Chapter One of Daughter of Stone by J.R. Molt

JR Molt
Nov 15, 2020
10 min read

Updated: Nov 18, 2020

I stifle a heavy sigh and force what I hope looks like a smile. I try to ignore the gathering of sweat building on my temple from standing out in the muggy, insect swarmed suburban backyard of Denver Colorado. Oh hell. Come on, Celeste. You have dealt with worse situations. You can do this. I silently repeat this as the bead of sweat trickles slowly, almost mocking me as it slides down the side of my face. I check my watch and internally grimace. The last few hours at this boring barbecue could not have only been twenty-three minutes. I attempt another smile at a woman across the yard from me juggling two children in her arms; all while the third attempts to claim the rest of the poor woman’s fraying patience. I smile at her just as the youngest of the three, the one cradled in his mother’s arms, releases a volcano worthy amount of spit-up directly on the front of his mother’s blouse. Only at that moment, the unfortunate and now vomit-covered woman decides to make eye contact with me. Shit. Now she definitely thinks I am laughing at her. The woman blushes deeply and ducks her head, dashing for the solitude of the air conditioner and the nearest bathroom. I decide to pretend that... whatever that was... did not just happen. I turn to survey the yard. Beer belly, beer belly, receding hairline, way too tan, beer belly... ah, there he is! I make eye contact with the, by far, most attractive man at the party; dark, crew-cut hair with his rugged yet charming five o’clock shadow covering his strong jaw. Dressed in khakis, and a light blue button-down shirt, it is a common look, but with his muscles, not even to mention his dreamy, piercing hazel eyes, he can really pull it off. Yum. He catches me staring and flashes a wink at me. When did I become one of those girls who sits in wonder at how I got so lucky?? I softly laugh at myself as he says goodbye to his friend, beer belly guy number two, and makes his way back to me. I really should have written down some names, I think to myself as Keirion Harland, my dreamboat date reaches me, planting a kiss on my cheek.

“Would you like a fresh drink, Miss Bonaparte?” he flirtatiously bows in faux servitude.

“Well, don’t you know how to treat a lady right?” I reply finally with a real smile, automatically relaxing in his presence.

“You would think by now he knows that you are nowhere near a lady!” A voice cuts through the crowd of suburban adults with the spirit of something that did not belong there. Only one person I know could waltz into a party knowing no one but me and announce herself with no hesitation. Ridley. I turn around to find her, which ended up not being difficult. As always, the flamboyant city girl is rocking the most insane trends not caring if they are ridiculous or a bit unreasonable. She stands nearly half a foot above all the others; tall, even aside from the ridiculous shoes she is wobbling around the lawn on. Dressed in her favorite neon, spiked wedges, matched with 70’s style bell bottom high waisted pants and a Bon Jovi graphic crop top tee, she is definitely getting some looks from both the housewives and pot-bellied husbands. Stunning, sassy, and completely out of place, she was my first and last friend I made since moving to Lincoln, Nebraska eight years ago. We were both new to the city when we met. Her, fresh out of Manhattan, and I from London, together we got to explore the new city with her unstoppable energy and my Yelp app. We worked our way through restaurants, city attractions, apartments, jobs, and men. That is, until about eighteen months ago when our crazy twosome moved to Denver and were joined by the ever adaptable Keirion.

“About time you arrived!” I say, not nearly matching the same volume.

“Sorry, but not sorry, my darling! I was drawing out the inevitable.” Ridley said, smirking.

“Stuffy, suburban couples are not my scene and I had to self-medicate before braving it.” That explains her even more than usual boldness; this is vodka cranberry driven. Keirion and I try to stifle our laughter as we eye each other.

“Careful what you say!” Keirion says with a lighthearted tone, “We may be one of these ‘stuffy suburban couples’ that you are referring to sooner than you think!” Catching Ridley’s right elbow as she stumbles on the freshly mowed lawn, my eyes widen. What?? Were we actually at that point in our relationship already? Although surprised, I find myself not repulsed, like I would have previously been. Maybe I would be cut out for a normal, quiet life after all... My friend snorts a laugh loudly, and the people around us shoot a displeased look in our direction before beginning to rapidly whisper conspiratorially with each other. I quickly turn back around and avoid eye contact before I can tell what they are saying.

“Don’t let them get to you. Just ignore it.” Keirion mutters to me, understanding shows in his eyes. Hmm, they are more green than blue today... I think, distracted for a second, and I lean in and peck him on the lips, breaking back into a smile. Keirion is the only one who knows I can read lips easily as a book.

“Dude! Can we walk or are you just going to stare at each other?” said Ridley, ever impatient. Keirion and I each holding an arm, trying to stabilize her as she attempts to wobble up the numerous deck stairs.

“Sorry, Rid. Let’s get some water in you.” I say, trying to gently lead her up the stairs.

“God, I am starving! Got anything to eat in this place?” she shouts at the nearest party goer. I grit my teeth and attempt to send a thought telepathically, hoping our years of friendship had at least gained us that talent. Get it together Rid! I don’t want to have to explain you to everyone. After making it to the top of the stairs, she demands release to relieve her exceedingly full bladder. Guess that didn’t work. I grimace and turn to face my boyfriend.

“Sorry Keir, I should have known not to mention it to her. It isn’t exactly her scene.” Or honestly mine... I think, then feel immediately guilty.

“Why don’t you go get some real food in her, and make sure she gets home safe?” He replies.

“How about I get her home, then come back to join you again?” I say, trying to make up for the internal elation that had subconsciously surged at the offer.

“I think you have suffered through enough of my coworkers for the evening.” Keirion says, smirking and looking around. I lean in for a goodbye kiss and he whispers in my ear, “ I did mean what I said, about this being us, hopefully soon.” I snap my head back and look into his eyes trying to find a hidden joke or maybe even sarcasm. I sputter trying to find a way to reply, but Ridley mercifully rejoins us, and I am spared from answering.

“Bye babe, see you tomorrow!” I say instead as I turn to yank my friend out to my car parked out front. I walk away, missing the half-wave and hopeful smile that crosses Keirion’s face, watching me go.

I wake in the dorms to sirens wailing, lights flashing, and my roommate’s melodious voice yelling at me to get my ass out of bed. Thanks to my years of elite training I shoot up to standing, gun pulled from my pillow and into my hand, locked and loaded, before I can even take another breath. I remember my classes, sweeping the room while I analyze what is happening. Efficiency, awareness, action. I holster the gun and lunge for my go-bag once I note the room is, for the time being, secure.

Pru beckons to me and mouths, “Must be drill night.”

I roll my eyes and reply mouthing, “Oh you think so?”

To say Pru and I are not friends is an understatement. We are actually rivals. Our academy believes it to be character building to be placed with your biggest competitor. Something about teaching you to sleep with one eye open, mixed with the constant motivation to focus singularly on your schoolwork. Before we can try and decide what our next move should be, a tin can-like clanging sounds outside our door. What is that? I turn to ask; but before I can, a small cylinder bounces then rolls into the room. Smoke grenade. Together we decide not to stick around to see who threw it. In our school, it is worse than detention if you get caught during a drill. We both turn and launch ourselves out of the only window in our room. Hands scraping on the brick exterior, I catch myself on an old eaves trough before I can fall 60 feet to the stone walk and the dark sweeping gardens that lie below me. I hear a whispered cursing and turn to see Pru has grabbed the rusted end of the eaves. Well, that is not going to last long... I reach for her, and panic begins to grip me. Realization flashes in her eyes. NO! Our eyes connect and we both know I am going to be too late. The fragile metal gives out, and with a terrifying scream; Pru falls to the hard ground.

“Celeste!!! Wake up, sweetie! It is a dream. I am here. Wake up!” I snap my eyes open and reality hits me. You are okay. That was eight years ago. You are safe. Keirion has one hand gently shaking my shoulder, the other holding a red and already swelling lip.

“I am so sorry, Keir!! Did I hit you again?!” I groan, sleep filling my voice.

“It’s okay, your knee just caught me. I didn't know you could kick that high!” He says, trying to lighten the mood and my distress. “What was this one about?” Crap... what did I tell him last time? I rack my brain for a new nightmare. Anything but the truth, unfortunately.

“I um... was being chased by the Demogorgon from Stranger Things.” I make up, pulling from the first thing I could think of.

“Well, no wonder you were flailing so hard! Did you kick its ass?” He says, starting to laugh. I join him and force a soft giggle.

“Of course I did!” I reply.

“Coming from the girl who won’t kill a fly... but I am sure you did CeeCee.” He says lovingly and only a slight tease of sarcasm. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I repeat to myself as he kisses my forehead and rolls back onto his side, already drifting back to sleep. I lay back down next to him, attempting to fall back asleep myself. Begging my brain for what seems like the millionth time to not dwell on the past. I finally fall back into the dark embrace of sleep.

My fingers tap a continuous stream across my keyboard the next day at work. I glance around the office space, mentally logging all the faces and emotions that I can see. Bored, bored, hungover, bored... I sigh to myself. Just another post-weekend slump at the office. I turn back to my work and carry on typing the description of the new item to be sold on the company’s website. My job as a Content Writer is far from exciting. I stare with a glazed look at the logo for the company, stamped in black and red on my mouse pad. ST&T; Survival Tech and Tools. Anything you need for the up and coming apocalypse can be bought through our website, with free shipping on anything over $50. The newer company is a decent success! The best part? No chance of running into anyone I went to school with. I shake my head trying to refocus on the latest survival knife the company is debuting; I reach for the unsharpened weapon resting on my desk. As I twirl it through my fingers out of habit, my mind drifts back to my nightmare from the night before once more. That is the sixth one this month. I have got to pull it together. I glance up at my computer screen, now with the screensaver bouncing around, thinking. I shake the mouse waking the console and the webpage flicks alive. I bite my lip. What can it hurt? Millions of people Google every day! I hesitate another few moments before I click the search bar. Then I begin to type: Amethyst Academy. With another glance around at my floor, confirming again no one is paying any attention to me, I close my eyes bracing myself, and with a deep breath, I click the button. Here! First on the page is what I am looking for. With an inner trepidation, I lock away the memories before they can begin to resurface.

“Not now brain,” I mutter to myself. How about when I am sleeping? I think sarcastically as a half-smile cracks on my now tense face. I click to open the webpage to my old school. Wow, I think, slightly impressed, internet-accessible now. You have come a long way! I look at the homepage and its main picture. The large dark bricked building held more secrets than the world would ever, and could ever know. I brace myself and fight my resurfaced bad habit of channeling nerves into chewing my lip. I scroll down the page to where the description reads in an uncharacteristic bright, yet professional font.

“The Amethyst Academy strives to provide intensely interactive and distinctly prudent courses to all of our specially selected students. All who achieve results in life that can not be put into words.” I snort with laughter, this time fueled by annoyance and humor. If people only knew how accurate that description was. If I tell you I have to kill you... can not be put into words... same thing, different phrase. I think, before clicking out of the web search window. Shaking my head again to try and dislodge the past that I, for some stupid reason, just decided to voluntarily delve back into. I return to my work. This life is better. Remember that, CeeCee! Remember why you left. This is your choice. Quiet monotony over the risk of death any day. Across the room, I see my coworker Janine waving her water cup at me and I grab my own to join in the walk to the break room. I walk away not noticing the light blinking next to the desktop camera; the signal that it was active and someone was watching.

If you want to know who was watching and find out more about Celeste, order your copy of Daughter of Stone today! Whether it is a gift for a loved one or a gift for yourself, I won't tell. Click here now.