A Neophyte’s Tale
An Abbey Thorne Short Story
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CK Dawn
Copyright © 2015 by CK Dawn
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products mentioned within this work. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
www.ckdawn.com
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Books
by CK Dawn
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A Neophyte’s Tale,
An Abbey Thorne Short Story
(PREQUEL, The Netherwalker Series)
Cloak of Shadows
(BOOK ONE, The Netherwalker Series)
Cloak of Secrets *Fall 2015
(BOOK TWO, The Netherwalker Series)
Veil of Light *2016
(BOOK THREE, The Netherwalker Series)
*projected release
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Overview
Prologue: Ships Passing
Urban Surviving
Worlds Colliding
Hope Rising
Epilogue: Cloak Unveiling
Sneak Peek: Cloak of Shadows
A Note from the Author
The Netherwalker Series
Acknowledgements
#IndieBooksBeSeen
To all the lost souls out there. May you find shelter, kindness, and your way home.
Abigail Thorne hears voices. Well, one voice repeating one word over and over again. Soft and sweet with the promise of power, it calls to her. The twelve year old has no idea that the tender little word is a catalyst that serves to reveal a world hidden to most humans. Abbey has yet to discover that following the word’s call to its origin will change the course of her life forever.
Abbey and her mother don’t have much, and depending on the day, sometimes they don’t even have a roof over their heads. She wants more out of life than just wondering where her next meal is. So she shouldn’t be wasting her time daydreaming about going on a selfish quest, should she? Does she have the strength to leave behind what little she has? Will she have the courage to break through the illusions surrounding her and lift the cloak of shadows?
Prologue ~ Ships Passing
New York ~ 2000
The nine year old was trying to match her father’s long stride as they walked down the street to the movie theater. It was a warm sunny day and her father had finally relented to leave his desk, piled high with countless gadgets, and spend it with his daughter doing whatever she wanted. A new movie called Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was playing and the young girl wanted to check out the new fighting styles. As they walked she practiced some combat techniques of her own and tried to open her senses to her surroundings. Birds were chirping in the trees that lined the sidewalk. The scents of freshly baked lemon biscotti and French roast coffee from the bakery three blocks down mingled with the smells of hot tires on asphalt and three day old dumpster trash. And, there was a baby crying in the alley.
A baby? she thought suspiciously. The young girl could have sworn the cries had come from deep within a nearby alley and not from an open apartment window.
As she and her father neared the alley the young girl slowed, stopped, and bit her bottom lip. Only silence greeted her now, but something still felt wrong. The darkest crevices of the alley seemed almost too quiet, as though they were hiding something or someone. She slowed her heart rate, steadied her breath, and concentrated. Her mouth watered in anticipation.
“Practicing your hunting skills?” her father whispered proudly.
The young girl nodded. “I think there’s something down there,” she whispered back remembering her parents’ lessons to avoid panicking dociles.
Her father nodded, not questioning his daughter’s uncanny pre-gloamer senses. “Hmm, I better report it then,” he said taking his phone from his pocket as he resumed walking down the street.
The young girl didn’t follow. Instead, she looked deeper into the alley trying to pierce the darkness with hunter eyes she did not yet have. Again, only blackness and silence greeted her.
Up the street, her father stopped as he ended his call, “Come on, Lourdiebug, we’re going to be late.”
“Okay, Daddy!” As the young girl ran to catch up, she could have sworn she felt the flux shift followed by an almost imperceptible fading laughter, gloating and self-satisfied, echoing from the alley.
Urban Surviving
New York ~ 2012
The word was back, soft and sweet, strumming in her ears with its gentle caress of hope and promise. It was just an ordinary word, but it felt so tactile, so kind and pure, it had to mean something. With the word always came the pull, a yearning, an unexplainable desire, to be part of a something bigger. Pulling her towards... something, but towards what, she couldn’t say exactly. She only knew what direction called to her. South, always south, toward Manhattan. Maybe someday she would be brave enough and go, just leave everything behind and seek out the simple little word that sang so profoundly in her mind and haunted her so lovingly.
But, not today. Today, they were on the move again, and moving further away from the direction of the call. Her mom didn’t like to stay in one place for too long, not since she and stepdad had lost the house and parted ways. “‘Too many shadows,’ he tells me. ‘Take her, she’s yours’.” Her mom, Jennifer Thorne, would mumble in her sleep after she had drunk too much. Her mom always tried to hide the bottles along with her staggering and slurring, but Abigail Thorne knew. Kids, especially smart inquisitive twelve year olds left to their own devices for days on end like Abbey, always knew what their parents try to hide.
Abbey put the black trash bag containing what few belongings she had under her pillow and sat on the latest bare mattress. Home, she thought, shuddering as she stared at the big yellowish-brown stain covering half her mattress. The room had little in the way of furniture. There was an old mirror that had been permanently glued to the closet door with a fading “Welcome to the Jungle” sticker in its upper corner. Abbey caught a glimpse of herself, but quickly turned away. Her rounded cheeks were sunken and her wavy blonde hair was dirty and unkempt. The sights around her were cruel, full of a grim despair that never seemed to end. She closed her eyes on this dreary world and listened to her other senses instead.
With her eyes closed, smells seemed richer and sounds became symphonic. From across the alley, she heard a mother singing to her crying baby. Someone else was cooking with their apartment window wide open. The smells of curry were heavenly. Abbey ignored the grumbling in her stomach and focused on some joyous sounds from below. It was dusk and cold, but a few kids were still playing ball in the alley. Abbey wondered if she knew any of them. She and her mom hadn’t moved too far from old haunts, yet.
As she wiped a tear from her cheek, she made a silent vow to stay in school or find a nearby library. She would keep reading and studying no matter how far they ran this time. Learning and normalcy with t
he few friends she had was what she wanted and desperately needed. But, she also craved something darker. She craved something that made her bleak reality fade away, if only for a little while. Something she knew was in her mother’s bathroom under the sink, far left hand side, behind the roach spray and forty-grit toilet paper.
Abbey waited until she heard her mother’s breathing slow as she fell into a deep intoxicated sleep on the sofa. Silently she retrieved her mother’s hidden vodka bottle and headed back to her own room. Her mom wouldn’t notice the missing bottle, she never did. Jennifer would simply think she had finished it herself and get another, and then maybe one more.
Bottle in one hand, Abbey ripped the mocking sticker from her mirror. She placed an old wooden chair beside the small window in her bedroom and propped the broken window-sill open with a large stick she had found on the fire exit stoop. She sat in the dark, cracked open the bottle, and gazed out into the night searching for the origins of the homey dinner she had smelled earlier. Her stomach growled again, thinking of the meal. She clenched her eyes shut. When was the last time I ate?
Abbey’s eyes popped open when she heard a faraway doorbell chime. With her senses heightened she followed the sound and heard a fading conversation “…thanks for the tip, Bernie. See you next Friday.” A door shut then Abbey noticed the lovely smells of buttered popcorn mingling with the arrival of pizza. She decided to peek out of her own window to investigate.
The man’s window was wide open and he had his bare feet propped up on a worn wooden coffee table enjoying a large bowl of buttery kernels. She quirked her head, Bernie, huh? Nice to meet ya. Abbey’s attention was drawn to the windowsill and giggled when she noticed a smaller bowl of popcorn. He had placed it right outside his window, obviously waiting for someone. The man, Bernie, seemed warm and kind. When his TV screen lit up with the familiar blue words, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...,” Abbey knew she had found a kindred spirit.
But for how long? she thought. Her mom would undoubtedly have them on the move again, and soon. Just when Abbey found a little happiness and settled in to a place, her mother would pack them both up and leave.
Abbey looked down at the bottle in her hand and instead of taking a drink, put the cap back on and placed it on the floor. She wanted to enjoy the moment with all her senses intact, not dulled by alcohol. Abbey gave a contented sigh as she listened to the symphonic explosion of the movie’s theme song fade into a galactic battle.
Suddenly a tiny black kitten jumped down from the fire escape and landed on Bernie’s windowsill, purring so loud Abbey swore she could hear it from across the alley. The scrappy little thing meowed happily before eating from the small bowl of popcorn. Wait, Abbey quirked her head again, Do kittens eat popcorn? Is that a thing?
Then the kindest voice in the warmest southern accent Abbey had ever heard pierced through the darkness. His voice resonated with the same tangible prospect of hope that her simple little word always had as it rang in her head. Abbey couldn’t help but weep as if Bernie had spoken directly to her instead of welcoming the scraggly kitten in, “Hiya, hon. Welcome home.”
†
Looking out the living room window again she tried to determine what time it was. 6:45 maybe 7:00 p.m.? Abbey thought.
Her mother hadn’t come home last night and Abbey was beginning to wonder if she would even come home tonight. From the kitchen counter she took the heels of bread from the now empty bag and made herself a cheese sandwich. Deli meat was a luxury she hadn’t known for weeks. She didn’t bother grilling it, she couldn’t. The gas had been shut off a day ago.
It hadn’t always been like this. She remembered being happy before her stepdad left. Her mom even seemed happy, most of the time-- or at least not drunk as often.
Abbey wondered if she should report her mother missing, but then what? Get stuck in the system, even if they did find her mother. She knew the drill. No, her mom would be back, eventually. Abbey would give her one more day. Her mom always came back after three days.
From the chair in her bedroom, she sat down to enjoy her neighbor’s television and her cheese sandwich. Bernie’s sci-fi marathons these past few months had kept Abbey sane and sober. Watching the tiny alley cat grow more comfortable around this friendly southerner had been the cherry on top of her lonely life. Abbey allowed herself a little bit of anticipatory excitement as she wondered what film he would watch today. Positioning herself so that she could avoid detection but see her neighbor’s TV screen, she readied herself for his evening show. Oddly, his TV was off and it looked like he was about to leave. This change in routine had Abbey curious, so she threw on her shoes and followed him.
Keeping her distance, Abbey put her hood up as she ducked behind corners and stood behind trees, making the chase a game of sorts. She followed Bernie down the stairs of the subway station and covertly slid on her knees under one of the ticket stalls. No one had noticed. She giggled to herself and her stealthy moves.
When they emerged in Manhattan Abbey turned in circles enjoying all the sights and sounds.
Her word was with her and seemed to be stronger here, like she suspected it would be. It was as though the innocuous string of letters was wrapping her in a blanket, welcoming her in out of the cold, and saying ‘you belong here with us.’
They made their way down 5th street and Abbey watched from across the street near Central Park as Bernie entered a luxury apartment building. Ooh, fancy! She knew the apartments had to cost well over a million dollars each.
Abbey quirked her head. Huh, so weird. He’s got an apartment, why is he here? Oh! Maybe he’s the janitor. Hmm, the Vaughn Building, huh? Sounds uber snooty!
From behind the reception desk a very eager young man held up a plate of cookies and smiled. Abbey’s neighbor waved them off, shook his head no, and headed for the building’s elevator without looking back.
The young man behind the desk seemed to deflate with disappointment as he slowly put the cookies back behind the desk. He looked out the building’s vast windows as if he were waiting for someone. Abbey ducked behind a tree.
Definitely not the janitor then. Abbey tapped her finger on her chin as she quirked her head again, so, who are you Mr. Alley Cat Dude?
†
Abbey was tired, tired of being the only adult in the relationship with her mother. She wanted to play and dance and do normal things that normal twelve year olds were supposed to do, not wait around like a worried parent wondering where her mother was all the time. She was also angry. Angry at the yelling and sirens that always woke her up in the middle of the night. Angry at her mother for leaving yet again. She hated this neighborhood and she hated her mother for abandoning her to it. Abbey tried to stay in touch with her stepdad. Every time she and her mom moved, she would leave him a message with their new address, but he would never pick up the phone and he had never written.
After her little excursion to the Vaughn Building four months ago things had gotten a little better between her and her mom for a while. Jennifer had gotten a part time job at a deli down the street and had promised to enroll Abbey in school. Abbey tried to believe her mom’s promises that things would change, but she knew better. As always, her mom’s pattern of bad habits had surfaced again. Abbey felt completely alone and empty as she sat in the dark apartment and waited for her mother to come home.
A sound she couldn’t immediately identify woke Abbey. As she struggled to get her bearings, she realized she had fallen asleep. She heard keys scratching at the door as her mother fumbled with the lock.
Abbey jumped up, rushing to the door. She pulled it open and began admonishing the intoxicated woman. “I’ve been alone for three days! Mom you promised,” she then looked her mother over with the aid of the hallway lights, assessing whatever injuries she may have sustained during her absence. “And, where are your shoes?”
“Shh, don’t exaggerate. I’ve only been gone a couple of hours.” Jennifer Thorne moved pa
ssed her daughter, leaning on one side of the small hallway for support. A grocery bag was tucked beneath her arm. Abbey looked at it with a sigh, hoping the bag contained food but knowing that it most likely held alcohol.
“No, it has been three days! Just like last time! You’ve been with him again, haven’t you?”
“Let him taste the sugar and you get the candy for free,” her mother said, with an evil laugh and a swift, graceless shake of her butt.
The bag full of cheap vodka crashed to the ground as Jennifer lost her balance.
Anger swelled inside Abbey. “Pimping yourself out to a drug dealer to support your stupid habits? Stepdaddy would be so proud!”
A smack on the face usually came next, but not this time. Abbey watched like she was having an out of body experience as her mother raised her hand to strike. Time seemed to slow as she easily moved out of the way. Not just once, but twice, and on the third swing Abbey stood steadfast, grabbed her stunned mother’s wrist, and pushed her away.
Abbey looked down at her hands. How did I do that? It’s like I knew where mom would strike before she did it.
Jennifer stumbled back against the kitchen counter. Her eyes were wide as she stared at her daughter almost as if she were afraid of the twelve year old. “It’s your fault he’s gone-- Shit!”
Whatever cruelty Jennifer was about to assault her daughter with was interrupted by a shard of glass that had sliced her foot. Stumbling towards their kitchenette she managed to step on a few more pieces.
Abbey moved to her mother’s side to help her walk. “Stop. Just stop, you’re stepping on more. OMG, even drunk you’re so--,” she frantically waved her free hand trying to think of how to describe how disappointed she was in her mother’s behavior. “You’re so typical! Drunk or sober you sound like every other horrible mother in this stupid building, blaming their kid instead of taking responsibility for--” Abbey refused to let her tears fall. Instead, she pulled a handkerchief from inside her hoodie and tried to wipe away the blood from her mother’s foot.
Jennifer pushed Abbey’s hand away. “Get off me. It’s not that bad.”
Abbey felt like a stranger looking in at her life. A scene from a sad movie was merely playing out before her as she unthinkingly folded the sullied handkerchief and placed it on the kitchen counter. She even refrained from asking her mother the same questions that plagued her every time they argued. Why did you even have me? And, why do you keep dragging me around everywhere? The answers didn’t seem to matter anymore. Abbey was numb to her surroundings as she looked around the barren apartment. She could almost predict everything that would follow. Her mom was already limping to the couch, lighting a cigarette. Her foot was still bleeding as she propped it on the milk crate they called their coffee table.
Abbey scoffed at her next prediction. In fifteen seconds mom’s chest will start to heave, then she’ll begin to cry. This is where she apologizes and I become a blithering, snotty mess. Then it’ll all start over again.
Abbey took a deep breath and started before her mom could begin to cry. “Mom, I love you. You’re the only family I have, but I need more. I want to go back to school and I want to stop stealing your stash of vodka. All of this moving is just not healthy for us. My friend Maggie said I could stay with her for a while,” she lied. She would clear it with Maggie when she showed up at her house. Abbey looked down at her feet as Jennifer began to cry. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Several minutes of Jennifer’s sobbing turned into sniffles. “Baby girl I--,” Jennifer paused and sat up. “Wait. What did you do with my vodka?”
Abbey shook her head in defeat and walked to their front door without looking back. “I’ll be at Maggie’s,” she said, and slammed the door.