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    Vera King
    Vera King
    Vera King
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Vera King

    By C. S. Warner

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Cold and alone, Jeffrey Kenneth awakens in a bizarre hospital-like room in the basement of an empty house on an isolated island. After a daring escape he is rescued by a passing cargo vessel and brought into the care of security expert Vera King. Mysteries continue to unfold as they search for his captors.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMr Blues Publishing
    Release dateJul 30, 2017
    ISBN9781370376834
    Vera King
    Author

    C. S. Warner

    ?C.S. Warner grew up with a love of the horror and science fiction genres – as evident in her writing. Because of that passion, she has worked on ghost tours and as a paranormal investigator to give her stories life. Using her experience as a foundation for her writing, Warner creates worlds in which her readers can get lost.?

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      Book preview

      Vera King - C. S. Warner

      Vera King

      By: C. S. Warner

      Copyright 2017 C. S. Warner

      Smashwords Edition

      Discover other titles by C. S. Warner:

      Born Dead

      Is it Just Me… or is Everyone Crazy?

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Chapter 1

      A Great Escape

      The sensation of rushing water consumed him. A corkscrewing whirlpool recklessly swirling from side to side raged within his head; it was deafening... suffocating. With a deep inhale, his lungs stretched in pain as if it were his first breath. Though he tried to open his eyes, there was only black; they felt glued, and with a hard blink he ripped them open with excruciating force. His eyes were dry, but then, a hazy gray light slowly flooded in. For a moment he struggled to focus, but it was as if he were staring into a thick fog. His arms were heavy, made of lead, as he fought against the still strong dizzying feeling, and they fell limply back with a smack onto a cold metal surface. What… wait… where am I? The thought finally formed; he was becoming more coherent, slightly more able to decipher some form of thought through the overwhelming queasiness.

      One, two, three blinks later the fog steadily cleared and slowly his other senses began to awaken: he was cold, very cold, his jaw trembled, and... OOOWWW! The noise exploded out from deep within him and his weak arms flung around to his left side. There was a sharp piercing pain running from his ribs to his pelvis; it burned. Tracing his finger gently along his skin he found what felt like a zipper. Like a magnet, his head stuck to the hard surface beneath, but then with the same determined force that he had used on his eyelids, he jolted it up and looked down, still swirling, and made out a poorly stitched line. I’m tied together like a rag doll! His confusion turned to rage.

      UUHH, UUHH, AAHH! Only unintelligible noises blurted out. Frantically, he looked around. He was lying naked on a metal slab in a small room; it reminded him of a patient room in a doctor’s office. Cotton ball filled jars, stark white cabinets, laminate countertops, and an array of small, yet terrifying, metal instruments. To his right, a large brown door stood closed and although he desperately wanted to scream out, Help me, please! he thought better of it and instead tried to calm his breathing and think.

      What’s the last thing I remember? Nothing, there was nothing. What’s my name? That came quickly, Jeffrey… I’m Jeffrey… I’m in pain… I… Wait, I remember! He began to replay the last few months in his head: he was sick.

      Coming from a wealthy family had its benefits. For years, while every other 26 year old was out either enjoying life or finding a career, he visited doctor after doctor seeking a cure until one day an attentive physician proposed an unorthodox route to recovery. Our medicine just isn’t advanced enough yet to help you, but I feel strongly it will be, one day. I’m sure you know that you only have, maybe, three months left. Jeffrey nodded solemnly; he was trying to beat that time despite the price tag. Well, if you’re serious about wanting to get better at any cost, maybe you could consider cryogenics and wait to be woken up when there is a cure available for you. The suggestion was so matter of fact that Jeffrey didn’t know whether she was joking or not.

      Over the next couple months Jeffrey toured several cryogenic labs before deciding on one that had been in business the longest and had the most funding -both very important factors to him. The thought of the company losing money and his body thawing out and decomposing in a ditch somewhere, forgotten, frightened him more than dying in pain. The one major requirement that the lab asked of him was that he take a month of counseling, but since his diagnosis only afforded him a month left, they settled on seven days straight.

      Jessica Dominic (not a psychologist's name, he thought) met Jeffrey at his house. I see why you aren’t ready to die, she joked, brashly. He tried to let the tactless comment on his swiftly approaching demise fly past, but the fact that that was her first impression, her first words to him, stuck under his skin. I guess. She could obviously read the judgmental expression on his face and attempted to soften the blow with a sweet smile. It is very nice to meet you, Jeffrey, even if under these unfortunate circumstances, she held out her hand, still smiling. Hesitantly, he took it, Yeah…

      Unbeknownst to Jeffrey, Jessica’s audacious comments and behavior were actually part of her technique. She tried to bring the discomfort and life-altering decision of ‘freezing’ oneself to the surface.

      It was all coming back to him: saying goodbye, going under, and the terrifying sensation as he went to sleep, but he couldn’t keep thinking about that; he needed a doctor, or at the very least medicine. The sharp pain in his side accompanying another violent shiver overtook him; he was still cold as he lied nude on the metal slab.

      Running his hands all over himself, in a desperate attempt at warmth, he sat up and dangled his feet off the table. There was nothing in sight to dress in. Where are my clothes? Weak, feeble muscles made it difficult to step down and he instantly collapsed, painfully, to the floor. UUUAAAHHH! His body throbbed intensely and he pressed tightly onto the horrid stitch-work along his side, but the skin burned under his touch. Deep breath, in and out, slowly, he tried to calm his mounting anxiety while simultaneously (and sloppily) pulling himself up to his feet. His fingers were thinner and bonier than he remembered as he stared at them clutching the countertop; his feet, too, looked different, almost blue, but they all worked.

      Without any warning he was vomiting a clear mucousy fluid. After a minute it passed and he began to pull himself along the cabinets checking in every one, but, to his disappointment, no medicine nor clothes.

      What was this place? Why was he sewn up so horribly? Was he supposed to be being prepped for his awakening? So many questions buzzed around him and a sudden feeling of dread blanketed his shoulders. Closing his eyes tightly,

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