direction to turn or how she was going to survive her current predicament.
“Who is Darcy?” she whispered silently to herself, no words actually escaping her cherry-colored lips. The mossy, moist ground once more suddenly gave way, causing her to fall deeply and swiftly into a seemingly endless white oblivion to which there seemed to be no beginning and no end.
* * *
“Oh no!" Darcy screamed, fluttering her eyes open, her arms frantically grasping for anything to break the frightening fall. Her outstretched arms grabbed nothing but air. She rapidly realized that there was nothing that was going to help break her fall because she actually wasn’t falling at all. In reality, she was already firmly ensconced in her desk chair.
She sat up from her apparent daydream and looked around hastily. A momentary confusion enveloped her as to where she was and where Elijah had disappeared to so quickly. Instead of finding her betrothed lover before her, her eyes instead immediately took in a gray, sterile, monochromatic desk directly in front of her field of vision, as well as a flashing computer screen, a red light gleaming on the mammoth phone on her desk, and endless piles of paper that, at first glance, seemed to have been written in a foreign language (she was not exactly that well-organized, a self-proclaimed character trait).
I’m at work, she thought to herself once she realized where she was, instantly feeling embarrassed. Obviously.
She glanced around to see a female co-worker standing closely behind her, the woman's hand on her shoulder with a grasp that was both at once reproachable and maternal. Darcy turned her chair around instantly to face the woman. Sylvia. The one co-worker she could tolerate and not have to stifle the fantasy of stabbing in the eye every time she saw her. She felt the redness of her embarrassment slowly begin to creep upon her face, and it imminently took over any clear area of skin with its ferocious tenacity.
“Oh, wow, I must have fallen asleep,” she said, her voice small and meek.
She felt her voice becoming smaller and meeker as the monotonous and unexciting days of her life passed by. Her heartbeat began to slow and the sudden redness in her cheeks thankfully began to fade. She remembered in earnest at what had just happened, the memories reassuring her that was she not indeed going insane (though still a little silently crazy, much like everyone else she knew though they never admitted it).
She had missed her afternoon break due to a pressing deadline she was working on, which at that moment she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was regarding. She had decided to zone out, as she often did on her coffee breaks, by continuing to read the newest installment in her favorite book series, 'Bright Nightfall'. She apprehended that she must have indeed fallen asleep. Her insatiable lust and fervor for reading age-inappropriate books often caused her to stay up late into the night, much to the chagrin of her dog (and her stomach) the next morning.
The latest book of the series was titled 'Bright Nightfall: Dusk', and found its heroine, the brave but incredibly naïve Carissa Powers, the last descendant of the Powers Dynasty, a clan which
governed the land of Grimolonia, declare her love for Elijah, the requisite and complicated rebel. The result of their illicit relationship was rather unsurprisingly catastrophic for the residents of Grimolonia. The clearly taboo love affair amongst two star-crossed lovers of different social classes and governing powers was strictly forbidden. For all of her might, Carissa just could no longer refute her blossoming love for the chiseled Eijah, her clandestine true love. Sure, it wasn’t exactly groundbreaking literary fiction, nor would it ever win the Nobel Prize, but she loved it nonetheless and appreciated a good teen fiction novel. Scratch that – her love for teen fiction was beyond an appreciation. It was more akin to an obsession.
She was not a teenager anymore, nor had she been for a long, long time (a fact that she was thankful for a million times over), but as she aged, she found herself drawn to the sordid tales of angst-y and rebellious teens, forbidden loves and ultimately happy endings. She called it her ‘bad habit’ but she was secretly proud to keep her finger perpetually on the pulse of what Entertainment Weekly was griping about (or harping praise upon) in that week’s teen star gossip-fueled issue.
She straightened up and patted down her plain beige blouse, replete with its hounds tooth buttons done all the way to the top as she didn’t want her nosy workmate Carl to begin eying her boobs (that was an ordeal she didn’t want to endure again). She ran her small hands down the black slacks she always seemed to be wearing to work these days. The repeated outfits did not at all mean that she was disinterested in buying ‘adult clothes’ for work (as she referred to them), it was just that she’d always been the type of person who invested in multiples of pieces that she knew fit well and went with that (and bought in bulk, Costco styles).
Her co-worker (and begrudgingly part-time confidante) Sylvia looked down at her with an expression on her remarkably line-free face that was on par with the grasp that she held upon Darcy’s slight shoulder a moment ago: equal parts disgust and pity, with a dash of kindness. The middle-aged woman had taken Darcy under her wing when Darcy had started at the firm. She then began quickly attempting to fix Darcy up with her sons, and when that didn't work out, with her son’s friends and cousins. Sylvia had finally relented playing matchmaker when Darcy would consistently come up with endless excuses to not go out with them. Her favorite excuse of all time was unquestionably when she said she couldn’t meet yet another prospective date because she was enhancing the size of her breasts. Sylvia’s face had been all kinds of priceless on that April day, especially since Darcy delivered the lie with a straight face and calm voice. Some of her finest work, she had silently admitted.
“You know, Darcy…” Sylvia began, her voice motherly and disciplinary. The condescension was literally dripping from her every word, forming a small puddle on the semi-dirty carpeted floor at their feet. The hand that was just on Darcy’s shoulder now joined its immaculately manicured partner in a pray-esque hold.
Oh God, she thought, I know where this is going. I had better prepare myself for another fascinating episode of Sylvia Knows Best. Now commercial- free AND in high definition. Barf.
“… you did fall asleep again,” her work buddy continued, releasing her prayer hands and gingerly made a seat for herself on Darcy’s desk’s grey and shiny surface, instantly forcing the files that Darcy had earlier laid out to bend and twist and one to actually rip. Under the firmness of Sylvia’s rear all sound was muted, but she could have sworn she thought she heard the pages scream out “Help me! I’m being suffocated and mistreated by a huge bum” in tiny, frightened voices.
“Those books are written for teenage girls, not thirty-something year old women,” Sylvia went on, moving her perch from atop the desk (Hallelujah, the papers screamed, We can breathe again! ) and sat in Carl's currently empty chair which sat adjacent to Darcy’s own. She was one of the fortunate few in the office who didn’t have to frequently share her Antarctica-sized monochromatic monster of a workstation with another co-worker as Carl was on 'long-term disability'. It was those little things that sometimes kept her sane in the gross monotony of her workdays. That and her endless access to state-of-the-art office supplies. Nothing made the bitter Monday morning pill easier to swallow than a bright red stapler, colorful paperclips, and some tri-colored Post-It's.
“You should be reading books that are more intellectually stimulating for your young brain, like Danielle Steel or Nora Roberts,” Sylvia rattled on, picking up 'Bright Nightfall' then instantly dropping it as though it were on fire. “Those fine authors really know how to get into the mind of a character and talk about things that women should be thinking about”.
Darcy looked at Sylvia and shrugged, knowing full well that if she remained quiet, Sylvia was bound to finally walk away and leave her in peace. It was a conversation they’d had many, many times before. Darcy loved to read, a passion she felt both proud and shy about. Ever since she was knee high to a grasshopper and hanging off her mother’s angular hip, she relished in the joy of being able to open a book and become wholly absorbed in fictional worlds where logic was often suspended and true love always conquered all.
Her mother had always made a point to ensure all members of the Platt clan read books of various genres and styles to enhance their knowledge and awareness of how the world operated. This maternal requirement had often angered Darcy as a young girl because she often had preferred to re-read Sweet Valley High for the 10th time rather than Moby Dick during the summer vacation of sixth grade. Sure, in retrospect she certainly was thankful for this early exposure to the literary geniuses of the world, but she vividly remembered having difficulty explaining to her childhood friends why she was reading Death of a Salesman when everyone else was reading Judy Blume.
As she grew older and escaped the literal hold of her mother’s reading choices, she found herself reading more and more of a particular style of book: teen fiction. Naturally, she had begun reading these books when she was a teenager herself. She had boarded the Judy Blume train after all (albeit late), and then quickly traveled through The Babysitters Club, the Fear Street series, and finally made her way to the bubblegum world of Sweet Valley High. She peppered in some popular books of the moment, but she always found herself back within the comfort hold of the teen fiction world.
There was something inexplicably charming and innocent about the characters depicted in the stories she avidly read. The portrayed characters were often depicted as growing up and facing problems that had a firm resolution by the novel’s end, much unlike real life which had heart breaks and pain that seemed to go on indefinitely. The books acted as a proverbial security blanket for her as she had experienced first-hand the heartache and ferociousness of being a teenager. While her friends lounged by the community pool during the never-ending summer breaks of elementary and high school, she could always be found reading some teen book in her treasured hammock in the backyard, immersed into the words that provided not only escapism to her actionless life, but giving her an intense joy in vicariously living the lives of assorted teen heroes and heroines who were, in some bizarre, crazy, unrealistic way, like her.
As she headed to university life and became an adult (whatever that label meant; she still tried to define that role every single day of her existence) she continued to find herself reading only teen fiction novels almost exclusively. She wasn’t all that picky or particular about which ones would take up her undivided attention. The only real requirements, if she had to choose some, were:
1.She had to be able to find the books in the bookstore easily and quickly;
2.The book itself had a somewhat interesting cover depicting teen issues, and;
3. Access Issues: She had to be able to enter and exit said bookstore easily and speedily without drawing any public attention to her ‘bad habit*
* Note: – These were the days before the advent of Amazon and online ordering. In-person purchases were the only option for satiating her 'bad habit'. In current day, she had no qualms on surfing the 'net and the nu
merous competing retailers who could feed her habit without any remote possibility of being embarrassed or shy about her purchases.
Much to her dismay, she had noticed her sacrilegious genre had changed its overarching plot formulas and typical character profiles fairly severely in recent years. Authors seemed to now opt to create elaborate and sometimes overly confusing metaphors and mythologies comprised of characters that weren’t human, or if they were, had characteristics that were indeed other-worldly and slightly supernatural. She still loved to read these books though, but was definitely less brazen (if that was even possible) with pulling these books off the dusty shelves they rested upon to read while relaxing in a coffee shop or on the subway. Often times, while commuting to and from work, she found herself ashamed and awkward to take whatever teen novel she was reading at that moment out of her bag as she often noticed (or thought she did) teen girls look at the book and then at her with looks of confusion and wonder - and unequivocal disdain. She had always found it fascinating how those expressions transcended cultures and ethnicities.
It wasn’t necessarily that she didn’t like to read Danielle Steel or Sandra Brown or any other popular authors; it was just that reading teen fiction and its associated spin-offs, sub-genres and influences, really and truly made her happy and content. And happiness, as she knew all too well, was hard to come by, especially so as she grew older. In fact, the more she thought about it, the surer she became that it just did not exist.
It was at that specific moment that Arin Moore, office manager and resident sleaze-ball, decided to meander over determinedly to where Sylvia and Darcy casually sat. Arin relied on his boyish good looks and perpetual smile of a thousand shiny ivory teeth to get the staff to like him (mostly the semi-sad middle aged single ladies and a few of the naïve and emotionally unstable gentlemen), but he wasn't fooling Darcy, the self-proclaimed cynic. She absolutely knew that his seemingly disingenuous intentions were not to create a cohesive synergy at the office, but rather to get closer to running the entire place and taking full charge. Either way, Arin was aware that she saw through his disguise, and the two never really minced words. It wasn’t an uncomfortable dynamic per se, but it certainly wasn’t a healthy one.