Moonless Night Special Edition

Moonless Night

Floriminda Edar Reid

Moonless Night

Floriminda Edar Reid

Copyright 2015 by Floriminda Edar Reid

Smashwords Edition

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

All Rights Reserved.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Moonless Night manuscript was edited professionally, however when it was first published in 2011, there were still grammatical errors that I, the author had overlooked before the book went live. I apologise and take full responsibility for the short-comings. This has now been rectified. Enjoy the Happy Special Edition. 

For Lexter

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank everyone who bought and read Moonless Night, and their continuing interest to read the second book – Elusive Dreams.

Also, my sincere gratitude to my editor, Beth Lynne, thank you so much for your time.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Prologue

On a stormy day, a slave trader boat called Arcadia arrived at one of the ports somewhere in the South of France. All the slaves – men and women, black, yellow, and brown coloured people – were gathered on the wharf and pushed onto the boat. They were sold again like animals. One of those slaves was a boy who, at that time, did not give up his hope of finding his twin brother. He had no idea how they would recognise his twin brother. They were not identical; the only way to recognise each other was their matching birthmarks, just below the right side of their ribs.

The boat left the wharf that afternoon. The hold where the slaves were dumped was dark and cold with the stench of bodies and waste and urine. Everyone was scared and hungry. Everybody was huddled together like haunted animals, afraid to speak with each other, afraid to look at each other’s eyes, afraid about their futures – if there was any future at all. The boy who always kept to himself adjusted his eyes in the dark. He was searching and hoping he could find what was he was looking for. It was his dream to find his twin brother. But at the same time, he was also hoping that his twin brother had not ended up where he was, that he had escaped to a better life. The boat rocked hard from side to side, groaning and creaking. The storm was very strong, and every slave screamed as the storm battered the boat. The slaves clung to each other as the boat shuddered from the violent attack of the wind. Suddenly, the heavy wooden door opened, and one of the guards with a gun selected a dozen slaves to help out on the deck. The boy was selected and was freed from the shackles on his feet.

The rain was like a sharp knife, slashing diagonally. No soul would be able to escape from the raging storm. The thunder was deafening, the lightning flashed sharp and so bright, and the strong wind blew in every direction. Giant waves slapped the boat mercilessly, sending everyone on the deck scrambling for anything solid enough to hold on to for dear life. In a split second, the twin thought he saw what he was looking for – he saw his twin brother. Their eyes met, and recognition seem to set in for half a second, but it was cast away by the monstrous black waves that tossed the boat into the raging icy cold water with contempt.

The wooden vessel was nowhere to be seen. The boy grasped onto a piece of wood, a piece of the wrecked boat. He kicked his sore legs, refusing to submit to the bottom of the dark water; he passionately wanted to live and to find his twin brother. He drifted onto the nearby shore. His body was battered, but his spirit was unbroken because he was alive.

"We are but shadows: we are not endowed with real life,

and all that seems most real about us is but the thinnest substance

of a dream—till the heart is touched. That touch creates us—then

we begin to be—thereby we are beings of reality and inheritors of

eternity." —Nathaniel Hawthorne

Chapter 1

Concert

Cold sweat trickled down on her neck. Her heart pumped hard in her chest. She placed her right hand over her stomach, feeling the damp nightshirt that clung to her skin. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she grabbed the half-full bottle of water on the bedside table and emptied it down her throat. She coughed and blinked her eyes, and with her trembling hands, she wiped the sweat on her face with the blanket.

There was something that smelled odd; it was not unpleasant, but it definitely didn’t belong in her bedroom. She wiggled her nose as she smelled the scent of a pine tree, like having a fresh Christmas tree in her room. For a moment, she didn’t move but listened to the quietness of the entire house. Out there, the night was too still and silent: no neighbourhood cats and dogs screaming and fighting in the alleyway; no cars running or the sound of a police siren; no whispering of the wind or the rustle of the leaves in the yard. She glanced at the window through her tangled hair, which covered half of her face, and saw the curtains were pulled apart. Obviously, she had forgotten to close the curtains before she went to bed. She steadied her breathing and looked around her bedroom. The wall that was newly painted with soft peach and light brown on the edging looked bare. A naturally coloured wooden dresser sat in the corner with her wardrobe next to it. The radio alarm clock on her desk said two twenty in the morning.

She stood up slowly and sniffed. She stretched her slim body to full length and tightened the muscles of her long legs, her feet firmly on the floor. The book she was reading earlier that night, Sense and Sensibility, slid onto the floor and made a dull thud. She bent forward and picked up the book, which made her dizzy. Slowly, she walked towards the window and stared for a moment ahead at the threatening darkness. She shivered and closed the curtains.

After she had swapped her damp nightshirt for a dry one, she climbed back into bed. She tossed and turned for few more minutes and finally gave up, switching on the light and continuing the book, but she could not concentrate. She closed the novel and made a mental plan for the day to rearrange her bedroom, like hanging a couple of pictures and moving one of the bookshelves from the guest room to hers. She had to find a place for her ten-year-old Sony stereo, her laptop, and the antique, gold-plated, six-foot lamp that she had bought from a second-hand shop. There were still some boxes that needed unpacking and sorting, which she thought would make her day a full one. She stared at the ceiling until the first light of the morning came.

It was half past eleven in the morning when she got out of bed. She grimaced; apparently, she had fallen back to sleep after all, but she did not feel rested and didn’t hear her mother leave for work. She narrowed her eyes, opened the window, and let the sunshine bathe her bedroom.

She grudgingly went downstairs to the kitchen and made her breakfast – or brunch, at this point – as her stomach grumbled. She made bacon and scrambled eggs on toast and poured the fresh coffee her mother had left for her. The small package that Alana had put on the kitchen table for her mum was gone. But there was a note on the table that said, "Thank you, I loved it. See you later, xoxo."

She smiled at the note. Alana ran her fingers through her tangled hair and tied her long, black hair with the elastic band she had around her wrist.

The morning was almost over, and she was still in the kitchen rearranging the contents inside the pantry, which was not part of her plan for the day. Quickly, she ran upstairs to her room and showered, and then she did all the errands that she needed to do.

The whole day went by swiftly.

Alana looked at herself in the reflection of the mirror; her long, leaf-shaped eyes looked tired and bloodshot. She always wondered where she had gotten her colours; her left eye was violet while the right eye was dark amber. Her mother used to say, Eyes are the windows to the soul. Alana could not understand what her mother had said then, but it made her uneasy because there were times that her amber eye could see things that her violet eye could not. It had started when she was about five. It came and went so quickly when she blinked. Although it happened once in a blue moon, it did freak her out. She saw blurred, odd things like the meadow, passing shadows, yellow fields, and white clouds. She eventually got used to the images and became concerned that she saw two different worlds or scenes at the same time.

As she grew older, she managed to control the unexpected scene just by blinking, and it became her personal secret. She could not tell her parents, though; it was as if her amber eye would say, don’t tell.

There was once an incident in the supermarket. A little girl bumped into Alana and looked horrified when she looked at Alana in the face, running to her mother and crying. Alana’s mother, who was holding her hand, looked down and asked Alana what it was all about. Alana shrugged her shoulders as if to say, I didn’t do anything. Alana could not understand why the little girl cried and was scared of her. The mother of the little girl looked at Alana’s eyes, flinched, and walked hurriedly away with her crying child. Alana was upset when they got home. She was sure it was because of her amber eye that people stared at her.

Her first day at primary school was a disaster. She was teased and called the granddaughter of a witch, especially by the boys. Girls whispered to each other behind her back and kept their distance. All day, she tried to conceal her right eye by pulling her hair half across her face. The next day, she refused to go back to school, and the following days as well, until her parents promised to buy her coloured contact lenses. She wanted to bless the person who invented coloured contact lenses; she was able to make both her eyes violet. Alana’s parents had soft brown eyes with blonde hair, but she had thick, wavy, stubborn black hair. Her dad told her that her heart-shaped face was similar to his mother’s, who had passed away when he was only sixteen. Her death was sudden; she died two days after being diagnosed with melanoma.

Alana’s well-trimmed eyebrows were drawn together, and her face looked even paler than usual. She pushed the memory of the nightmare from the previous night out of her mind and thought about something else. It had been at least six weeks, and every single night when she closed her eyes, she waited, and what she was waiting for didn’t come. She started to wonder why it was taking this long to appear.

Gently, she patted the puffiness beneath her eyes. She sighed and secretly wished she didn’t have to go out anywhere, especially tonight. But the happy humming sound downstairs reminded her that she had to go.

Tonight would be the first time in her life that she would go to a concert, and it was with her mum. Her mother had purchased two tickets for a solo piano concert for her forty-fifth birthday. In the past, Alana had never had any interest in seeing a concert of any kind; she would rather stay at home and read a book. She wasn’t anti-social; she was just not interested. Her not-so-close friends would say she was boring, but she didn’t mind what they said; she had better things to do.

Her mother made a reservation for dinner before the concert and was looking forward to this night, just the two of them together.

Finally, she checked herself in the mirror for the last time, after she put her waist-length hair into a French plait and securely pinned the stubborn locks out of her face. She was about to close the window of her bedroom before heading downstairs when her eyes caught the vastness of the pine tree plantation from the distance. She stared at the dark green and then blue horizons of the forest. Alana felt a tight knot in her stomach. She shook her head and was disappointed with herself for being childish. She sighed deeply and went downstairs.

She never thought that coming back home would change her life forever, with changes that no one expected ever existed.

Elizabeth, her mother, was waiting in the lounge, looking so glamorous and young for forty-five years. Alana wondered whether she would ever look like her mother when she reached that age. Elizabeth wore a simple black dress with a red trench coat to match her red stiletto shoes. Alana was grateful for her height – she didn’t have to wear those killer shoes. Fashion was not one of Alana’s obsessions. She loved books and would let herself get lost in a world of her own, where romance and mystery in life was treated with respect and not labelled as silly, fantasy, or old fishermen’s tales.

Alana wore anything that felt comfortable and would spend time in the second-hand bookstore buying old books, as opposed to the perfumes, clothes, shoes, bags, and make-up that the girls she knew at school bought. Her mum was one of those women who loved fashions and believed that she deserved every single cent she spent for herself. Her mother’s youthful look made her fabulous and beautiful without going for any facial surgery. She smelled of Chanel, the perfume that Alana had given her for her birthday. She loved the smell of her mother, sweet and fresh.

Are you ready, sweetheart? Alana’s mother asked, and then she turned around to look at her only child, who was now a young lady. Her mother smiled and felt so proud of her. Despite their constant moving from one state to another and switching to different schools, Alana had grown up to be a fine young lady and was quite mature for her age.

You look absolutely gorgeous, Alana, and so tall, her mother said as she picked up her black handbag off the couch.

Alana smiled and eyed her mother’s shoes. She was a lot taller than her mother, despite her mother’s heels.

Thanks, Mum; you look great yourself. She felt her cheeks burning. Alana wore a white baby-doll top with black skinny jeans. She grabbed her black flat shoes and a black jacket from behind the front door, and she was ready to go.

Alana always felt embarrassed when someone complimented her, even when it was her own mother. Her mother’s friends and acquaintances thought she was a shy girl, and at school, her friends said the same. But she totally disagreed with them. Alana considered herself secretly insecure and painfully romantic at heart sometimes, but shy? No way. She had these insecurities that hid in the back of her head and reminded her about her eyes. I knew and felt it, she thought. Only parents would say to their child that having two different eye colours was a blessing and not weird. But she didn’t grow up believing that. Instead, she let her side fringe grow a bit longer than necessary to conceal her right eye, and she pinched her earlobe to distract anyone who looked at her eyes directly to speak with her. Alana had an incurable inferiority complex that was well hidden. Not even the coloured contact lenses that she wore would help, because she knew that when she took them off, two different colours would stare back at her. Witch. She wrinkled her nose and dismissed the thoughts. Stop and suck it up.

Elizabeth was careful to manoeuvre the car as they climbed the steep road. She glanced at her daughter and told her about the new restaurant that they were going to and how excited she was for the concert.

Alana trusted her mother’s near perfect driving skills more than her own. Her mum could drive, talk, and look for a car park without hitting anyone. Whereas Alana, who had just gotten her full licence back in Australia and was pretty confident in her driving, didn’t feel comfortable driving at night on Taraka’s narrow and steep roads. The only thing was that her mother drove without acknowledging that there were sharp corners, even in a small town like Taraka. Alana tested her seatbelt for the second time, and her body swayed here and there whenever they made a turn. She kept her face on the road and frowned as she took a quick look at each side of the mountains.

Taraka was a small, secluded town with a population of 1,100 on a tiny island called Kings Aqua Isle, near the east coast but south of Southland in New Zealand. The Kings Aqua Isle had three other little towns: Brooks Bay, Knights Haven, and Luna Bay. The island had only one city, the City of Kings Lake. Not many young, local people were interested in staying on the island except for the fishermen. Some British and European businessmen, who recognised the potential of the island for a retreat, built pricey accommodations for overseas tourists who had plenty of money to spend.

The population of the island was currently 10,400 and was slowly building up due to the demand of local workers, as the tourists continued to rise regardless of the weather. While the other part of the world was winter from December to February, the Kings Aqua Isle enjoyed its summer; from June to August was its wintertime. Many celebrities, movie stars, rock stars, artists, and authors came for one thing: privacy and tranquillity and elegance of the nature. Even princes and princesses came to stay sometimes. Thank goodness there were no paparazzi; they mostly stayed in Hollywood.

Accommodations on the island could not be beaten by other five-star hotels overseas. There were six elegant Emerald Villas with their own private spring water spas, an English chateau, and a chalet to choose from. There were primary and secondary schools on the island, but one had to go to the mainland to take university courses. Taraka was a one-hour drive to the City of Kings Lake, where one could find expensive boutiques, cafes, old architectural buildings, supermarkets, theatres, and elegant French and Italian cuisine.

For those into nature, Kings Aqua Isle could provide it all. The never-ending, lush green scenery of hills and mountains contained wild fauna and flowers, ancient trees, and spectacular sea creatures such as dolphins, penguins, whales, and seals. The island had its own healthy Big Max takeaway, a sort of McDonald’s, and other Chinese takeaways, as well as the crispy Greek’s Fish and Chips shop. It took two hours in a boat or catamaran to get from the mainland to the port of Kings Aqua Isle, but only a forty-five-minute drive to reach Taraka.

There was but one thing that made Taraka a special town on the island; it had its own kind of weather. It could get to the mid-twenties Celsius during winter from noon to three in the afternoon. People from the other neighbouring islands and towns – and even the mainland – would come to Kings Aqua Isle for a day or two in order to experience the uniqueness of Taraka.

As the night went on, Alana wanted to tell her mother about the nightmare she’d had the night before, but she changed her mind. It could wait, and besides, she didn’t want to spoil their night together. They looked around for a car park as her mum drove. Alana spied an empty space close to the restaurant and pointed it out to her. Over there, Mum, to the right … next to that Holden.

Her mother manoeuvred her white Honda Accord next to the shiny silver car.

Hmmm … good spotting, Alana. Her mother turned off the engine. Satisfied, she beamed at her daughter and patted her hand. Well done. Not too far to walk.

Her mother hated walking far distances because of her high-heeled killer shoes. But anyone who was five feet tall would appreciate three to five extra inches, no matter how the bunion was hurting.

While walking to the restaurant, Alana could not help her curiosity. She knew it would nag her all night long if she didn’t tell her mum. So she told her mother about the scent in her bedroom as briefly as she could be, leaving out the rest of what caused her to sit on the edge of her bed.

Like a fresh Christmas tree, Alana murmured, and she wondered if she had truly smelt it.

If you left your bedroom window ajar last night, it is possible the breeze from the pine tree plantations brought it there. Her mum turned off the car after checking her make-up in the mirror, and then she grabbed her handbag. Shall we go now?

Alana nodded. Yeah, let’s go and eat, and I think you’re right, Mum.

After the delicious meal and mouth-watering chocolate mud for dessert, mother and daughter trotted up one block towards the Regent Theatre building, where the concert was being held. The city’s neon lights were bright, and yet the city seemed deserted. Alana wondered where the people were. It was dead for a Wednesday night in the City of Kings Lake. Had people retired early for work the following day? It was different from a normal big city, where people never seemed to sleep. Alana wondered whether she would get used to the quiet lifestyle of the island, let alone the tiny town where they lived.

Almost everyone was already seated when they got to Regent Theatre. Alana and her mum were ushered to their allocated seats, which were in the middle of the fourth row. The piano concert would last approximately two hours, and Alana knew her mum would enjoy the show; as for her, she was hoping that she wouldn’t fall asleep.

All of the performers were from different towns and cities from the mainland of New Zealand. Every pianist was unknown to Alana, who never listened to this type of music. She couldn’t care less about the performers’ names. She didn’t bother taking the piece of paper that was handed out at the door before they were being ushered to their seats; it made no difference to her where they came from.

Once everyone was seated, the first pianist played. Alana pretended to pay attention but could not understand why these people, including her mum, enjoyed sounds that could make some people fall asleep. For Alana, it was like a lullaby, a great sound for babies and toddlers, to put them to sleep.

The food and the dessert she’d had for dinner didn’t help; it made her feel like she wanted to lie on her bed and snooze. Alana tried her best to keep her eyes open throughout the first hour of the concert. Although she hadn’t known any of the performers before, she admitted the music they played was fantastic despite her struggles not to fall sleep. Alana fidgeted from time to time; she felt her butt become numb, her thighs and legs were tensed, her lower back ached because she was slouching, and her eyes were threatening to close. She blinked and opened her eyes wide a few times. If she was to fall asleep and snore, no one would notice, she thought, but her mother would be offended. Alana fidgeted one more time and sat up straight.

Before the intermission, there was an announcement for the next performer, which was a special guest. Whoever it was, the person had to be really good to be named as a special guest.

Alana yawned discreetly.

To Alana’s great delight, she and her mother went out to stretch their legs and visit the ladies’ room before going back to their seats on time.

The red velvet curtains on the stage slowly rolled up. All lights were turned off except for the spotlight directed on the stage. Then, a soft sound of eerie music played so slowly but tingly that it gave Alana goose bumps all over her body. She crossed her arms and listened to the sound, which felt far, far away somewhere in a dark and very lonely place. It felt like someone was reaching out to find ways to be free. It sounded very fragile and finely delicate, yet it was strong and powerful, like a caterpillar gently emerging from its cocoon, looking and testing its wings in order to fly away.

Then, suddenly, the keys were hit so hard, loud, and fast when the whole curtain was completely out of the way. Alana almost jumped out of her seat, unprepared for the changes of the rhythm. Her heart jumped and beat faster than it should. What the … she thought. She glanced sideway at her mum, whose eyes were focused on the stage. Alana wrinkled her brows and diverted her eyes on the stage.

A single light pointed to the person on the stage that played on the grand piano with his head down. His face was hidden by a shadow, and his fingers touched lightly on each key like stars flickering in the sky. He played so magnificently; he was so engrossed that he and the piano became one.

Alana was fascinated, enchanted, and mesmerized. She felt the music in her heart twisting, testing, and teasing it. She felt happy and rebellious. She felt she could listen to him play forever.

The sound of the music became soft and gentle, as if caressing Alana’s soul; sad and haunting. It was like a cry for help, a soul lost in the dark with no way out. Gently, the music started to fade away, but the sound seemed to linger still in the air.

Everyone stood up and clapped, including Alana, who, for the first time, noticed the tears in her eyes. She let her tears drop freely, knowing she’d be embarrassed if her mum noticed her wiping her eyes. What was wrong with her, crying over a pianist? Alana admitted she was touched by the music he played, and she was a romantic kind of girl, so it was understandable.

The performer stood up too, and the spotlight