Enoch's Sons: The Enoch Influence - Book One

ISBN-13: 9781482093223 / Angielski / Miękka / 2013 / 200 str.

Cherie Logan

Opis

Fear pressed in upon Lisa from every side. Darkness laid a blanket of dread that whispered panic with every heartbeat. Above that whisper was the overwhelming sound of the forest, alive and threatening. And cold. Lisa was freezing from her face to her hands and the chill was migrating upwards from her feet. She huddled, curled into a small ball, shivering and trying to breathe without sound or puffs of steam . . . trying to become invisible to any enemy lurking just beyond her vision. Twigs snapped and something big and threatening was suddenly silhouetted under the pines. Lisa clinched her jaw and refused to let loose the scream peaking within her mind. Once more she recognized that she was dreaming. She reached out for the light, knowing that Jason would come, that she needn't face this threat alone. She reached out, searching . . . and coming up empty. Fear moved in closer, clutching at her heart and chasing away every drop of hope. Lisa bolted upright in her bed, her hand reaching out for the lamp with lightening speed. With a simple click the darkness fled and she looked around her familiar room. It wasn't much, just a bed with a blue cover, a bookcase, and a dresser with the tiny, invaluable lamp. It was just The Terror as she had come to think of the lifelong nightmare. When she was a little girl, she would lay in bed after the dream, barely breathing, gathering courage to reach out her hand to the light. In those endless moments between the dream and full wakefulness the emotions within her would erupt into explosions of dark imaginings. Over the years she learned to move quickly in turning on the light. Such a simple act but it healed her inner screams. It was silly to still have nightmares. Lisa climbed out of bed and began her morning routine. She paused while fixing her hair and gazed into the mirror. Twenty-two and with long, wavy dark brown hair and expressive hazel eyes, she was complimented often enough to know she was attractive. Being pretty with a quiet personality meant the occasional assumption of snobbery from those who barely knew her. Later, those who had once been strangers always felt compelled to tell her what they had first thought and their confessions always cut her to the core. She was working on being more outgoing. It was happening, slowly, but she doubted it would ever be easy to open up to people. Dress, face, hair and breakfast were quickly crossed off her mental list. As she started out the door, she grabbed the keys and remembered prayer. It wasn't that prayer was a new concept to Lisa. She had been taught while a babe how to repeat the memorized plea to the Divine. Now, though, prayer was completely different. As she had grown in her new faith, prayer had taken on a more personal meaning. Setting the keys on the table she returned to her bedroom, knelt and opened her heart. Just before she stood, she quietly, tentatively requested freedom from The Terror.