Requiem of the Soul by A. Zavarelli EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: A. Zavarelli
- Language: English
- Genre: Gothic Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
IVY
I keep my head ducked against the rain as I climb out of my car and tug
my bag out from behind the seat. It’s a worn messenger I’d found
collecting dust in the attic before I left for school this past fall. I strap
it over my shoulder and hurry toward the apartment building.
In my rush to get inside, I almost miss it. But some things you don’t
have to see to know they’re there. Some things you feel.
And the instant I feel it, I come to a dead stop in the middle of the lot.
Rain soaks through my thin coat, but I ignore it as I turn to look at the one
car that doesn’t belong here. That doesn’t fit. A shiny black sedan with
tinted windows. Rolls Royce. Their signature vehicle. Old-fashioned.
Elegant. And screaming of money and power.
My heart races.
Through the windshield, I can see that no one’s inside, so I walk a few
steps closer, and if I had any doubt who it might belong to, it’s wiped out in
the next moment because there, embossed on the leather headrest, I see it.
Even through the rain-skewed glass, even in this dark night and without the
help of the busted streetlamp, I can make out the gold lettering in the
familiar font.
I.V.I.
I shudder, cold and sweating at once.
I always knew they could come at any time, didn’t I? That was part of
the agreement.
“No.” Shaking my head, I turn to the building’s entrance and walk
toward it, no longer hurrying through the rain.
It doesn’t have to be something bad. Maybe my dad’s come for a
surprise visit.
Maybe it’s the reason Evangeline hasn’t answered her texts all night.
Once inside the building, I stop and take a deep breath in, then out.
It’s nothing bad. The car could be Dad’s.
Then where is Joseph, his trusted driver?
I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment, looking around for
Joseph or my father. I don’t see either man.
My father has a key, so he’s probably waiting inside my apartment.
But something’s wrong. I’ve felt it all day.
And there’s no avoiding whatever it is. I know that when I walk down
the hall to see the door of my apartment is ajar. It’s just slight, not left wide
open, and there’s a light on inside. Whoever it is doesn’t want to surprise
me.
I push the door open but don’t quite enter. Instead, I stand on my own
welcome mat looking into the living room of the small apartment.
The light is coming from my bedroom.
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