Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) by Michelle Irwin

Author:Michelle Irwin [Irwin, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B014AS2ARI
Published: 2015-09-23T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: WAKE-UP CALL

ALYSSA STOOD IN front of me, her face lined with tears. She held her hand protectively over her stomach. Her eyes were downcast, staring at my feet. I followed her line of sight and saw a gaping chasm between us. As soon as I saw it, the distance seemed to grow exponentially until I could barely see her features anymore. Except her eyes—they were clear as day to me.

“Alyssa, I want to talk to you!” I shouted to her. “Is there any way to cross?”

I couldn’t look for myself, I was completely immobile.

She shook her head.

“Please, Alyssa? I need to make this right!”

She raised her eyes and they locked on to mine. I expected to see them full of pain, or anger, or something. But they were dead. Flat lifeless pools of golden brown stared back at me. I cried out in strangled agony.

“Please, Alyssa! I need to talk to you!”

She shook her head and then turned away, walking slowly into the distance.

“Come back!”

She stopped but didn’t look back at me.

“Please?”

She shook her head slightly.

“I love you!”

She turned back toward me and opened her mouth to speak, but all that came was a shrill ringing.

Waking with a gasp, I opened my eyes. My heart raced in my chest as I tried to calm myself. Just a fucking dream, I realised, only the ringing from within it continued.

I sat up in bed, and regretted it the instant that I did. My head swam and my stomach churned. I didn’t know if the pain was because I needed more painkillers for the bruising on my face and cut on my arm, or if it was a result of the—oh fuck—bottle of vodka I’d drunk the night before. I really couldn’t start with that shit again—it was a slippery slope that I’d climbed to the top of not that long before, and I didn’t want to end up back at the bottom. The drinking needed to stop.

The ringing still continued. Rubbing my temples to try to clear some of the cobwebs and cottonwool that seemed to have taken up residence overnight, I wondered what the fuck it could be. Where the fuck was that ringing coming from?

I climbed—fell—out of bed and staggered toward the stairs. Whatever the fuck was ringing, the noise definitely came from downstairs. I held tightly on to the railing; my head was spinning too much to risk trying to pick my way down safely without the support. When I saw the desk, I worked out what was making the sound. The fucking phone.

Who the fuck has this number?

I debated ignoring it, but it had been ringing persistently for a while now—more than just a casual caller would try for. I walked over to it and stared at it for a few seconds, daring it to stop ringing before I could pick it up. It didn’t, so I cradled the handset to my ear.

“Hello?” My voice sounded like I’d downed a cup of bleach. Although I supposed downing a whole bottle of vodka probably wasn’t far off that.

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