Excerpt
The Calling M.D. Neu © 2017 All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
What is death?
I once believed there was
only one definition: your body stops functioning, your soul leaves and what’s
left turns to dust. That was what I thought, until it wasn’t.
I’ve discovered when
you’re a nobody, the world can be an amazing place if you want it to be. Your
life can change in a heartbeat and not make the least bit of difference to
anyone but you, or so it would seem.
That was my case.
I’m by no means whining
or complaining. I had a job, a small place to live, and friends, but no real
family, and that was something I desperately missed and wanted. My life wasn’t
bad and I was happy. However, I was just a random person, one of the many faces
you see on the street and never glance at twice. It was dull. Of course, as
with me, the majority of society didn’t know our world had hidden secrets,
unseen by most.
The other important thing
I want you to realize about me is that before I met her, I wasn’t a lucky man,
not with money and certainly not with love. I made enough to live on, but never
enough to take fancy trips. My idea of travel was staying at home and watching
movies. That was my price range. And as for love, it was forgettable.
The day my life changed
was like all the others, until it wasn’t. It was August 19. The year isn’t
important. But we had finished celebrating the Olympics, and in a few short
months, the country would be picking between the lesser of two evils for
president.
I sat at an outdoor café
in Santana Row. I’d spent the afternoon going on a tour of the Winchester
Mystery House. Once my stomach had started to growl, I decided to grab a bite
to eat.
I had come to San Jose,
California for a vacation that I couldn’t afford and didn’t particularly want
to take. Why San Jose? Why not San Francisco or Monterey or Vegas or Yosemite?
To be honest, I don’t know, but it’s like everything inside and around me
pulled me there. Out of the blue, I got emails from the San Jose Visitor
Bureau. My dreams were filled with images of the city and the surrounding hills
and mountains. It seemed that old song, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” by
Dionne Warwick constantly played. Still, San Jose isn’t the place most people
consider for a ten-day vacation, especially someone alone who had never been to
the Bay Area before.
Despite my apprehension,
from the moment I arrived, I immediately felt at peace. I’d never been this
calm or relaxed anywhere before, not even at home. There was another reason for
me coming here, one I didn’t understand yet, at least not on a conscious level.
I would find out why soon
enough.
I don’t want to get
things out of order, so back on point. I sat at this Italian-style outdoor café
watching people walk by, enjoying the scent of roses and vanilla that filled
the air. The aroma tickled the back of my brain. I smelled it everywhere, which
should have been my first clue that something was different.
After enjoying my Italian-style
chicken marsala, and while I sipped my strawberry lemonade, I felt a sharp pull
in my brain. It wasn’t like I heard voices—it was more like vague images filled
my head: a house, a woman, gardens, a gate, hills covered in trees, and a pair
of eyes. My hands shook, and my glass fell to the floor and shattered. An
intense pressure grew between my eyes, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to
ease it.
When the tug came, three
things happened to me at once.
First, I had the
realization that I had an important meeting in Los Altos Hills. I had never
heard of Los Altos Hills and even had to look it up on my phone to see if it
was real. I would have to check my GPS when I returned to my rental. I knew the
address of the house and who I was going to meet. She had blonde hair and
mysterious eyes. I knew her, but I didn’t understand how.
Second, the waiter came
to my table.
“Sorry about the drink,”
I said.
He gave me an odd look
and informed me my meal had been paid for and to enjoy my evening. Flabbergasted,
I stared at the server.
I glanced around the café
and wondered who paid the bill and why. I wasn’t even done yet.
“Mr. Alexander, are you
all right?” The waiter scanned me up and down. “Do you need me to call someone?
You look pale.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“I’m fine.”
How did the waiter know
my name? Stranger still, when I checked the table, my drink sat there and
nothing had fallen to the floor. I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sorry. Just a
headache,” I said.
“All right. I hope you
have a pleasant afternoon.” He smiled and started to walk off but turned back.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to remind you about your meeting tonight.”
A lump stuck in my
throat, and I nodded. It was spooky, but I wasn’t scared.
The last thing: I got a
text from my closest friend, Cindy Martin. Good luck tonight. I’m sure it’ll
be you.
I remember thinking, What
does she know that I don’t?
I’ve known Cindy for
years, and for her to say anything that short and sweet was rare. In fact, I don’t
suppose I ever got a message from her without any emoticons.
As bizarre as all of this
was, I realized that no matter what, everything and everyone I cared about
would be okay. Clearly, there was something more to this trip and my being
here. I didn’t know what. But it wasn’t just some free meal. It was bigger than
that. If I was selected for what? I had no clue. And if I wasn’t, then I would
get to see them again. There would be no questions.
Part of me wanted to
worry, but I wasn’t bothered, which in itself surprised me. I’ve been a
pessimist for as long as I can remember. It probably had to do with the strange
death of my father when I was a kid. A death never fully explained. So, for
this not to make me worry was one more mystery. What was about to happen was
something that would just be. Instead of freaking out and worrying, I was calm
and accepting of whatever adventure or fate awaited me.
Even though I was short
on time to get to the house in Los Altos Hills, I wanted to enjoy my lunch.
Reflecting on it now, I’m pretty sure that was the cynical part of my brain
trying to exert some kind of control. I took my time, finished my meal, and
when I was done, I tipped the server and left.
I walked back to my
rental car. I wanted to take in as much of the classical European architecture
and lush landscaping of the outdoor mall as I could. I managed to get a few
decent cell phone pictures of the place.
I stopped my lollygagging
and got moving. I had someplace to be and what appeared to be no choice in the
matter. Before you go crazy, understand this wasn’t like one of those stupid
movies that you watch, shaking your head, yelling at the screen for them not to
go into the dark forest or spooky house or whatever. It wasn’t like that.
I’d like to hope I’m explaining
this well enough so you don’t sit there and think, “Oh this is stupid. I’d
never do anything that dumb.” It wasn’t like I had a choice. I had to
go—something compelled me to her. I had to meet this woman, calling me. It was
hard-wired into me, no matter how much I tried to slow down or stall, I moved
forward.
I moved toward her.
When I finally got in the
car and took a breath, I wasn’t clammy or shaky, and my heart wasn’t pounding
in my chest. I should have been anxious, but I wasn’t. I was fine.
Knowing without
understanding what I had to do, I headed to the freeway.
If I had seen into the
future, I would have taken a different route, but I didn’t. An accident backed
up the freeway. Sadly, I found the onboard GPS wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.
It led me straight into bumper-to-bumper traffic. It was a nightmare, and not
something I was used to. I sat in four lanes of cars and not a single one
moved. What should have taken no more than half an hour was going to take an
eternity.
“I’m going to be late,” I
chanted as I anxiously tapped along to “You and Me” playing on the radio.
A silver Rolls-Royce cut
me off, causing me to stop abruptly. My heart skipped a beat. When my breath
returned, I tried to find the Rolls, but it seemed to vanish into the traffic.
“Not possible,” I
grumbled. The radio stopped for a news break.
I hated being late.
The drive along 280 had
lush trees and green hills once I got out of the valley, with attractive homes
scattered here and there. It was one of the nicer freeways I’d ever been on and
nothing like what I saw in Reno. Well, not until you got into the mountains. I
took the S. El Monte Avenue exit and headed up into the hills past a junior
college. Who knew there’d be a college out this way?
The road curved and
turned till I found the house. To call my destination a house is an
understatement. Even from the gate, it was a remarkable size. At least two
stories, possibly three. It was an architectural masterpiece situated on
perfectly landscaped grounds unlike anything I’d ever seen, not even on TV.
At the massive security
gate, I pushed the call box button and waited.
“Mr. Alexander, welcome.
Please, drive through,” a female voice instructed as the iron gates lazily
opened.
I briefly questioned how
she recognized me, but I figured there was a camera embedded in the call box.
Before me lay a flawless,
recently raked gravel drive hedged by lush beds of orange, red, violet, and
yellow flowers, all manicured to perfection. Cherry trees lined the drive and
added more color and height.
I drove carefully up the
drive and pulled into a circular parking area that surrounded a giant fountain.
Spiraling topiary shrubs in massive stone containers invited me to the enormous
wood doors sheltered in the portico.
I got out, taking in the
sight of the house. It was a cream-colored Tudor-style mansion surrounded by
what I thought was an English garden filled with hedges and red and white
roses. This estate’s upkeep had to be more than I made in a year.
There were several other
cars parked near mine. It would seem I wasn’t the only one invited to this
party. I sensed I was the last to arrive and that bothered me. A few cars had
rental tags like mine, and the vehicles that weren’t rentals were older with
dings and dents. Clearly, none of them fit the surroundings of the estate.
A part of my brain
screamed at me, “Leave and run away. You don’t belong here.” But the rest of my
mind and my body overruled this impulse and pushed me forward to the main door.
I wanted…no I needed to be there.
I was examining the
beautiful gold inlaid carvings, perhaps ancient writing with intricate shapes
and patterns on the doorframe, when the door opened and a lovely woman stood
there. I was awestruck. She had flawless hair and nails, no more than forty
years old, and wore a big welcoming smile, revealing a dimple on her left
cheek. She was dressed in an expensive, knee-length dark gray skirt with a
light blue cashmere sweater emphasizing her breasts. All of it appeared to have
been made to her exact measurements.
“Welcome, Duncan. I’m
Amanda Sutherland. You’re the last to arrive. Please, follow me.” Her tone was
gracious but tight. I found it annoying because of its implied attitude.
I mumbled an apology and
followed her. My annoyance quickly vanished as I crossed the threshold and a
wave of peacefulness filled every part of my body, as if I were a crystal
glass.
Still, I wanted to redeem
myself for being tardy.
I followed Miss
Sutherland and was dazzled by what I saw around me. The floors were highly
polished wood with marble inlays, and on the walls were old original paintings,
not prints. I could see the brush strokes. They were amazing, like something
from the middle ages. Very gothic.
They should be in a
museum.
Subtle scents of roses
and vanilla caused me to inhale deeply as I followed Miss Sutherland deeper
into the house. We arrived at a large reception room where there were three men
and two women, all of us about the same age and all wearing similar expressions
of puzzlement.
Why are we here?
“Madame de Exter will be
with you shortly. Please, enjoy some refreshments.” Miss Sutherland pointed to
a tray of wineglasses held by one of the uniformed house staff. As the server
moved around, she offered each of us a smile with the wine. When finished, she
put the tray on the sideboard and walked out of the room.
Our reception room was at
the back of the house and anything but simple. It would be like calling Hearst
Castle another beach house along the California coast. This one room could probably
encompass my entire apartment, bedroom and all. The floors were made of a
polished stone I didn’t recognize, and the walls had wood moldings and trim. Of
course there were more original paintings. The furniture appeared modern and
comfortable, not the antiques you would imagine for the space. There was a wall
of french doors that opened onto more of the perfectly manicured lawn and
another fountain. Tucked away in the back of the yard was a smaller house of a
similar style to the mansion along with a swimming pool.
It only took Miss
Sutherland’s absence for us to start talking, trying to pump each other for
information.
“Do any of you know why
we’re here?” A petite Asian woman asked in a stage whisper as she held up her
glass of white wine. Her gaze danced around the room and focused on each of us
in turn.
I wouldn’t call her
pretty, but she wasn’t ugly either. Then I noticed that the others were all of
an average type.
“No clue,” a guy replied.
He sniffed the wine and hesitated before taking a small sip. “I’m Doug, by the
way,” he said with a polite nod to the others. Doug was a bit rough-looking
with a scruffy face, and dull brown hair that was thinning on top. He was
dressed more for manual labor than a party.
“Duncan,” I said as I
shook his callused hand. He was definitely in construction work.
It’s funny the things you
remember. How calm his voice was, and that he wore a blue and green flannel
shirt, which seemed a little out of place for the time of year.
“Chui.” The Asian woman
then sipped her wine.
I nodded at her politely.
I don’t really remember anything more about her, other than her name, and that
she was shorter than Doug and me.
“Janis,” the other woman
said, glancing at the last two men, who hesitated.
Janis had the best looks
and the nicest clothes. Her blouse was silk, and the bag she held was older but
it had a Gucci label on it. I do remember her eyes, like pools of water that
you could get lost in. Not that I did.
“Hi. I’m Juan,” a
dark-haired, brown-eyed man said.
The last man was taller
than any of us. He was also probably the best-looking guy in the room. Ruggedly
handsome with a strong chin and perfect jawline. The rich dark tones of his
skin made his eyes pop.
“I’m Erik.” He waved a
hand toward us as his voice lowered. “If you don’t mind, where are you all
from?”
Erik, it seemed, had
noticed what I saw in our unique group. None of us were dressed in what one
would consider proper attire for such a house… mansion… whatever.
“Reno,” I said, holding
my wineglass but not drinking from it. Even though I felt safe and at ease,
still part of me was a tiny bit suspicious. I doubted it was drugged, but I
wasn’t quite comfortable drinking it.
“Here. The Bay Area,”
Janis said in a tight voice. She continually scanned the room and the doors.
That answer was deliberately vague.
“Morgan Hill. Just south
of here,” Chui said. She didn’t seem to mind sharing or drinking the wine. Her
glass was already empty.
“I’m from LA.” Erik
sipped his wine and made a face, then put it down and didn’t touch it again.
“Portland.” Juan turned
to Doug.
“I guess I win. I’m from
Denver.” Doug smiled. He had an easy grin and perfectly straight and blindingly
white teeth. Smiling seemed to come natural to him. “That still doesn’t explain
why we’re here. I don’t recognize any of you, and I haven’t been to Reno, LA,
or Portland.” He chuckled. “Hell. I don’t know anything about this place or our
elusive host, and yet I feel like I’ve seen this house and this room before.”
There were a few nods
from the others.
“We’ve probably all seen
homes like this on TV. That’s why it seems so familiar,” Janis said with a
dismissive wave of her hand. “There are a lot of homes like this in the area.
It’s not that great.”
Erik rolled his eyes as
he turned to me.
“I don’t know. This place
is pretty impressive, and that wonderful scent of roses and vanilla…” I
commented.
“The what?” Janis asked
with raised eyebrows.
“That scent. I’ve smelled
it all day,” I said, glancing around the room at the others.
“I can’t smell a thing,”
Erik said.
Chui looked at me. “I
think it’s the arrangements in the house. I’ve smelled it since I got here.”
Juan shook his head. “I
don’t know. I have a bad sniffer so I don’t smell much.”
“I’m with Duncan here,”
Doug said. “I started smelling the scent on the drive up here, and normally I
don’t notice that stuff. It got stronger the closer I got to this place.”
“What’s that have to do
with the house and where we’re all from?” Erik asked.
“Nothing, I suppose,” I
said. “Anyway, I’ve never been to Denver, and this is my first time in San
Jose.” I tried to figure out what connected us to this place. “Do any of you
work in non-profits?” It was a shot in the dark, but one worth taking. I asked,
because that’s what I did. It wasn’t a big non-profit, with only an annual
budget of $8 million, but then Reno isn’t a huge area, not that it doesn’t have
its problems. It does, and the need is great. Like everywhere.
Our group of strangers
spent the next several minutes talking and trying to connect the dots. The only
things we had in common were: we were all single, none of us were particularly
important people when it came to our work or social circles—No CEOs or
A-Listers among us, not even Janis— and none of us came from large families. In
fact, most of us were only children whose parents had passed on. And lastly, we
were all simple folk, meaning none of us were wealthy. Janis was the closest to
being rich. At best, she was middle class, thanks to her executive assistant
job in High Tech, and as I remember, she was fond of throwing around names of
designer labels she enjoyed and made a point of pointing out her Gucci bag.
Why were Chui, Doug, and
I the only ones to notice the roses and vanilla? Better question, why was I the
only one who had smelled the scent all day?
this sounds like quite the love story!!!
ReplyDeleteI like to think so. I hope you get a chance to read it and enjoy it.
DeleteThank you for sharing my Urban Fantasy vampire series.
ReplyDeleteYou're very welcome! :)
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