The Fray Theory
Resonance
Nelou Keramati
Copyright
The Fray Theory - Resonance
Book 1
© by Nelou Keramati
Cover art © 2016 by Nelou Keramati
This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents contained within are either the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
First Edition
Published on August 31, 2016 by Finch Hill
Copyright © 2016 by Nelou Keramati
All rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN (Kindle): 978-0-9950312-1-0
To our collective consciousness.
Acknowledgements
With words as my instruments, time and time again I fail to compose a melody worthy of my loved ones.
My incredible mom and dad, I love you more than words could ever express. Thank you for keeping the world big for me. And my lovely friends, Penny and Salma, without your relentless love and support, this novel would’ve remained an obscure idea at best and a faded memory at worst. I am beyond grateful that the thread of my life crossed paths with yours.
Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Contents
Chapter 0
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
Preview of Book 2
Letter to Readers
Author Bio
“Dreams are devoid of logic. They neither begin, nor end. In dreams, we do not question reality. We bend the laws of physics, and defy gravity. And I know it’s hard to believe, but you are not dreaming.”
Chapter 0
The Anvil
NEVE OPENS HER EYES TO A BLEAK SKY. To a canopy of dark clouds with slender silver linings. They are so ripe with rain that their weight is dragging them down through the atmosphere.
The sky is falling.
Neve’s focus trickles back down to earth. Down to where she finds herself enveloped by vibrant colors and gleaming lights. It’s as though she is the subject of a living painting. But whether this painting is of a miracle or a massacre, she is yet to know.
Her body heat is slowly seeping into the ground.
She tries to rise, but even the smallest movement feels like a huge undertaking. Not only does her body feel heavier than a boulder, she can barely feel her limbs.
Am I dying?
With that thought, her flickering eyelids fall shut, sweeping the world away, and all that remains is a rippling echo: ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but you are not dreaming,’ she hears in her mind over and over again. She hears it in her own voice, but those are not her words.
And then, a warm gust of wind trounces the mild scent of freshly-cut grass, bringing with it the stench of something synthetic.
Burnt plastic?
When Neve opens her eyes, she detects lights of a police vehicle oscillating between pink and blue on a nearby building. And with a short burst of static, she becomes aware of radio dialogue in the distance.
Voices of strangers are emerging from obscurity, but they’re far too dissonant to make sense of. If the occasional gasp is any indication, however, what’s happened here was no ordinary incident.
The distant wailing of an ambulance disrupts her thoughts, and with what little energy she can muster, she turns her head towards her salvation.
Instead, her focus closes in on a horribly mangled SUV with its snout completely caved in.
Neve stares at the locus of damage, incapable of making sense of what she sees. It looks like the front of the car is wrapped around an invisible column.
Is she imagining this?
And confusion paves the way for panic.
An accident…
Clicks of doors and hurried footsteps drown out the growl of the idling ambulance. And right on cue, a middle-aged paramedic emerges from behind the decimated vehicle.
At the sight of Neve, his speed begins to dwindle. And then he’s simply standing there, suspended in as much disbelief as the spectators behind him.
Snapping out of his stupor, he quickly bridges the gap. But even once he has kneeled by Neve’s side, he does not engage her.
As his bewildered gaze soars over her body, Neve tries her best to read him. But the deeper the crease between his brows become, the more terrified she is to ask him what he sees.
Is the damage to her body that catastrophic? Is that why she can barely feel a thing?
Summoning the courage, “how bad?” she manages to ask with a tattered voice.
“You’re, um—I don’t see any blood,” he says as his eyes dart about Neve’s frail frame. He keeps blinking as though expecting what’s before him to change.
To make sense.
“Do you remember what happened?” he carefully pulls a lock of Neve’s black hair from her face.
“N-no,” she stammers, welling up.
“Okay, it’s okay. We’ve got you, sweetheart.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he attempts a comforting smile, and Neve feels a rush of warmth in her right hand.
He must be holding it.
σ
Paving the way for his team, the paramedic rushes to the driver’s side of the disfigured SUV.
He peers in with anticipation of horror. Of blood and broken bones. Of lives lost and those hanging by a thread. But instead, he finds nothing.
No one.
Through the windshield’s frame, he looks further up the street to where the driver would have been thrown upon impact. But once again he finds himself at a complete loss.
He returns his focus back to the vehicle, searching the cavities for survivors. But not only does he fail to uncover even the smallest speck of blood, he realizes there are no keys in the ignition.
With a frown tainting his puzzled expression, he backs away from the vehicle and stares at the wreck in its entirety. It’s like looking at an empty can of pop that’s been crushed against a pole.
The hood is crinkled, and the front bumper and engine have been pushed back into the front seats. But the question is, upon impact with what?
The paramedic’s eyes are drawn to the unscathed crash victim as she’s placed onto the stretcher.
She is rather small, and probably weighs no more than a hundred and twenty pounds. There’s no way a girl her size could withstand a collision like this and live to tell the tale.
Things aren’t adding up.
“How’s she doing?” a police officer approaches.
“Well, she’s got no visible injuries,” the paramedic licks his lips and glances at his team. “There’s always a chance of internal b
leeding, though. So we won’t know for sure till we get her back to the hospital,” he delivers his usual spiel, but given the circumstances at hand, it feels especially contrived.
In truth, he has no idea what to think. And time is fast running out if he is to quench his curiosity. “So what exactly happened here?” he looks to the officer who puffs his cheeks as he exhales.
“Honestly, never seen anything like it,” he glances over his shoulder at the SUV. “Got a whole bunch of witnesses swearing they saw the car crash into her.” He squeezes out a chuckle. “I mean, I keep thinking it’s a prank or something..? But the skid marks, and the scraped pavement—” he points out the trail of damage behind the mangled SUV. “I honestly don’t know what to tell ya.”
“What about the driver?” the paramedic’s inquiry falls on deaf ears as the officer marches back into the crowd. Towards a young man in a dark leather jacket weaving through the onlookers.
σ
The lone wolf detects the ensuing threat, and with his Husky blue eyes, sizes up the officer marching up to him: middle-aged, balding, and quite thick around the waist. Judging by his pompous grin and labored swagger, he must have been a pretty big deal some thirty pounds ago. Definitely not the type who’d let you off the hook with a warning.
The young man tucks his blonde locks behind his ears, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through his left shoulder. And with his chin lowered, he takes a whiff of his damp shirt.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath.
The smell of alcohol is overwhelming, and it’s not something he would be able to explain. At least not without raising more questions.
Should he make a run for it? Is it worth the risk in his condition? Should he even be considering it with his track-record?
Doesn’t matter. His small window of opportunity has already come to a close.
“Don’t I know you..?” the officer bridges the gap and stands fortified between the young man and his objective.
“You’re asking me if you know me?”
And without warning, the cop’s inquisitive squint broadens, brightening his expression.
“You’re that kid,” he says with a self-satisfied grin, “Romer Anthony. I was the one who processed you a few years back, remember?”
The ambulance is taking off.
“Is there something I can help you with? Or are you just brushing up on your solo good cop/bad cop routine?”
With that remark, the cop’s face darkens slightly, but he masks it as though it’s second nature. “Fancy running into you here,” he grins from ear to ear, his tone loaded with subtext. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would’ja?”
“Nope,” Romer crosses his arms. “Just a regular, impartial bystander.”
“That right?” the officer takes a half-step forward, standing far too close for comfort. “Then why the hell are you so nervous?”
σ
Inside the racing ambulance, the paramedic ends a phone call with an anxious frown on his face. He glances down at Neve, then turns away and whispers something to the EMT.
There’s something unnerving about the secrecy of their exchange, but Neve’s mind is too foggy to figure out what it is.
She doesn’t feel any pain, but her stiff neck-brace is making it a big challenge to keep her head raised. So she quits eavesdropping and relaxes back down.
Judging by the short glance she took at her body, it doesn’t seem like she’s suffered any fatal injuries. With luck, maybe the hospital will release her after a quick check up.
Then again, they will most likely insist on keeping her until at least some of her memory returns.
Exhaling a weak sigh, Neve’s gaze soars up to the overhead lights. They run the length of the ceiling in pairs, sort of like a row of headlights on a busy street at night.
Oh my God…
Her heart skips a beat as the horrible memory of the incident comes crashing back.
Color drains from her face.
Adrenaline floods her veins.
What is she going to—
“What’s your name?” the paramedic’s voice snaps her out of her downward spiral. His tone is friendlier than before. Almost alarmingly so.
“I can’t remember,” Neve lies.
She needs to get out of here ASAP. The ambulance won’t be stopping for traffic lights, but it will have to slow down to take a turn. And when it does, she just might be able to jump out and make a run for it.
And time is running out.
Neve raises her upper body as high as she can to sneak a better look at the back doors.
Is there some sort of locking mechanism? Can she just burst through?
“Lie down, please,” the EMT presses down on her breastbone and forces her onto her back.
Wide-eyed, Neve stares up at him as the twinge of his prodding seeps in deep.
This is not how you treat a crash victim. She was right. These men aren’t who they seem.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she says, but neither acknowledges her. “Seriously, I’m okay.”
“You’re okay once the doctor clears you,” the EMT says with his back to her. He then holds up a syringe containing a faint blue serum.
Neve’s brows furrow. “I don’t need that.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just antibiotics,” the EMT flicks the tube twice, getting the air bubbles out.
“I said I don’t need it.”
“Just lie back and relax. You’re in good hands,” the paramedic smiles, but there’s something in his eyes that speaks another truth—a concoction of guilt and fear, which frankly shakes Neve to the core.
Her heart is pounding in her ears. Her breaths are shallower than a film of dust. Her anxiety is flaring, and her entire body is atremble.
“Relax your arm, please,” the EMT grabs a hold of Neve’s wrist, but she yanks it out of his grasp. “Okay, I’m going to need you to cooperate now,” he warns with a steely voice, then makes another attempt.
Neve swats the syringe out of his hand and tries to rise, but the men swiftly pin her back down.
“LET ME GO!” she screams. “ROMER! DYLAN!”
The EMT throws a strap over Neve’s floundering frame. The paramedic grabs and clasps it in, securing Neve’s midsection.
Oblivious to Neve’s pleading, they work their way down her body, applying additional reinforcements until she can’t lift a finger.
“Oh no no, please—help—” Neve gasps for air, but the sensation of drowning floods her lungs instead.
No oxygen-mask descends upon her dry lips, and no compassion rains from the men’s vacant eyes.
Is this it? Is this how I’m going to die?
She shuts her eyes as the promise of unremitting peace seduces her resolve.
It’s too tempting to surrender. To just let go, and sink into the depths of darkness.
‘I know it’s hard to believe…
But you are not dreaming.’
The EMT grabs the syringe off the floor and rises to his feet. But he drops it not a second later at the sight of Neve’s eyes igniting to a ravishing shade of scarlet.
The stretcher starts to squeal, and then collapses under Neve’s weight with a blaring bang!
The speeding ambulance starts to sink as though being weighed down by a massive anvil. And when the wheels abandon the deforming axels, it DROPS to the ground, its momentum propelling it onwards.
An ear-splitting screech saturates the atmosphere as the vehicle’s base grinds against the asphalt. And the whole world holds its breath until the ambulance lurches to a staggering stop.
In an utter state of shock, the paramedic and EMT surrender their authorities and seek refuge in the far corners of their confinement. They watch as Neve effortlessly liberates herself from her restraints, and ascends like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
With her glowing gaze glued to her assailants, she steps off the deformed stretcher, sinking the vehicle by another few inches.
&
nbsp; And then all that lingers in the air, is fear.
“Move.”
Chapter 1
Languor
~Two Weeks Ago~
The lecture hall is filled to capacity. The air is thick with tension, and the silence is all-consuming. And in the backmost row, Neve slouches in her uncomfortable aisle seat, inspecting her multiple choice sheet for what feels like the hundredth time.
Her weary gaze soars over her colleagues to the front of the hall, where the proctor is slowly pacing the platform.
His piercing glare is beyond incriminating, akin to how a detective would stare at his prime suspect in an interrogation room.
Not that Neve can blame him.
If any student were to ever cheat on any exam, this right here would be it. And at this very moment, morality feels more like a burden than a virtue.
Neve waits for him to turn his back to her section, and then she sneaks a glance at her colleague’s exam.
Poor bastard, she thinks at the sight of the messy markings on his exam package. Looks like he’s trying to use the process of elimination to weed out all the wrong answers.
She feels for him. She’d probably do the same. But unfortunately, deductive reasoning is of no use when the exam has been formulated by Marcus Holt.
A frazzled breath escapes her. She pulls her hair back behind her ears, and makes one final attempt at giving a rat’s ass:
24. Phantom Limb is an example of:
a. sensitization of cutaneous pain endings due to injury
b. sensory projection
c. referred pain
d. psychological hallucination
e. pain modulation
‘f. this.’ Neve scribbles under ‘pain modulation’, a triumphant grin tugging at the corner of her lip.
Oh, how she wishes she could just leave it. She might as well. The odds of anyone passing this exam are slim to none, even without antagonizing Holt. At least this way she can revel in her own small victory.