After Twilight Read online

  After Twilight

  Text copyright © 2019 by M. K. ROZE

  ISBN:

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S.

  Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be

  reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any

  means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without

  the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is the work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

  and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or

  used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,

  or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their

  content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  I dedicate this book to my children.

  Without them convincing me to write it, this novel

  wouldn’t exist.

  OMETHING WAS SUFFOCATING ME.

  A black silhouette in the form of a person hovered

  over me. I kicked and thrashed at it, desperate to

  breathe. The black mass released me and slowly backed away.

  I gasped for air and lay frozen on the cold ground, watching

  its every move. The figure formed into a ball then shot

  straight through me like a heatwave.

  I placed my hand over the searing sensation in my chest

  and sat up. “What the hell was that?” I said, only to realize

  there was no sound when I spoke.

  I scanned the moonlit forest for the shadowy figure,

  then branches snapped above my head. I jumped to my feet

  and looked up into the lifeless trees but saw nothing. It was

  pure darkness with wolves howling in the distance.

  Something hissed inches from my ear. I whipped

  around to see what it was, and a bone-chilling breeze blew

  my hair back. I took off running down a trail until I came to

  a dead end. I scanned the heavy brush in front of me,

  wondering if I should go back the way I came, then

  something growled behind me.

  I screamed and charged through the heavy brush like a

  bull, branches scratching my face and arms. I endured the

  pain and continued thrashing my way through until I reached

  a cobblestone street. I slowed down and glanced at the tree

  to my right, with a noose hanging from it. I gulped hard and

  narrowed my eyes down the street at the small village up

  ahead.

  “Hello, Divinity,” a woman’s voice said in an Italian

  accent from behind me.

  I gasped and spun around. A woman who looked to be

  in her early twenties, stepped from the shadows of the forest

  into the moonlight, wearing a ripped, red medieval gown.

  “My name is Viata.”

  She ignored me and twirled her black, curly hair around

  her slender finger. “Divinity, did you think we couldn’t find

  you?”

  “I told you my name is Viata.”

  She stepped toward me and hissed, blowing her foul-

  smelling breath in my face.

  I grimaced, spun around, and ran toward the dilapidated

  buildings with straw-thatched roofs. When I came to an

  alleyway, I continued down the cobbled road and turned the

  corner, but it came to a dead-end.

  “Crap,” I said. I peered over my shoulder. The woman

  was nowhere in sight, so I squatted behind a horse carriage,

  trying to catch my breath. A couple of deep breaths later,

  something touched the top of my head. I flinched and looked

  up at the woman floating over my head, grinning at me.

  ⁓ ⁓

  A scream escaped my lips as I stared into her black eyes.

  There was no life behind them—only large holes of hypnotic

  emptiness. I crawled away, jumped to my feet, and faced her.

  “W-what are you?”

  She flew at me and grabbed my hair, holding me in

  place. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

  “Let me go! You have the wrong person.” I kicked her

  in the stomach as hard as I could, but she didn’t budge.

  Her eyes turned red as fire, and she grabbed my neck

  and squeezed, making it crack. I dug my nails into her ice-

  cold arm, trying to get out of her firm grip. With her free

  hand, she reached over her shoulder and pulled out an

  ancient-looking dagger.

  “What are you doing?” I choked.

  The woman smiled malevolently as she impaled me

  through my heart.

  I screamed from the burning pain and clutched the

  dagger, holding it in place. “Why?” I coughed up blood and

  dropped to the ground.

  “Divinity!” a male voice yelled in a Romanian accent.

  The woman twisted her head in the direction of the

  man’s voice, then back to me. She leaned over me and moved

  her head like a cobra, her eyes penetrating mine. “You’ll

  never gain full power now.”

  My heartbeat slowed down, and the plane’s interior,

  with a male passenger looking over the seat at me, came into

  focus.

  “Viata!” Mom’s voice yelled in my left ear.

  I turned to her.

  Mom’s blue eyes turned black and her features morphed

  into the woman from my dream.

  ⁓ ⁓

  Oh no. Not again. “Get away from me!” I screamed and

  pushed her head into the plane’s window.

  “Viata, what the hell are you doing?” Dad grabbed me

  and held me still.

  “Let me go!” Within seconds, Mom’s face turned back

  to normal. “Mom, I’m sorry. What happened?”

  Mom pulled the hair tie out of her long red hair and

  rubbed her head. “You were telling me about which tourist

  attractions you wanted to see in Romania, then you went

  silent and looked straight ahead like you were in a trance.

  Don’t you recall what happened?”

  “I remember your voice fading, then I was somewhere

  in a forest with that evil woman chasing me again. Did I say

  anything?”

  “No. You started screaming while holding your chest.”

  Dad looked at Mom with his wide brown eyes. “Julia,

  you two are making a scene. Will you two please talk about

  something else?” I knew he was mad because he called Mom

  Julia instead of her nickname, Jules. He glanced at the other

  passengers on the plane and looked down at his phone.

  A flight attendant approached us. “We heard screaming.

  Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Dad said. “Our daughter had a nightmare.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”

  I turned to her concerned look. “No, thank you.”

  “Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind. We’ll

  be landing in Romania in twenty minutes.”

  I forced a smile.

  “Awesome contacts,” she complimented.

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled and walked away.

  ⁓ ⁓

  I wasn’t wearing contacts. I was born with light silver

  e
yes. When I was younger, kids at school used to call me an

  alien, and I hated it. Mom felt bad and took me to the eye

  doctor to get colored contacts, but when I put them in, they

  blinded me until I took them out. The optometrist said it was

  the weirdest thing he’d ever witnessed.

  I took my sunglasses out of my bag and put them on,

  trying not to draw any more attention.

  “How embarrassing,” Dad said.

  “Which part? My sunglasses or my alien eyes?”

  Mom leaned forward and stared him down. “Bret, stop

  it,” she scolded in a harsh whisper.

  Dad sighed and looked at his phone. “We’ll discuss this

  when we get off the plane.”

  I glanced at the movie that was on the airline monitor,

  wondering why I had the same dream and why it felt so real.

  When we landed in Bucharest, we got off the plane and

  entered the massive airport. It was a lot like the one we

  departed from in Jacksonville, Florida, except all the signs

  were in Romanian and English.

  Dad led us to a few empty seats with no one around. He

  plunged into the seat and let out a loud sigh. I set my carry-

  on next to me and sat across from him.

  Mom sat in the seat to his right and turned to him. “Can

  we talk about what happened on the plane when we get to

  the hotel?”

  Dad arched his thick, black brows. “When we get back

  home, you need to schedule another meeting with her

  psychologist. Or better yet, call Dr. Wells. She’s one of the

  best psychiatrists in town. Let’s see if she can fix her.”

  Mom looked away, shaking her head.

  ⁓ ⁓

  “Really, Dad? I don’t need to sit in a room and reminisce

  about kids that used to bully me.”

  Dad leaned forward. “Viata, they did a lot more than

  that. They locked you in a damn dumpster for two hours.

  You almost died in there from the heat.”

  My eyes filled with tears, remembering that horrible day.

  Dad sat next to me and placed my head against his chest.

  “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

  I wrapped my arms around him. “I’m sorry, too.”

  He kissed my forehead. “It’s not your fault.”

  Mom sat next to me and rubbed my back.

  I thought about what had happened to me on the plane.

  “Is it possible to dream while you’re awake?”

  Dad shrugged.

  Mom stood. “That, or you were hallucinating from not

  sleeping the entire flight.”

  “What if it happens again?”

  Dad stood and pulled me up. “Let’s worry about that if

  it does. Come on, we’re going to miss the train.”

  We retrieved our suitcases and continued outside.

  As Dad flagged a taxi down, I glanced at a young woman

  in a white strapless dress running over to a man. She jumped

  in his arms and said something in Romanian, then kissed

  him. I smiled and turned to a man in a tan suit fanning

  himself off with a newspaper.

  A young male driver got out of a taxi, greeted us, and

  opened the trunk.

  Dad took my suitcase. “What the heck is in this?”

  I grinned. “My entire summer wardrobe.”

  He smiled and got in the taxi.

  ⁓ ⁓

  Mom got in, then I did. It was a tight squeeze, but we

  managed.

  “Can you take us to the North Railway Station, please?”

  Dad asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said in a soft Romanian accent.

  “Thank you,” Dad replied.

  “Where are you guys from?” the driver asked.

  “St. Augustine, Florida,” Mom said.

  “Very nice. What brings you to Bucharest?”

  Dad placed his arm around Mom. “We’re celebrating

  our twenty-second anniversary with our daughter before she

  starts her senior year of high school. She’s never been here

  before, so we decided to let her experience the same journey

  we took the last time we were here.”

  “Congratulations. Where are you heading to?”

  “Thank you,” Mom said. “We’re taking the train to

  Brasov.”

  “Very nice. Are you going to visit Bran Castle?”

  “Yes,” Dad replied.

  I leaned forward and looked at Dad. “I want to see

  where I was born before I go into any castle. I don’t feel like

  being buried alive if one of them decides to crumble.”

  Dad winked.

  The driver chuckled and looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Are you Romanian?”

  Why would he think that? Maybe because I have long dark brown

  hair.

  I smiled, trying to be polite. “No.”

  “Well, you look like a Romanian goddess.” He winked.

  I giggled at his pathetic pickup line. “Thanks.”

  ⁓ ⁓

  Mom cleared her throat. “Our daughter isn’t eighteen

  for another three months.”

  “My apologies.” He turned around and slowly drove off.

  A lot of people thought I was older than my age because

  I was born with Poliosis, which caused a thick gray streak in

  my hair. I wanted to dye it, but Mom didn’t want me to ruin

  my hair, so I was stuck with it until I turned eighteen.

  I looked out the window, thinking about how I was

  anxious to start college next year. My parents were well-

  known criminal lawyers and were respected by many. I

  decided to follow in their footsteps and become one too.

  The driver continued through downtown Bucharest. It

  was bumper-to-bumper traffic, but I didn’t mind. It gave me

  time to see all the people that were walking along the

  cobblestone streets. I smiled when we passed a few girls

  sitting at a table outside laughing. It reminded me of my best

  friend, Kaylee.

  As we drove on, I took a couple of pictures of the

  baroque historical buildings that were all clustered together.

  I frowned, seeing that some of them were covered in colorful

  graffiti. I wondered why someone would want to destroy

  them.

  “How do you like it so far?” Mom asked.

  I placed my hand over my heart. “I’m in love.”

  It reminded me of my earlier dream too, but I wasn’t

  about to tell her that.

  “Me too.” She held Dad’s hand.

  When we pulled up in front of the massive train station,

  I got out and stared at the beautiful clock high up on the

  building’s façade. Below the clock were large red letters that

  read: CFR.

  ⁓ ⁓

  “What does CFR stand for below the clock?”

  “Căile Ferate Române,” the driver replied. “It means

  Romanian Railways’.

  “Thanks.”

  I glanced at the gray pillars that supported the old yellow

  structure, creating a remarkable view. I took out my phone

  to take a video as we walked inside. It reminded me of a mall

  with tons of food and stores.

  A big man approached me. “Miss, you’re not allowed to

  record in here unless you get permission. Please put your

  phone away until you’re outside.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I hurried up and put it in my

 
; back pocket.

  The security man pointed at a red and white sign.

  “There are signs everywhere.” He grinned and walked away.

  I glared at Mom and Dad. “Why didn’t you tell me I

  couldn’t record?”

  Dad raised one eyebrow and looked at a crowd coming

  toward us.

  “Honey,” Mom said. “It’s been years since we’ve come

  here. I can’t remember everything.”

  “That’s so stupid. Please don’t tell me it’s going to be

  like this everywhere?”

  Dad turned to me. “It’s not stupid, Viata. We’re in a

  different country. You have to respect their rules.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Dad and Mom ignored me the entire thirty minutes in

  the ticket line. I wanted to use my phone because I was so

  bored, but I didn’t because I thought security would arrest

  me.

  ⁓ ⁓

  After a long wait, we got on the train. I was happy to see

  it had two red seats in each row. I sat behind my parents and

  placed my bag on the empty seat next to me, hoping no one

  would sit there.

  “How long before we reach Brasov?” I asked.

  “About three hours,” Mom replied.

  “Cool.”

  After the other passengers boarded, the train started to

  move. I placed my forehead against the window, observing

  all the houses, some old, some new. As we went further, the

  view changed to a stunning countryside full of beautiful tall,

  old oak and pine trees with mountains rising behind them.

  I rubbed my eyes and faced forward, trying to get

  comfortable. I put my sunglasses on to shield out the sun

  through the huge window, and an older woman stopped in

  the aisle.

  “I love your hair,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled and walked away.

  Mom peeked through the space between the seats. “See,

  Viata. Everyone wants your hair color nowadays.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because they weren’t born with skunk

  hair,” I whispered, trying not to laugh.

  “Skunk hair,” Dad repeated and chuckled.

  I’d gotten used to it over the years but hated it when I

  was in middle school. Everyone made fun of me, calling me

  not only alien eyes but skunkhead too. The nickname stuck with