Unbroken Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1 - Frozen Lightning

  CHAPTER 2 - Last Gasp

  CHAPTER 3 - Afterimage

  CHAPTER 4 - Reflections

  CHAPTER 5 - Going Down

  CHAPTER 6 - Yellow Dust

  CHAPTER 7 - Shadow and Light

  CHAPTER 8 - River’s Edge

  CHAPTER 9 - Phantom Limb

  CHAPTER 10 - Breaking Point

  CHAPTER 11 - Mirror Image

  CHAPTER 12 - Unbroken

  Praise for A. J. Matthew’s debut thriller

  The White Room

  “A suspense thriller with a dash of the supernatural . . . builds to an exciting and satisfying conclusion.”

  —Cemetery Dance

  And praise for

  Looking Glass

  “This gut-wrenching story offers a supernatural twist that lies in waiting like a coiled stinger . . . extraordinarily effective. The climax is first-rate. This is [A. J. Matthews] at the top of his game.” —Cemetery Dance

  “What an incredible book! Looking Glass is like no other you’ve read. You won’t be disappointed.”

  —BookReviewCafe.com

  Titles by A. J. Matthews

  UNBROKEN

  FOLLOW

  LOOKING GLASS

  THE WHITE ROOM

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  UNBROKEN

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / April 2007

  Copyright © 2007 by Rick Hautala.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-0-425-21480-0

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Christopher Golden, who noodges and prods and keeps this old scrivener working, even when he’d prefer not to.

  All of my life I’ve been afraid

  Something’s gotta change

  And I don’t know what

  But it’s got to be right now

  Blessed by the stars above

  You’ll be alone and awake when they find you

  Satellite Lot, “Long Lost Love”

  From their CD Second Summer

  Since we cannot change reality,

  let us change

  the eyes which see reality.

  Nikos Kazantzakis,

  Report to Greco

  CHAPTER 1

  Frozen Lightning

  1

  “Where’d you go last night?”

  Kiera Davis jumped when her husband asked her that question, but she didn’t answer him right away. Her first thought was, I could ask you the same question, but she was slumped at the kitchen table, her shoulders hunched forward as she cradled her head with both hands. Her thumbs supported her chin, while her fingertips pressed with steady pressure against her forehead and temples. Her long, red hair fell forward in a cascade that fringed the limits of her vision with a rich, ruby glow.

  Faint echoes of the migraine she’d had last night shot hot, bright sparks of electricity through her temples when she turned her head, ever so slightly, and looked up at Nate. He was standing in the doorway that led down a short hallway to the front foyer. He was barefoot and wearing a dark blue golf shirt and faded, tattered jeans. His thinning brown hair was still wet from his morning shower. Kiera noticed that it needed a trim.

  “I was here . . . at home,” she said, noticing the constriction in her throat that pitched her voice just a little higher than usual. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to remind Nate about the headache she’d suffered all night, but it took too much effort even to say that much. She was worried that, if she made even the slightest movement, the migraine would come roaring back full force.

  “That’s funny . . . I could have sworn I saw you driving downtown when I was heading home last night.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Round one o’clock.”

  Kiera squinted, praying the pain wouldn’t come back.

  “I think I was still on the couch around that time . . . with an ice pack on my head.”

  “Hmm . . . It sure looked like your car.”

  Kiera sighed, not daring to shake her head, but she said, “Chances are I’m not the only person in town with a dark blue Volvo.” She didn’t like how snappy she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I could have sworn it was you.”

  Nate moved over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee. After adding milk and sugar—leaving the carton of milk on the counter like he always did—he came over to sit down in his usual chair at the kitchen table.

  “So, did you have fun last night with your poker buddies?” Kiera asked after a long silence.

  She was trying not to wonder if that’s where he really had been, but she was in too much pain and too tired to go there now. The pain was still hovering behind her eyes, threatening to break loose any second. She had a sharp mental image of a huge, opaque curtain with something horrible lurking behind it, just waiting to slash through it.

  “Always do,” Nate said as he took a slurping sip from his coffee and leaned back in his chair, hooking his thumb through one of his belt loops as he gazed outside.

  Kiera watched him without moving her head or eyes any more than she had to. Her peripheral vision was still vibrating with splinters of white light, and the edges of her sight kept breaking up like poor reception on a television. When neither of them was talking, she could hear a low humming sound, just at the edge of hearing. It wavered up and down with a steady throb that she was convinced any second now would rise in intensity and
bring the migraine back full force.

  “You win last night?” Kiera was mildly surprised that speaking didn’t make things any worse. At least not yet.

  “Winning’s not the point,” Nate said after another noisy sip of coffee. “It’s just fun to get together, have a few beers, shoot the shit, and relax.”

  Kiera sniffed with laughter, trying not to remember how many times she suspected he hadn’t been playing poker at all, but today, she could smell the cigar smoke that still clung to him.

  “How much did you lose?”

  The silence that followed made the humming in her head all the louder. She flinched when a sudden pulse behind her left eye sent a flash of white light across her vision. For a frozen instant, the light hovered like the piercing eye of a searchlight. Then it slowly dissolved into a wavering line, looking like a bolt of lightning frozen on film.

  Kiera moaned softly as she pressed her fingers harder against her forehead and temples as if trying to contain the inevitable explosion that would follow. She half expected to hear a deep, grumbling roll of thunder. When she shifted her eyes to one side, the jagged streak of white light shifted, too, cutting her vision in half. Looking at Nate, the frozen white streak split him down the middle.

  “You okay?” Nate asked, shifting in his chair and looking at her earnestly.

  Does he really care? Kiera wondered, but not daring to speak or move her head even a little, she whispered, “Not really.”

  “Those migraines . . . They’re bastards, huh?”

  She nodded, but even the slightest motion made the pain worse. A thick, salty taste clogged the back of her throat, almost gagging her. She closed her eyes, but the white line remained, shifting back and forth as her eyes twitched involuntarily.

  “Yeah. Another migraine,” she whispered. “Or the same one I had yesterday. I don’t think it ever really went away.”

  “What can I do for you?” Nate asked. As solicitous as he sounded, Kiera found herself getting irritated at him for taking so long to realize how bad she felt.

  “I already took something,” she said in a raw whisper.

  When the white line across her vision drifted to the left, her eyes shifted with it, following it. Waves of vertigo swept over her, and she leaned forward, pressing her elbows hard against the table, desperate to orient herself. She could almost imagine that her eyes were revolving inside her head, spinning around in complete circles as she tried to follow the shifting line of frozen white lightning. The edges of the light were beginning to dissolve into thick, grainy blotches that flickered with a deep, violet glow. The feeling of tumbling head over heels grew so strong that Kiera braced herself, afraid she would cry out.

  Why is this happening to me? she wanted to scream, but her rising panic choked her because of the memory that came back to her as she stared into the flickering white light.

  Last night . . . when the migraine had started . . . it wasn’t just a headache . . . she had seen something . . .

  Most of her adult life, Kiera had suffered from migraines, but they were usually relatively mild. They certainly were nothing like the ones she’d been having for the last couple of weeks, since around the first of August during the worst of the summer heat. She had always ascribed them to tension or maybe a minor sinus problem. Lord knew she had enough tension in her life, but they usually centered just above her left eyebrow and always went away if she took some over-the-counter pain reliever and took a short nap.

  But not lately. And the one last night had been the worst yet. It almost brought tears to her eyes, remembering how much she had suffered. And Nate out playing poker with his buddies—or wherever he was—didn’t help, either. She tried to choke down the bitterness and sense of betrayal she felt, but she couldn’t stop thinking, He should have been here to help. Even if there was nothing he could do, he just should have been here with me.

  But the sad truth was, she felt as though he had never been there for her, no matter how different what had happened last night was.

  Kiera closed her eyes and concentrated, forgetting all about Nate as she tried to recall what had happened yesterday. It was late in the afternoon, a little after four o’clock, when the migraine slammed into her like a freight train. She had just come back from shopping at the Maine Mall with her friends, Joanie and Marsha. She’d been about to take a quick shower before supper when the blinding pain had lanced through her forehead so hard she cried out, crumpled up, and covered her face with both hands.

  Thinking about it now made her worry it would come back again, but she had to try to think this through. Why now, all of a sudden, were her headaches worse? It couldn’t be just because of . . .

  “No,” she whispered, pursing her lips.

  She knew she was missing or forgetting something. With her eyes closed, she shifted her eyes back and forth, staring at the wall of darkness before her. It was all too easy to imagine that the darkness didn’t stop at her closed eyelids, that it had dimension and depth.

  And what was it? What did I see?

  As the jagged streak of frozen white lightning drifted across her vision, Kiera tightened the muscles in her arms and legs to keep them from trembling. The white line brightened and then dimmed in time with her hammering eyes to track it.

  She wasn’t sure exactly when, but at some point she realized the light had changed. It had happened so subtly she didn’t realize it for a long time, but she was aware of . . . something—a dark mass—between her and the light. Because the light was drifting slowly to the left, the object also moved whenever she shifted her eyes, so she could never look at it directly. She stopped moving her eyes and looked to one side, trying to see the object from the corner of her eye. The shape was less distinct, but she realized it was a human silhouette.

  Her heart skipped a beat and started racing, and her breath caught in her throat. Sweat broke out across her forehead, and a tightening choking sensation wrapped cold fingers around her throat. She wanted to look directly at whatever this was, but she knew it would dissolve the instant she shifted her eyes, so she kept staring straight ahead, concentrating and willing it to come into focus.

  The shape was blurred, but it certainly looked like a person. It was so hazy against the blinding glare of the frozen lightning she wasn’t even sure if the person—if that’s really what it was!—was facing her or turned away. She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat but stopped herself before she spoke out loud.

  The figure shifted to one side, almost lost in the glaring brilliance, but a chill ran up her back when she realized it was subtly moving toward her. She watched with steadily mounting horror as the shape resolved more clearly. As it got closer, it raised one hand as though reaching out to grab her. Kiera stared at the hand that was coming closer . . . ever closer to her, its fingers curled like a hawk’s talons.

  That’s what I saw last night, only I didn’t have my eyes closed!

  It was in the house!

  What she was seeing now mixed with the memory of what she had seen last night. She couldn’t breathe as the figure glided steadily closer, its outstretched hand grasping at her, clawing as though it wanted to catch hold of her and drag her into that burning, white light.

  Kiera moaned softly and involuntarily raised her right hand, but she had no idea if it was to protect herself or to take hold of the hand reaching out to her. Her chest ached from holding her breath so long, and the cry building up inside her was close to bursting out of her as a scream.

  A sudden pressure on her shoulder made her squeal. Jerking back, she lashed out with her hand, which made a loud smack when it contacted with something solid.

  “Ahh! . . . Jesus!”

  Her eyes were still closed, and it took her a moment to recognize Nate’s voice. She opened her eyes just enough to see him standing beside her, but he was shying away from her and rubbing his arm on the biceps.

  “What the hell?”

  After another heartbeat or two, her confusion started to clear. K
iera was stunned as she looked at her husband.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  She wasn’t sure she believed the wounded look on his face. She couldn’t move. She just sat there, blinking her eyes in confusion. A faint flash of light shot across her vision, but it dissolved instantly and—thankfully—wasn’t followed by any corresponding pain in her head.

  “I . . . You startled me,” she said, conscious of how lame she sounded. “I wasn’t expecting you to . . .”

  Nate looked at her, a forced smile twisting one corner of his mouth. He kept a safe distance between them, looking at her like she was a snake that would strike without warning.

  “Did you even hear what I said?” he asked.

  Kiera looked at him, totally confused, and shook her head. She was waiting for the migraine to come roaring back, but—for now, anyway—it didn’t.

  “No . . . What’d you say?”

  “I said I was going over to the high school. I want to make sure everything’s ready for when school starts next week.”

  Kiera stared at him, taking a long time to process what he’d just said. Then she nodded and said, “Yeah. Okay.”

  “You gonna be okay, with the headaches and all?”

  Kiera winced as she massaged her left eyebrow. It struck her as a little sad how no matter what Nate said or did, it seemed terribly inadequate. She glanced at him and found herself wondering—again—just how far apart they had drifted. After more than twenty years of marriage and one child—their daughter Trista, who was seventeen and going to graduate next June—they seemed like separate planets that orbited around each other but never came into contact. Maybe they had always been like that.

  “Trista still in bed?” Nate asked.

  “What do you think? Does any teenager get up before noon . . . especially at the end of summer vacation?”