**Originally posted January 2015

This work in progress is in first draft. I wanted to post a few chapters so everyone can read my main novel I've worked on for the past year or so. I accidentally deleted my original when trying to get it ready for a contest which required less words. It never got entered as I couldn't shorten it enough and then had to rewrite all that I had deleted.

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Brigid, left at St. Claire's Orphanage at the age of six, on a steady path to being news anchor for the Dorren News when her world is rocked by a news story that opens the past in ways she never could have imagined. Journey with her into the worlds of White and Black Magic, into a past and future that most could not even imagine could exist. Find out why her mother left her; who murdered her father; and why her past was hidden from her. Can she find her mother before it's too late? ~The Key (in editing and hopefully published this year)

Preface
November 2, 1980

Carol, tired from lack of sleep for the past few nights, slowly sits up in bed. She looks longingly at the empty spot next to her, still showing the impression of her husband in its padding. She reaches to touch the indentations, running her hand along them, cold to her touch - not unlike his body was when she kissed his lifeless form just days ago. She reaches for his pillow and inhales, breathing in the aroma of his after shave mingled with his own bodily scent. Tears escape from her eyes as she remembers that night, so vividly that it seems a scene playing out before her.

She had gotten there too late to warn him but not too late to say goodbye. As he lay dying, she cradled him in her arms, caressing his face as his green eyes looked into hers, their gazes locking while the life drained out of him. His final words, to take care of Brigid and herself. He said, “I love you”, one last time in a whisper so low that she had to lean in closely to hear it.

It was hard to watch the light fade from his eyes and to see how he had suffered at their hands. His body, mangled, torn and broken in so many places. His clothes, tattered and soaked with his blood. The room was a shambles, with nothing left unbroken. Charred places on the walls and a scent of sulfur told of a major battle. Windows smashed, blood stained glass shattered upon the floor.

She sat there, cradling him while his blood poured from his body, and she screamed. Just screamed for it seemed an eternity until someone, some hands, gently grabbed her shoulders and she heard a man say, “He’s gone, Carol. There’s nothing we can do for him now. Brigid needs you now more than ever. You must be strong for her now as you’re all she has left.”

She knew that voice without even looking to see who it was. She knew. Pastor Brian, family friend and mentor. Samuel trusted him, and because of that, she felt safe with him too. She didn’t trust many, never had as life had been hard. People could be cruel, and even more-so if one was “different”. All her life they had tormented her, pointing, calling names, even hit her and threw things at her. She found a way to protect herself though and after that, they left her alone. Until she met Sam and finally opened her heart, let down her guard for him. Wasn’t easy but he was persistent. He knew, he had told her once. Knew they were soul mates and meant to be together, had been together in prior lives. Sam was like her. Maybe that was the bond that allowed them to be so close, intertwined to the point that she knew, even felt the first blow when they attacked him.

There she was, holding his lifeless body while his blood seeped into her jeans, into her skin beneath. She gently placed his head down on the tiled floor and got to her feet. Blinded by tears, she was guided out of the church by Pastor Brian and driven back to her home. A home that was filled with loving memories of her husband, daughter, her family.

The rest was a blur. She must have showered as there was none of Sam’s blood on her when she awoke. Her clothes from last night were no where to be seen. She guessed she must have put them in the laundry. She ached. Not a physical ache. The kind of ache that reaches and rips at the soul. The kind that can’t be fixed with Tylenol or even prescription pain medicine. Slowly, she caresses his pillow. Seeing him, smelling him. He holds her, this vision that seems so real. Caresses her face and then his hand slides down her back and pulls her to him. He gently kisses her cheek, then her lips. She feels the passion rising and then the vision is gone. Too soon it’s gone and she’s left alone with an aching so deep it leaves her breathless.

She went through the rest of that day as an automaton - going through the motions and doing what needed to be done. Making arrangements and decisions that needed to be done quickly as there was no time to grieve.

The evil that had taken her husband from her would be coming for her daughter at some point, though she was certain they didn’t realize the truth just yet. If they had, they would have finished it when they killed Sam. She had snooped around in her husband’s private room and found the truth there. Her daughter, their daughter, would replace him as The Key, something that had never before happened. It had always been passed to someone far removed from any connection to their predecessor, as a precaution. This time though, it went to a direct descendant. Their daughter had been born with a gift never before seen at this magnitude. A power in its infancy now, but once it matured, it would be a power strong enough to face off and defeat Satan himself. Because of this, Carol had to do whatever it took to protect her daughter, even if it meant sending her away to a safer place and going into harm’s way to watch BaelBarMor and its followers.

She had come to this decision after speaking with Pastor Brian, both agreeing that Brigid would be safer elsewhere. The plan was for Brigid to go to St. Claire’s orphanage and for Carol to infiltrate BaelBarMor in order to watch them and report any major events. Pastor Brian would still watch over Brigid and ensure her safety. It was the hardest decision she had ever made. A monumental sacrifice in order to keep her daughter safe.

On that cool crisp morning, she brought Brigid to St. Claire’s, leaving a note with the pendant that Brigid inherited. A weighty pendant for such a small child. She watched as her daughter, unaware of the huge change her life was taking, ran to play with the other kids, giggling as she did. Her pony tails bobbed in rythm to the beat of her steps. Her laughter would haunt Carol every night for the rest of her life. A dream of that last day, replaying each night, as she walked out of her daughter’s life and into the very dangerous world of BaelBarMor.

Chapter 1
July, 2006 - Brigid

“The key! I have to find the key! I have to find…”

She awakens with a start, covered in sweat and disoriented. After a few seconds, her mind focuses and she knows she’s safe in her room. The feeling of panic is dissipating as she scans her room and sees familiar objects in the darkness, no sign of intruders or whatever had her screaming in her sleep. Her sheets are entwined around her, almost holding her prisoner and with a little struggle, she frees herself of them.

She looks at her alarm clock with its bright red numbers and almost winces at the intensity. 5:30 am. Ugh. She doesn’t feel rested. Running her hands in her hair, she tries to shake herself awake. Tries to shake off the remnants of her nightmare. This feeling she has of being watched, stalked - it’s how they always end. The nightmares.

She sits for a while on her bed, leaning back against the headboard with her knees drawn up to her chest. Closing her eyes, she starts to drift off just slightly and hears her name..”Brigid…Brigid…” almost as though coming from far away but yet right next to her. She jolts awake and jumps out of bed.

Goosebumps are forming on her arms. She feels panic rising as she scans the room again. Dresser against the left wall, just a shadow in the darkness. Her bed on her right and next to that the small nightstand with her alarm clock, book and small light for reading. Her closet is on the left wall, near the dresser and the door is slightly ajar. Did she close it before bed? She couldn’t recall, but now, that open door in the darkened room is creeping her out.

Instinctively, she reaches for her pendant. It’s always served as a comfort to her, sort of her protective shield - as silly as that may sound. It's what had gotten her through some very bad times. Turning on the lamp on the nightstand, she starts to feel better as the room is illuminated - save for the closet. The interior is still dark.

Her heart, still pounding in her chest from the near panic she felt just moments ago, is also making her head pound to the beat. If she doesn’t calm down she knows she will get a killer headache and she doesn’t need that. She’s angry at herself for being so scared of a stupid nightmare. It isn’t like she hasn’t had these all her life. They don’t need to control her like this.

Balling her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms, she strides to the closet and throws open the door, daring any boogeyman to show himself. When nothing appears, she lets out a nervous laugh and then starts laughing hysterically. Her eyes are tearing up and she glances at herself in the mirror that was hanging above the dresser.

God she’s a mess! Her auburn hair, normally well kept and not a single hair out of place, is strewn about her face and sticking up in every direction imaginable. An absolute train wreck. She had worn a pink satin nightshirt to bed and one of its buttons was missing. She also notices a fingernail was torn off sometime during the night. What in hell had she done in her sleep this time!?!?

As she turns to survey her bed, she notices that one of her pillows is across the room - so far from the bed that she would have had to have thrown it there. She really wishes she could remember the dreams, especially since this time it looks as though she had been very active and quite possibly highly terrified. She never could remember them though. The only thing that stayed constant was waking with a feeling of complete terror. Sometimes screaming, sometimes waking in a silent scream. Always feeling as though she wasn’t alone, as though someone or some thing were watching. Near, but distant if that made any sense - like it was in a different place, different space other than her own. Trying to reach her but not able to…yet.

5:30 AM. Much too early to be up, for her anyway, but she can’t sleep now so she decides to take a shower and have some coffee. She braves the creepy closet to get some clothes and hangs them on the hook on the bathroom door. She undresses and the last thing to come off is her pendant. A silver pendant, shaped in a circle and about the size of a half dollar. There are words and symbols etched along the edges of the circle and a star in the center. This necklace is the only keepsake that her mother gave her when she abandoned her at St. Claire’s Orphanage when she was six. It was left with a note.

“Please take care of my daughter, Brigid. I can’t give her what she needs. She must keep this pendant with her. Pastor Brian can explain.”

That was it. That’s all she wrote. No explanation about the pendant or why it’s so important. No answer as to why she would leave her - the question that’s nagged at Brigid for years. Who is Pastor Brian and how does he fit in to all of this? She wonders about all of this as she removes the pendant and puts it on the the counter.

She steps into the shower and lets the warm water caress her body and relieve the tension in her neck. The lavender scent of the soap fills the air and relaxes her. Right now, she feels so peaceful and her nightmares seem so far away. Steam fills the room as she takes a long shower, letting the water and lavender wash away the bad vibes she’s had since crashing out of her dream.

As she steps out of the shower, she glances at her fog enshrouded image in the mirror. She wipes the steam off the mirror so she can see herself better. She still looks tired. She has slight bags under her eyes and is that a wrinkle? Can’t be!?!? Oh my God! She’s only 26 and takes good care of herself, works out regularly and has not an ounce of fat on her. She looks again and sees her green eyes staring back at her. No wrinkles to be seen. Must have been the foggy mirror playing tricks. Just to be sure, she checks her hair for any grays. Chestnut brown and down just past her shoulders, and thank God, no grays. She isn’t ready to get old. Not yet. There are things she wants to do first. Looking at her reflection, she wonders if she looks like her mother or father and a deep aching sadness fills her.

Lost in thought, she thinks back to her childhood, trying to bring some image of her parents into her mind. She vaguely remembers her room, an old tree right outside the window used to spook her. No matter how hard she tries though, images of her parents remain just shadows. Now, images of herself as a child enter her mind, afraid and alone, crying herself to sleep every night. She consciously forces those memories back to their locked box where they belong, too painful to look at any more.

A chill suddenly passes through her, as though icy fingers have reached deep within her. Something far away is reaching for her; she can feel its pull. She’s drawn to it, her mind slipping towards some far away place on the outskirts of conscious though. She puts her necklace on, almost automatically, and the eerie feeling goes away.

“This is ridiculous. I’m just spooking myself because of a bad dream. Why am I torturing myself thinking about my mother. She’s been gone 20 years and has probably never looked back,” she says to the mirror in an effort to try to bolster her courage and push aside the events of the morning.

She quickly dresses for work, turns out the light, and leaves the bathroom. If she had looked back, she would have noticed a soft glow emanating from the mirror and the vague outline of a man’s image. The image shimmers a bit, reaching toward the glass barrier that separates this world from his. It slowly fades from view as the mist clears, leaving only a vague hand print on the mirror.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee greets her as she walks into the kitchen. She breathes in deeply, savoring the smell. On edge from the nightmare, she decides to have her “Brigid Brew”, reserved for especially harrowing days. There’s a special mug she has just for her Brigid Brew. It’s about twice the size of a normal coffee cup, and a pale light blue color.

She nearly fills the mug with coffee and then adds some half and half, a dash of cinnamon followed by two teaspoons of sugar. Wrapping her fingers around the big mug, she feels the warmth seeping into her. She inhales the aroma one more time and takes a few sips and sighs as the stress ebbs away. Plopping into the chair facing the window, she watches the birds as she savors her special brew.

Finishing the last cup of coffee, she rinses the coffee pot and her mug, dries them and gets ready to leave for work. She glances out the window again and the sun is rising, showing off what looks to be the start of a beautiful day. She’s in a much better mood now than when she had awoken, so much so that she starts to hum an old Monkees song, Daydream Believer. She’s always been a big fan of Oldies music and likes it much more than the newer stuff being trolled out today.

I want to know so much more about Brigid and Carol. A very detailed story, just in two excerpts. Loved the description of the settings, the atmosphere in the rooms, and the hint of something ominous in the wait that's related to both mother and daughter.

Excellent story, enjoyed it and the experience of your writing!!

Thank you!